I figured it would take me about 20 minutes to ride from my house to Montrose & California. But just to be on the safe side, I started getting ready forty minutes before my appointment. After all, I haven't been on my bike for weeks, and it might take a while to gather up everything I would need.
Fortunately, clothing was not much of an issue. The weather on Thursday was still relatively mild, and ordinary street attire would do just fine. But I needed my lock, helmet, and at least one grocery pannier. And yeah, since I took the locking skewers off last fall when I had to carry the bike on a roof rack, I should probably bring a cable to secure the wheels.
Walking into the garage, I practically tripped over the grocery pannier, and in it, miraculously, was my lock and bike keys. One down.
A cable was a little trickier. There were several cables on the floor and in various containers around the garage, but they either required keys which I did not have, or combinations which I didn't know. At last, I spotted one I could use with my u-lock inside a trailer.
Encouraged by such quick progress, I looked up at the hooks to grab my bike, but it was not there. It must be in the bike garage (what we affectionately call our front porch), I thought. And my helmet is probably hanging on the handlebars. I headed to the front of the house. I located my helmet buried on a hook under several layers of canvas grocery bags. But there was no sign of my bike.
I walked back to the garage. I probably just missed it. There are quire a few bikes in there. Our kids' two bikes, our family tandem, Chris' Slingshot, his street bike, his folding bike, somebody's Kona, a couple of trailers... but where the bleeping heck is my bike?!
No sign of a break-in, and even if somebody did try, there surely are more tempting choices here than my twenty-year-old beater!
Could it be at the shop? I asked my kids. Was daddy trying to surprise me by getting it tuned up for spring? My son suggested I try the basement. Dejectedly, I headed downstairs. Historically, the basement is reserved for bikes that have been outgrown, or stripped of parts, or... only used infrequently for highly specialized uses... like, ahem, winter riding...
There, hanging sadly between the furnace and the water heater, was my bike. I guess Chris thought I was done using it for the season.
I'll have to show him!...