If you know me in real life – or happened to read the other blog that I abandoned due to my growing sentiment that suburban life is kind of lame – you know the beginning of this story already. And you probably think I talk about it too much, and you’re probably right.
I put off referring to it here for as long as I could, and to be honest, I’m pretty proud of myself for making it 46 posts before breaking the streak. But the time has come.
Here is the abridged version:
Last July, while my husband and I were back in town for a good friend’s wedding, there was an event at my parents’ house. Their home is the place where I spent my formative years, and still consider my home even though I haven’t lived there in 8 years. It involved this:
which led to this.
The important facts:
1. Everyone got out of the house safely, including the cat.
2. If your garage contains anything electrical, it should also have a smoke detector.
And, channeling my favorite Tom Hanks character, that’s all I have to say about that.
The reason I chose to talk about it on this particular day? Because I want to talk about something that was in that garage. Something that has since been replaced… and the new one has caused me to forget any sentimental attachment I had to the first.
My new toy?
This little piece of machinery gives me a sense of freedom I haven’t felt since my next-door neighbor and I were first allowed to ride up to Mel’s Market to buy candy bars and Snapple. It’s wonderful to feel the wind in my face. You don’t get that feeling behind a windshield.
The only problem? That bike in the garage was of the mountain variety. And apparently, Trek assumes that the people who buy their road bikes actually know how to ride them.
Yeah. Guess who had to Google to figure out how to downshift?
I have a lot to learn.