On the importance of sensible footware

and the enduring power of love

Jay called the ride.

Tomorrow. King Street. Dirt jumps.

I needed to swing by the shop to get something to ride. I had a bike there, a project waiting to be finished. It would have to do. Run what you brung, as they say.

A hurried morning escaping didn’t account for my intended after work antics. I was wearing my clogs. Birkenstock clogs and red wool socks. Full on sox in sandals weirdo magic.

The time was short. The clogs were there and did not have laces - ideal footwear for a hasty exit.

You’re riding in those? We’re riding dirt jumps. What kind of idiot are you?

I was an idiot in unsensible footwear.

Oh,

And did I mention that I forgot my helmet too?

Well.

There’s that as well.

We rode up to the vacant lot, home to Jay’s “Creation of Adam”. I did a lap. It was not the best of plans. My feet were moving all over the place and the pedals were chewing up my soles. Worst yet, I may have caught the straps on the crank arms.

That was bad.

But worse still? I had the wrong bike. On this one, th…