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.
And did I mention that I forgot my helmet too?
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…
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