Didn’t I point out the splendiferous hues of autumn yesterday?
Because the seasons change the fo–LOOK OUT, JORTS COMING THROUGH!
It’s the brand new “In your left.”
Jarring, isn’t it?
Oh, and would you have a look at that, I bought a brand new bag!
See that? I didn’t should resort to the Electrical Techno-Paranoia in any case:
The bag is “out of inventory,” however while you’re me nothing is out of inventory:
Let’s simply say I’ve bought connections within the Waxed Canvas Mafia.
See, you’ve bought your Common Mafia:
Your Velvet Mafia:
And your Waxed Canvas Mafia:
I in all probability shouldn’t say any extra otherwise you’re liable to seek out me chopped up and stuffed right into a HappiSack:
[Photo: The Waxed Canvas Mafia]
Should you see a type of bouncing alongside on the OCA with a single foot hanging out of it you’ll understand it’s me inside:
As for my new bag, it might be too small to hide a physique, however It’s precisely what I want–simply large enough for snacks, gloves, and that type of factor:
Or possibly a guide and a few toys once I’m taking children to the park on Columbus Unmentionable Day:
And sure, that guide does comprise biking references:
After all the constable would have been superb if he had been driving a Rivendell, a motorcycle so steady even a Scottie couldn’t knock you off it:
My infatuation with this bike stays as exuberant because the foliage, and it’s at dwelling on all the things from easy roads:
To terrain of about this diploma of roughness:
So do you name this a “path?” Or is it technically a gravel street surfaced with extraordinarily massive gravel?
Both approach, something past that on the Roaduno and I assume you’re doing what these spoiled Gen-Zers at the moment name “underbiking.”
Talking of so-called underbiking, chances are you’ll recall I did some in Vermont on the Roaduno’s polar reverse, George Plimpton’s Y-Foil, a.ok.a. The Charity Trip Destroyer, a.ok.a. The Pumpkin Spice Nightmare:
Within the feedback on yesterday’s submit, which addressed the topic of yielding, there was some dialogue of gravel roads and big vans. As an inveterate city-slicker, once I discover myself on a gravel street, I in fact simply assume it exists completely for the sake of quaintness, and that I can depend on it being comparatively motor vehicle-free as a bonus:
“Wow, have a look at all that pristine gravel!,” I believed to myself. “And no one else is even driving on it!” However what I quickly realized is that not all gravel roads are created equal, and that a few of them are closely utilized by farmers. Furthermore, one of many gravel roads I selected was simply such a thoroughfare:
Whereas the drivers exhibited no outward hostility, I’m certain they had been pondering to themselves, “What’s this asshole doing?” Anyway, all of that is to say I duly moved apart and dismounted when needed, although looking back I in all probability ought to have made a video and ranted about how rural roads want extra protected bike lanes. Regardless, I made it to the ferry alive and intact:
And I didn’t even should squeeze a boob!
That will or will not be a win, relying on the way you have a look at it.
