Do your bikes have names? If so, how did you name them? Did you give them a name you would give a person, like Betty or Howard or something?
Or is the name you gave your bike akin to something you might bestow on a pet, like Pumpkin or Spot or Patches? Did your bike speak to you somehow and tell you its name, or did it come to you in a dream?
Instead of riding brevets and doing a 1000K or a 1200K this year, Felkerino and I focused on a weeklong Colorado bike tour, which included two days of riding around Boulder and a seven-day loop rich with hills and mountains. (Felkerino is writing a post of our routes and the gear we took over at The Daily Randonneur, so please stand by for that!)
As we were climbing Loveland Pass, Felkerino asked, “Do you think this tour will change you as a rider?”
We were loathe for our scenic week in Colorado to be at an end, so when we met a cyclist at the top of Loveland Pass who recommended we route back via Oh My God Road rather than suburban roads we were intrigued and routed our 72-mile return from Georgetown to Boulder accordingly.
I’m glad I wrote those sentimental notes about how wonderful tandeming with my partner can be, as I had to remind myself of them this morning.
I woke up famished with only the thought of scrambled eggs and breakfast in my mind. Felkerino, on the other hand, awakened to an equally powerful urge for espresso.
Both of these were available, but located in distinct locations in Glenwood Springs, a few blocks apart. Because Felkerino does the steering on our bike I was at a real disadvantage, and I had a hard time accepting any delay for my scrambled eggs.