Flirt Bucket


That would be me.

You know what’s handy about working in a bike shop?

Handing out your business cards to cute guys who work in bike shops too.

I am deliberately not responding to the whistle of my Iphone.

I set it to whistle at me when I have a text message.  I have a text message.  I am assuming it is from the gentleman who I gave my card to yesterday.

We started talking yesterday on the corner of Valencia and 15th.  He had come in for the day from Marin and the next thing you know I am getting the grill about why I don’t ride in fixed gear.

Because I am a big fat sissy.

Because I thought, until today, that riding fixed meant riding without a brake.  And it does not!  I also thought, I like to coast, I like having a free wheel, it’s nice for going down hills.  Except that now being in the Mission I don’t have that many hills to ride down.

Although I have bombed 24th from Diamond to Folsom at a pretty damn quick clip the last two Saturday eves in a row.  It’s delirious fun.  I ride down the middle of the lane.  I am going so fast I figure two things–1. No driver is going down this hill faster than me so they can not bother trying to pass me; and 2. the road has a lot of little mini potholes–best to take it down the center of the lane.

However, after listening to Mister Marin espouse the virtues of fixed, I started to wonder, maybe I am ready to take the fixed plunge.  Then between my General Manager and the Head Mechanic at the shop I became convinced that I should at least try it.

The other thing that Mister Marin mentioned was that it was more exercise, more work.  I am down for that.  I need a little more exercise.  My commute went from 25 minutes to five minutes.  My legs are barely warmed up by the time I get to the shop or home from the shop.  I will gladly ride fixed if it means working out my legs some more.

Down with it.

There is also a smidgen of ego laced into all of this.  I want to do what the cool kids do and they apparently ride fixed.  The GM sold it to me like this, it’s more fun.  He would know.  And he used to ride with a free wheel too until one day when he needed to ride a bike and hopped on one of the fleet that is built up for test rides and it was fixed.

He liked it.  He kept trying it out and kept liking it more and more.  Finally, he just made the switch and has not gone back.  That pretty much sold me.

That and the analogy to driving a stick shift.  It was likened to me that way and I love driving a stick, you have more control and I always feel more connected to the car.  Supposedly that same thing will happen for me with a fixed gear.  I have the flip-flop hub on my rear wheel, I’m going to have the mechanics flip it for me sometime this week.

I will have plenty of time to address it as I am at the beginning of six days on.  I thought I was swapping out tomorrow for this Saturday to help a co-worker and it turns out that no, she needs to work next Tuesday.

Fuck me.

I am working six days straight.  Argh.

Jesus the phone is chirping and whistling.

And the lady is putting the writing first.  I know if I get on the phone with a cute guy I am not going to get off any time soon.  I will not finish the blog or I will and it will be late at night.  My writing is my priority.

My recovery is my first priority and that was already addressed, so I am on track and I will have my little blog post up within the next half hour.  The phone can wait.  Besides, if it’s meant to be, I can’t fuck it up, nor can I manipulate it into happening.  I have tried it both ways.

My year book photo went live today on the website and on Facecrack.  That was interesting.  I am still not the biggest fan of the photo, but apparently my eyes are broke because plenty of other people thought it was just fine.

My perception of myself is definitely skewed.  I know that, but it is a good reminder once in a while to know that other people see me differently than I do.

I also have a not so secret admirer in Panama.  He came into the shop on vacation and I gave him the shirt off my back.

I had on a tank top underneath, thank you very much, and he gave me his.  I have since received a few e-mails from him, have designed him a bag (which he wants me to sign!  What?), and have had an invitation extended to me to stay at his home in the jungle when I come down with friends.

Ok then.

Uh, no thank you, but thank you.

I have never been south of the border, but I am not sure that is the place to start.  I do like his tone better than the crazy tweaker guy that I accidentally smiled at before I realized he was a crazy tweaker guy, who comes in once a week to “see” what’s new in the shop.

He just comes in and stares at my chest.

Psst.  The rack is not new.  I have had it for a while.

Last thought before I go check the voicemail and the text messages–which may be from other folks too–I am treading slightly unfamiliar territory.  Mister Marin has already Facecracked me.  The possibility of him reading this post is fairly high.

Oh well, it’s just flirting, right?

And I write about me.  This is what’s happening in my life.

I’m getting whistled at in my bedroom.  That’s funny.

I do have some recovery! I made it all the way through to the end without once checking my phone.  Rock the hell on.

I promise I won’t twist an ankle rushing off to check my messages either.

I am a flirt who wants to go on a bike ride this weekend.

In fixed gear.


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