Oh, no, a bike is on the roof!
Haste makes waste, the saying goes, and on Monday, haste laid waste to my townie bike.
A comedy of errors, and my own stupidity, led to me bashing my old mountain bike into the garage door frame. Yes, for the second time in my life, I forgot I had a bicycle on my roof rack.
My old mountain bike has long since been retired from active duty. It’s perfect for buzzing over to the liquor store, the grocery store and on work assignments. It’s an old Ventana racing bike that came in the aptly named color “toxic green.”
I took it with me when I covered an event at the Aspen Ideas Festival Monday. It was so handy because I was able to pedal right up to the Doerr-Hosier Center and avoid all the traffic and parking hassles.
I ended up staying in Aspen longer than planned, so I was running late when I retired to my downvalley office. I got an important call shortly before reaching home. For some reason, the phone and car stereo aren’t in sync. I lose the call when I turn off the ignition, so I kept the car running, sat outside the driveway and finished the call.
Looming in my mind was the fact that I had to pick up my wife at the Glenwood Springs train station. The train was late, but projected to arrive at 4:53 p.m. I thought I’d have just enough time to file my day’s stories.
I had placed a cooler in the middle of the garage floor to remind me that a bike was on top of the car. Alas, I couldn’t see the cooler when I finally finished my call and pulled the car forward. My heart sunk when I heard that sickening racket of the bike getting knocked off the rack. Oddly, and somewhat amusingly, it knocked the Ventana right out of its front forks, which remained locked into the rack.
To add insult to injury, the train was delayed until 6:15 p.m., giving me plenty of time to finish my work and type this tragic tale. I’ll take ol’ Toxic Green to the bike shop in the next couple of days and see if she can be salvaged. If not, chalk it up again to stupidity.
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Like the trails we hike and ride upon, our forest journeys can be capricious, going down an intriguing path, unintended in the beginning, but bringing a sweet, or bitter, experience before we’re through.