At the top of the hill, I heard the scraping again. Eventually, I found a quiet spot to stop. I got off the bike, looked at the rear wheel, and saw the bloody metal hook that had been ripped from the killer's arm the thingamajig that keeps the chain from chewing up the spokes was broken.
Being a mechanical whiz, I rode my bike home and loaded it into the back of the van. Today I will take it to the bike shop. Maybe they'll replace it. Maybe they'll sell me the part. Maybe they'll just take my money and bury my body under a pile of Lance Armstrong armbands. I'll keep you posted. Unless that Lance Armstrong thing happens.
In other wheeled-thingy-related activity, our van is going to the van doctor to have some work done, including four issues that are "recall" things. Yippee! I hope they fix the flux capacitor while they're at it.
It's fairly important that I get the van fixed, because we're going to Portland for a wedding. Being that the groom is the other guitarist in my sometime-band, we're planning to get together again and try to record something. Possibly even perform for a select audience of small children and deaf people. If we have the van fixed, I can bring my guitars, bass, amps, and djembe. Without the van, about all I can squish into the car is a harmonica.
Oh yeah, if anyone knows of a good place for an unknown band to play in Portland, let me know.
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