I know that it has been a while since my last correspondence. I don’t want to bother you, seeming that you are so busy. I know that you must be because of the amount of grime on my wheel set. Making time to ride and enjoying your sport is awesome, but I am (or what I believed to be) your #1 bike. I need to look my best . . . look great ride great? I often feel remorse for #2 bike, hanging beside me, dirty and tired looking. But he knows his role. I know mine. He’s a hard-working, training bike, and I’m a race bike. I will not bring up “29er” on the other side of the room (by the way, thanks for moving him there); like I said before, he’s gruff and dirty all of the time. We don’t really talk much; and when we do, he just calls me names, pertaining to me being prissy. Just to clear the air, I am not prissy. I think of my self more like an exotic sports car, slick and fast. I mean let’s be real for a second. Have you ever seen a Ferrari with mud on the wheels and rode grime on the body? But “29er” just chuckles and mumbles something about getting four feet of air on a jump. I told him that I bunny hop over things, and he then said that our conversation was over. So that’s that.
I appreciate you taking time to read this. Of course, #2 bike says hey. We are here for you. But I’ll go ahead and give my “hose time” to #2 bike. He really needs it; and like I tell him quite often, you appreciate all the effort you put in. Since the bucket and soap will already be out, you can touch me up too! I think it’s funny how #2 bike gets all giddy when he’s clean and hanging beside me. Sometimes we talk . . . sorry, I lost my train of thought about what I was going to tell you . . . “29er” is making comments from across the room again. He told me to tell you not to give him any “hose time.” What an idiot. Like you would actually do that anyway.
I’ll sign off for now. I’m very excited and ready for the Savannah Century on Labor Day. I know you’ll be in top form, and I’ll be there in matching splendor.