"There's No Place I'd Rather Be," I Keep Telling Myself

Well, it's Bike Month, and you'll be pleased, nonplussed, or indifferent to learn that I've stopped sulking about not living in California.  I knew that would happen, because I've been through that before, and I generally find it takes about two weeks to go from "Why the hell do I live here again?" to "New York's the best and people who live in other places are stupid."  It also helps that the weather has finally turned, and yesterday was the first day of the year that I'd officially categorize as "glorious:"

However, as the sort of over-torqued neurotic who enjoys living in New York I was unable to enjoy the day fully.  Yes, the weather was perfect, and yes, my ride was delightful, but as I glided effortlessly past all those buttercups on state-of-the-art gravel tires inflated to exactly [redacted] PSI I lamented the fact that all this glory was fleeting and in short order the buttercups would wilt, the sun would grow more oppressive, the air would become thick with humidity and insects, and before I know it we'll be into the dog days of summer.  Then from there you're only a meager handful of delightfully crisp autumn riding days away from winter, and the whole cycle of hopelessness and death begins anew.

So yeah, the fact that this is what's going on in my head on a beautiful spring day is why I'll never be one of these people:

"One of my favorite things about LA is having a lot more space, and being able to really start my day with intention, ritual and time. I naturally wake up earlier on the West Coast, and I love being able to walk into the living room, open all the shutters, let the light stream in (and the quality of the light here is just different: better, warmer), meditate for ten minutes, make a cup of coffee and enjoy it for a full half hour before I start doing work or looking at work email," explains Gandhi.

It's not that I don't wake up early, it's just that for me starting the day with "intention, ritual and time" means waking up in the dark, watching something bleak on TV while I wait for the caffeine to kick in, and then heading down to Central Park where I compete for recreational space with a bunch of Type A fitness freaks.  Indeed I did just that this morning, though when I puttered into the living room to look for something depressing to watch I noticed the cat hadn't followed me as she usually does:

It soon dawned on me that she must have slipped out into the hall sometime yesterday evening, and so I headed out into the stairwell and up to the top floor landing where I usually find her after such escape attempts.  This time however upon hearing me she scurried down the stairs and into my arms.  Then she dug her claws deep into my neck, half-feral with fear after having spent the past eight hours in exile out in the hall.  In the morning hours when you've only recently emerged from sleep everything takes on added significance, so as I returned her to the apartment and attempted to extract her claws from my shirt so I could put her the fuck down I couldn't help thinking that this terrified cat who had been "lost" a mere 20 feet from her home was a fuzzy metaphor for us all.  Aren't we all sort of lost?  And as we scan the horizon for the mast of the thing that will make our lives better isn't it true that real happiness is all around us and eternally within our reach, just as long as we're willing to reach for it?  What happened to this boy, so full of hope and joy?

Life, that's what happened:

Actually I doubt I was full of hope and joy in that photo.  Indeed I don't remember it ever being taken, so I can only assume the photographer somehow frightened me into plastering that strained smile across my face and I've blocked the trauma from my memory.

All of this is to assure you that, even though I brazenly fucked off for a bicycle ride on a beautiful Tuesday morning while the truly unlucky were stuck at work, I was still wallowing in existential angst.  Okay, that's a lie.  Not only I was enjoying the hell out of myself, but knowing everyone else was at work only made it better.  There was one small blemish, however, which was that when I got to my favorite artisanal lunch spot:

It was closed:

I'd been fantasizing about that lunch the whole way up, so that was a bummer.  Still I pressed on:

Pausing only briefly to consider the irony that people are freaking out about "bike litter" yet there are car parts all over the place:

And then I headed back southward, congratulating myself the entire way for not doing anything productive:

I regret nothing.

Speaking of bikes and the riding of them, I am still ostensibly engaged in the long-term testing of the Renovo Aerowood, photographed poorly by me early this morning upon my return from Central Park:

I also cleaned it by vacuuming it the other day, something it has never occurred to me to do before, probably because none of my other bicycles resembles an end table.

As I've mentioned before, I've recently lowered the stem, indicating that I've transitioned from "totally unfit" to "not completely unfit:"

As for the unsightly section of steer tube above the stem, I have no immediate plans to remove it because:

1) I don't feel like it;
2) I don't feel like paying anyone else to do it;
3) It's not my bike;
4) I'll no doubt revert back to "totally unfit" and need to raise the stem at some point anyway.

By the way, with regard to Reason #3, while it's not my bike it sure feels like it is, and I mean that as a compliment to the bike.  Apart from the only-one-bottle thing I've mentioned ad nauseam I must say I've really grown to love the thing.  It really does ride beautifully, and at some point I'll probably replace the 23mm tires with 25s because I think it'll ride even better--exactly two millimeters better, obviously.  I'm only sorry that one day I'll have to return it and go back to being one of those regular schmucks who don't get to ride an exotic wood bicycle.

But hey, at least I don't have to go to work.

Finally, as you've no doubt heard, Vista Outdoor is getting out of the bike racket:

Vista Outdoor, the Utah-based company that owns prominent cycling gear brands like Giro and Bell, is also one of the country’s biggest gun manufacturers. This—along with the company’s support of the NRA—came as news to many in the cycling community after the February mass shooting that left 17 dead in Parkland, Florida. The revelation sparked a boycott of Vista-owned products, which both independent bike shops as well as massive retailers like REI would eventually join.

Now, Vista is getting out of bikes and guns. The company announced on Tuesday that it will stop selling firearms and refocus on its “core” products such as ammunition, hunting and shooting accessories, water bottles, and outdoor cookware. It also plans to “explore strategic options”—that is, look for buyers—for some of its Sports Protection brands, including Giro, Bell, and Blackburn.

Watch them get bought by an oil company.