Upon a time, I had two screws
Within my life, upon my shoes.
Held in tight, against my sole
Where I could not refuse.
Then one day most unexpected,
Solid threads had been rejected,
Leaving open space that I had
Thought was well connected.
The clip I hear, just as before;
Like tap-dancing across the floor.
But half the power holding strong
Is not there anymore.
Now one is left, and though it might
Still keep me pumping through the night,
There’s something missing in my world.
Next time I’ll use Loc-Tite.
It’s all about the bikes.
Bikes here, bikes there. Bike rush hour! In Soviet Netherlands, bikes take precedence over cars. Vaaaht a caahntry!
The daily ride from the hotel to the university, about 2 miles, is bike paths all the way. Some roads go like this, in cross section:
- sidewalk
- grass median
- Northbound bike path
- grass median
- curb
- car parking lane
- Northbound car lane
- Southbound car lane
- car parking
- curb
- grass median
- Southbound bike path
- grass median
- sidewalk
Even in downtown Utrecht, bricked tight as any old-school European city, the bikes win. Wide lanes on the sides of the street, and the cars have to fight it out for the middle. A park right in the middle of where you need to go? No worries, there’s sure to be a bike trail across it.
And no hills! Nothing but flats. But no glass on the road, so not that kind of flat. Although always a headwind, or so they say. I haven’t particularly noticed.
Check out the tornado-shaped plastic flower arrangement here at SRON, apparently made from discarded bike tubes. With the talcum powder still on. I love it!
Note to pedestrians: The word “fiets” sounds like a cognate for “feet”, so you might think “fietspad” means footpath. Wrong. “Bike path”. Really, that should be your first guess. I’ve been here five days and haven’t been in a car yet.
It’s all about the bikes
Looka what happens when you leave your fresh set of wheels unattended in Kensington. At least, if said wheels include a rack. ‘Round midnight, and here’s this note on the windshield. Written on the back of a set of David Letterman timings. What?? Only 7 and a half minutes of local avails? Scandalous!
Interestingly, the rack is not currently set up to carry a bike. Nor will it ever be, on account of this car is better suited for a spare-mount bike rack. But maybe a ride of some sort is desired: I hear it’s a big hill to get up to Kensington which, she would be tired.
Alas, ’twas a tease. Next day I had to pedal my own self around the Mt. Airy test track, with super-biker squeaking about not being able to keep up. Did I go too fast? It’s always easier with a stiff frame, but oh the cost. Maybe cheaper components. Shifter? I hardly know ‘er.
But it seems the days of beautiful exercise, fresh air, sunshine, helmet-head, pounding heart, burning quadriceps, raw throat, sweat-soaked clothing, near collapse from dehydration, and all that wonderful stuff draw nearer. Huh. Maybe I should just get a kayak.
Upon a time, I had two screws