Winter Will Never End

There was an indoor ride at the bike house today. I went to say hi and sweat a bit. The house looks normal from the outside, but once you hit the enclosed porch you know its a different kind of place. A place of magic pixie dust and furry kittens. Not really, but the porch is packed to the gills with really really nice bikes (plus a few normal bikes). The best part is when you step into the house. Imagine a giant eating fifteen or sixteen bikes, doing some jumping jacks, and then running around the house throwing up. There are bike parts everywhere. Tires hang from the lights, and the walls, and the tables. There are gears everywhere and grease cloths in every nook and cranny. If you didn't know better you would think that people were squatting in a mechanics shop instead of bikes being stored in a house. All in all the house works (at least for a house where cyclists live), and they let me come watch their cable and Tour Down Under highlights. I can't complain.

Liz said that I couldn't take any pictures because they would never let me come back. Isn't it the very nature of a cyclist to document and share every mundane and uninteresting part of the ride? Anyway, she said no so no pictures today.