Last night I managed to get enough mud out of my shoes to get them into my pedals. It took about 15 minutes with a screwdriver and some banging on the front porch, but the suckers are usable again.
I couldn't track down my rear blinky, but while I was searching I did find my pilfered CalTrans jacket in smashing flourescent green and orange with complimentary 2" reflective stripes. Coupled with an led flaslight ziptied to my helmet, I'd say that last night I was the height of Portland commuter fashion.
A couple of whacks to clear the mud from my braking apparatus and I was off to check out an artist reception at the new Vanilla Workshop.
I arrived, locked up to a gas meter, took off the idiot shit I was wearing, and cruised inside. A nice man holding a glass of something warm greeted me at the door. That nice man was Sacha White, lord of Portland's frambuilding glitterati. We chatted, and I moved off into the space to check out some bikes and photos. Like everything Mr. White does, perfection was in evidence at every turn. The place is like a wet dream of a bike builder's workshop. High ceilings, lots of light, high-dollar tools and toys strewn about just so.
I would have taken pictures,but I think my camera and my blinky ran off together.
I only stayed for a bit. Just long enough to do a few laps and suck down a beer out front.
I just looked out the window and it's starting to snow. The C's start in 3 minutes. Poor fuckers. Im'a get another cup of coffee and hang out with The Lads.
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