I traded in tires today.
Not the spare around my middle (more's the pity) but the punctured front tire on my bike that suddenly deflated this morning as I made my way around Central Park.
I was victimized once again by some random shard of glass.
But there's good news. Once I figured out why my front wheel was so darned heavy and hard to turn, I hoped off and trudged the 10 or so blocks to the nearest bike store. Along the way I passed a Food Emporium, and that's the sole carrier of a certain type of yogurt that just this morning the BF asked me to buy if I should happen to see some.
Snagged his fat-free organic blueberry, and a vanilla for me.
Then on to the bike store, where I proceeded to drop a ridiculous amount of cash for a brand-new snazzy white-n-blue helmet with a sun visor attached, thank you very much Mr. Dermatologist for putting the fear of God in me re: the sun's hazardous rays.
And some new pinhead locks for tires and seat, because the previous set had to be pulled off so we could change tires. And they had to be pulled off because I had lost the key, and failed to register it when I bought it, so no free replacement could be sent to me (I have already registered my brand new set).
That set me back close to $200, so I figured what the hell -- go in for another $24.99 and get the little odometer you've always wanted. Now, it's not as cool as Bitchcakes' odometer, that's for sure. I cannot for the life of me figure out how she can get around in those fab outfits.
But her recent adventures have inspired me to get to 40 miles a day biking (well, maybe on weekends). So I need to start tracking my travels.
There's nothing like spending money you don't have to make yourself feel better about everything. That, and a brisk bike ride around a gorgeous park in glowing fall sunshine. Ahhhh...sweet it is to be alive.
Along the way I stopped by my fave hangout, the Central Park tennis courts. Before the meniscus tear last year, I was loving my tennis lessons with my fab coach Stevie. I am very ready to pick it up again.
The coolest thing about the CP courts is the diversity of ages, levels and competitiveness. It's often the older folks who play with the most spunk, I've observed.
Yesterday I watched a foursome of 60+ guys shuffle after every fair ball, vehemently argue every suspect call and even climb over the net to check line marks. They played with intensity.
They made my day.
Today was even better: I saw an elderly couple who had to be every bit of 90. She was soooo stooped by osteo, and terribly fragile looking. He was practically bent in half. I mean, he could not even fully raise his head.
But by God, they were there to play. And when they hit to each other, watch out, because they sliced it low and mean. They knew how to put spin on the ball. They were making each other work -- even though neither of them could even dream of chasing down a ball. But if it came within their reach, they were going to send it back with real gusto. At one point, as the lady came to the net to slooooowwwly and creakily retrieve a ball, I heard the husband reminding her to bend her knees when hitting a backhand!
Let's all hope we'll be there someday, sucking the joy out of life until the very last breath! I couldn't catch them on my crappy mobile phone camera, but I did take a few pics of my new odometer, my bike and the tennis courts. I think I'm going to have to start carrying around an actual camera.
Anyway, Central Park Tennis Courts and my bike, and my bike shop. Enjoy!
That's my bike in front. Blue Cannondale. It is a sweet ride.
This guy was getting angry at his partner, or maybe he's just a cranky player in general.
A closer look at my blue bomber.
Kind of fuzzy, but if you look you can see the 7.8 miles registered there. I'd actually already done about 6, but zeroed it out before returning to the park because I wanted to see how long the loop is.
Hard to really see this one, but it's the bike shop guys, doing their magic on my bike.
January 15th, 2018 A Different Story
14 hours ago