a story about my front tire

See, I’m not always the most alert person, and in a way, that’s one of the things I love about riding in the city: You have to be alert. Perhaps you don’t have to be, but in the long run, it pays to be alert.

I caught a drink with some friends this evening in Westwood: One pint later, I got on my bike, found my way onto Lindbrook, followed another biker south onto Selby and then made my way down to Santa Monica Blvd. by way of Manning. Not ideal by any means, but a bit nicer than trying to navigate Westwood in rush hour on something of an empty stomach. I say all this because as I was cruising down Manning in the dark, I heard a weird noise from my front tire. Turning onto Santa Monica, I looked down and saw some strip of paper where there had been no strip of paper.

Strange, thought I.

It was a couple blocks before I hit a light long enough to pull the paper out, but when I did, I found a cryptic note: steelhorsela.blogspot.com come ride! Finished the ride home, looked the site up, realized I locked my bike up next to this one this morning. Mystery note solved.

Moral of the story: Bikes are better than cars because if you hear something wrong, you can usually see what’s wrong. And if you can see what’s wrong with your car, it’s probably so bad that you probably shouldn’t be messing with it anyways.

And what I said last night about drivers in Beverly Hills? I take it back. Maybe being in that city makes people stupid. (Though I should probably know better than to tailgate in stop and go traffic.)

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