There it hangs. Waiting for me. At my son’s house.
A road bike.
“Why,” you ask? Well, first of all, he’s a mountain bike guy living in a place where there are hundreds of miles of paved trails and roads just tailor made for this narrow tired bike.
But he’s an off-road guy. So the carbon Trek waits for me.
Regular readers of the blog know I’m more of a bike packer or fat-tire bike guy myself. Yet how can I resist?
From his home in Santa Rosa I can reach Petaluma or Sebastopol with ease. So it’s there if I want to take that on again.
Someday.
Relentless
