He rode his forty-one-year-old
ten-speed for the first time since
the previous fall. All went well

except for a little rubbing sound
every couple of wheel rotations.
He took the bike to the bike shop

and they found the trouble, fixed
it and took off his peddles with
toe clips for rat traps, at his re-

quest, so he could get his feet
off the peddles fast in case he
needed to which he needed to

more and more often. He is mak-
ing adjustments in order to stay
on the bike instead of settling

for one of those crank forward
models with a female (easy step-in)
frame or a three-wheel recumbent.

At least he still has the randonneur
(French for drop handlebars, a name
he uses because it makes him sound

like he knows what he is talking
about.) handlebars which make it
look like he is a serious cycl-

ist even if it is really hard on
his neck anymore and even if he
rarely exceeds fifteen-miles-per-

hour on a mild descent let alone
on a flat, straight away where
twelve-miles-per-hour is kickin’.