I rode my bike to school and back today, seemingly in a headwind both ways. (and uphill) (and barefoot, in knee deep snow) Instead of carrying my bag with all of my stuff that I don’t need for the day I just stuck my wallet, cell phone, mp3 player, and a handful of other necessities into an extra cloth lunchbag that I had lying around and strapped that to the rack on my bike. Not having a bulky backpack stapped to me was great, whether I was barreling down Johnson (into the wind) or cuising idly down 15th (also into the wind), but when I got to Coffman I came to the realization that my lunchbag was very similar in form and function to a purse. Fucking great. At least it matched my shoes.
This does add to my surety that I need to get panniers for my bike. Even if I move to Anoka I will probably drive to the Keathly’s house and bike the last four miles, just to avoid dealing with parking and keep myself in some sort of shape that is longer than it is wide. Taller, I mean. But, to move to Anoka I need to fix my car, so it’s a good thing that I received a sparkly new credit card in the mail today. No shit, it has fucking stripper dust embedded in its evil plastic surface.
How far can I bike?
It looks like almost 24 miles round trip to Hiawatha Cyclery, which is 16 miles more than riding to work and back. I need bar tape and some service — I have a loose spoke or two and my front shifter needs some adjustments which I am obviously too lazy to do. I have to find the other glove that I have been missing since I got back from New York. Panniers! I spent the whole ride to school imagining a waterproof hard sided pannier big enough to stick my laptop and expensive algorithms book into. Every time I pick up my back pack I think about them. It’s fucking ridiculous, especially since in a few weeks I will be engineering a flight to the suburbs.
I’m babysitting Noah tonight, or rather I was babysitting him until he started snoring. IT’s funny how when you’re three the sound of someone counting can be a lullaby. I made it to seventy by twos and then thirty by ones before he started his unconscious impression of his father’s nighttime sounds. I left the room as quietly as I could and the house was so still. I kind of wished that I could have stayed in Noah’s room, where the aquarium reached every corner with its gurgling bubbles and shining light.
If I really wanted, I could go onto IRC and find one of my lab partners, who apparently has nothing better to do tonight than work on the terrible blackjack program that we are collectively squeezing out of our anuses, but I think that I will find some movie that I haven’t watched and curl up with it and a large blanket in the living room. After all, Noah might wake up and want cookies or something, and I should be ready.