I had some great stuff to share today, but instead I'll tell a different story.
On Wednesday, my mountain bike was stolen from me. It was cable locked to the patio outside the restaurant that I work at each morning during the week. The bike was a gift from Sharon and I'd had it for about a year. I rode it on trails in Winter Park and over some supremely wicked slickrock just outside of Moab. It was a great bike.
Today I borrowed Sharon's mountain bike to get to work. I stored her bike inside the restaurant, downstairs in a stairwell, just a ways from where the pastry chefs work. After work, I rode Sharon's bike over to the Denver police department to file a report on my bike. I locked Sharon's bike to the bike rack outside the department and went inside to fill out the paper work. When I came back outside, less than twenty minutes later, Sharon's bike was gone. Irony.
I'm home now, looking for the serial number for her bike so I can go and make another report.
Have a good weekend, and Godspeed, John Glenn,
Dave
