Just for fun...

Everything was wrong with that abused bike. She sheared the motor mount, so the motor shifted, disconnecting the battery. Here is the rear pad. Is it funny or horrific? Someone turned all the derailleur adjustment screws in all the way, so they were locked down tight.
1678044294756.jpeg
 
Have I ever posted that?

A COTTAGE IN THE BESKIDS
One of the oldest stories of the Polish internet.

2nd of August
We moved to our new home in the Beskids. God it's beautiful here. The trees around look so majestic. I can't wait to see them covered in snow.

4th of October
The Beskids are the most beautiful place on earth! All the leaves have changed colours to shades of orange and red. Went for a drive around the neighbourhood and saw some deer. How wonderful and stately, I'm sure they are the most beautiful animals in the world. It's like paradise here. God! How I like it here.

11th of November
Last night it finally snowed. I woke up, and outside the window everything was covered with a white, wonderful quilt. Wonderful view. Like a Christmas postcard. The whole family went outside. We cleared the snow from the stairs and shovelled the access road to our beautiful cottage. Later we had a great time - a snow-ball fight (of course I won). Then a snow plough came and covered what we had cleared earlier, so we had to clear the driveway again. Great sports. I love the Beskids.

12th of December
It snowed again last night. I shovelled the road, and the snowplough again repeated the prank about covering the access road. I just love this place.

19th of December
More snow fell last night. Due to the impassable access road, I could not go to work. I'm completely exhausted from the constant snowfall. Plus, the fucking plough is running all the time.

22nd of December
Last night there was even more of that white s*it. I have shovel blisters all over my hands. I'm sure the snow plough's waiting around the corner to move as soon as I'm done clearing the driveway – bastard!

25th of December
Merry Fucking Christmas!!! Even more of that white shitty snow was falling. If I ever get my hands on that snow plough motherfucker, I swear I'll kill the bastard. I don't understand why they don't salt the road like in the city to melt the cold, slippery s*it.

27th of December
Again that white s*it fell in the night. I haven't been out of the house for three days, except, of course, clearing the fucking driveway every time the snowplough goes by. I can't get anywhere. The car is buried under a huge mountain of white manure. In addition, the television meteorologist had predicted twenty-five centimetres of further snowfall that night. You can imagine how many shovels full of snow it is.

28th of December
The fucking meteorologist was wrong! Eighty-five centimetres of that white s*it fell. f*ck - now it won't melt even until July. The snow plough luckily got stuck in a snowdrift, and that dick came over to borrow a shovel. I thought I was going to kill him right away, but first I told him that I had already broken six shovels while shovelling snow, and then I smashed the seventh and last one against his mountaineer’s block-head.

4th of January
I finally got out of the house somehow. I went to the store to buy something to eat and drink. On my way back, a deer jumped in front of my car. That fucking beast with the horns did a three thousand damage to me. For a moment it crossed my mind that he must be in cahoots with that plough c*nt. They should shoot those motherfucking deer out. That the hunters didn't blow everyone up in the season either!

3rd of May
Only today I was able to take the car to the workshop in the city. You won't believe how rusty it got from all the fucking salt they put on the road. There was a snow plough parked in the driveway, washed and shiny with a new driver. The old one is supposedly still healing his smashed head. Fortunately, he lost his memory from the impact, because otherwise I would have gone to jail for that bastard.

18th of May
I sold that rotten hovel in the Beskids to some bloated intellectual from the city. He said that he dreamed about it all his life and collected money to rest in retirement. And this stupid c*nt will be surprised when the winter comes and the other bastard leaves the hospital. I moved back to my beloved and charming city. I can't imagine how someone with even a little of brain and common sense could live in some snow buried and frozen shithole in the Beskids.

Dedicated to all Canadians, and especially to @JGcycle :)
 
Last edited:
PedalUma said:
My dad said to pretend it is hot coffee on the dash. Bike folks may be amused or amazed. This one just came in without ring bolts! The brakes don't work and I can see rust. How did she even ride it?
View attachment 148400
Click to expand...
One of these ring bolts which will not stay tight on my 1973 (ish) Raleigh Competition. It's been giving me trouble for a little while now... I'd say since about 1978 or 1979... but I never got around to fixing it, and now have no idea how I'd find the part. It's like a hollow screw threaded on the outside.

Each time I get the bike tuned up, it's okay for six months, a year, 18 months. But then the bolt starts to work loose.

Riding through Central Park at night in 2021, I suddenly heard the ghastly bit familiar sound-- a metallic clicking every time the crank rotated as the bolt scraped the rear fork. I knew instantly what the problem was... it had been a while, the bike probably hadn't been ridden in 30 years.

I did have a few tools-- leatherman type thing-- but none that would work. So I walked into the woods, got on my hands and knees with the headlight detached, and searched for a twig that was exactly the right size-- you can only get purchase on the bolt from the inside, so I jammed the twig inside until it was tight, and rotated the bolt until it was finger tight. Which I knew was good for only a mile or so.

Back at my old apartment, I had some duct tape I'd used to patch my guitar case, and that is what I use to hold the bolt in place-- just a small piece on the inside of the crank. I'm glad you reminded me, because I'm sure I'll be back in New York in a few months, and I will need to replace the tape, because THAT fails about once every 18 months.
 
Fact check this. A couple is on trial in Spain for stealing $1.7 in wine. They took 45 bottles. That puts the average price at almost $38,000 per bottle. No one has found the wine. I wonder if it ended up at a toga party.
1678220165704.png
 
We put in an application to participate in the 2023 Butter & Eggs Day parade with 50 riders. Last year was so much fun. It goes back to the town's agricultural roots.
From our application:

How it fits this year's "There's now place like home" theme: "There's no better way to make our home (Petaluma, planet Earth) better than to leave your car behind. Listen to our birds, smell the dairy air, and travel cleanly, quietly wherever and whenever you need to go."

"smell the dairy air."
 
PedalUma said:
We put in an application to participate in the 2023 Butter & Eggs Day parade with 50 riders. Last year was so much fun. It goes back to the town's agricultural roots.
From our application:

How it fits this year's "There's now place like home" theme: "There's no better way to make our home (Petaluma, planet Earth) better than to leave your car behind. Listen to our birds, smell the dairy air, and travel cleanly, quietly wherever and whenever you need to go."

⁹ air."
Click to expand...
"Smell the dairy air" around here usually refers to the week or two when the fields get manured in the Spring.
 
PedalUma said:
We put in an application to participate in the 2023 Butter & Eggs Day parade with 50 riders. Last year was so much fun. It goes back to the town's agricultural roots.
From our application:

How it fits this year's "There's now place like home" theme: "There's no better way to make our home (Petaluma, planet Earth) better than to leave your car behind. Listen to our birds, smell the dairy air, and travel cleanly, quietly wherever and whenever you need to go."

"smell the dairy air."
Click to expand...
My dog feels differently, but I've always had a general policy against smelling dairy airs. Perhaps I should reconsider.
 
PedalUma said:
We put in an application to participate in the 2023 Butter & Eggs Day parade with 50 riders. Last year was so much fun. It goes back to the town's agricultural roots.
From our application:

How it fits this year's "There's now place like home" theme: "There's no better way to make our home (Petaluma, planet Earth) better than to leave your car behind. Listen to our birds, smell the dairy air, and travel cleanly, quietly wherever and whenever you need to go."

"smell the dairy air."
Click to expand...
I ASSumed since being released from prison that you were done with that 🤣🤣🤣
 
PedalUma said:
It was Reform School. Yes, this is exactly what it was like the whole time, I was the only dude and was abused by all of them all day and night. Then the visiting Brazilian woman's volleyball team abducted me while I had a flat and did the same thing for 72-hours.
Click to expand...
Now I know how you got the prison nickname.. The Hose 👍
 
I had a sister going by Greyhound in the 70's from Art School in SF to home in NY. She had packed dense nutritious food for the ride. But the mere act of opening a can of sardines caused a riot.
 
The very worst is worms. My friends Rob and Beany collected worms for fishing from the playground before spring break, but it got left in the coat closet sealed in glass until the end of the term. Mr. Ponting opened the jar on the last day of school and the building had to be evacuated due to 'liquified worms.' It is the worst smell. We made it several times after. Even attacking a mobile library. Rob had a yellow Sting Ray with a sick shift. I had a ten-speed that I thrashed on jumps. Beany had a do it all bike.
 
During her physical examination, a doctor asked a retired woman about her physical activity level. The woman said she spent 3 days a week, every week in the outdoors.

"Well, yesterday afternoon was typical; I took a five hour walk about 7 miles through some pretty rough terrain. I waded along the edge of a lake. I pushed my way through 2 miles of brambles. I got sand in my shoes and my eyes. I barely avoided stepping on a snake. I climbed several rocky hills. I went to the bathroom behind some big trees. I ran away from an irate mother bear and then ran away from one angry bull Elk. The mental stress of it all left me shattered. At the end of it all I drank a scotch and three glasses of wine."

Amazed by the story, the doctor said, "You must be one hell of an outdoor woman!"

"No," the woman replied, "I'm just a really, really horrible golfer"
 
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