Picasso had his Blue Period. Now I’m having mine. OK, so that probably leaves the vast majority of you scratching your heads, wondering (for the umpteenth time) what the heck I am talking about. As usual, please allow me to explain my silly ol’ self.
Once upon a time, I was riding shotgun in a Santa-Cruz-bound Lamborghini Spyder with the top down as the driver, a dashing Brit, tried to convince me that in this world there are blue jobs and pink jobs and that the blue jobs should be left to the “blues” and the pink jobs should be left to the “pinks”. (As usual–this is a fairly long story that I won’t further explain. Suffice it to say that years later the Brit would take a—kid you not—mail-order bride. For those of you who have somehow escaped the world of baby showers, I will, however, explain what to me seems painfully obvious: “blue” = boy and “pink” = girl.)
Now, I fancy myself a pretty liberated chick, yes I do. (In fact, more than one man in my neighborhood has commented that the exuberant yard work schedule this single mom maintains makes the husbands of the neighborhood look like slackers.) But after taking a long, hard, multi-year look in the mirror I must confess: there have been a few tasks that I have deemed “blue” and abdicated to whatever male had the misfortune of being in my life at that time. One such task: the changing of bike tires. You boys seem to enjoy changing bike tires for us girls, so, really, I have enjoyed making you happy.
Now, however, I find myself in a double quandry: not only am I staring down the barrel of a season chock full of tris, I am doing this barrel-staring as a very single (perpetually single, in fact) woman. Unless it’s related to me, there ain’t a stitch of blue in my life.
And so today, I began my very own Blue Period. Yes, folks, I changed my bike tire. Almost entirely by my little ol’ self. It took well over two hours and two trips to my new favorite bike shop for encouragement-guidance-support-cheerleading from Doug Gold, the super-awesome owner of Assabet River Bicycles, but I freaking did it thankyouveddymuch. Truth be told, I am nearly as proud of this almost-sub-two-hour tire change as I am of my almost-sub-four-hour Boston Marathon.
Here are the pix for proof:
So we won’t know for sure whether this zany experiment actually worked til tomorrow’s 1.5 hour ride…those of you who happen to live on my ride route, don’t be surprised if I pull in with a flat and ask for a ride home. But I’m trying, folks! I *am* trying!
Enjoy what remains of the day. Here’s hoping your tires are fully inflated and professionally installed.
Truly blu-ly yours,