I sit here, patiently for a new 9:ZERO:7 frame to arrive. My trusty carbon bike has lasted through a plethora of summer and winter races. Has brought me all the fame, money, and glory there is to garnish from succeeding in my winter ultra goals last year. I threw a Bluto on it this summer, rode it hard, and put it it away wet without a wimper. Alas, my fork mounted roof rack was not as tough. At 75 mph I heard my bike dislodge from it's rooftop perch on my car, then watched as it somersaulted down the Interstate. THAT was the one thing that could kill my bike.
So know I train for this winter's fun events and my clapped out beater bike. A bike that has been abused for far too many years. A bike that has been broken, rewelded, repainted, had the parts stripped off, and had inferior parts installed. Outfitted with some Bike Bag Dude bags, I put in the hours, looking out the window for brown santa.
And since everyone likes a picture, one of the family from this summer.
Gravel History With Guitar Ted; Night Nonsense
3 hours ago