Here Today, Gone Tomorrow, Back Again on Thursday
 

I meant to introduce myself earlier, but... circumstances intervened. I finally took the plunge and bought a brand new Gary Fisher Nirvana hybrid to replace my faithful 12-year-old GT Outpost MTB ("Home of the Saddle Sore," as I affectionately call it) that got me through grad school and stayed with me for ten years and a couple thousand road miles thereafter. Then, less than a day after I got the Nirvana, it was stolen. Then, about three days later, the police officer who took my report called and said it had turned up at a pawn shop in a neighboring town. It was missing the clipless pedals I'd bought for it and a couple of items out of the repair kit, but otherwise you'd never know it had been gone. The guy at the bike shop said that in 15 years of working with bikes he'd never heard of a stolen one being recovered by the police in perfect condition in less than a week. (It's nice to have it back, but it was covered by my insurance and I hadn't exactly developed a sentimental attachment to it yet, so I'm mostly just happy that they caught the SOB. I feel a bit like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction when his car got keyed: it'd be worth having it happen if I could just catch the guy doing it.)

So now that the drama has subsided a bit, here I am: a 34-year-old fair-to-middling cyclist in Redmond, Washington who's currently nursing a pair of sore quadriceps from these bizarre new clipless pedals that I'm trying to get used to. If you're ever on the Sammamish River Trail you've probably seen me, because I'm out there all the time. Good to meet y'all.

Paul