Not the NCAA one, although I’ve technically filled out a bracket for that. I had no idea what I was doing, even if a friend informed me that he had his money on my being the dark horse NCAA bracket champion. Needless to say, I’m currently ranked DFL.
March has been hectic though. While I was dragging my feet, trying not to think about a bike I own but couldn’t ride, hubs and rims arrived, spokes were laced, and a wheelset was complete. The list of things I need to get this bike ride-able was becoming shorter and shorter. The picture of the frameset that’s been sitting pretty as my desktop background is no longer recognizable. For some reason, this month has been a whirlwind of activity.
Screams of excitement have gotten louder and less shameful, jumping up and down in happiness in front of normal customers are currently a given at IBC, as is my perpetual expression of surprise whenever I walk in. But there was also the arrival of a pair of Champ grips from Georgia, and yesterday I even found myself in the library, staring at a friend from school…who showed up to my carrel with helmet in hand…and in spandex.
After which I couldn’t concentrate and restlessly read the rest of my assignment before flying out of school and down to IBC yet again, but this time with some extra goodies in my bag. I got to watch Erich install the Champs onto the pretty track drops Eric gave me [even though I offered to pay for them!]. The installation made some interesting noises which alternated between squealing and farting. Air was involved. As well as neon green gloves.
Erich, being an anal perfectionist [let's continue the dirty innuendos, shall we?], even turned the grips so that the arrows were perfectly aligned with the curve of the bars. Knowing full well that those grips won’t retain their white-ness for very long, I still couldn’t keep my hands off of them.
The My bike was hung up on one of the stands as the two Eric[h]s, Dan, Marcus, and Jeremy handled the constant flow of customers that poured in, and I just stood there, admiring it. A few people even asked me whose bike it was, and I got to practice my gloating [I'm working on it, Marcus!].
I even got to ride it. But that’s for another day. For now, I’m off to train for this ridiculous idea of a fixed century. On the tractorino, of course.