This past weekend I made the hour drive down to Santa Clara to visit my beautiful mother and spend some time with friends. Whenever I drive down 280 from SF I make sure to watch the temperature displayed in the center of the gauge cluster, it has turned into a game of sorts for me to watch the crazy spike in heat as I leave the perfect 60’s and overcast City. After finally arriving at my friends house in Santa Clara, I slumped down on his couch and came to terms that I willfully went from 58 to 89 degrees Fahrenheit. Mistakes were made, but not all hope was lost. Collin’s house is equipped with that fancy Nest thermostat technology, usually found in the homes of Los Altos or Palo Alto families. Seldom is AC used this side of Foothill Expressway so it is clear that his family made it big.
What I thought would be a heat-stricken weekend turned out to be a luxurious temperature controlled fantasy. Never once did I break a sweat inside the house– a phenomenon I had no idea was possible due to my AC-less upbringing.
For unannounced reasons we shall be skipping a generous amount of story line
*insert whatever else you think we did this weekend here
Public/free transportation rules supreme in SF and I wanted a way to tap into that savings without having to walk exorbitant distances all the time. On Sunday, I solicited the help of Collin to aid in the resurrection of my fallen bicycle. We drove the 30 seconds (2 blocks west) to my childhood house and assessed the bike for things that we would need for the restoration. I hadn’t been in a bike shop for 4 ish years until yesterday when I found myself overwhelmed with nostalgia. During our early teen years me, Shane, and Collin used to “mob” around Santa Clara and surrounding cities on our bmx bikes. In all transparency, we thought we were hot shit. There’s nothing more obnoxious than a 13 year old boy on any kind of bike, scooter, or skateboard. At this stage in life snapback hats, Nike crew socks, basketball shorts with graphic T’s, and “Damn Daniel” white vans were all the rage. I am living proof we all can change. Remind me to go in depth into the bmx days at some point and tell y’all about how Franky asked us to join his gang.
When we got back from the shop we realized that we needed a chain breaker and new rear tire on top of the two tubes, grips, and chain that I had already purchased. We hopped back into the car and set off to get the rest of the supplies. Two specialty bike shops and a target later we finally had the bike in “operating” condition. We removed the front tire and flandengled the bike’s way into the back seat of my three series.
Today is now Monday, a day after the bike restoration. I woke up at 6:30 and tidied up my apartment until 7. After taking a shot of apple cider vinegar with agave and water, I made my way down the three flights of stairs to my garage, assembled the front wheel to the frame, and walked my bike out the two front doors of the building. Three blocks into my ride the chain fell off. No big deal, I am used to this. All you have to do to reset the chain is a lined the rear sprocket with the chain and fit as much chain on the front sprocket as possible, pedal forward and click, clack, clank, we’re back in business. I ended up resetting the chain upwards of 10 times before I finally came to terms with my chain being a few links long. What I thought was going to be an exhilarating morning ride down Ocean Beach and through Golden Gate Park with Amine and Mac Aryes in ear, quickly turned into three shaky pedals out of my apartment building and a walk of shame back with my dysfunctional bike by my side.
I ended up running down Geary instead :/
Hope your day has a better start.