I had a dream where a rookie was trying to sell a bike on craigslist and the only reason it got a small sliver of my attention was he claimed it was 57cm. I took a closer look at what appeared to be about a 48cm frame…
And so I wake in the morning
And I step outside
And I take a deep breath and I get real high
And I scream from the top of my lungs
"What's going on?"
What the fuck rookie? I said the only thing approaching 57cm on that cute little frame is the downtube. And he said it’s not my problem and I should worry about my own problems then he proceeded to insult me about my advanced age and other random things that I couldn’t really hear as he whined and mumbled beneath his facemask.
what does any of that have to do with a fun loving cheap beer drinking photo of Foster & Sundt circa 2006?
the same as anything has to do with anything.