There's Got To Be A Morning After

The Next Day. I Think.

Sometimes I get religious. Early the next morning around sun rise I was awakened by passionate kisses and a terminal hangover. I was lying on a hard surface. There were birds singing and I could hear the heavy traffic on Highway One as those people who still have jobs drove themselves to work. Before I opened my eyes I knew it would be a bad one. So I got religious and said a prayer.

“God, if you'll just stop this pounding and make the world stop rocking up and down I promise...” You know. The usual prayer. There are no atheists in the foxhole of a hangover.

Irresponsible People Are Mean

The passionate kisses were courtesy of my trailer-mate Miss Daisy the Yellow Dog. The hard surface was the front porch of my trailer. At least I had made it home. But my evil plan had worked and I was successful at prying the inner secrets of foreclosed home salvage out of that rascally Mayor. I think. I can't remember. For some reason I was covered in wet sandy dirt and I had a knot on my forehead. What the hell happened? What kind of irresponsible monsters would leave an entire home bar stocked with whiskey and vodka and tequila and so on just lying around for some innocent person to stumble across? There should be a law.

If You Were Paying Me I Would Have To Give You A Refund

I wasn't too worried about what had transpired the night before. Here at Whispering Pines news travels fast and as the day unfolded there would be various neighbors who would come by to variously and vociferously praise or condemn my actions of the previous evening. (Not unlike the comments section on a popular Blog.) ) I am confused as to how I had forgotten that Bobby the Mayor didn't drink and only kept that dreadful free booze stash for the enjoyment of his friends (of which company I was doubtless no longer a member). I just noticed that the ends of my shoelaces are burned off. But what the hell, starting a new business is not for the timid or the meek and I never met a hangover a long bike ride can't cure. But typing and thinking right now are just strenuous as hell. To the showers, then. I'll try to be more better tomorrow.  Here are two photos as feeble consolation.

This isn't the Whispering Pines,  but I wish it was.  I like to show this photo for laughs,  but close perusal will reveal that whoever put this place together had a fine understanding of craft.  For all my apparent butchery of bicycles,  those who stay with me here at Trailer Park Cyclist will soon learn that I too appreciate a Job Well Done and that this blog is at its core a story of how I have been clumsily searching for ways to do just that:  a good job.  Once a cyclist begins to really put on some miles,  bike maintenance becomes a simple fact of life.

Reading about cycling and bike repair makes it seem that everyone rides shiny new bikes and that every Local Bike Shop is a fantastic place where all you have to do is walk through the doors and all life's problems are solved.  Well,  that certainly has not been my experience,  as the stories I tell on these pages reveal.  What I am doing here is dragging my loyal readers (if there are any) down the painful road of Discovery and Learning along with me.

And as anyone who has found themselves traveling a painful road knows all to well,  it can be lonely and disheartening,  but by plugging away and keeping a sturdy sense of humor everything will be alright.

I don't know what this is but it seems both cycling and trailer related so I threw it in here.  See...even hangovers can be fun!

Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Bicycle Emporium

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