Friday, February 10, 2006

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like...
The bicycle I ordered online arrived this week. It's pretty, but I haven't been able to ride it yet because it is still in pieces. To be fair, the product description did say "Minor assembly is required before the bike can be used." However, it did not say "Arrives in 20 separate parts, does not include tools for oddly-sized allen wrench screws, and comes with an instruction book for a different bike."

On Wednesday, I spent two hours trying to decipher the instructions, another hour screwing the back fender on with my fingers and a pair of pliers, and gave up when I gave myself a forehead contusion after the frame fell on me for the 10th time. Last night, Erin came over because she owns more than one screwdriver (actually, she owns a POWER DRILL) and she's smart with the puttin' stuff together. I ordered pizza (thin crust grilled chicken) and she got to work on my wheels. In brief, it went something like this:

Me: Here, let me hold that while you...
Erin: Get away.
Me: I think that part goes there.
Erin: Get away from the f*cking bike.

Once she knew I would stay put on the couch, she power drilled, wrenched, cursed, chanted, and beat it into submission until it more closely resembled the bike in the photo. But without handlebars.

Erin: Is the seat the right height? Try it out.
Me: Um, there are no handlebars.
Erin: You don't need handlebars. Please shut up and sit on your damn trikey for JUST A MINUTE so I can tighten the seat bolt-y things.

As I attempt to sit astride the bike, the seat flips up and violates me in a very personal way.

Me: I need an adult! I need an adult!
Erin: Get away from the f*cking bike.

And then Dancing With the Stars came on and Erin said we all had to shut up because George Hamilton was all "blah blah blah I dance like a corpse" and Lisa Rinna was all "blah blahdebah my giant lips." Michael demonstrated his very satisfactory Paso Doble and Erin reminded us that a Pan Pacific Champion becomes a hero, a guiding light to all dancers, and that we should shut up because the commercial is over.

So my new trikey is ALMOST ready to be outfitted with a basket, bell, and handlebar streamers for added riding thrills. It just needs a visit to a bike shop where people who have special tools for that sort of thing live. Unless YOU want to come over and try.


  1. Wait. You bought a bike from Chrysler? I wouldn't even buy a car from them, and that's what they're (sort of) known for.

    Why didn't you just go to a store and buy one already made?

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  3. Because she likes me to show off my proficiency with power tools. I'm really handy with things that have the potential to destroy.

    It was the BOGO POGO, Kelly! Not the Paso Doble! You are not an honorary Aussie ballroom dancer, that's for sure. Although, the way Michael demonstrated it, I can understand how you might not be able to tell the difference.

    Man dances like a wombat.

  4. OK, there's a whole story about the bike, involving my moral dilemma about shopping at Wal Mart (where the original one I wanted was). Erin found the PT Cruiser bike for me on Amazon and it looked a lot like the Huffy one I wanted, plus had free shipping and a free pump. And it has FLAMES. Flames! I wouldn't buy a car from them either, but my new trikey is so damn cool.
    And I didn't have to shop at Wal Mart!


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