It's official, I am a writter

Alright ya'll, this is the premier of my column, Customer Service, in Embrocation Cycling Journal. Finally, an excuse to be even more ridiculous. My dream come true.

Trace Evidence

By: Customer Service Jun 14, 05:19 AM

This is my third season as a mechanic at a local bike shop and at this point I don’t ask as many questions as I used to. Do I pound out the headset cups out of the frame with a hammer and a screwdriver? No, there’s a tool for that. Do I feed the derailleur cable through the little hole on the Grip Shift and it will just guide itself through? I wish, you have to take the whole damn thing apart. However, I do think some questions will remain forever unanswered. Whose hair is this? When I take in a hub adjustment or a wheel true I often notice hair wrapped around the cone and axel. I hear about people riding through glass all the time, but I’ve never heard… “I was just riding, not really paying attention and right before I could turn out of the way I rode through a giant pile of hair”. It’s rarely one long strand wrapped around several times although I do see that from time to time. It’s usually many. Let’s say clumps. Sometimes, depending on the severity of the pile, it’s on both sides of the axle and it’s this little scenario that gets me to thinking. Okay, the guy who brought the bike in is a brunette with a crew cut, but the hair on the hub is red. Since the hair in questions doesn’t match the hair on his head I can rule out the possibility of it being the bike’s owners. Is this evidence of foul play? I can see it now….

Duane (that’s what we’ll call the brunette) is a misunderstood fellow who gets the short end of the stick on the daily. His neighbors would describe him as “quiet and keeps to himself”. He was always picked last for teams. He went to the prom with his cousin Tina. One rainy day, while doing some CAT 2 commuting to his job at the post office, a Land Rover turns in front of him almost bringing our protagonist to his untimely demise. Duane’s life flashed before his eyes. Memories of his home-made clothes and haircuts, the countless hours of hammering nails into a big block of wood, and spending time with his only friend, Socky the sock puppet, were suddenly so vivid and tangible.

Read the rest HERE