Footloose in Fredericksburg

I may have mentioned the weather was a tad mucky the last couple of days. Yesterday afternoon Seb complained of a whining sound coming from his bike (no... too easy). I assumed an air of parental confidence, dismounted, and took a look at the problem. When it comes to bikes, when I say "I took a look at the problem", it's a lot like if I were passing the O.R. and, hearing a surgeon ask another surgeon to tell him what he thinks of this unusual mass, pushing through the double doors and saying "Let me take a look"; Clueless cast as Competent.

There was a mucky, kinda grindy sound- I don't want to get too technical on you - coming from the rear wheel. Ish. There was definitely no sound when the wheel wasn't turning, so we eliminated that right off the bat. Then we did what non-technical men have done since the beginning of time, since the perplexing and dazzling invention of the wheel, since development plans for genetic programming of the male homo sapiens were shelved on the sixth day - we ignored the sound and carried on.

Arriving at Hill Country Bikes in Fredericksburg late yesterday afternoon, the sound, as all sounds do when confronted by authority, wouldn't sound. "Honest!" we said, "It was making this weird, meshy noise. We're Canadian. We don't lie, eh? Sorry."

Well, the sound didn't sound, but right now we're sitting at McDonald's while they replace the chain, the cassette, and the middle ring on the front sprocket. We're Canadian. We're trusting too. They said terrible things were going to happen, and as a person for whom terrible can be summed up with disturbing ease, I said "Please make it better." So they will, maybe, even if it was all in their heads.