I still did not have a name for this specific bike, so for now it was like Clint Eastwood in Sergio Leone's spaghetti westerns, a bike with no name. The bike rode very well, the Norex leather seat providing a comfortable perch. The forward posture was not too bad, and the machine easily negotiated the beveled curbs and intersections as I jinked onto and off of the sidewalks.
I wound through the chunks of concrete and glass on the streets looking for backdrops to photograph the bike. I found myself glancing over at the store fronts as I glided past, asking myself the eternal older bicyclist question........ "Do I look stupid in this helmet on this bike?" I decided I didn't look too stupid, and after all who cares, right? I took a picture.
As I was cruising the concrete de France, my trance was interrupted by a loud tink, then another.....Tink! I stopped and examined the rear wheel.
Damn. I broke two spokes. Double damn. At least they were opposite and not beside one another. I unlaced and removed them from the hub. Not a big catastrophe, and not an uncommon occurrence when using old spokes to lace in a new hub. But still, it meant I would have to gingerly ride the bike back home, being careful to not bash the rear wheel around.
The good part, of course, is that it occurred when it did, and I get to ride the bike to the local bike shop and road bike weight wiener facility to purchase a lowly two spokes. I can't wait till they open........
The Rest of the Story.......