This is the week when everyone needs their bike repaired immediately. I should have left for work an hour ago. At one time I would have.
We're also expecting a dozen French-fried rental bikes to come back. They tore a derailleur off within the first day or two. Steve made a pickup and delivery run to "the compound." Assured that the security detail on the gate had been told to expect him, he drove confidently down. Of course the guards had heard nothing.
Can you say "homeland security?"
One cavity search later...not really. But I'm sure the dump truck full of rental bikes will pull in at an inopportune time.
And now I really must go.