Now you're probably thinking what a massive and impressive brute I've surely become thanks to all the sort-of workout work I've done in our ad-hoc, downstairs gymnasium/exercise area. And I'd love you to believe that, too. But I have to admit, it's more like when I put the new chain on last year and didn't have the correct, purpose-built tool for putting the pin in the master link and was just too damned lazy/embarrassed to go BACK to the bike shop and admit I didn't know what the hell I was doing. So I kinda more-or-less forced/hashed/weaseled/improvised a Rube Goldberg-ish apparatus to get the job done...

And let's just say that the fix lasted something like 900 or 1000 miles before it went "kaflooey." So it wasn't a total failure.

But it did leave me stranded a fairly long way from home. But, fortunately, God made me with feet (with legs attached, no less) and, after briefly considering a call home to tell Carol I was a complete boob and needed her to come pick me up, I decided the only manly thing to do was to walk the damn bike home. All three-point-whatever miles of it.

Which I did.

I mean, Carol and I go for 3-mile (and even more sometimes!) walks on a pretty regular basis. Although let me just say that walking or hiking for pleasure/exercise and walking a bike the same exact distance are different propositions entirely. Suffice to say that it prompted residual soreness in a few lower-back nooks and crannies that I didn't even know I had...

In any case, the bike shop was able to repair the chain (they were even able to use the same chain!) for a paltry 19 bucks and had it back the same day I brought it in, so I am--how did Gene Autry used to say it?--"Back in the Saddle Again."

BTW: I decided I should carry some sort of deer edibles with me on the bike path in case I run into any more of my venison friends. I looked some stuff up on the net, but most of it was about what sort of snacks you might want to consume in your deer blind or up on your deer stand whilst waiting to blow a large, unattractive hole in some unsuspecting buck or doe. Now I have friends and relatives who truly love hunting--and God bless them, so long as they actually eat what they kill and aren't in it just for the blood lust and somewhat suspect glory--but, like the great sage Indianapolis sports reporter Frankie Floyd once said: "It's not really a sport if the other side doesn't know they're playing..."

(And if you don't know who Frankie Floyd is, fear not. You'll meet him in the next book...)

But back to deer snacks. I read that they really like carrots, and also that carrots are actually good for deers (unlike peanut M&Ms and Milk Duds, which of course would have been my own personal choice). So yesterday I went on another ride and brought along a couple cut-up carrots in a plastic bag. And what do you know? I came on a different pair of deer (a big old mommy deer and what I believe must be her last spring's faun) and the mommy deer kinda stood there and gawked at me while I pulled to a quiet halt and fumbled to get my bag of carrot pieces out. I tossed one over and she kind of looked at it, then back at me, and made it obvious she didn't trust any biped creature who rode on sparkly wire wheels enough to come even one inch closer to try a sample taste. So I put a little more "oomph" into the next toss, and this time it landed right at her feet. She gave it the hairy eyeball first, then leaned over and sniffed it, and then inhaled it like I would the aforementioned peanut M&Ms or Milk Duds. She still looked fairly skeptical of any good coming from an interaction featuring the same sort of creature who made rifles and deer slugs, but she did deign to gobble up whatever I tossed over. So long as it wasn't too close to me, anyway.

I'll be bringing more carrots along with me next time. And maybe some spicy pepperoni?