Three's a Charm

I spent most of today running back and forth from home to BikeWorks in Columbia City trying to get the right size seatpost for the tandem’s stoker position’s new Brooks saddle.

The first time I was there, having ridden the Quickbeam, I misremembered the size and returned home with one too big to even fit in the seat tube.

So, I put the old seat post in the basket of the 420 bike and headed back. At Bikeworks, using calipers, I apparently mis-measured the size because when, having returned home, I tried to insert the new post in the tandem, it wouldn’t fit—I could jam it in, but it wouldn’t slide.

So, I hopped on the Saluki and took the ill-fitting post back, returning, at last, with one that fit just right.

I could be annoyed with myself for doing this so inefficiently, but in fact, it was only at the end the third time I climbed the hill back from Columbia City that I started feeling as idiotic as my behavior would seem to warrant.

The way I look at it, I got in three nice rides and got to visit with the mechanics at the shop three different times. And in the end, the post is the right one, so all’s well that end’s well, I suppose.

In the past, a day like this would have given rise to lots of swearing and kicking; today, for no reason I can tell, I seemed to take it all pretty much in stride. There was a scary moment when I was afraid I’d hopelessly jammed the slightly-too-big post in the seat tube, but a few deep breaths, some grunting and groaning, a slightly skinned knuckle and it all worked out.

I wonder if this is a sign of patience developing with old(er) age. Or maybe it’s just a function of being a bit groggy after a late night out. There’s nothing particularly new about that, anyway.