Bike Cleaning Day

I’m not really that anal about the cleanliness of my bikes—not like I am about my desk, for instance, which I like to buff with Windex at least twice weekly (in fact, I just stopped writing for a moment to do so right now)—but I do appreciate a clean drive train and I prefer not to go too long with filthy wheels and brake pads, not merely for aesthetic reasons, but also because of how it makes the rims wear out faster, so today, after what seems like an endless number of consecutive days riding in rain, rain showers, sleet, hail, and mist, I spent a few happy hours cleaning and doing minor tune-ups to every one of my bikes except the tandem, and it was only a couple weeks ago that I did the same for that one.

Now I feel all proud of myself and everything and wish it would stop spitting rain so I could go out riding without messing up any of my good work; but of course, that’s lame; the whole reason I cleaned the bikes up was so I could take them out and to prevent myself from doing so just because they’ll get dirty again is like not wanting to live because you’re afraid you’re someday going to die.

Or something like that.

It does strike me odd, when I think about it, that right after I’ve cleaned something, I’m reluctant to get it messed up again. You’d think that with all that new room for spots and blotches, I’d be more willing to take my tidy shit out into the world.

But it’s pretty uniform: when I put on a fresh pair of jeans, right from the dryer, that last thing I want to do in them is work on my bike; strange, since that’s way they probably got so yucky in the first place.

I therefore resist this strangeness—out I go into the wet, clean bike be damned.