Monday. Ouch. I feel the effects of everything. I had forgotten to eat Saturday when we got back to the mill, and when I got home on Sunday, I was hitting the scales at 126.8lbs... which was way too light. My body was behind and Sunday's efforts to re-hydrate and put some good food into my stomach were derailed by available beers and the sorrow of Watts's stolen bike that needed to be drowned.
I was holistically worse off on Monday than I was the previous day. That, and I started really feeling the effects of all the actual running I did on Saturday. Which was a lot. Running. Who does that?
Sunday's efforts at least produced a clean bike, a semi-organized bike room, updated decals on my NOX Composite rims, a blog post written and the discovery of a malfunctioning XTR brake lever that would need fixed pretty much ASAP.
Then comes Monday.
On my ride to work, I'm looking at every nook and cranny I can see where a bike could fit. I know it's pointless. I even go out of my way to cruise past the bus station where the bike parking is. Nothing. Maybe on my half hour lunch break, I'll ride out to the mill and poke my nose into the woods along the greenway.
I post up a $200 reward to anyone that can get their hands on Watts's bike on my Facebook wall. I figure I've got some friends out there that have the spare time and would take up the hunt if properly motivated. I don't know if it will help, but it's really the only thing I can think to do.
Sometime around 11:00AM, I see my phone going off from across the room. I don't recognize the number. I don't normally answer strange numbers. I feel like I need to tho.
It's a friend of a friend, someone I rode with once or twice. I'll keep his name out of this for sake of his privacy. Anyways, he says he's at a pawn shop, and he's looking at the bike right now.
My cell reception is terrible in the building. He's cutting out. He wants to know if I can get there ASAP. Can Watts get here ASAP. I tell my boss I might have to cut out and explain the situation.
From there, without spoiling the story which belongs to Watts, more phone calls and texts and cries for help and cops and the hero of the day ends up going home with the bike.
I scoop it up after work and somehow all is right in the world again. I should mention that our hero would not accept any reward. He even turned down my offer of a long, awkward hug as well. He did take my non-Trumpy handshake tho. Twice.
It's all relative tho.
Watts stopped by last night to take his baby back home.
And if you're not on the social medias with me, you missed all the fun I had with his bike while it was in my tiny hands (you get zero captions too).