Man, this new mountain bike is like a siren song, taunting me with knobby tires and the promise of dirt-filled adventures. Problem is, the siren’s got laryngitis courtesy of a surprise snowstorm. Stuck indoors, I’m about as stir-crazy as a squirrel on espresso. So, what’s a restless cyclist to do? Stare longingly at the moon like a lovesick teenager, apparently. Talk about setting the mood for a restless night.
Fast forward to morning, and the sun’s like, “Dude, the moon party’s over.” Turns out, the snow decided to take a siesta, leaving the roads dry enough for my trusty cross bike. Springhill Road saw me and my two wheels in a blur of three glorious intervals, the wind whipping through my hair like a particularly enthusiastic hairdresser.
Now, I’m parked on the couch, refuelling with a smoothie so thick it could double as a helmet (though I wouldn’t recommend it). Today’s ride was sunshine and smiles, but the mountain bike’s siren call is getting louder. So yeah, this post might not be a gripping narrative, more of a “hey, here’s what I did” kind of deal. But hey, at least I stuck the landing with that three-bike theme, right?
Boneshakerbike 
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