December 6th

December 6, 2021

Nomad is here

My name's Nomad. You may have seen me here, but not for a few weeks, and certainly not as much as that ritzy commuter bike my owner tends to ride around. He was on the thing yesterday, cycling along the river.

I've been sat next to his desk for a while now, gathering dust, so it's a relief that his student emails to say he is not having class this morning, which means this owner of mine has some time to get out further than town.

He squeezes my tyres to see how deflated they are and reckons they're OK, but I can tell you my front one could do with topping up. He doesn't seem to care. What a dickhead.

I see him get dressed in a red cycling top that he's not worn before. It's what you might call 'racing fit' and he must think he's a whole lot thinner than he is. And what does he think I am: some lightweight speed machine?

The truth is I should be traveling the world loaded with panniers. My sturdy frame is made of real steel - there's a label on me saying so! I don't want to come across as bitter or anything, but did you know that commuter bike of his is - spit - aluminum?

He puts on an old blue jacket he bought years before he got me. It must be about 15 years old and it looks about done. If he glanced out the window he'd seen it's sunny. What a dickhead.

He likes to brake and stop a lot this owner of mine. Just watch.

Right: we don't get far before he squeezes the levers and comes to a halt just to take that blue jacket off. He's hot. Told you so. Twerp.

While we're stationary he looks at a wall on a derelict house and gets the camera out and takes a photo of it. Luckily there's nobody around, otherwise they seriously question his sanity. It's just concrete.

Less than a minute later he's back on my brakes. He's seen another wall and my click-stand gets flicked down again, so here I am by the side of a quiet lane while he takes a photo of a plain concrete surface. Why can't he just ride me like a normal guy.

The house adjacent is where we go. It wasn't worth getting back on my Brooks. He's looking at the place and focusing on something. It must be another window. Weirdo.

This lane is nice. It's no problem for me as it's smooth tarmac. Not wishing to come across as boastful, but my frame can accept almost double the width of these tyres. The good thing is they roll nicely along here.

It's a fact that I'm really built for adventure, but this owner says Covid has stopped him doing anything too exciting. I've my doubts about the validity of that and it's likely just an excuse. In my opinion he's just gone soft.

He's stopping again. Jeez. My brake pads will need replacing pretty soon at this rate. He's seen a chair now and the camera comes back out. Hopefully nobody's watching him as they'll either call the police or think he's lost the plot. Maybe both.

We could be somewhere wild. This flat countryside is fine, but it's not rugged or challenging. It's the mountains and rough tracks that best suit me.

He's stopped. Now he's seen a shed with a window that's been covered over with a sheet of metal.

We cruise along for another minute and he stops to take a photo of a farmer bent over in a field. I don't see the point. Just ride.

This time when my click stand gets flicked down, he gets his tripod out. This means I'll be in the photo. That makes a change from chairs and windows. He must think this journal is on a site about boring architectural features or something weirdly esoteric.

I see him set the camera's timer and off we go, but from the position of the camera it seems a tree trunk is his main focus - not me! It takes a strange kind of owner to do that. Heartless, that's what he is. You can barely see me in the photo.

We go along a busy road and he doesn't stop, thankfully. He probably just wants to get it over with.

The busy streets of Danan take some negotiating and I'm worried my wheels could get bent by a scooter rider not paying attention and swerving and hitting us, or this owner of mine not riding with the skills needed in these situations. We wouldn't have this kind of concern if we were on a mountain track. If only. One day, with luck. I'll keep my spokes crossed.

He gets to a charity shop and I know he'll spend some time in there, with me left parked on the street. He just forgets about me and doesn't even bother to lock me for safe keeping.

It'd serve him right if someone stole me. Maybe a bike thief sees my Rohloff hub and knows I'm worth a bit, and perhaps this thief has some adventure in him and rides me into the remote mountains, where I get to bounce over gravel and stones. Dream on.

He comes out empty-handed and only rides 20 seconds before stopping again. The camera comes back out and he takes a snap of a cobbler busy at work. I don't think the guy sees my owner taking the photo, which is probably just as well.

Louisa is just around the corner and there are no prizes for guessing where we're going. He'll have a cappuccino as usual and look out the window. He's so predictable and lame.

There he is sat at a table, looking at me through the open door. It's busy and noisy out here on this back street. The twerp is in his own world.

It seems like he is taking my photo to make me feel better, but then I see it's actually two Food Panda guys on scooters that he's focusing on. What a cheek.

Once he's done inhabiting la-la land, we don't go straight home because it seems he wants to ride around the alleys of Danan. He's deluding himself if thinks this constitutes an adventure. We're lost in a minute or two. He takes me down dead-end streets. What a dickhead.

He stops a few times to take photos of doors or whatever. He even takes a photo of a cheap bike with a plastic shopping basket on the front. He's really rubbing it in today. I can see its owner has locked it up. I could cry.

He seems to have a thing for walls now. It used to be chairs. Weirdo.

He rides me down a few more side streets, but he must realize there's not much to see and we eventually end up back at Louisa. This is pure luck. He has no idea where he is half the time.

We go back along the busy road and he brakes outside a Hi-Life and comes out with a few cans of beer. The clerk must think he's a foreign pisshead on wheels. She's not far wrong. No doubt he'll be in the pub tonight with Ralph, riding there on that aluminum commuter bike of his. I know he locks that thing up.

No doubt you've seen it. You can't not help see as it's covered in hi-viz tape and reflectors. Thankfully he hasn't dressed me up like that.

Before we get home he sets up the tripod again and I finally get in on the action. He could have rode closer and made me bigger in the photo, as it's hard to actually see me. He's a loser.

Today's ride: 22 km (14 miles)
Total: 945 km (587 miles)

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