title: Signs, Portents, and Derailleurs # category is optional, may be only one word, defaults to "main" category: sport content: |

I threw myself a birthday party this past weekend.

Part of it was getting together with friends for yummy Afghan food. That part went well.

Before that, however, there was a bike ride. Or at least a little piece of one.

I should have known that the bike ride part of the day wouldn't go so well when only one other person (of the 30 or so I invited, and 14 others who bothered to show up at dinner) responded in the positive for bike ride.

So we start on our way. Finishing the first part of the ride -- a semi-loop from my house to the Quarry Lakes -- wasn't a problem. Though we did notice that the back wheel of his bike was getting wobbly. We think, maybe it's just out of true. So we come off the trail and go to the bicycle shop near my house. They say that the whole rear wheel is, in fact, totally hosed, and may have to be rebuilt. My friend was not happy about this, seeing how his bike was not very old at all.

So after a walk back to my house and a brief bathroom break, I offer to resuscitate one of the bicycles in the garage. After a seat post adjustment and some tire-pumping, my 11-year-old Univega upright hybrid bicycle -- a rather heavy bugger for something that looks so slender -- is brought back up to speed.

We return to the Alameda Creek trail approximately where we left off. After some distance, we pull over to take care of dust in eyes.

And the seat pops off of the old bicycle.

This, this is a sign. This is a sign that we dare not continue the bike ride out to the end of the trail and around the Coyote Hills. We are wise, and we decide to listen to the message that some spirit or deity is quite blatantly sending to us.

We apply a temporary remedy, go home, and play Scrabble instead. I get squished horribly, once again stuck with an unplayable Q.