... when he sang "I'm a Steamroller, baby. And I'm gonna roll all over you ..." Check out this beauty. Oh yeah, 100% Surly-fied lovin'. Kind of swirly-fied, actually. No, it's not my photography. The image has been enhanced to create the effect of how the bike will appear when I blow past you on my commute to work. I really ought to take another photo. This one doesn't do any justice to the pink King headset.
This is the bike I almost killed myself to get. No, really. One dark night last November, I was cruising home from class in St Paul aboard my beloved pink Shogun. I was quite serendipitously riding along when I smacked an iron fencepost in the middle of the greenway, placed there to secure some construction fencing. I was lucky. By some twist of fate the post caught the fork lug and the edge of the hub on the right side of my front wheel. The massive amount of inertia was absorbed by the headtube and downtube (well, and my shoulder and back.) It was one of those deliciously graceful endos where you actually have a distinct moment of realization that it is time to tuck the wings and roll. Anyhow, I was unscathed except for deep shoulder and low back bruising. (If only the greenway were paved with Angel Soft bath tissue.) The bike frame, however, was tacoed, making for a fun rest of the ride home. The best part -- my significant other had no problem understanding the logic of why I HAD to build a new fixie. I mean, my prized Shogun was no more. Of course I needed a Steamroller to replace it. I love your pragmatism, honey.
-7 at time of posting; headed to -15 by morning. Wondering where my ambition to ride home from work tomorrow is going to come from. It's damn cold in the computer room as I type this. Fingers aren't working. Time to give up writing and get a beer. Hope all you Stupor Bowl hipsters had fun and you're all headed home to warmer climes with digits intact. So many bike/beer events, so little time.
Screw the beer. I'm heading for the single malt.
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