limits

Along with the various insights about maximal acceleration and suretyredness offered by riding the heavy and lumpish sparebike for a prolonged period it feels like a reasonable achievement to go the long way round into work; whilst the occasional jaunt with chunky tyres and the front rack and the limited gears and the frame made out of scaffolding poles is fun, being stuck with it is not, to the point that I'm often pleased when my journey stops rather than mildly melancholic that I can't just keep going. The dozy motherfucker's insurance asked for some pictures of the bike this afternoon, though they've been sent a couple of video clips too as the bending of the chainring is easier to illustrate that way. I assume they just want proof that the bike is real and that I'm not fabricating frame numbers and designing false damage inspection receipts just for the hell of it.