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We’re sick of existing indoors.  Just ask my bicycle, who after a short spin on the horrid stationary trainer while watching the latest episode of the Walking Dead, is leaning against the doors of the utility room in our kitchen and wailing about wishing for a long spin out in the fresh air.

“There is no where to go in here!” laments my cabin ridden bicycle.  It has spent the majority of this winter in the frigid temperatures of the garage, a few weeks ago readied for the season to come with a thorough going inspection and cleaning.  Really all my bike needs is some fresh rubber.

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I try to console my old friend with assurances that the weather will break in a week or two, the stranglehold the polar vortex has on the Chicago area gone, it’s last icy breath exhausted.  We will go on daily spins, short hour long jaunts after work and long relaxed strolls along the rolling hills west of our house on the weekends, the open prairies and wetlands of Fermilab less than a mile from our driveway.  This is what I dream of, aware that my dreams will come to reality soon.

Until then we go stir crazy.  My bike will return to the garage tonight until tomorrow’s workout, once again lamenting the cold isolation.

Some morning I will hear it crying from the garage — “COME ON, FAT A@@, GET OUT HERE AND RIDE!!!”.

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