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29 juli 2005
CRISIS: Ypsidixit could not find her planned boat bike trailer, one of those wheeled rectangular shopping carts, this evening. She looked in the crawlspace with a droplight. She dragged a ladder into the house and went up into the attic (what is all this junk?) No dice. There is no way Y. could get the boat and all the gear to the water without a trailer of some kind. Ypsidixit drew upon the McGyver-like ingenuity of her hardy pioneer forefathers and took a look around. She made a trailer out of a rugged dolly, a collapsible plastic crate, and some clothesline (weirdly, I had just enough clothesline to do the job). She tested her new bike trailer. Sturdy. Weather-resistant. Now all I have to do is load it up tomorrow a.m. and attach it to the bike with a...using...somehow. Never mind that for now. The point is that we're one step closer to the ideal of transporting a bike and a day's worth of boat (christened: Pequod), boat gear, fishin' stuff, food, reading material, and esophageal lubricant to the water's edge.
Posted by ypsidixit at 29 juli 2005 21:52
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Comments
This new trailer is actually better than the cart would have been. It provides a long, tilted surface upon which one can lash oodles of stuff, travois-style. Plus, if the stuff is down on the trailer and not up in the bike basket, the weight's center of gravity is lower, which helps bike maneuverability a lot. We'll see how she works tomorrow (day of reckoning).
Posted by: Laura at 29 juli 2005 22:12
Plus, once you get to the water, you can just detach the dolly and nonchalantly wheel the whole kit 'n caboodle down to the water, without de-bungeeing a million things out of the bike basket. Yes, this may be the answer to my prayers.
Posted by: Laura at 29 juli 2005 22:14
Call me Laura. Some days ago - never mind how long precisely - having nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the county. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation.
Posted by: werner schnitzel at 29 juli 2005 22:29
Werner: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin-houses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand on me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then I account it high time to get to the Huron as soon as I can.
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