A bike and a burger

I was gonna get rid of this bike for a while. I still might. I should, because I have an obscene number of bikes and I'm ridiculous. On mornings like today, where the slush is all icy and scarey and there's black ice where there isn't slush, I love this bike. The trusty MB-2. It's got studs. It's got fenders with a flap. It's got dyno lights. It's a single speed. I could get through the rutty slush icy descent to the bus stop this morning without sliding. And on the way home, when everything was slushy-melty watery, I could jam up the hills without getting gunky water slushy shit mucked up and sprayed all over me.

The ideal of this bike would have disc brakes, ultra-light steel tubing, and a carbon fork... yes: with 26" (559) wheels, though I could go with 650b. But as a non-ideal, this bike, as-is, is pretty damn ideal. It's a friggin' consistently reliable giver.

I want to stop trying to optimize every damn bike thing I can imagine. This bike is better than "good-enough;" it's bad-arse. I'm not going to get rid of it.

Whole other deal here. That burger was the bomb. The picture is no good. In fact, it kind of looks pretty gross. But it was a breakfast burger: jalapeno, sauted onion, bbq sauce, fried egg, Sriracha.