![]() I write reviews for a living too! Where are you posting? Amazon?” He beamed hugely and almost shouted “Bro! We’re in the same line of work. It’s a work thing I ride it for a while and then write a review about it. Yes, it rode pretty nice but it was too soon to tell how the relationship was going to pan out. ![]() Coffee not yet in hand, I sighed internally and painted something onto my face that I hoped looked more like a smile than a grimace. My relief at not having to verbalize a bunch of thinking about a bike I had just finished building was short lived, however.Ī young, exceptionally clean cut guy looked up from his laptop, clocked the bike, and began peppering me with questions. You never knew how long it would last or how intense it may get, but you would most certainly get shook up. The bakery in the village was owned by an incredibly fit, highly animated, bike-obsessed Argentinian named Martin, and it was always a bit like wandering into a conversational tornado showing up there with a new bike. The bike was a gravel-ish kind of rig and it was a nice spring day, so a mellow 25-mile round trip on lumpy pavement seemed a good way to check that everything was working. Right about the time I finished building it up, the power went out, so I decided to take it for a spin into the village to get some coffee and check my email. Not long after sentencing myself to singletrack exile at the poison oak farm deep in Carmel Valley, I took delivery of a new test bike. ![]()
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