Just back from the annual excursion to Bailey Island, Maine. I love going there, it’s always what it is. Nothing more. A time-worn cottage with dull knives in the kitchen and musty smelling furniture. Beaches, both rocky, one with big rocks, the other small. No internet access. Mediocre cell service. John listens to the weather radio and the marine channel radio. My mom reads endless newspapers.

After the string of sedentary days in meetings while in Squaw, followed by two travel days, by Friday afternoon I was delirious with the need to move my body. I found the opportunity when my folks took K on a nature cruise, I pulled on all my gear and started the timer on the watch when ugh. the drivetrain on the cross bike wouldn’t budge. I tried again. Nothing would move.

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A closer look revealed a 5″ section of chain seized in a rusty c-shape. I grabbed the only thing available to me and went to town. 20 precious minutes, and a copious amount of WD-40 later and I finally had sufficient return to normal chain-state so that I could go out and get my ride.

After my flat tire (car tire) the day before, I was feeling a little threatened by mechanicals and wasn’t too keen on venturing too far without tools and cell service. But the spin along the shoulder-less island roads was worth it, particularly because there were no further incidents.

The Vassago handled the trips to the beach and on Sunday I took it out to Bradbury Mountain to meet up with old friends and new friends. Within 10 minutes I could tell that it wasn’t going to be a good day for me on the bike. No legs. Nothing. Flat. Dead. Really not unexpected given my recent travel schedule. So eventually I just accepted it and sat up, riding at my own pace. Damn those fast folks.

Then I started falling over. The first time was a classic Mandy move. Front wheel straight into a rock. There’s no suspension on that bike, that rock wasn’t moving, so the only compensation was me crashing. Not too hard. But then 30 minutes later I hit the ground again. Hard this time. Like sit there and think about it hard. After that I was really done, but had no idea where I was so just had to pedal through until we got to the car.

Too soon it was time to say good bye to the ocean for another year. The cottage is filled with a lot of memories for me, we’ve been going there since K was born. Once every year. And I feel like I can see snapshots in my head of him growing up there. From  his first steps (in the bathroom of the cottage) to pushing trucks and soon I’m sure he’ll be nestled on the couch reading books. Time flies.

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(we seem to be missing two years here, i know the photos are somewhere)

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