Bars w/o Pants

Most of you live ’round here, so know what yesterday’s weather was like. For the rest of you, and for posterity, it was gross. Temp in the lower 40’s, with a RealFeel in the upper 20’s, according to AccuWeather.com. Varying levels rain from misting to not-quite-downpour.

I left my office at Lee Circle and rode up to my friends house by Jefferson and Magazine in a nice 13 minute trip. Not quite drenched, she let me in to cool down (was overheated – one top layer too many).

On the way back, my rear tire was feeling a bit low, so I stopped at another friends house (dripping again) to borrow his bike pump. In the process of trying to improve my setup, I inadvertently made it worse. While pumping up the front tire, the presta valve broke. Laaaaame. Turns out, my little repair bag was all but empty. Laaaaamer.

So, Scott (the friend), gives me his car keys. While he is a blossoming bike nerd, his gear is limited to mountain bikes. No 700c tubes for this monkey. I drive down to GNO and pick up some super-hot 80mm smooth presta valve tubes, return to Scott’s, change it out, and hit the pavement.

And the rain! Oy such rain! Whatever uptown krewe was scheduled to roll stayed safe and dry in their buses on Napoleon. I rode by them weaving across lanes like a little kid – access by car to the street had been blocked of for the parade and its staging area.

In retrospect, riding down Tchoupitoulas isn’t usually the best idea, especially when it is cold and dark, and I was wearing (rain darkened) green shorts, a black bag, black jacket, and forgot my rear light. However, I’m me, so I don’t usually care.

I did however have the presence of mind to pull over at Tchoup and Jackson to pull over and watch the high-speed police car parade.

By the time I reached the CCC overpass, my jacket had gained a good bit of weight, but I was still comfy. Unfortunately, I flatted. Still with an incomplete repair kit, I had two options: 1) get a ride and drip all over everywhere or b) cry about it and walk.

Me being me, I now have a sore right shoulder/collarbone. I walked to the bike shop on Frenchmen. While the shop was closed and the gates locked, I had the (relatively, at that point) good fortune of hollerin’ in to the guys staying late. After shedding most of my layers, I had a few sips of Jameson’s and changed out my tube. Tim had ordered me an awesome new Surly Karate Monkey t-shirt and it was gratefully added to my bag.

Some of the guys and I rode around the corner to the R Bar, where the title of this now epic (in length only) post comes in to play.

Jeremy was working, and I asked a favor of him. Since the R Bar is a bed and beverage, they have a washer/dryer on site, and a plethora of soft, fluffy towels. He let me in to the back, where I promptly put my soaked shorts, socks and beloved SIDIs into the dryer. I returned to the bar wearing nothing my shirt, hat, boxers, and a towel.

One thing I will always hold dear about this city is that you can walk into a bar, see a guy in a bath towel drinking a beer, and think nothing of it.

Anyways, while I didn’t go all-out, I put an old-style stink on it last night. Whiskey, beer, Dirty Guatemalans. R Bar, Molly’s, the Abbey, the Dervish.

I was lucky enough to spend time with friends that no longer live here, and Alita of Brooklyn Bike Gang fame.

All in all, a good night. And it is oh-so-nice to be dry.