We’re riding home with our lights on now, the sun’s narrow slant on the horizon hinting at colder days to come. Our New England autumns tend to be wet, so suddenly tires are getting wider and fenders are appearing. It’s a good thing. We enjoy this riding just as much as our summer spins. The woods are a different proposition in the dark.
Cyclocross season is on, Seveneers leaving early for mid-week races, coming in on Mondays with tall tales of the weekend’s exploits. To hear us tell it, we could easily finish 2 to 10 places higher in every race, but for that one guy who crashed in front of us, or the spectator who leaned too far over the course tape. Some, of course, are just hecklers. You don’t heckle a friend while they’re building a bike, but during a race?
Our customers are dreaming up winter commuters, or better still, they’re riding a different hemisphere than we are, tuning up for a road season we can hardly imagine, stuck in the bubble of our own climate.
Back on the shop floor, the heavy, summer air has slipped out the back door. The mornings are cool and quiet, and the late afternoon light is beautiful streaming through our tall, frosted windows. We are building as many bikes now as we did all summer, and that is good, too.
