ghosts

Ghosts rattle around in my head.

I HATE, I mean HATE changing my positions on my bike.  When my fat ass broke my previous seat, I knew I was in trouble.

No amount of measuring, No amount of lining up seats. No, not even the use of tape, can make this process easy for me. Someone asked me why I used the same seat for over 15 years now. Simple: it's always the same. the measurements work. But now, here I am with a new seat. Uncharted territory. And the Ghosts, the Phantoms, the doppelgangers are full on in my mind.

Changing the seat is like looking in the mirror and saying Candyman three times.

The demon has entered my head.

I get  the seat set up, in what measured to be the exact position on the old one.

Riding around, the ghosts taunt me. “ Hmmm, it feels a little lower than before” Disregarding my measurements, my time trusted rules about messing with position, I raised my seat. “that feels better”

45 minutes later, the Demon whispers in my ear. I think I feel something in my knee.
 “Hmm, maybe I raised it just a bit too high. Maybe my knee didn’t really feel anything, But something isn’t right.”

The Phantom taps me on my left shoulder, and I fully commit looking left, he slips by me on the right.

I lower my new white seat a few millimeters, I pull out the measuring tape. “hmm, close this should be right….”

I wake up in the middle of the night. I think my legs are sore. Hmm, I am just tired, or something off with my position…

I walk down to the garage and pull out the measuring tape again.

The devil rips through the room, laughing at me all the while.

I HATE changing out my seat.


respect.
fatmarc vanderbacon