A wakeful week in Norwich had me regressing, depressive; in vain doubt and horrid anxieties. But still there were lovely bits with Mum and Dad. Picking across a flooded Bowthorpe moor, emotional family debriefing, pheasant pies and Dad's fruitcake (a kilo in the pannier to echo my original departure). The abundant good grace; that peculiar Christian irony of their farewell prayers; giving thanks and asking blessings for me-at-my-most-ungrateful ('can we pray?' - 'do what you want'). Rubbish to be so generally brattish and unappreciative to my parents, something counter-intuitive about proximity to the foundation of my manifold blessing that brings out my worst. I feel dead grateful for it all now, thousands of miles away! The coaches and flight, the boxed bike through handlers and customs, were straight-forward. That double chance. So I've been waiting for the hiccup, the dreaded logistical glitch...
Naturally the problem is one I never imagined. My new forks are missing their Star Fangled Nut. This is a bit of an idiot farce now. The idiot apparently me (I didn't order the nut when I ordered the forks came back the helpful email, like not ordering cutlery with a meal or something). The nut is necessary to tightly fix the forks to the handlebar stem. It is one of those hideously specific things to be found only in internet forums and never in Georgia. I am glad nobody witnessed my tantrum. There was of course one in the old forks lying bent under my Tbilisi campbed, but these nuts are designed to go in and not come out. A Georgian TV producer found me pacing and muttering on Rustavelli Street, waving twin pairs of yellow bicycle forks and, amazingly, drove me to Tbilisi's only bicycle mechanic in exchange for a ranty interview. Scoop. The old bike man - huddled between the real, car mechanics who dominate the stalls at the decaying Soviet velodrome - managed to conjure the nut from bent to straight forks. I missed how he did it (weakened it?) so nothing for the forums. A posh TV car ride back to Steffi's apartment and it only took me an hour to spangle the fangled nut. Destroyed and firmly lodged. Overtightened. Or can I blame the old man?
I went back there today to show him my handiwork. Super sheepish! He generously blamed a flimsy, 'English' nut and promised he could weld me up something out of a bit of an old socket set... proper job, like. I actually feel pretty optimistic. The rest of the bike looks beautiful, propped forkless on a chair. We'll see in the morning; fingers crossed the next read will come from that simple, moving place. But if it doesn't work I can always pay my friends at FedEx afortune visit again; I've a couple of weeks spare... And meanwhile there'll be those silver linings to explore.
Naturally the problem is one I never imagined. My new forks are missing their Star Fangled Nut. This is a bit of an idiot farce now. The idiot apparently me (I didn't order the nut when I ordered the forks came back the helpful email, like not ordering cutlery with a meal or something). The nut is necessary to tightly fix the forks to the handlebar stem. It is one of those hideously specific things to be found only in internet forums and never in Georgia. I am glad nobody witnessed my tantrum. There was of course one in the old forks lying bent under my Tbilisi campbed, but these nuts are designed to go in and not come out. A Georgian TV producer found me pacing and muttering on Rustavelli Street, waving twin pairs of yellow bicycle forks and, amazingly, drove me to Tbilisi's only bicycle mechanic in exchange for a ranty interview. Scoop. The old bike man - huddled between the real, car mechanics who dominate the stalls at the decaying Soviet velodrome - managed to conjure the nut from bent to straight forks. I missed how he did it (weakened it?) so nothing for the forums. A posh TV car ride back to Steffi's apartment and it only took me an hour to spangle the fangled nut. Destroyed and firmly lodged. Overtightened. Or can I blame the old man?
I went back there today to show him my handiwork. Super sheepish! He generously blamed a flimsy, 'English' nut and promised he could weld me up something out of a bit of an old socket set... proper job, like. I actually feel pretty optimistic. The rest of the bike looks beautiful, propped forkless on a chair. We'll see in the morning; fingers crossed the next read will come from that simple, moving place. But if it doesn't work I can always pay my friends at FedEx a
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