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Monday after an early solo ride, as I was heading out to the office, Mrs. PAC asked me not to put my bike back up on the garage ceiling hooks as she “wanted to clean it.” My rims, down tube and chain stays had accumulated a fair amount of grunge and it was apparently bugging her. When I came home that evening, I noticed the bike was where I left it, and that the rims and tubes, although maybe somewhat improved, were less than perfectly clean. But I put the bike back up on the hooks, thinking somewhat dismissively about her weak effort. She mentioned later that evening that she hadn’t finished with my bike because our son had come home and her attentions had been diverted. The fact that a wife would consider cleaning my bike as part of her job description is rather remarkable by itself, but that’s for another message.
So this morning I took the bike down and headed out for another early morning solo. Immediately, I noticed that all of the squeaks were gone and the bike operated more smoothly than the last time I had ridden it. Then I realized that while I had expected a superficial cleaning, and was mildly surprised that that job hadn’t been completed (although even that was a kindness for which I should have been grateful and not looked inside the gift horse’s maw), in fact Mrs. PAC had done so much more, providing me with a service of far greater substance (I hate messing with filthy chains, sprockets and derailleurs).
It was another painful reminder of how I often see only the superficial, while remaining oblivious to things of genuine goodness and value, and why I’m lucky to have a wife who for nearly 35 years has been able to overlook such myopia.
So this morning I took the bike down and headed out for another early morning solo. Immediately, I noticed that all of the squeaks were gone and the bike operated more smoothly than the last time I had ridden it. Then I realized that while I had expected a superficial cleaning, and was mildly surprised that that job hadn’t been completed (although even that was a kindness for which I should have been grateful and not looked inside the gift horse’s maw), in fact Mrs. PAC had done so much more, providing me with a service of far greater substance (I hate messing with filthy chains, sprockets and derailleurs).
It was another painful reminder of how I often see only the superficial, while remaining oblivious to things of genuine goodness and value, and why I’m lucky to have a wife who for nearly 35 years has been able to overlook such myopia.