The duck wasn't missing after all.

She was just in her private nest.  With her nine eggs.

Recently, I stumbled across a listing for a bike for sale in Foster City, about an hour away from where I live.  There was no price listed for this 1996 Masi Gran Corsa fully equipped with Campy Record components, but after a few email exchanges with the seller we settled on a thoroughly fair (for me, maybe not for him but he didn't seem to mind) price.

As we discussed when and where to complete this transaction, he said he'd never used Craigslist before and had heard about scary things happening to people buying and selling on CL.  I said I'd heard those things too.  So he asked if I'd feel safe meeting in the parking lot of the police department in Foster City.  I said that sounded like a safe place.

When we arrived at the address he'd given me for the PD on Tuesday morning, it turned out to be the parking lot of a community center.  Not a police car or officer in sight.  But there was a little car with a red Masi strapped to the back, so we knew we were in the right place.  "It's not the police department!" I exclaimed.  "So what, there's the bike right there," said Jon.  As we pulled in, I noticed the little car was empty.  "He's not here!" I yelled.  "He's right there," Jon said, gesturing toward a cute little man walking toward us.

"You sometimes act like everything is an emergency," observed Jon. I remained silent, because he is right.

The little man selling the bike turned out to be a sweet older gentleman who said he had too many bikes and his wife had given him some sort of ultimatum, so the Masi had to go.  I wondered what other bikes he had, if this was the one he decided to sell.  I should've asked him if he had a spare De Rosa laying around.  Perhaps I'll email him.

The one minor tragedy of this bike is that the sweet older gentleman decided, at some point, to "upgrade" to a carbon fork.   I inquired as to the whereabouts of the original fork, and sadly, he said he left it at the bike shop when he had the new fork put on.

Maybe I'll call all the bike shops in Foster City.  There can't be that many, can there? 

Shelter chicken, new duck

There are many, but this one caught my eye.  She is in Modesto.


In other news, a new duck moved in shortly after Cowboy passed away.  We named him Fausto.  The girls seem to like him.  That's him on the left. 

Watch this.

Gmail

While setting up a new email account to forward into my gmail account, I inadvertently made a selection that caused Google to resend every single email I've received since 2005.  I've been deleting emails all weekend.  Currently, I'm down to about 40,000 in my inbox. 

Voodoo

This is my Voodoo.  It needs a bath.  And to be ridden more.

Recent visitor

I heard this guy walking up my road one day not too long ago.  He was making his peacock noises.  I opened my gate and he strolled in.  He hung around for a few hours and I thought, how neat to have a peacock!  But by the next morning, he had moved on. Greener pastures I presume.

Gidget & Marmalade's new roomie

This guy's got some feathers to grow. 

Cowboy

A life well lived. He was a good drake.

A Hero's tribute to Cowboy can be found here.

1968

This is my 1968 Mustang. I call it a Farm Find. Others might call it that too, or worse. I love it.

I brought it home last month on a U-Haul trailer. It has a solid body, newly rebuilt engine and a C4 transmission with a backwards (or upside down, or whatever) linkage. Oh, no brakes, needs new radiator....steering fluid leaks, something like that....it's a real project.

Luckily I have help. Yes, it's paid help. Whatever. The Mustang now has a properly oriented transmission, new brakes and will soon have the second exhaust manifold welded back on so it can be driven on the street without risking a ticket for excessive noise. I'm so proud of the "competition series" carburetor (it actually came with that) and new master cylinder.