Last time I wrote, I was in a foul, foul mood. My apologies. Since then, I’ve had a week to cool off, so I think it’s safe to say I’m over the incident now. Although, I should be honest: getting Furby back up and running has certainly helped me move on. Mind you, replacing the 40-lb battery on my ebike was no easy feat (surprise, surprise). I called the manufacturer a billion times. The number on the website was wrong, or just no one frickin’ answered. I don’t even remember how I ended up getting a working number. When I got a live person, I was routed and re-routed and re-routed. It’s a miracle I even got the number of a “licensed” Forever dealer near my home. I tell you, though. Getting the phone number was the hard part. Once I had the secret number, it was easy breezy there on out– just a matter of forking over the dough, really. So I called the local dude up, he arrived at my house 15 minutes later to see what battery and casing I needed (apparently, giving him the ebike model number over the phone wasn’t enough), he came back two hours later with a new, fully charged battery, and just like that I was back on the streets whizzing past the pedestrians and bicyclists. Bicycles, smicycles… who has the time and energy these days to pedal?? Haha. Furby’s back with a vengeance. I got my wide, cushy seat (sure beats the hard-as-rock bike seat), the strong sturdy hunk of metal (albeit already rusting) between the legs (don’t be gross), and 30+ km/h at just the flick of my wrist. Home to school in under 10. Damn, gotta love the simple conveniences– they make all the difference.

But enough with all the warm fuzzies. I’ve been burned multiple times, so these days I’m more guarded. How so you ask? Well, I’ve got the battery locked in, plus I’m going to wrap a ridiculous thick cable lock around the baseboard of the bike (where the battery rests) just in case. U-lock on the front wheel. U-lock on the back wheel. And I’ll probably add another one just in case. Yes, four locks. I’m not getting shit stolen again man. Enough is enough. I’d rather look like a paranoid OCD psycho than go through having to replace crap again. I can’t be inconvenienced. I mean, I’m almost willing to smear dogshit… well I guess though that would involve me having to touch it. Ok, guess that won’t work. Anyway, keep your fingers crossed for me.