Doorbell rings.  Pointer Brand box opened.  Britches donned.  New uniform, head to toe.  

Most delicious after returning from a party at a swank club with a policy prohibiting denim.  At the cottage, after dinner, half the crew disappeared then reappeared wearing denim.  I had to settle for blue corduroys.  Close enough.  It was fun to feel criminal with so little effort and zero injury to the world’s well-being.


4 responses to “Dungarees!

    • Thanks! Great Post! Great Blog! Do I know you (I see your localish email address)?

      • Not that I know of, but we’ve kinda, sorta passed in the night, like when I declined to bid on your XO-1. You can thank me later.

        If a guy riding a black Quickbeam while wearing a denim jacket and tycoon hat, or looking like he just stepped off the set of Breaker Morant, ever gives you a “Hey, Randal” as he goes by, that’ll probably be me. I’m far more likely to be seen around Saratoga than Albany though.

        Gotta see if I can haul that puppy from Altamont up to Thatcher Park one of these years.

      • Sounds like I owe you a beer, minimum!

        I’ve only pedaled up Thatcher once. It isn’t as bad as I feared. I don’t think I would enjoy it on a single speed unless I flipped the wheel at the base of the last hill into a pretty easy gear, but maybe your knees, legs and lungs are younger than mine.

        Nice to meet you.

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