The Greatest Lug Story Ever Told

Scene: Sach’s Garden

Enter Petersen

PETERSEN: He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. –

[e-Richie® appears above, at a window]

But, soft, what light through lug window breaks?
It is the east, and e-Richie® is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou, her maid, build frames more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green like Kelly Bikes,
And none but Tarik do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my hero; O, it is my love!
O, that he knew he were! –
He brazes, yet he brazes nothing: what of that?
His fork crown discourses, I will answer it. –
I am too bold, ‘tis not to me he speaks:
Two of the fairest lugs in all the Newvex catalog,
Having some business, do entreat his eyes
To twinkle in their box till they return.
What if Richie-issimo lugs were there, they in their box?
The brightness of his handiwork would shame any fillets,
As daylight doth a lamp; his lugs on a frame
Would through the French countryside stream so bright,
That randonneurs would sing, and think it were not night. –
See, how he leans his torch upon his file!
O, that I were a filing upon that file,
That I might touch that torch!

E-RICHIE®: Ah, me!

PETERSEN: He speaks: --
O, speak again bright angel! For thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a bicycle messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond’ring eyes
Of Cat Fives, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides a Rene Herse Porteur,
And rides upon the bosom of air.

E-RICHIE®: O Petersen, Petersen! Wherefore art thou Petersen?
Deny thy quill stems, and refuse thy long wheelbase;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer build crit frames.

PETERSEN: [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

E-RICHIE®: ‘Tis but thy fredliness, that is my enemy; --
Thou art thyself though, not a Fred.
What’s Fred? It is not crank nor pedal,
Nor saddle, nor brake, nor any other part
Belonging to a bike. O’ be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a Fred,
By any other name would be as dorky;
So Petersen would were he not Fred call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title: --Fred, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

PETERSEN: I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d;
Henceforth, I never will be Fred.

E-RICHIE®: What man art thou, that thus bescreened by wool beanie,
So stumblest on my counsel?

PETERSEN: By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would put it in the Reader.

E-RICHIE®: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue’s catalogs, yet I know the routine:
Art thou not Petersen, and a Fred?

PETERSEN: Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

E-RICHIE®: How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The local rail-trail is rough and hard to ride;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my sponsored racers find thee here.

PETERSEN: With love’s fixed gear did I o’er ride the trail;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore, thy sponsored racers are no let to me.

E-RICHIE®: If they do see thee, they will hook thee into the gutter.

PETERSEN: Alack, there lies more peril in thine dropouts,
Than twenty of their carbon forks: look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

E-RICHIE®: I would not for the world ‘cross championship they saw thee here.

PETERSEN: I have a WoolyWarm jersey to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here;
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy flux.

E-RICHIE®: By whose direction found’st thou out this place?

PETERSEN: By Google, who first did prompt me to enquire;
He lent me URL, and I lent him eyes.
I am no computer geek; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast internet, wash’d with the greatest spam,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

E-RICHIE®: Thou know’st the growth of stubble is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak on online forums.
Fain would I dwell on the marketing, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say –Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear’st,
Thou may’st prove false; at lovers’ perjuries.,
They say, Joe Starck laughs. O gentle Petersen,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won,
I’ll frown, and ride slowly, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for an early, mint Masi.
In truth, fair Fred, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may’st think my frames light:
But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard’st, ere I was online,
My true love’s passion: therefore, pardon me;
And not impute this posting to light love,
Which the Google search ‘bots hath so discovered.

PETERSEN: Richard, by yonder blessed Brooks saddle, I swear,
That tips with silver all these vintage components, --

E-RICHIE®: O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy gearing prove likewise variable.

PETERSEN: What shall I swear by?

E-RICHIE®: Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy Cambio Corsa gear changer,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I’ll believe thee.

PETERSEN: If my heart’s dear love –

E-RICHIE®: Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden;
Too like aluminum frames, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say, It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by Sheldon’s ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! As sweet repose and SAG,
Come to thy heart, as that within my saddlebag!

PETERSEN: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

E-RICHIE®: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

PETERSEN: Th’ exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.

E-RICHIE®: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
And yet I would it were to give again.

PETERSEN: Would’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, dude?

E-RICHIE®: But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My brazing is as boundless as the sea,
My filing as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

[Dog barks within]

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! –
Anon, good dog! –Sweet Fred, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

[exit above]

PETERSEN: O blessed blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too wicked-sweet to be substantial.

[re-enter e-Richie® above]

E-RICHIE®: Three words, dear Petersen, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose merger, send me e-mail tomorrow,
By address that I’ll procure to send to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my framebuilding tools at thy foot I’ll lay.
And follow thee my lord to Walnut Creek.

DOG: Bark!

E-RICHIE®: I come, anon: --but if thou mean’st not well,
I do beseech thee, --

DOG: Bark!

E-RICHIE®: By and by; I come: --To cease thy ride and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow I will send.

PETERSEN: So thrive my business, --

E-RICHIE®: A thousand times good night!

[exit above]

PETERSEN: A thousand times the worse, to want thy frames. –
Love goes toward lugs, as school-boys from their books;
But love from lugs, toward school with heavy looks.

[retiring]

[re-enter e-Richie® above]

E-RICHIE®: Hist! Petersen, hist! –O, for Phil Ligget’s voice,
To lure this dude back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Paul Sherwen lies,
And make his airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Petersen’s name.

PETERSEN: It is my soul, that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like Da Yoopers music to GRABAAWR riders’ ears!

E-RICHIE®: Petersen!

PETERSEN: My dear?

E-RICHIE®: At what o’clock to-morrow shall I e-mail to thee?

PETERSEN: At the hour of nine, I should be back from my morning ride.

E-RICHIE®: I will not fail: ‘tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

PETERSEN: Let me stand here till thou remember it.

E-RICHIE®: I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy catalog company.

PETERSEN: And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other homey but this.

E-RICHIE®: ‘Tis almost morning: I would have thee gone:
And yet no farther than a shop ride;
Where folks pedal a little from the parking lot,
Like a poor prisoner with a twisted chain,
And after a few short miles return to the lot again,
So loving-jealous of their liberty.

PETERSEN: I would I were on that ride.

E-RICHIE®: Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! Coasting is such sweet sorrow.
That I say keep on spinning, till it be morrow.

[exit above]

PETERSEN: Sleep dwell upon thine pedals, peace on thy rack! –
Would I were to wrap my bars, so sweet to shellac!
Hence will I to my ghostly framebuilding cell,
E-Richie’s love to crave for my dear Rivendell.

[exit]