SHE WAS JUST A TEENAGER WHEN SHE TOLD HER TALE. 200 years later we continue to read it, watch it, and act it out. Where do these thoughts originate, and why do they haunt us still? Why do we risk creating our own monsters?
For instance, my mountain bike.
SRAM Eagle Derailleur
Grip shift and Red Monkey Grips
Yes, the graveyard of discarded parts has been robbed and bolted together to form one of my many Frankenbikes.
Criminal, that's a bit much.
Thankfully, it does not haunt my thoughts nor is it trying to kill me. But, it does get some queer looks. Even some snobbery. I care not. For it's my mine, built by me, for me.
Have you done the same?