Not going to conflate my wet-diaper saga with real tragedy, so separate post:
The Lord Taketh Away, and He Giveth.
Near my home is a guy; he has a 'cyclery' that he runs out of his garage. I know little about it except that a) he's a half mile away (that's like 10 houses out here) and b) his website mentions that he went to pro bike mechanic school and believes in doing the Christian thing by his customers.
Side note: ABQ seems to specialize in these people; I know a guy who is a former electrical engineer for missiles who does amp repair out of his garage. One of the best amp techs I've
ever seen, and is religious about a lot of things, including his need to not make more than $25k/year and thus keeping your repair bill staggeringly low. The catch?
He only works on amps he likes, (e.g., vintage tube amps) otherwise he's 'too busy.'
I call the dude in my 'hood. He's nice, I tell him I tried to readjust my front derailleur and wound up messing up the cabling (as well as breaking my vice grips). I'm desperate.
"Bring it by around 5
0. I close then, but the garage will be open."
He recables the front derailleur. He adds an inline adjuster (note to Giant: why didn't you ....?). He carefully reseats the derailleur on the frame. I ooh and ahh over his vintage Tour posters in the garage (really fucking cool). Half an hour later, the bike is shifting like showroom magic. He asks me for $20.
You're fucking kidding me.