108 pounds of parts

So, I resolved to start getting some regular exercise this year. Six months of unemployment accelerated my metamorphosis into a classic specimen of Potato-ous couchius, and it's high time to get my butt off the couch before I start to sprout. But what to do?

As noted previously, I'm trying to get some walking in, but that can be problematic for all kinds of reasons -- rain, limited time (I only have a half-hour lunch break), limited practical walking routes (no sidewalks on large segments of the local streets), and before we know it, excessive heat. And walking in my home neighborhood after work isn't practical in the winter because it's after dark. (And before anyone suggests getting up early to walk before I go to work... well, just don't go there. OK?)

The upshot of all this was a trip to Sears on Saturday, where I traded a large-ish charge on my credit card for 108 pounds of parts encased in 15 plastic bags (each bearing warnings in eight languages about the perils of letting small children put their heads into said bags), assorted chunks of Styrofoam, and one humungous cardboard box that I could no more get out of my car unassisted and intact than I could run a 4-minute mile. So I left it in my car overnight while I pondered the situation.

But there's more than one way to skin a cat, or to unload a 108-pound box, and on Sunday, after attacking the box with my trusty utility knife, I extracted the parts a couple at a time, and lugged them into the garage.


Astute readers may discern that the desired end product of this mess is a recumbent exercise bike, to wit:

Photoshop-savvy readers (as many of you are) may also deduce from the amazing masking job on the background that this is a product shot off the Schwinn website and not my own photo of the assembled bike. There's an excellent reason for this: I haven't yet assembled it. I deemed that schlepping those parts into the garage, especially the flywheel assembly, was enough exercise for that day. Hell, if I could have gotten them inside without having to lie down and rest for half an hour afterwards, I probably wouldn't need an exercise bike so urgently.

And tonight, of course, I had to take pictures and read the instruction manual. You can't rush these things. Well, you can if you want to (you're probably a guy who doesn't read instruction manuals), but not me. Anything that costs $450 and comes with 20 major parts (including electronic modules) plus a slew of hardware and other odds and ends, I give due attention to the instructions.


Stay tuned for the next exciting installment of The Major Gets Taken for a Ride.