whip it good

She's a beauty ain't she? Salvaged from the scrap heap and on loan to serve as my morning whip to the train. The most exposure I've had to a sweet classic Brooks saddle, it's thirty year old leather is just now broken in and the main reason for locking her up.
Gliding out my driveway to meet the 7:19 and sipping on some java. I could use one of these but it's only a half mile, I can ride one handed. The three speed hub has a smooth faint click, she doesn't shift but least it's stuck in the easiest gear. Her mission is to get me there faster than walking, after all, walking sucks. The beauty of this ride is that she's still rolling despite her apparent lack of maintenance. I'm hesitant to inspect the tires, for fear that the tubes are both blowing out dry-rotted sidewalls. If she breaks down plan B will be to lock her to the nearest available tree and beat feet.
I hear the train's whistle at the end of Asbury street and build a head of steam. I've got her at top speed in short order, she's got a wobble and both wheels are hitting the fenders and brakes. Whack Whack Whack. She's making all kinds of rattles and bangs but the chain is holding fast and now time to slow her down. Securing the lid on my travel mug I tuck it in my armpit and grab for the raliegh's available brake power, which I am finding out rather quickly she has none. Needing now both hands and one foot, I've gone to the Fred Flinstone method. I am a total projectile, and on coarse to being someone hood ordainment on route 1A.
Her brakes burn through the first half inch of hardened rubber and finally grab hold, just had to burn off the ten years of dust since they were last used.
Upon my return trip on the 5:48, my neighbor Russell pauses a moment and with a squint and scratch to his head gives a shout , "hey...what'chya down grade'in?" "Naw, she's a workhorse!"