Robbers were common in Healdsburg, so I made a habit of bolting my bike. Only Cindy could untie the chains tangling my wheel. The padlock wrapped through the rear spoke? No problem. She would grab the bike from above, and turn the wheel a slight 35 degrees. She would thread, and twist, and thread, and twist. She would tell me it's an IQ test, so my bike could "only be stolen by intelligent people."

I biked with Cindy frequently, always on the same trail, and together, we experienced ratchet Healdsburg. She took me down South, through 101 (no foot traffic). A strip club on one side; Big John's on the other. A stray orphan, again. (Cindy, brave, called him out. I see the knife, y'know. I see it! We biked past.) Angry locals from Fogbelt Brewing Co., armed with stones (for anyone who "talked funny, smelled funny, or looked funny"). Cindy shrugged it off; I was the wuss.