Contemplations of a Closet Curmudgeon

Mission accomplished: I figured out a way to get to Alameda Bicycle without getting run over by someone's Mom. Headed straight down Willow to Central Avenue - mostly stop signs and one traffic light. Trying to get across Santa Clara sucks in the truck, and it sucked by bicycle, but the four way stop at Central was just fine. Left turns on busy streets are fraught with peril, and are, in fact, illegal at most Park Street intersections during certain hours. Basically, I ride across to the far side, wait at the cross walk, then ride parallel to the crosswalk or walk the bike, depending on what the intersection is like. Central Avenue has a bike lane. I crossed Park Street there, cut left on Park Street and through a parking lot onto Webb, which brought me back out on the corner where the bike shop is - and a burger joint that smelled awfully tempting.

The folks at the shop oohed and ahhed over the vintage, two-tone hotness that is Mimi, while I grabbed a waterproof cover and the last aluminum  rat-trap style bike rack they had. Stephanie topped up the air in my tires while we were at it.

Tomorrow I'm riding down to Pagano's Hardware for some longer screws because, of course, two of them are two short to attach the rack to the posts beneath the seat, and it was too late to try to get to the store by the time I discovered this.

I found two numbers on the head tube on either side of the Murray head badge. One reads MO65730 12, the other is B5253638.
This web page seems to indicate that an MO6 number indicates manufacture in 1965 - only it's in the wrong spot, according to said page. 
I may, however, be able to find out more by emailing these folks, but I should probably try to get better detail shots of the numbers themselves before sending them off.  Mimi* doesn't have a chain guard, which is where Murray tended to put their model names, however, check out some of the wild "space age" bikes in this catalogue from 1963 .  The cut-out crank and the seats are similar. 1965 may not be out of line.....

I don't know if I'm going to get out and play with her today though. I need to get a few things done around the house, particularly if I'm going down to Santa Cruz to meet Dad tomorrow evening, and then do the demo at the Santa Clara county fair on Saturday. vittoriosa , if you see this and can recommend a restaurant or two, let me know (we've done Ristoranti Avanti and Omei, both good, but we're up for new things).

*Mimi is my cool aunt: the one who had a VW Beatle, then traded up to a bright yellow Kharmann Ghia cabriolet, of course. The one who went to work for an Indiana congressman (and his successors, including House Speaker Thomas Foley, who I met at her wedding). She who had the cool basement apartment on F Street SW with the exposed brick wall and the posters and the amazing record collection.

EDIT: In the nice surprise category. I just took a phone call from baronalejandro  - forgot I had given him my cell number when he was in town about a year ago. Did a quick garb consultation, then chatted bikes for a bit.

Called the guy when I came home from taiko and asked if I could stop by tomorrow after work. He told me someone was coming to see the bike at 3, but I could come by tonight if I wanted, gave me his address and it turns out he's just the other side of the estuary. Still slimy from taiko, I hit an ATM and drove over to this little industrial cul-de-sac off 880.

I find the apartment-cum-warehouse unit with the marlin over the door as instructed. Young guy with a pony tail and a sort of young-Eric Stoltz vibe is wheeling another bike out the marlin door and waives as I pull up. It's for someone else who's coming to look at it and he goes and gets the red bike for me. Prettier even than the photo on the ad. Clean as can be, not a mark on it except a little wear on the white plastic pedals. He says it needs a white wicker basket on the handle bars. I say, "And playing cards between the spokes." New tires, new cables. 

The seat is at almost the perfect height for me, maybe an inch lower would be perfect. OK, flip flops were a dumb idea, and I really haven't been on a bike in decades, but after a wobbly push off, I'm cruising down the block towards the water easy as can be. I make a loop at the end of the street before I hit gravel, then deliberately aim her at a stretch of pavement that looks like a lava field: bumpy, but bike and I handle it just fine. I try a hard stop with the hand brakes. Brakes work fine and so do my reflexes.

I ask Young-Eric-Stoltz if I can pick it up tomorrow because I have a crapload of gear in the back of the truck. He's getting ready to go off to a trade show - he also refurbishes guitars, as it turns out. I do some quick shuffling and re-arranging of said crap-load and we manage to lay the bike on top of  it. I toss my cloak over it (no sense in advertising what's in the back of my truck overnight), lock the camper shell and pay the man.

Tomorrow's mission, get a good lock and a helmet. I own a bike.