Bringing our bikes out of mothball

This weekend, I FINALLY decided to get our bikes in working condition--they'd been sitting propped up against the house for the past two years like Dust Bowl-era hobos. The seat of one of them looked like an Bloomin' Onion from Outback Steakhouse because we'd parked it within reach of Kitty's razor-sharp claws and she really went to town on it. Also, all four tires were completely flat. I pumped up the two on Margaret's bike with no ill effects, but when I pumped up my own tires, I hear a ripping sound and noticed that with every pump, the nylon belting that supports the tire was ripping in half and the tire bulging out. We risked a bike ride to the store (it was only 7 blocks, so I figured if I blew out a tire, I could still walk it). By the time I'd finished installing the new tires, it was lunch time, so on our inaugural bike ride, we ended up riding to Red Robin for lunch. The trip there was great, but with Red Robin's bottomless pops, I was pedaling REALLY fast toward the end of our trip home. It's surprising how urgent that feeling is when you're sitting directly on your bladder.