Flat as Flat Can Be

It took some effort, but I managed to tweak my day to make time for a ride. As I figured it, I had an hour and twelve minutes. A odd number…well, an even number, actually, but you know what I mean – an unusual number, perhaps, but that was what I had. I hit got kitted out and hit the road. It was hot, it was windy, and my legs felt great. I don’t just mean “really good” either, I mean great, and not just great but Tony the Tiger “GGRRRREEATTTTTT!”

I was just flying right from the start. The heat didn’t matter. The wind didn’t matter. This was apparently my day. I don’t know what I hit. I didn’t see it when I hit it, and I didn’t find it when I went back to look for it. I know that I felt it and I heard the “whump” of the impact and I heard a noise like “Brppphhffffffewwwwww” (I think that's how you spell it) and three second later my tire was out of air. I stopped. It was a rear wheel flat, darn it.

My History With Flats

I haven’t had that many flats, so I can recall each one.

1. My first flat was on a group ride. Or, rather, right before a group ride was supposed to start. That was the time Jörg looked up at me and asked, “Why am I changing this for you?” “Because you don’t want to wait twenty minutes to leave and are too nice to leave without me?” I guessed. That must have been it, because he continued to fix the tire for me.

2. I discovered my second flat when I was getting ready to go out on a solo ride, so I got out my handy-dandy bike repair book, studied a bit and then changed the tire while sitting on my couch. It was a rear wheel flat, and, after I got the tube changed and inflated, I discovered that I couldn’t get the wheel back on.

What to do, what to do…

At the time I had a little two door hatch back car. I took the front wheel off the bike (I knew I could get that one back on) and discovered that there was just room for the frame in the back of my car if I shoved my seat about as far forward as I could get it. This was clearly unsafe, with the steering wheel making indentations on my rib cage, so I was glad the bike shop wasn’t far away.

I got to the bike shop and dragged my back in and explained to Steve what had happened. He didn’t laugh very hard. He then showed me the trick to getting the back wheel back on (it turns out it matters which gear you’re in. Who knew? Well, Steve did, for one. I didn’t. I then had to get the bike back into my car and get us both back home. I made it before I ran out of breath. (It’s really hard to breathe with a steering wheel kissing your sternum.)

3. My third flat happened on the road as I was returning from a group ride. I was less than half a mile from home, so I just walked the bike home and changed the flat there. (Yes, I know that I should probably be ashamed to admit that, but there it is. I just didn't want to have a go at changing the flat on the road. What can I say? At least I'm honest about it.)

4. 5. My fourth (and now fifth) flats happened out on the road while I was on solo rides, and I changed them successfully. (I didn't really have a whole lot of choice in either case. I wasn't going to walk my bike that far.) These two times were the first times I ever used CO2 cartridges to refill the tire, and I somehow managed that. (Even though I’ve done it twice, I still don’t actually know how I did it. I’ll figure it out one day.)

If you've read much of this blog, you may have gathered by now that I am not mechanically inclined. I am, in fact, mechanically declined, I'm sure.

Anyway, getting a flat certainly put a damper on my great ride, although, while I was in the process of changing it (and seeing how many body parts I could get grease on at the same time, apparently) a nice gentleman in a pickup truck stopped to ask if I needed any help. I said "no" which, for a few minutes, I though may have been overly ambitious, but I made out. I headed back home and used what had been my precious ride time to head to the bike shop and pick up a new tube. Also, while I was changing the tube, I noted that my tires are not in any too good a shape, either, so I needed a couple of those as well.

Still, the ride was GGRRRREEATTTTTT! while it lasted.

Tomorrow a ride is probably out of the question, but I can always hope. Maybe next time I climb into the saddle my legs will feel the same way they did today.

Wish me luck.

See you on the road.

No Ride For You?

“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day,” my Lovely Lovely said.

“I’m not having a bad day,” I told her. “I’m have a stupid day.”

It started off with a discussion of whether I was going to ride to work or I was going to toss my back into the belly of the 2000 pound beast, let my Lovely Lovely drop me off on her way to work and merely ride back home again at the end of the work day. I was in favor of option number one, for reasons that I felt were cogent and sound. She was in favor of option number two for the reason that she didn’t want me to ride to work.

So, after being driven to work…

Well, actually, after being driven to where my Lovely Lovely works, I pulled the bike out to ride over to where I work (a distance of possibly a mile if I stretch it) only to discover that I had left my water bottle, carefully filled, sitting at home. (This was what prompted the exchange I started out with.) Granted, I didn't need to bottle on my way to work, but I might miss it on the way home.

As I pedaled away, I suddenly wondered if I had brought my book with me. A quick dig through the messenger bag showed that my book, too, was sitting at home.

I pulled up at a stoplight to turn left onto a busy road. Of course, you never know about traffic lights…how sensitive is the sensor? After a few minutes, I looked up at the light and said, “This light is not gonna change for me.” An instant later I heard a roaring sound behind me. “But it will change for a truck!” The truck pulled up next to me and then roared again. “But not if the truck turns right on red instead of staying put.” Oh, well.

It’s gonna be one of those days…

Fortunately for me, it turned out that the truck stayed just long enough to trip the sensor, so the light changed and let me through. (For those of you (not the egotistical use of the plural form showing my hope that more than one person might actually be reading this…) who are wondering why I didn’t just go on through the light (which is perfectly legal if the light won’t change for you*) it’s because the darned road was so busy that I would have been splatted if I had tried such a hare-brained move.

*Please note that this is not legal advice, and, if it turns out to be wrong, the police officer giving you the ticket will not be impressed if you tell him someone called lunicycle said it would be okay.

*Also please note that this is not safety advice, and you run the risk of ecountering hostile traffic and having an unpleasant demonstration of the truth of some of the basic laws of physics, and the doctor taking care of you will not be impressed if you tell him someone called lunicycle said it would be okay.

*And, finally, please note that, since these notes are in the middle of the text, they clearly can’t be footnotes, and I have no idea what they should be called. Thank you.

After I left work I had to run by my mom's to do some errands for her, and she finished by asking, "Don't you want me to drive you home?"

Nobody wants me to ride today, apparently.

As I finally headed home, I was passed by a guy on a small motor scooter. I felt a little kinship with him. True, he had a motor, but he was also small, traveled under the speed limit and was unprotected out on the road should a passing 2000 pound beast decided to swat him. He must have felt a kinship with me, because, after he passed, he held up his hand in a wave and left it there until I responded.

I watched him turn off ahead of me, but about ten minutes later he passed me again. I remember thinking, "Oh. It's him again," and then wondering if he had the same thought.

I also got passed by two vans with big bold letters on their sides proclaiming that they contained "inmate workers." Each van was pulling a trailer holding a port-a-potty, a pile of traffic cones and a metal cabinet. I guess you never know where you'll be working, so it's good to be prepared.

I also saw an Archie Bunker couch and a big console TV sitting outside on someone's lawn. I didn't stop to ask why.

The things you see on the road, eh?

Despite the way the day started, and despite a bit of opposition from people who mean well, I did finally get a little ride in. I wish it could have been longer, but it was still good. I just want more.

See you on the road.

Slow and Easy

I went on a sofa ride today, mostly just to stretch my legs and wash out the lactic acid from yesterday’s effort. It was kind of windy, but I didn’t care because I was pretty much committed to not much effort today, so all I did was slow down. It takes away a lot of the push when you really don’t care how fast (or, more to the point) how slow you go.

I was just cruising, heading anywhere I took into my pointy little head to go, wandering through neighborhoods and subdivisions as the whim struck me.

I noticed that there are a lot of personalized mailboxes out there. Polka dots are the most popular, both black and white and multi-colored, but I saw a mailbox with a little metal horse on top of it, rainbows, a pennant festooned with the letter “J”, (yes, I did say festooned) and, best of all, a giant fish. It was an iridescent green, and its wide open mouth held the mailbox door. This is kind of kitschy cool. I wouldn’t want one, mind you, but it was kitschy cool all the same.

Unlike most days, I was kind of glad not to run into any other cyclists on the road today, because I was so clearly slacking off…I mean, on a recovery ride. Yeah, that’s it. It was a recovery ride.

Perhaps the most interesting thing that I saw was a snakeless skin. That is, an empty snake skin which had apparently been shed by its previous owner, which is not to say that there is a skinless snake out there somewhere.

Talk about a lazy no pressure ride…I just sort of oozed my way up hills, ignored the wind by simply slowing down if it blew harder and generally just had a nice pleasant time. Every car that passed me (and they were few and far between) did so with courtesy and kindness. That was the icing on the cake.

Sometimes this is exactly the kind of ride I’m in the mood for.

Tomorrow, it’ll probably be different.

See you on the road.

Free to Ride

I woke up at 6:40 am. I didn’t want to wake up at 6:40 am, but there it was whether I wanted it or not. So, what do you do on your day off when you wake up way early and can’t get back to sleep? You get up and go for a ride, of course. I picked out a nice forty mile route full of hills, and I was actually looking forward to it for some strange reason. Glutton for punishment, I guess..

When I hit the road, my legs did not actually feel very good. I rode through my neighborhood, which includes a couple of leisurely hills. I blamed my poor legs on the wind (and on the fact that my legs are just poor) and then, as I got out of the neighborhood I happened to look down and ask this rather pertinent question: “What the heck am I doing riding in such a high gear?” Huh. It turns out my legs were better than I thought, but my brain was apparently not so good. Perhaps it was still asleep.

Actually, I ended up feeling really good, wind or no wind (and there was definitely wind) and I was largely able to keep my pace up where I wanted it, though there did come a point about thirty miles in, when it began to occur to me that some people have the gift of pushing themselves even when they ride alone, and some don’t. It’s easier for me to push myself if someone else is going hard and I’m trying to keep up with them, but I was determined to keep the pace up today, and I did it.

I encountered various things on this ride: Yard sales. Lots of yard sales, some of them even in yards, and some of them in parking lots, making them, I suppose, parking lot sales. I even saw a sign that said, “Free Yard Sale. Everything must go.” Free yard sale? I didn’t even try to figure that one out.

I did notice that most of these yard sales featured a variety of bicycles. Where do these bicycles come from and why aren’t people riding them?

I came perilously close to encountering an eighteen wheeler that was apparently driven by a man who didn’t know the meaning of that double yellow line down the middle of the road.

I encountered a couple of loose dogs, but they were relatively polite, chasing but not barking, chasing but never coming into the street. The two dogs who chased me last time weren’t ready for me. They didn’t see me until I was past their yard, and I was moving well, so they barked but didn’t bother to chase much.

I encountered another cyclist coming toward me. It always makes me happy to see other cyclists out riding the roads, and I always wondered if it was just me. That question was answered, because the approaching rider grinned and waved at me. I warned him of the loose dogs that he was headed toward.

Aside from the aforementioned semi and one van, the vehicles passed me politely, which was greatly appreciated. I started out gently, not killing myself on the first hills, but there is one hill at about the fifteen mile mark on this route that really used to take the starch out of my legs, and the last time I rode this route, I resolved to hit that hill hard, and I did. I determined to do the same thing, and I fairly flew up it, but I ended up slowing down at the top because the road was really rough and because I trying to catch my breath and my breath was going too fast for me to catch it.

All in all, I hit the entire route hard and did really well. I was feeling it by the end, mind you, but that’s okay. That’s rather a nice feeling because it lets you know you did something. I’m hoping to squeeze in another ride tomorrow morning.

See you on the road.

Half and Half

Today I took a newbie on a ride. He is…how shall I put it…athletically inclined. (I, on the other hand, am not. I am, in fact, a card carrying geek who lived as a couch potato (well, computer desk potato) until the bright idea of buying a bicycle occurred to me and I found an athletic practice that didin’t require depth perception, coordination or grace.) Because he is athletically inclined, he wants to be good on the bike. Because he is a teenager, he doesn’t want to be shown up by someone who his nearly thirty years older than he is. Both of these things are perfectly understandable.

He’s ridden a few times – one or two miles around the neighborhood and then a reported twenty miles out by himself one day. We headed out bright and early while it was still cool and there wasn’t much traffic.

I did all the things that one does with a new rider – I sprayed instructions and advice like a fount of wisdom, which is probably just as annoying as it sounds, though he, in fact, followed most of the advice. (The one piece he ignored was to shift up and trying spinning at something less than 125. Apparently he likes to keep his legs moving.)

I also chose a flat route, kept the pace low, reminded him to drink, let his draft off of me nearly all of the time, that sort of thing. When we arrived at the volunteer fire station which is five miles from the house (comfortingly close, don’t you think?) I told him we had gone five miles. His quads were hurting him, so we pulled over and let him stretch, checked his saddle height, talked about riding posture and then turned around to ride the five miles back to our starting point.

He still had some fire at the end of the ride, because he pushed himself to go hard up one last hill. Nicely done. I dropped him off and then headed out to get some more miles on my own – hard ones with hills because I’m a glutton for punishment. (Actually, it’s because I know I need to ride stronger than I do, so I might as well push myself.)

That ride was hard but good until the two dogs came out after me, one of them baying like the hound of the Baskervilles and apparently out for blood. I was heading up a (fortunately for me!) not very steep hill and I had to hit thirty mph before I dropped them. (Only one of them came out into the street after me and ran at my heels, but one was enough.) The really bad thing was that I had to go back that way to get home again, and there was quite a steep hill not far past their house in that direction.

Going back that way meant risking life, limb and skin, but I had no choice.

I pulled over and picked up some rocks to put in my pocket.

On the way back I had some rocks ready to hand and then here they came, both of them running out into the street this time. I tossed a rock at the first one, and I missed, but apparently it was enough to make him remember an appointment that he had somewhere else, so he left.

The vicious one – the one that made me think he wanted to see the color of my insides – came hard after me. I threw a rock at him. Missed again. It apparently scared him, though, because he moved over to the other side of my bike. I threw another rock. Missed again. (I did mention that sports are not my strong suit, didn’t I?) but apparently the fact that rocks could come at him no matter which side of my bike he was one was enough to make him change his mind about the chase and go find something else to do, and they left me in peace rather than in pieces.

The rest of the ride was uneventful but fun, and I am definitely ready for me.

See you on the road.

Pedals

Today I did something not merely dangerous but absolutely foolhardy. I attempted to use my tool kit to perform a mechanical task. As I have noted before, if you hand me a tool kit you might as well go ahead and hand me a box of gauze, some bandages and a phone with 911 on speed dial. I proved the truth of that sentiment today.

The mechanical task in question was a simple one – swapping out the pedals on a bike.

I have a 16 year old who has decided he wants to try riding. I’m letting him use my trek 1000, and I had two options – spend 200 bucks for him to get a pair of shoes and cleats to use the clipless pedals that are already on there or spend 25 bucks for a pair of pedals with toe clips.

Guess which one I chose.

I went to my friendly local bike shop and talked to Steve, wrench extraordinaire. Steve showed me how to put the pedals on.

(Once, after I got my handy dandy and (till now unused) toolkit, Steve asked, “You’re just dying to use that toolkit, aren’t you?” I admitted it, and he said, “Don’t be in such a hurry.” It was good advice, and, for once, I had the wisdom to follow someone’s good advice.)

“Now, this is the left pedal,” Steve said, pointing.

“How do you know?”

“These ridges right here,” he said, pointing them out. Then he flipped the pedal over to show me that part the he didn’t need to use but that I did, “And also because it says ‘L’ right here. But we use the ridges.” I know he did, because he hadn’t even glanced at the label, but the label was just about my speed.

Steve then explained that the pedals are opposite threaded. They both loosen toward the back of the bike and tighten toward the front, which, as Steve pointed out, makes perfect sense. If you’re pedaling, you don’t want that action to loosen one of the pedals.

I got home, and my Lovely Lovely, busy cleaning out a hamster cage, saw what I was doing and said, “I thought it was lefty loosey and righty tighty.”

“Don’t go there,” I said. “Not with pedals.” I really gave the impression that I knew what I was talking about and, for once, I actually did, thanks to Steve.

Anyway, at the cost one smashed finger, I did get the pedals changed out, which is pretty good for me. I handled tools and didn’t need a trip to the emergency room afterwards. Excellent.
I tried the bike out just to make sure that I hadn’t somehow damaged something, and it worked find, although I did discover that, after several years of using clipless pedals, I have lost the knack of getting my feet into the toe clips. I can do the first one all right, then I get rolling and try to get the second foot in, but the toe clip makes the pedal want to hang upside down so you have to flip it over and jam your foot in there without either falling over or hitting something…I was pretty good at it once upon a time, but those days are gone. Pretty soon we’ll see how good a new rider is at it.

I’m busy rehearsing all the things I’ll need to tell him, starting with the fact that, contrary to the opinion held by nearly all teenagers, he is neither invulnerable nor immortal. Also, there are rules of the road. Wish me luck. At least I’m not having to teach anyone how to drive. That’s a plus.

See you on the road.

241

I had a two for one sale today.

My Lovely Lovely drove me to work with my bike in the belly of the beast. I parked it in one of the classrooms because, well, I had to park it somewhere, and I don’t think the bike racks outside look particularly solid, somehow.

Seeing it, one of the students asked me how far away I lived. “Oh, just six miles is all.” The student was impressed by the idea of riding a bike six miles, while I was thinking that it was barely a ride at all. Same language, different worlds.

When it was finally time to head home, it was 92 degrees out. The sky was nearly cloudless, and the wind could have been unpleasant. Fortunately, however, it was blowing in the right direction.

I got stopped at road construction. There was the guy holding the sign that ordered us all to stop, there was the one car in front of me, there were the various cars lining up behind me. The guy finally turned the sign to the side that says, “Slow.” As I pedaled past him, I said, “Slow is the only speed I’ve got in this heat.”

“I heard that,” he said. I assume that was agreement and not merely acknowledgement that I was audible, but I could be wrong.

I took it easy all the way home, but the water in my bottle, filled up from the fountain but with no ice, tasted warm and flat. I cruised into the garage and then decided to go for a real ride. Since I had skipped lunch, I went for some instafood.

In-sta-food /ɪn-stə-füd/ - any substance sold in can which is designed to be plopped into a bowl, microwaved and eaten (not the can, the substance in the can). While it is marketed for human consumption, this should not be taken to indicated that it is either (A) palatable or (B) actually edible. Common ingredients include pasta, rice, a meat-like substance and (presumably) styrofoam, rubber bands, and wood caulk.

I followed this up with a couple of precautionary antacids, got kitted out and hit the road, covered in sunscreen. I figured I had less than an hour before my Lovely Lovely would get home from work, and I didn’t want to fry my brain in the heat, so I went for an easy fifteen miles.
The wind had other ideas about how easy my ride would be, but voicing my complaints, which I did, didn’t seem to have much effect on it.

I passed a giant farm machine spraying a mysterious fluid onto dirt. When I later passed that same spot again, the farm machine was gone, but it had left a cloying odor in it’s wake that make me wonder how much good breathing it in was doing my lungs. Hooray for the great outdoors.

The rest of the ride was quite pleasant, really, except for the heat. I'm not sure how much of my water I drank and how much of it I poured down the back of my neck. I do remember emptying my first bottle and grabbing the second, which was insulated. That water was still ice cold when it hit my back, and it was pleasant agony as it rolled down my back. I also cheated and took a break for a moment in the shade of a building.

I managed to make it home and get showered just in time to greet my Lovely Lovely as she got home from work. This was what I call a good day. Two rides. Not bad at all.

See you on the road.