Bicycle Friendly

Tags

bicycle, neighbors, relationships

I like bicycles, so much that most people who know me identify that interest as part of who I am.  When I relax, when I exercise, it almost always involves a bicycle.  Many times over the years, friends think of me when they have a question about a bicycle they are buying, when they need an old bicycle fixed/refurbished, or simply when they start to enjoy bicycling themselves.  Many times, bicycles are the first impression people have of me.  Right now, I have a bicycle in my garage that a friend asked me to fix up for him — and it’s almost ready after one day.  I just need to look at the shift cables and make some adjustments.  The price for fixing up his bicycle is that he must go for a ride with me when I deliver it back to him.  His wife is very pleased with me, as well as her husband for taking the initiative to ask me to help.

After one year of living in my condo, my neighbors have become accustomed to the sight of me working on bicycles in my garage.  Usually, I set up my portable workstand out in the front of the parking bay where there is more light and where there is a breeze, my music playing lightly on the old stereo I have set up out there.  The community I live in is nestled into a quiet little valley next to a river, hidden away.   Each evening, my neighbors stroll by as they walk their dogs or get their exercise.  Many hang out on the drive in front of their building.  Most stop to say hello, ask about the bike I am working on, or to ask about how things are going.  A few stop by with their bicycle to ask me to help adjust a seat or to check out an issue the bike is having.  It’s a good way to get to know my neighbors, something I really enjoy.

Last night, as I was working on my friend’s bicycle, one of my neighbors stopped by with her bicycle.  If I said that I am not interested in getting to know Lisa a little bit better, I would be fibbing.  She caught my attention last year and we have light conversation occasionally as she passes by or if I see her at the pool.  At a condo party last summer, we teamed up for a bags tournament and won.  Lisa is fun, easy to talk to, a tall blonde, pretty.  Had she not been so guarded and my marital status still not finalized, I think I would have pursued her last year.  As it was, I just couldn’t get enough to gauge whether she was interested or not.  I thought that maybe she wasn’t available.  I needed to know more about her story.  Lately, she has stopped by for a little longer each time, shared quite a bit more about herself, enough that it is obvious she wants me to know she is available.  As I adjusted the seat height on her bicycle last night, she asked how I keep my garage so tidy and in order, how it is not filled to the brim with things.  Didn’t you bring a lot of things over from your house after the divorce?  I know I did.  I took the opportunity to purge in more ways than one, I explained, plus a lot of the things on my garage shelves are things I am storing for my daughter.  Can’t your ex wife store things for her?  Where does she live?  Do you have a friendly relationship with her?  More questions, answered easily.  I was happy to tell her that my ex and I have an amicable relationship — I think that gives a good impression.  It’s not quite that way with my ex, even after so many years.  She wants me to know more about her, I can see.

What will come of Lisa is yet to be seen.  Nothing, maybe.  Even one date could be playing with fire, risky seeing someone who lives within a few seconds walking distance.  That could also be a good thing.  One of the reasons my Saturday night friend is a question mark is that she is only available on Saturday evenings.  Either way, learning to navigate the female friend waters is proving to be interesting.  Honestly, after 25 years of marriage, I thought that I would no longer be attractive or interesting to the opposite sex.  Learning that is not exactly true is a challenge, a bit intimidating, but as I said it is interesting.

Here is what is also not what I expected — I thought that the woman who would be most appealing to me is one who is a cycling enthusiast.  What I am finding is that someone who falls into that category is a bit too enthusiastic about riding!  My Saturday night friend went for a short ride with me last weekend, thoroughly enjoyed herself.  It was a casual stroll through the woods close to my place, breathtaking since it was close to dusk.  I enjoyed watching her smile as she rode, genuinely happy to be riding with me.  She has long black hair, prettier when it was flowing lightly behind her.  It set the tone for the evening, helped me see a part of her that I was delighted to see.

Bicycle friendly is taking on a whole new meaning for me!

Resurrection

Tags

bicycle, life, personal

Old friends never go away.  Sometimes years go by without a visit or thought, but all of a sudden that friend is back, as good as the memories that live with them.  Often times that friend returns a little more dusty than the last time I saw them, but the shine is still there under the dust.

My Univega via Montega was the bike that brought me back to cycling, some 25 years ago now.  The frame is sturdy steel, not terribly heavy but not a lightweight either, set up as a hybrid.  When I first started cycling, my goal was to lose weight, a second surgery to my right knee made it difficult to run long distances.  I would finish a run and immediately had to grab an ice bag to cut the swelling.  Cycling had been prescribed as therapy after my second surgery, an exercise that strengthens the muscles around the joint and helps keep it stable.  Also, I had ballooned to 235 pounds, not exactly healthy for my 6’1″ frame or for my fragile knee.  I changed my eating habits and started cycling in July 1992.  By that November I had gone from 235 pounds to 192 pounds.  That bike carried me along the crushed limestone paths of the Prairie Path and Fox River trail in the west suburbs of Chicago.  I caught the bug quick, soon logging 400 miles or more a week, the motivation fueled by literally watching the fat melt off of my body after each ride.  The transformation was dramatic.

The next year I rode my first 7 day bike tour — RAGBRAI.  I was hooked.  I began riding my bike to work in an effort to balance family time and riding time.  When we bought our first house, roughly 12 miles away from work, my car stayed at home the majority of the time.  A few years after I started cycling, my car blew an engine in November and I didn’t bother to replace it for an entire year (yes, I rode through northern Illinois winters).  My Univega was truly a familiar friend.  We spent a lot of time together.  I kept it clean, maintained it myself, and it rewarded me with flawless performance.

Over the years, other bicycles came into the picture and I rode my Univega less and less.  But I never got rid of the bicycle, partly because of its sentimental value and partly due to the fact that it is truly a nice ride.

I pulled the Univega down from the rafters this afternoon.  My new home is right off the forest preserve paths as well as the Prairie Path.  I need it again.  It’s dusty and dirty, needs a lot of TLC to be rideable again, but it’s time to renew the relationship with my old friend.  It will probably be a slow project getting the Univega back to riding shape, but I may assemble the old parts before I start replacing them, take it out for a ride before cold weather sets in.  The Univega is going to be a winter project, I think.

Old friendships never go away, even when that old friend is a bike.

 

Stud

Tags

bicycle, life, mountain biking

It has been a week of revival for me.  After weeks of near mindless inactivity, I am able to ride again without worry of damaging my injured calf muscle.  Labor day, I tried out single track by riding a short ride, not pushing hard and my calf wrapped tightly.  The muscle passed, although I could feel the knot where the muscle is torn, reminding me that all is not yet right.  On cue, the muscle swelled with a vengeance, complaining about the exertion that I subject it to.

This week found me a little more than four weeks past the injury, a critical point, itching to test it out some more.  I packed my mountain bike onto the back of my car Sunday morning with the hope of rolling some dirt after church.  Patience rewarded me, although I had to find a place to change once I reached the trails, public nakedness exposed briefly as I changed into my bike shorts in a remote cul de sac close by the trail head.  I managed to ride at a good but not full effort for a little over an hour, cut short by a sagging rear shock and under inflated rear tire.  My pedals were scraping in the low spots, a sign that something was not right.  It felt great to ride again, nonetheless.

Tuesday, I raced home from work, ready for another dirt ride.  I went to get my mountain bike from the garage, discovered a flat tire on the rear wheel.  Duh.  That was part of the clearance problem on Sunday.  The flat was fixed quicly, but for some reason the through axle would not catch for close to an hour.  Once I finally got it to catch, daylight was waning.  I drove to the trails any way, managing an hour of riding despite low light.

I am riding again.  That is all that matters.

Last night, more single track, this time at near 100% effort.  I feel like a stud again.

Yes, I am a stud.

It’s a beautiful evening.  Time to kick back, hope for dry trails this weekend.  I took tonight off, just enjoying the weather out on my back deck, grilled brats and a brew.

Heaven could be now.  Mountain bike in cool weather.  Evenings with a book.

Back In Pad

Tags

bicycle, bicycling, friends, life, mountain biking

♫Back in pad
I hit the saddle
I’ve been too long I’m glad to be back
Yes, I’m let loose
From the noose
That’s kept me hanging about
I’ve been looking at the sky
‘Cause it’s gettin’ me high
Forget the hearse ’cause I never die
I got nine lives
Cat’s eyes
Cruisin’ every one of them and running wild

‘Cause I’m back
Yes, I’m back
Well, I’m back
Yes, I’m back
Well, I’m back, back
Well, I’m back in pad
Yes, I’m back in pad

Back in the back
Of a mountain bike
Number one with a bullet, I’m a power pack
Yes, I’m in a bang
With a gang
They’ve got to catch me if they want me to hang
‘Cause I’m back on the track
And I’m beatin’ the flack
Nobody’s gonna get me on another rap
So look at me now
I’m just makin’ my play
Don’t try to push your luck, just get out of my way

‘Cause I’m back
Yes,… ♫

Four weeks with very little turn of the pedals and when I did, I had to spend an hour or two with ice on my calf muscle, elevated above my heart.  Every time I did even a mild spin, my leg and foot swelled to Big Trouble In Little China proportions.

I rode Saturday, 30 something miles with several friends, testing out the route for an upcoming taco ride (Rando de Taco).  We rode a real comfortable pace from taco stand to taco stand, rating the tacos and deciding if that taco stand was worthy to be on this year’s route.  Six riders having a blast.  Mir and Nate went out to the city for the evening, leaving me open to socialize some more, so I joined my taco riding friends for a brew at a craft brewery (Solemn Oath in Naperville, Illinois), then dinner.

It really wasn’t what I had in mind for a Saturday ride, but Friday night and Saturday morning was a consistent heavy rain.  Much to my chagrin, I could not ride singletrack.  I rode with friends instead.

Sunday was gorgeous — and over an hour on singletrack at 75% effort.  I nearly held my usual average of 12.3 mph for the ride, but I chose not to push it too hard.  My injured calf responded favorably, did not swell when the ride was finished.

I’m back in pad(ded shorts).

Reunion

Tags

bicycle, bicycling, biking, Serotta

I missed my titanium and I think it missed me.

The new rear wheel performed famously.  I think I will keep it.

My recovering appendage responded without complaint.  It did, however, require some babying once I got home.  There was swelling.  It has been three weeks, three long weeks.  Sitting around waiting for an injury to heal properly is excrutiating.. and I am not talking about pain.  Waiting sucks.  I know that if I go out and ride the trails, I will most certainly reinjure the muscle.

So I reacquaint myself with the old Serotta.  Honestly, it felt good to ride the road again, enjoy the steady rhythm of my legs and the pleasant zen of maintaining speed.

Plus, I must admit that my titanium bike felt like a feather underneath me.  My dual suspension aluminum mountain bike is fairly light for a mountain bike, but that titanium frame is a fraction of the weight.  There really is something satisfying about how a good, strong, agile bike feels.  When I am on a bike, it feels like life is going to respond the same way and the euphoria is unlike anything else — and it’s all natural.

One more week until singletrack……

De Muir

Tags

bicycle, friends, memories, mountain biking

Every moment spent on a bicycle is sublime.  It can be a bit like giving birth, I suppose, as much as I can imagine that feels like, in that it’s not the pain that you remember as much as the sheer joy of what the experience reveals to you.  What I take away from each and every ride will stay with me forever.

Thanks, Jim, for reminding me of that.  You’re pretty smart, for a roadie.

Yesterday was a nearly 30 mile day — 28.99 miles to be precise.  Singletrack.  Rocky, sandy, steep climbs, roots, twisty turns, screaming descents.  Through woods and meadow, groves of cedar.  The Kettle Moraine area of southern Wisconsin is exquisite.  A treat.  And barely two hours drive from my front door.  My third time riding there, it is now cemented on my ‘must do’ list every riding season.

My friend, Ben, sent me a message last Thursday — Kettle Saturday at 10 am?  Full monty.  Some faster riders will be there.

I already was thinking about going on my own.  Ben’s invite just helped me make up my mind — Of course.  I could go for that.  See you then!

And so I went.  Ben and I met his friends, Melissa and Scott, as well as Eric (his job is to drive Specialized demos from trail to trail for demo days), at the John Muir trailhead in Lagrange, Wisconsin.  The plan was to do the full monty, which means that we were going to ride both the John Muir trail system as well as the connector to the Emma Carlin trail system.  On my own, I would have no problem riding the 30 miles.  However, I did not know if I could hang with Ben’s group all day.  Melissa and Scott are racers, Melissa a former roadie turned mountain biker (when I asked her about riding road, she says she has no desire to go back to riding road — it’s too boring), and both skilled, fast riders.

I shouldn’t have been worried.  No one cared.  All we cared about was riding and riding in a beautiful place.  I hung on, but it was work for me, and the faster riders did nothing but encourage me all day, even complimented me as I conquered some fairly hairy rock gardens and a skinny with a tall drop.  When we stopped to catch our breath, it was a blast, the comraderie of riding bringing us together.  I was tired and at the mid way point felt like I didn’t have much left in my tank, but I pushed on and was glad that I did.  Had I stopped, I would have missed a lot, including the time spent winding down at the end of the ride, cold beer and the talk about what we had done that day.

Like when Ben and I were riding through the connector trail that wound through a meadow, surrounded by tall grass.  Ben was about 50 yards ahead of me when I saw his red helmet disappear into the weeds.  The trail was deep with fine sand as it took a sharp turn, Ben’s front wheel digging in and throwing him into the tall grass.

That reminds me, I need to look up what those little prairie dog like animals were in the field next to the parking lot.  They popped out of their holes and stood up to check out the surroundings, all together.

Here’s a selfie taken by Melissa somewhere around the 20 mile mark, when we stopped to cool off and take in the view from an overlook.  I am the guy in the orange with the blue/white head sweat.  Melissa kicks butt — she was up front all day.  Scott was right on her tail the whole time.  They both are such good riders, I felt a bit out of place, but you might be able to tell from the picture that I fit right in.

 

Hog Wallow Friends and other stories

Tags

bicycle, friends, life, mountain biking

As far as I know, there is not a novel with the title of Hog Wallow Friends.  If there is, I bet it stinks.

Ha!  Ha ha ha!

Hog Wallow Friends might be the best title for the story of my July, at least so far.  Friday afternoon, my boss decided that we both were taking a half day vacation.  So at noon, I was gone, a flash out the door before he could change his mind.  I zipped home, changed into my cycling clothes, and loaded the mountain bike up on my VW for a trip to a Chicagoland mountain bike that I don’t visit as much as I would like to — Palos forest preserve.  I was on the trail by 1:30.

The trails at Palos don’t dry fast, one of the reasons I don’t go there often, but the trails were dry and in great shape.  Palos, however, always has a few large spots on a few trails that hold water, a perpetual mud pit.  One of the first connectors that I took, a trail called Hickory Smoke as it runs through a grove of Hickory, as well as being a fairly fast trail.  At one point on that trail, there is a sharp bend around a large Hickory, a spot where quite a few large roots cross the entire trail.  In between those roots, the water collects, turning the trail into a mud bog.  I crossed the roots close to the tree, a bit precarious as the roots close to the tree are large and, to ride that close to the tree, you have to be comfortable leaning a bit away from the tree as you ride over the roots.  That ended up being the best line, with no issue as I rolled over the roots.

Remember those roots and the mud that exists between them.

Palos has a lot of trail with a lot of climbing, a different ride that the constant little 10-20 feet up and down trails that I normally ride.  It’s a workout.  I rode a good 2 hours or more, returned to the parking lot with a pleasant fatigue, stripped my sweat soaked shirt off and perched underneath the opened hatch of my car to recover with a bottle of water.

“Steeeeeevvvvvvvve!!!!  Is that you?”  It was my friend, Gina, someone I met last year on a group bike path ride, then again as part of the group I rode with during a ride called Rando de Taco.  Gina rolled to a stop in front of me, a big smile on her face, happy to see me.  Likewise.  I enjoyed the rides last year, Gina and her boyfriend Glenn instantly becoming friends.

“Did you just finish a ride?  If you want to ride some more, we have a group ride starting up in a few minutes.”  I might have declined, but I felt like I still had something left in the Steve tank.  Besides, I have never seen Gina ride dirt singletrack.  The two rides I did with her last year were flat path rides and not on mountain bikes.  Rumor was that Gina was a very fast and gifted mountain biker, a former racer who had quite a bit of success.  She is petite and fiercely competitive, a consistently fast rider who led our group on both rides I had been on with her, latching onto my back wheel or riding next to me when either of us were not pulling the group.  I had to see her ride dirt.

So I put my shirt and shoes back on, jumped back on my bike.  The ride was a coed ride, promised to be a medium paced ride.  All except Gina were people I didn’t know — Price, Steve, Chrisrine, Nancy, Don.  As seems to be the case when a bike is involved, three hours later I would have five new friends.

We rolled out onto the connector trail that I had started on a few hours earlier, Hickory Smoke.  The first section went quickly, with Price and Gina leading out, and with me right on their tail.  We stopped for the rest of the group, then Gina encouraged me to lead out.  I did just that.

Remember that I said that Gina is fiercely competitive.  I intentionally lead out fast, hoping to shake her off of my tail, but failing at that.  Quickly, we were out ahead of everyone but Price.

That is until we came to that bend around the tree with the roots and mud.  I took the same line, cleared the roots even faster than I had before.  After I cleared those roots, a few seconds later I heard a loud “Argggggghhhh!” followed by a splash.  Gina had leaned too far over as she crossed that roots, tried to put her foot down to steady her but found out it was too far down to the ground.

Gina was very personally acquainted with the hog wallow-like mud between the roots, covered from head to toe with thick mud as she fell in.  Following the splash was loud laughter as the riders behind witnessed the dirty debacle.

Pictures were not allowed, at least not until Gina was able to take a quick dip in a close by lake.  But her mishap had really created a loose atmosphere amongst the group, not that we were all that serious to begin with.  The pace slowed, the competitive fire reduced to a glowing ember, replaced by conversation.   Before I knew it, several hours had passed and I was near toast.

And that is when the competitive fire returned.  The slower riders in the group decided to finish up, leaving the faster riders — Price, Gina and myself (sort of) — to ride a little more at a faster pace.  They gave us a challenge to ride a three mile loop instead of the one mile connector they would take back to the parking lot, see if we could beat them back to the parking lot.  I was toast, but no way was I going to do the one mile connector.

I should have just admitted it.  I was buttered and spread with jam with about a mile left on that loop.  Price and Gina ended up slowing their pace to help bring me in.  I rode nearly 6 hours of single track that day, though.

We all finished up with a brew at the Imperial Oak, then I headed home to pick up Nate for a late night movie.  I still had a little left in the Steve tank, I guess.

Price invited me back to Palos for a early morning July 4 guys ride.  I made some new friends — Price, Dean, Neal, as well as getting to ride singletrack with Glenn (Gina’s boy friend).  I was invited to ride with Price and a few others the next evening, with a promise that I could try out Price’s fat tire bike on that ride.  We ended up at the Imperial Oak after the Tuesday evening spin, a mistake for me as I ended up staying out way too late!

So there you have it.  I am so glad that summer is back and the trails are ready to ride again!

No Crying In Bicycling

Tags

bicycle, family, fatherhood, life, mountain biking

Tonight’s ride ended with a bit of drama — broken spoke drama.  Drat.  Drat.  Double drat.  Double broken spokes.  But, as it is in baseball, there is no crying in bicycling.  There may  be wailing and screaming, especially if blood or broken bones are involved, but there is no crying.  I only was able to ride 30 minutes or so.

It could have been worse.  How, you might say, especially if you’re a cyclist?

The spokes could have popped some time in the last eleven days.  My days of freedom, of temporary free balling bachelor hood, as in riding almost every glorious day with nothing and no one to worry about.  On June 1, coincidentally my birthday, I emerged from my bed very early in the morning, loaded my car with enormously overstuffed suitcases, and motored my wife and children to O’Hare airport to meet their morning flight to lovely, scenic Anchorage, Alaska.  I couldn’t go due to lack of money and a boss who strongly urged me to avoid spending the whole eleven days in Alaska.

Besides, the first four days were filled with wedding festivities.  My daughter was a bridesmaid for her cousin, Inga the bride, a sight I sorely wished I could see — Alyssa in her bridesmaid beauty and Inga, almost like a daughter to me, in her bridely beamery.  I wanted to be there, I really did, but I couldn’t justify the expense.  Some might say that I should have bit the bullet, forget the expense to go, but now I am looking at trying to pay for a new roof and school expenses for my children in the next month.  There is no possible way that we could have afforded it had I gone.  I am going to keep telling myself that.

There is something to be said about the therapeutic benefits of having a full ten days to one’s self.  My family would not be returning until June 12.  That seems like a long time.

Dang, did it go fast.

Contrary to what might be expected, I did not roam the house in my birthday suit, even on my birthday.  My nights were not spent in a drunken stupor.  I do not require alcohol for a stupor.  However, I did buy beer to keep in the refrigerator, enjoyed a cold one inside my house without fear for the first time in many, many, many years.  Temporary as they were, my days in my briefs as a brief bachelor were very tame.

Besides, I am not kidding about being broke.  My paycheck was awarded to me the night before my family flew for father’s freedom, but my paycheck also flew to pay the mortgage, car insurance premium, cable/internet payment, electric bill, and a few other small responsibilities.  A surprise family cell phone bill a few weeks ago, a bill of $524 that I had not planned for, had also drained my checking account.  There was no money for me to play.  A few months ago, I had hoped to venture off to Wisconsin for a weekend of mountain biking, but my bank account said nada nicht no way.  I made lemonade out of the lemons, though, had fun riding close to home.

Last Tuesday night, I paid a rare week day visit to Palos Forest Preserve to ride the excellent singletrack trails there.  There was a mountain bike skills clinic there that evening, so I also attended the clinic.  That may have been a mistake — I learned how many bad habits that I have developed during the last three years on a mountain bike!  However, I learned the proper way to manual (i.e. lift the front wheel of the bicycle over obstacles), adjusted my riding position to a more neutral position that utilizes my hips to negotiate turns, and a better method of turning.  One particular bad habit that I had was covering each brake lever with 2 or 3 fingers.  The best method is one finger, with more fingers on the grips the best idea.  On top of learning, I made new friends with some of the regulars who ride at Palos.  They not only invited me to ride their Wednesday night group rides, but they also asked me to go to their post ride hang out, a place called the Imperial Oak Brewery.  On a normal night, I would have had to decline, but I didn’t need to rush home.  I went there, had a real good time.

My family provided me with plenty of pictures while they were in Alaska, thanks to the wonder of smart phones (something I had been cursing just a few weeks before when paying that huge bill).  Alaska truly is a beautiful place and there were many times during the last two weeks when I wished I was there.  After the wedding was over, my family travelled through the mountains with Miriam’s relatives to spend a few days in Homer, Alaska at a vacation home they rented together.  Nate went with a few uncles on a deep sea fishing trip, caught at least ten halibut.  He got to keep a 35 pound and 38 pound halibut.  We will be grilling those fish when they arrive here.

I was glad to pick my family up at the airport yesterday morning.  The quiet had been great for me, but I was ready for a little bit of noise in my house.  Besides, the dog and cat were beginning to plot against me.  I am pretty sure that Nick the Sheltie was going to lock me in the bathroom and steal all the food in the fridge.  Nick had been a source of frustration for me, especially with his endless begging, but also because his digestive system did not agree with the pieces of steak that I had shared with him.  The bonding time went bad.  Nick pooped in the living room every night for three days as well as when I was away at work.  Our living room still smells like a toilet.  I used a $50 gift card that my coworkers gave to me for my birthday, to buy a spot carpet cleaner.  The stains are gone but, well, the ghosts of Nick’s turds will live on in our living room for a while.

My family is back.  By last night, I was ready to ship my son back to Alaska.

OK, time to replace some spokes.

 

Sometimes You Have To Force Yourself

Tags

bicycle, life, mountain biking

The title says just about everything.  Truly, absolutely, if you want to benefit, then you need to force you to do things you do not feel like doing.

Anyone who rides a bicycle or runs or trains understands what that means.

Springtime means that I am going to have an allergy induced cold.  I have one now, a cold I felt coming on yesterday morning when my nose started to run.  My mother and I both are afflicted at the moment, an affliction we genetically share.  Yesterday afternoon, after my office manager and I attended a trade show together in the morning, she came into my office to discover me with my head back against the head rest on my office chair, asleep.  That has never, ever happened.  But the oncoming cold had kicked my butt and I could not resist.  I managed to make it through the afternoon at work, hoped to come home and load up my bike for a trip around the trails.  Instead, I occupied the couch in my living room, fell asleep for over two hours.

I should have forced myself to ride.  It was a picture perfect day.  Had I avoided the couch, I likely would have felt 100% better after the blood started flowing.

Maybe.  Maybe not.  Just maybe I needed the rest.  I know that I slept soundly through the night.

However, I was not going to let one more day pass without riding.  After all, it has rained 11 out of the last 14 days, limiting my riding opportunities.  It is a good thing that the trail system that I ride dries out very quickly.  So I loaded up my bicycle and ride clothing in my car before work, the idea being that I would drive out to the trails from the office.

It worked.  I did just that this evening.  My head was three feet thick from the cold, but I rode.  My plan was to ride the full 7 miles of trail, then stop.  However, when I was just about finished, I met my friend Greg on the trail.  Greg is 15 years younger, a much more experienced rider than I am.  Greg asked me if I wanted to ride with him, so I kept riding, adding another 30 minutes to my ride.  Not only that, but following Greg always teaches me something.  I watched him navigate a section of trail that I have never, ever been able to conquer.. until tonight.  I watched how Greg navigated that section and rode straight through without stopping.  Win.  Win. Win.

For those curious, that section starts at the top of a very tall berm, turns sharply left over several nasty roots and drops straight down.  To navigate that section, one has to ride up a steep banked turn and then left the front wheel before dropping down.  Watching someone do it gave me the knowledge and the confidence to do it.

I still feel like dirt, but at least I got dirty.

And dang, the baked chicken and brussels sprouts I cooked when I got home took an edge off, as did the hot shower.

Sniffle.

 

Grasping for no air

Tags

bad mechanic, bicycle

How can a simple, brainless object make me feel so stupid?

(don’t answer that unless you want to receive a box of dog poo in the mail — I’ll doo it)

I mean, I feel utterly and tremendously moronic right now.  WAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!  BOO HOO!!!!

A friend of mine rebuilt the rear wheel on my road bicycle a few weeks ago, scrapping the destroyed hoop and old spokes.  He used a Velocity rim, a wide dished rim, a good utility wheel that was also a good price.  This time of year I ride on the road more than the dirt, mostly due to my aversion to mud (surprised?).  So I needed a good wheel for my road bike.

The fourth ride on the new wheel, four spokes came loose from their nipples (yes, bicycles have nipples).  Stink.  Pete, my buddy, was good enough to stop by my office to pick up the wheel, brought it back to me two days later.  The wheel seems bomb proof now.  It’s held up for several rides now, shows no sign of failing.  So I decided it was time to replace the old rubber, the tread flat and worn out.

That Velocity rim is a tad too big.  Getting the new tire on is a pain.  I have some real good Crank Brothers tire levers, which helps, but I have to work hard to get the tire on.

Tonight was my fourth attempt.  I have destroyed the tube every time I put the tire on.  After over twenty years of riding, I know how to put a new tire on and replace a tube.  Apparently not.  Tomorrow will be my fifth attempt, but I am going to have to swallow my pride, go visit my friend Pete and let him replace the tire/tube for me.

Drat.  I feel stupid.