Cyclophile

What Would Willie Do?

2009-07-10T10:49:00.003-04:00

Those of you who have known me for a while might have the suspicion that I am wound up a little tight. This is not entirely wrong. I have a tendency to go at things full tilt. This could be signs of a manic/depressive disorder or too much caffeine and beer.

Lately things have been a little rough. Life doesn’t always work out according to plan. Expectations often exceed recompense, you can’t always get what you want. Fortunately there is always a country song to set things into perspective. I was riding to meet a friend at 5:45 AM with all of my turmoil's rumbling in my mind. My head light went out and I had to stop and fix it. I had hit a bad bump and things got loose. It occurred to me that I had better get my mind on my riding and forget about the distractions. Then it hit me, the song that fixes everything. “What Would Willie Do?”

I got myself all worked up about the local bike club. I didn’t think the race course they selected was all that safe and when I protested I got shot down pretty hard. It was hey you, get off of my cloud. The club is taking a direction I don’t agree with and getting involved with too many events without enough money or volunteers. I was taking it all seriously and personal, getting way to emotionally involved and then I thought, What would Willie do?

Well he’d just take a deep breath and then he’d let it all go.

Right now my bike repair business is tanking. No one has been in for service or repairs for weeks on end. There is a new bike shop with lots of shiny bikes, a good looking young owner and air-conditioning. There isn't even a single mosquito in his whole shop. I was starting to feel like nobody liked poor pitiful me any more but it hit me again, What would Willie do?

And he’d take another deep breath and let it all go.

Then my bank says if I don’t have $10,000 in my account they are going to charge me $20 a month for checking. My cat is 14 and not getting around too well. I’ve had four flat tires in three weeks . I have a catering job and a major art show coming up and I am really starting to stress, and heading for my 19th nervous breakdown and....What would Willie do?

and he’d take another deep breath.... and he’d hold it.

Yes there is always a good country song for just about every situation. In this case it isn’t really “ What Would Willie Do?” It is a song by one of the old outlaws though. It’s “Luchenbach, Texas” or Back to the Basics of Life. I did a lot of thinking and beat myself up pretty bad for not doing better. This of course did no good what so ever. So I am going back to the basics of life. I am going to get my catering job done, whittle away my to do list one step at a time and put up one hell of a show. I’m going to appreciate my ancient cat while she’s still with us. The bike club is going on low priority and riding is going on high priority. The bike business will get reinvented as something else, or not. The main thing is to quit whining and get back to having fun and enjoying life and the time I have with my wife. It’s time to remember the basics of life.

Sometimes you get what you need.

Special thanks to Bruce Robison, Waylon Jennings and the Lads.

Hercules, a Labour of Love

2009-06-13T18:23:00.007-04:00

Every once in a while around here a bike shows up on my doorstep that makes me shudder. This was one of those bikes. When it arrived my initial reaction was to make the sign of the cross, chew some garlic, light some incense and run like hell. Something made me stay and take take a closer look. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was pity. This poor bike is a Hawthorne. Those of you old enough might remember this was the house brand at Monkey Wards. (If Monkey Wards doesn’t register ask an adult) My first new bike was a Hawthorne. Bronze with a leopard print banana seat. Way cool.

You can see from the first picture that this bike was not in the best of shape. The rear tire had started a rapid return to it’s molecular origins, it was dirty, rusty and things either failed to turn or turned without need or reason. There was a glimmer though, underneath the Hawthorne was the name Hercules, made in England. The down tube sports a little decal boasting “Genuine English Lightweight” This bike was abandoned to neglect by a caring owner who got old and passed on. The new owner brought it to me because I have the dubious reputation of being able to fix anything.

We did a little triage and divvied up the chores. This was to be a partial restoration. The bike would look better and be redeemable but not a museum piece. Here is where things started turning strange. The man who brought in the bike had a stroke. I was pretty sure I was going to have a few parts I didn’t need cluttering up the debris field I call a shop. Then his wife shows up and tells me his son wants to take over the project. This is number two son, in high school, a neat kid but hardly a mechanic and what do I know about kids anyway? I’ll skip all of the heart warming Capraesque nonsense and get back to the bike. Willy did do a lot of work helping me clean up the bike. I got to know a little more about him and my faith in the future of mankind is at least partially restored. Willy and his friend helped me pick up the ball bearings that hit the floor and scattered. Much grime and dirt was wiped away. Rust was removed and everything made shipshape, more or less.

The Hercules looks good. Its a classy bike and Willy will be riding it this summer. It was not a lucrative job but I’m a softy when it comes to old bikes. Especially when it is going to be ridden. So old Herc has left the building but he won’t be soon forgotten.

Keep The Sunny Side Up

2009-04-28T20:05:00.004-04:00

This should be a recounting of wonderful adventures in the Texas Hill Country. I really was going to regale you with stories of fast decends and heroic attacks. It truly was my plan but I don’t think it is going to work out that way. Honestly we just were not all that heroic. We rode well, we all had our moments, but it was hardly a spring classic. (Paris -Roubaix, Liege-Bastogne-Liege)

I could be wrong about this. I might have a grander definition of heroism than is needed. Sponge Bob rode like a champ. he broke his hip last October and has hardly been on the bike since. The Big Guy gave up all he had and then some on the Saturday ride. Hudler lacked a certain respect for cheerfulness but otherwise rode very well. Myself? Never too fast or too slow but I had a good time.

This was the first year that all of us have been able to ride together in years. Sponge and The Big Guy have been trading off injuries for four or five years now and Hudler just started going with us 3 years ago. I have been blessed with good health and opportunity. Usually there is a litany of what rotten condition we are all in. Most of it is lies. We are all in the best condition we can be in. This was also the first year we are all over fifty. None of us are retired or a paid athlete so training is hit and miss. Hudler commented to my wife that he seems to ride less and drink more beer. He is no longer allowed inside or within ear shot of a spouse.

Hudler and I are a pretty good match. We both climb pretty good, he goes down hill a lot faster than I do but I’ve got a little better stamina. The Big Guy comes down hill faster that anyone and hardly even pedals. For perspective, I clocked 40 mph down hill and he was a lot closer to 60 mph. Sponge Bob is in between a rock and a hard place. He’s in better shape than the Big Guy but not quite as fit as Hudler and I. He comes down hill well and climbs well but ju

st hasn’t had time to get his fitness back.

The portrait you should be seeing now is four guys over fifty who really are not race ready but have reasonable expectations. Sponge and the Big Guy went on the shorter route Friday so they were in charge of finding beer and icing it down. The Jacuzzi was not just a luxury it was a necessity. The game plan was pretty much ride, soak, eat, sleep, eat, sleep and repeat. Beer was also involved but not nearly as much as you might be led to believe. (Do not listen to Hudler, or my wife who listened to him.)

So here we have a bunch of buddies, we even picked up a couple extra, who are not looking to set any records but just finish with out too much agony or embarrassment. Since speed is not so important I think good humor and chivalry should be our aim. Hudler is not so sure. Case in point, The Wall. The Wall is a little nuisance that is an 18% grade at the top. Last year I did the paperboy weave up it to conserve strength, this year I just followed Hudler. By the time we got to the last 1/4 of the climb most of the people were weaving or walking but Hudler and I were slogging it out like manly men. Politeness and cheerfulness are important so I said “Good Morning!”, “On your left!” and “Good job keep it up!” to everyone we passed. Hudler for some reason was mumbling something unintelligible. We will have to work on his enunciation.

The next day we all decided to stick together because the weather looked bad. Shortly after Camp Verde a guy on a blue bike passed us in his big gear. He did not say “Good Morning”, “On your left” or even “Out of my way lard ass”. He just rode by us in silence, completely rude. He did not get very far in front of us and we started closing the gap. I started whistling a pleasant cheerful tune so he would know we were behind him. Sneaking up would be rude, would it not? We had to pass him So I said, “Good Morning, on your left, grab a wheel!” It is not easy being so nice but I work hard at it. He went to the back, rested a while and came around us again. No word of thanks or anything. We kept him in sight for quite some time. I thought he might be mute but there were some loud guttural noises when he missed a turn. We caught back up and Hudler told me to go ahead, he’d bring the others up. I got to with in a bike length of Mr. Rudeness and thought maybe he needed some cheering up. He did not look happy and was working real hard so I decided to serenade him. I stayed right behind him for a couple of miles doing my best to whistle a show tune. (If I Only Had A Brain) I know I can’t carry a tune in a bucket but he didn’t have to just run off like that. He wasn’t looking real good on Bandera Pass. He either had bad gas or was trying to cough up a lung. It was a little later in the day so I did not say “Good Morning” as I passed him with Hudler and Sponge Bob in tow, I said “Good Afternoon”

We may not be heroes but we are polite.

Miles and Miles of Texas

2009-03-31T18:09:00.009-04:00

Given the fact that I read a lot and have a fairly large vocabulary you would think the English language would be pretty much in the realm of my understanding. My mother did not raise a fool and I am not adopted so why did I not know better than to say yes When one of my best bike buddies suggested we go on a “death march” ? I could have said no way in hell but no, I said sure why not.

Mr. Hudler (from here on out known as Hudler) thought it would be a good idea to get in some hill training. There are no hills worth commenting on here in way too far south Texas so we planned a road trip. A little under two hours of driving put us in Freer, Texas. Seeing as Hudler does not drink coffee and is not a morning person, there was an element of risk in leaving at 4:30 AM. Freer is west of Alice in case you were wondering. If that still leaves you wondering I would suggest Google. I am not sure what goes on in Freer but they sell a lot of deer corn.

I am very good about checking the weather reports before I go for a ride. I usually check two or three weather services to be sure. This served me well the last ride I went on. I rode north until I hit the front coming down and when I turned around I had a most pleasant tail wind. None of the lying bastards mentioned it would be a wet front and I would be pelted with sleet and then soaked. The 35 miles home resulted in a mild case of hypothermia and gratuitous use of curse words. I looked very closely before heading to Freer with Hudler and it did look like a good day for a death march, partly cloudy with mild winds, 12-14 mph.

You might be asking me, just what part of death march do you not understand? I do like riding hills and I am not in all that bad shape. The roads are better than average, my brakes are good, tires fair. Hudler is a good buddy and doesn’t lie nearly as well as the weathermen. Ah, the weathermen, the Satan's spawn, the lying rat bastards, who else gets paid for being wrong so often? (That is a rhetorical question don’t bother mentioning lawyers, realtors, and politicians.) The putrid bags of scurvy slug slime said the wind would be 12-14 mph. They should have added 12 and 14 and thrown in a little extra to allow for windage. Like I mentioned earlier, I like hills, I hate 30 mph headwinds. I really hate 45 mph gusts..

We left Freer heading for Hebbronville. (Google maps please) There is nothing at all on the 40 mile ride between the towns but roadkill and empty deer corn bags. Five miles south of Freer there is a sign that says no gas stations for 34 miles. We both felt pretty good when we hit the road but that passed quickly enough. The hills are gentle slopes but long, the wind made them feel like the Alps. We slogged along at 9 mph for 30 miles. Somewhere along the way a truck blew by and it felt and sounded like someone popped a paper sack on the side of my head. Add to that the indignity of a 45 mph gust of wind bringing us to a dead halt started us thinking. Do we really have to go all the way to Hebbronville? Who are we going to impress?

A quick swig of warm Gatorade and we were flying home. It was pretty close to flying too. Those 9 mph hills were now 30 mph hills. We had a little game of tag towards the end of the ride and came close to hitting 40 mph. After that we had an important decision to make. Should we have a cold FRS recovery drink from Hudler’s cooler? Or a cold bottle of ale from my cooler? If you can’t figure out what we decided then you should not go on a road trip with me or anyone sane.

This trip was so much fun we did it again last Sunday. The brainiacs at the weather service said there would be a mild wind once again, from the north this time. It was actually mild but from the ESE. It was a lot easier heading south to Hebbronville, we rode the entire 40

miles without a lot of trouble. It got a little windy but no gales. We stopped at the store, and then headed back. There was mention of a cold front, when we hit the road it was in the 40’s. When we left Hebbronville it was heading to the 80’s. That nice little tail wind we were looking for turned into a crosswind than was no help at all. The 30 mph hills were 20 mph hills and there was no sprint for the city limits. An 80 mile ride is an 80 mile ride and they only thing different was fresh roadkill and Jesus in the dry stock tank.

We put on the outlaw country station and braced ourselves for the 2 hour drive home. We talked a lot about music and then the big question; why in the hell did we get up at 4:30 AM and drive 2 hours so we could beat ourselves up on a lonesome road that looks pretty much the same from one end to the other? It sure beats sitting on your butt at home. If we lived somewhere else we would be doing something outdoors. I used to hike, canoe and climb when I was in Oregon. Down here, we just do miles, and miles.

Feats Don't Fail Me Now

2009-02-15T15:56:00.004-05:00

Here is my annual Tucson report. Every year my wife and I go to Tucson for the Gem and Mineral Show. This is an event that goes on for weeks and has venues all over the city. It means dressing for business and spending a lot of time either riding on, or waiting for buses. We buy precious and semi-precious stones for our jewelry and tools and supplies for or glass making. I try to squeeze in a little beer consumption and a bike ride or two.
This year I managed to get in a couple of rides. The weather was prefect, not too cold or wet or windy. I rented a bike from Fairwheel Bikes. I have rented from them for the last four years and highly recommend them. They also sell some very very cool high end bike parts. The kind of stuff you don’t tell you wife about but make sure everyone notices.

The first ride this year was with Tucsonbikelawyer.com. He does have a real name and is a real person and believe me he is a LOT taller than he sounds on the phone. His real name is Erik Ryberg. He is a strong advocate for cycling and the go to guy in Tucson if you have a cycling related legal issue. I feel very fortunate that he took a break from his busy schedule to ride with a virtual stranger. He suggested a short casual ride that just happened to go up Sentinel Peak, locally known as “A” Mountain. Trust me, going up was a lot less scary than coming down. A rental bike that is just a little too big and you have only ridden for an hour, does not make for confident descending.

That evening I looked over all of the local rides that were posted (http://www.aliciarides.com/WeeklyRides.html) and found one that looked good. Cactus Cycling Club listed a ride that was B-B+, FF and 25-30 miles. The speed was good,(14-18 avg) FF translates into Fairly Flat, and who really cares about the mileage as long as it doesn’t lead to a divorce. I met them at the park bright and early Saturday morning and discovered there was a slight change of plans. We would be going over Gates Pass and back. It dawned on me that FF might stand for other things than Fairly Flat. Flexible Flyer perhaps? Fractured Fairytale? Flyby Fords? Filleted Flatlander?

The CCC are great people. I would ride with them any day and recommend that you ride with them as well. It’s just, well it might just be me, but Gates Pass didn’t strike me as being particuarly flat. (3100 ft alt.)It wasn’t too bad going east to west, the traffic was a little annoying, but it was doable. The warnings about the steepness and high speed of the descent had me about ready to wet my pants. Did I mention how much fun the rental bike was going downhill? By the time we got down off the pass I was feeling pretty good.

There were a lot of small hills and rollers, the kind of stuff I normally just thrive on. Those of you who don’t cycle should know this one little thing. There is a little lever underneath the brake lever. If you ride a Campagnolo equipped bike this lever gives you a lower gear. If you ride a Shimano equipped bike it gives you a higher gear. I ride Campy, the rental was Shimano and you really are not supposed to shift up into a bigger gear near the top of a hill. There was frequent use of mildly bad language.

I mentioned earlier that I was feeling pretty good about myself after getting off the mountain. The ride from west to east fixed that pretty fast. The wildly fast ride down the west side of the pass translated into a slow, very steep climb back up. There was a point near the top, rumored to be 12% grade (my Garmin showed 14%), where if I could have generated enough forward motion to stop without falling over I might have walked to the top. If you are old enough to have watched “Laugh In” it would have looked like Arte Johnson falling over on his tricycle. When the sweep rider passed me near the top I dug deeper and just powered up and over. I mean, who likes to be passed by a guy with gray hair? (I may have been older than him but I look young. Clean living and all that jazz.)

The ride back in was a blast. I would like to do it on a better bike someday. The pace did pick up a little on the way home but who cares? We were having fun. Things worked out and I joined the CCC for lunch. I have rarely encountered a nicer group to ride with. I look forward to riding with them next year, hopefully on a better bike.They mentioned a nice little ride up Mt. Lemmon for pie. No ride with pie can be all that bad, right?

Oh, I forgot to mention, somebody out there owes me a beer, FF my butt!

You Can Get it If You Really Want

2009-01-23T11:33:00.002-05:00

I saw something today that made me stop. I saw a woman on a bike, pulling a trailer with two little bikes on it. It was unusual enough that I turned and chased her down. I had groceries flopping around in my bike bags so it was no hot pursuit. I caught up with her and congratulated her on a wonderful idea. School was about to let out and she was going to pick up her kids. She said it was a lot easier to ride to the school with the bikes than to get the kids up to ride. The kids are 6 and 8 years old. This was not a perfect picture. Her bike was a Walmart Special and in dire need of generous amounts of oil, grease. or opossum fat, anything to at least startle the rust. There were also no helmets around for big or little. I would like to see helmets but I will settle for one less car and a family on bikes. If you saw the traffic jam of SUV’s in front of the school you would jump for joy to see anyone not shoving a kid in the back of a car.

There has been a bit of talk lately, some e-mails flying around, about the lack of bike paths down here in the Rio Grande Valley. There are a few bike lanes and paths but they go nowhere and tend to be tacked on to four lane roads or share a double wide sidewalk with dog walkers and roller bladers. I have a theory as to why this is. The city planners see cycling as a recreational sport and not an alternative means of transportation. It is a valid point. There are very few people down here who commute by bicycle. It is a chicken and egg situation.
If there are more bike commuters will they build more paths or if they build more paths will there be more bike commuters? There is no need to outfit the valley with a comprehensive network of bike lanes and paths overnight. There is also no need for cyclists to wait until there are bike paths. However, unless more people start using their bikes as transportation and not toys, the city planners are not going to take bike lanes seriously.

Now before anyone gets their panties in a bunch (you guys know who you are) I will admit to wrapping my butt in lycra and riding for sport four or five times a week. I enjoy it tremendously. I will even admit to having a wife with a truck and (GASP!) going to the store in the truck. Sometimes I even throw the bike (gently and metaphorically) into the back of the truck and ride home from wherever it is my wife needs help at. I do try and use my bike as often as I can. It makes for some awkward moments, think two frozen turkeys and a six pack or beer, but I manage. I can’t think of a sport that rewards an old guy with bad knees as much as cycling even if lycra does make your butt look big. (Tip: Black is slimming, every other color makes your butt look like the Hindenburg.)

So what is the point of this ramble? I just like to see everyone leave the car at home once in awhile. Maybe, just maybe, there might be enough bike lanes someday that commuting is easy and fun, until then, we have to start somewhere.

post note: Bob went back to the vet on the Surly. He is still not happy. My other cat, Comet, at 14 was not much more impressed than Bob. I at least had the foresight to take them on separate trips.

Labor of Love

2009-01-12T09:59:00.003-05:00

It is the new year and I have a head cold. One of those nasty hack your brains out, eat pharmaceuticals and struggle along through misery colds. This has curtailed a lot of my cycling plans but has not kept me from my mission to tear down the old shed and put up a new one. Imagine having a head stuffed with cotton and secured with a hard hat. Two questions go through your mind; “Is that beam going to come down like the walls of Jericho?” or “Is the stud bunny going to pee on my head while I’m down here?” It’s a cliffhanger, ain’t it?

Much more fun is the rebuild of my beloved Co-Motion Espresso. Seven years ago I ordered my dream bike, an artisan made, fillet brazed steel racing bike. Most people at the time were getting carbon fiber bikes. They still are. In fact many of the people who were buying bikes about the same time I was have bought at least one new bike since. We are not talking WalMart bikes either. A new racing bike, top quality, starts at about $5000 and only goes up from there.

Carbon bikes are trendy, light, expensive and fun but where’s the soul? Sure you can buy the same bike Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France with, but do you think he really cares? Does anyone at Trek even know your name? When I was considering my Co-Motion I was told that if I bought a Lightspeed or a Merckx everyone would say cool bike and that would be it. If I got a Co-Motion they would say what’s that? and I would have to show them every Saturday.

Well it is true. Most of the carbon crowd has know idea what I am riding. The brand conscious riders don’t even see me as a tiny bip on their radar. What I have that they don’t have is a bike with a soul. I have met everyone who has ever worked on my bike. The person who designed it and did the fillet brazing is an old friend, Dwan Shepard. He took me around the factory and introduced me to all of the people who built my bike from tubes to shipping .

So what is the labor of love? I have completely stripped the Co-Motion down to the bare frame and I am painstakingly cleaning, polishing and upgrading. The whole bike will get a nice coat of carnuba wax and be buffed to a blinding shine. There will be a new crank, new brakes and a shifter rebuild. The bike has been very good to me for over 50,000 miles. It should be just as good for another 50K. That’s what you call soul.

Just Because It’s a Good Idea Doesn’t Mean You Should Do It or, Bob's Not Happy

2008-11-24T22:58:00.005-05:00

My new ride is a SUB, a sport utility bike. The concept is a sturdy well made bike that can carry more stuff than just me and my knapsack. I got myself a Surly Pacer frame and fork on Ebay and then fitted it out with a Campagnolo drivetrain bought on sale, or close out, or Ebay. It’s not a $300 cheapo by any means. It’s not even one of Mr. Braddy’s dumpster rescues. It is worth about twice what I paid for it and should last a few decades. It’s not real fast but it can carry a good bit and it has a shiny brass bell.

It is a good idea for all of us to try to use automobiles less. This could mean carpooling, doing more than one errand per trip, or an alternative means of transportation. Personally I am very fond of land sailors, anything from a skateboard to a railroad handcar with a huge amount of sail attached. This is not very practical however much fun it provides. Most people can leave the car at home by walking, riding a bike, taking the bus or hitching up a wagon to a mule.

I have a nice selection of livestock around our little acre. There are rabbits, chickens, gold fish and two cats. One cat lives inside and the rest of the menagerie lives outside, including the fish. Bob is the outdoor cat. He had a little mishap and needed to go to the vet. My lovely wife was not home but hey, no big deal, I’ve got a SUB. I strapped a pet carrier to the rack

on my bike and trundled Bob off to the vet. It’s only a mile or so, no big deal,

right?

Bob didn’t think so. He yowled all the way to the vet’s. He was a perfect gentleman at the vet’s. He had an abscess on his foot and was all nicely bandaged up for the ride home. He yowled most of the way home. Three fourths of the way home we were chased by a Shitzue and Bob pretty much shut up the rest of the way home.

Bob had to go back to the Vet four days later. I figured I would improve his accommodations. I made a flat bed for the rack and attached a bigger more plush cat carrier, complete with a rug so he would not slide around so much. It looks pretty slick and is very stabile. The wire door makes a racket over chipseal and bumps. Bob let me know about this real fast. He was very vocal and very loud for most of the way over. I was thinking it was a good thing I faced the door towards the rear. I might have needed stitches if he could have reached a leg.

The vet loves Bob, everyone loves Bob. He is a real sweetie with no dignity and all of the girls who come by the shop, coo over him. He doesn’t bite or scratch, he falls over and lets you rub his tummy. He got around just fine with his leg bandaged up, he even jumped over the garden fence. Bob’s a good cat, he’s just not happy. Cycling is not for everyone, especially Bob. Next week, the indoor cat has to go to the vet. Whee.

(Recent big load. Two frozen turkey breasts, 2 cans of white beans, two cans of pumpkin, two boxes of 2 gallon ziplock bags,2 pounds of Tilamook cheese, and a six pack of Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale. Half in one bag half in the other.)

A Hard Head and a Failure to Bounce

2008-11-04T16:37:00.003-05:00

Two Saturdays ago Sponge Bob hit a bad section of road and crashed. He was found in the middle of the road with no clear idea of how he got there. This is a scenario that scares even the most seasoned of riders. There was no sign of impact with a vehicle, and SB is a well seasoned rider with very good bike handling skills. What happened?

There is a section of road in Granjeno that has had a lot of heavy truck traffic. The trucks have caused collapse of the road substrate, leaving a few tire shaped trenches. At first glance they just look like a little dip in the road, the asphalt is all of one color. A closer look shows a sharp 3 to 4 inch vertical wall on the inside away from the shoulder. If a rider goes into on of these holes, it will seem like a dip in the road. Should the rider move to the left at all, the whole front wheel goes out. This is what happened to Sponge Bob.

One Saturday ago, I was riding with a group in La Joya. The group turned up Jara Chinas road and I failed to catch the last wheel. There were various reasons for this. The pace picked up on the turn, I did not feel like sprinting up to the last wheel and I thought I would close the gap when the pace settled back down. Well. the pace never settled back down, it actually picked up and I watched the group ride away from me. I watched them ride away for six miles, getting smaller and smaller on one of the loneliest roads in the valley.

Sponge Bob doesn’t remember much of his accident. The clues suggest he did an endo. That means the front wheel ceased to rotate and he went over the handlebars, ending in a header. His helmet has four big cracks in it and his pelvis has two cracks. There is a cracked or broken rib as well. He will be off the bike for six to eight weeks at best.

My little story ended up with the group stopping for someone else to catch up and me catching up as well. I was very steamed that they had just rode off and left me and decided I would not ride home with them but would ride the beach instead. The beach is an even lonelier stretch of road that's has 2 to 6 inches of loose sand over caliche washboard. This is not a road for a road bike but I was pissed.

Sponge Bob doesn’t bounce well. He is a white guy and we all know white guys don’t bounce. He has a very hard head though. There is some debate whether the tarmac or his cranium broke his helmet. His stubbornness will serve him in good stead. He will use the same discipline he uses in training to recover and get back on the road. He will ignore the friends and family who are asking him if it is finally time to quit cycling. Instead he will rely on the strength of his cycling family to get back on the road.

My hard head got me rapidly no where. The beach section of Jara Chinas has virtually no houses and little traffic. When a vehicle does come down the road there is a Saharan dust storm accompanying it. I made it almost five miles. I saw a second dust storm approaching, this one with two kayaks on top. It was my friends Betty and Susan and they gave me a lift back into civilization.

Stubbornness can be a curse or a gift depending on how you use it. Some times it is called perseverance, will or strength. Other times it is obstinance, ego or jackassnicity. Friends on the other hand are a wealth beyond words.

Can You Just Not Use a Car?

2008-08-27T23:22:00.006-04:00

Of course you can live without using a car. It isn’t easy but it is possible. You do not have to tow an Airstream Trailer behind your bike. I know from experience that you can have 75% of your possessions on your bike and sleep indoors, in a foyer, on a massage table, and have crabs.

I’m not sure how that slipped out, I never meant to mention the massage table or my sitting on it wearing a borrowed towel, my privates coated with RID, while ALL of my clothes were baking in the dryer. Just forget you ever heard about it.

Truth be told, I was inbetween apartments and was living off of my bike. I spent some time near a town named Crow and commuted into Eugene, Oregon. I have a scar from a nasty dog bite I got riding down the driveway heading into town. The dog might remember a bad headache from the 2x4 I picked up on the way home. That lovely house, which has at least two of my Christmas trees in it’s yard, segued into a

fairly nice apartment and a job at the Daily Planet. Sorry fans, it was a restaurant and I’m not Superman.

If you knew how small the pannier’s were and how little I actually owned, you would laugh. But the thing is, I learned a lot. I got pretty tough legs too. That old gas pipe Peugeot became my best friend. I didn’t have much but I had wheels.

These days I have a credit card and a wife and friends with cars. I just spent three weeks living out of a suitcase and the best times I had were on a borrowed bike. Not a racing bike but a functional one. Life is good. I have a house now and live a little higher on the hog but I’m still the guy who slept in the foyer. You don’t have to be able to tow an Airstream behind your bike to live off it, but I’d still give it a shot.

It's Not Easy Being Green

2008-06-21T16:25:00.005-04:00

I would like to write about something besides :

A.) The heat
B.) Near death encounters with cars
C.) My own whining

It isn’t going to be easy let’s get the ABC’s out of the way and get one with business.

A.) If you live some place nicer than South Texas, then you may be shocked that the real temperature for the last Thursday evening ride was 102°. That was not the heat index. Mercifully the heat index was about the same. There was a nice breeze, 25 mph or so, which gives me bona fides to lecture on just exactly what it feels like to cycle in a blow dryer.

B.) The usual, Big Black Caddy pickups using the whole lane, oblivious to our existence. A local on duty police cruiser nearly taking out two of us head on by pulling out, spinning gravel, into the wrong lane.

C.) I’m old and cranky and I have to wear bifocals.

Now we can peruse something more interesting. Here is an interesting topic. How “Green” is your bike? There are no absolute answers to this question but there is a lot to consider. Is your bike made out of oil? Did they have to move 12 tons of ore to get enough metal to make your frame and parts? Can your bike frame be repaired or recycled? Those are tricky questions, let’s try some easier ones.

Do you put your bike on the back of an SUV and drive to local rides?
Does your bike get used for anything besides recreation? How many bikes are floating around your garage/barn/etc., not getting used?

Here we enter into rant territory. Do you patch your tubes or toss them? To you get new tires because you want them or you wore out the old ones? Do you toss spent CO2 cartridges on the side of the road? old tubes? Gu packets?

I have a couple of friends who recycle bikes. Most of the bikes are steel but not all. Mr. Souza in CA turns discarded bikes into cheap townie bikes or, if they are not salvageable, he turns them into art. Kristopher is local and he has a knack for finding bikes for cheap when people need transportation. He is also making art from old CO2 cylinders. Patches are cheap and I personally will ride a tube with up to three patches. More than three and I get a little nervous. Two or three bikes on the back of a car is carpooling.

There is a lot to be said about reusing resources. Sponge Bob and The Big Guy rebuilt and upgraded their Titanium bikes. They still swear by the comfort. I personally ride steel frames for two of my three bikes. The odd bike is aluminum but I got it used off of Ebay and it is for the most part recycled. I like to take parts left over from upgrades and pass them on to people who are on a budget or are keeping an old friend going a few more years.

I do not consider myself a “Green” person. I am too short to avoid ”Little green man” references. I do not like waste, I abhor complacency, and if you toss a GU packet on the side of the road just because you don’t want your jersey to get a sticky pocket, then I don’t like you very much either.

My apologies to Van Morrison and Jesse Winchester for stealing titles.

Wall of Shame

2008-05-09T14:37:00.003-04:00

Deferred Maintenance: The practice of allowing machinery or infrastructure to deteriorate by postponing prudent but non-essential repairs to save cost, labor and/or material. The failure to perform needed repair, maintenance, and renewal by normal maintenance management creates deferred maintenance. Generally, a policy of continuing deferred maintenance will result in higher costs or failure than if normal maintenance had occurred.

It is one thing to put off something for another day. When ”another day” adds up to weeks and months there is big trouble. Especially if you are a cyclist. Most of my readers should be aware by now that I repair and maintain bikes as a sideline. Those who use my services will also know of the Wall of Shame. It isn’t really a wall, it would be if I had an empty wall but I don’t so it is just a section in the back of my shop book. It has pictures of bikes that were way beyond the normal dirty. If bikes did not get dirty, I would not get paid to clean them. But sometimes things just get out of hand.

The pictures with this article are of a bike that set a record for grime. It is an old Specialized, one of their first efforts in fact. There is nothing wrong with the bike, it is basically a decent sort. The fault lies with the owner, who shall remain anonymous. The pictures show before and after, there is no need for me to label them. The big question is how did this happen?

It isn’t his “Good” bike. It rides around the country on the backside of a motorhome. It more or less worked although not very well. Picture a Big Ben alarm clock it will wake you up in the morning but it might also lose ten minutes overnight and the incessant tick tock will prevent all but the most drunken slumbers. He could have wiped it off once in a blue moon but like most work horses it was expected to toil until the knackers come.

We can’t blame the bike for being dirty. Bikes have little choice in the matter. All of us have ridden in the rain at one time or another and neglected to rinse and wipe right after the ride. Most mechanics cringe when a Triathlete brings in a bike. The handlebar tape, dare say the entire bike, is encrusted with dried on body fluids and salt. Tri’s get off the bike and go for a run and by the time they finish running, calorie replacement is more of an urgency than bike care.

It took me four hours of labor to get this old friend back to looking pretty. It will never be showroom ready but it looks pretty fine to me. Everything works, nothing squeaks and the only grease is in the bearings.

Remember friends, you’ll only miss us when we’re gone, so be nice to us now. A little care and attention and we will be around for a long time yet to come.

Cattle Guards, Wind and Suffering

2008-03-25T09:36:00.006-04:00

First of all let me describe a cattle guard. It is a few bars of metal laid across a road to discourage cows from wandering. Cows will not cross one, neither should anyone sane, but in Texas we ride across them on bicycles. When you cross your first cattle guard it scares the beejeezus out of you. The first one is like that every year and well it should be. Once you get used to them you learn that 20 mph is pretty smooth and 30 mph you just glide over them. Over 30 mph and you start contemplating your personal mortality. If you have to hit them slow, your butt hurts and your teeth rattle.
Three of us decided to go to the Easter Hill Country Tour in Kerrville, Texas. Sponge Bob and I had been there many times before, Hudler was there for the second time. It was early this year, weather and fitness were big factors. Usually we ride about 65 miles the first day, 107 the second day. and 35 miles the third day. Easter Sunday is the third day and we ride if, and only if, the weather is just a little better than decent.
Hudler got a new ride name this year. Everyone gets one. Sponge Bob used to be Goat Boy. I was Kleine Sheist or the little monster. Hudler is now the Iceman. Why? He turns the motel AC on to Ice Age, he has a fetish for iced tea with pebble ice, and he is remarkably pale.

Sponge Bob took two years off and has been back a whopping six months. Hudler lies like hell and does super secret training. Speedo, moi, is over 50 and usually prefers drinking beer with the cats to training. Our main man, the Deacon Landry, has five broken ribs and a plate in his ankle. He decided healing was more important than suffering and stayed home. I have a few smart friends.
Seeing as the Deacon stayed home, I was in charge of navigating. I got lost three times before we left the city limits on Friday. I figured it out after that pretty quick. Iceman did point out to me that, no matter how much I denied it, we were on the exact same route as the year before. Who knew? Bifocals or shades? You make the call.

Friday was windy as hell. Any advantage my weight might have given me was pretty much wiped out. I hung in there but pretty much got whipped. Sponge Bob was in stealth mode and snuck by us. Imagine our surprise when he got ahead of us. We managed our 65 miles and headed back to the hotel for beer, a jacuzzi and food. My buddies wanted dinner as well but I tried to replace 1400 calories in one meal and really didn’t have much more room.

Saturday I figured turn about was fair play and told the Iceman to watch out for Bear Creek Road. There is this little rise with a 1/2 mile grade of 18% (@#$%&*(steep for the laymen) that comes on Freedom Trail Road, right after Bear Creek Road. Yeah. I know I lied but it was fun, payback for all that super secret training. We call this little rise “The Wall”. It starts out painful and finishes with a oxygen deprived scream. There is a nice descent afterwards but there is a rather inopportune hard right at the bottom.

I have no more pride. I did the paperboy weave up the Wall. I knew there would be much more suffering later. I felt a need to pass the guy with the tall wool socks so I pushed a little and immediately regretted it. Iceman went straight up and it a new maximum heart rate for his introduction to being 50. Sponge Bob? what a trooper. He suffered like St. Sebastian and still kept going.

That set the mood for the day. Right and left you started hearing “My legs are shot”, “My butt hurts” and “ Are we there yet”. Sponge was fading fast but was smart enough to say I have nothing left and I don’t want to be your excuse for being slow and out of shape. Iceman kept running off, I was having a nice conversation about drive trains until mine malfunctioned. My chain fell off my inner chain ring. Usually you can just shift it back up but this time I kept riding until I did an Arte Johnson (If you are too young to get the reference, google “Laugh In”) and fell over. Sponge Bob gave me high points for a gymnastic roll and had the kindness not to laugh.

Sponge had to abandon 60 miles in. Not even the pickle juice could save him. We sent him home with instructions to clean up, smell good, and make dinner arrangements that included beer. Iceman and I continued on even though he had a knot in his calf that must have been painful. I was hoping it was painful because that’s when I pounced. Yes friends and neighbors, I thought my good buddy and dear friend was hurting so I picked up the pace. That sounds so heartless and cruel, it is supposed to. It isn’t true. In fact my butt started to get a real personal wet pain going, an aggravated tenderness in a portion of my anatomy that will not be named. Yes, I went faster, I just wanted the ride to be over.

We made it in. Sponge Bob was smart and called it a day before he crumpled. Iceman took the easy way out and headed for the Motel. I had one last thing to do, Aneurysm. It’s relatively short , very steep and causes a lot of pain after 100 miles. It’s also a tradition and some one has to do it.

Don’t cry for me Argentina. I had a good soak, a cold beer ( Sponge Bob is a saint), a little nap and dinner with excellent company. Now that I am home, I feel happy to have done it but a little disappointed in the way I rode. I tell myself it is just a barometer to give me a baseline of where I am now and what it’s going to take to get where I want to be. I always want to do better, but hey, who doesn’t? It was a fun trip and the guys are great. It’s going to be a good year.

Segundo and Worthless

2008-03-20T11:47:00.002-04:00

A Tale

Not all of my stories are about cycling. This one is a story that has two cyclists but they are not on their bikes. No, this is a tale about two chickens, nay, roosters.

I bought a replacement flock of chickens. Dogs ate my old flock. There is a job that gets little respect but requires a high degree of professionalism. It’s sexing chicks. Don’t get too excited, chicks are baby chickens. They are sexed in the egg, a chicken sexer can be 98% certain of a hatchling’s sex. The guy who sexed my chicks was out getting a Frappucino when two of my eggs went by. I wanted one rooster, I got three. The big red guy, true to breed, and the twins.

I would have named them Castor and Pollux but they are chickens, not Greek myths. In Greek, Castor is “He who excels”. Pollux means “very sweet”. I had a couple of unwanted roosters. Neither excelled or was sweet. I named them Segundo and Worthless.

You are supposed to have five hens to one rooster. I have eight hens. It doesn’t take algebra to figure out the ratio. If, by chance you grew up on a farm, you would know that makes for a ruckus in the hen house. I’ve got nothing against whacking a rabbit for gumbo once in a while but I’ve got a real issue with feathers and food.

So what do you do with twin roosters? I asked everyone I knew and no one wanted to step up to the plate and help me out. No one but Sponge Bob. If you have forgotten, Sponge Bob and I ride together. (BIG FLAG! This is the cycling tie in!) Sponge has a brother in-law and a mother and a sister. (Did it take you as long to figure this out as it did me? Damn you’re smart.) The extra little bits of family live on a nice little ranch. They have lots of fields, miniature donkeys, peacocks, swans, bovine and equines.

Sponge suggested that his family on the hill could use a couple of more roosters. There would be food and company and the noise wouldn’t bother him at all as he lives ten miles north. It’s best at this point I mention my darling wife Nancy. She did not grow up on a farm and rarely if ever has done those deeds that require darkness and a burlap bag. She did not take the darkened road, I had to lead her astray.

So, one recent dark night Nancy warmed up the truck and I headed out to the chicken coop with a burlap bag. Chickens sleep when it gets dark and you can walk right in and pick them up off the roost. Once you toss them in the bag, things get pretty quiet. Quiet as a couple of roosters in a sack can be. I threw the sack in the back of the truck (Did I mention Mama’s side of the family is as hillbilly as Snuffy Smith?) and we headed for the ranch on the hill.

I had forgotten, or never noticed, that all of the pastures have eight foot high fences. Why? I don’t have a clue. Fence was on sale maybe? We drove past looking for an opening and nothing. Mom’s gate has tall and closed but low and behold bubba in law Bruce’s gate was open. I had my darling, devoted, led astray wife kill the lights. I hopped out grabbed the sack of roosters, jumped the cattle guard and with a shake and a wiggle, Bruce had twin roosters.

Sponge Bob told me the next day that he’d asked Bruce if he’d noticed any extra fowl. Bruce asked if they were speckled, Sponge said “Could be.” Bruce said the were walking back in forth in front of the cattle guard. I never said they were smart roosters. Eventually they will find the other chickens. Sponge will hear no end of complaints about roosters that sound like a transmission going bad and me?

Rufus, the remaining rooster, has decided that since there are no longer three roosters, he has to make up for the missing twins. If only he was Caruso, if only...

Suffering

2008-03-05T11:49:00.003-05:00

My Butt Hurts

I am in training. That is not exactly true. I am actually drinking beer and having dreams of levitation. This is nothing new I drink beer and have these dreams all time. I drink a few beers, pick your integer, and then I dream I am floating above the world with a few pulses from the energy pulsing from my palms. Yeah,really, all of the time.

I could have used some of those pulses of energy last Saturday. Four of us went out on a 95 mile death ride. It could have been more fun but then we couldn’t call it a death ride. Why such a morbid moniker? Ordinarily on a long ride you take frequent breaks to rest and recharge. We stopped three times and one of those times was a red light. My good buddy Hudler said we should suffer as much as possible so that when we have a good ride we will know it.

I wonder if the pros have a training program like this. I have been told that Sean Kelly (Famous Irish Racer for the uninformed.) had a program based on suffering. Apparently his idea of a winter training camp was to ride a hundred miles a day in the Irish damp. A few weeks of this and pretty much everything else seems easy. I suspect there were a few pints of Guinness involved but purely formedicinal use.

Sponge Bob and I were having a discussion one very windy day. We are connoisseurs of wind. When we say very windy it means 35 - 40 mph with 50 mph + gusts. Some of the local club riders were doing the Jalapeno 100. This year it meant a 50 miles sufferfest back into that same horrid wind. We came to the conclusion that self inflicted suffering does not make one a hero, or a martyr. But, in the words of Rod Stewart, “Look how wrong you can be”

My friend Armando went out to ride the 50 mile segment of the Jalapeno. He brought his bike over before the ride to have me give it a once over. He lingered for a while to get some support and encouragement. This was to be his first 50 mile ride. I told him it’s only a couple of hours and he could do it no problem. Basically I nonchalantly sent him into the gates of hell. Many of the more experienced riders abandoned the ride but Armando stayed with it and finished. It took him a very long time and I know he must have been in pain. That makes him a hero in my book. He showed a lot of courage and determination. He has lost over 40 pounds because he started riding his bike instead of playing video games. He doesn’t race or even own a flashy bike but he’s the real thing.

Passing Note.

I get asked a lot about when I started cycling. 1960 in Alabama. Here is the oldest known picture of me riding. Yes, I really was that dirty.

The Road Goes On

2008-02-15T17:34:00.003-05:00

So It Goes

I dislike writing eulogies. Having to write one invariably means someone close and dear has passed away. This time it was Sheldon Brown. Many people are writing about Sheldon these days.

“In August 2007 Sheldon was diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis. After losing his ability to balance an upright bicycle to the disease, he was able to continue pedaling by using a recumbent tricycle. Sheldon died on February 3, 2008 after a heart attack.” Wikipedia.

That says so little about Sheldon. I never met the man in person. He helped me with all things bicycle from the stupid newbie questions to esoteric conversion issues. I am one of many strangers he helped and I feel much more alone in the world now.

Road Trip Tucson February ‘08

My wife and I made our annual trip to Tucson this month. She takes a class in jewelry making and I rent a bike. The last couple of years her class was two days long, a Friday and Saturday. This year I had to settle for a Wednesday. I will not be writing about an epic shoot out with the bad boys, I wish I was. There is nothing like public admission of getting one’s butt kicked for humility.

I rode four SunTrans Buses before I got to the Fairwheel Bikes. I could have ridden a few less, but what kind of heel makes his wife ride across a city as big as Tucson by herself? The last couple of years she did exactly that. What...? It was the Saturday morning ride! What was I supposed to do?

Fairwheel had two of their rental bikes stolen. Both the 50 CM and the 52 CM. I ride a 50 CM and was stuck with a 54 CM. My legs reached the pedals and I could clear the cojones, but the steering was a little hinky. I took my trusty maps and headed off on a 50 mile loop that was supposed to be flat with some rolling hills. When did I become such a flatlander? Tucson’s idea of rolling hills is not our South Texas idea of rolling hills. Rolling hills I think of Iowa. There were not any epic climbs on this route but you do have to work.

I only got lost a couple of times. It helps to bring your bifocals so you can actually read the maps you so carefully packed. I stopped at the Saguaro National Forest to refill my water bottles and met Kyle. He was also in need of a map. We talked for a while and conferred over the map and then rode out on the wrong road. Bifocals do not make you Einstein. Long story short, we did not add too many miles to our route and had a splendid ride. I have found that as long as you are not judgmental and keep a little humility about you, there is always someone to ride with, damn near anywhere.

Kaboom!
Our good buddy Randy will not be going to Kerrville for the Easter Hill Country Ride this year. He and his motorcycle impacted a car. He has a bum ankle and 5 broken ribs. Try not to make him laugh. He has lots of support and sympathy though. Here is a direct quote from a dear friend.

“If I didn't want to face 109 hilly miles in Kerrville, I'd come up with a better(and less painful) excuse. How about, " I'm just not in shape?"

There is nothing like riding with your buddies.

Extras:

Fairwheel Bikes http://www.fairwheelbikes.com/
The best bike rentals in Tucson and home of some of the lightest bikes on the planet.

BICAS http://www.bicas.org/
Just because not everyone races but everyone should be able to ride if they want to.

Transition

2007-12-28T11:13:00.000-05:00

Christmas is past and New Year’s Eve looms. The seasonal adversities are assailing me. There are the ghosts of Christmas past, the nostalgia for simpler times, when a box wrapped in shiny paper was more than enough to guarantee joy. The ghosts of Christmas future, the introspective angst, the desperate grasp for some little tiny bit of hope that will insure a good future and not bleak despair.

Then there is the ordinary ghost of Christmas present. Who knew that tamales and beer could add five pounds so fast! Okay, so that may have been an unexpected shift in timbre, but I’m a cyclist over 50 and five pounds is a tragic loss to the forces of youth. It was not such a big deal last year, I was only 49 but this year AARP has been reminding me weekly how old I am. There is no need to mention the memos from my skeleton and cryptic cartilaginous warnings that things may not be the same as they were a few years ago and a couple of asprin have replaced the Flinstone’s vitamins.

Lachrymose lamentations are not going to bring back the youth that so easily slipped away so let us turn to more practical considerations. I am considering New Year’s resolutions. I seldom make any, I so hate to be a disappointment to myself. I will make some goals for the coming year, nothing too lofty, just a simple plan to keep life from being keel-less and adrift.

I will not let you know the details of my plan. It is a personal guide for my own betterment and not a score card for the world to judge me. I will say I plan on riding a lot, having fun and being creative. Then there is the issue of tamales, beer and the astonishing five pounds. How do you say no to traditions, especially when they are ever so good? I refuse to eat low fat tamales or drink lite beer, life is to short to accept substitutes, so I guess I am going to just have to put in a few more miles.

Life is good.

Texarkana and the Return of the “Deathmobile”

2007-10-31T10:48:00.000-04:00

Not long ago I had the pleasure of going on a road trip to visit the in-laws. They live in Texarkana, both Texas and Arkansas, which is a leisurely 14 hour drive from our house. This is not a trip we make often, it is not a destination on a par with Disney, more like Bubba Gump.

I did not take a bike on this trip, I took my kayak instead. There was a bike carrier in the back of the truck just in case I found that “must have” treasure at a garage sale, but the kayak was more appropriate this trip. Cycling in northeast Texas is, well, different would be polite if maybe charitable. There is however an abundance of murky lakes that are perfect for slow boats like mine.

We visited the in-laws in California one year. They lived in the foothills of the coast range in northern California. One morning I had planned a nice long ride up into the mountains. I had a decent enough bike and a nice route planned out. Unfortunately my shoe delaminated and I was left without a way to actually ride the bike.

My father in law had a bike he salvaged from the junk yard. It was a black spray painted cruiser, KHS brand. It had wobbly white wall tires, longhorn handlebars and a coaster brake. Did I mention they lived in the foothills? This bike was aptly christened the “Deathmobile” due to it’s reluctance to either go in a straight line or stop. What with being up at dawn on a beautiful morning and having all set for a ride, I took my life in my hands and rode the Deathmobile into town. (Corning, CA pop 5000) I got myself a large coffee and rode around town at a very relaxing pace. I must admit I had a blast.

Fast forward back to Texarkana. My father in law passed away a couple of years ago and there are no more junkyard treasures to play with. Sitting around my mother in law’s house was starting to get to me. I had already fixed everything on the “honey-do” list and done way too many crossword puzzles. I looked through the window of her shed and saw...handlebars. Lo and behold, the Deathmobile was there. I trued the wheels to an acceptable degree of wobble and filled the tires with two cans of fix a flat. I straightened the handlebars and used a very liberal amount of WD-40.

The Deathmobile was back on the road. It doesn’t wobble quite like it used to and it steers pretty good now. I am a much better mechanic than I was at the first encounter. It still has braking issues. One must plan to stop, not slam on the coaster brake. It was still a most enjoyable ride. Up the road to the local park, a couple of laps of chasing ducks and scaring pedestrians, it was all fun. Usually I get up in the dark on Saturday mornings, ply myself with espresso, slather on sunscreen and drag my lycra covered butt out to do battle.

Change is good. The Deathmobile generates more pure joy to be riding than I have felt in a long time. Cruising along at coffee sipping speed instead of hanging on at warp speed is a nice change. It is nice enough I may start a new Sunday ride. One without lycra and gears. A Coffee Ride where you have to ride slow enough to drink coffee and carry on a conversation at the same time. Indeed, I am heading to the Pawnshop to price a cruiser in basic black, with a cup holder and a coaster brake.

Nobody Told Me There Would Be Days Like This

2007-09-24T23:35:00.000-04:00

Every once in a while there are days that stretch the cosmic rubber band so tight it just has to snap. Today was one of those days and surprisingly enough, it started with a search for bungee cord.

I do not spend my whole life dealing with bicycles. Some time ago I had this wild idea to build a wooden kayak. Long story short, there was a LOT of sanding involved and I wound up with a 16.5 foot two seater kayak. Those of you who are married will understand why there are two seats. The single people will just have to suffer through the learning curve.

The kayak is going to Texarkana, both Texas and Arkansas, and we are visiting the inlaws. Think sedatives, crossword puzzle book, cheap novels and visits to pawn shops, not necessarily in that order. The kayak has an open cockpit and a cover would be a brilliant idea. (Brilliant in the British sense, look it up.) A cover would keep the boat from filling up with air, or god help us, water and still let all that view the boat know just how splendid a boat I created.

To make this cover nice and snug, I went searching for a 12 foot length of bungee cord. It used to be easy but today it took many fruitless trips. The first two stops went without a hitch or success. The next three stops had an very unwelcome wrinkle. I do not know why, I am not omniscient, but my bottom bracket decide to unwind. Those of you who do not ride should be informed that this means the thingamabob that lets the pedals turn make rear wheel go around decided to go east and west at the same time. It should not do this. Oh no, not now not ever, this is a bad thing.

I tightened it down by hand every couple of miles and still found no bungee cord. I could have bought a wrench or a pair of pliers, but I am poor and frugal. I did find some pathetic shock cord and will have to make do. Planning ahead is good but who knew my inlaws would want to go kayaking, it’s not like they know how to swim.

We decided that we really did need to go to the Art Forum for the first meeting after the summer break. It is an hour’s drive and we were well prepared. I installed a new stereo, the cassettes are history and we have 30 CD's to get us down the road. (Hint, do not pick up the soldering iron from the hot part. It hurts, a LOT.) We were cruising along nicely until we had a flat tire in a construction zone. It wasn’t easy pulling off the expressway, there really wasn't a shoulder, and if there had not been a high speed rear-ender, seconds behind us, we might still be there.

Moral of the story? Check that spare tire. Make sure it really and truly has air and doesn’t just thump. Also, keep in mind that just because DPS says they will be there doesn’t mean they actually will.

A two inch piece of something steel went through our tire. I still have it. The asphalt was fresh and !@##$$% hot. The spare held air until I let the jack down. My wife is svelte or my thighs would be crushed because she sat on my lap all the way to Pep Boys. Manny, Moe, and Jack might be cool but they hire idiots.

Check the spare, please.

And, don’t try and find bulk bungee cord in the Rio Grande Valley. It just isn't worth the effort.

What's It All About Alfie?

2007-08-15T14:18:00.000-04:00

The terrible searing heat of summer. No real good reason to go out and suffer when going to the mail box costs a quart of vital fluid. But Sponge Bob is back. Six months ago he got a blood cot in his leg and has not been able to ride, not at all. He will go out if I go out so who am I to sit on my ass and pout about the weather? I am bringing him back with the torment method. It has always worked well for me. The strong pick on the weak until something snaps and the weak all of a sudden find super human strength and self respect. I’ll torment Sponge Bob until he grabs my ankles and shakes the change out of my pockets to go buy a case of Shiner Kolsch.

Everyone was out today. The heat index was 107 and it was windy but I saw all sorts of people. Sponge Bob was out of course, Kelly was out, he has two little girls and a life. The girls were out, the idiots were out and by golly every one was having fun. I was looking for Sponge Bob and chasing mailboxes, pedestrians and anything that vaguely resembled a bike in my fuzzy vision. The bi focals stay at home and I just trust in my ability to distinguish between harmful and non harmful shapes.

Cocktail hour with the wife and cats. Just an inkling of a breeze, Broken Halo IPA, homemade Guacamole and chips. Nearly asleep and listening for the weather and the phone rings. Crank call or wrong number? It’s James. That would be a crank call. James is a spectacular rider, strong young and still a puppy. He’s heading off to do a team time trial at the state championships. His bike wasn’t shifting right. We did some on the phone wrench work and everything is swell. James exasperates me sometimes but if I can’t remember being just like him then damn, I’m a sorry OLD cuss.

35 Years of Temporary Insanity

2007-07-10T13:04:00.000-04:00

The heat of summer is here and unless you have ridden in South Texas this time of year you have no idea just how awful it can be. Imagine that it is 95° and there is a 25 mph wind. It’s like a giant blow dryer down here. You can go out in the morning if you wish. Then it is 85° with matching humidity. Think sauna with out the naked Swedes.

So why are we still riding? It beats the hell out of me. I personally don’t have another event to ride until the end of September and that one promises to be nothing but pain. It is fun to ride feeling fit, at least until your eyes fill up with sweat and your chamois reaches the saturation point and starts to squish.

How hot can Gatorade get before you can’t drink it? I don’t know yet. It stays just below boiling on the ride and since it tastes so wretched to begin with I hardly notice any change due to temperature. I had a cold one the other day and found it to be a completely different product. I don’t go out without my Camelback these days. That’s me out there, Quasimodo in red and black.

Oscar the Grouch asked around for hints on how to ride into the wind. It is a relentless torture. 25 mph is normal, 35 - 40 mph is not unheard of. Several times I have done the E.T. thing and left the road. So far the landings have been within acceptable tolerances. The wind is not my friend. I weigh in at a strapping 135 pounds. That’s not much ballast and my engine runs high rpm low torque. Some days my whole left side hurts from having to lean into the wind to keep from getting blown sideways. What motivates me the most on those days? Company. Having someone to chase, or doing an extra long hard pull at the front. If I'm by myself I'll plug along at 16 mph into the wind. With company? 20 -22 mph.

My hint to Oscar? Find someone bigger to ride behind besides me.

So what really gets me out there on the road in this miserable weather? Why do I keep riding with no clear goal? It’s simple, I just can’t stop. The idea of not riding, sitting on my ass, never facing a challenge, rarely crosses my mind. I’ll bail out some days and take an extra day off but quit just because of a little heat and wind?

Not likely.

Saturday Ride June 16th

2007-06-16T12:31:00.000-04:00

I rode with the Team McAllen elite group this morning and all I can say is “Elite my ass.”

I know, those are fighting words but hear me out before you start swinging. First off what makes a team or rider elite? There are a lot of factors but basically it means an ability to function with style, strength and wisdom at a high level of performance. There was very little of that this Saturday. The elite show courage and sacrifice, there was even less off that today.

What, you might ask, prompted this post? Today what could have been a nice team ride deteriorated into a suicidal free-for-all in a matter of minutes. The pace picked up on the military highway and instead of doubling up the paceline most of the riders tried grabbing a wheel just in front of them. There were enough riders the line stretched from the weeds to the yellow line. The guy coming off the front was going to have to ride in the on coming traffic and there was no room for following traffic to come around. If you can’t see the danger in this situation please stay home or ride by yourself.

The offer was made to start a second paceline. Repeatedly the offer was made. The second paceline was going just as fast as the first but instead of forming up, most of the “elite” riders were using the second paceline to bridge up to the first paceline. That might make sense at the end of a race but on a Saturday training ride it is just plain stupid.

Some of the riders today were very strong, some actually capable of being elite. Too many were cowardly, afraid to go up, double up and take a pull. Do they really think that getting to the front, pulling off after five seconds, really counts as a pull? Yeah, if you are riding with the big boys it hurts. Your heart rate is going to be sky high but it isn’t the end of the world. Nobody dies from injured pride but a paceline stretched out across a busy highway has killed more than a few.

My message to the riders today, become elite. Learn to work together, to ride safe and show some class. Riding hard and stupid does not earn respect. Doing your work at the front, showing a steady wheel to the guys behind you and being willing to contribute to the team...

THAT earns respect, and once you have respect, you can become elite. Until then, try not to ride stupid. If you don’t know any better then ask someone who’s been around for awhile, it’s a lot easier than you think.

Road Trip Louisiana

2007-06-12T13:53:00.000-04:00

The Big Guy’s little sister called him up and said she was going to be riding in the St. Francisville, LA “Tour d’ Cure”. He of course volunteered to go ride with her and called me up with the offer of a free trip to Louisiana. How could I say no? I know his little sis and she’s real sweet, the food has got to be good and the trip’s free. My wife says sure, go away and leave me with the chickens. I ignored the facetious remark and started getting ready.

There was one catch, I had to raise a minimum of $150 for the American Diabetes Association. I have not gone out raising money for 30 something years. Back in the old days when young men left home for San Francisco, I was a terrible panhandler, ie: a lousy bum. I did better in this incarnation and raised a fair sum. The wife suggested I try raising money for myself, what a concept!

The Big Guy loaded up his truck with me, his son, son’s girlfriend, a couple of bikes and off we went on an eleven hour drive to Lafayette, LA. We had crawdad Pizza the first night in town, checked out the local high end shop (Precision Bikes) and lined up a Saturday ride with the local club, Cajun Cyclists. (http://cajuncyclists.bicycleracing.com/index.html)

The Saturday ride was a mixed group. There were vets, newbies and some very strong women. I quickly learned that all of the Texas roads I have cursed are so much better than the roads in Lousyana (local spelling) I should keep my mouth shut and count my blessings. The ride went out nice and didn’t pick up until the ride head home point. Three fourths of the way home I discovered a new thing about Lousyana roads. Two of the guys I was chasing took a curve a little wider than I was comfortable with so I went really wide, at 25 mph. I crossed the centerline and headed straight for the ditch. I came to a complete stop and then had to chase the leaders from a dead stop. The combination of embarrassment and anger had me on their wheels in no time and the Big Guy was shaking his head “ Somebody pissed off the little guy again” It turns out the curve was off camber, it slopes to the outside in both lanes and will send you towards the ditch no matter which side you are on. All that being said, this is a great group of riders and I would highly recommend riding with them if you should ever get the chance.

Sometime during the Saturday ride the Big Guy incurred a back spasm. He was walking around at half mast and groaning a lot. Little Sis gave him electroshock, pills, massages and creams. He still hurt Sunday but decided it didn’t hurt any more on the bike than off it so we headed for St. Francisville at 5am, a two hour drive.

Disaster struck when we got to the High School in St. Francisville. The door to the bathrooms was still locked. After several phone calls the boss lady of the ride jimmied the door with a screwdriver and voila! no more disaster.

There was a group at the start line wearing white jerseys with question marks on the front. The back had the letters WTF. Yeah, that’s exactly what it stood for and we all decided, wisely to give them a wide berth. Everyone lined up for the 95 mile and the early 51 mile rides. There was the usual early pandemonium and when the dust cleared I was in a group of four or five going a lot faster than the moderate ride I had planned. Somewhere in the chaos The Big Guy found a damsel in distress and dropped back to give aid.

Jeff, the Memphis Kid, decided he would pull all day and kept us humping till the first rest stop. The road from rest stop one to rest stop two was a winding roller coaster through a tunnel of ancient trees. I went to the front and was having way too much fun going nearly as fast as I was able. When we slowed to do a route check, the Memphis Kid said “If you are not going to pull hard then stay in the back.” I had a remarkably dumb look on my face until he said “You had us really flying through there!”

The Kid says he’s a Cat 4 but he rides like a Cat 2. He took over and pulled us at 22 mph to the 65 mile rest stop, Clinton, LA. We actually stopped and refueled instead of blowing by like we had been doing. Darrel, our fourth, having a great time, he said he had never gone faster or farther in his life. Apparently I had taken us up to almost 40 mph on the roller coaster. He said the only thing slowing him down was the big grin on his face. At 75 miles he had whole body cramps and they slowed him down a tad. We got him to the last rest stop at 85 miles and left him in the shade with instruction to drink lots of gatorade and do not under any circumstance lie down.

There were three of us left, the Kid and a Tri-guy. The pace picked up and I pretty much threw in my towel with 6 or 7 miles to go. I finished out at a stately 20 mph pace and rolled in no worse for the way. Little Sis was there already. She did a fabulous job of knocking out the 51 miler. The Big Guy was somewhere back on the course so I went back looking for him. That was another 15 miles on the day with no sign of him.
Pretty soon one on the Team Valero Members gets a call on the cell phone. PJ, the gal TBG was escorting, was calling wanting to know where the !@#$%#@ was the high school. She had 96 miles on here cyclometer and was certain she was lost. TBG’s toes were cramping and between our telephone help and TBG’s spotting of the traffic cones, it was determined they were about 100 yards from the finish.

It was all in all a good trip. Little Sis got a personal best. The Big Guy’s back spasm responded well to Anjeo Tequila and I got to ride someplace out of town. What more could you ask for?

Little Things

2007-05-03T11:07:00.000-04:00

Little things can have a big effect in cycling. Tiny adjustments to saddle height or cleat position can have huge results in comfort. One inch can make the difference in a good draft or suffering. Some of the small things are hard to measure.

Recently I had one of the best rides of the year. Three of us worked together very hard on a sixty mile ride. Two of us ride together a lot and the third man was new to us. Just a kid to us old folks but a strong and capable rider despite his age. Points should be given for good behavior. It is hard to quantify how much better a ride can be when everyone works hard together. It is even more rare that a new person can enter into a group and add so much.

The day after the good ride I had an incident that spoiled a ride. A relatively new club member showed up on the Sunday ride. The turn out was small and a decision was made to go out as one group instead of three. The pace was slow to moderate and we rolled out at 12 mph. Less than 4 blocks into the ride the new club member called to the front to slow down the group was fragmenting. I told him that the pace was already slow enough and he told me, “We all need to stay together and if you want to ride faster you can go ride by yourself.” Jeez, give a guy a uniform and he wants to rule the world.

Little things again. The group did need to keep together but the trailing riders have a responsibility to keep up. If I want to go faster I can and should ride by myself. This guy did not know me from Adam and wearing a club jersey he should have been a little more tactful to a stranger. Once you put on the jersey, like it or not, you represent the whole club. (I am currently not a member of much of anything.) I did go off by myself and had a nice enough ride with a few other riders I picked up with on the road.

There are sometimes big rewards from little things. A different new rider brought me a bike to be repaired. It is an older hand-me-down and needs some serious repair. He has little money and lots of heart. It is not good business for me to be charitable at this point in my bike repair career but there are times you have to make exceptions. I’ll scrounge around and get some serviceable used parts for cheap and cut him a break on the labor. He’ll be on the road and I’ll feel good about cycling.

Pay attention to the details, little things do add up.

Easter Hill Country Tour

2007-04-08T20:39:00.000-04:00

I was looking forward to a nice long story about our favorite annual road trip. We did go on our Easter road trip but there is not much to write about. Three of us loaded up our bikes and headed from McAllen to Kerrville for the Easter Hill Country Tour. It started out well. We had good tunes and a full tank of gas. We hit San Antonio and dropped off a delivery of Art Glass at a gallery and then headed to the Performance Bike Shop. We did some careful sale shopping and then got back on the road heading for Kerrville. Just about the time we hit the San Antonio grid lock, Mike discovered his 10 speed cassette had only 9 cogs. We went back to Performance at an average speed of 20 mph.

(Note to self: Next time we unpack his bike and let him ride back to the store.)

There was a silver lining. We were all hungry and hit Rudy’s BBQ in Boerne a few minutes before the dinner rush. Things went well from there, we were running late but got our packets picked up, our new gear on the bikes, and our heads on the pillows.

Friday morning we had a cardboard breakfast at the motel and headed to Fredricksburg for the first ride of the weekend. We could not have asked for better weather. (Actually, if I thought it would have done any good, I would have asked for a little less wind.) We headed out with Team McAllen and proceeded to get mildly lost inside the city limits. Once we were back on track we promptly got a warning from a nice officer not to roll stop signs. The first climb broke things up pretty good and by the time we got to the first rest stop there were just the three of us. It was a pretty la-de-dah ride from there on in. Lots of flowers and the usual pushing and shoving in fun.

We regrouped, cleaned up, had dinner, said hello to friends and made tentative plans for Saturday morning.

6:30 AM Saturday Morning; The parking lot is silvery and there are little pitty pats. No one gets out of bed.

8:30 AM: A decision was made to go to breakfast. It was still raining and 34° degrees. The predicted high for the day was 40° and sleet and freezing weather for Easter. We did the sensible thing, we bailed out and hit the bike shops in San Antonio. We also ate some more. Not too bad for a rained out weekend, and there is always next year.