Perfect early summer afternoon in Seattle and I spent an hour on my single-speed after work, trying to shed some winter pounds and prep for a memorial day 40 mile road race. I linked up parts of the Interurban and Green River Trails.
The guy who almost tagged me around 4:22 in an engineer that works for another group. I sent him a copy of the clip and gave him a ration of good-natured sh!t for it.
Stamps-With-Foot has some sort of internal need to be a Soccer Mom. She has been dreaming about owning a boxy Subaru Forester for years – since at least 2005 when we drove our friend Brauning’s Outback up the California coast and on to Oregon that summer. When passing a forester on the highway, she would smile and mentioned her admiration. It happened a LOT…
Fast-forward to 2016. We moved back to the US from France and Laurel needed a new ride. 1st choice, only choice, a red Subaru Forester. Off we went to the local Scooby Dealer and my sweet wife went into full Turkish carpet-seller mode. She bargained hard over two days, made them explain everything to her, and wrangled some free car washes. With the car she got the cargo rack, all weather floor mats (in addition ti the carpet ones), rear cargo rubber mat & cover, and heated seats. I think the sales guy just wanted her to leave and gave up the last bit in hopes it would make her stop trying to deal.
We took her new ride on a road trip to the Oregon Coast last weekend with five people and all their gear in it. It handled the hills, rain and wind like a champ and with the cargo box on top (same one we have had for 7 years) everyone’s stuff fit just fine.
When we left Seattle for Southern France, I sold my truck and it felt like I lost a hand. I toyed with the idea of bringing mine over, but it would have been impossible to park and the money that I would have had to spend for gas would have been astronomical. My very first vehicle was a truck and I have never not had a truck to drive. There have been other vehicles, but I have always had a pick-up.
I didn’t really plan to do much heavy hauling during our time in Toulouse, so we got a 5-door diesel Suzuki Swift and I added a roof rack – just in case I needed to road trip with a bike or grab the odd 2X4 at the lumber yard… Reality is often brighter and more interesting than the initial plan. We have abused our little Suzuki. I have treated it like a farm hauler and overloaded it again and again. The rack has a 100 pound weight limit, yeah about that… In my own experience, 250 pounds has ridden just fine. I still miss my truck, but we are making due.
All the things I have hauled in or on the car that have been questionable:
400 pound wood lathe
The cut rounds from 4 trees (to date)
A 200 pound 7′ X 6′ x 2′ Wardrobe
3 large work benches
9 bookshelves
~1500 books in boxes
10+ sheets of plywood
Enough lumber to build a garden shed
2 beds
9 rolled carpets
A buffet hutch
A garden table, 2 side tables, 8 chairs, and a umbrella
250 pounds of gravel for lathe ballast
A huge antique armoire
300 pounds of wet lumber
A Canoe that was wider than the roof
5 people and all their crap
I love my Single Speed Bike. I built her in 2007, pieced together out of found, used and scrounged parts – all Bride of Frankenstein-like. She has been loving and trustworthy since our first spin together. We have ridden in five separate countries, in three States, through crazy German and Amsterdam traffic, in cities, on lonely country roads, commuted to and from work together, vacationed together, up horrendous hills, and down at least one set of subway stairs. She has never left me stranded, bruised and bleeding a little, but never alone and lost Now, we are riding single track together.
There is a network of mixed use trails near our house (lots of horses) that go on for miles and they have screamed for me to bike them. Right after our stuff was delivered in February, I got my big ol’ butt on my bike for a “quick run” to the store for milk. It was not quick. I had grossly over-estimated both my level of fitness and the slope of the road leading to said store. It did not help that I tipped the scales at nearly 200 pounds and my former peak cycling weight was ~165. My head was spinning by the time I got to the store and I had to fight with all my dignity not to puke. It was bad.
The very next night I put a set of 33X700 cyclo-cross tires on my bike so I could ride the trails by the house, work off some of the belly, and puke in private. The tires BARELY clear the chain-stays on the frame and are 1/8″ away from the brakes, but they DO clear and that is the most important part. Fvck buying a mountain bike! Me and my Single are just fine on the trails here. Even with the new tires, she weighs a whopping 22 pounds and I can throw her over my shoulder and walk by anything real shitty. Try that with a 40 pound full suspension monster!
We went for a muddy 10+ miler after work today and I had a ball! I am down to 181, the sun was shining, there were hard-packed trail sections that I was able to peddle like crazy on and there were some NASTY sections that were caked in slippery mud. We got dirty together.
I spent a few days in Paris working and got into the center of the city one afternoon. The positive side of cyber commuting: I can work from a cramped little cube/office, from my sun-filled home office, or from a street cafe across from Notre Dame in Paris…
This is what I tote around with me every day.
My wedding ring. I am a sucker for a fountain pen. I drank the iPhone Kool-Aid and willingly came back for seconds. The pocket knife as been with me for 10 of 12 years and never fails to open a letter, cut the fat off my steak, or whittle down a dowel in the shop. One of two watches, silver bracelets, truck keys (USB stick on), glasses, a flashlight in my bag (Leuctturm1917 notebook too) and my thin money-clip/card wallet (front pocket). My .45 has been heavily worked to fit me perfectly and is with me when not sitting at my J-O-B.
I have a neighbor with a rose blossom tree that is the first bloomer of spring. We can see it from our breakfast nook and the kitchen window. The second I see the small red buds starting to show, I know that spring is on its way. Petals are now covering a small patch of ground on my side of the fence and the ornamental cheery trees in the neighborhood blooming. Now is the time to peel myself from my winter sloth and get to the gym, run, and ride my bike. I took my wet-weather commuter-bike down from the rafters in the shop, blew off the sawdust and immediately saw that my head tube was cracked. Son of a…. No idea how it happened. No crashes or huge drops that I know of. It is an aluminum frame, so if cracked it is unrideable. When steel fails it is gradual and you have some warning. When aluminum goes, there is no warning. One just finds him or her self in a bloody and broken pile on the street.
The bike is my Winter/wet-weather commuter, but due to my only laziness, it has only see the road twice since last fall. I have some other bikes, but finding the crack was a a blow to the momentum I was building to finally get off my ass. I took it into a local shop where I know and like the owner and explained the issue. Specialized has a lifetime warranty and he called his rep and I will have a new frame in a few days. I will then spend some time in the basement tearing the old bike down and rebuilding on the new frame. I am sure that I will obsess over some minor detail that will cost me days and some amount of cash.
Some friends of ours are downsizing their lives and are planning to quit their jobs and take an extended around the world trip. We were helping them move some of their stuff to a smaller place and I asked the Man-Friend in the relationship what he was going to do the what I assumed was a non-running older 4X4 truck in front of the house. He said I could have it. Ughhhh…. I tried to let him off the hook telling him to think about it and when he kept on saying I could “Have” it, I offered to pay him what he had in it or what he paid for it. Nope. He gave me the truck. I couldn’t say no. I just couldn’t. I love the design and construction of Japanese 4-wheel drives. They are super tough and if maintained, extra dependable. There was no way I was going to just let a free one scoot past me.
Turns out that the truck both runs and has a clear title. It is a blue 1989 Dodge Ram 50, single cab – that is what the title says anyways. In reality it is a Mitsubishi MightyMax that Dodge imported, did not touch, and slapped their name on. the ’89 model was the 1st year of the 2nd generation of the truck and had a 2.6 liter, I4 forklift engine in it. If serviced, they will run for 400K+ miles. Our new steed has 183K on it and needs a ring and valve job – smokes on start up and won’t pass smog. It needs some tires, shocks, tranny service, hub locks, and some electrical work, but it was FREE!
I need another project in my life like I need a meteor hole in my roof, but I think after a little work it will make both a commuter for my mom and a dependable truck to troop over to the grocery store, Home Depot, drive into the mountains, or to haul the occasional thrift store treasure.
I haven’t thought of a name just yet – we haven’t had enough time together: No share hardships endured. We haven’t moved together in the pouring rain. Zero late night beer runs through a dry-county. No women have been wooed. No mountains climbed…. A name will come in time.
I was home from England for 13 hours when my faithful truck, Early, breathed his last bit of misted 87 octane unleaded gas. We were driving together to check out an advert for tools on Craigslist in Belleview, WA when his little transmission gave out on him after 278,482 miles. A rebuilt one, if I put it in myself, was $1200 and I decided it was time to let him go.
Early wasn’t pretty. He was dark green and rust, had a flat bed with wooden sides, and an interior only a mother could love. More than once people thought I had arrived somewhere to mow their lawn or haul away their junk. No one would park beside him in parking lots and when he and I changed lanes on the freeway, people got the hell out of our way.
Instead of being shinny, he was useful and I can give no higher praise to a truck than that. He moved us and everything we owned from our old house to our new one, always started the first time, hauled trees and crap to the dump countless times, took me to work when Stamps-With-Foot and I couldn’t carpool, served as a loaner when friends were in town, hauled lumber, gear, bikes, furniture, appliances, dirt, and most recently he delivered 1.5 tons of gravel for our hot tub base, though it did take him 5 trips…
I hope he can be as useful in death as he was when running. Maybe his steel bed, frame, and engine will be melted down and made into a bridge, a ship, or a building. Goodbye trusty old friend. Thank you.
Many a fine two-wheeled mistress have I, yet I am burdened with an oft wandering eye… Last week in London I spent way too muck time ogling bicycles. Locked up outside a store on the sidewalk, hung in shop windows, rolling down the street… of all the cycles that caught my eye, the Bramptons that scurried about were the most quintessentially English. I don’t think that I have ever seen a folding bike locked up here in the US, but it was common place in london, though that might be due to the killer bike racks…
Stamps-With-Foot had an appointment today and I rode the bus home from work. Riding the bus in Seattle is never dull. For part of my ride home I sat next to a grandmotherly looking lady with a blond/gray bun on top of her head, wearing a sweater with cats faces on it, and she was alternately reading: Wine and Cheese : The Essential Reference and The Encyclopedia of Serial Killers. I kinda wanted to ask her why one would be reading such dissimilar books on the ride home, but I kept thinking about how she might want eat my liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. No, really….
When I got some Stamps-With-Foot was waiting for me with a glass of the wine pictured below. There are days when I do consider that I am in a Twilight Zone episode, looking for the gremlin on the wing.
May is bike to work month and I need to ride. As I have neglected my many two wheeled lovelies this spring in my quest to become hugely fat, I decided it was time that I get back in the saddle, shed some pounds, and get into fighting shape. My first outing was somewhat painful and more than a little ego smashing. I drove into work the first sunny morning of the month and cut out 20 minutes early to take advantage of the not-rainy weather. This winter and spring have been cold, wet, crappy, and gray and I am so white that my skin is almost translucent.
I rode my CycloX bike at what I believed was a nice little let’s-get-reacquainted clip. The sun was warm, the sky blue, little wind, I was soaking up vitamin D, and WHOOSH! – an ass on a blue bike darted past me without a word and cleared my bars by a couple inches. Son of a… Poor form, poor form… Times past, I would have chased him down, stuck on his wheel and punished him with a nasty big-ring pace till he fell off, ashamed of his transgression and performance. However, my cookie handles precluded me for doling out lessons in cycling etiquette right then. Let’s just say that I got passed a bunch. Once, that lovely afternoon, by a 70+ year old man on a ’80s steel frame, who said “Look out, son!” as he rolled by on my left. Really, he said that.
I would like to tell you that I got stronger as the month wore on, but traveling for work, a painful case of costochondritis, and my own laziness conspired against me. I rode home three more times in May, averaging once a week and did ZERO weekend rides. I am more than a little ashamed to own as many bikes as I do and not treat them with the respect they deserve. June and July are going to be different. I am going to commute an average of twice a week (when I am home instead of in Belfast – long story) and I am going to do one weekend ride a week. In fact, next weekend I am going to take my lovely bride on a tandam bike ride/pincnic on either the Burke/Gillman or the Cedar River trail
On a brighter note, ridership at my work has increased 33% from last May to this: we have 3 people out of 700 that now ride to work occasionally instead of just two…
I live a street over from an arterial road that is renowned for both it speeders and the accidents that they cause. There have been individual demands and requests for YEARS to have the city do something about the collisions and deaths along “I-35.” As this is my neighborhood, I need to be involved if I expect things to get better. I recently sent different versians of the letter below to my city council and our mayor:
Councilman _______________;
As this May is bike to work month, I would like to invite you to either join me for my daily commute along 35th Ave SW in West Seattle or for a stroll and discussion along that same stretch of road.
There have been repeated community pleas asking city officials to do something the speed of the traffic on that road for years (see links below), there are multiple speed-related accidents a week, and at least one pedestrian or cyclist death a year since 2006. According to SDOT’s own findings six of the top 15 most frequent accident prone intersections for the past five years are along 35th (at Morgan, #4; at Webster, #7; at Barton, #8; at Juneau, #12; at Thistle, #15).
I would like for you to join me for both a first-hand look at the issue and a discussion of possible rational solutions.
Thank you and regards,
Hiram Crookshank
Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, & 8
No reply yet, but I will wait a week or so and see. If I don’t hear anything, then I am going to turn it up a notch – the squeaky wheel gets the oil and all.
I picked up an old (1999?) Specialized Hardrock from Stamps-With-Foot’s uncle a couple weeks ago. She somehow agreed to let me have another bike. I figure she is either having an affair with a non-cycling Adonis and her guilt has allowed this acquisition OR she has come to understand that my bike addiction is not like heroin or gambling or video games and as long as I don’t spend the mortgage or dip into the spawn’s college fund then she will tolerate all the frames and wheels hanging in the rafters.
Anyway… My new whip will be used as a winter commuter and CycloCross bike. It is an 8-Speed and the derailleurs and chain are not as finicky about the water and gunk as my regular 9&10 speed training and race bikes. It is all Aluminum and tough as a coffin nail, so it will not rust and should take the beating that my lack of CycloX skill will subject it to on race days.
Shortly after bringing it home, I stripped off the knobbies, flat bar, grip shifters, scary seat, and brake pads. I had a set of drop bars, some 26” slicks, and KoolStop pads waiting for it and dropped by Recycled Cycles for some used shifters, grip tape, a shorter stem, and cables. I hit gold while there and as set of PAUL Cross Lever in-line brakes just fell into my basket… They looked BRAND NEW and I got them for ½ of retail! The Wife was not amused at the total for the shopping trip, but to her credit there was no beat down, no yelling, no sleeping in the garage threatened, etc… She may have picked up a pair of shoes at equal cost though…
I spent a night after work rebuilding and tuning and I must say that I am VERY happy with the results. The day after I finished, I took her on a shake-down ride home from work, my normal 16.3 mile commute. It poured on me the whole way and the bike felt solid, the ride and shifting was smooth, gearing was just right for carrying all the additional cold/wet weather gear. Like all the rest of my two-wheeled mistresses, this bike also has a woman’s name: Christina. I named her after the actress, Christina Hendricks because she is not some effete tofu-munching, carb-dodging runway model. She has curves and muscle, and is sexy in an Olivia De Berardinis sort of way.
Yes… The shop is a mess. I have a couple things in-process. No funny quips required.
I REALLY, extra, super dislike daylight saving time, especially come that time in the Fall when I have to set the 20 or so clocks in the house/cars back one hour. It means that my commute home is in the dark and I have to light myself up like a disco ball so that drivers on their way home after a crappy day at work won’t run over me – again. I don’t care if some Victorian Kiwi (who should not have taken his mind off Entomology) thought it was a great idea that would increase the available light for his bug collecting. The practice has become unnecessary and annoying in the 21st century. 90% of Africa doesn’t observe it. China, Japan, and India think DST is bunk. Most of Central & South America and Australia have let it go, and yet in the USA only the state of Arizona has the foresight to opt out. First we toss out DST then we adopt the metric system. My little soapbox rant for the day…
My ride home on Wednesday was a soggy one. I had planned on a little drizzle, but what I got was a downpour. I forgot to put on the fenders so I had water, mud and road grit striped up my butt and bag. It made for an annoying commute, but it was a self-created annoyance. I should have dressed for the worst and fendered-up. On the positive side, all the cyclists who clogged the Interurban Trail last week in the sunshine were gone and there were only a hardy few, sporting full rain gear, lots of lights, and waterproof panniers. Last night I came home on my normal apres-work 3-mile loop. By the time I got home, my shoes were water-filled and heavy – let’s call it resistance training.
Yep, fall is officially here. My strawberry plant’s leaves are turning red, the heirloom tomatoes that I have fought to save all summer are finally turning from green to red, and it is now time to install extra lights and the fenders on my commuter. This time of year is both comforting and scary for us lovers of the two-wheeler. The trails and paths are free of our spandex clad brethren on their first ever “road bike”, there are very few kids on big-wheels to dodge, the ladies after-work-walking-club (the one that walks 6 abreast on the trails like a Spartan phalanx) has retired to the treadmills at LAFitness. I find that my ride is quiet and boring and drama free… Except that drivers tend to lose what little ability they had to see cyclists. Even with three blinking lights attached all willy-nilly, fall and winter commuters are spooky around intersections and shared roadways.
Have you flown anywhere recently? It SUCKS! Getting through security means stripping, flights are canceled, there is no free food, getting a seat in an exit row or behind a bulkhead now costs extra, rental car rates are insane, lost bags are the rule, everyone is pissed off, and I recently paid $30 hotel tax on a $120 a night room. I can’t throw my hands up and stay home – I work in the aircraft industry and often fly on business trips with NO notice. Instead of just bitching about it all and suffering through, I decided to see what I could do to make the experience better.
I have drastically cut out the amount of crap I carry. I used to travel in a suit, carry my laptop, assorted files, my running shoes, a couple changes of clothes, a couple books, my notebook, a camera, S³ kit, extra batteries, pens, noise-canceling headphones, etc… For an overnight business trip now, I travel in running clothes, fold my work clothes flat next to my laptop (sometimes I leave the laptop and just take a Bluetooth keyboard for the phone), never check a bag, pack a couple of Clif bars, take one book (soon to be an eReader), one Moleskine notebook, an extra dress shirt, 2 pens, my iPhone, phone charger, 1 set of extra socks, small apple earphones, undies and undershirt, tooth brush, deodorant, toothpaste, and floss. I use the soap and shampoo in the hotel – that is what it is there for. I grab a coffee in the terminal before the flight, pick up some fruit, and I am not beyond some social engineering to get a better seat: ‘Excuse me, but I am feeling really ill. Is there an aisle seat near the bathroom?’
I pack just as light if I am flying to see the kids or as a tourist. Couple shirts, flip-flops, extra jeans, hat, S³ kit, and I refuse to take a laptop on vacation. It is not worth the security hassle and I may be tempted to work instead of relaxing or enjoying myself. I have also been graced with a wife who does not pack a steamer trunk full of shoes for a weekend getaway. It feels really freeing not to have to wait at baggage return or lug a heavy weight suitcase around.
I addition to the above, I have spent years (and lots of pain) developing Talley’s Rules of Travel. I hope it helps someone:
I hadn’t been on my bike since the overloaded ride from Vancouver to Seattle. I pulled a trail-a-bike (one wheel, handle bars, peddles…) with a 95 pound kid and 80 pounds of gear, including the trailer. It was squirrelly and scary trying to peddle from dead still, and I will never do it again, but I can say that my bike has never been so smooth once I got above 10mph. It was like I had installed dampeners on the steering and suspension. The trail-a-bike is off and now for sale. I switched my chainings and rear cassette back to the pre-suffering setup late last week and brought my bike into work for a ride home.
Holy CRAP! I almost tumped over 3 times before I got both feet on the pedals. I couldn’t keep my bike going in a straight line – like I was seriously drunk. This is a bike that I have put 11K miles on, It feels like part of me when I ride, and can tell when my seat or bars are moved a fraction of an inch. It took me almost three miles to get it all figured out and control the bike to the point that I felt comfortable. Thank God that I was on a nice wide paved trail! If I would have been on the road I would have packed it up, called the wife, and caught a ride home. It was scary.
I flipped a senior citizen the bird on my way home today. not a casual, lazy, flick of the wrist sort of obscenity, no no… It was a full on, arm strait out, display of the middle finger that would make any self-respecting British football hooligan proud. What might provoke such behavior one might wonder? Why would a someone who is normally so courteous to the older folk commit such a heinous act against one of our blue-haired citizens? Am I ashamed? Will I feel the need to perform some sort of penitence to balance the violation of my Karma? Nope. The act was completely justified!
I was peddling along, listening to a podcast on the French Revolution, the sun was shining, and traffic was light – a recipe for a fine commute. As I pulled into the home stretch, about a mile and a half from La Maison Du Talley, a red car comes soaring down the hill by Luna Park Cafe and doesn’t look like it is going to heed the stop sign. I looked at the driver as I pulled the break levers hard and she was talking on her cell phone; holding it to her left ear with her right hand. Her left hand was on the top of the wheel completely blocking her ability to turn her head to look in my direction. She made NO attempt to even glance to her left to see if there was a car or a cyclist or a pedestrian or even a lady with a baby carriage coming from that direction. I skidded to a stop as she rolled a full 10 feet past the stop sign, almost clipping me with her bumper. I looked at her as disapprovingly as I could, pointed to the stop sign and yelled (only so she could hear me in her cocoon of Detroit steel and over her cell phone conversation) for her to hang up the phone and drive. I then peddled on, shaking my head in annoyance.
About 30 yards up the road she caught up with me, rolled her window down and screamed at me to watch where I was going and that I was an “asshole.” Other obscenities came spilling out as she sped up, I was shocked and reacted as any cyclist worth his shifters would – finger up and complimented with a vocalization of the same.
I know I have said this a couple of times recently, but I have been hit 5 TIMES while riding and was recently rubbed by a rear-view mirror. Three of those incidences involved someone talking on a cell phone while driving. Look, we all make mistakes from time to time, but for the love of God, put the phone down, buy a headset, and watch for cyclists. This is Seattle, we’re everywhere… I stand by my use of THE Finger this time. In fact, I kinda want to wait at the corner the same time tomorrow so that I can do it again. I know, I know that would solve nothing and only make her REALLY dislike cyclists. I am sure her side of the story is just as compelling as mine: “I was driving home and some lunatic, drug crazed man on a bike went nuts and screamed at me. I didn’t DO anything, I was just driving and he came out of nowhere and started screaming at me…”
Can one man truly have to many bikes? What if they are ALL in working order and some of them were free? I now own 6 and while rolling through my ally on the way to work Wednesday I found that one of my neighbors threw away an Orange Volksport Mark X from the early 1970’s. It was in SWEET condition with only a flat front tire. I threw that bad-boy in the truck and took her to work. When I got home, I just adjusted the brakes, lubed the chain & cassette, fixed the flat, and gave it an inaugural spin. The wife isn’t normally thrilled with new bike acquisitions, free or not, but she didn’t seem too mad about this one, but I can’t say she was full of glee either – I think it is the retro orange color that swayed her from the normal, ” YOU GOT ANOTHER BIKE?!?!?” reaction..
Why would someone throw away such a cool old bike? No, you can’t ride the Tour with it and I am sure they moved on to an aluminum and carbon REI Novara or the like, but it is a funky grocery-go-getter that deserves to still be ridden. I have decided that it will be both my loaner bike and one of my weekend, to the coffee shop whips.
This new find got me thinking about all the bikes that I have owned in life: I really miss some of them – the BMX that my dad bought me in 1983 is probably the number one that I wish I still rolled. Below is a list, in no real order, of both the bikes that I have owned and currently ride:
1975 Radio Flyer Tri-cycle
1992 Black Trek Antelope 800 (loaned it out, never came back)
2001 Red and White Trek 1200 (Stolen)
1979 kids bike with yellow rubber “gas tank”
1978 Green Machine Big Wheel (first one in town, BABY!)
1979 Banana Seat blue Schwinn
White & Red 650cc 10-speed (1980’s)
1981 Red and chrome Huffy BMX
Dahon Helos 8 aluminum folder
1983 Raleigh chrome BMX (Thanks Daddy!!)
2005 Red Specialized Allez (X2 – 1 stolen & 1 hit by a car)
2007 Red Specialized Allez Elite
No-name unicycle (2007-08)
2008 Redline Aluminum RL7 BMX
1968 Schwinn Twinn red Tandem 6-speed
1989 White Pogliaghi time trial bike (sad, sad story…)
1981 White Raleigh Super-course (repainted black)
1999 White Trek 2600 hard-tail
Orange Volksport Mark X (1970’s)
48” wheel black Penny Farthing (1895 replica built ca. 1975)
Update: As of 8/12/10 I have two more steeds… a 1973 green Schwinn Varsity and a 2005 Aluminum Specialized 9-speed CycloX racer
The fixed gear craze, like disco before it, is now dead – see link below. I will observe a moment of silence at 7:00 PM this evening with beer in hand – pouring one out for all the hipster hommies who will need a new trend to follow. I will then forever remove the 16t track cog from my flip-flop hub and place it lovingly on a lonesome nail in my garage. Maybe my son won’t make a “ninja star” out of it and it will be there waiting, much like polyester and bell bottoms, for the day when it is once again socially acceptable.
http://www.walmart.com/ip/700C-Men-s-Mongoose-Cachet-Fixed-Speed-Bike/13398142
I will continue to spin my Single-Speed to and from the grocery store/coffee shop and will occasionally ride my one-geared beauty to work. She has made me a better, stronger cyclist and I DO love to ride that bike. I can’t and won’t give her up just because of the semi-share pedigree with the now passe wanna-be track bikes sold by the likes of Bentonville.
My multispeed, derailleur equipped, steeds are at this very moment spinning their wheels with glee. No more dismissive looks and snide velo comments from the day-glow orange rimmed and narrow barred bikes locked up at East Street. Yes, it is now their turn to snicker as my bike chain goes click, click, click – moving down the rear cassette, propelling my 9-speed racer ever faster away from soon to be re-purposed and repainted frames and into the reclaimed future of cycling.
Today was my first commute home from work to the new house and the first commute since they cut on my shoulder. My wife dropped me and the 9-speed off this morning at the J-O-B and it was a scene out of a not so funny ’90s movie: me standing on the curb, backpack over flowing – slung over one shoulder, bike in one hand, lunch/coffee in the other, watching my ride pull away with a mixed expression of fear and excitement, knowing that I only had one way home – the pedals.
Now the sun was scheduled (per the interwebs last night) to shine for most of the day, but it seems that there was some sort of confusion with the powers that be and the time table was shifted to accommodate an interview with rain and a meeting of high winds. I got smirking weather reports every few minutes from co-workers who had access to the arrow-slit windows in our building (my position doesn’t warrant such perks) and who relished the anguished expression I gave when told how cold, wet, and dark it was becoming outside. A little after 4:30, the rain stopped and the sky turned from dark to light gray. I sucked it up, changed in my assigned mop & buffer pad-filled cleaning closet, and started my ride home. During my now 14.3 mile one-way commute there were a couple of route-finding challenges, some major potholes, sunshine, rain, sunshine with rain, a wicked headwind, tunes from the iPhone, and a monster hill. The shoulder felt OK and my quads are not as strong as the need to be, but they will come back in force by mid-summer. It took me an hour and twenty minutes to get home this time, but think that I can shorten it to an hour and ten on a normal day.
It felt extremely satisfying to get out and ride after work. I immediately rewarded myself upon arriving home with some Girl Scout Crack as you do when you have a cookie addiction.
Spring is a comin’… The Girl Scouts are marshaling their pig-tailed, freckled forces for an assault on my waistline and dental health. I don’t need to check on the ground hog’s shadow. Spring for me comes with the first box of Somoas every year. In case I hadn’t noticed the change outside from confines of my sugar-coma, the new grass is starting to sprout in our yard and a local nursery is selling seeds and bare-root plants. I have spied a number of cyclists, clad head to toe in isolated spandex, on the bike paths and in the city. I cannot wait for the warmer weather, sunny days, cycling to work, trail runs on something other than mud, and new sprouts in our garden.
Man, Some days my bike commute (1200+ miles so far this year) is the SHIT!… Warm sunshine, crisp air, blue sky, mountains in the background, little traffic, all the lights are green, etc… Then there are days like today that I get home ragged, twitching, in a foul mood, and in need of quite time. I got off a little late so the sun was setting as I started the 40-minute ride home. Traffic was tight, exhaust fumes hung thick in the air, some asshole swerved at me to be funny – I hope, two douche-bags laid into their horns as they sped past me while I was climbing a hill, a lady in a Honda almost hit me in the cross walk, and finally this dick screamed at me with his head hanging out the passenger window of a truck as I was coming to yet another red-light. I got up out of the saddle and mashed the peddles for all I was worth, getting mentally ready for the beat-down I was going to give the ass-hat. Just as I got within reach of the bumper, the guy driving ran the light. I hate assholes!
I was hit 5 times in 3 years of living in California and I learned that you have to watch drivers like a hawk. After a while you become intuitive of their no-signal right turns and you can feel when that lady on her cell phone is going to look right through you and pull out, so you hit the brakes and avoid a crash that she was never aware of. The Burbs and industrial district south of Seattle is a whole other hot mess indeed. Unlike in the city proper, there aren’t too many of us bike commuters, lots of busy mid-level managers talking into the mobile phones, and it is a battle every time I get on my bike. There is a guy in a dark blue Chevy Malibu van that has the same schedule as me who will squeeze his van against the curb if he sees me coming so that I can’t pass him at red lights – no cutting in line! I get honked at daily, had a Burger King bag tossed at me back in June, and once had a semi-homeless (living in his car) dude (there are a bunch in S. King County, WA) try to chase me down and steal my bike – really!
Now, if I had caught the guy at the light I would have hit him at least three times before he got his door open. Then it would have been two good-sized fellers on a skinny guy in spandex and funny shoes. I would have given pretty good, but I would have bleed some and I don’t know if that would have taught them the proper lesson. Ruminating on that and the possibility of assault by one of our local street people, I have decided to not fuck around with my safety. I have a wife and kids and it is my job to come home safe every night (and contribute heavily to two college funds), so I sat down at my bride’s sewing machine and made (with her patient help) a snazzy black nylon pouch to hold my bike-commute insurance policy: bear spray. Yep, a big ol’ canister of Ursine-Off. If it can stop a charging grizzly, then some asshole that takes a swipe at me because I am on a bike and look like an easy target is going to have a very spice-filled evening. I see it this way: If you’re a prick and you try to touch me or run me over, you get a nice even coating of Oleoresin Capsicum, I call the cops, you learn a valuable lesson, I go home safely, have a yummy dinner, you may get to post bail, I have a beer, you spend the rest of your evening itchy and red. Everyone wins!
Alarm at 6:50
Snuggling for 10 minutes after the snooze
let the puppy out
shower/shave
make coffee
have breakfast
Kiss Laurel bye
Hang out with puppy for 15 in front of CNN
Get clothes together
Pack bag
Forget belt
Ride to work
Change
Discover belt missing
Say dirty, hateful things
Get dressed
Shirt untucked 🙁
Sit at desk and e-mail/draw for 4 hours
Quick lunch at desk
Walk to Starbucks
Coffee, coffee, coffee
Make a few calls about new house
Back to work
More e-mail, meetings and drawings
Work late
Change
Bike home
Kiss Laurel
Play fetch with Brodie
Talk about our day
Eat dinner
Clean up kitchen some
Watch part of DVD
Work a little on computer
Laugh at puppy
Organize some writing drafts
Get ready for bed
Catch up daily journal
Read a little
Lights out
Serious snuggling
Pass out ~12:30
My single speed on the edge of Interurban Trail with Mt. Rainer in the background. click on for large image
My 3-5 times per week commute to work on the bike is going great. Even when it rains, it is still a good time out and offsets the amazing amount of time spent in a chair in front of my computer at work. I have just put new wet-condition specific brake pads on my road bike as well as removable fenders and treaded commuter tires. I will swap out the wheels and remove the fenders for long fast road training rides or for any races that I do this year. In addition to my regular road bike, I have been riding my single speed into the office part of the time. I take off after work along the river trail and do 15 to 20 miles of flats before meeting Laurel in the valley after she gets off and put the bike on the roof for a hill-less, pain free ride home. On clear days, Rainer sticks up and I get to look at the snow-capped mountain for ¾ of the way home. There are worse views. “The Hill” is still there. It gives me a small sense of accomplishment everyday when I top it, but that fact doesn’t make it any less of a beast. I have tried a couple of other ways home (will try one more this afternoon). It is the same overall elevation gain from work to home no matter which path I choose, some routes have longer, more gradual ascents. The longer ride to the house is great on pretty days and lessons the chance that I will keel-over from exhaustion one fine afternoon.
As far as the inter turmoil of nerdy/sporty that I have going on, I did better in 2008 than I did in 2007. A breakdown of the last year’s numbers looks like this:
|
2008
|
2007
|
|
| Running |
139.5 Miles
|
15.7 Miles
|
| Cycling |
945.5 Miles
|
346.8 Miles
|
| Days Hiked |
10 Days
|
2 Days
|
| Books Read |
41 Books
|
37 Books
|
| Days Off |
98 Days
|
59 Days
|
| Gym |
33 Times
|
11 Times
|
| Miles Traveled |
61,341.3 Miles
|
68,234.2 Miles
|
| Camping |
8 Nights
|
10 Nights
|
| Overtime Worked |
0 Hours
|
300 Hours
|
I rode more and ran more. Went to the gym and still managed to read a ton of books. Though I did spend entirely too much time surfing Wikipedia, bike sites, and CNN. I am learning to balance my inner geek, though the process is somewhat like a 12-step program where I fall off the wagon occasionally and spend hours designing tool jigs, watching episode after episode of Dexter or Heroes, or ogling over bike frame geometry on the net. I then pick myself up out of my techie gutter and go to a “meeting” by running in the sunshine, exploring a new trail, or flirting with my cute little wife.
How many times have I been in a car, sometimes on my own car/truck, and said to myself; “Which side is the F%@{ING gas cap on!??” I’m a pretty bright guy. I come up with some smart-ish stuff from time to time and am paid pretty well for my ability to problem solve and design effectively. Then out of left field I get smacked with the reality of how ignorant I can be. This happened last week while taking a car back to the airport. I was looking in the mirror for the little door when a co-worker pointed in the general direction of my dash and said, “Look at your gas gauge, the arrow points to the side with the gas cap.” I was astounded!! There it was. I have been driving for 20 –odd years and this was the first time I had ever noticed an arrow there. Sure enough it pointed to the correct side. When I got home, I checked my lovely blue speed buggy and again, there it was. I informed my wife of my incompetence and she had no idea either. I mentioned it to another coworker and they had the same Godsmacked look after we went out in the parking lot to check their car. So far I have told about 30 people about this magic arrow and all but one of them checked their cars and found the same thing. The lone holdout has an early ‘90s truck, so it looks like older cars might not have this feature.
How have none of us noticed the little secret on our dashboards? It is like I have been living next door to a fire-breathing dragon for the last twenty years and just figured my grass was supposed to be blackened every now and again.
I LOVE being able to ride my bike to work! Being within biking distance and somewhat near a long bike path was a prerequisite when we went house hunting in Hamburg and Seattle. My ride in Hamburg was 8 miles each way, VERY flat, and I cut 15 minutes off my commute time compared to riding the train. The only downside to my Hamburg ride was the horrific weather in North Germany nine months a year. That’s right, we moved to Seattle for better weather…
Last weekend, I suited up and got on my 9-speed road bike to take a test run to and from work – 15 miles round trip. Since I hadn’t been on a bike in three months (long story), I decided to try the ride with a few gears before committing myself to single-speed epic – I am SOOO glad I had a little forethought that particular morning… The ride in was great, fast, and a little scary. There is a +16% grade hill about ¾ of a mile long right by the house that I bombed down in amongst some sparse Saturday AM traffic. Holy crap, living in the flat land for 2 years made me forget what 50mph on a bike felt like! I passed a couple of cars on the right and made the drivers look at me crazy. I wish I could say that I was in full control, at the top of my game mentally and peddling for more speed. Sadly, that was not my experience. The road was gravely, my bike was shaking under me, I was right on the edge of losing control of the bike (lots of hamburger and road-rash at that speed), and on the very precipice of pissing my bike shorts. I survived the hill and the rest of my ride in was fairly fast and uneventful – 25 minutes from door to door.
The ride back was not as cool. I peddled back to the bottom of that monster hill and fired myself up for a little pain. I got a lot of pain and humiliation. For a cyclist, walking a bike up a hill is loathsome and reserved for fat sunburned tourists with grip shifters and gel-pads on their saddles. I shifted up to my biggest rear cog and stood in the saddle, mashing! About ¼ of the way up (I was on the sidewalk, which is already a weenie thing to do), my legs and lungs joined a union and started picketing my brain. I slowed to a crawl and started to weave slightly. Half way up my tongue was hanging out, I was sucking wind, sweating like a whore in church, and my vision started going a little blurry. About ¾ of the way up, I swerved into the grass and fell over a little – I stuck my foot out before actually hitting the ground. I then committed the ultimate roadie sin – I walked my fvcking bike the last 50 yards up the hill. I could feel the cold, laughing stares of the drivers as the passed me clicking along the sidewalk in my $200 carbon soled racing shoes, pushing a carbon and aluminum speed machine. I could even feel the hate coming off my bike. I felt absolutely defeated and like a big ol’ vagina.
Three days later I rode to work, and prepared myself for the battle with the ego-killing hill. I took some Tylenol, ate a bagel and raisins before leaving the office, got some sugar in my system, and slowly warmed my legs up on the approach to the hill. Again I attacked it and again it left me slobbering, bleary-eyed and defeated, though I did get a little closer to the top. On my ride of shame the rest of the way home I had an epiphany – when I moved to Hamburg, I had removed the 12-25 cassette group from my rear wheel and replaced it with an 11-21 group as I wouldn’t need the bigger cogs on the roads there. Hot damn! I went the next day and swapped the two cassettes and now I have two more gears to aid me in the coming grudge-match.
One side note though, I MAY have gotten in trouble when I was prepping the 12-25 to put back on. It was a little greasy, so I decided to clean it up. Naturally, I chose to do this in the bathroom sink. About halfway through, I looked down, saw the rings of grease in the sink and the thousands of black specs covering the entire counter and thought, “Oh SHIT, she is going to come in here, see this, and threaten me with violence.” I warned her about the lapse in judgment as I was called to dinner and cleaned up my mess right after so that I would have a warm and welcoming bed to sleep in that night..
Update 3/4/09: This afternoon, just as the sky faded into dusk, I started up the hill. I took the first 100 yards sitting down, getting out of the saddle and standing in the peddles at the last possible moment. I felt good going up the first bit with the 25-tooth cog whirling under me. I made it halfway without much hassle and wasn’t breathing too hard. I hit my previous high point and just as I started huffing, but I just kept mashin’ away. I topped the beast still riding hard and would have done a ‘Rocky at the top of the steps’ impression, but I couldn’t focus my eyes and was afraid of falling over and someone calling an ambulance – the one thing that would more embarrassing than having to push. The last 20 yards were real tough, but I knocked the bastard off and now I can approach the grade without dread and without the stigma of a coming walk of uphill shame.
|
Hijacked from one of my recent TRs I spent most of August in the States on vacation with what was supposed to be both kids, but it turned out that only one decided to road-trip. After an uneventful series of flights I arrived in Little Rock, Arkansas from our home in northern Germany (the land of wurst, great beer, rain, and terrible music) and immediately went shopping for a new car. For the past couple of years every time I come in to see the kids I spend between one and two thousand dollars on the rental car alone. As we are planning to move back to the States in early 2009 and we will need a car, Laurel and I sat down and decided not to waste money on a rental car since the money would be better spent on something that was ours instead of increasing the monthly sales of an airport car rental outlet. Also, buying a vehicle in the summer would make it so there would be one less detail to deal with during the move. Shipping all our property one third around the world, starting new jobs, and finding a new home are quite enough for our first month back in the US. I have been lusting over various Subaru models for years. They are just amazing cars as far as handling, reliability, and safety. I was a breath away from buying an Outback before I was transferred to Germany and have been lovin’ them from a distance ever since my first extended roadtrip in a friend’s. While in Germany I had various online relationships with assorted models: There was the 2006 pearl white WRX STI 4-door Impreza that showed me all her secrets on the Car&Driver website. A jet-black turbo Outback wagon was the next piece of eye candy that turned my head. I found her on the main Subaru site and Googled candid pictures of her interior and was taken right away with her in-dash GPS and sexy charcoal heated seats. I planned for us to spend some serious alone time together at the beach and in the mountains. Our relationship ended before it really started when one day while minding my own business, I happened on a picture of a 5-door Rally-Blue Impreza – The Sport Wagon. I researched her measurements, specifications, and found that her current lovers on the Rally Race Circuit spoke only kind and generous words about her. Oh! she was fast: 285 horses under the hood and her handling was made superb with anti-sway bars, strut stabilizer, 4-wheel disc brakes, and full-time all wheel drive. Just to push me into the abyss of lust and admiration, she had a 5-Star crash safety rating and gets 26+ MPG on the highway. It was like finding a devoted bride that was equal parts Gabriella Reese, Betty Page, Martha Stewart, Briana Banks, Carre Otis, and Marie Curie. I had to have her, possess her, and make her mine. Before leaving Deutschland for vacation I had e-mailed various car dealers in Arkansas trying to find my all wheel drive mistress. Most of them just wanted to sell me what they had in stock or they didn’t return my e-mails at all. I showed up in Little Rock without a guaranteed deal and spent a couple of days stalking my soon to be Rally-Blue lover. I found her waiting for me at Adventure Subaru in the small college town of Fayetteville. It was love for both of us from the very first moment my hands caressed her soft leather-trimmed steering wheel, while I applied firm yet gentle pressure to her short-throw shifter. And then we were alone, just my Japanese lovely and me for the long drive back to Little Rock… |
|
This is my Rally-Blue lovely on the first day she was mine. |
|
|
Laurel and I have been car-free for almost two years and in so many ways it has been very liberating and at times a huge blessing: I get to drink as many beers as I want when out with friends since no one is driving home and there is a subway or train stop within 5 minutes of any pub that I would care to frequent. There has been no gas to buy, a reduced overall carbon footprint, no maintenance, no insurance, we both cycle and walk more, no car payment, etc… We have been able to do this because of the amazing transportation in Germany. Moving back to the US means that we will need a car for at least one of us most of the time. We had two vehicles before, but have decided to become a one car family and see how well it works out for us. With the better gas mileage of the Subaru, the subtraction of one vehicle from our lives, and a commitment to bike and walk as much as possible for errands and work; our over all fuel consumption should be less than half of what it was when we lived in California and our level of emotions should be even lower than that. Thatknowledge helps with the moral dilemma that we faced when deciding on owning or not owning a car again – the fact the my blue darling is just so sexy didn’t tip the scales in any way… As my new lady wasn’t able to sit in my lap for the flight home, a great friend of mine agreed to keep the car under lock and key for me until we move back – taking her out once a month or so to charge the battery, keep everything lubed up, wipe her gently with a soft white cotton diaper, and whisper sweet nothings her delicately formed the side mirrors until we can be together again.
A badly cropped picture of her winking at me… |
