Life is for Living

As has been the case for the last two or three years, I’ve been busier and more interested in living life with my family than I have been in writing about it.  Here’s a little of what’s been going on:

A New Bike for 76

Last Thursday, I picked up a 2005 Gary Fisher Tarpon from a Craigslist seller for my son.  He outgrew and sold off his 1990s Giant Talon 7-speed mountain bike a couple of years ago and I’ve kept the money from that to go toward a new bike.  We tried to sell on Craigslist his 1970s Columbia Challenger in ride-able, original condition but got not even one query.  I convinced my son to donate the bike to a local bicycle club’s “reCycle” program for needy kids and told him I’d combine the value of that bike with the money from the Giant.  The Tarpon cost $65 – about 20 dollars over Bicycle Blue-Book’s valuation for an ’05 Tarpon in excellent condition, but the the bike was in such good shape I wasn’t going to insult the seller by offering less than 1/3 his asking price.  At $65, the bike came in well under the $327 the original dealer receipt indicated the seller paid in 2005.

1970’s Columbia Challenger – above.

2005 Gary Fisher Tarpon – yes, I have the original seat and plan to clean it up and install it if my son decides he hates the strange, spongy seat that’s on the bike, now.

Mother’s Day Breakfast

I haven’t really learned how to cook, but I can scramble eggs and am trying to learn how to make an omelet.  I usually arise on the weekends before dawn and head to the gym, then return to the house before my family is awake and make some kind of breakfast – scrambled eggs and tortillas with salsa, for instance.  On Mother’s Day, this year, I prepared a breakfast for my wife and son consisting of scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and biscuits.  I know, three things, right?  I was able to manage preparation times so that I cleaned up as I cooked and had everything on the table at about the same time.  Family was happy with my efforts, so I’ve done this two or three times since.

Water Snake – Poisonous? Probably

Sometime close to Mother’s day, my son and I rode a local greenway and, while looking at a creek from a low bridge saw this snake.  We saw a couple of others that day, as well.

Theis Holsters

For the sake of comfort, I wish we lived in a society where open-carry was the norm.  That said, Theis Holsters serve as a relatively comfortable inside-the-waistband means to concealed-carry my pistols.  I purchased the basic leather version – EZ Clip for my FNS-9c and the Single Clip for my Glock 42.

Lunchtime Rides Continue

Since the weather’s dried up a bit – and it was about the wettest autumn and winter I can recall here in Southern Middle Tennessee – I’ve been keeping the Miyata 610 at the office and riding 3-5 miles during my lunch hours maybe three or four days a week.  Here’s the uphill view from one of the routes I take:

Miscellany & Spring Rides Photos

As mentioned in my previous post, last week my mental focus was blurred as I was little worried about a medical procedure I was scheduled to undergo last Thursday at the local outpatient surgery center.  Better than the local hospital, I’d say, but then it’s likely Pizza Hut is better than the hospital at Stepford.

On 5/15/15, though, the day after anesthesia and semi-surgical probing, I did manage a 15 mile ride (although 35 miles would have accounted for all the dates digits, as abbreviated, and better served my fitness needs).  One of the reasons I rode no further Friday is that I had mowing to do before rain set in.  The other reason is that, for the first time, I rode wearing a pair of Keen closed-toed sandals.  They have stiffer soles than my current pair of New Balance trail runners, which I’ve been wearing when riding platform pedals sans toeclips.  I wear the sandals around town and when paddling canoe or kayak in warm weather without problem or discomfort.  While riding the Jamis, however, the same lower extremity that was injured in September 2013 and again in December 2014 went numb.  Adjusting the sandal’s tightness didn’t alleviate the problem, so I don’t think I’ll be wearing them again to cycle.

I’ve ordered some 5-10 shoes to replace the New Balance shoes I’ve had for the past maybe three years.  I also ordered a Bike Tires Direct cycling jersey on clearance to replace the torn Ireland Harp jersey.  The BTD jersey is a pretty loud advertisement for the company, but because Stepford has no nearby bike shop, Bike Tires Direct serves that function.  So, I feel only a little odd about wearing the jersey.  It’s a “race-fit” cut, but in Extra Large it fits okay.  I’ve worn it a couple of times this week and, except for its full-length zipper in front that fastens on the wrong side, I like it.

This week, I finished reading Killing Patton, a volume I think was largely ghostwritten in the “voice” of Fox News anchorman Bill O’Reilly and researched by one Martin Dugard who may also have done the ghostwriting.  Written at about a sixth grade reading level, Killing Patton: the Strange Death of World War II’s Most Audacious General presents the reader with the usual biographic mosaic consisting of disparate event narratives related to the work’s central theme.  I would have preferred something better written, like the work of William Manchester or even Barbara Tuchman, but overall, once I got past the dumbed-down writing style, I enjoyed the factual material.  I don’t recommend spending money to read this book, but if your library or a friend has a copy, borrow it and give it back.

Here are a few photos from rides taken during the past couple of weeks:

Image above from a ride I’ve taken a number of times, but this time a farmhouse had been removed from its foundation.  I thought the method of constructing the porch, at right, was interesting.

The images above are from an abandoned and off-limits recreational beach on a nearby lake.

This small lake is usually choked this time of year with lily pads, and they can be seen in the images laying atop the exposed mud.  My guess is the lake was drained to do some work on the dam – workman appeared to be taking a break on the dam as I stopped to snap a couple of pictures.

The images above are from my ride Sunday afternoon.  The house and fence in the sepia-toned image reminded me of Buster Keaton’s film Our Hospitality, probably because Keaton’s character rides a push-bike in the movie’s opening sequences and the house pictured reminds me of the Old South.

I turned to the Cyclo 505 dashboard mapping screen because I was a little uncertain about my next turn, although I’d ridden this way once before.  Worked fine.  I used the mapping feature later in the day while riding along an overgrown path in the woods I’d previously ridden almost two years ago (I think it was).

I decided to ride through the woods for a few miles to break up the monotony of travel.  The path I chose is one my friend, Adrian, and I tried on our Bridgestone’s – MB-6 and MB-4, respectively – maybe two and a half years ago.  We rode on a rainy day in very early Spring, and it was pretty cold out.  When we got to the running creek’s ford, pictured above, the rushing water was about knee deep.  I got about halfway across carrying my bike when Adrian persuaded me to turn back.  We eventually found an alternate route. 

This time, although it had rained the day before, water was only a little more than ankle deep and I easily carried the Jamis Super Nova across (although I’d earlier ridden through a smaller, less rocky-bottomed stream).  I was glad to have the Cyclo 505’s mapping feature during this part of the ride.  I was glad I’d used a cloud of bug spray before I left the house, too.  The path I chose came out on a gravel road by a power plant, but I rode out of the area on the overgrown track above center.  I’m happy to say the Jamis Super Nova cyclocross bike, its Dura Ace components, and its Continental Tour Ride tires seem equal to most of the conditions I’m willing to ride.

That’s me wearing my third Catlike Kompact’O helmet and my new Bike Tires Direct jersey.  I’m hoping the new Kompact’O holds up better than the previous two helmets, and that the new jersey (har) holds up better than that Ireland Harp jersey.

Mid-Week Daze

This morning I got through a minor surgical ordeal that was far less horrible than I imagined it would be, but I’ve felt pretty spacey all day.  A nap this afternoon helped. 

Yesterday, Wednesday 13 May, a few hours before I had to begin the preparation process for today’s unpleasantness, I suited up in my torn Ireland Harp jersey and slightly too large Sugoi (sp?) bib shorts for a ride.  I chose the Miyata 610 and planned just a quick 10 to 12 mile neighborhood ride.  Got about four miles into the ride and realized the front tire was almost flat; I stopped and pumped it back up and was miraculously able to ride again at normal speeds.  For about a mile, I rode normally until the tube again leaked so much air its lower volume would have alarmed even the serious alternative cyclists at Rivendell Bike Works.  Feeling disappointed, I pulled off the roadway onto the bike path and rode carefully to within a half mile of the house.  From there, I walked the bike.   Probably, I’ll repair or replace the tube tomorrow.

Feeling like a condemned man as I considered the prospect of today’s outpatient procedure, late Tuesday afternoon I rode the Jamis Supernova from Stepford to Pixley and back again.  Only about 25 miles, but I made good time – about 15.3 mph average until getting back in to Stepford on the return leg due to stops for traffic.  I was surprised at the speed I made on the Continental Tour Ride tires.  For Christmas, I got a new cassette for the Jamis that’s got 32 teeth on the big ring, which makes a big difference on the hills hereabouts; got it installed about three weeks ago at Woody’s.  The mechanic was able to install the cassette very cheaply while I waited and then corrected a problem with the right STI shifter that’d been caused by the use of brake cable housing for the shift cable.  Getting the work done while I waited and was able to talk bike stuff with someone more knowledgeable than I was pleasant.

Back in Stepford, on the way home Tuesday, I got to visit with a couple of old friends at two stops, and that was also pleasant.  At the house, again, my son and I played catch, played with toy lightsabers, and played a lot of catch.  All in all, a good day.

Lately, especially since one reader reached out to me information about one, I have been hoping to find a serviceable and inexpensive folding kayak to replace the E68 I gave to my friend Eric back in 2013.  Right now, the only boats I’ve got are the behemoth, heavy Pouch RZ96 and the 17’ Grumman aluminum canoe.  Neither is much good for solo paddling.  Yes, it is about time to get my son in a boat, but he’s still much too small to assist much with assembling and moving Poucher Boote.

Finishing Up and Other Stuff

In February of 2014, I left a government job in order to complete a Master of Education degree specializing in clinical mental health counseling.  Because I took my coursework piecemeal, as I got my classes paid for by my former employer, when I left the job to address those remaining degree requirements, some of the courses I needed were not available.  It’s taken me until now to complete my degree work.  Other requirements remain to be met in order to obtain licensure, but the degree work is done and I graduated yesterday.

I didn’t walk in the graduation ceremony because I’d left it too late (early March) to reserve a room in a local hotel (mine was a distance-learning course of study) and all the acceptable hotels in that city were fully booked.  What I did, instead, was take a bike ride in the morning through some of Stepford’s better neighborhoods.  My wife and son had gone strawberry picking at a nearby farm, so I had the morning to myself.  In the late morning, I again rode out to the soccer fields across town to watch my son play in the local youth league.  He scored two goals in the game.

Jamis Supernova at Saturday’s soccer game.

Friday before last, 24 April, I finished up my internship at a locked geriatric psychiatry unit in a nearby town’s hospital.  I’d worked there from 5 December 2014 to complete two sections of internship, all that I lacked to complete my degree program.  Oddly enough, the unit has no true mental health counseling program.  Instead, it has social workers who (and they work, constantly) provide any counseling; they are primarily concerned, however, with discharge planning.  While on the unit, where I served a 100 hour practicum during Fall 2014 semester, then carried on, more or less straight through the new year to the end of this semester, I also assisted with discharge planning as well as administering a depression scale for older adults and conducting fairly extensive background interviews with patients and family, as well as facilitating group sessions and providing individual therapy.  Although not initially a fan of Solution Focused Brief Therapy (finding it extremely formulaic), I found that persons whose dementing process had progressed to the point where they cannot tell the day, their age, or even where they are can very frequently respond appropriately and meaningfully to SFBT stimulus queries.

Already, I miss the social workers and nursing staff on the unit – they treated me like a valued colleague and taught me much that will be of use in other work, the patients, the unit’s doctor and the unit’s psychiatrist.  They all contributed to my education in ways I value.  Now the great task is finding remunerative employment and obtaining licensure.

Also, during April, I lost an older cousin to lung cancer, but misread the email detailing his funeral arrangements and missed the service.

During the month of April, I continued to carry on as the Solitary Cyclist of Stepford.  Here are a few of the photos I took on my rides –  a number of these pictures were snapped with my super-cheap cellular flip-phone.  The first row of pictures is from a ride I took through some of Stepford’s older districts, exploring some waste places.

 

This second row is from a ride in the country on the King of Bicycles, my beautiful Miyata 610 – Fairweather.  I asked the octogenarian farmer repairing the barn whether he minded if I took a picture of my bike leaned up against it and he said, half-smiling, “I don’t care.”

The next row of phots is from another ride around lovely Stepford’s largely unknown waste places, this time on the Jamis Supernova.

And finally, from a ride to a scenic spot with the Supernova –

Winter Ride

Last Saturday, I was the only one to show up for the local bike club’s Winter Standing Ride.  The ride is so named, I think, because it falls on the same Saturday each December.  The season’s still Fall, though, isn’t it?  I drove to the meeting place, arriving about on time, and waited until about a quarter past the hour during which time I talked about cycling with a couple who’d parked next to my car and started asking questions about the bike, about the club, about cycling.

I realized that I’d left my water bottles at the house, on the floor of the garage beside the stand where I keep my bike.  The day was cool, but I’d worn enough layers to keep me warm and, anyway, my alpha-class mutant power is sweating.  With that in mind, I set out against an annoying 10-15 mph headwind and rode out to a nearby college campus – maybe seven miles distant.  On a long, straight stretch of country road, the side-winds once or twice threatened my control of the bike’s forward motion.  That’s a down-side to riding a lightweight, modern frame; I never would have been blown the least bit off course riding the Miyata 610, a bike that’s almost 30 pounds fully rigged.

At the school, I stopped in at the Baptist Student Union – seeing lights on and cars out front – to use the bathroom and get a drink of water from the tap.  Turns out a congregation was in there having a Christmas party.  They kindly allowed me to use the bathroom and gave me a bottle of iced water from their cooler.  I was glad I’d worn a pair of windpants over my indecent-around-non-riders, anatomy disclosing thermal tights.

I halved my ride’s distance due to lack of much to drink; the 8 or 16 ounce bottle I’d been given didn’t last long.  On the way back, I stopped and visited a good friend and my amazing mom.  The horse picture I snapped at my friend’s house.  His wife home-schools their many offspring, and I guess used the rebus painted on the back of an out-building to teach equine anatomy.  I rode over the bridge pictured on a greenway near where I’d parked my car.

Drive sides in – bike and horse

Road I.D. Black Sport Band

Last Thursday, my Road I.D. sport band, in black, arrived in the mail.  I took pictures of the packaging, as well as the promotional material included with the band, but my photos turned out badly.  Still, bad pictures I can find are better than good pictures I cannot find if they can be used for illustrative purposes.  Two of the pictures I took could not be salvaged, but the others were useable.  Here they are:

The state of our housekeeping, here at Burnt Down Plantation Estates located in Lovely Stepford, Tennessee, is such that I didn’t keep the packaging after photographing it.  Because of that clutter reduction strategy, there was not a photo re-do.

Once I removed the band from its card, the engraved metal plate was easily migrated from the original bright yellow band to the black band.  I wore it for the first time last Saturday and again yesterday.  Haven’t been getting as many rides in over the past week or so, as I had been previously.

Below are photos of the yellow band, left, and the black band, right.  I normally wear the Road I.D. on my left wrist so its reflective properties have a chance to increase my visibility when riding.

The Miyata’s rolling a lot more smoothly now that I’ve had the hubs serviced – grease and bearings – by the guys at MOAB in Murfreesboro.  Good work done at a reasonable price.

Here are a few pictures from my rides last Saturday and yesterday:

Update: Unexpected Delays

Why would UPS have anything to do with the United States Post Office? Strange. Dunno which of the two confused this shipment’s routing.

Road I.D.

I checked the UPS tracking number provided by Road I.D. to locate the black sport band they sent last week.  Turns out it almost made it here, then got re-routed to Arizona, and is probably on its way back to Road I.D. in Ohio, or to me.  Time will tell.  I’ll take some photos and post them when the package arrives.

Miyata 610

When I drove to the bike shop this morning, I expected to return with the Miyata.  As I was about to pay for the service and leave with it, I noticed the shift cables were really slack, and asked about it.  The manager seemed surprised and took it back to the workshop and examined it on a repair stand.  He examined the ticket.  I explained why I brought the bike in.  He said the fellow who checked the bike in and wrote up the ticket hadn’t noted my concerns.  He and a mechanic looked at it and we agreed that the lead mechanic should take a look at it.  Hoping it will be done by Saturday.

I’ve still got the Razesa to ride because neither of those who expressed interest in buying it actually did so.  Maybe I’ll get a ride in someday this week.

Traffic Court

My ticket was dismissed. 

Responsible Adulthood

So, here I was with a day to get stuff done and didn’t really have a bike I felt comfortable taking for a long ride in lousy weather.  What did I do?  I cleaned bathrooms and took care of another responsibility I’d been procrastinating about doing.

A Trip to the Bike Shop

Bridgestone MB-4 and Jamis Supernova racked and ready to go to the bike shop

Today, I’ve got present at traffic court to answer to a judge for the particulars of a citation a local policeman issued to me back in late August.  Proof of registration and financial responsibility may serve to keep me from having to pay a fine; that’s the outcome I’m hoping for in the matter.

Since I’ve had to schedule the time, I also plan to use the day to pick up the Miyata 610 from the bike shop, about 45 miles distant, where I left it last week to get the hubs serviced and whatever is bent near the back axle corrected – derailleur, hanger, I don’t know what.  The wheel’s been a bear to reinstall when I’ve removed it for cleaning, the last couple of times.  Furthermore, when riding on the middle ring, in front, and shifting while pedaling hard up a hill to the small front ring, the chain tends to bang down onto the smallest of the freewheel cogs at the back.  On steeper hills that I know I’m able to climb on the Miyata, I’ve lost headway and had to walk a couple of times.  It’s irritating.

Because my local bike mechanic (this town has no local bike shop) has had to go back to working nine-hour days with only two 15 minute breaks during the workday (that doesn’t sound legal, does it?), he hasn’t had the time, energy, and joie-de-vivre necessary to tackle the problems that arise when a 33 year-old bike gets ridden an hour or two daily on good to crummy pavement.

Yesterday, the bike shop called and told me the Miyata is ready for pickup – they were able to service the hubs, so the races were probably not blown, I think the term is.  Additionally, the caller said the shop was able make necessary adjustments to ensure proper shifting, this at no cost.  Good, yes?

Today, I will take them the Jamis Supernova for complete tune-up and Mavic hubs service (if that works, I won’t get a new wheelset for the bike for awhile), and the Bridgestone MB-4 to see about getting the headtube refaced and another Tange Levin headset installed if the one I installed cannot be salvaged.  I don’t hold out much hope for my installation.  Finally, I think I’ll see if they can install the little replacement dials for the shifters.

MB-4 and Supernova on the repair stand for examination

It’ll be at least a week before I get the bikes back and it’s been rainy the past four five days with not much prospect of drier weather for the next few days.  I will probably ride the Miyata in the wet, although the Jamis is the bike I’d hoped to subject to inclement weather.  Ordered some Tri-Flow last week on the advice of my mechanic, to replace the waxy chain cleaner/lubricant I’ve been using.  Perhaps that will offer better wet-condition protection to the Miyata’s moving parts.

Three Years on Two Wheels

Why I Ride

I recently wrote, in another venue, that I ride to explore my environment, urban and rural wild places.  What I didn’t write, because it only struck me upon reflection, afterward, is that I ride, I canoe, I kayak, because the nature of these activities is not only that they are self-powered, they are self-directed.

We live in a society that restricts our freedom by demanding insane degrees of commitment and effort in exchange for a wage, and that freedom is further curtailed by legal requirements touching upon every activity we must engage in to earn that wage and live within the boundaries of society – licensure, insurance, taxes on every purchase in addition to some types of property owned, and our tax diminished incomes.

But if I buy a used bike, or a used canoe, or used gear, and then put that stuff to a use I, myself, choose, and use it to go where I like, when I like, I wage war against the constraints of an increasingly statist society.  I invite those who wish to constrain my movements and interests to experience the absurd extreme of their philosophical bent and make animal sounds moonward.  And I tread upon the idea that I require the permission of others to move about freely and freely observe and consider the environment in which I find myself.

That said, I’d buy a new bike from a manufacturer or retailer if I got a really good deal and could justify the expense – two conditions that have gone unmet for a longish time.  And if I win a bike or the use of a bike, you can bet I will subject it to frequent use, abuse, will photograph it and publish the snapshots and accounts of my exploits.

To Recap

Eight wheels, I count eight wheels; two don’t count, though – I no longer have the Trek…

Sometime in mid-August fell my third anniversary as an adult cyclist.  I took to two wheels three years ago while at a completely worthless employer mandated training at Murfreesboro.  After the work day, on two consecutive days, I drove downtown to MOAB and I bought a couple of comfort bikes – one for my wife and the other for me.  Since then, I have taken to riding really old, lugged steel friction-shifted road bikes.  A couple of years ago, my father-in-law gave me the coffee-colored Raleigh Sprite he had while stationed in Honolulu in the early Seventies.  I finally got the frame to the soda-blaster and need to finish sand it and get it to the powder-coater.  I’m thinking British Racing Green with silver or gray fenders.  A little over one year ago, I got a fairly serious injury that gave me an opportunity to rethink my hopes and dreams, to get back on course to reach goals I’d been neglecting over the previous year (2012 – 2013).  Early this year, I bought my friend’s spare Bridgestone MB-4; its top-tube was too short for him, but the bike fit me fine.  I spent a long time learning about headsets, hammers, mallets, woodblocks, jigs.  The Bridgestone’s mostly sorted out, now, but I think the headtube may need refaced and the headset further monkeyed with.  Still, the bike suits me fine so far and I’m not racing singletrack with it.

I got some 3M spoke reflectors for the front wheel

Also, back in 2013, I spent $40 at a garage sale for a Suteki Track 10 mixte in nearly NOS condition, and gave it to my wife.  A very pretty blue, lugged steel frame with 27” wheels, Shimano 600 drivetrain, Tektro brakes, etc., circa 1979.  A tune-up, some new cables, new tires, and the bike was as ride-able as the day it was first assembled.

Bikes versus Boats

That’s the RZ-96 on the roof of Thursday, probably the best car I’ve ever owned

Those are a lot of bikes.  I’m down to one tandem kayak – a Pouch RZ-96 – and one canoe – a 1974 Grumman 18’ aluminum.  I haven’t been paddling much since I started riding bikes.  It’s the convenience factor, and I’ve mentioned it before on this site – I can set off from my driveway, spend two or three hours monkeying around on the road, and return to the house (Southerners say that a lot – “the house” – when they mean to say “home.”  I have a theory about the tendency’s origins, but have not thought about it enough to write about it).  With a canoe or kayak, even a folding kayak, I have to load boat and gear into a car (if I’m smart, I do this the night before), drive to a put-in, assemble or unload the boat, rig the boat, put gear in the boat, in cold weather change into immersion gear, set out, paddle about thirty minutes beyond the point where I know I can easily turn around and make it back, then turn around and paddle back to the put-in, usually against a howling, white-cap churning headwind.  I do that to test my manly strength and determination – I mean, come on, who doesn’t want to risk their survival in tests of endurance?  I feel pretty certain a lot of women do that sort of thing, too.  But, since I am a man, it is my manliness that I put to the test – I’ve always come back without having needed assistance.

I brought this back for my wife from the furthest point I’ve paddled upstream on the Elk River

Serious or Recreational?

Because there’ve rarely been people of my personal acquaintance much interested in the things I like, I’ve corresponded via Internet message boards with others who share my enthusiasm for kayaking, or “messing about in boats.”  There’s nothing half so pleasant as messing about in boats, to paraphrase, I think, Mr. Badger or Mr. Toad or another character from those old stories the names of which I now no longer recall, but which is the source of the phrase.

Wind in the Willows – found the name when I found the image

That’s a phrase I’ve seen used a lot by people at the Folbot Forum and at FKO – foldingkayaks.org.  Many of the people who exchange ideas, information, comments on both boards don’t seem to identify as “hardcore” or “serious” paddlers (although some do) and, as paddlers of folding kayaks, most mainstream paddlers of Kevlar, plastic, fiberglass kayaks would consider us, almost dismissively, “recreational” paddlers.

Anyway, I’ll take the advice of my old friend, Diana Hardin, and let other people categorize me and my pursuits without giving the matter too much thought.  Let others ‘define’ you; you go and live (a life that makes ethical and logical sense to yourself) without regard to their rules, strictures, and opinions.

I find there’s not much I like more than exploring waterways and wild places.  In a kayak, or in a canoe (although a canoe is more difficult to manage in winds), you can get places where power-boaters cannot and hikers usually do not go.  The drum-song of paddle drip rhythmically striking a folding kayak’s fabric deck or one’s spray-deck like a metronome marks the beat of each paddle stroke making forward movement easier when tired.  Good it is to see and be present in places most people cannot imagine exist.

In the same way that I’ll not be categorized as a serious paddler, no one who categorizes will categorize me as a “serious” cyclist.  I like monkeying around on bikes finding it a good way to explore the world around me and get to places others don’t or won’t go because it’s not convenient for them; it requires effort, some physical exertion.  My most-used Cyclemeter route is “Monkeying Around.”  I’ve done about 2000 miles, so far, this calendar year that I’d so classify, and the route changes every time I ride it – usually a route I choose when I’m getting under way.

About ‘Selfies’

Activities:  Paddling; Cycling; Mulching Leaves in the Yard – this is how I look when I’m smiling

I mentioned, above, that I don’t usually find other people much interested in the same activities that interest me.  I think that’s the reason I take photos of myself while out in a boat or out on the road – there’s usually no one else along to snap a picture of me doing stuff I really enjoy.  This may be true of others and may partially explain the “selfie” phenomenon.

Define Serious

Okay.  I did join the Tennessee Scenic Rivers Association and maintained membership for a few years, attended a couple of workshops, participated in a couple of activities, but most of those folks, locally, are interested in whitewater paddling, and I could care less about that activity.  Also, a lot of them seem to be all into some kind of advocacy or other.  I tend to be unmoved by that sort of thing.

I do prefer a Greenland style paddle and made one of my own out of Tennessee red cedar (it didn’t turn out very well, but I used it for a long time until I could justify the expense of one made by someone else with actual woodworking skills).  When I take a day trip by kayak or canoe, I usually paddle boats designed to cover long distances, dress for immersion, carry a spare paddle, and carry sufficient gear and food to see me through in the event I get stuck somewhere overnight, paddling doesn’t occupy the place that religion occupies for people who adhere (more or less faithfully) to the tenets of a religion. I haven’t learned 83 different types of Greenland rolls, I don’t spell “kayak” with a “Q” – I mean, you’re spelling a consonant sound from a language that didn’t until recently have a written form using a 26-letter (it is 26 letters, isn’t it?) European alphabet, right?  Why would anyone imagine it’s more “authentic” to write “q’ajaq” than “kayak”?  Additionally, I don’t venerate my paddles, I use them to move my boats through water, and if I occasionally use the paddle to push off from the bank, I don’t imagine I’ve transgressed against the ‘spirit’ of my paddle by having used it like a “shovel.”   Honestly, some people.  But that’s the religious bent of humanity.

And I’m not serious about messing about in boats.  When I got to the point that I felt guilty about not paddling on days I had time to do so, I backed off.  And, truthfully, I’d rather spend time with my wife and son, most days.

Stepford Bike Club

I joined and maintain membership in a local bicycling club, attend meetings, and am slightly active in the club.  I can do some basic bike maintenance.  When I bicycle, I usually bring along a multi-tool, spare tube, a patch kit, a lot of times wear lycra bicycle specific garments, wear a bike helmet, wear cycling gloves, make it a point to be seen by motorists, have no fear of riding in traffic like a vehicle, ride every day, ride distances that would have seemed mind-blowing and impossible to me three years ago (but which are like a ride around the block for many cyclists).  But I tend to think of myself as more of a “budget cyclist,” meaning I try to justify every expense and spend as little as possible on bikes, equipment, clothing, maintenance, and so forth.  Sometimes, my wife is willing to join me on a bike ride.  She hated monkeying around in kayaks and canoes.  My son joins me on a lot of extended neighborhood rides.  Until last week, the only bike we owned that was manufactured in the current century was my son’s Trek Jet 20.   The only new bikes I’ve ever purchased where those two comfort bikes from MOAB about three years ago – both of which we’ve sold.  Until last week, the only bike we owned that was capable of indexed shifting was the ‘89 Bridgestone.

On the other hand, I could care less about competing against other cyclists, I have blinking lights (fore and aft) on my bikes when riding because I want to be seen by motorists, I’m annoyed by glaring jack-ass cyclists who take up position in the middle of the only, fairly wide, directional lane of traffic to self-consciously and self-righteously ride 16 miles an hour while holding up a line of eight motorists trying to get to work, I wave “Hello” or speak to other cyclists I meet on the road, I tend to move over to the right side of a lane of traffic for cars when I can do it safely except when closing up the gap to a red light or stop sign or about to turn left, I stop to take pictures, I ride through neighborhoods because I want to see what’s in them, I don’t wear lycra sex-organ baring garments when I know I’m going to be riding around kids, and I don’t wear those clothes when I ride my bike to congregational meetings, I have no interest in banning automobiles, I like automobiles and like driving them.  So, I probably don’t fall into a “serious” cyclist category, by many measures.  Almost forgot – I don’t use clipless pedals.

Too much information, and too few pictures – another post published.  A couple of more on the way, soon.

2014 Tour de Corn – Part 2

Bad pavement on my favorite stretch of Indiana country road

Bike Shops are Closed on Mondays?

Thinking it would be interesting to ride my bike to a couple of local bike shops, one of which is known to me as a good source of New Old Stock equipment, I had mapped a course using RideWithGPS.com for Monday ambitious in scope. Did I mention that Cyclemeter consistently failed to function during my Indiana stay? It was totally useless, managing to record only overall ride time. After returning home, I finally had the sense to check the app’s help feature; turns out I should have restarted the IPhone after updating the app. Duh. Of course, the real “duh” is that it took me over about 10 days to check the “help” feature.

A long ride through two or three counties on chip-and-seal, or ‘chipseal,’ roads – most of them unfamiliar to me – was what I needed to counteract the bite of Sunday evening’s dog. My injured calf was bruised, swollen and sore Monday morning, but evidenced no sign of infection.

Food For Athletic Endeavors

Because I’d forgotten to bring pre-workout drink, energy gels and high-performance ride food, as well as post-workout recovery food, I had to rely entirely upon oatmeal for breakfast and trailmix for snacks (the kind without anything that will melt), powdered Gatorade I got at a supermarket to drink on the bike (I buy all my other pre-packaged ‘performance foods’ at a local scratch-n-dent grocers for about 20% of normal retail – honestly, who’d pay retail for that stuff?), and sandwiches and other normal, household foods for after-ride recovery. I packed some trailmix into two snack-sized ziplock baggies, mixed up two 28 oz. bottles of Gatorade, ate a half-cup of instant oatmeal made with boiling water (because who wants the potential problems posed by breakfast raisins on a long ride in the country?).

I’ve been mixing my Gatorade a lot weaker, of late. Although I like it best when mixed to a dark, orange (or blue) with enough powder that I can crunch the undissolved granulated bits. I enjoy the bold, sugary taste, but have found I go through it faster and I’m thirstier when I drink it that way. Mixed weak, the stuff tastes like orange colored and orange-and-salt-tainted tapwater, which it is. I guess I could make my own from household ingredients for next to nothing, but I probably won’t be doing that.

Frame Pump

Because I’d forgotten to bring my floor pump on the trip, I had to use the Miyata’s frame pump. The pump, brand of which I’ve forgotten but will make note of and write about another time, can be used for both Presta and Schrader valve stems. The pump has a handy pressure gauge, has a fold-out stabilizer for standing on, as well as a fold-out handle. Still, it’s a bear to pump air with the little device, but it worked well enough for week or so up north.

Bad Pavement & Windsor

I printed out a cue-sheet from RideWithGPS and set out. Kind of cool that morning, but I warmed up as I rode. The pavement got much worse the closer I got to Selma. Several of the roads I needed had signs that’d been knocked off, possibly by tractor or grain-truck bumps. I stopped at a T-intersection to ask directions from a farmer moving rocks the size of cinder-blocks and bigger onto a trailer with a tractor’s bucket. He looked a lot like Vincent Price and didn’t know the name of the road that went off perpendicular, but thought it might be the one I wanted. It was probably the worst-paved road on which I traveled all week. I pedaled on to a small – not even a town, really – cluster of houses called Windsor. Picturesque and like something from another time; I stopped and snapped a street signs picture. Nothing sinister happened to me and I found the next road on my cue-sheet.

Selma

Rain fell some, during this ride, both early and later in the day. I’d kept my cue sheet folded and under my Iphone in a jersey pocket so rainwater wouldn’t make the ink run. Still, by the time I’d reached Selma, the printed page was damp with ambient moisture and my sweat. Goldman’s bike shop was closed. Who could have guessed that a bike shop would be closed on a Monday? I met a man outside the shop who also was surprised the store was closed. He’d come to Goldman’s hoping to look at some fat-bikes for beach cruising. Dunno how far he’d come and don’t know whether he returned to Goldman’s another day.

Cue Sheet Problems

I looked at my cue sheet and started to ride out of Selma to find the next bike shop on my list, but the street names on the page did not bear much correspondence to what I was seeing on the ground. I stopped at Corner Cupboard market next to the town’s ball fields in order to refill one water bottle and ask directions. I parked my bike against one of the picnic tables on the patio, out front, but the door to the interior was locked. The woman visible inside the café section motioned to my right to indicate entry at the other door.

I walked all the way in to the counter and asked permission to fill up my water bottle from the pop dispenser. I also asked to buy a slice of breakfast pizza, as I was pretty hungry by this time. She put it in a box and I took it to the cash register, up front, where another woman told me there would be no charge for the pizza slice because it had been out of the oven over 45 minutes and she didn’t want customers to feel they’d not got something good for their money. The women at the counter when queried about the directions on my cue-sheet, gave me different directions that made sense based on what I’d already seen riding in to town. I also asked for and got another piece of free pizza and ate them outside, at a picnic table.

On my way out of Selma, I snapped a picture of my bike leaned up against a cannon by the flags outside the VFW hall. That breakfast pizza was weighing pretty heavy in my gut the first few miles out of Selma.

Smithfield & Ruthless Steel Bridge

I followed the directions given by the women at Corner Cupboard. I pedaled into a town of about eight houses called Smithfield. The sign on a bent-from-having-been-crashed-into sign on my right, near an abandoned-looking bare wood-frame house with barking dogs penned in back told me I was in Smithfield. I stopped and snapped a picture, knowing I’d regret it if I didn’t. Where the road leading downhill through Smithfield ended at a T-intersection, I turned right, again as advised by the kind women at Corner Cupboard market. The road got rougher, but not as bad as the road I took to Windsor, and it led to a rusted steel bridge with wood slats or roadbed. The bridge probably spanned Prairie Creek, but it may also have been the White River, although that is doubtful. I enjoyed the sound made by my bike’s wheels riding over the bridge so much, I turned around and went back over it; also smoother than the road. Snapped some pictures and pedaled on.

Missed Turn

I missed my turn and wound up on the marina-side of Prairie Creek Reservoir and found Cave Baby’s, while their trailer was on site, was not open for business by the boat dealer/chandlery. I’ve bought a rider’s snack there the previous two years I’ve toured the farmland around Muncie, but this year, probably because the Fourth did not fall early or midweek, was unable to get the fried egg and bacon biscuit I’d come to expect. Also, I needed to fill up my water bottle again and wanted a place to get off the bike for a rest.

Muncie Sailing Club

I rode on to the Muncie Sailing Club where, seeing no vehicles on the premises, I turned in to the driveway and rode over the grass to a picnic pavilion lakeside. The created order provided me a conveniently screened area nearby to hydrate the already luxuriant foliage. I also needed to refill my water bottle (usually try not to consume all of the water from both bottles, but refill and switch use of each bottle as I go), but it appeared property’s water had not been turned on yet for the season, even though it was already the end of June. As I continued my ride around the lake, I was able to get water from a spigot and hose behind Harris Chapel Church of the Nazarene.  My cessationist pastor will opine that I am no prophet, but I was grateful for the cup of cold water.  I’ve found a lot of country church properties have garden hoses or spigots convenient for filling water bottles when far from any commercial establishments.

Another Closed Bike Shop

When I finally arrived at the other bike shop I’d planned to visit, I found it, also, is closed on Mondays. On the Cardinal Greenway, while on my way back to the farm for a late lunch, I met a young man who said he was riding south to Hagerstown to see a friend and planned to return to Muncie later in the evening. He was riding a 29’er mountain bike of a brand I’d never before seen. Had some bright colors on it.

Mine was maybe a 38 mile day? It seemed a lot longer.

Lost Again and Lunch at Muncie

Tuesday, I again mapped a route on RideWithGPS and printed a cuesheet. I planned to ride to a nearby lake I’d never before visited. One of the things I wanted to do while we were in Indiana was to take my wife and son paddling in the canoe, and from what I’d read online, the lake I planned to visit was much more canoe-friendly, and better for swimming than Prairie Creek Reservoir. I figured the ride would be no more than about 30, round-trip. Once again, though, I found that conditions on the ground bore little resemblance to my cuesheet as I got to within five or six miles of the lake.

Beyond where the pavement ended

I got lost and the pavement ended. Some of the counties in the vicinity around Muncie are getting huge electricity generating windmills, doubtless funded and profits being reaped by Chinese communist Obama sponsors. Isn’t Harry Reid of Nevada in on the windmill profit thing? Anyway, because huge trucks are carrying huge sections of windmill deep into farmland over narrow, badly paved roads, the companies have torn up the pavement and spread gravel on the roads those trucks travel most. About the point I got badly turned around, the pavement gave out. I think I rode six to eight miles on unpaved roads. I learned about lateral drift, but did not crash. The Miyata 610’s a great bike to be lost with – a forgiving frame, I think is the term given the way it handled my riding on gravel and dirt roads. Apple maps were no use. When I finally found the main highway and knew where I was again, I gave up the lake expedition as a bad job and thought, “Heck with it. I’ll ride to Muncie for lunch.”

At Muncie, I saw some high school age kids riding BMX and mountain bikes on the Cardinal Greenway trail, past the Muncie Graffiti Wall, and asked directions to a good place to get a hamburger. They suggested I keep on until McGalliard where there are more and better places to eat than a mall that could be reached by turning right and riding a couple of miles to my right where I might find a food court or a Burger King. McGalliard, then, where I’d eaten with family numerous times on car trips to the city. I was hoping Mancino’s would be close by the intersection of the Greenway with busy commercial artery, but when I arrived, I found a Chick-fil-A not far down the road on my left.  I walked my bike maybe a quarter mile to the restaurant along the grassy verge of derelict-looking medical building and a busy car lot.

Muncie Chick-fil-A

Leaning my bike up against the building out front, where there’s a sort of outdoor dining area, I left gloves and helmet, but kept on the loud yellow Route 66 cycling cap I bought from Kucharik for my young son and he’d let me wear. We hadn’t brought his bike (nowhere around the farm for him to safely ride), but he wanted to bring the cap.

I was dressed in sweaty, perhaps ill-fitting cycling clothes that may not have flattered middle-aged frame, but the Chick-fil-A staff was friendly, helpful and welcomed me to dine indoors when I told them I’d take my order to eat at an outside table to spare the other customers the stench of my sweat. I think I ordered a chicken salad of some sort, waffle fries and a shake. Food, as usual, was better than average fast food fare, but the restaurant’s staff made the experience pleasantly memorable. Good job, Muncie Chick-fil-A!

Wal-Mart Bike Fail

On the way back, as I was leaving Muncie, I again met the young man I’d seen the previous day. He was walking his bike toward Muncie on the Greenway, and we stopped and chatted for a minute or two. He told me he’d taken his bike, which he’d bought at a Wal-Mart, offroad and he showed me where the rear derailleur had torn loose as he rode through tall grass and maybe sticks. He said he’d eaten as I made to offer him a snack from the Miyata’s seatbag. We said goodbye and each kept on the other way.

Sore Butt

After that, I rode back to the farm. By about the 55^th mile of my ride, my butt ached and pedaling became difficult.  I stopped a couple of times along the way to rest.  At one stop, my attention was for no other reason than a need to recalibrate my optics drawn to one particular tree in the middle distance.  By the 59^th mile, my ride had become about unbearable. I am not sure whether that is because the bike’s saddle is unsuitable for rides longer than 50 miles, or whether I don’t take enough rides in the greater than 50 mile range to become accustomed to the effect upon my butt.

By the time I got back to the house, I was ready for a hot shower and a mid-afternoon lunch.