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Posts tagged ‘bikey’

About A Bike

So yesterday, it seemed that I needed some groceries. And I didn’t need all that many groceries, just a few. The organic food market is rather inconveniently placed at the top of a hill. Not so bike friendly, this place. Usually, we use the car thing for buying the groceries, due to the hill and the sometimes cumbersome nature of the groceries. The wine, she is heavy.

But yesterday, I only needed a few groceries. The weather was good. Aha! I have a bike for that. The bike in question, an old, if not distinguished, road bike sat at the bottom of the bike stack. I began to dig. A couple road bikes, a couple mountain bikes, and at last, there he sat, just waiting to go to the grocery store. First, he needed a little work. Like, air in the tires. And somehow, the cable had jammed itself into the cranks and the shifting did not shift so well.

I dug out some wrenches and a pair of pliers and went to work. Now, I’m not so stellar as bike mechanics go, but I can get it done when the need is pressing. Since I needed to buy food, the need was pressing. I unscrewed the bolt, stuck the cable back in the cable thingy (highly technical), and slid the cable back under the bolt thingy (also highly technical). Then, I tightened the bolt and twisted on the twisting thingy to make it shift. Ready for a test ride, I took the bike, known as Sherman for his weight, down the stair to ride him around. Of course, I didn’t tighten the cable bolt enough. Schwing! Out came the cable. Back up the stairs, back with the pliers, back with the threading the cable through the bolt. Let’s try this again, shall we? This time, it worked.

Not quite trusting my mad skillz with the wrenches, I threw a few in my bag, and headed out to the grocery store. Though I imagined the bike spontaneously exploding, spokes popping, bolts flying out, tires exploding, it actually rolled down the road just like a bike should roll. Up the hill to the grocery store, we went. Sun shining, wind blowing, and the light had just begun its turn to evening. Still, the bike continued to roll just as a bike should.

When we reached the grocery store, I realized that while I had brought along some spare wrenches, I had forgotten a bike lock. Really, what kind of dufus forgets a bike lock? I do. Like, all the time. In my perfect world, there would just be bike locks, like lockers in train stations, where I’d be able to lock my bike. I wasn’t about to ride back down the hill to get a bike lock, then back up the hill to buy my groceries. I would have to be one of Those People who bring their crappy bikes into stores with them. This bike is pretty crappy, though it does have 9sp chorus on it, so I suppose to the discerning eye, it isn’t so crappy. Also, a well-broken in Fizik Alliante makes the best around-town bike saddle ever. Don’t say I never told you anything useful here at the Lint Trap. So, I clipped my shoes into the pedals (really, if you want to steal my old road shoes, I can’t be bothered to argue), wheeled my bike into an unused check stand (after asking nicely for permission), and went about my gathering of food. Food is good.

Buying food to carry home on the bike is a tricky business. You can’t buy too much, or you won’t make it home. But if you buy too little, you won’t have enough food. It has to be just right. Food assembled, I packed it away in my bag with the baguette sticking defiantly out the top. Not only was I one of Those People who bring their crappy bikes into the store, I was also one of Those People riding home with a loaf of bread sticking out of my bag. I’m not sure whether this is good or bad. Still, the bike continued to roll and better still, the uphill turned to downhill on the way home. You can never go wrong with a downhill finish.

Later that same night, we sat on the couch and ate the food. Suddenly, a strange sound emanated from the bike stack. It seemed the tire on my newly wrenched (not to be confused with wretched) grocery bike had decided all at once to go flat. Psssssssssss, it said, and the cat looked wildly around the room for ghosts. But there were no ghosts, just air punching through tired rubber. Free at last!

At least we weren’t sitting by the side of the road, for then, my grocery bike would be wretched indeed. Instead, I finished my food, and thought, yes, maybe tomorrow, I fix this. Because one should always have a grocery bike for when the grocery store is at the top of the hill and for when you don’t need very many groceries at all.

Much More Better

I found it. The creak, I mean. Stupid pedal washers.

Now, my bikey is all quiet, which means I have no excuse but to sally forth and train much. Uhhh….

Speaking of finding things, I found a new road today. I mean, I didn’t really find it. It’s been there all along, I just never got around to paying it a visit. It went under some trees up to an empty grassy flowery field with a perfect view all the way to the islands. Then, a twisty little quicky descent to finish things off right. Fun times. File under, new favorite.

And yes, I have a bunch of these flower pics, so I’m going to bore you with them repeatedly. The words just look so lonely without a little piccy to keep them company.

Someday, I might write about bikey racing. But I’d have to go to one first. See above about the training part. I hear riding around off the back of a mountain bike race is pretty fun. But, um, I think I’d rather show up at least a leetle mo’ fitter. I know, I know, no sense of adventure.


So I’m trying to find my fitness. It’s around here somewhere. Has anyone seen it?

It’s always cracks my morale a little to have that not-so-fit feeling. Since having the flu that kept on giving, I’ve been talking myself into riding my way back toward something resembling form. I mean, we’re not talking world beating here or anything, just enough to ride an actual race all the way to the actual finish line. And maybe before sometime next year.

This is always a tricky business, since the less fit I am, the less I want to ride. So I play little games. I pick a few of my favorite roads and string them together. If I ride an hour in that direction, I can go down a fun descent. If I turn up this road and do a little climby climb, I can see a nice view. Come here little girl, I’ll give you some candy. Today, I rode along the coast and looked at the water. Tomorrow, I’ll climb up somewhere and look at the view. All these little games. No numbers, no graphs, just bikey rides around the ‘hood.

Fortunately, spring has decided to show up for a few days. (It’s supposed to rain this weekend, so enjoy it while it lasts.) Riding the bikey in the sun is such a joyous thing. The sun is all sunshiney, the hills are green and grassy, and the flowers all flowery and polleny.

Jen’s tip of the day: Do not attempt to sneeze and corner simultaneously. It may cause disequilibrium.
(Is this a word? It is now.)

Now, if I could just find and silence the nasty creak my bike seems to have acquired recently, it will all be so perfect.

I do not like a creaky bike
A creaky bike, I do not like

I do not like it in the light
I do not like it in my sight
My creaky bike, it is a blight
Oh, tool of Park please make it right

Dr. Suess, I’m surely not
For now my brain is in a knot
With these rhymes I fought and fought
Perhaps I should erase the lot

I do not like a creaky bike
A creaky bike, I do not like


I like a rainy day at the beach. I have no idea who this dude is, but he made me a nice swirly design.

The rest of this post has nothing to do with the picture. Just one of those things.

Saturday, I went out for a little bikey riding. John was out surfing a rockin’ west swell that the stork brought in from the Pacific. I’m pedalling along enjoying the sunshiny day, when I see some guy riding along ahead of me. He’s going kinda slowlike, so soon enough I roll on up and pass him. I said hi and gave him the requisite roady wave, because I didn’t want him to dash home to his computer and get all ranty on some forum or another about how roadies are a bunch of stuck-up assholes who never wave. (True topic, actually seen in forumland.) B’sides, he’s in my ‘hood, and I wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression. The natives are quite friendly here. Really.

So I said hi, and continued on my merry way. Since there’s some flowery things blooming (they’re obviously confused, like, um, newsflash, it’s January), I had some extra snot that needed removing. Duly removed. Oopsy, looks like slow guy sped up and jumped on my wheel. Who knew he was back there? I didn’t. So now, he’s going to go home and tell all his friends virtual or otherwise about how this mean bitch blew snot on him.

He said he was from the East Coast or some sort of cold place like that. And I’m thinking, you spent all this cash to come out here to ride, and you’re going to spend it staring at my ass? Not like you’re going to get fit sucking my wheel all day, you know.

And he wanted to chat. With my ass. If he’d actually wanted to talk to me, maybe, just maybe he’d have moved on up next to me and we could have had a chat. Not that I really wanted to or anything, but really, it’s odd having someone sitting back there babbling on and on about nothing I can really understand since I can only hear about one word out of ten over the wind.

After a while, I decided I really didn’t want to listen to him back there any more. And more importantly, I had some more snot to dispose of. Usually I just head for the hills under such circumstances. Or turn off somewhere completely random. But there weren’t any random spots for turning and I wasn’t near any hills for heading. So I turned the screws until he blew.

I guess I’m a mean bitch after all.

At least I waved.

Little Bike Blue

I took my IF out for a long overdue jaunt around the neighborhood. She’s the first blue bike, Little Bike Blue. I actually have three blue bikes, but two makes for a far better rhyme. I certainly didn’t set out to be so monochromatic. Next time, I’ll have the orange one, thanks.

I have sinned. I have badly neglected Little Bike Blue and she felt free to show her displeasure. Born in Massachusetts, a land of rooty, twisty single track, the first blue bike likes to go fast and turn quickly. She reads my mind. Which is not always a good thing. A high bottom bracket, short chainstays, and short wheel base make tight single track a joy. Except when I forget what to do and get left behind. Uh, dude, where’s my bike?

We went out to one of the local hills and went up. Up went great. Little Bike Blue likes to climb things. Down went less great. We had a few directional disagreements, the blue bike and I. When it’s cold and winterlike, I’m not so quick. Being of the east coast persuasion, Little Bike Blue has no problem with cold. She was way ahead of me. I feel certain it was all the weather’s fault. No, really.

Perhaps I should stick to my Schwinn, who rarely gets ahead of anything. The Schwinn is the third blue bike, for those of you keeping score at home. The third blue bike is a 1955 Schwinn Tornado, a name that sounds far more exciting the pedestrian pace we generally achieve. I even put on a nice spineasy gear, since the original gearing was bigger than my legs. Maybe women were just burlier in the 1950s. Or maybe they wanted to ride their cruisers on the freeway.

Having digressed this far from the original point, which may or may not have existed, I should not neglect the second blue bike. I really don’t have much to say about the second blue bike. She came second. And she’s from Santa Cruz, a place I would very much like to be from. (I’d like it ever more if there weren’t a preposition at the end of that sentence. Alas.)

But I am trying to get back down the hill, and can’t be bothered with prepositions just now. The descending part wasn’t smooth, and it definitely wasn’t pretty. Like, how long have I been riding this bike? (A really long time, in bike years.) I really race on this thing? (Yes, I’m afraid so. There are even pictures to prove it.) Let’s just say, I’ve got just a little ways to go before I’m ready to see any starting lines, and maybe I better hide out in the hills for a while where no one can see my utter lack of grace and finesse. Certainly, I should stop neglecting the first blue bike.

But at least I made it back home at the same time as my bike.

Baby steps.