(Thanks, Spud, for the link!)
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Kind of puts my piddly ass efforts to shame . . .
I'm not worthy of being called a bicyclist. But this guy is:
(Thanks, Spud, for the link!)
(Thanks, Spud, for the link!)
Monday, August 15, 2011
Do It To Me One More Time
I've been asked if I'd ever do this again.
Well . . . maybe. Despite all the tribulations I really did have a good time out there on the road. I've got stories I can easily tell (and embellish?) for five years. Though plenty of times I was tired, hungry, and frustrated, there was never a time I was in any danger. I was put out on occasion, definitely frustrated with the mechanical problems, but I enjoyed my own company away from the daily grind.
This trip originally came about with a thought of traveling US 40 from Columbus to Terra Haute. I still haven't given up that idea, though I'd want to take 7 or 8 days to pull that off instead of 4. There and back is 500+ miles.
I've no objections to camping / tenting, but I've also no objections to getting a hotel room for myself, either. When I rejected the Terra Haute trip, my thoughts turned to going up US 3 to Cleveland and back. Based on how far I thought I could go, there was only one place to stop mid-way -- and this location's scant hotel rooms were ridiculously overpriced. I need a bath and a bed and not much else. I'm not paying $125 a night for a bath and bed.
The decision not to pay that much for a hotel room is what drove me to change my plans over and over while I was on the ride. Additionally, it was the impetus to carry a tent and a blanket. Of all of the things I'd probably not do again, it would be to carry sleeping gear.
When I'm in a car, it's not that big a deal to go 20 to 30 miles out of your way if you change your mind. With a bicycle, it's a little different. If you've already put in 60 or 70 miles, you may not have it in you to do another 30 just because you've got a wild hair to go somewhere else. Necessarily, you've got to be a little less spontaneous. Make your plans and you have to stick to 'em.
I've grown quite an appreciation for group rides. They scout out the routes far in advance, steering people away from Tire Killing Gravel Roads, construction zones, and other obvious hazards. They also tote your gear from Point A to Point B for you. Your job? Get up in the morning, load your gear on the truck, and ride to Point B.
Plus, with group rides, you also have a built in "frustration release" audience. Everyone in the group did the exact same ride you did. You get to relive it all with people who truly understand what it took to accomplish that day's ride. (Instead of the poor blog readers back home who generally just think we're nuts. For the record, we surely are.)
In the past two big rides I did, once they were over, I cut way back on my riding for that year. Even though it stays warm enough to ride until mid October, I felt I'd accomplished what I wanted to and could take the rest of the season off. This year feels a little different. I feel like there's a lot more miles to ride before Old Man Winter heads his ugly rear.
Thanks to everyone who read through the blog. I hope you enjoyed my trip.
Well . . . maybe. Despite all the tribulations I really did have a good time out there on the road. I've got stories I can easily tell (and embellish?) for five years. Though plenty of times I was tired, hungry, and frustrated, there was never a time I was in any danger. I was put out on occasion, definitely frustrated with the mechanical problems, but I enjoyed my own company away from the daily grind.
This trip originally came about with a thought of traveling US 40 from Columbus to Terra Haute. I still haven't given up that idea, though I'd want to take 7 or 8 days to pull that off instead of 4. There and back is 500+ miles.
I've no objections to camping / tenting, but I've also no objections to getting a hotel room for myself, either. When I rejected the Terra Haute trip, my thoughts turned to going up US 3 to Cleveland and back. Based on how far I thought I could go, there was only one place to stop mid-way -- and this location's scant hotel rooms were ridiculously overpriced. I need a bath and a bed and not much else. I'm not paying $125 a night for a bath and bed.
The decision not to pay that much for a hotel room is what drove me to change my plans over and over while I was on the ride. Additionally, it was the impetus to carry a tent and a blanket. Of all of the things I'd probably not do again, it would be to carry sleeping gear.
When I'm in a car, it's not that big a deal to go 20 to 30 miles out of your way if you change your mind. With a bicycle, it's a little different. If you've already put in 60 or 70 miles, you may not have it in you to do another 30 just because you've got a wild hair to go somewhere else. Necessarily, you've got to be a little less spontaneous. Make your plans and you have to stick to 'em.
I've grown quite an appreciation for group rides. They scout out the routes far in advance, steering people away from Tire Killing Gravel Roads, construction zones, and other obvious hazards. They also tote your gear from Point A to Point B for you. Your job? Get up in the morning, load your gear on the truck, and ride to Point B.
Plus, with group rides, you also have a built in "frustration release" audience. Everyone in the group did the exact same ride you did. You get to relive it all with people who truly understand what it took to accomplish that day's ride. (Instead of the poor blog readers back home who generally just think we're nuts. For the record, we surely are.)
In the past two big rides I did, once they were over, I cut way back on my riding for that year. Even though it stays warm enough to ride until mid October, I felt I'd accomplished what I wanted to and could take the rest of the season off. This year feels a little different. I feel like there's a lot more miles to ride before Old Man Winter heads his ugly rear.
Thanks to everyone who read through the blog. I hope you enjoyed my trip.
Unfinished Business
Last Monday I was more than a little disappointed that the bike's mechanical problems prevented me from completing what I'd set out to do. To go through flat tires, thunderstorms, wilting heat, dehydration, construction, closed roads . . . and then to be thwarted 30 miles from home by a malfunctioning tire?
It stuck in my craw, I have to tell you.
I decided to finish the ride. To do that, I needed to get to where I was last Monday. In between Ashley and Marengo on County Road 165.
The best path to there would to be go up US 23, hang a right onto US 42, and then take the back roads to "The Scene Of The Crime."
Have I mentioned how busy US 23 can be? Not for faint hearted bicyclists as you're in the little 2 foot breakdown berm. You could literally reach our your hand and touch the passing cars. (Unless you're just stupid you wouldn't. But you could.)
The wind was against me the entire way there. The clouds were doing their most credible threat of rain in three days. (Weather.com had been calling for rain since Saturday and nary a drop has fallen yet.)
For all the traffic, US 23 is a safer road to ride on than US 42. 42 is a two lane road. The 24 inches of breakdown lane that you're riding in are broken up, in bad repair, with plenty of glass, rocks, and other debris. This stuff forces you to ride in the road. Not an ideal solution.
I found my turnoffs from 42 and then it was a relatively short ride to County Road 165. Just because I could, I recorded the approach to The Scene Of The Crime. There's a shot of my odometer. We're right at 30 miles from the house moving a little more than 11 miles an hour.
I didn't let the bike venture any further once I reached The Tire Killing Zone, i.e., Where The Wild Rocks Are.
As I take a long shot of the road itself, there's a puddle towards the left side of the road. On that spot, a week ago, I'd been taking pictures of cows looking at me:
The ride back was uneventful -- and much more pleasant than the ride up due solely to the wind being at my back. It's amazing the difference the wind causes. On the way up, I was averaging less than 12 miles an hour against it. On the way back, with a tail wind, the average was closer to 18 miles an hour. I'd be happy for wind never to blow again when I'm on a bike and let me do 15 miles an hour.
Going back through Delaware I'd already ridden more than 40 miles. In long rides in the past, 20 to 25 is just about my limit before I need to stretch my legs and get off that bike.
But during this adventure I've found out something about myself that I didn't know: I can go a lot further than I ever realized I could. For example, that 100 mile day I did, through the rain, the flat tires, and the like? That was only the second time I'd ever ridden more than 100 miles in a single day. I didn't do any training for it -- I just did it. And my body didn't suffer for it, either.
Hell, there have been days when I feel like I should be sidelined after a 20 or 30 mile ride. Not this season. This seems to be the season my body and my bike are saying, "Just how far can you go?"
Anyway, when I got to Delaware I'd already topped 40 miles. I was getting pretty hungry at this point. There's probably some law that says if you're in downtown Delaware when it's time for breakfast (it was 10:30 at this point) you have to stop in at The Hamburger Inn:
It's the archetypical small-town diner. Complete with one set of counter seats manned by the Old Codgers. The retired guys who have nothing better to do than get up in the morning and start their day gossiping, talking about politics, farming, and flirting with the waitresses.
I ordered 3 eggs with American cheese, bacon, white toast, and some home fries. The cook obviously had a big grudge against Idaho and he was, by God, going to fry, for just ME, every potato that great state produces:
Couldn't make it through the taters, but all of it was just delicious.
When I've let it be known that I have no problems with traveling on US 23, I get folks who look at me sideways and say, "Are you nuts? Aren't you afraid of getting run over by those big ass trucks?"
I've never had as bad a day on US 23 as this guy did today:
On US 23 I've ridden all the way north to Marion and all the way south to Portsmouth:
And in all that way, there's really only one section of US 23 that's ever given me concern. It's the cloverleaf at the intersection of US 23 and Interstate 270:
The northbound side is almost as bad as the southbound side -- and for the same reasons. On US 23 the speed limit for southbound traffic is 55 miles per hour. The speed limit on 270 is 65 miles per hour. 23 is a main road with trucks that are trying to get off of 23 and onto the interstate. Approximately 136,000 cars a day go through this cloverleaf. (That's not an exaggeration.)
I've marked with red arrows the problem spots. Heading southbound the first thing you have to deal with is cars wanting to leave 23 and go west on 270. Then you have to deal with cars coming off 270 W and wanting to go on 23 south. The third item are those cars wanting off 23 south to go 270 E. Finally, you get the cars coming from 270E to go on 23S. Cars and trucks moving highway speeds.
And about 1/4 mile before all of the interchange? The little 2 foot berm disappears completely. Plus the road is constantly torn up because of all the traffic. As a bicyclist, you're IN THE TRAFFIC -- and that's not a good place to be. You won't ever win a contest against a 40,000 pound truck moving at 60 miles an hour. Hell, you won't win against a Volkswagen moving at 60 miles an hour, either.
Constantly looking over your shoulder, tying your speed with the traffic bearing down on you, it's like the most dangerous ballet in the world trying to get through here without . . . well, let's let Mr. Miyagi say what would happen:
I pulled up to the house at around 12:15 or so. Total trip miles: 329.98 (even if it was spread out over 2 weekends.)
It stuck in my craw, I have to tell you.
I decided to finish the ride. To do that, I needed to get to where I was last Monday. In between Ashley and Marengo on County Road 165.
The best path to there would to be go up US 23, hang a right onto US 42, and then take the back roads to "The Scene Of The Crime."
Have I mentioned how busy US 23 can be? Not for faint hearted bicyclists as you're in the little 2 foot breakdown berm. You could literally reach our your hand and touch the passing cars. (Unless you're just stupid you wouldn't. But you could.)
The wind was against me the entire way there. The clouds were doing their most credible threat of rain in three days. (Weather.com had been calling for rain since Saturday and nary a drop has fallen yet.)
For all the traffic, US 23 is a safer road to ride on than US 42. 42 is a two lane road. The 24 inches of breakdown lane that you're riding in are broken up, in bad repair, with plenty of glass, rocks, and other debris. This stuff forces you to ride in the road. Not an ideal solution.
I found my turnoffs from 42 and then it was a relatively short ride to County Road 165. Just because I could, I recorded the approach to The Scene Of The Crime. There's a shot of my odometer. We're right at 30 miles from the house moving a little more than 11 miles an hour.
I didn't let the bike venture any further once I reached The Tire Killing Zone, i.e., Where The Wild Rocks Are.
As I take a long shot of the road itself, there's a puddle towards the left side of the road. On that spot, a week ago, I'd been taking pictures of cows looking at me:
The ride back was uneventful -- and much more pleasant than the ride up due solely to the wind being at my back. It's amazing the difference the wind causes. On the way up, I was averaging less than 12 miles an hour against it. On the way back, with a tail wind, the average was closer to 18 miles an hour. I'd be happy for wind never to blow again when I'm on a bike and let me do 15 miles an hour.
Going back through Delaware I'd already ridden more than 40 miles. In long rides in the past, 20 to 25 is just about my limit before I need to stretch my legs and get off that bike.
But during this adventure I've found out something about myself that I didn't know: I can go a lot further than I ever realized I could. For example, that 100 mile day I did, through the rain, the flat tires, and the like? That was only the second time I'd ever ridden more than 100 miles in a single day. I didn't do any training for it -- I just did it. And my body didn't suffer for it, either.
Hell, there have been days when I feel like I should be sidelined after a 20 or 30 mile ride. Not this season. This seems to be the season my body and my bike are saying, "Just how far can you go?"
Anyway, when I got to Delaware I'd already topped 40 miles. I was getting pretty hungry at this point. There's probably some law that says if you're in downtown Delaware when it's time for breakfast (it was 10:30 at this point) you have to stop in at The Hamburger Inn:
It's the archetypical small-town diner. Complete with one set of counter seats manned by the Old Codgers. The retired guys who have nothing better to do than get up in the morning and start their day gossiping, talking about politics, farming, and flirting with the waitresses.
I ordered 3 eggs with American cheese, bacon, white toast, and some home fries. The cook obviously had a big grudge against Idaho and he was, by God, going to fry, for just ME, every potato that great state produces:
Couldn't make it through the taters, but all of it was just delicious.
When I've let it be known that I have no problems with traveling on US 23, I get folks who look at me sideways and say, "Are you nuts? Aren't you afraid of getting run over by those big ass trucks?"
I've never had as bad a day on US 23 as this guy did today:
On US 23 I've ridden all the way north to Marion and all the way south to Portsmouth:
And in all that way, there's really only one section of US 23 that's ever given me concern. It's the cloverleaf at the intersection of US 23 and Interstate 270:
The northbound side is almost as bad as the southbound side -- and for the same reasons. On US 23 the speed limit for southbound traffic is 55 miles per hour. The speed limit on 270 is 65 miles per hour. 23 is a main road with trucks that are trying to get off of 23 and onto the interstate. Approximately 136,000 cars a day go through this cloverleaf. (That's not an exaggeration.)
I've marked with red arrows the problem spots. Heading southbound the first thing you have to deal with is cars wanting to leave 23 and go west on 270. Then you have to deal with cars coming off 270 W and wanting to go on 23 south. The third item are those cars wanting off 23 south to go 270 E. Finally, you get the cars coming from 270E to go on 23S. Cars and trucks moving highway speeds.
And about 1/4 mile before all of the interchange? The little 2 foot berm disappears completely. Plus the road is constantly torn up because of all the traffic. As a bicyclist, you're IN THE TRAFFIC -- and that's not a good place to be. You won't ever win a contest against a 40,000 pound truck moving at 60 miles an hour. Hell, you won't win against a Volkswagen moving at 60 miles an hour, either.
Constantly looking over your shoulder, tying your speed with the traffic bearing down on you, it's like the most dangerous ballet in the world trying to get through here without . . . well, let's let Mr. Miyagi say what would happen:
I pulled up to the house at around 12:15 or so. Total trip miles: 329.98 (even if it was spread out over 2 weekends.)
Rear Tire Revenge Ride
Started off about 6:40 this morning.
Rode all the way to the location where I'd broken down for the last time last Monday. Then rode all the way back.
Took me a week, but, dammit, I "finished" that ride.
Finished Cycle: Aug 15, 2011 12:15:32 PM
Route: Rear Tire Revenge
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110815-0641.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/oneVC0
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110815-0641.kml
Ride Time: 4:23:42
Stopped Time: 1:09:53
Distance: 62.66 miles
Average: 14.26 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 28.84 miles/h
Ascent: 747 feet
Descent: 1030 feet
Calories: 3943
Rode all the way to the location where I'd broken down for the last time last Monday. Then rode all the way back.
Took me a week, but, dammit, I "finished" that ride.
Finished Cycle: Aug 15, 2011 12:15:32 PM
Route: Rear Tire Revenge
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110815-0641.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/oneVC0
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110815-0641.kml
Ride Time: 4:23:42
Stopped Time: 1:09:53
Distance: 62.66 miles
Average: 14.26 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 28.84 miles/h
Ascent: 747 feet
Descent: 1030 feet
Calories: 3943
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Raccoon Boy
I so wish I'd had the presence of mind to have snapped a picture of this kid with a raccoon pelt in his hand. (The pelt was complete with the 'coon's noggin.) It was, without a doubt, the most surreal part of the entire ride. If I think about it, I'd be hard pressed to come up with a more surreal moment in my entire life.
Last night I was asked, "How old was he?" They heard "kid" and assumed I was talking about a 7 or 8 year old boy. No, this one was at least driving age. I'm guessing 16 or 17, but surely no older than that.
After the kid and his coon pelt had gone on back to their house:
I set about making myself comfortable. I had a blanket. I had a "pillow" in the form of my tent. I had more comfortable clothes and shoes to change into.
I also had a warm day, with a very pleasant breeze blowing my way:
And to keep from getting bored, I also had my iPad. Though I had no internet connection, I have all my music stored on it, many movies, lots of magazines, games . . . and books:
But in addition to all of that, I also had an audience:
At some point waiting on the Calvary Cavalry to arrive, I ran out of water. While it wasn't a scorcher of a day, it still was plenty warm.
Coon Boy's house was the only one around. He and his accomplice (a Beavis and Butthead combo if there ever was one) had taken off in a work truck. I grabbed my water bottle and walked up to the house. Knocked on the door. No answer. Walked around to the side of the place and found a hose. Never did find the end of the hose, but I turned it on anyway figuring water would come out somewhere. (Am I a mental giant or what?)
After a half minute or so with no sign of water, I turned the spigot back off. Stood up and looked around. Noticed there was a white pick up truck across the road with two people in it. They were eyeballing me. I left the side of the house and walked up to the driveway as the pick up pulled into the driveway.
The truck had a man and a woman inside. In light of what I'm going to say in a couple of minutes, this thought seems uncharitable, but as they pulled up and looked at me (understandably warily), this is the first thought that popped into my mind:
I held up my hand as we got close. Gave them my name. Then held up my water bottle. "Hi, I'm Ray. Do you live here?" The fella driving the truck said he didn't. Then asked, "Can I help you?"
Shaking my water bottle, I said, "I'm broke down." I pointed over to the bike in the corner of the yard. "I was just looking for some water." They glanced over at the bike, the blanket, all my gear strewn around.
"We don't live here. We're just feeding the cows until they get home," the man said.
I told them I'd encountered the son who lived there. "Naw," she spoke up for the first time, "that's their grandson. He's supposed to be feeding the hawgs."
We chit-chatted for a couple of minutes. They told me that the outside spigot didn't work, but they'd be glad to go fetch me a bottle of water from their home.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I'm a poor recipient of assistance. I always do my best to be self-sufficient. It really goes against the very grain of my being to ask for help.
But here these two wonderful people, salt of the earth folks, who were willing to fetch a stranger -- who was, let's be honest, trespassing on the property they were "in charge" of -- a ration of water.
I told them to please not go out of their way. I was completely grateful for their offer, but it was unnecessary. My ride was going to be there shortly and I'd be fine. The lady in the truck said it was no bother at all. She hiked her thumb over at the man and said, "He's been stuck and broke down before and has been without water. We know what it's like." They assured me they didn't live far away. With that, they drove off.
Within five minutes, back they came with an ice cold bottle of water. That might have just been the best tasting bottle of water I ever drank. They were curious about my ride. They seemed incredulous that anyone would do such a thing. They looked at me as if I were a daft eccentric relative from a distant part of the family. Like they had to deal with me if I showed up on their doorstep ("Hey, Myrtle, put out another plate, Uncle Rufus is standing out here in the rain with his tricycle,") but for the most part, I was from the crazy, unproductive part of the family.
They listened to my stories, about being caught in the rain, the flats, the people I'd met. I'm a good enough story teller that I think I kept their interest. Maybe I was just entertainment for them. A break in the day of cattle and hawg feeding. Some harmless oddity that they had nothing in common with. After my stories were done, I'm sure their attitude was, "Well, that's interesting, but we have work to get to."
I have a very warm spot in my heart for the entire city of Indianapolis based on a motorcycle adventure I had on a rainy Fourth of July weekend back in the 80s. A man -- Robert Smith, a UPS delivery fellow -- rescued me from my own stupidity. I've since then tipped my hat to the man every time I've come near / hear about Indy.
From this point forward, I'll feel the same about Cardington, Ohio, and the very wonderful people there who helped out a stranger.
Last night I was asked, "How old was he?" They heard "kid" and assumed I was talking about a 7 or 8 year old boy. No, this one was at least driving age. I'm guessing 16 or 17, but surely no older than that.
After the kid and his coon pelt had gone on back to their house:
I set about making myself comfortable. I had a blanket. I had a "pillow" in the form of my tent. I had more comfortable clothes and shoes to change into.
I also had a warm day, with a very pleasant breeze blowing my way:
And to keep from getting bored, I also had my iPad. Though I had no internet connection, I have all my music stored on it, many movies, lots of magazines, games . . . and books:
But in addition to all of that, I also had an audience:
At some point waiting on the Calvary Cavalry to arrive, I ran out of water. While it wasn't a scorcher of a day, it still was plenty warm.
Coon Boy's house was the only one around. He and his accomplice (a Beavis and Butthead combo if there ever was one) had taken off in a work truck. I grabbed my water bottle and walked up to the house. Knocked on the door. No answer. Walked around to the side of the place and found a hose. Never did find the end of the hose, but I turned it on anyway figuring water would come out somewhere. (Am I a mental giant or what?)
After a half minute or so with no sign of water, I turned the spigot back off. Stood up and looked around. Noticed there was a white pick up truck across the road with two people in it. They were eyeballing me. I left the side of the house and walked up to the driveway as the pick up pulled into the driveway.
The truck had a man and a woman inside. In light of what I'm going to say in a couple of minutes, this thought seems uncharitable, but as they pulled up and looked at me (understandably warily), this is the first thought that popped into my mind:
I held up my hand as we got close. Gave them my name. Then held up my water bottle. "Hi, I'm Ray. Do you live here?" The fella driving the truck said he didn't. Then asked, "Can I help you?"
Shaking my water bottle, I said, "I'm broke down." I pointed over to the bike in the corner of the yard. "I was just looking for some water." They glanced over at the bike, the blanket, all my gear strewn around.
"We don't live here. We're just feeding the cows until they get home," the man said.
I told them I'd encountered the son who lived there. "Naw," she spoke up for the first time, "that's their grandson. He's supposed to be feeding the hawgs."
We chit-chatted for a couple of minutes. They told me that the outside spigot didn't work, but they'd be glad to go fetch me a bottle of water from their home.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I'm a poor recipient of assistance. I always do my best to be self-sufficient. It really goes against the very grain of my being to ask for help.
But here these two wonderful people, salt of the earth folks, who were willing to fetch a stranger -- who was, let's be honest, trespassing on the property they were "in charge" of -- a ration of water.
I told them to please not go out of their way. I was completely grateful for their offer, but it was unnecessary. My ride was going to be there shortly and I'd be fine. The lady in the truck said it was no bother at all. She hiked her thumb over at the man and said, "He's been stuck and broke down before and has been without water. We know what it's like." They assured me they didn't live far away. With that, they drove off.
Within five minutes, back they came with an ice cold bottle of water. That might have just been the best tasting bottle of water I ever drank. They were curious about my ride. They seemed incredulous that anyone would do such a thing. They looked at me as if I were a daft eccentric relative from a distant part of the family. Like they had to deal with me if I showed up on their doorstep ("Hey, Myrtle, put out another plate, Uncle Rufus is standing out here in the rain with his tricycle,") but for the most part, I was from the crazy, unproductive part of the family.
They listened to my stories, about being caught in the rain, the flats, the people I'd met. I'm a good enough story teller that I think I kept their interest. Maybe I was just entertainment for them. A break in the day of cattle and hawg feeding. Some harmless oddity that they had nothing in common with. After my stories were done, I'm sure their attitude was, "Well, that's interesting, but we have work to get to."
I have a very warm spot in my heart for the entire city of Indianapolis based on a motorcycle adventure I had on a rainy Fourth of July weekend back in the 80s. A man -- Robert Smith, a UPS delivery fellow -- rescued me from my own stupidity. I've since then tipped my hat to the man every time I've come near / hear about Indy.
From this point forward, I'll feel the same about Cardington, Ohio, and the very wonderful people there who helped out a stranger.
Odds and Ends
In addition to my legs, back, and butt being a tad sore, I suffered an injury I'd never encountered before:
The Gravel Road where my rear tire met its demise:
On Sunday I pedaled past the 200 mile marker. Sunday was the day the heat was kicking my ass. I think it plumb drove this fella crazy (he's highlighted on the right side of the picture, a little difficult to see):
He was sitting in a chair in the back yard of the house / storefront. I'd parked at an abandoned car lot across the street. There was probably a hundred yards between us, but I could hear him alternately singing, yelling, and cursing. I couldn't make out what he was saying, nor did I ever see if there was anyone he was addressing, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. Brought to mind George Carlin's news headline: "An unarmed man has barricaded himself inside his own home. No one is paying him the slightest bit of attention."
The Gravel Road where my rear tire met its demise:
On Sunday I pedaled past the 200 mile marker. Sunday was the day the heat was kicking my ass. I think it plumb drove this fella crazy (he's highlighted on the right side of the picture, a little difficult to see):
He was sitting in a chair in the back yard of the house / storefront. I'd parked at an abandoned car lot across the street. There was probably a hundred yards between us, but I could hear him alternately singing, yelling, and cursing. I couldn't make out what he was saying, nor did I ever see if there was anyone he was addressing, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. Brought to mind George Carlin's news headline: "An unarmed man has barricaded himself inside his own home. No one is paying him the slightest bit of attention."
Suzi Q's Ice Cream and Stuff -- Cardington, Ohio
I am a sucker for hole-in-the-wall restaurants. If the place also has "an attitude," I'm even more enamored. My last food stop was in Cardington. And unlike those rude cold bastards seven miles to the north in Mt. Gilead, I found the folks in Cardington to be warm, friendly, chatty, truly interested in the fat guy who's clearly out of his mind. "You rode from Cedar Point? Well, bless your heart." "Bless your heart," or the more Southern variation, "Bless your pea-picking heart," is code for, "What kind of dumbass are you, anyway?"
SuziQ's was a great little place. The staff wasn't overly friendly (I am a stranger, dressed strangely, and smelly), but they were business-like -- and they all had smiles. Reminded me a little bit of a passage from one of John Grisham's books about a diner Down South that the proprietor would come to you once you've finished and tell you to get the hell out so someone else could sit down. (He'd probably say, "Bless your pea-picking heart, but if you're done, get your ass out. I'm trying to pay bills here.")
Here's some of their "attitude":
It's hard to make out, but on the menu board behind the, "I Kiss Better Than I Cook" sign (look below the words "I Kiss") is this wording: "ANY THING EXTRA WILL COST YOU EXTRA." I love it. A common sense approach to business!
This was lunch. MAN, was it ever good!
Apollo 13 level bad luck
I took the bike to Bike Source this morning. I wanted to find out why I had four flat tires in 2 days. For the two other "big rides" I've done (471 miles across Iowa in 2008, and 500+ mile across Ohio in 2009) I had a COMBINED total of ZERO flat tires. But on a short sub 300 mile jaunt I wind up having four of them?
I talked to the manager of Bike Source. Told him I replaced the tires and tubes at the beginning of each riding season. That his store -- the Dublin location -- was the one I normally took my bike to for its maintenance needs. This year, I replaced the tires, tubes, and rims.
A few weeks after I'd put on new rims and tires, I'd suffered two flats over the course of a weekend. On Monday after that weekened, I happened to be in Westerville. Bike Source has a Westerville location. It's where I actually bought the bike itself four years ago. Explained to them that it was a new rear wheel assembly, so, what's the deal with TWO flats on the same tire?
I use a brand of tire called Armadillo. It's supposed to be made of much tougher stuff. It won't stop a nail that's directly hammered into the tire, but it will stop a good portion of any other road debris. I've used Armadillos for years and have always had excellent luck with them.
The Westerville store looked over the tire and said, "Dude, this tire is wore out. How much have you ridden it?" Just a few hundred miles, I answered, knowing those Armadillos are good for a couple of thousand miles. The Westerville store put a new tire on there for me.
That's the tire that accompanied me to Lake Erie and back.
Before I left on the Lake Erie Journey, I'd had a rack installed on the bike. The rack load limit was 70 pounds. The tent, blanket, clothes, and saddlebags didn't weigh anything close to 70 pounds.
But just because I didn't exceed the weight limit of the rack, what if I exceeded the load limit for the tire itself?
As you can see from the photo above, the sidewalls had pretty much failed completely. A third Bike Source store, their Clintonville location, had installed the bike rack. They obviously had the bike to do the install. I then wondered, if having a rack on the back on that particular bike would exceed the weight limit of the tire, why wouldn't they tell me that and suggest a different tire?
These were the things I told the Bike Source Dublin manager this morning. Told 'em I'm not upset at them -- I just want to find out what the hell happened. Was it a defective tire? (Two defective tires in a row?) Was it the weight limit? Was it just spectacular bad luck?
The manager couldn't give me a definitive answer. The typical, "It's a combination of so many things," explanation. He did offer that once he was unlucky enough to suffer four flats in a span of just ten miles.
In any case, they replaced the tire again (gratis) and did some adjustment work on the gears. Plus the rain had seriously "dried" out the chain and gear assembly, so they lubed that up for me, too. Also no charge.
Sure feels weird to ride it without those saddle bags and tent on it!
My legs are suing me for a divorce
I dropped the car off at the shop because I don't have enough mechanical equipment that needs maintenance. Since the oil change, tire rotation, transmission fluid flush, and patented "Let's look everything over so we can make up something that's 'you-will-die-a-painful-death-if-you-don't-fix-this-now!' takes time to perform (conjure?) I unloaded the bike and rode it home.
My legs immediately sent an email to my brain. "What the hell is he doing? We just DID THIS for four days straight! Look, Mr. Brain, you control his breathing and his heart. Shut 'em down, now."
My legs immediately sent an email to my brain. "What the hell is he doing? We just DID THIS for four days straight! Look, Mr. Brain, you control his breathing and his heart. Shut 'em down, now."
The Final Cyclemeter Cycle (Road) Aug 8, 2011 8:34:39 AM
Somehow I didn't turn on the application once I left Cardington. It didn't record the final six or seven miles to The Dead Raccoon Boy.
Finished Cycle: Aug 8, 2011 2:06:12 PM
Route: Mansfield To Home Sweet Home
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110808-0834.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/njGjPf
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110808-0834.kml
Ride Time: 3:39:51
Stopped Time: 1:51:43
Distance: 39.50 miles
Average: 10.78 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 34.11 miles/h
Ascent: 1435 feet
Descent: 1355 feet
Calories: 2295
Finished Cycle: Aug 8, 2011 2:06:12 PM
Route: Mansfield To Home Sweet Home
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110808-0834.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/njGjPf
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110808-0834.kml
Ride Time: 3:39:51
Stopped Time: 1:51:43
Distance: 39.50 miles
Average: 10.78 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 34.11 miles/h
Ascent: 1435 feet
Descent: 1355 feet
Calories: 2295
Mount Gilead
Small town friendliness? I didn't find any in Mt. Gilead yesterday.
It took me two hours to get out of Mansfield yesterday. I was headed into the wind and the hills south of Mansfield were as brutal as anything else I'd encountered on the trip. 15 miles took two hours. On flat ground I can knock out 20 in 90 minutes without breaking a sweat.
Mt. Gilead was the next town that would have any phone signal. My bike route software was either doing something goofy and not reporting my location or it was a lack of signal that was making the software keep all of its information to itself. Had a couple of "Are you OK?" texts when I arrived at Mt. G. (Thanks for thinking about me!)
When I rode into town there were two gas stations / convenience stores on the north side of town. Together. Right next to one another. In fact, as I was riding up onto them, from my perspective, I thought it was a single location, with a store in the middle and gas pumps on either side of it. I was parched at this point, but, the places were on the LEFT side of the road. I didn't feel like crossing the all-of-a-sudden busy highway. I figured there'd be more chances as I went through town.
What a stupid stupid thought.
Made it all the way through town . . . and not a thing. No other gas stations. No other convenience stores. No grocery stores. And not a single restaurant that I could see.
I was at the "end" of town. I'm looking at a long grade hill down out of town. There's something that might be a gas station at the bottom of the hill, but there's no sign and if I'm wrong, I'm going to have to come back up this hill and ride back to the other side of town again.
I pondered for a bit and said, "The hell with it, just ride back to the stores, get hydrated, and let's get going." I turned the bike around and moseyed down the sidewalk. (First time on the trip I'd not ridden on the road.) A lady and her teen age daughter came out of a store front. I stopped them and asked, "Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find a restaurant?"
Now, as I've pointed out on a couple of occasions (and maybe my self-photos have shown this), I must be one scary / evil looking man when I'm straddled across a bicycle, Big Aaarnge Hat atop my head, sweat soaked t-shirt, and really tight gay-dancer pants.
This woman looked at me as if I had two heads, or I was going to ask for a hand-out, or maybe I looked like her ex husband. She looked at me as if I had no brains and was flat out dumb as dried out horse turd.
To her credit, she was probably right.
Because we were literally standing in front of a restaurant. She pointed it out as if I were some short-busser who'd escaped to terrorize Small Town America. "There's one right here," she condescendingly said, pointing at the sign in the window: "Restaurant." No small town friendliness in her voice at all.
I thanked her, parked the bike, got off, got my money out of the pouch, locked up the bike, walked inside. It was a combination antique store and restaurant. ("Did they have antique food?" I was asked later.) I stood at the front of the store, made sure there were no "Seat Yourself" signs, and waited for someone to show me to a seat.
There were customers already in the back with plates and glasses in front of them. There wasn't any wait staff that I could see, but there were people in the back. After a few minutes, a lady who looked like she could be the hostess, came out from the back, eyed the existing customers, walked to a mid-point counter, then looked at me. She picked up a menu . . . and set it down on the other side of her counter because it was sitting on some of the checks she was sorting. She never looked at me again.
Ooooooooo-kay.
For long-ago Joke A Day readers, y'all will remember an encounter I had at a furniture store where the woman working there never acknowledged my presence -- though I was standing at her desk. That woman then had looked at me, too, but never spoke a word to me. She did, however, pick up the phone and make a personal phone call while I was standing there. Since I hadn't made a sound to the woman, I finally realized, why, this store only hired BLIND people.
I can only assume the blind have taken over all the Mt. Gilead restaurant hostess jobs, too.
I walked out, unlocked the bike, put my money back away, tottered no more than 50 feet when I spotted a drug store that had a drink cooler. Ah ha! Park, lock, fetch money, go inside.
I buy a bottle of fruit punch (yeah, I know) sports drink and a bottle of water. Go back out and down both of them. Just like in the Mean Joe Green commercial for the 70s when he downs an entire Coke, then tosses his jersey to the little kid who brought the drink to him. I whipped off my jersey, threw it on a little kid, and a SWAT team arrived . . . all right, all right, it's Mt. Gilead. The SWAT team was Barney Fife and Otis The Drunk, and they were armed with fly swatters . . .
No trash cans on the street. What to do with the empties? Those two drinks I just polished off, plus one more I had in the drink rack of the bike. I simply strapped them in with the bungee cords holding my tent.
Figuring I've got enough water in me to make it to the next down, Cardington, 7 miles away, I assume it's safe enough to make my way out of town. (And I get to go DOWN the big hill! Woo hoo!)
At the bottom of the hill there sat another gas station. I stop to unload the empties and buy more drinks "just in case." I walk into the store where I'm toting three empty bottles. The woman who's working there sees me, actually recoils a little bit (honey, I'm not here to rob the place, jeez!), and asks, "Yes?"
"Do you have a trashcan?" I ask politely.
I'm not making this up. I'm not exaggerating a bit. She wrinkled up her nose like I'd asked her if she'd like to take a bite of a shit-sandwich (with sauerkraut, mustard and hot peppers!) "There's a dumpster on the other side of the gas pumps," she said. "Outside. Over there," she pointed, disdain dripping from each word like the mustard from that shit-sandwich.
Ooooooooooo-kay. FINE. I've had enough of Mt. Gilead's small-town friendliness at this point. Glad the economy is doing well enough that merchants can afford to lose business by not being anything less than absolutely royal-family polite to a stranger. Heaven knows who that stranger might tell about his adventures.
It took me two hours to get out of Mansfield yesterday. I was headed into the wind and the hills south of Mansfield were as brutal as anything else I'd encountered on the trip. 15 miles took two hours. On flat ground I can knock out 20 in 90 minutes without breaking a sweat.
Mt. Gilead was the next town that would have any phone signal. My bike route software was either doing something goofy and not reporting my location or it was a lack of signal that was making the software keep all of its information to itself. Had a couple of "Are you OK?" texts when I arrived at Mt. G. (Thanks for thinking about me!)
When I rode into town there were two gas stations / convenience stores on the north side of town. Together. Right next to one another. In fact, as I was riding up onto them, from my perspective, I thought it was a single location, with a store in the middle and gas pumps on either side of it. I was parched at this point, but, the places were on the LEFT side of the road. I didn't feel like crossing the all-of-a-sudden busy highway. I figured there'd be more chances as I went through town.
What a stupid stupid thought.
Made it all the way through town . . . and not a thing. No other gas stations. No other convenience stores. No grocery stores. And not a single restaurant that I could see.
I was at the "end" of town. I'm looking at a long grade hill down out of town. There's something that might be a gas station at the bottom of the hill, but there's no sign and if I'm wrong, I'm going to have to come back up this hill and ride back to the other side of town again.
I pondered for a bit and said, "The hell with it, just ride back to the stores, get hydrated, and let's get going." I turned the bike around and moseyed down the sidewalk. (First time on the trip I'd not ridden on the road.) A lady and her teen age daughter came out of a store front. I stopped them and asked, "Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find a restaurant?"
Now, as I've pointed out on a couple of occasions (and maybe my self-photos have shown this), I must be one scary / evil looking man when I'm straddled across a bicycle, Big Aaarnge Hat atop my head, sweat soaked t-shirt, and really tight gay-dancer pants.
This woman looked at me as if I had two heads, or I was going to ask for a hand-out, or maybe I looked like her ex husband. She looked at me as if I had no brains and was flat out dumb as dried out horse turd.
To her credit, she was probably right.
Because we were literally standing in front of a restaurant. She pointed it out as if I were some short-busser who'd escaped to terrorize Small Town America. "There's one right here," she condescendingly said, pointing at the sign in the window: "Restaurant." No small town friendliness in her voice at all.
I thanked her, parked the bike, got off, got my money out of the pouch, locked up the bike, walked inside. It was a combination antique store and restaurant. ("Did they have antique food?" I was asked later.) I stood at the front of the store, made sure there were no "Seat Yourself" signs, and waited for someone to show me to a seat.
There were customers already in the back with plates and glasses in front of them. There wasn't any wait staff that I could see, but there were people in the back. After a few minutes, a lady who looked like she could be the hostess, came out from the back, eyed the existing customers, walked to a mid-point counter, then looked at me. She picked up a menu . . . and set it down on the other side of her counter because it was sitting on some of the checks she was sorting. She never looked at me again.
Ooooooooo-kay.
For long-ago Joke A Day readers, y'all will remember an encounter I had at a furniture store where the woman working there never acknowledged my presence -- though I was standing at her desk. That woman then had looked at me, too, but never spoke a word to me. She did, however, pick up the phone and make a personal phone call while I was standing there. Since I hadn't made a sound to the woman, I finally realized, why, this store only hired BLIND people.
I can only assume the blind have taken over all the Mt. Gilead restaurant hostess jobs, too.
I walked out, unlocked the bike, put my money back away, tottered no more than 50 feet when I spotted a drug store that had a drink cooler. Ah ha! Park, lock, fetch money, go inside.
I buy a bottle of fruit punch (yeah, I know) sports drink and a bottle of water. Go back out and down both of them. Just like in the Mean Joe Green commercial for the 70s when he downs an entire Coke, then tosses his jersey to the little kid who brought the drink to him. I whipped off my jersey, threw it on a little kid, and a SWAT team arrived . . . all right, all right, it's Mt. Gilead. The SWAT team was Barney Fife and Otis The Drunk, and they were armed with fly swatters . . .
No trash cans on the street. What to do with the empties? Those two drinks I just polished off, plus one more I had in the drink rack of the bike. I simply strapped them in with the bungee cords holding my tent.
Figuring I've got enough water in me to make it to the next down, Cardington, 7 miles away, I assume it's safe enough to make my way out of town. (And I get to go DOWN the big hill! Woo hoo!)
At the bottom of the hill there sat another gas station. I stop to unload the empties and buy more drinks "just in case." I walk into the store where I'm toting three empty bottles. The woman who's working there sees me, actually recoils a little bit (honey, I'm not here to rob the place, jeez!), and asks, "Yes?"
"Do you have a trashcan?" I ask politely.
I'm not making this up. I'm not exaggerating a bit. She wrinkled up her nose like I'd asked her if she'd like to take a bite of a shit-sandwich (with sauerkraut, mustard and hot peppers!) "There's a dumpster on the other side of the gas pumps," she said. "Outside. Over there," she pointed, disdain dripping from each word like the mustard from that shit-sandwich.
Ooooooooooo-kay. FINE. I've had enough of Mt. Gilead's small-town friendliness at this point. Glad the economy is doing well enough that merchants can afford to lose business by not being anything less than absolutely royal-family polite to a stranger. Heaven knows who that stranger might tell about his adventures.
Some "fan mail"
From my brother about my "introspection" post:
Don’t ever apologize for being successful…. You earned the right to wear your ass out on the road… be safe… watch out for pot holes and minivans
I’m proud of you and Love you… big brother.
Awww. Love you too, little bro.
For the record, I wasn't apologizing for being successful. Just realizing there's folks who're worried about where their next meal is coming from. Puts my sometimes-whiny concerns in perspective. Not going to stop me from being whiny, though . . .
My mom and I recently did a grand tour of nearly all the southern states. The folks Down South are always so friendly and so "concerned about my safety," that with each journey there I'm, err, "taken aside" and . . . well, my mom's advice for my bicycle trip?
no "tickets" on this trip,okay!
Also, after my post about sitting in the pouring rain at the base of Mansfield's Mt. Everest, my mom wrote:
We will come get you if you'd like,sounds like this ride hasn't been that much fun.
It was actually a hoot. Maybe even a holler or two, too.
Thanks to everyone who followed in on Facebook, the Joke A Day Forums, and via text and email. I'm still surprised at all the folks who were "tuned in." Is it just because it's re-run season on the TV and y'all have nothing better to do? :)
Don’t ever apologize for being successful…. You earned the right to wear your ass out on the road… be safe… watch out for pot holes and minivans
I’m proud of you and Love you… big brother.
Awww. Love you too, little bro.
For the record, I wasn't apologizing for being successful. Just realizing there's folks who're worried about where their next meal is coming from. Puts my sometimes-whiny concerns in perspective. Not going to stop me from being whiny, though . . .
My mom and I recently did a grand tour of nearly all the southern states. The folks Down South are always so friendly and so "concerned about my safety," that with each journey there I'm, err, "taken aside" and . . . well, my mom's advice for my bicycle trip?
no "tickets" on this trip,okay!
Also, after my post about sitting in the pouring rain at the base of Mansfield's Mt. Everest, my mom wrote:
We will come get you if you'd like,sounds like this ride hasn't been that much fun.
It was actually a hoot. Maybe even a holler or two, too.
Thanks to everyone who followed in on Facebook, the Joke A Day Forums, and via text and email. I'm still surprised at all the folks who were "tuned in." Is it just because it's re-run season on the TV and y'all have nothing better to do? :)
Monday, August 8, 2011
Calvary?
Damned auto-spell feature on the phone. My phone changed the spelling before I hit "submit." So, it was the cavalry who came to fetch me -- my good buddy Kathy came to my rescue -- not Calvary. (Though I do believe I uttered a few "Thank God!"'s.)
Though four days on a bicycle would demonstrate that I indeed do not have a lick of sense, one smart thing I did in advance was to realize having my keys with me was an invitation to lose them. Wouldn't that be a bitch? Ride 300 miles and then realize you can't get back in your house because your keys are in the shower facility in Sandusky, Ohio? Oh, nertz, now I have to ride back to get the keys . . .
No, my one and only brilliant thought process before I went was hiding my keys outside of the house where I could direct someone to them. Which is exactly what had to happen. I told Kathy where the keys were. She liberated my car -- complete with bike rack -- and (as she put it) played "Where's Waldo?" with me. Turns out I was between Ashley and Marengo. Sounds almost like I was in a strip joint instead of stranded in a cow field. (Then again, I've been to some strip joints that were pretty much full of cows, but that's a topic for another day.)
I'll wrap all of this up over the next day or two, complete with more pictures, my thoughts on the ride, and a bunch of odds and ends. (George Carlin said, "If you have a bunch of odds and ends on a shelf, and one falls off, is it an odd or an end?")
For those of you who asked, yes, I really did have a good time doing this ride. I doubt I'd do the exact same type of ride in the future, but I have lots of stories to tell. (Hell, I've been rambling on about the 2008 RAGBRAI for three years. You don't think I can get a half decade's worth of stories out of this little adventure? By itself, the dead raccoon story will be told until I'm 90 . . . )
Though four days on a bicycle would demonstrate that I indeed do not have a lick of sense, one smart thing I did in advance was to realize having my keys with me was an invitation to lose them. Wouldn't that be a bitch? Ride 300 miles and then realize you can't get back in your house because your keys are in the shower facility in Sandusky, Ohio? Oh, nertz, now I have to ride back to get the keys . . .
No, my one and only brilliant thought process before I went was hiding my keys outside of the house where I could direct someone to them. Which is exactly what had to happen. I told Kathy where the keys were. She liberated my car -- complete with bike rack -- and (as she put it) played "Where's Waldo?" with me. Turns out I was between Ashley and Marengo. Sounds almost like I was in a strip joint instead of stranded in a cow field. (Then again, I've been to some strip joints that were pretty much full of cows, but that's a topic for another day.)
I'll wrap all of this up over the next day or two, complete with more pictures, my thoughts on the ride, and a bunch of odds and ends. (George Carlin said, "If you have a bunch of odds and ends on a shelf, and one falls off, is it an odd or an end?")
For those of you who asked, yes, I really did have a good time doing this ride. I doubt I'd do the exact same type of ride in the future, but I have lots of stories to tell. (Hell, I've been rambling on about the 2008 RAGBRAI for three years. You don't think I can get a half decade's worth of stories out of this little adventure? By itself, the dead raccoon story will be told until I'm 90 . . . )
Dead racoon
Kid who live at the house attached to the lawn I'm sitting just brought me a dead raccoon. "How do you like this?" I'm sure he wanted to add the word "cityslicker" to the end of that sentence.
Tire is completely shot. There's no repairing it. The Calvary is on its way. My phone is also about dead too.
More later.
Yet another flat
I noticed the tire itself was slowly coming apart. It's been doing fine for 30 miles. But the gravel road killed it. Gonna try to repair it. Still about 30 miles away I think.
Me and my First Worlder problems
Introspection:
Here I am in a nation where even though I'm not in the Upper Wealth Class, I'm rich enough to do something as frivolous as ride a bicycle 300 miles. Yet I write something like this:
But at the end of the day, when all I can think about is air conditioning, a hot bath, and a real live bed, I didn't want to deal with rain.
I'm not a liberal so I don't have any "white rich man guilt" to deal with. And I earned the money to pay for the bicycle, the air conditioning, and the hot bath. But I do realize there's folks who probably have more serious things to worry about than some fat dude on a bike wishing it would quit raining.
Maybe I'm just delaying getting started today ...
Here I am in a nation where even though I'm not in the Upper Wealth Class, I'm rich enough to do something as frivolous as ride a bicycle 300 miles. Yet I write something like this:
But at the end of the day, when all I can think about is air conditioning, a hot bath, and a real live bed, I didn't want to deal with rain.
I'm not a liberal so I don't have any "white rich man guilt" to deal with. And I earned the money to pay for the bicycle, the air conditioning, and the hot bath. But I do realize there's folks who probably have more serious things to worry about than some fat dude on a bike wishing it would quit raining.
Maybe I'm just delaying getting started today ...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Another long day . . .
. . . but this one was mostly my fault.
Good news: not a single flat tire today! Yay!
Bad news: DAMN but it was hot today. The last 20 miles were the worst. I started to get impatient with myself because I wasn't making good time at all. The morning started off okay. But as the afternoon rolled on, the going against the wind, the reemergence of those damned hills, and heat well into the 90s I was getting my butt kicked.
Could barely make it 5 miles before I needed to stop. At one point, sitting on the side of the road in front of a really pretty farm house, I felt slightly dizzy and extremely weak. Kept hoping someone who lived there would come out and ask what I was doing sitting on their front lawn. I would have paid 'em for a gallon of ice water at that point.
When I left this morning, the address I was headed to was 52.5 miles away. I didn't realize at first that I started out "wasting" five miles. Had I been able to see a more detailed map than Google Maps I would have cut out a big chunk of riding.
I spent all day long on US 250 and Ohio 13. Not a lot of shade on those roads. I bet in the course of three days, I've spent well over $50 on things to drink. I have a "Camelback" water reservoir that I could wear on my back, but, who needs the chafing that goes along with shoulder straps?
There was no phone signal or internet connection. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't exactly sure where my hotel was. I thought I knew, but, alas, I didn't. So, at the end of the day, after unnecessarily climbing more steep hills, I finally got a signal . . . and found I'd passed the turn off 8 miles prior.
I called the hotel and confirmed where they were and started the ride back. That's when it started to rain again. Hard. Now, earlier in the day, when I was shade-less and near heat exhaustion, I would have welcomed the monsoon. But at the end of the day, when all I can think about is air conditioning, a hot bath, and a real live bed, I didn't want to deal with rain.
Not to mention someone stuck Mt. Everest in Mansfield. To get to the motel, I'd have to ride up the thing. (And me without my Sherpa.) I'd just spent the last 20 miles going up and down endless hills. I really didn't have it in me to do this beast. So I sat under another overhang at the foot of the hill, cursing my bad luck.
Finally, I said to myself, "Look, you got yourself into this. The hotel room is already paid for. You can sit your ass here on this cold hard slab of concrete, or you can suffer a heart attack climbing that hill." I sometimes wonder why I talk to myself.
I've used a trick before in climbing hills that I brought out for this one. I just count to 10. With each pedal, I rattle off another number. Before long, my breathing is in rhythm with my counting. Some of you reading this may not know a little over a year ago I had a thyroid that had gone nuts on me. Doing something simple like, oh, say, breathing, was impossible. While that physical problem is fixed, my mind still thinks that if I start to exert myself, I won't be able to breathe. I have to take my mind off the the exertion. Counting to ten in time with pedaling, seems to work. Sometimes.
Finally made it to the motel and noticed I'd racked up 70 miles today. Three day total: 232 miles. Still another 60 back home tomorrow. Roughly 300 miles in 4 days? Yeesh -- no wonder I'm toast.
Good news: not a single flat tire today! Yay!
Bad news: DAMN but it was hot today. The last 20 miles were the worst. I started to get impatient with myself because I wasn't making good time at all. The morning started off okay. But as the afternoon rolled on, the going against the wind, the reemergence of those damned hills, and heat well into the 90s I was getting my butt kicked.
Could barely make it 5 miles before I needed to stop. At one point, sitting on the side of the road in front of a really pretty farm house, I felt slightly dizzy and extremely weak. Kept hoping someone who lived there would come out and ask what I was doing sitting on their front lawn. I would have paid 'em for a gallon of ice water at that point.
When I left this morning, the address I was headed to was 52.5 miles away. I didn't realize at first that I started out "wasting" five miles. Had I been able to see a more detailed map than Google Maps I would have cut out a big chunk of riding.
I spent all day long on US 250 and Ohio 13. Not a lot of shade on those roads. I bet in the course of three days, I've spent well over $50 on things to drink. I have a "Camelback" water reservoir that I could wear on my back, but, who needs the chafing that goes along with shoulder straps?
There was no phone signal or internet connection. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't exactly sure where my hotel was. I thought I knew, but, alas, I didn't. So, at the end of the day, after unnecessarily climbing more steep hills, I finally got a signal . . . and found I'd passed the turn off 8 miles prior.
I called the hotel and confirmed where they were and started the ride back. That's when it started to rain again. Hard. Now, earlier in the day, when I was shade-less and near heat exhaustion, I would have welcomed the monsoon. But at the end of the day, when all I can think about is air conditioning, a hot bath, and a real live bed, I didn't want to deal with rain.
Not to mention someone stuck Mt. Everest in Mansfield. To get to the motel, I'd have to ride up the thing. (And me without my Sherpa.) I'd just spent the last 20 miles going up and down endless hills. I really didn't have it in me to do this beast. So I sat under another overhang at the foot of the hill, cursing my bad luck.
Finally, I said to myself, "Look, you got yourself into this. The hotel room is already paid for. You can sit your ass here on this cold hard slab of concrete, or you can suffer a heart attack climbing that hill." I sometimes wonder why I talk to myself.
I've used a trick before in climbing hills that I brought out for this one. I just count to 10. With each pedal, I rattle off another number. Before long, my breathing is in rhythm with my counting. Some of you reading this may not know a little over a year ago I had a thyroid that had gone nuts on me. Doing something simple like, oh, say, breathing, was impossible. While that physical problem is fixed, my mind still thinks that if I start to exert myself, I won't be able to breathe. I have to take my mind off the the exertion. Counting to ten in time with pedaling, seems to work. Sometimes.
Finally made it to the motel and noticed I'd racked up 70 miles today. Three day total: 232 miles. Still another 60 back home tomorrow. Roughly 300 miles in 4 days? Yeesh -- no wonder I'm toast.
What a good looking tent, eh?
Cyclemeter Cycle (Road) Aug 7, 2011 8:19:28 AM
Finished Cycle: Aug 7, 2011 7:27:29 PM
Route: Lake Erie To Mansfield
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110807-0819.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/nuz0hZ
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110807-0819.kml
Ride Time: 5:28:50
Stopped Time: 5:39:10
Distance: 66.16 miles
Average: 12.07 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 31.66 miles/h
Ascent: 1740 feet
Descent: 1277 feet
Calories: 4504
Route: Lake Erie To Mansfield
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110807-0819.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/nuz0hZ
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110807-0819.kml
Ride Time: 5:28:50
Stopped Time: 5:39:10
Distance: 66.16 miles
Average: 12.07 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 31.66 miles/h
Ascent: 1740 feet
Descent: 1277 feet
Calories: 4504
I must really look terrible
Hmmm. Well, then again, I am toting around a tent on a bicycle . . . maybe they're on to something . . .
The 100 Mile Ride
I'm sitting in McDonald's again. There's a family of about, oh, I don't know, 47?, who're bitching about how long it's taking for the kitchen to prepare their food. I have to admit, it does appear the clown running the place (pun intended) has been taking his time about preparing a McPancake. All 47 of them are women, so the Bitch Fest is in full swing. The manager has already refunded all their money, apologized profusely, but the Bitch Fest will be Eternal: "The bastards who let our children starve to death."
Maybe I'm tempting Fate by sitting in another McD's. The one I was seeking refuge from the rain yesterday in Shelby didn't give me a HappyEnding Meal experience. When I walked out, the back tire was flat again. Yes. The one I'd already changed twice.
I could not believe it. I was down to the 2 spare tubes I'd bought at Wal Mart and the 2 CO2 cartridges left. I parked the bike, unloaded all the gear AGAIN and once again flipped the bike over to fix the tire. THIS time I took the tire off the rim completely. I turned that sucker inside and out and examined it looking for ANYTHING that might be poking through destroying inner tubes.
Got the tire back on. Twisted one of the CO2 cartridges on it . . . and the cartridge spent all its air as soon as it was pierced. "All right," I thought, "obviously I need to thread it quickly." Down to one CO2 now. Put this one in the holder and threaded it quickly past the escaping air stage. Got it on the tire. Crossed my fingers.
Success! Holy Mother of God! Something finally worked!
Oh. Wait. There's a bulge in the tire. Oh. My. God.
Well, maybe if I let out just a little bit of the air I can push the tire back on the rim and then reinflate from that point with my hand pump.
Good theory. But the books are full of examples of Theory Not Making It Past Reality. I had to let out all of the air. Then spent the next 30 minutes with the hand pump getting it to a stage where I could go seek a gas station and finish pumping it up.
I'm also now keeping an eye on the clock. It's approaching 6:00PM and I'm still 40 miles away from Sandusky. I have a handy dandy application on my phone that computes sunrise and sunset. Sunset yesterday was 8:43 and twilight ended at 9:30. It takes me 3 hours to ride 40 miles. I've got less than 30 minutes to ride 5 miles back into town, find a gas station, and then start back towards Sandusky. At 12 miles an hour, each mile takes 5 minutes. It's official. I'm going to have to ride in the dark tonight.
The first two gas stations have air pumps that . . . don't fit right. Paid 75 cents to find that out. Now I have to go find a station that has an air pump that does fit right. It's now 6:30. There's no bike shops in Shelby Ohio nor are there any motels / hotels, either.
I call Camp Sandusky and ask them how late will there be someone to check me in as I'm still 3+ hours away. Someone will be there until midnight. Ok, one bright spot. I tell the guy I'm riding a bicycle. He's impressed. "I'm a bicyclist and that's really impressive, sir," he said. Told him when I got there I'd buy him a beer and tell him about my really long ass day. He said, "Ummmm, sir, I'm only 18 and I'm not old enough to drink."
I consider "giving up." I actually called one of the very kind people who offered to rescue me if necessary. I was going to ask if the offer was serious to come rescue me. But there was no answer. "All right, Ray, NOW what are you going to do?"
Found a gas station that did have the right connection. Got the tire pumped up. It felt good. (But, so had the previous two tires, too.) If I go on, there's really nothing beyond this point until I get to Sandusky. Cell phone coverage is spotty at best and downright non-existent for the most part. If I get up the road and lose another tire . . . well, I don't know.
But staying in Shelby isn't going to do any good either. A true conundrum.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing to have your survivors say at your eulogy . . .
(Side note. One of Car Talk's opening bits had to do with Famous Last Words. One of them was, "I wonder where the mama bear is?" Now we can probably add, "What's the worst that can happen on a bicycle?")
Every three miles I stopped the bike and reached back to feel the tire. It was good. It was solid. All was riding fine. But, Lordy Lordy was it getting dark.
And it wasn't just because the sun was going down. There were some major thunderstorms building and heading my way.
I already had my tail light blinking away. Finally, about 8:30 it was dark enough I had to turn on my headlight. That's when the rain started. Not that misty shit that Ohio is known for, but torrents of rain. Thank God for the LED ball cap. Makes for a great rain shield for my eyes.
Being on back roads the signage wasn't the greatest in the world. County Road numbers were non-existent or they'd put up what the county road was known as in that part of the county. Something like, "Shit Kicker John's Road" and "Will Work For Government Subsidies Avenue."
I'm starting to get close, based on the mileage I'd ridden. (With all the back and forthing I was doing getting flats fixed, plus all the times I just missed a turn, that 100 mile ride really should have been closer to 75.) I start to see these signs about a closed road. "Whew," I thought, "Good thing I don't have to go down that road." I zipped on past and made it about 3 miles further out. The rain started coming down even harder. I pulled off the road and parked under an (awning? Do you call 'em awnings when they're solid parts of the building? an overhang? I don't know.) at a church. Stayed there for a while hoping to let the rain ease up.
My earphones are dying. I wonder how much, if any, the rain has affected them? I take them off and set them on my handlebars. I break out the phone and find out where the hell I'm at.
Where I'm at is 3 miles past the turn off. You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me. It's now 10:00PM. I should have been there 30 minutes ago.
The rain finally lets up. I memorize the way back. It's only 5 miles from where I'm at. Start riding. Get about a mile down the road and think, "Dammit, what did I do with the earphones?" Gotta turn around. (They're $55 earphones. I'm not losing them.) Figure they fell off at the church. About a quarter mile into the return trip I hit a bad spot of road. Something falls off the bike. Dammit! What was it? Now I have to backtrack -- against traffic -- with a dying headlight to find whatever it was that fell off the bike.
Turns out what fell off was the earphones. :) Oh, good. Now I don't have to go all the way back to the church.
Back down the road. Knowing in my gut that the road I'm going to have to travel is that one that was closed for construction. Sure enough, that's it. By this time my headlight, having been in operation for 3 solid hours is giving up the ghost. I'm afraid the construction might be something like having a huge trench cut across the road. I'm terrified that in the complete darkness (the rain having re-intensified again) I'm going to miss it and that will be the end of me.
The headlight dies.
"Hey! I have a ball cap with LEDs!" I turn that sucker on. It works! It's not near as bright as my headlight, but it's serviceable.
I'm making 5 to 7 miles an hour on this road. The road is covered with water. I'm thinking, I don't want to go through any puddles, not knowing if those are holes in the road that have filled with water. I have to take it slow and easy and work my way around the puddles or determine they're really very shallow when I get close enough to determine that.
I recall from the camp's website that they're directly across the street from a McDonald's. I see a huge McD's highway sign. I know that's where I'm going. I finally make it to the end of the closed road, hang a right onto the main road where the camp is going to be, and head for the McD's.
I finally pulled in to the camp and walked into the office. "You the guy who I talked to while ago? I'm the guy who was riding the bicycle here."
"Dude," he said, "I was watching the weather. Holy cow you had it rough!"
"Well, you could upgrade me to an air conditioned cabin to make up for my troubles and to show your complete awe."
He looked really worried. "Uhhh, I'm sorry, we're all sold out . . . "
"Dude," I said gently, "I'm yanking your chain."
The rain had subsided, but I still got to put the tent up while the water was coming down. A hard ground with a saddlebag as a pillow never felt so good.
Maybe I'm tempting Fate by sitting in another McD's. The one I was seeking refuge from the rain yesterday in Shelby didn't give me a Happy
I could not believe it. I was down to the 2 spare tubes I'd bought at Wal Mart and the 2 CO2 cartridges left. I parked the bike, unloaded all the gear AGAIN and once again flipped the bike over to fix the tire. THIS time I took the tire off the rim completely. I turned that sucker inside and out and examined it looking for ANYTHING that might be poking through destroying inner tubes.
Got the tire back on. Twisted one of the CO2 cartridges on it . . . and the cartridge spent all its air as soon as it was pierced. "All right," I thought, "obviously I need to thread it quickly." Down to one CO2 now. Put this one in the holder and threaded it quickly past the escaping air stage. Got it on the tire. Crossed my fingers.
Success! Holy Mother of God! Something finally worked!
Oh. Wait. There's a bulge in the tire. Oh. My. God.
Well, maybe if I let out just a little bit of the air I can push the tire back on the rim and then reinflate from that point with my hand pump.
Good theory. But the books are full of examples of Theory Not Making It Past Reality. I had to let out all of the air. Then spent the next 30 minutes with the hand pump getting it to a stage where I could go seek a gas station and finish pumping it up.
I'm also now keeping an eye on the clock. It's approaching 6:00PM and I'm still 40 miles away from Sandusky. I have a handy dandy application on my phone that computes sunrise and sunset. Sunset yesterday was 8:43 and twilight ended at 9:30. It takes me 3 hours to ride 40 miles. I've got less than 30 minutes to ride 5 miles back into town, find a gas station, and then start back towards Sandusky. At 12 miles an hour, each mile takes 5 minutes. It's official. I'm going to have to ride in the dark tonight.
The first two gas stations have air pumps that . . . don't fit right. Paid 75 cents to find that out. Now I have to go find a station that has an air pump that does fit right. It's now 6:30. There's no bike shops in Shelby Ohio nor are there any motels / hotels, either.
I call Camp Sandusky and ask them how late will there be someone to check me in as I'm still 3+ hours away. Someone will be there until midnight. Ok, one bright spot. I tell the guy I'm riding a bicycle. He's impressed. "I'm a bicyclist and that's really impressive, sir," he said. Told him when I got there I'd buy him a beer and tell him about my really long ass day. He said, "Ummmm, sir, I'm only 18 and I'm not old enough to drink."
I consider "giving up." I actually called one of the very kind people who offered to rescue me if necessary. I was going to ask if the offer was serious to come rescue me. But there was no answer. "All right, Ray, NOW what are you going to do?"
Found a gas station that did have the right connection. Got the tire pumped up. It felt good. (But, so had the previous two tires, too.) If I go on, there's really nothing beyond this point until I get to Sandusky. Cell phone coverage is spotty at best and downright non-existent for the most part. If I get up the road and lose another tire . . . well, I don't know.
But staying in Shelby isn't going to do any good either. A true conundrum.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing to have your survivors say at your eulogy . . .
(Side note. One of Car Talk's opening bits had to do with Famous Last Words. One of them was, "I wonder where the mama bear is?" Now we can probably add, "What's the worst that can happen on a bicycle?")
Every three miles I stopped the bike and reached back to feel the tire. It was good. It was solid. All was riding fine. But, Lordy Lordy was it getting dark.
And it wasn't just because the sun was going down. There were some major thunderstorms building and heading my way.
I already had my tail light blinking away. Finally, about 8:30 it was dark enough I had to turn on my headlight. That's when the rain started. Not that misty shit that Ohio is known for, but torrents of rain. Thank God for the LED ball cap. Makes for a great rain shield for my eyes.
Being on back roads the signage wasn't the greatest in the world. County Road numbers were non-existent or they'd put up what the county road was known as in that part of the county. Something like, "Shit Kicker John's Road" and "Will Work For Government Subsidies Avenue."
I'm starting to get close, based on the mileage I'd ridden. (With all the back and forthing I was doing getting flats fixed, plus all the times I just missed a turn, that 100 mile ride really should have been closer to 75.) I start to see these signs about a closed road. "Whew," I thought, "Good thing I don't have to go down that road." I zipped on past and made it about 3 miles further out. The rain started coming down even harder. I pulled off the road and parked under an (awning? Do you call 'em awnings when they're solid parts of the building? an overhang? I don't know.) at a church. Stayed there for a while hoping to let the rain ease up.
My earphones are dying. I wonder how much, if any, the rain has affected them? I take them off and set them on my handlebars. I break out the phone and find out where the hell I'm at.
Where I'm at is 3 miles past the turn off. You've. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me. It's now 10:00PM. I should have been there 30 minutes ago.
The rain finally lets up. I memorize the way back. It's only 5 miles from where I'm at. Start riding. Get about a mile down the road and think, "Dammit, what did I do with the earphones?" Gotta turn around. (They're $55 earphones. I'm not losing them.) Figure they fell off at the church. About a quarter mile into the return trip I hit a bad spot of road. Something falls off the bike. Dammit! What was it? Now I have to backtrack -- against traffic -- with a dying headlight to find whatever it was that fell off the bike.
Turns out what fell off was the earphones. :) Oh, good. Now I don't have to go all the way back to the church.
Back down the road. Knowing in my gut that the road I'm going to have to travel is that one that was closed for construction. Sure enough, that's it. By this time my headlight, having been in operation for 3 solid hours is giving up the ghost. I'm afraid the construction might be something like having a huge trench cut across the road. I'm terrified that in the complete darkness (the rain having re-intensified again) I'm going to miss it and that will be the end of me.
The headlight dies.
"Hey! I have a ball cap with LEDs!" I turn that sucker on. It works! It's not near as bright as my headlight, but it's serviceable.
I'm making 5 to 7 miles an hour on this road. The road is covered with water. I'm thinking, I don't want to go through any puddles, not knowing if those are holes in the road that have filled with water. I have to take it slow and easy and work my way around the puddles or determine they're really very shallow when I get close enough to determine that.
I recall from the camp's website that they're directly across the street from a McDonald's. I see a huge McD's highway sign. I know that's where I'm going. I finally make it to the end of the closed road, hang a right onto the main road where the camp is going to be, and head for the McD's.
I finally pulled in to the camp and walked into the office. "You the guy who I talked to while ago? I'm the guy who was riding the bicycle here."
"Dude," he said, "I was watching the weather. Holy cow you had it rough!"
"Well, you could upgrade me to an air conditioned cabin to make up for my troubles and to show your complete awe."
He looked really worried. "Uhhh, I'm sorry, we're all sold out . . . "
"Dude," I said gently, "I'm yanking your chain."
The rain had subsided, but I still got to put the tent up while the water was coming down. A hard ground with a saddlebag as a pillow never felt so good.
Certifiable Lunatic
Saturday, August 6, 2011
What a day
101 miles. Last 25 in a pouring rain and in complete darkness. Headlight ran out power. Construction closed a vital road I needed. Suffered a third flat. (Again on the rear tire.)
I'm beat.
I'm beat.
Cyclemeter Cycle (Road) Aug 6, 2011 7:54:40 AM
On Cycle: Aug 6, 2011 10:26:43 PM
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110806-0754.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/onZGN7
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110806-0754.kml
Ride Time: 8:00:00
Stopped Time: 6:32:02
Distance: 101.15 miles
Speed: 0.00 miles/h
Average: 12.64 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 37.12 miles/h
Ascent: 2104 feet
Descent: 2697 feet
Calories: 6033
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110806-0754.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/onZGN7
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110806-0754.kml
Ride Time: 8:00:00
Stopped Time: 6:32:02
Distance: 101.15 miles
Speed: 0.00 miles/h
Average: 12.64 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 37.12 miles/h
Ascent: 2104 feet
Descent: 2697 feet
Calories: 6033
"Red" didn't come help me change the 2nd flat of the day
It's really hard to tell in the distance, but the building way back there is the old Mansfield Reformatory where they shot "The Shawshank Redemption." Really spooky coincidence? I'd finished all of my podcasts from Mike McConnell and Car Talk and had just put the "Shawshank" audiobook on as I was passing the place. (Truly didn't know it was there. Just saw a sign about the existing reformatory and realized the old one was literally next to the new one.)
Been a loooooooooooooooong day so far. The hills have finally subsided (thank God), but I've contended with rain for the last 10 miles or so. I'm currently camped out at a McDonald's in Shelby, Ohio. I'm making incredibly lousy time. I swear, the next camp has been "40 miles away" since about 11 this morning. Here it is, 3:30PM and it's still 40 miles away.
As predicted, I had another flat. Right past the Reformatory. (Where the hell was Andy and Red when you needed 'em?) This was nearly a blowout. I seem to remember hitting a rock, a pop, and the back end of the bike started seriously fish tailing. I suppose I should be thankful that I wasn't really booking it down hill or something.
I (once again) unloaded all the gear from the back tire. Flipped the bike over, and changed the inner tube again. I had the good sense to pedal over from Cracker Barrel this morning to Wal Mart where I'd picked up two more tubes. They unfortunately had no CO2 cartridges. I was down to one.
Which I completely screwed up. Or maybe it screwed up. No matter what, it didn't work so I was left with my trusty hand pump. Bicycle shops will sell you one of those things and tell you, "Sure, you can get a tire inflated all the way with one of these!" Maybe if you really are from Krypton, perhaps. I got it up as well as I can, but I didn't like the look of it. I spun it around on the axis and it wasn't "true." It was wobbling and "bouncing" and . . . well, I just couldn't take a chance of going another 50 miles on this thing. Especially with no more CO2 cartridges (that I keep screwing up). And maybe a damaged tired.
I got on the iPhone and looked up bike shops. Was one 5.2 miles back the way I'd just ridden. Called them up. Their name was "Bike Shop." But I felt I better ask if it was BIcycles or MOTORcycles they worked on. Yes, it was bicycles.
"But we're so busy we don't do repairs on Saturdays."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm kind of stuck here. I've ridden here from Columbus. If you don't do repairs, might you have a suggestion?"
She talked to someone in the background who got on the phone. I made my same pitch. With a huge exasperated sigh he asked, "Can you bring in just the tire?"
"Umm, no. I'm on the bicycle. It's my only form of transportation. I can bring the tire in, but the rest of the bike will be attached to it."
Huge exasperated sigh again. "Bring it in. We'll see what we can do."
"Busy on a Saturday"? Well, I suppose if you consider the gent I spoke to (probably in his late 40s) playing solitaire on a 1980's era computer (most likely running on Windows 1.0) and his great-grandmother who was using the tire compressor to fill up her oxygen tank "busy" then they were slammed.
Sorry -- that sounded damned snarky, didn't it?
Anyway, long story short, he trued up the wheel. I asked for a couple of CO2 cartridges. He had to actually break open a case that came with the "pump" it came in. Then he didn't want to charge me for looking / working on the tire. I told him that was nonsense. He did me a great favor and provided me with a little peace of mind. He relented and said, "Well, fine, how about a total of $10?" I gave him $15 and thanked him for getting me in. We talked a bit about Obama's policies, about the demise of American bicycle manufacturers (Schwinn made the last all-American built bike in 1965 he said), how the town and county of Mansfield was nearly in receivership, a couple of nice trails to ride, and he tweaked my directions accordingly. I'm willing to bet that $15 I handed him was half his revenue today.
I'm going to alter my return path. I've dropped a dime on the KOA place that I'm scheduled to stay tomorrow night (the place I stayed last night.) I'm not in any shape to do those hills again. Oh, I can do 'em. (Obviously because I did them already.) But that's not fun. That's too much like work. I ride for pleasure, not to get my heart racing to the point where I believe I'm going to have a heart attack. Their cancellation policy is 48 hours so I've probably blown $30, but, well, it is what it is. I left them a message asking for any consideration they might offer, but prepared to lose the entire fee.
I'm going to leave Sandusky tomorrow (that is, if I ever get to it tonight!) and go south on State Route 4 to Upper Sandusky. (Only Ohio could put Upper Sandusky south of Sandusky. :: shakes my head :: ) SR4 intersects with US 23. Both of these road are, well, damned dangerous for bicycles. (23 is a major highway for crying out loud. Lots of trucks zipping by at 65 miles an hour.) But I've ridden 23 quite a bit. I'm not that worried about it. 4 is a little more worrisome as it's only 2 lane the whole way and there's a LOT of traffic up and down that road. We'll see.
Just got to find a place to stay in Upper Sandusky tomorrow night.
Oh, additional fun: It's taken me so damned long to get where I'm going today, I've nearly drained my phone's power. One of the advantages of McDonald's is, for the last 45 minutes, I've had it charged. It's back to up to 86%. When I plugged it in, it had dropped to 45%. 85% to 90% ought to get me to Sandusky just fine, I hope.
Cracker barrel
I usually try to get 20 miles before I take a break. So far I've only managed 16 and it's taken me 3 hours to do that.
430 this morning the rain started. Had to go out and put the rain flap on. 2 minute job at most. But couldn't go back to sleep. So I set the alarm for 630 (sunrise), opened the iPad kindle app and read until I fell asleep.
At 700 I was wakened by the sound of some animal trying to scratch it's way into the tent. Why hadn't the alarm gone off? I'd set it for PM. :: sigh ::
Hadn't gone 1/10th of a mile before realizing the back tire was flat. All of the stuff I'd just loaded now had to be unloaded to get to the back tire. Thought, "well I get to try out the CO2 refills.". Proving my ineptness at all things new I managed to waste 2 before finally getting it right. (10 miles unto the trip I realize I neglected to do a key thing in fixing a flat. I expect to have another one before the day is out.)
I'd bought some presta to schraeder valve adapters and got to try them out at the first gas station I got to. Seemed to go ok. In other words I didn't blow the tires off the rim.
At the rate I'm moving today I'm going to wind up having to try out my headlights ...
Friday, August 5, 2011
A big "Aww, garsh -- thanks Guys!"
After my post about doing this ride "without a net" I had a half dozen people write me to say they'd be my White Knight if I needed it. I don't want to embarrass anyone by pointing them out publicly, but, that was very touching to read those offers of help.
How about y'all just each grab a pizza and meet me here at KOA? (And if one of y'all has a portable air conditioner that you can leave over night . . . )
How about y'all just each grab a pizza and meet me here at KOA? (And if one of y'all has a portable air conditioner that you can leave over night . . . )
KOA Butler Ohio
Not a bad little place. I'll snap some pictures later. Completely filled to capacity. Lots of campers. Lots of cabins. Quiet place. Looks like a number of huge RVs that seem to take up residence here a good portion of the year.
In setting up my tent I discovered right off the bat that I had no hammer for the stakes. The ground is as hard as a rock. (And there weren't any rocks to act as a hammer substitute, either.)
There was a lady sitting outside of her RV. I asked her if by chance she had a hammer I could borrow. She had an ax with a blunt end on one side. (Guess if you can't chop your victim to death, you can bludgeon 'em.) I thanked her and got the tent set up pretty quickly. Double checked the instructions for the rain flap as the guy at the office said there's an excellent chance of severe thunderstorms tonight. Good. Maybe it'll cool it off here.
VERY glad I decided to go with the bigger tent. Much sturdier construction. Better quality materials. And extra stakes (already bent one) and an extra set of pole extensions too.
They've a little "store" here stocked with the basics. I'm guessing the overwhelming majority of people who arrive don't have to trade off bringing clothes instead of food. Most folks just throw it in a cooler, ice it down, and don't think anything of it. There's no place within 15 miles of here. I've had enough biking today, thank you very much. I'll make a meal out of whatever I can find in the store.
I asked the guy checking me if there was a WiFi connection. Nothing was on their website about it and he confirmed that they didn't have a thing. But the lady I borrowed the ax from was merrily pecking away on her Macbook. "How did you manage a WiFi connection?" I asked. "The camp has one." "Get out! Guy at the front told me naw baby naw." It's a weak one, mind you, in comparison to the 50MB download speed I'm used to at my house -- but it IS a connection. I have no phone service, but I can email like crazy!
My legs are a little bit sore, but I'm sure it's more because of having to walk the bike and the extra power it took to get the heavier load up a hill. I'm already seeing some things I could have done without packing, but I'll make that decision at the end of the ride in case I wind up having a need for it.
One thing I debated seriously about taking was my iPad. Glad I did. I've got an external keyboard which makes typing on it much easier. And a much larger screen for my old eyes. Staring at the iPhone for any length of time will only lead to headaches.
The ride tomorrow is going to be about 15 miles further than today. The route should be a little less hilly, but I'm thinking there's some serious monster hills around Mansfield which I have to go right through.
I've already booked a reservation right back here on Sunday night. But when I get up Monday morning, I'm going to take a different path back to Columbus -- even if it adds another 15 to 20 miles or so. I'm not doing those dirt / gravel roads again.
In setting up my tent I discovered right off the bat that I had no hammer for the stakes. The ground is as hard as a rock. (And there weren't any rocks to act as a hammer substitute, either.)
There was a lady sitting outside of her RV. I asked her if by chance she had a hammer I could borrow. She had an ax with a blunt end on one side. (Guess if you can't chop your victim to death, you can bludgeon 'em.) I thanked her and got the tent set up pretty quickly. Double checked the instructions for the rain flap as the guy at the office said there's an excellent chance of severe thunderstorms tonight. Good. Maybe it'll cool it off here.
VERY glad I decided to go with the bigger tent. Much sturdier construction. Better quality materials. And extra stakes (already bent one) and an extra set of pole extensions too.
They've a little "store" here stocked with the basics. I'm guessing the overwhelming majority of people who arrive don't have to trade off bringing clothes instead of food. Most folks just throw it in a cooler, ice it down, and don't think anything of it. There's no place within 15 miles of here. I've had enough biking today, thank you very much. I'll make a meal out of whatever I can find in the store.
I asked the guy checking me if there was a WiFi connection. Nothing was on their website about it and he confirmed that they didn't have a thing. But the lady I borrowed the ax from was merrily pecking away on her Macbook. "How did you manage a WiFi connection?" I asked. "The camp has one." "Get out! Guy at the front told me naw baby naw." It's a weak one, mind you, in comparison to the 50MB download speed I'm used to at my house -- but it IS a connection. I have no phone service, but I can email like crazy!
My legs are a little bit sore, but I'm sure it's more because of having to walk the bike and the extra power it took to get the heavier load up a hill. I'm already seeing some things I could have done without packing, but I'll make that decision at the end of the ride in case I wind up having a need for it.
One thing I debated seriously about taking was my iPad. Glad I did. I've got an external keyboard which makes typing on it much easier. And a much larger screen for my old eyes. Staring at the iPhone for any length of time will only lead to headaches.
The ride tomorrow is going to be about 15 miles further than today. The route should be a little less hilly, but I'm thinking there's some serious monster hills around Mansfield which I have to go right through.
I've already booked a reservation right back here on Sunday night. But when I get up Monday morning, I'm going to take a different path back to Columbus -- even if it adds another 15 to 20 miles or so. I'm not doing those dirt / gravel roads again.
Cyclemeter Cycle (Road) Aug 5, 2011
Not exactly sure why it thinks at one point I was doing 50 miles an hour on the bicycle.
Here's a couple of other things: It says my stop time was nearly as long as my ride time, 3 hours 45 minutes stopped VS 4 hours 33 minutes riding. The problem was after I left Mt. Vernon (eating those evil green beans (so you don't have to!) I forgot to turn the computer back on. I'm sure it recorded me as "goofing off."
Hmm. Now that I think about it, the software simply might have then had to do some hard math to "catch up with me." Maybe that's where it got the 50 MPH figure. "Wait a minute," I can see the computer saying. "He last checked in over HERE. And now he's way the hell over THERE. Obviously he was booking along at 50 MPH. Sign this fat boy up for the next Tour De Double Down!"
The last 11 miles were BRUTAL. Not only did the hills never stop, but at some point, for 3 or 4 miles, they were no longer pavement. They'd turned into gravel and dirt.
Ladies and Gentlemen: "Road bikes" like I have, are built for pavement. NOT dirt. And for damned sure not gravel. They're unstable at best on those types of surfaces with their skinny little racing tires. Imagine a Supermodel trying to walk downhill on gravel in her 9 inch stilettos.
Then throw in the instability of all the extra gear I was carrying. The roads made me extremely nervous.
I bet I had to actually walk the bike 2 of those miles. You think going up hill is no fun. Try it in biking shoes up hill.
It probably took me 2+ hours to go the last 11 miles. That should have been a 45 minute trip, tops.
Finished Cycle: Aug 5, 2011 3:21:49 PM
Route: Worthington To Loudonville
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110805-0703.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/pS8T7y
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110805-0703.kml
Ride Time: 4:33:00
Stopped Time: 3:45:04
Distance: 60.51 miles
Average: 13.30 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 49.59 miles/h
Ascent: 2378 feet
Descent: 2148 feet
Calories: 3480
Here's a couple of other things: It says my stop time was nearly as long as my ride time, 3 hours 45 minutes stopped VS 4 hours 33 minutes riding. The problem was after I left Mt. Vernon (eating those evil green beans (so you don't have to!) I forgot to turn the computer back on. I'm sure it recorded me as "goofing off."
Hmm. Now that I think about it, the software simply might have then had to do some hard math to "catch up with me." Maybe that's where it got the 50 MPH figure. "Wait a minute," I can see the computer saying. "He last checked in over HERE. And now he's way the hell over THERE. Obviously he was booking along at 50 MPH. Sign this fat boy up for the next Tour De Double Down!"
The last 11 miles were BRUTAL. Not only did the hills never stop, but at some point, for 3 or 4 miles, they were no longer pavement. They'd turned into gravel and dirt.
Ladies and Gentlemen: "Road bikes" like I have, are built for pavement. NOT dirt. And for damned sure not gravel. They're unstable at best on those types of surfaces with their skinny little racing tires. Imagine a Supermodel trying to walk downhill on gravel in her 9 inch stilettos.
Then throw in the instability of all the extra gear I was carrying. The roads made me extremely nervous.
I bet I had to actually walk the bike 2 of those miles. You think going up hill is no fun. Try it in biking shoes up hill.
It probably took me 2+ hours to go the last 11 miles. That should have been a 45 minute trip, tops.
Finished Cycle: Aug 5, 2011 3:21:49 PM
Route: Worthington To Loudonville
Google Maps URL: http://maps.google.com/?q=http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110805-0703.kml
Shortened Google Maps URL: http://j.mp/pS8T7y
Import URL: http://share.abvio.com/fc28/825e/4e37/b4c1/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20110805-0703.kml
Ride Time: 4:33:00
Stopped Time: 3:45:04
Distance: 60.51 miles
Average: 13.30 miles/h
Fastest Speed: 49.59 miles/h
Ascent: 2378 feet
Descent: 2148 feet
Calories: 3480
... because of this hill
This was the first "monster" hill I encountered. Right after Mt. Vernon. It was the first of an endless series of at least 12% to 15% grade hills.
I didn't have to walk up this one, but I did have to stop half way up and sit by the cemetery to catch my breath. (Yes, I know. Real cyclists are shaking their heads muttering, "Wimp." You're right. Flat roads I can ride all day. Actually climb a hill? I'd rather work at Connie's.
The view at the 49 mile point
Her name was Karen. She was working the counter at Connie's Country Corner. She just completed bartender school. "I'm a mixologist," she proudly informed me. Has three daughters, 39, 36, and 32. "You have a daughter 39?" I asked. Turns out Karen was 60 years old.
Whoa. Whatever Karen was doing was working well. Bet it's not riding a bicycle 250 miles in a weekend.
Why mile 49 and not 50? Because the store Karen was working at was at the base of a monster hill. I'd just done 3 or 4 monster hills at a breathtaking 2 to 4 miles per hour each hill. I didn't have the strength to do another one just yet. Connie's Country Corner, though they don't accept credit or debit cards, still looked like a good place to avoid getting to that big ass hill.
Figured I'd eat something healthy
Figure I'd give the Colonel a chance ...
The view at the 30 mile point
Already learning things
My speedy roadster / hot rod bicycle has been turned into a semi truck. :(
I suppose I intellectually knew it, but it's the difference between driving a volkswagon and thinking you can drive a Peterbilt.
Also have learned as strong as my legs like to think they are, they're NOT strong enough to start in a high gear from a dead stop toting a load. (well, more of a load than my fat ass they normally lug around.)
Silver linings: my sweat glands are in perfect working order. Big trucks haven't created too much "jet wash.". 20 miles in and I haven't lost my license. Yet.
I suppose I intellectually knew it, but it's the difference between driving a volkswagon and thinking you can drive a Peterbilt.
Also have learned as strong as my legs like to think they are, they're NOT strong enough to start in a high gear from a dead stop toting a load. (well, more of a load than my fat ass they normally lug around.)
Silver linings: my sweat glands are in perfect working order. Big trucks haven't created too much "jet wash.". 20 miles in and I haven't lost my license. Yet.
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