In Which Contrasting Rides Feature a Dad Bucket

Late Saturday, April 6, on the Cedar River Trail--lots of bike traffic.

The week that was in CRBiker’s bicycling life:

It was sometimes cool and damp, sometimes warm and sunny, but for sure a spring week, and for that I’m grateful. On Saturday, late in the afternoon, as part of a mutually needed break form a long day of intense grading, my wife and I got the bikes out, make a quick run up to and around the park in Robins, and stopped at DQ on the way home. Peanut Buster Parfaits were on sale.

It was 70 and felt, to cold Iowans, like the first really “warm” day.

The week also featured thoughts of my dad. There were some dampish days where I would have rather ridden my winter beater bike than my better hybrid bike, but the Fancy Beast had a lame front limb—a flat tyre. While in Ames over spring break, I had purchased a patch kit and tube. And this week I finally did a bit of bike maintenance.

The tube turned out to be way too small, so patch it was. And to find the leak, I used the old bucket method—rotating a tube in a bucket until I saw the bubbles, and then marking the spot.

I felt rather uncomfortable doing that. I’m a writer, not a mechanic, and I’m never at my best wielding tools. My opposable thumbs are for spacebars.

Three sky views form bike rides this week, before images of the tube patching. Sometimes sunny, sometimes breezy, sometimes nice--at least it was clearly a spring week in Iowa.

At the bike shop in Ames, they warned me to use bike tools and not screwdrivers to take out the tube--but I could not find my bike tools (which I know I own, I just could not find). Fortunately, with a bit of grunting and cursing, you can remove a mountain bike tyre WHO style--with hands only. The sequence, showing the setup, marking the leak and patching it.

Anyway, as I as there on my front porch late on a nice spring afternoon—I think it was Wednesday but I’m not sure and feel too lazy to simply check the time stamp on the images I will post—I thought of my dad and suddenly missed him. Patching tyre tubes with a bucket of water—that was very much a Saturday activity of my youth, not me personally doing it much, me chatting with and “helping” my dad when I was a boy. In my mind, the patch bucket seems associated with warm Saturdays in California.

And what is life without a few regrets in it? Thinking about California made me think of this peppy song, which has nothing to do with fathers or bicycles, but who wouldn't be briefly entertained by The Regrettes?



Well. It worked. The patch, I mean, although I hope the song worked for you, too. The next morning, the front tyre of the Fancy Beast still was full of air, so I rode that mountain bike to work—but on the morning ride, the front derailleur went “thunk” and would not shift.

Dad, where you are now? I may need more competent tool hands for, and possibly a screwdriver, for this …

In Which We Brave the Darkest Day to Ride

Jon with both of our bikes at MMU 4 miles away from end of 18-mile ride.

Happy Winter Solstice day—shortest day of the year!

My son Jon, who recently moved to San Francisco and commutes there by bicycle and train, is visiting over Christmas. Today, I finally swapped pedals on Argent (Jon says I should have named my other bike, Francis, Tina so that together the bikes would be Argent-Tina—he inherited my sense of humor). So we had two bikes we could ride.

It was cold today—in the 30s, cloudy and breezy. It would be warm for biking in late December in most winters, but it felt like bitter Siberian weather in this odd, warm December. Anyway, it was about one in the afternoon when we were finally got ready to ride. (Swapping pedals involved a search for tools and then some language unfit for family consumption except at a Trump campaign stump speech.)

I was a gentleman and let Jon ride Argent. So I was on Tina—or rather, Francis. We headed over to the Cedar River Trail. As we rode south, we noticed Audrey and Nina at Dairy Queen in Hiawatha—Audrey tried to claim they were going to the library, but they don’t serve soft-serve at the library.

Anyway, we headed south. Along the way, we had to dodge some trucks on the trail—crews were out trimming brush for some utility project. But we made it to Cedar Lake and started circling counter clockwise. But at the south end, there was another truck blocking the trail, so we headed back the other way, and stopped at the Sag Wagon.

It appears Tuesday afternoons are old man day at the Sag Wagon. There were maybe half a dozen guys of about my vintage hanging out inside. They bartender brought us menus—I had a taco salad, Jon chose the beef sandwich. An older guy at a nearby table noticed my Mount Mercy shirt and said his daughter had graduated from there with a criminal justice degree. He was very friendly and chatted for a few minutes, and then said goodbye as he left.

“That never happens in California,” Jon noted.

There was some sort of local beer on sale for $1 draws, so we washed our lunch down with two each. It was some Turner Alley beer, and was good. Jon has a beer app, and rated it 3.75, which he said is a decent rating.

Then, we headed downtown to stop at a fancy candy shop before heading home. We took the non-trail route, which involves bike lanes and then streets, to head home. On the way, we rode by MMU and took a restroom break there, and then did the obligatory “we survived the ride up the steepest route on the Hill” ussie with the Catherine McAuley statue.

Ussie, two views. Me and Catherine and Jon.

It was around 4 by the time we shot the photo. On this, the shortest day of the year, it was time to turn on lights as we headed home. All in all, we rode about 18 miles, not a bad ride at all on the shortest afternoon of the year!