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 I Feel Sorry But Then Recall Europe

Scary looking video from storm, one lucky Dutch biker.

It’s been a lousy biking week, blog pals. On Sunday night, on the way home from playing with the MMU Bell Choir as part of the celebration of Mass, my back tire blew.

That was my bad, as I knew the tire was getting thin and needed replacing. But the front derailleur control also cracked, so I could not shift in front. My brake shoes are also shot.

So, I took Francis in to Northtowne Fitness for repairs. Because the bike needs new pedals too, as well as two new derailleur controls, it will be a pricey fix.

And so I have been driving this week. Horrors.

Then again, we’ve had some rainy days, so I really have only missed two days of biking, at most.

And we need the rain. Also, I can’t feel too bad when Europe has been battered by much worse, deadly weather. My wife has spoken with my daughter in England, by the way, and since the weather was not raised as a topic, we’re assuming all is well, although I wonder if my son-in-law had to resort to a bus commute.

Anyway, check out the video in this New York Times story. Among other things, bike traffic was interrupted in The Netherlands.

Well, I hope Francis is back in shape soon. And I hope the weather in Europe is back to normal and those Dutch are back to biking, too.

In Which 85 PSI and RAGBRAI Legs Speed The Journey

The Sky this morning as I rode my bike to the gym. Sumbeans shining down on my faster, slow bike.

I’ve commuted to campus a few days this week, and weather willing will again tomorrow. It feels like I’ve been flying on Francis when I go—my RAGBRAI legs have not worn off yet, and I’m worried I might pop a spoke or break a chain.

I’m sure by most bikers’ standards, I’m still slow, but for me I am traveling fast.

RAGBRAI legs—the strong muscles leftover from the ride across Iowa last week—aren’t the only factor. Cate noted one day during RAGBRAI that my back tire looked a bit low. It felt fine to me, but feeling isn’t enough. I didn’t know what the recommended inflation was—mud on the tire—but Eldon found it—85 PSI.

And his pump pressure gauge said I was at 50. “Getting close to snakebite territory,” Eldon said, and he is probably right.

Snakebite is jargon for the double puncture you get if your under-inflated tube allows the tire to pop out of the wheel frame—you get two small punctures were the wheel rim presses on the tube, hence, snakebite.

Well, I pumped up to 85 PSI and flew that day, and on the last day pumped up again (the tires had lost about 5 PSI in two days).

If you have properly inflated tires, the ride is a bit rougher, but it is also much more efficient—soft tires cost a lot of extra mushy friction, and on hard ones you fly. Or so it seems.

The mighty Francis has been riding again. Grandkids are over tonight, and maybe I’ll put the toddler bar and seat back on and give Amelia a morning ride before they have to go home. We’ll see. But I’ve been enjoying riding at the speed of RAGBRAI legs on my newly inflated tires.

The mighty Francis in my driveway after the ride home from the gym--it has gotten sunnier.

New Tyres And Some New Lights

Worn front tyre.  Brought bike into laundry room to change tyres.

Day before Thanksgiving, I went on a ride with my sister Cate.  She glanced at this tyre and noted it was worn looking.  Indeed.

The new tyres on the wheels, waiting for me to put the wheels back on the bike.  Hooray for easy release hubs!  they are leaning against the now-removed old back tyre.

Winter may feel like it’s here, for part of this week, although I understand there may be thunderstorms by the week’s end.

Yesterday afternoon, while my sweetie took a short pre-Mass nap, I spent about ½ hour putting new tires on my bike.  As you can see, both the front and back were well worn.  I didn’t get the cheapest new tires, but one step up, which were available with reflective white sidewalls.  The bike shop man also said the tread was better and would wear longer.

Anyway, I don’t enjoy changing tires and kind of dreaded this chore, and I was not sure I would finish in the half hour provided.  But, when I got to it, it wasn’t as bad as I expected—there were really no glitches, just a bit of grunting and pushing and messy jeans and hands to clean up afterwards.  It settled the issue of whether I needed a quick shower before Saturday night Mass.  I did.  And so often in life the chore we dread turns out not to be as bad as expected, although it's rare that such an easier than expected job involves tools, a least in my case.

Anyway, I have a minor regret about tires.   Rubber inflated tires were invented for bikes before they were used on cars (just as urban streets were built for bicycles and horses before autos arrived on the scene), and were first used in Britain.  Where, in the 19th century and today, they were spelled “tyres.”

Tyres—what an elegant little word.  It makes tires look tired.  Indeed, changing tires is a tiring process, but I still say that by the late 19th century we didn’t have any reason to mess up the spelling of newly coined words for new inventions.  Of course, the word “tire” or “tyre” probably long predates the pressurized rubber tires that are now used on bikes—but if the then newfangled pneumatic rubber tires were first spelled “tyre” by their inventor, that’s good enough for me.

So join the tyre revolution with me.  I don’t like the pretentious spelling of theater with an “re,” which is a British snobbish abomination that is way too popular on our side of the pond, and they can keep that extra “u” in color, thank you very much.  But tyre?

I don’t tire of that y.  It’s just funky and cool.

Tyre, tyre, tyre.  Dig it.  From now on, if it's for a bike, it's a tyre, OK?

Meanwhile, I further winter prepped Old Blackie with some new batteries in slightly fading lights.  Just in time for the Christmas season, I have 3 rear and 4 front lights, so I’m ready for dusky rides, like the one I had to campus tonight.

Where there were some new Christmas lights on the U plaza.  Tis the season when night bike rides will be more illuminated with the glow of colored lights, which is an aid to me in this, the darkest month of the biking year!

End of the ride around 5 p.m. Sunday--getting dark and Christmas lights shine on the U plaza at Mount Mercy University.

Bike Repairs, Big and Small

Well, folks, I got in 25 miles today, before it happened.

I was crossing the parking lot at Go Daddy in Hiawatha--my usual route from the Cedar River Trail towards my house some 3 miles east of there in north Cedar Rapids--when I felt like the bike did a shimmy. A sidestep, a slide--or some other dance move.

I don't dance, and neither does my bike. I was worried a whole bunch of spokes must have popped at once and the rear wheel was rapidly disintegrating like the old computer on Star Trek that went up in smoke when it was asked to compute pi to the last digit.

The wheel and spokes were fine. But the inner tube was deflating.

Feeling as deflated as my back wheel, I started walking home. As I walked, the back wheel lost it's remaining air, and the tire separated from the wheel wall and began to get in the way of the brake. Every rotation of the wheel it got stuck. Every time--and did I mention I was three miles from home?

I called Audrey for a rescue ride. She was at a park with grandkids and had to take them home to come get me. 5 minutes after I called her, I figured out that if I carefully kept the bike totally upright and walked fairly slowly, I could avoid the brake problem--tried to call her back to cancel the rescue (3 miles is a hike, but doable), but it was too late.

Sigh. So we stopped at the bike shop and got me a new inner tube. Not going to do RAGBRAI on a patched tube that has been flat before!

In the meantime, I found a frame pump to put on my bike--won't work as well as the foot pump, but will certainly be more portable. And I super glued the mirror that you see on today's sports page of The Gazette.

Will have to fix the tube tomorrow, as I have some on-campus commitments. But it should be doable, and I will like having the mirror back (the mirror had snapped off of the other piece). Finally, Audrey got me new lights (I wanted two rear lights and having another front one is fine, too) that I got batteries for today, so I'll install those.

Between those chores and the computer I installed over the weekend, and Blackie has been having a lot of work done. Well, better now than 40 miles outside of Glenwood. And I'm glad the tire went flat in Hiawatha and not Thursday night in Center Point!