In Which I Have A Most Excellent Birthday Ride

End of the ride, the happy bikers. The older one on the right just turned 56 today.

I turned 56 today, and my wife said I could do pretty much what I wanted.

So I completely ignored the backlog of work for a whole day. The morning started with a gym workout, followed by a drive downtown to Kathy’s Pies to buy a birthday desert—apple pie. And then it was off to breakfast at Perkins. When we got home, we skyped with a daughter who lives in the UK.

The plan then was to ride our bikes and take a nap, but both of us decided that naps could come first. So it was a bit later that I got out Francis and my wife’s bike. I thought of riding The Beast so we would be on similar bikes, but we wanted to carry snacks and that’s just a lot easier with Francis. I pumped up tires and lubed chains and then we were on our way.

I had planned to take the trail south, but forgot my turn on F Avenue and we ended up down by Mount Mercy before we finally took J Avenue to the trail.

Art outside the museum.

We haven’t been on a lot of joint rides this year, but this was a very nice day—just a little warm, but with a nice breeze, and just enough clouds to keep the sun from feeling hot. We rode down to Cedar Lake and decided to keep going. We paused for selfies at the Museum of Art, and when we got to Sokol Park, we enjoyed nuts, raisins and animal crackers—a pretty good biking snack. We decided we weren’t done in yet, so we continued on the trail until we got to about 11 miles or so from the start—right at the bridge that crosses railroad tracks. There we took more pictures and headed back.

On the way back, we paused at Parlor City for some ice cream. I had not tried a Boston Shake before, but it (a sundae on top of a shake) seems like an excellent idea. I had hot fudge on chocolate. Maybe I will try caramel on strawberry next time.

We all scream. Well, not really. But we eat ice cream.

Before that, we had paused at the park at Cedar Lake to use the restrooms, where I rescued a damsel in distress. Her chain had slipped off, and she and her daughter were unable to get it back on. She was struggling with her bike chain with one hand and talking with some guy on her cell phone with the other.

I walked up. I’m no bike mechanic, but I’ve put chains back on enough times to be of some aid. It helps if you at least know how to make the chain slack by holding the rear derailleur.

So I sort of just dived in there.

“Some guy is helping me,” the woman exclaimed on the cell phone. I hadn't verbally communicated with her before that point, because she was yakking on her cell phone.

“Is he weird?” a male voice from the phone queried.

“You’re on speaker phone,” she said.

Then I added: “Yes. He’s very weird.”

Maybe it’s a good thing it didn't take me long to get the chain on again. I never met the man who belonged to that voice.

North shore of Cedar Lake, the wife pedals along. It was a very nice day.

Anyway, we decided chivalry deserves a reward, so we stopped for the ice cream later. Don’t worry blog pals—if I had not rescued Miss My-Chain-Came-Off, I’m sure my wife and I would have decided that not running over caterpillars on the trail would have also qualified as chivalry, so ice cream would have been in order anyway. Or if we had hit a caterpillar, and my wife thinks I hit at least one, we would have been drowning our sorrows. In any event, there was ice cream.

“This sort of negates the ride,” she said as she enjoyed her turtle sundae.

No, I don’t think it did. I think it completed a very nice birthday ride. We went home, I did some yard work as she prepared a spaghetti feast for me, then we watched “Tea With Mussolini” and enjoyed our Kathy’s pie.

It was definitely a nice biker’s birthday.

On the bridge before turning back. 

In Which Some Wet Rides End With A Sudden “Chunk”

Noelridge Park on the way home. Puddle on the walk, misty air and cloudy sky, although it never did rain on the ride home.

I probably got a bit of a late start this morning. I knew I had to go into the office today, but was worried as the pavement was wet from overnight rain, and I didn’t want to get rained on again. So I kept checking the radar and delaying my departure, and it was around 10 by the time I finally left for work.

You guessed it. If I had left at 8:30 or 9, I would have arrived reasonably dry. But about 10:10, even before I was across the parking lots of Rockwell-Collins, rain began. It was light, but it wasn’t just a mist, either, it was rain, and I got fairly damp on the way in.

Oh well. It was only a light rain and I was only damp, not soaked.

After an afternoon registration session, I headed towards home via the trail around 3:30. I planned to do a bit of a bike ride, and headed south. But the sky clouded up and I was worried about a more vigorous repeat of the morning experience, so by Cedar Lake I turned around. As I rode north, I contemplated heading past Hiawatha, but although it did not rain, the sky kept looking ominous, and I turned towards home.

I decided I would cycle up Bowman Woods Hill, and then maybe ride around for a while close to home.

Two thirds of the way up the hill, however, there was a “chunk,” and my pedals started spinning as my bike slowed and started to back up. I had busted a link of my chain.

So I guess I was lucky that it clouded up and I didn’t head too far south, since that meant that I was within easy walking distance of home.

The bike shop guys say they’ll have Francis up and running by tomorrow, so it’s all OK. Apparently, I had banged the rear derailleur on something and damaged it a bit, which put stress on the chain. Anyway, I’ll get a new chain, and the derailleur can be repaired.

The broken chain.

Well, it was just one of two unexpected bike adventures in the previous two days. The one before had been more pleasant. I had a grandchild who is of cycling age, as in large enough to fit in the bike seat, who had never ridden. But, after seeing my granddaughter Amelia arrive on my bike at a park, this other grandchild decided to take a ride—and loved it. I’ve won another child over to biking.

Just hope the chain is fixed before that grandchild visits again. I think there are more rides coming.

Saw some blooming trees on the ride. Anybody know what they are? The top ones are full-size trees common on the Cedar River Trail. The bottom ones are among three planted in one yard in my neighborhood. Yes, it's true, I'm shopping for a new tree to plant ... given the wet, this seems like the  year for it.

A Spot, I Do Confess It!

A rose. Hope you weren't expecting a picture of my rear cheek area. Perish the thought. Butt spots are the thorns on the biking rose, but bicycling is still worth it.

There is was, on my butt Friday.

“You look like you’ve got something on the seat or your pants,” Audrey said.

Indeed, I did. I had biked to MMU that morning and returned that night with a spot on my back side. I had sadly darkened my Dockers. Buttered my buns. Painted my pants. Spilt on my slacks.

You get the idea.

I had a little black butt mark, which must have come from my bike. I have a cable I use to lock the bike, and due to how and where I lock it, it comes into contact with my bike chain. At the urgings of the folks who run the shop where I purchased the bike and have it serviced, I’m doing much better about lubricating the chain of my bike this year—which means some lubricant gets on the lock cable.

And from there to my fingers. And, sometimes, apparently, to the seat of the bike from my fingers. Thence, to my posterior.

Well, roses are pretty, and have thorns, too.

A bit of butt oil now and then won’t be enough to keep me off two wheels—I enjoy the commute much more than driving, and I’m sure it’s better for me, too, to bike and burn some calories. Even at the risk, now and then, of a blemished behind.