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 …

Biking In The In-Between Times

Me this morning between leaving the house and getting on the bike, in the 7:15 a.m. light. 
The sun is just up so I  need shades, but I thought of lights, too.

As the year starts to fade towards the darker months, I find myself biking a bit more during the in-between times.

This morning, the sun was low in the eastern sky, creating glares that made me want shades (and I carry clip-ons in my manly murse, so it was all good).  Yet, the shadows were still long enough and deep enough that I considered running with lights.  In the end, I decided that my vest was bright enough.

Last night, bell choir practice ended at 6, so then I headed home around 6:15.  Six is still light out, we’re not into the December days of darkness falling somewhere between 4 and 5, but still, it was pushing 7 and pushing the quality of light by the time I got home.

Audrey had some grandkids over, and they had eaten already, so I fixed myself a quick omelet and then offered Tristan a ride home on my bike.

Sadly, that put the idea into Nikayla’s head that she wanted a ride, too—but she has grown to the point where I don’t think she fits well into the small-child seat that I have.  Eventually, I would like to get one of those “ride along” bikes that would attach to my bike—but I think she would have to be big enough to sit on a small bicycle to use that.

Right now she’s in between.

I can hitch the trailer to Audrey’s bike and tow her—and I hope to do that soon—but the view from the trailer and the experience of being towed isn’t as cool as being up on the bike seat.  It’s an experience in between not biking and being really engaged in it.

Tristan loved the ride home with the sky darkening from pale blue to purple and the clouds turning pink.  We rode with lights on and both of us had reflective vests.  We were on the sidewalk most of the way, and quiet streets, otherwise, so despite the dusky in between hour of our ride, we had a good journey.

“I’m happy,” he assured me, something he sometimes says when he’s nervous because maybe he got in a little trouble lately.  His little hands gripped my arms as he assured me of his happy state—and I think he was being honest, he was a bit nervous being out in the twilight, but happy, too.

I was thinking in between thoughts this morning as I pedaled to work, this time in the gathering light.  I was between Kenwood School and a Rockwell Collins plant when I heard a noise that was way too familiar.  A low percussive sounds, a painful “snap.”

I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t one of my tendons.  It was a spoke, and the back wheel has a wobble.

Well, with one broken spoke I could proceed slowly to work.  If a tube had blown, I would have been stopped.  Although, on the other hand, I carry a spare tube and have a bike pump with me, so I could have repaired that damage.

Anyway, here’s to in between times.  Until Audrey picks me up and I take my bike in and get that spoke replaced, I’m in between bike commutes.  I am hoping to get back to two wheels again soon.