Category: Bike stuff
The dog days of summer, part 2
From Wikipedia:
The dog days or dog days of summer are the hot, sultry days of summer. They were historically the period following the heliacal rising of the star system Sirius (known colloquially as the “Dog Star”), which Hellenistic astrology connected with heat, drought, sudden thunderstorms, lethargy, fever, mad dogs, and bad luck. (emphasis mine)
So, there I was, JRA, when I heard the squelchy sound of my Nobilette’s front tire going flat despite its sealant-filled inner tube.
I was en route to the meetup for the twice-weekly Geezer Ride, so I pulled over, drew my phone, and texted my fellow graybeards to advise that I had had a mechanical and was returning to base. I had only the one spare tube, Herself was at work, and it had been too hot for one of those long walks home in Sidis from a previous millennium.
When I got back to El Rancho Pendejo and opened the garage door I was reminded that I had all these other bikes hanging around. Thinking I could still catch up with the lads if I took a quick, dirty shortcut over to High Desert via the Embudito trailhead, I grabbed a Steelman Eurocross and did exactly that.
We rode around and about for a while, solving the knotty problems of the world, and as I had been denied some of the early miles I decided to tack on a few at the end, riding two of the brothers home and then picking up Trail 365 at Rebonito Road for a little more dirty fun.
Hanging a 90-degree left onto the bridge at the Piedra Lisa Canyon trailhead south of Candelaria I felt the front tire try to squirm out from under its rim. Judas Priest! Another front flat? Indeed.
Happily, I had thought to reload the saddlebag with a fresh spare tube, so I quickly returned the Steelman to working order and rode home.
Back at the ranch, I took the opportunity to give the Nobilette a fresh goopy tube, which went smoove like butta. But when I tried to do likewise with the Steelman the freshly installed tube refused to inflate for some reason.
Defective tube, maybe? Or pump head clogged with old sealant? I disassembled that, gave it a cursory cleaning (which means cursing while cleaning it), put it back together, and had another go. Still bupkis.
“I should ring up the Fed, tell them I’ve found a solution to their inflation problem,” I muttered. Then I grabbed another tube, one not installed in a tire, and tried pumping it up to see if anything happened.
And something did. The fucking thing exploded, launching huge gobs of yellowish sealant throughout the living room. Because of course I work on my bikes in the living room. That’s where the air conditioning is.
You will recall “The Exorcist?” This made Regan’s eruptions look like a sneeze that missed the Kleenex.
I gave the living room a very cursory cleaning, replaced the Steelman on its hook sans a reloaded front wheel (the pump head apparently perished in the explosion), and — not for the first time — considered taking up bowling.
Freedom
Alissa Bell has a fine piece about becoming a cyclist at The Cycling Independent.
She’s actually been one for quite a spell, and logged plenty of the hard miles, not just in the Benighted States of America but in places some hardcore cyclists will never straddle a top tube, like Vietnam, Egypt, and Sudan.
But Bell says she really started feeling like a cyclist when she began “riding less, but more intentionally.” She continues:
Riding my bike is the closest I’ll ever get to pausing time. As long as I’m in the saddle (or hiking beside if need be) there is time to think, to feel, to let the knots in my mind relax enough that there is hope of untangling them later. Whether for two hours or two months, cycling gives me a break from the relentless pace of a life that’s always been a little too fast for me.
How does one stop The Machine? By starting another one. Go read the whole piece. It’s liberating.
Wave dynamics revisited
The fun and frolic continues apace here in the Land of Enchantment, a subsidiary of Netflix, Inc. Look for the miniseries “The Ten Plagues of Aztlan,” coming soon! “Episode 1: The Gabachos.”
Now it’s Las Vegas in the hot seat. More precisely, the wet seat, as flash floods close roads and force evacuations.
Word is Ruidoso is getting some rain, which, yay. It’s the proverbial good news/bad news scenario — helps with the fire, but not with the flooding. You gotta play the hand you’re dealt, I guess. Meanwhile, it seems full-time residents may be allowed to return Monday morning.
We woke to a light rain here at El Rancho Pendejo. By 8:30 we’d recorded 0.10 inch of rain since midnight, and we will take it, thank you. Sorta throws a spanner into the ol’ training schedule, but what the hell am I training for, anyway?
If it keeps up I don’t think I’ll have to worry about whether a fellow cyclist returns my friendly wave today. My old VeloNews colleague John Rezell broached the topic yesterday at The Cycling Independent, but I beat him to it by nearly three decades (h/t Khal S.).
In my dotage I see this churlish behavior from all manner of knuckleheads. Wave casually at a brother roadie, get The Great Stone Face. Say, “Good morning” to another hiker on a narrow stretch of trail, nuttin’ but nuttin’. Everyone has the AirPods in their ears and an iStick up their arses, I guess.
It doesn’t bother me much anymore. I keep waving and yielding trail as though it matters. Which it kinda does.
Day coyotes and the lizard portal
So I’m noodling around in the Elena Gallegos Open Space on the Soma Double Cross, enjoying a fine mist of a light drizzle and temps in the low 70s, when a good-sized coyote ambles into my path on a fast, double-track descent.
In broad daylight.
I’d been dodging lizards all morning, so the coyote sighting instantly brought Marc Maron‘s 2020 Netflix standup “End Times Fun” to mind.
I couldn’t find that particular video clip online, so I’ll have to make do with a transcript from scrapsfromtheloft.com.
Here’s the weird thing about being a Jew. You know, I’m not religious, but I am prone to prophecy. Um, and I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. I’m not saying I’m a prophet, but if I’m terrified, I’ll go mystical, you know? I mean, I don’t mind. I’ll do it. And sometimes it doesn’t make sense. It makes sense to me, but, like, I’ll give you an example. [inhales sharply] Like, I was hiking and, um. … This wasn’t too long ago, and I’m looking at the ground, I realized, “Wow, a lot more lizards now.” I don’t know what that means, but … like, I think it’s deep. I think that Trump has opened the lizard portal and I … think you should share that. Why can’t that be a little thing of information that you spread around a little bit? Just walk up to somebody, like, say, “Maron said the lizard portal’s open.” And people will be like, “What the fuck are you talking about?” And you’re like, “I don’t know, but it sounds scary. Sounds real. Sounds like it’s happening.” “The lizard portal?” “Yup, the lizard portal is open. Saw a coyote out during the day. That’s not right, they’re nighttime monsters. You gonna tell me the lizard portal isn’t open, it is, and day coyotes are among us, and you’re gonna say that’s not a fucking problem? That’s not a harbinger of what’s happening?”
Lizard portal open? Check. Day coyotes? Roger. Oh, yeah, and did I mention he followed with a riff on (wait for it) fire season?
Our state is on fire right now. It’s on fire all the time. Every year, California is on fire to the point where it’s just the way it is. Two weeks ago, my friend Lynn said, “Aren’t the fires a little late this year?” How is that something you say … like it’s a season? It kinda is a season. Once a year, if you live in California, you’re like, “Ah, fuck, there are ants and shit’s burning. Must be summer.”
Maron’s a former Burqueño, so you know he wasn’t just talking about California. His dad still lives here. I’m certain he’s hiked the Elena Gallegos, seen the coyotes and lizards, smelled the smoke.
Hey, I’m Irish. Not religious. But I know a prophet when I see one.
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