Back In the Saddle Again: On Sundays We Ride

It Is,  After All, About Bicycles

So anyway, I got the big-frame Schwinn up and running with minimal (ha ha) effort and then, in my usual carefully planned manner, set forth on a Test Ride to See What Happens. What happened was enlightening indeed. The bike, my Loyal Steed on which I had ridden well over a thousand miles of smooth highway was now...twitchy. This was my Bad-Ass Steel War-Horse Freight Train! She still tracked like a freight-train, but not as, uh, “freight-trainy” any more. (Note: I am sometimes forced to use highly technical terms. This cannot be avoided)

What the WTF?

I don't get it. I spent hundreds (ok, three hundred, and one hundred was for a work stand) of dollars and I get TWITCHY? I angrily, (well, grumpily) mashed the pedals. The Voice never Comes Along for the Ride, but this time, There He Was.

We're already in Daytona, he said.

 “What?” I said. 

Daytona,  said the Voice.

 “Shut up, Voice,"  I said,    “We just got started.”

But No. Eighteen miles had got behind me and I was still Arguing with the Bike. Now, that's interesting. So I started listening and what I heard was that this New Rear Wheel, built for as Low Cost as possible and Imported from Way Far Away was One Hell of a Whole Lot Better Product than what I had been riding. That “twitch” was the brilliantly stiff new rear wheel imparting increased torque to the front of the frame, causing the front end to tweak a bit.  I rather liked it.

Good Old 27 inch / 36 spoke bicycle wheels are flexible. That is part of their charm. I still have a 27 inch (Wienmann) on the front of my bike. I only changed the the Back Wheel. I will forever appreciate the “Float” of the Good Old Long Spoke Bike. But right about the time I was thinking these thoughts I was in Ormond Beach and that's twenty five miles.

But all the same, maybe I'll keep the 27 on the front. There is definitely a larger spring-factor and I could get used to the feeling of imbalance...

Then Some More Miles

Now I'm pausing for a Refreshing Cold Drink (guess what kind) at a cool little market Way Out There and I realize I'm Going Long on this one and Me and the Bike have still  not Made Friends over these transformations and then Bang! I'm headed North and I can't believe how fast I am after such a long layoff and even with the New Stuff on the Bike...

Old Glory Days

Life Guard Stations in Florida have flags flying over them. I know this because I sometimes (when not pedaling a bicycle) ride around in the Atlantic on a Hobie Cat. We use the flags flying over the Life Guard stations as wind indicators to help us decide Best Points of Sail and Who To Salute and so on. And while flying North along the Coast Highway I was whizzing rapidly by these Life Guard Stations and noticing the Flags flapping gallantly in the breeze, indicating a wind out of the South.

What's That Got To Do With Me?

As a Super-Cyclist I knew this meant something, but what of it? I am the Trailer Park Cyclist, Master Bike Builder and King Hammer-Masher! No South Wind will slow me down, when headed North! I was amazed at the New Feel of the Bike. I turned West off the Coast road and headed Inland. Highway One, I was confidant, could not be far away. Nor was I wrong. After a short interlude at a high-end convenience store, I had another short interlude in the woods out back, then mounted my trusty steed. With but a few swift pedal strokes  I crossed a High Bridge (what passes for a climb in Florida) and then found my way to US1,  my Home Road and an Easy Spin South to Whispering Pines Trailer Park and a fridge full of cold beer and Miss Daisy to scratch my back. Except Yellow Dogs don't scratch backs, they like their backs scratched, and when I turned left into that South Wind:   Reality Took Hold.

No,  Seriously,  I'm Not Stupid

What can I say? I'm not stupid, in spite of Popular Opinion.  I knew, all the way up this 40 mile ride from Home  (My dearly Beloved Whispering Pines Trailer Park Which I May Never See Again)   I KNEW it was a South Wind. But What About the New Wheel? Doesn't That Count?

Remember This

Hell, man, you can Count Anything You Want when you are Way Too Old For This, Way Too Out of Shape and you still got 40 miles of Florida Highway On A June Afternoon staring you in the face. Actually, BLASTING you in the face at about twelve  miles an hour and as relentless as only a summer South Wind can be. There will be rain tomorrow,  but Today Is Today.

 So what do you do?

Grind

You put your head down and grind. You reach down and grab the drops and you grind and curse and bonk and grind and Drink Water and grind and spin and every once in awhile Sprint and cuss and you are pretty sure your toenails are bleeding and then GRIND and then, a little over three hours later: Home.

Good Old Whispering Pines Trailer Park

I never go straight to the fridge and grab a beer. Well, actually, I do: but I put that beer in the freezer and then I rip off my burning shoes and socks and then I peel off my Salvation Army T-Shirt and then I Pay My Respects to my Yellow Dog.

 Eighty Miles of Road,   Forty of which was Ninety Degree Sand-Blasting means you head straight for a cold shower and then, wearing a cool clean pair of shorts and your favorite t-shirt,  you sit on the Veranda of your Crappy Trailer and as the sun settles gently into wherever it goes, you take that almost frozen beer and pop the cap and think about what Eighty Miles On A Bicycle means;  you drink that Cold-Ass Beer and Know that Today, You Did Good.


Whispering Pines Trailer Park and Ride Review
#19

A Path Is Found To World Peace

Spring is Coming

Meanwhile, Back At the Bike Shop...

So the new freewheel arrived in due fashion. I picked it up at the LBS and immediately noticed that it was a no-name part and damned if the spacing on the gears didn't look...wide. The distance between each of the six cogs was noticeably wider than on the original. But I kept my happy face on and paid my new friend the Airplane Mechanic Turned Bike Guru for the part. In the waiting period I had done some research on the internet and on the dearly departed Sheldon Brown's excellent pages (courtesy of Harris Cyclery) I had found a pretty slick Shimano hyperglide freewheel that Harris was selling for $19.95. But I knew I had already ordered that other unit through the LBS so I decided to wait and see. Who knows,  maybe I would get lucky and the unit I was waiting for would be the same one.

But Of Course...

Yeah right. Instead, there I stood holding this clunky-looking thing with no name of any kind stamped anywhere on the part. Sigh. But I manfully hid my disappointment and pedaled on back to my secret lair to install the new part, tune the wheel and hopefully go for a ride.

Hah.

Upon installation I saw right away that the damn thing was too wide and caused the chain to hang up on the rear derailleur. It wasn't going to work. I sat and fiddled with washers and spacers and beers until I found myself rapidly approaching a total destruction scenario and at last gave up. I dejectedly pedaled on home where I got back online and got serious about finding the part number for the freewheel hub Harris had listed. I looked at several sources for several hours, (approximately one pint of rum's worth of hours) and came up with all manner of part numbers for what was, as near as I could tell, the same part. Prices were all over the place, as well. Anywhere from six dollars to fifty. Why? Well, I don't know how things got this way, but as near as I can tell the various manufacturers keep things as obscure as possible and that is why if you want to ride a bicycle seriously ya gotta have a guru to show you the way. It is a frustrating situation and probably explains why thousands of perfectly repairable good old steel frame bicycles languish in basements, barns, and backyard sheds all over the country and, for that matter, the world.

The Voice Takes Over

So now, what to do? I took the crappy freewheel off the wheel. I called Walter (turned out the Homeless Janitor Bike Shaman had a name) at the LBS and told him what was going on and that I had found a Shimano part that would probably work and could I return the, uh, Other Thing and get credit and order the Shimano? Sure I could, Walter said. Did I have a part number? I was afraid he was going to ask that and I didn't have my list of part numbers from my rum-soaked night of searching the web, but miraculously The Voice took over and spoke through me: “Shimano Freewheel FHG 6.” Ron said hold on a minute let me check...oh yeah, OK, it's the same price as the other one so bring that one back in and we will swap it out. Should be here Friday.

I had very little confidence that this was going to come out OK. But what the hell? I was getting so accustomed to disappointment in the wacky world of bike repair that I was rapidly learning to lay back and let what was going to happen, happen. And a week went by.

And World Peace

Friday came and I pedaled on over to the good ol' LBS. There was good ol'; Ron, doing something to a really tiny tricycle he had in the stand. Did my freewheel come in? I asked. I could see a manilla shipping envelope on the bench that looked to be about the right size. Let's see, he said...oh, yeah, here it is, he said reaching for that very envelope. He opened it up and pulled out the part, looking at it briefly, turning it this way and that, then handing it to me. Wow. The difference in this fine piece of Japanese magic and that other...thing, was dramatic. The gears glistened. The spacing between cogs was tight and crisp and and the brand name and part number were stamped in clear lettering that said SHIMANO like they were proud of what they had made, as well they should be. All for the same price as that other part that looked like something made in some foreign prison out of old license plates! I vowed then and there never again to compromise on replacement parts for my bikes. I would decipher the codes of the inscrutable manufacturers and dealers, and I would create finely rebuilt classics that would brighten the lives of those who bought bicycles from me. I would Cure Cancer and bring about World Peace by using only quality parts from then on no matter what obstacles were thrown in my path. But most importantly, I would become a guru, I would BE the  LBS. Yes!

Whispering Pines Mobile Home Park and Bicycle Emporium

#8