I didn’t go for a bike ride Monday night because…

I went for a sail. After work I drove straight to Nockamixon. The wind was out of the NWN at 15, gusting to 20 on the lake. My friend Mike was going to meet me at the lake and sail his boat along side mine, but he forgot his tiller so we sailed together. We left the marina, raised the sails and headed on a close reach until the wind began to slow around 6:30. We jibed and headed the opposite direction back toward the main body of the lake while the wind diminished to 4-6 mph by 7:15. The two options were to crawl back to the marina under current sail, fire up the engine, or drop the jib and fly the genoa. The genoa is a big, lightweight, red and white sail that looks like a parachute. It catches what little wind there is and pulls the boat along. The advantage: you can sail when you’d otherwise drift aimlessly. The disadvantage, when the wind picks up the sail becomes unmanageable and unmanageable quickly becomes dangerous. The light sail is prone to tearing at best, knocking the boat over at worst. Tacking gets tricky since the sail is so large it has to be physically moved around the mast by a crew member. If you don’t guide it across the middle of the boat, it will get snagged around the mast or deck cleats and then problems ensue. When one thing goes wrong on a sailboat the situation quickly deteriorates. Yet, sailing when other boats sit still is something, so we decided upon the genoa. The sun set, the moon rose, the wind picked back up and we sailed in the dark under the genoa.

Mix, my ass thanks you

My friend Mix supports me in many ways. He was one of the first to donate to my ride and then followed up his financial benevolence with a further act of friendship, thoughtfulness and compassion. He lent me his cushy gel bike seat that's more like a saddle than a seat. He dropped it off two weeks ago, but with all the work the bike needed done and the little time I have these days to dick around in my garage I’ve done all the rides so far with a seat as comfortable as a brick. Yesterday after the 30 miles my legs and ass hurt. I didn’t think I’d get around to changing the seat today but then my parents dropped by and Jackie and I guilted them into taking Sammy to the playground so we could get some stuff done around the house.

First I changed into my work clothes and patched a few spots on the roof. Next, I emptied six five gallon buckets of dehumidifier water, carrying them up my outside basement stairs one step at a time, then around to the front of the house to dump on the thirsty garden. Wait, writing that makes me pause to think that instead of blowing a weekend riding 75 miles to the shore to eat pizza, drink beer and fall asleep by 8:30 I should install a condensate pump. Whatever. Finally, just as my parents arrived I finished installing Mix’s super comfortable, like sitting on a cloud comfortable, gel seat and went for a ride around the block. Ohhhh yeah is how we felt, me and my ass.

My brother and I like our new hobby

Ride to and more importantly home from Valley Forge

The first time my brother and I attempted a ride from Roxborough to Valley Forge two miles into the ride a bee stung my hand on the webbing between the middle and ring finger. It hurt. We rode on, because we’re men and men ride on, but when my hand started to swell, become numb and then wouldn’t squeeze the brake handle I said, “Brother, I'm a pussy. I need to go.” That day we made it a little past Conshohocken.

The second attempt, the Friday before the school year resumed, I rode solo from Roxborough to Valley Forge. The bike needed new tires, but I decided that instead of spending the three hours of free time I had shopping for new and then changing the tires I’d ride to Valley Forge, a 30 mile round trip, and fix the bike one night after the kids went to sleep. The tires could handle another ride. I made it to Valley Forge and felt good. It was my first long ride in years and I sat by the river, drinking cold water and feeling good about the 75 miles September 27. Then I noticed a bubble in the rear tire. I borrowed electrical tape from a contractor eating lunch in the park, wound tape around the tire and rim and hit the road to the city. The tire blew a mile from Valley Forge. I had nothing but my wallet and cell phone. Calling Jackie to pick me up wasn’t an option, she’s annoyed that I’ve adopted another hobby, so I walked the bike to the Norristown train station. While on foot, an inbound train passed me. I arrived at the station and waited 54 minutes for the next train. The train ride is a short one from Norristown to Manayunk. Possibly the worst part of the experience was the personal humiliation I suffered walking the bike up the wall to get home. I felt the eyes of people passing by and longed to explain, “I’m not a wimp, look see here, my tire is just flat. I’d ride the wall if my tire held air.”

So today when my brother and I went out for our ride to Valley Forge I packed a bag with a spare tube, wrenches, tire levers, and a leatherman. We needed them all. About three miles into the ride my brother ended up with a nasty staple in his rear tire. He was pissed because we’re not training like we should. Then I told him, “I packed everything we need let’s fix it now.” It took 20 minutes. We also discovered if you’re out on a Saturday on the Schuylkill trail and blow a tire, every fifth biker will slow to ask if you need any tools. Unbelievable. My brother and I like our new hobby even if our wives don’t.

The numbers on today’s ride:
Miles: 30
Time to destination: unknown
Time home: -60 minutes
Flats: 1
Bee stings: 0 (which reminds me, I need to pack a bee sting kit)

Thanks! We met our fundraising goal

Thanks to the generosity of our friends and family, my brother and I met our fundraising goal of $500. Now, the only thing left to do is get up early on September 27 and make it to the starting line before 8am. And, of course, finish the 75 miles before dark. If you still want to make a donation, there is still time. Actually, there is always time. Here's the link: National MS Society

Thanks again.

Does this count?

I rode a stationary bike in the school's weight room for 10 minutes before heading to happy hour.

Atlantic City Ride

Down the shore for the holiday weekend. I woke up early Saturday morning intending to ride to the end of the island and back along the boardwalk before the crowds appeared. Riding parallel to the ocean appealed to me. The early start I intended became pushed back an hour and a half. As I was ready too leave the house, my cell phone rang. WTF? I thought. But it was Jackie calling from the bedroom upstairs. She was feeding Ben and Sam was in his room crying for someone to take the gate off. I retrieved the crying two-year old, brought him down stairs, made him a bagel and we watched a few episode of Thomas The Tank Engine together until the rest of the house came down to start their day.
On another old bike, Jackie’s 1960 woman’s three speed beach bike, I departed from mid-Margate, rode north on Atlantic Ave until I hit the ramp to start the boardwalk. I glided onto the boardwalk around 9, an hour before the ban on bikes begins. The first few blocks I encountered moderate pedestrian and bike traffic, but as I rode farther north through Ventnor it became downright dangerous to even steal a glance at the ocean. The boardwalk was packed, but I decided that rather than leave the boardwalk in favor of a faster ride, I’d take my time, slow down and enjoy just being here on a beautiful morning. Also, I was on an old woman’s three speed far too small for my body so I couldn’t really get a fast ride in even if I took to the streets. But, other bikers were not content to slow down. The Margate, Ventnor crowd, AKA the “Mainline by the Sea” take themselves pretty seriously. I don’t know why people in their mid 50’s believe it appropriate to don their spandex riding gear and go 100% on the Atlantic City boardwalk the middle of a holiday weekend, but there are many who do. It must be unbearable to work in an office with these people back in the real world. My throat starts to constrict just thinking about such a life. I witnessed three crashes, none of them serious, all of them happening when one maniac was passing a slower, older, female biker. I made it to the Absecon inlet in under 30 minutes and stopped only long enough to observe the slack tide and think back to my last visit to inlet. That was in early December. I was on a small fishing boat with a dozen old friends and we were fighting a flood tide, crashing through four foot seas into a rising sun. But now it’s still summer. The end of summer, but still summer. I turned around and rode a few blocks back through AC on the boardwalk, and then once at the south end of AC I left the dangerous boardwalk and rode the street back home. I googled the ride and it turned out to be a 12.2 mile trip. Not bad for a holiday weekend on a girls bike. What’s bad is that I haven’t been on a bike since.

To make a donation to the National MS Society

Click here to get to my personal page and make a secure, online, tax-deductable donation. National MS Society

The Bike

I’m borrowing my neighbor’s vintage 1970’s Ross 10 speed to train and ride the 75 miles to the shore. It’s blue, heavy like an anvil, and spent the past decade in his basement. The bike is in good enough shape, needing only minor attention. My neighbor is the sort of guy who cares for his possessions. One might consider him meticulous. Once a year he wiped down the bike, oiled the chain, filled the tires with air, and then brought his newer mountain bike up to use for the summer. His home is a museum, his bike, a reflection of his personality. There’s a big old light attached to the handlebars taken from his previous bike, circa Johnson administration. The light is powered by a set up reminiscent of popular mechanics. A small generator driven by the rear wheel provides power to a first generation rechargeable battery stored in a homemade metal box clamped to the underside of the seat. That battery powers the light. There are two toggle stitches protruding from the metal box, but my neighbor doesn’t remember what he intended them to do. I’d like to cast off the set up, but I think that would hurt his feelings.

Maintainance on the bike: so far I’ve replaced the tires, inner tubes, rim tape, and now am about to change the rear derailleur shift cable. While the front tire was dismounted I removed cleaned and repacked the bearings. I think that should be all she needs to do the race. I’m also swapping the seat with a gel saddle I borrowed from another friend. That’s a matter of comfort for my lean ass.

I brought the bike down to the local bike shop thinking I’d have them do a once over, but they talked me out of it and recommended I rent a hybrid or street bike from them for the event. It was tempting, $30 for a hybrid that retails around a grand or $60 for a road bike that retails for more than my car. But, what would I train on? My thoroughly frustrating, never was any good mountain bike? Then, the day of the ride, pedal a totally foreign, yet high-end rental bike? No. I just wasn’t comfortable with that idea. The ballpark estimate the bike shop gave me to do the work was frightening, so I spent the past few days shopping around for parts. I have a little less than $50 tied up in the bike now, which is more than a rental, but I’ve got something decent to ride the next month