Sun Day

You know the view is picture-worthy when a Serious Cyclist (a guy) stops to take a photo. Honestly, I'm not sure I have ever witnessed such a thing. [Until today.]

Club rides resumed last month, but today's route was the first that seemed “just right.”

My chief ride buddy and I were the first to sign in and start rolling, ahead of the rest of the group. I was surprised that they didn't catch up until we paused at the top of the second hill. We quickly decided to be on our way, and somehow one guy (a new member) followed. Right on my wheel, downhill. [Hmm.] I expected him to pass ... but when the road leveled out he matched my pace to chat.

We parted after the next regroup; instead of joining the crowd at Starbucks, I'd mapped us a route to head straight back. Today's outing would be a bit longer than we've managed, lately, and we knew there would be a strong headwind.

And indeed, after 38 miles and a mere 1,240 feet of climbing, I was pooped. Even though the headwind wasn't nearly as bad as we'd expected.

Oh, wait ... I didn't think to mix up a bottle of Skratch. Time to reconstruct my routine!

WFH: Week Fifty-Two

There was a hint of color in the sky, on my evening walk. I've been encouraging down-in-the-dumps colleagues to get outside. Even if they just take a walk around the block. Fresh air, sunshine ... it's not hard to give a wide berth to others you might encounter.

It's been a full year since I transitioned to working from home. Our team has demonstrated good productivity, despite all challenges. Structured social engagement (video calls for morning coffee, afternoon tea) has mostly withered away. There is an expectation that we will return to the office, in some form, this fall; my position on that is: Wait and see. If it entails wearing a mask for the entire day, that would make me miserable. If it means sitting in a conference room on video calls with remote colleagues, well ... I can do that at home.

To brighten my days, and mark the passage of time, I decided I wanted a page-a-day calendar. Torn between two (birds, and nature scenes), I picked up both.

My last haircut was in February, 2020. By the second time restrictions were relaxed, I didn't see the point. I fully expected another lockdown, leading to another awkward growing-out period. [I was right.] My hair may soon be longer than it has ever been. I'm kind of used to it now, and some people have commented that it looks good.

Cheerful sidewalk chalk art is a thing of the past. Face masks (cloth, or single-use) litter the sidewalks and roadways.

I'm trying to bike more regularly; when our club couldn't host rides, I'd plot a simple route and my chief ride buddy would join me. That way, we could look out for each other. All the spring and summer cycling events have been canceled, postponed, or gone “virtual.”

I continue to minimize my time indoors around other people—because, I can. For me, the calculus has been straightforward: “If I do Thing X, permanently wreck my health or die as a result, will I have thought it was worth it?” Not surprisingly, the answer is: No. No weekend getaways. No restaurant dining. No social gatherings.

I'm not eligible to be vaccinated, yet; there isn't enough vaccine, still, for everyone who is eligible (and wants the shots). I know at least 11 people who have been vaccinated; their reactions have ranged from nothing, or a sore arm, to headache, fever, and fatigue, to much worse. I also know at least 12 people who contracted the virus (and recovered). “Do. Not. Get It.” they counseled. [Well, that's my plan.] Of those 12, at least one person tested negative, but subsequently had antibody results that were off the charts. At least three were presumptive cases (not tested, but symptomatic—two with family members who did test positive). I have not lost any friends or family members, but I know people who have.

The week closed with 111,839 reported cases of COVID-19 in our county, and 1,859 confirmed deaths. Which [see above] is an undercount.

For the Love of Biking

Someone's had a little fun with a standard “Share the Road” sign.

My ride buddy and I agreed to a later start; overnight showers had left the roads slick. It was chilly and breezy; wear my wool jersey, or not?

Once we were moving, I regretted my decision; wool would have been cozy.

A cyclist doing hill repeats on Mt. Eden passed us (more than once; sigh). My legs were feeling it; I decided to try a little roller-coaster bypass to get to Pierce; I'm not sure it's a win, but maybe if I had been more confident I would have carried enough speed up the hill. Shifting into my lowest gear also might have helped. [Duh.] Focused on the detour, I neglected to use my two lowest gears.

26 miles, 1,600 feet of climbing ... I love to bike. [But, you knew that.]

Poppies are Popping

Once upon a time, it turned out that I climbed Mt. Hamilton once a month—almost, but not quite, every month that year. I climbed Bernal in January. Hmm, maybe Bernal could be my (modest) goal this year.

My ride buddy was game, and we decided to take it easy (follow the flat route, to climb with fresh legs).

We loitered after descending, chatting in the afternoon sunshine; multiple passing cyclists paused to make sure we didn't need help. [Our fellow cyclists are the best!]

We finished with 31 miles and about 1,000 feet of climbing. I had held a steady pace on the hill, but ... not my personal best.

March is almost here.

Just Enough

During a bike fitting many years ago, the fitter quizzed me about my riding style and habits. “You need to ride during the week, too; otherwise you're essentially starting over every weekend.”

I miss my occasional bike commutes, and I've gotten lazy. Why get up early, pull myself together and ride before my workday begins—when I can just step into my office after breakfast?

Why? Well, because otherwise I'm essentially starting over every weekend.

The days are getting longer, why not hop on the bike at the end of the workday?

Despite good intentions, I got a later start than I'd wanted. How far could I ride? I set a goal. [I think I can, I think I can ...]

I rode at a brisk pace; although it had been a warm day, it was cooling fast (as soon as the sun dipped below the nearest ridge). I'd misjudged the temperature as well as the distance (27 miles, a flat 460 feet of climbing); a comfortable test of my recent repair work (no mishaps).

There were no visible stars overhead when I finished—so technically, it wasn't dark.

But ... oops, the moon was rather bright ...

Holey Spokes, Batman!

And now a few words about rim tape.

When last we left our heroine, she had safely completed her ride and traced the source of her flat tire to a gash in the side of the tube that faces the rim.

Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Where the tape should have safely covered a spoke hole, there was instead a jagged tear. The tube, regularly inflated to a high pressure, had evidently pushed the tape into the hole and eventually ripped it open.

I must admit, I have never given rim tape a second thought. Or a first thought, honestly. Its job is to protect the tube by covering the holes in the rim through which the spokes are inserted; once it's in place, it never occurred to me that it could fail. But, fail it did.

Here's a view from the flip side. We can see a slight dimple from the pressure of the tube having pushed the tape into the hole. The tape was similarly dimpled at every spoke hole, though only one had given way.

The wheel in question is a stock Mavic wheel, fitted with their stiff, woven plastic-y tape. (Or I should say, had been fitted.)

A little research and a couple of helpful YouTube videos later, I picked up two rolls of classic Velox tape at a local bike shop, removed the original tape, wiped the rims with rubbing alcohol, and applied the new tape.

Two rolls, you say? Yessiree, two rolls. One for each wheel. You didn't think I was going to risk a repeat performance on the rear wheel, did you?

And, um, if you haven't inspected the tape on your rims lately (or, ever), you might want to have a look-see.

Pffffft!

The Almaden Reservoir was not filled with chocolate, much as it might appear.

It's been a week since we last saw rain, but the muddy runoff hadn't yet settled out.

A friendly trio of fisherman waved goodbye as they drove off. They'd caught only one fish, a two-and-a-half pounder. Catch-and-release, it's strictly for sport—the fish are contaminated with mercury, a legacy of the New Almaden quicksilver mines.

My guardian angel was watching over me today. Two (downhill) miles from the end of our ride, I stopped to wait for my cycling buddy and parked my bike against the curb. Moments later there was an explosive hiss ... and my front tire was, instantaneously, flat. Had I not stopped there, then, I would almost certainly have crashed (descending at speed), the metal rim sliding out on the pavement.

This is the stuff of nightmares.

An earthly angel soon appeared in an SUV, a mountain biker heading for the nearby trail. He pulled out a full-sized floor pump, generously waited for me to replace my tube, and made short work of inflating it.

I had been puzzled not to find anything stuck in the tire, nor any obvious puncture in the tube. I imagined that the removable valve core had loosened; a small puncture would have leaked slowly. [I should know better.] Always take the time to find the cause.

Always.

I descended cautiously, tenatively. And luckily, my guardian angel was still watching over me. Because, when I did trouble myself to pump some air into that tube, certain I would confirm my hunch ... the air rushed out of a gash on the rim side of the tube. Despite having run my fingers over the rim after removing the tube, I had not felt a problem.

We were happy to ride 29 miles, climbing 1,820 feet, on another warm winter day. But above all, I'm grateful that I will get to ride another day. [After I attend to that wheel.]