Tales from the early days

Like an old man on the porch outside the general store, I’ve been reminiscing about my early days of bicycling, before I knew what I was doing, before I considered myself a bicyclist. Each of my stories has a moral.

12. Theft

I kept forgetting my helmet. If I was less than halfway home when I noticed I didn’t have my helmet on, I’d go back to my office for it. If I was more than halfway when I noticed, I’d keep going and I’d get my helmet the next day. It annoyed me when I forgot my helmet because I was very proud that it took me 20 minutes to bicycle, or 15 minutes to drive my car, park, and walk into the office. For just 10 minutes extra each day, I got 40 minutes of exercise. But when I forgot my helmet and had to go back, my efficiency was shot.

Finally I hit on the brilliant solution of leaving my helmet on my bike instead of bringing it inside. It’s habit now. When I take my helmet off, I hang it on the handlebar. When I reach for the bike, the first thing I touch is the helmet and I put it on my head.

I put my bike gloves inside my helmet too, until they got stolen. After that I brought my gloves inside but I left my helmet on my bike. No one ever stole my helmet. (My bike, of course, is always locked.)

I’ve never had a bike stolen. I usually use a U-lock and I also carry a cable lock in case I can’t find a bike rack and the only thing to lock up to is a fence or a tree. Those are not good places to lock up to, but anything is better than not locking up.

The only other thing I’ve had stolen is my flat kit and spare lights. I was in Phoenix for 2 weeks and I rented a bike. I had a set of cheap lights that I put in the seat pack in case I got caught in the dark. I asked the bike shop to rent me a flat kit. I parked my bike every morning on campus and one day I came outside and the seat pack was unzipped and empty. I had to pay the bike shop $50 to replace the flat kit. I don’t think it was worth $50.

The moral of this story is that I could be paranoid all the time, but unless I’m in downtown Phoenix I am probably ok making sure the bike is secured and not worrying too much about the other stuff.

Tales from the early days

Like an old man on the porch outside the general store, I’ve been reminiscing about my early days of bicycling, before I knew what I was doing, before I considered myself a bicyclist. Each of my stories has a moral.

11. My first winter

The first winter I biked, I wore a winter coat and a hat. I wrapped 2 scarves around my head. I wrapped the first one tightly around my ears and face. The second one went over that but tucked into my coat. The helmet held it all in place. I pushed the first scarf under my mouth so I could breathe, but then I couldn’t push it back up when my face got cold without getting off my bike and re-wrapping both scarves.

Eventually my dad gave me a balaclava he’d found lying on the ground in a parking lot. That made all the difference.

The coldest bit was going DOWN that hill that I’d griped so much about climbing UP. In the winter, I didn’t mind going up hills as much. At least I could get warm.

My coat was, if anything, too warm, yet at the same time let the cold wind in. It was the same coat that had padded my pregnant self in college the day my bike slipped on the ice.

My fingers still swelled up in the cold, an effect left over from the frostbite in college, and I was desperate to keep them warm. I put on as many gloves and mittens as I could fit. I hated spending money on my bicycling, because that took away from my pleasure of saving money by bicycling. I picked up a pair of cheap but thick gloves at Walmart. Nothing kept out the wind chill. Finally, I spent $50 on a pair of ski gloves and considered it a worthwhile investment.

Since I am still wearing those gloves today, 10 years later, I’d say it was an excellent investment. Also, my fingers no longer swell up in the cold.

I put on extra pairs of socks under my shoes. That turned out to be a mistake because the shoes weren’t big enough to accommodate all the socks. The layers cut off my circulation and my feet were colder than ever! Instead, plastic grocery sacks over my socks add considerable warmth without cutting off circulation.

It bothered me to no end to spend $70 on something that had the word “undershirt” in its label! It was merino wool and I still wear it as my base layer. I spent $200 on a rain jacket and $200 on rain pants. They are my outer shell in cold weather, as well as raingear in wet weather. My entire outfit cost as much as my bicycle. Nowadays, money isn’t so tight, and having saved $90,000 over 10 years by simply not owning a 2nd car means I’m ok with spending a couple hundred dollars here and there to be comfortable.

The moral of this story is that the right clothes make all the difference for winter cycling.

Tales from the early days

Like an old man on the porch outside the general store, I’ve been reminiscing about my early days of bicycling, before I knew what I was doing, before I considered myself a bicyclist. Each of my stories has a moral.

10.

Every day I climbed 1 crazy steep hill to go to work and 3 slightly less insane hills to come home. They never got easy, but I got used to them. They occupied a good deal of my attention. I became deeply interested if not obsessed with hills. I learned their percent grade and the percent grade of other hills in the area. The longer, but not steepest, hill on my route to work was 11%. I discovered Sapp Hill which I could barely climb. I discovered that if you stop on a hill, you might not be able to get started again.

By “hill”, of course, I mean up hill. Going down a hill is easy. I maxed out at 47 mph going down Easley Hill. I always wondered how fast I would go down Sapp Hill, but I never got around to trying. I don’t think I could get to 47 mph because I would have to brake for the sharp bend in the middle of the hill.

The turning point for me and hills came when I got an extra small granny gear installed on my bike. It was a few months before I made it out to Sapp Hill and I forgot I had changed the granny gear. “I can’t believe how easy this is,” I thought. “I have gotten so strong since the last time I was out here!” I felt proud for a moment until I remembered I had an extra small granny gear.

With that very small granny gear, I can climb a hill slower than you can walk it. My odometer stops reading below 2.2 mph. That extra small granny gear also comes in handy when I’m hauling a heavy load, such as when I’m bicycling touring fully loaded over hills and mountains in all parts of Missouri.

Gears are essentially levers. The moral of this story is if you give me a place to stand and a long enough lever, I can move the Earth. Or I can climb Sapp Hill.

Tales from the early days

Like an old man on the porch outside the general store, I’ve been reminiscing about my early days of bicycling, before I knew what I was doing, before I considered myself a bicyclist. Each of my stories has a moral.

10.

Every day I climbed 1 crazy steep hill to go to work and 3 slightly less insane hills to come home. They never got easy, but I got used to them. They occupied a good deal of my attention. I became deeply interested if not obsessed with hills. I learned their percent grade and the percent grade of other hills in the area. The longer, but not steepest, hill on my route to work was 11%. I discovered Sapp Hill which I could barely climb. I discovered that if you stop on a hill, you might not be able to get started again.

By “hill”, of course, I mean up hill. Going down a hill is easy. I maxed out at 47 mph going down Easley Hill. I always wondered how fast I would go down Sapp Hill, but I never got around to trying. I don’t think I could get to 47 mph because I would have to brake for the sharp bend in the middle of the hill.

The turning point for me and hills came when I got an extra small granny gear installed on my bike. It was a few months before I made it out to Sapp Hill and I forgot I had changed the granny gear. “I can’t believe how easy this is,” I thought. “I have gotten so strong since the last time I was out here!” I felt proud for a moment until I remembered I had an extra small granny gear.

With that very small granny gear, I can climb a hill slower than you can walk it. My odometer stops reading below 2.2 mph. That extra small granny gear also comes in handy when I’m hauling a heavy load, such as when I’m bicycling touring fully loaded over hills and mountains in all parts of Missouri.

Gears are essentially levers. The moral of this story is if you give me a place to stand and a long enough lever, I can move the Earth. Or I can climb Sapp Hill.