Biting Off More Than I Could Chew

I have been at this mountain bike thing now about 27 years.  In the beginning I had no clue.  There were few people riding them in our area back in 1985/86.  I rode alone staying mostly on old tote roads, ATV trails and snowmoblie trails scattered around my home on Sam Page Road..  In the first couple of years I built some fitness, but my skill set was still crude.  I learned every technique the hard way.  Scars, scrapes. bruised bones, and 5 helmets later some notion of how to ride in the woods began to settle in.

It was probably a good thing I was 27 years younger when I started.  Had I had to endure the rude awakening off road riding supplied at my current age of 60, I would never go back into the woods again.  But there is that 27 years of experience so now I ride within my skill set, my mind set and base every ride on the notion of finishing in one piece.

The one thing I don't have as much of as I did when 33 years old is as much piss and vinegar as I had then.  Fitness is something you kinda have naturally while young, but have to work hard to keep as you age.  I have not worked hard at it, so my bag of piss and vinegar is always on the low side.

No ride pounded that home more dramatically than yesterday's ride.  A group of us drove up to Conway, New Hampshire to ride an area in the White Mountain National Forest known as Moat Mountain/ Mineral Trail Area.  As I had almost a full summer of riding under my belt, I was sure I could handle the planned route I had thought about all week.  Hmm...............................  Seems I was wrong.

We embarked on our day's ride around 8:30 AM.  A couple of miscues and finally we settled in on the "Boulder Tent Trail" that heads out to "White Horse Ledge".  The "Boulder Tent Trail" has not one inch of level ground.  It is either goping up or going down.  Matter of fact if you ponder that graph for a moment it would appear that in the whole ride, the only part that approached being level was the 2 plus miles we did on the "Electric Loop".  And by the time we got there I was spent and could only be grateful I was not climbing .

According to Dave's GPS unit we climbed for 1400 plus feet in 12 plus miles.  That translates to 6 miles of climbing.  Hmm............  When we finally got back to the cars 4 hours later, it felt more like 5003 feet of climbing in 25 miles.

What a brutal way to know you are alive.  I can't wait to tackle that area again.

Later...................................................

KTA

At precisely 6:28 AM a two car caravan left Sam Page Rd in Acton, ME.  The lead car contained the Cool Dudes.  On the roof, perched large and in charge, sat the sweetest pair of Niner twin bangers anyone has had under their butt.  The Soccer Mom vehicle behind - well- let's just say with that bike roped off on the roof, no one had to guess where those three low lifes hailed from.  Sanford of course.

One minute shy of 10 O Clock AM this motley crew landed in E. Burke, VT.  Bought ride tickets, changed into their finest kits, and drove up to park on top of Darling Hill.  Offloaded bikes and gear.  Tthen one car went back down to the main parking lot so there would be a car at each end.  Hey, made sense at the time.  As it turned out, no matter what, someone ends up being punished on the pavement somewhere.

Sometime close to 10:30 AM the group lifted off.  Headed up to the upper trails, "Fenceline", "Coronary", etc.  They finally located "Tap n Die".  Grins were had by all.  Still fresh and full of piss n' vinegar, the five followed their noses to "Sidewinder".  More grins and now it was time to head over to the other side..................The other side, oh yeah, that's right - the other side -- The Coolest Dude gulped hard.

The Cool Dudes who led the drive up, now were sucking up the rear.  The Coolest Dude on the the red Rip 9 was  tapped and he knew it.  Though he still looked cool with his coordinated hydration pack and bike, inside he was a sufferin bastard.  With quips like "Don't matter how fast you are, it's how you look that matters" floating through his mind, he fell into slow-slow mode and pushed on.  They had been out there 3 hours already.  The Coolest Dude knew  it was going to be a painful ride back to town.

"Kitchel" was closed.  The group broke up.  The lowlifes from Sanford headed back into the jungle and the Cool Dudes found Darling Hill ASAP.  1/2 mile of pavement up and they could collapse next the the car.  And they did.

4 plus hour slog that I would gladly do again.  What a great day in the woods of Vermont.

Later.........................................

Another Great Fourth of July Ride

I was determined to have my act together for this ride. I collected all my riding gear, clothes, etc Saturday night and tossed it all in the truck. At 7:00 AM I had my bike in the truck and was headed to pick up Keith and meet the rest of whoever was riding at the bike shop. The five of us were riding by 8:15 AM.

As I have aged I have noticed it takes me more miles than it used to to feel good on a ride. In my 30s I could go full tilt boogie right out of the gate and not feel like I was going to have a coronary. Now, the body insists on some slow stroking before it accepts the fact I am bound and determined to ride whether it wants to or not. So, the fact that we start a 3 1/2 mile climb as soon as we leave the vehicles, I was off the back and out of sight of the others in the first 100 yards. About a mile into it, the blood vessels in my head calmed down, my legs stopped their whining, and I suddenly felt well enough to kick it into a higher gear. And imagine my surprise when I began to actually catch up some.

Seems there is some fitness lurking deep inside me somewhere. I felt great the rest of the ride even when I was laid over the bars into a steep climb. Today was a good day in the woods.

The Demoralizer

We all have days of recreating that are in some way or ways more memorable than others. Good and Bad. The weather was perfect for that vacation. Or the weather was not. That night out on the town left you grinning or just grateful to be back home with your head on the pillow. Group rides in the woods can often become tests of one's will just to complete them. Or the trails and the mindset blend together offering you that rare perfect or almost perfect ride. Sunday was such a day.

The edgy cantankerous chip I have been shouldering in recent weeks did not give me a warm and fuzzy feeling Sunday morning when my eyes popped open prematurely at 3:00 AM. I woke up surly and showed up at the trail head at Fort Rock in a very pissy mood. I was nursing a pulled crotch muscle, I had only slept 6 or 7 hours in the last 2 days, and I had forgotten my Camelbak full of water, tools, and something to munch on. Yep, all the ingredients to suffer a forgetful ride were in place. I looked at the spare bottle I always carry for when some other dope forgets his Camelbak and mumbled to myself, "Yeah it figures Mike, you'd be the dope today." My Karma exuded negativity. I seemed determined to have a shitty day in the woods.

Fort Rock is a regionally famous network of trails in southern New Hampshire. Riding there is always a challenge. Rocky, rooty, narrow wooden bridges, it has it all except the killer hill climbs some other areas have. My experience there is limited. I may have ridden those trails 3 or 4 times in the last 10 years. Until Sunday's ride, the technical aspects of the trails always got the better of me. An hour in and I became frustrated by the constant dismounts to walk sections that intimidated me. Sunday I still walked some, but I was not intimidated. The trail would have to force me off my bike. And it did. I went down hard at least 3 times I can remember. Unfortunately it was the "Lil Princess" that took the brunt of the damage this day. She left some serious paint on the rocks there. My helmet took a good whack also, immediately reminding me why I wear one.

"The Groove", "The Zone" - Whatever we may call it, there are moments when everything seems to cease to exist except that which we are experiencing at the moment. While I did not find my groove every time I rolled up to some intimidating or technical section, I found "my Zone" more than enough to wipe that shitty attitude out of my mind replacing it by rides end with a feeling of satisfaction I cannot really put into words other to say Sunday's ride left me with serious grin factor.

The Demoralizer

"The Demoralizer" is a very technical trail that never lets up. Constantly dipping, flipping and slipping up root ladders and down over baby head rocks nestled into and among boulders that intimidate just with their size. If memory serves, my last visit to this trail, I spent more time walking than riding. Sunday I attacked it and let's say it was a draw. The important thing was it did not demoralize me. My failures on it on fed my desire to come back and prove it is wrongly named.

WOOD

Wood anything when utilized on mountain bike trails has made me nervous for over 20 years now. It was a nasty crash back in 1987 on a fast rolling downhill during the last "White Mountain Championships" that planted my fear of wood. At the bottom of the downhill run, the trail crossed a wooden bridge that completely collapsed when I hit it at speed. Me, the bike, and the bridge dropped about 8 feet before stopping in the boulder strewn creek bed the bridge was crossing. It hurt. It hurt deep. Since then when faced with a wooden bridge on my bike, I am prone to walk it before I ride it. Yeah, I am a Nancy when it comes to wood. Sunday we faced lots of wood. And I rode most of it. I can only think of 2 bridges I walked. And both only because I screwed up the approach. The bridge below is one I walked. Maybe that guy wishes he had also.



Keep smilin........................

Blue Job

Over the last 24 years of mountain biking here in New England, I have more than likely ridden thousands of times in the woods around my area. Any day riding is a good day. Even those days when I came home wet, cold, beat beyond belief, or bleeding from being caught being stupid. Then there are days like today's ride at Blue Job State Park. Timing, location, weather, my mindset, and the group who decided to go all combine to make some rides stand out as rides to remember. Funny how many of my most memorable rides seem to center around this small state park tucked away near Rochester, New Hampshire.

All of us locals know Winter is just around the corner. Live here long enough and you get a feel for when those last nice days of Fall are happening. I guess I should not have been surprised to see so many riders hanging in the shop parking lot this morning. They all knew the days of wearing shorts and light weight gloves were numbered. With less than 24 hours notice, 10 riders had decided to head over to catch one of the best views in southern New Hampshire and Maine combined. The 1300 foot plus Blue Job towered over anything nearby, offering any who climbed her almost a 360 degree view of everything within a 50 mile radius. On a clear day, the Atlantic 30 some miles away is visible. Today was a clear day. A beautiful day.


Here in the East we do not have the panoramic vistas found out West. Views such as can be had atop Blue Job are not rare, but generally not common. Our landscape does not jump out at you. It sneaks up on you. Most of our riding is done under the cover of trees or inside walls of pucker. Being out in the open is usually a brief experience. Blue Job changes that. The top of the lower peak is the closest thing we have to slick rock. Granite slabbed with deep cracks make riding it always a challenge. And the climbing will test the baddest goat in any bunch of riders.

Our group was made up of fast young guys on single speeds, one stupidly fast older guy, and then the rest of us. I brought up the rear. As the bow hunter we passed on the way up responded to my comment that I was the last of the group, "Someone has to be last. Might as well be you." Yeah, might as well be me.

The ride is a short one in mileage, but not short on climbing. Starting at the Rochester reservoir, we climb steadily for 3 1/2 miles. Fool around on top for awhile and then 3 1/2 miles back down to the cars. Everything from recently graded dirt roads at the beginning to steep ledges no one cleaned. This ride will beat you up.

I started the ride not feeling good nor did I feel bad. I was riding my new 29er VooDoo hardtail with rigid fork. I had no expectations other than to see what "Lil Princess" would let me get away with. Once again I came away more impressed than ever with the 29 inch experience. I cleaned sections that have always given me trouble and her climbing abilities were way beyond my skillset and fitness level. The downhill back was long and brutal in sections. I had concerns about how I would handle it with no suspension up front. The Lil Princess laughed at most of it and when I choked on some sections and slowed down, I could almost hear her teasing me with words like "Wimp, loser, lets go you flounder, let off the brakes".

What a great bike. What a great day. What a great bunch of folks to ride with. Days like today are what I live for.
_______________________________________________
Credits - Dash Jim provided the GPS map and the group picture
- Jim provided the picture of yours truly
- I took the picture of one of the young punks.

Dangerously Pink

I first wote this back in the Summer of 2005. Posted it in my other blog where it died from lack of attention. Regardless, here it is again in a new format.

A woman came into my bikeshop a few weeks ago. This is not an unusual occurrence, but how she dressed and acted was. Located in Maine, our community prides itself in reticent Yankee behavior. We dress down most times and are slow to warm to strangers. So, the invasion by a boisterous and buxom woman dressed completely in Pink, big hair, and enough makeup to make Maybelline bust with pride was a noteworthy event.

When I say she was pink, I mean pink. Pink pumps, pink miniskirt wrapped around a rather generous butt and a pink belly button blouse that highlighted a naval piercing with a, you guessed it, pink stone in the setting. She even smelled pink. A heavy odor of what I imagine 2 thousand pink flowers would smell like. And to top off the overall effect, a wide pink hairband that kept her Baltimore doo standing up and living large. As soon as I saw her, I thought of Divine and the movie "Pink Flamingos". The only thing missing was the "Bawlamer" accent. When she opened her mouth, the hard speech of someone from the blue collar fringes of Boston came out.

Our encounter was a comedy. She had recently purchased a couple of new bikes from some mass merchant nearby. She wanted to outfit them and her with many accessories. Racks, Helmets, locks, etc. As I worked through all the options, she took every chance she could to throw her sexuality in my face. She was obviously well versed in using her female wiles to seduce men to her bidding. A touch here, an accidental brush there. And always that pink smell permeating the whole shop. I countered every attempt of hers to get close with tactful retreats to keep her out of "my space". I am only human and that smell combined with her overwhelming femaleness was having it's affect on me. It was not like she was seducing me, rather it was more winning by overwhelming me with superior firepower.

After setting her up with all the goodies she wanted and I had her safely on the other side of the counter, I began to breath easier. The 3 feet of glass and wood seemed enough of a barricade to keep me faithful to my wife and out of the madness of brief encounters with the opposite sex. She paid for her items and turned to leave. Then she stopped and turned, making sure all that could jiggle did jiggle. Dirty thoughts danced through my mind as she began to inquire about having me show her how her new bikes worked. I did not answer. And as she repeated herself, she smiled that knowing smile that she still had it. She could still turn a man's head.

She knew she had me if she wanted me. I had lost. That jiggle turn had done it. The icing on the cake. Satisfied she had another notch in her gun belt. She said see ya and left. I sat there staring at the door for several moments wondering what had just happened. It had been a lot of years since a woman had turned my head like that. The feeling was familar but new at the same time. And then I grinned and thought, "Damn women. Gotta love em. We have no choice. They literally have us guys by the short hairs."

*** Artwork by Norman Engel

From BoZone - 7/8/05

"Lil Princess"

I have never honored a bike by creating a special name for it. Most often or as I recollect, I will use their model name. For instance I call my Rocky Mtn "Blizzard", "The Blizzard". My dual suspension scoot I simply call "The Slayer", it's model name. And to be honest, I had nothing to do with the naming of my current new ride, the VooDoo "Dambala". It was Pratt Rat Keith who came up with it. Somebody had to. If any bike I have owned deserves it's very own special name, it would be the "Dambala".

"Lil Princess" took her first ride this morning. Mike took his first ride on a 29" wheel bike that was the right size for the stubby SOB. The two fell in love at some point. Well, Mike fell in Love. Not sure about "Lil Princess". She hasn't said much. But apparently she is fine with the set up so far. She didn't dump Mike in the first stream bed he rode her over. She was the perfect lady all morning.

Mike always had a weak spot for long legged women. Princess had him half way bagged and tagged the minute Mike finished building her wheels. He leaned them up against the counter and wondered what she would look like when she got her legs under her. When he was done gusseying her up with all kinds of new fancy pieces and parts, he stood back and realized she was just about the prettiest bike he had ever built. Not the most beautiful, but the prettiest. In a "can't look away, have to look" kinda way. "Lil Princess" is a brassy broad.

Now this less than manly build has caused some lips to flap here in southern Maine. I am sure that at the next big hoe down with riders from away, it will create even more of a stir. My manhood has been drawn into question. People might think I bat from the other side or at the least am a switch hitter. And I will admit, putting my butt on the "Lil Princess" the first time had me wondering myself.

Ultimately, it is the ride the bicycle gives back that matters. Not the high end parts and bling that do it, but the ride. How it looks to others should never matter if the rider themselves are pleased with how it turned out. And let me tell you, my efforts to build the "Anti-Black" bike turned into more than I could have hoped for. The pink I added was just to make sure those lips had something to flap about.

But looks are only skin deep. How does the Princess ride? She ain't scared that's for sure. Even when Mike was wondering if he was going to stack it on that next log coming up, Lil Princess just took it hard and kept going. Rock gardens were a tad challenging, what with the rigid fork and all. Apparently though Lil Princess just flexed those big wheels of hers and floated over them. Mike was ecstatic. At this point Mike is more than pleased with the ride.

More than pleased - is that possible?

More to come.............................

The Spirit of the Snake

After I removed the wasted chain and rear derailleur from the Rocky "Blizzard", I tossed it in the corner and forgot about it. Well, I did not toss it, but I may as well have. I feel guilty. That bike was and is the best fit I have ever had from a bicycle. That bike has been the most dependable bike I remember tossing a leg over. Ride after ride, it did what I asked with little complaint. And now it sits broken and bleeding in a dusty corner of my shop.

I will fix it. It will ride again. But the surgery needed requires that the patient be stablized first. I don't think the Blizzard is yet. It took quite a hit. It needs a few days to recover, before it can handle any more shock to it's system. The derailleur hanger is bent badly. I expect to be successful in straightening it, but I need to be prepared for the worst case scenario - Loss of a limb due to extreme trauma. But the Blizzard is tough. I am sure it will pull through.

In the meantime, as expected, the parts for my new ride came in the day after the Blizzard's suicide attempt. UPS Guy pulled up in front while I was out back washing Ave's old GT Zaskar. After he left, I looked at the four boxes and wondered how long it would take me to build the wheels. Nevermind finish the build.

I had promised to stay late to help Young Jim from Shapleigh bleed his Shimano Deore Brakes after I closed tonight. I figured between helping him and telling tales, I might just leave for home with the wheels built.


Dash Jim(another Jim - we have way too many Jims hanging out here)swung by in the late afternoon. Since he is the Hydraulic Brake Master, he took Young Jim under his wing and between the two of them, took care of completely rejuvenating Young Jim's brakes. I was left alone to build my wheels. And build them I did.

Not satisfied with getting this far on the custom build, I began to install parts on the Frame. Headset lead to Fork which led to Bars and Stem which led to Tires which led to Cranks and finally it all stopped after Derailleurs, Cassette & Chain. Before I knew it, it was stupid late and I had an almost complete bike to take pleasure in.

Tomorrow I finish it. Uh, no, make that later today. Time really flies when you are having fun.

JRA

It was only fair. The wave of luck I had been riding had to break at some point. For the past few years I was replacing parts because I had worn them out, not broken them. Yeah, I was beginning to feel pretty damn cocky. Even this season seemed to be going like the last few. An adjustment here, a tweak there, some new cables, maybe change the brake pads once in awhile, and a regular bath for my ride seemed all I needed to keep the Blizzard happy and content.

This sudden meltdown that came from nowhere has me wondering. I have suspicions. The first sign of trouble was some weeks ago. I was grinding up a hill and suddenly the chain leaped into the spokes. Some chain links had twisted and the chain shifted itself right off the big cog.

"Okay", I thought, "No big deal. Shit happens." I shortened the chain and went on my merry way.

My rides became mechanically blissful again. No issues other than mud grunged derailleurs slowing the shifting or brakes squealing when they got wet. I still had the constant battle with that rear tire. The damn thing just would not hold air longer than a few days. Well, I could be stubborn too. I just kept the air to it before each ride.

A month or so ago I began to dream of a new bike. If it lived up to my expectations it would most likely replace the Blizzard as my go to ride on most days. For weeks I thought about this new bike. For weeks I talked up this new bike. Seven days ago I ordered up parts for my new bike. And last night, the night before all those shiny new parts were slated to come in, the Blizzard found a stick and committed Hari Kari. It self destructed. I had nothing to do with it. I was Just Riding Along.

Without the Vibration

Keeping a level head when dealing with an avid cyclist who desires to custom build a bike from the frame up is a skill I have tried to hone over the years. In the process of the many custom builds I have worked up, worked on, or just ordered the parts so the customer could build it, I learned that it can be a very stressful situation for my customer. Most have thought about and maybe even dreamed about the bike that will fill their every desire or image of what that bike will be. They often have spent many man hours pouring over magazine articles, wasted stupid hours surfing the Internet, calling riding buds for opinions, and generally worked themselves into a frenzied state I would characterize as a manic bee with too many flowers to pick from. They almost vibrate.

It is more than simply plopping down money and wheeling out of the store on a brand new factory built scoot. That will create excitement and joy. But to nurse a wish list into that new dream bike transcends the mere joy of picking a bike from the sales floor. Most hardcore cyclists, even if they have not yet had a custom built bike created, lust after one. We cyclists always find something we would like better than the factory spec. Yes, we often will make changes after we buy a showroom bike. That just does not create the excitement and anticipation working up the perfect bike in your mind does.

The trick to keeping the process on an even keel and keeping at least one of us sane during this transaction is to detach myself from the emotions the customer has invested in it. I try to build excitement, but without the vibration.

Once all the pieces and parts have been decided on and the orders to the various vendors have gone out, the ensuing lull in action from list to actual build is often the worst time for me as a dealer. I used to figure after holding their hand through the parts pick and keeping their choices grounded in reality, the hard part is over. It is just beginning. They have spent their money and unless they stepped up with some extra jingle for fast shipping, it seems UPS slows down just to make their lives and mine miserable. The build is actually anti climatic as the customer has usually worked through most of their fussin and frettin before the fact. Beginning the build for me is when I start to relax. When I relax, they seem to relax. And soon, they are out riding their new ride.

Yes, over the years I have become somewhat.......what's a good word? All business or professionally detached maybe. Yeah, another nice bike for you. So what. I see them all the time. Let's get the parts in, put em together, and get you the Hell out there on your new bike. The sooner it is done, the sooner I can move on to the next project.

Recently, I reminded myself how whacked a customer can get when I decided to yes, that's right, become my own customer. Not only am I dealing with a crazed cyclist who wants their new ride yesterday, as the crazed cyclist I am being forced to deal with a dealer who seems to be less than attentive to my needs. I am caught in the worst nightmare I could have. I am trying to keep myself happy and calm, and restrained. I have been contemplating and scheming for a couple of months now about this new bike I will build up for myself. And try as I might, I cannot seem to even come close to professional, never mind conjure up any sort of detachment.

I have successfully made my final choices of what frame, parts and look I am shooting for. I have ordered up most and will finish ordering tomorrow all the parts I need not in stock to complete the vision I have of what this next "perfect ride" will be. It has been over 5 years since I gave myself a new bike form scratch. Lord knows I do not need another bicycle. I just want one.

I have rationalized this effort as having some kind of benefit for the shop. Like building up a custom bike for myself is really for the bike shop. Yes, it will showcase my wheel building skills and assembling skills such as they are. And yes, I would like to have a 29' wheeled bike in the shop to show folks what is possible with them. But I am not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I'm getting a new bike and right now I am driving the bike dealer part of me crazy. How the Hell I put up with yahoos like me, I'll never know.

Forget vibrating, I am shaking here.

More to come.............................................

Beautiful Wheels

Wheels are my favorite parts found on bicycles. They are my favorite bike part to repair. They are my favorite cycling component to build. They are always the first thing I look at when checking out a new ride that might stop by. These simple combinations of some wire, aluminum hubs and alloy hoops represent the best of the Man's attempts to master his domain. Without wheels, I would guess we would be but slugs riding fur covered beasts and still believing the world is flat. Science guys, history guys and Margaret Mead types all agree the Wheel is one of the top ten accomplishments that sped up the separation between us hairless bipeds and everything else.

I am still impressed with the engineering and Physics that allow a couple of two pound circles of metal and rubber to hold up successfully for many miles, a two hundred pound plus size guy like me. I often shake my head in wonderment over what a well built set of wheels will let a rider get away with. Drops of several or many feet. Bearing down some asphalt ribbon at 50 mph on tires not even one inch wide. Yes bicycle wheels are wonderful examples of just how smart our tech people are. And every year, the wheels available get lighter and stronger.

At first glance, bike wheels seem to be simply made and crude by today's standards of micro technology that has to be plugged into some power grid to work type gadgetry. Appreciation for what wheels really are comes from riding them for hours, months, years. But when one goes to build one, it is then the true beauty and genius of a spoked wheel comes out. Assembled using calculations and processes figured out hundreds of years ago, their basic construction has not changed. In my opinion there is no better representation of the perfect marriage of simplicity, aesthetics, and technology than a well laced and trued wheel.

Hard core cyclists often spend insane amounts of money for a new pair of wheels. Sometimes they think a new set will make them faster. And sometimes a new set does. But generally I think new bicycle wheels are just one of those bike parts some of us crazed riders can't have enough of. I have built or bought so many wheel sets over the years, I do not even know anymore how many I own. As I write I am scheming and dreaming about my next personal wheel build.

My next set will be different from any other set I have built up for myself. They will be 29" rims laced and twisted to some hub set I haven't decided on yet. I will use them as the first component I hang on my first 29er hardtail. And as it has happened before, I will enjoy every moment of inserting spokes and slowly, from a pile of dissimilar parts, a useful and beautiful component for my next bicycle will take shape. I can't wait.

When the Season is Over

We are over two Weeks into September now and I am beginning to evaluate the year we had at the bike shop. All in all, the oddest year in my 11 seasons here in Springvale, Maine.

I may be a tad premature in reflecting on what has transpired these last 8 months. The traditional curve of the seasonal bike business has been turned on it's ear this year. Mud Season came late and stayed way past it's welcome. We lost June and July to 22 inches of rain consistently spread out over the 60 days or so. August was excellent. And two plus weeks into September, we have already surpassed last September by a long shot.

One year ago, I was sure CRUM Cycles would not be in existence much longer. I certainly did not expect to be here with my doors open in September, 2009. The shop had been struggling long before the big financial meltdown that visited us last year this time. Add the doom and gloom scenario scared up by so much World wide money disappearing overnight, and yeah, I had pretty much written off the bike shop.

Over last winter I fell into a deeper funk than I usually do when the Sun sits low and the days are only 8 hours long. I anguished over what I would do to make ends meet. I was 56 years old and had no skills other than driving trucks, pounding nails, or twisting wrenches on bicycles. All of which were fields hard hit by the layoffs that resulted from so many companies downsizing or going belly up.

Around February of this year, I came out of my shell and re-opened the bike shop. I had accrued some past due debt from the previous 3 years of struggling. Each ensuing summer was spent trying to pay off old debt and aquiring new debt to have to pay off the next summer. I had fallen into a bad routine for a small retail business.

I entered this year with two things in mind. Keep the doors open long enough to pay down as much debt as possible. And come Hell or high water I would not take on any new debt. If I ended the season by locking my doors, so be it. I would have at least given it one more good shot.

That was back in February. It is now September. Funny how much can change in such a short time. Instead of thinking about the best way to close my doors, I am scheming about the best way to expand and grow. My enthusiasm for this business has never been better. I am considering any and all possibilities I can think of to make CRUM Cycles once again a solid profit based business.

It took this odd summer combined with the economic situation I was in to turn me around. Back against the wall so to speak. Fight or give up. And though the struggle is not even close to over, I have had enough victories this year to reinforce my will to go on. SO let this be my promise to myself and to anyone interested. I am determined to see CRUM Cycles here next year at this time. And hopefully have even more positive vibes to share.


Thanks for listening.........................

Going Slow

They say the Male ego is a fragile thing. Hmm.

Cycling is one of those activities that can be enjoyed on an infinite number of levels. Solo pedaling - Alone with the machine, your body and the environment you have chosen to explore. Family cruising - Mom and Dad with the kids trailing behind like some gaggle of goslings. Group rides that become intense competitions at the front. All ages can enjoy cycling. Learning to ride a bike is one of "the rites of Passage" most of us go through. At some point or many, a bicycle is part of our lives.

As a child I wanted to start cycling slow. I seem to recall wanting to ease into it. My memory remembers anything but. Tossed onto a bike way too big without training wheels and pushed down a hill, I remember being terrified. This was going to hurt. It did. Bruised and battered, I tried to refuse any more attempts to put me on these two wheeled death traps. At age four, came my first warning that there are indeed people out there who want to harm me. My virginal trust took it's first hit.

Of course my monstrously huge cycling mentors would have none of it. They let me alone for awhile, but then they came for me again. And again. And again. At some point I must have decided I would have to figure this "balance" thing out if I was going to survive. Do that and they'd leave me alone. And even though my mind cannot really tune in the specifics very well, I obviously figured it out. And I even found it pleasurable. But I still think the "shock and awe" technique used on me bordered on the sadistic.

So I began to ride bicycles. I began to roam further than the arbitrary parental boundaries supposedly set in stone. I went slow. The bike allowed me to expand my horizons. I learned to ride in traffic and survive. I learned how to take on steep hills with one gear. I learned there was a huge World out there I would never ever know all of. A bicycle gave me my first taste of freedom. One of many future "Eureka" moments came to my young mind. Rules (which would later in my life be called laws) were nothing but strongly worded suggestions that brought with them repercussions if I was caught not following those suggestions. Free Will - it did exist.

Over the following 50 years or so, I enjoyed and sometimes toiled many hours away on the seat of a bicycle. I tasted many different types of riding -solo rides, off road and on. Rides that were competitions. And last and probably most enjoyed, the group ride.

The group ride is an event with many different dynamics wrapped into it. The riders at the front always seem to push each other and end up enjoying the competition of trying to stay in the front. The riders in the middle are a mixed bag. Many can hang in the front, but are on the ride for the company. Some riders of the middle often feel stuck. The want to be up at the front, but for some reason they just can't quite hang there. And finally there are the folks at the back.

The group who toil at the rear struggling to keep up are another mixed group usually. New riders with no skill sets or fitness often are frustrated and end the rides unhappy. They want to keep up. They feel some kind of misguided guilt for holding everyone up. They have not yet learned to relax. It's just a bike ride for Chrisakes.

On every group ride there is at least one rider who does not care to keep up. They will keep up if they can, but his/her main goal is to ride the ride, not race it. For them who enjoy a more relaxing pace the group ride is a social gathering of like minded souls. It's a bike ride for Chrisakes. Lives are not being held in balance over whether everyone else hangs at a corner or intersection another minute for the Slow Guy to show up.

I have become that guy. The Slow Guy. If truth be told I have been that guy for more than a few years now. When it first dawned on me I would most likely not be at the front for long, I fought it. I got angry at myself for being the group anchor. But there comes a time when we all need to check our egos at the door. I just cannot ride as fast as I used to. And finally I have become content with this reality. I actually am beginning to enjoy being slow. I am beginning to be less intent on keeping up and more intent on witnessing the land I am going through. Just yesterday, I spotted a fox close on a group ride. Only because I was alone off the back and cruising at a civilised tourista pace. And another "Eureka" moment came into my mind. Free Will still exists.

Tools

Tools. The implements we use to do our jobs, support our lifestyle, create a positive cash flow. We all use them.

The truck driver has his truck, the broker his ticker tape. Cops have cars and guns. And kids have their toys.

Tools are not restricted to just the metallic gadgets we fix mechanical contrivances with. Tools can be a set of rules, guidelines or strategies we use to make it through our weeks, our months and years on this planet.

Yes, everyone of us has a variety of tools we draw upon to labor successfully or play gleefully. Some tools have serious intent. Their very construction and appearance tell us to use these tools with care. Other tools we dig out just so we can cope, hope, or deal with the travesties and trials encountered on the trip from the cradle to the grave. Tools that have no presence outside of our minds. But are probably the ones we rely on the most.

I am sure I could lose myself and compose many paragraphs on the emotional and subjective tools we use to smooth our ways. However, in an effort to stay on track - this post is really just a tribute to hand tools. Not power tools. Not tools of persuasion. Just tools held in my hand. Tools that tell me by their shape and feel just what they are for. I especially like tools needed to do specific jobs or that are found only in certain areas of repair or production. To narrow it down even further, I will say that I am fascinated by bicycle tools. The more obscure the better. I don't even need to have a tool because I know I will need it. I will acquire a tool just because. No other reason than to just derive pleasure from my ownership of that tool.

Often I am just thrilled to find a hand tool that addresses those small repair irritations cleanly and quickly. Take for instance the "PP-1", the hydraulic piston press from Park Tool. Ever since Disc brakes came on the bike scene a regular problem was how to pry open closed caliper pads without damaging the pads. A screw driver would work, but never gave me a warm fuzzy feeling of confidence. It is not a sexy tool. Certainly not as awe inspiring or intimidating as the TS-2 Truing Stand. But no less important in my opinion.

It is not one tool that turns my head, it is the grouping of tools that does. On those rare occasions when I have put every tool back in it's place and I have cleaned the bench top of the grease and oil spots accumulated over the day, I will often just stand back and look at the collection of wrenches, pliers, cutters and screw drivers. Sometimes I wonder at the process we humans have gone through to even come up with such a collection of implements. How these tools stand out as the major difference between us and the the rest of the animal world. Other times I get lost for a moment in appreciation. Thanking my father for instilling in me a love of tools and the productive things that can be done with them. It always seems to follow then, I will think of my daughter and my own efforts to pass down this appreciation to another generation. And I will smile.

Standing for a Mechanical Ideal

Check out the hot ride in the early part of the 20th Century over across the Big Pond. Labor Cycles were winning races. You were a stud if you rode one. Ride down any street in France on one of their "Truss-Bridge" Racing Cycles, old ladies swooned and men stepped out of the way. Children would trail you skipping, jumping and giggling as only children can.





Meanwhile over here in the States, Iver Johnson Sporting Goods was creating profit by building guns and bikes. When Uncivil wars end the machine creating and supplying the tools of death had to find new avenues to pursue. Manufacturing momentum is not something that can be turned off on a dime. Too many people, communities, nations came to depend on the weapons makers for their livelihood. From steel furnaces tended to by soot covered men with blackened leather gloves to the artisans etching filigree in bad light onto the barrels of millions of guns, Society had come to rely on the idea of Mass Production.


As it turns out Iver Johnson had their finger on the pulse of America. America had become fascinated with technology. Especially the technology of transportation that did not rely on four legged hay burners or monstrous eight wheel locomotives. The bicycle was coming into it's own in the late 1800s and Iver Johnson saw to it they were part of it. They had the technology. They had the factories. They had the railroads running right up to their doors. They would be able to fill the growing need for personal weaponry and personal locomotion. Two things we Americans seem to covet even to this day.

After all, their ad says it all

"IVER JOHNSON" is not merely the name of a man - it stands for a mechanical ideal

Customer Service

About the time I feel the beginnings of a rut forming around the summer season down to CRUM's, I have a day like today. Around the end of August, beginning of September, my enthusiasm for bicycle retail and repair begins to wear thin. I feel ragged, rough around my edges. My mood can become more contrary. I find I have less time for the same questions I answered enthusiastically back in May. By this time of my busy season, I fall more into just the motions. My frantic scurry has slowed to more of a shuffle. The weight of a thousand flat tires, hundreds of mangled derailleurs, and too many wasted minutes answering questions like, "Do you work on bikes" do take their toll.

Then a day like today comes along just when I need it. A day I could have rightfully dealt with in an ugly mood turned into one of those special days at CRUM Cycles. A repair discussed two months ago and one I lost serious money and time to finally came off the stand today. And on the other stand I watched and loaned the occasional hand to a sweet Single Speed custom build. That "Niner" left the shop in the hands of a very happy camper about 8:30 PM.

The repair that seemed so straight forward two months ago turned into the repair from Hell. I spent $150 in new parts to make $90. And I drove 100 miles this morning just to secure the needed parts to lose that $60. But sometimes you just gotta suck it up and do what it takes to make the customer walk out satisfied and feeling they got what they asked for. What they paid for. It's okay to bitch about it to yourself. Whine to friends and strangers who may happen by. But in the end, handing over the finished repair without comment or even a whimper is what is important.

Doing the right thing even though it may require costs above and beyond is something I feel feeds positive wavelengths and vibes to both myself and the customer. I get to feel good about myself and know with certainty I deserve it this time.

Thanks again to Dash Jim for another picture.

The Tangled Web I Wove

Accustomed to biting off more than I can chew, I dove right in on this website creation gig. Thinking I was some kind of idiot savant, prodigy, or maybe just thought "anyone can do this, it ain't rocket science", I hooked up with Go Daddy Dot Com and bought into their Website Tonight program. For not much money they provide a limited number of templates and as it turns out a very limited number of options to get a basic website up and running.

After 10 or so very frustrating hours, I threw in the towel. Seems there are some simple minds who cannot grasp simple things. Actually I found the process less sophisticated than the spiffy gadgets and doodads I have been taking for granted these past 5 years on the Google blogging templates. Website Tonight is for someone who has no experience. Not for someone like me with just enough experience to be dangerous.

Okay. I now realized that building a website might be easy, but having more than just a bit of HTML savvy was probably a good idea. It also might be helpful to have more than just a hint of a clue of how this stuff worked. In desperation, I googled like a fool to find that magic free fix that would create the website I dreamed of. After all, I don't have any scratch to pay for something real. And here I thought knowing which side of the mouse did what was all there was to it.

There were plenty of free templates and more than a little advice free for the taking. After checking out some and playing with a few, I decided to go with the web builder that came with my Microsoft Office program. I mean Hell, all I want to do is get one page out there with contact information and a sign that says Site Under Construction". The "blow their socks off" site would come later once I figured out how it all worked. Yeah right. I think now I would settle for the "just let em know you exist" site.

More to come................

In the Beginning

Okay. Since my recent brush with a low rent Domain squatter, I have decided that I need to pay more attention to the predators who swim in Internet waters. I have started this blog as an add on to the new website I am creating for my bike shop. I had an old web site. It was "crumcycles.net". I guess I did not deserve to hold onto it. I never paid any attention to it. I assumed the people I had hired to watch out for it would actually do what I was paying them to do. I dropped the ball, they dropped the ball.

So here I am 10 years later having to go through the process of creating a new web presence. Oh well.

Pictured on the left is Dave. Dave is a crazy man. Dave is holding up the new 29"single speed wheel he built up in my shop. I like Dave. Everyone likes Dave. But Dave is indeed a whacko single speeder.

Thanks to "Dash Jim" for the photo.