Just about everybody on this group sings the praises of the LBS, the
Local Bicycle Shop. I think I'll add my voice to the chorus.
Since I had the time off and it looked like maybe this week would be
the last one with good weather, I decided to go for a record, the longest
ride I've ever done, a ninety-miler around Utah Lake. I parked at the
north end of the lake, where its outlet, the Jordan River, leaves it. The
east shore of the lake is heavily developed, the west is about 2/3
desolate, so I chose to go counterclockwise, getting the tough stretch out
of the way while I was fresh.
Those first thirty miles are not particularly pleasant. It's a narrow,
heavily littered road, mostly lined with barbed wire fences and
tumbleweeds--a good stretch to be done with. Most of the drivers could
see me from far off, and moved over very courteously. The closest of them
was a big flatbed hauling hay, whom I didn't hear coming because of the
wind, and who only moved that big rig over about six feet. Strangely,
later on that leg of the trip, another big flatbed passed going north,
also hauling hay. (Those two guys should really sit down and chat
sometime.) It was with a sense of relief that I crested a rise and saw
the tiny crossroads town of Elberta in the distance. There was a fierce
southwest wind blowing, and I was only managing about 9 mph. I was
anticipating the push that gale would give me on the longer northerly leg
of the trip.
Psst! Just like that, the trip turned from jaunt to struggle. The
bike had less than 900 miles on it, so the tires should have still been
fairly fresh too- I thought. But some innocuous little rock hazard, a
rock or kernel of broken glass, had gotten my rear tire dead center, and
not only did I have a leak in my tube, but a hole in my tire as well.
There wasn't a decent place to pull off and work on the tire, either.
I had to walk about half a mile before I came to the first house in
Elberta and could sit down on a curb out in front of it. Already I was
seeing myself getting out the cell phone and calling for rescue, and not
looking forward to it. I guarantee my mother would have come and gotten
me, but I could also guarantee that she would have said, "See why I worry
about you?"
But I have patched a few tires in my life, including car tires. I
decided to try a car tire technique and see how it went. (As if I had a
choice.) So I patched my tube the usual way, and then stuck my one
extra-large patch to the inside of the tire, where I hoped it would be
enough to protect the 1/8" hole long enough to get me to a store--any
store, even a Wally World, I reflected--that might have a new tire. I put
the tire and tube back on the rim and began to pump them up. Pshht! The
unrepairable stem of the tube chose that moment to fail. Time for the
spare tube. I finally got back aboard and rode gingerly into Elberta,
where I had anticipated acquiring some refreshment at the little store at
the junction of 68 and US-6. No dice, it's closed, as is every other
retail establishment in the whole town. So I headed east, and in Genola,
a few miles further east, turned north up a quiet road that goes through
miles of apple orchards.
Pfft! The patch had failed. Or so I thought. I walked another half
mile to a semidecent stopping place in some alfalfa by a horse corral, and
pulled the rear wheel off again. Nope, this flat was in a different
place. My brand-new tube had survived barely ten miles. Another patch,
and onward. I came to a junction where one road continued north toward
Springville and other went east into Payson, and chose the latter. It
turned out to be my best decision of the day. I limped into town on a
leaking rear tire. (My more lightly loaded front tire has a "Spin Skin"
in it, and has never given me any trouble.) At the local elementary
school there was a crossing guard waiting for his charges to show up. I
asked him if he knew where there might be a park or somewhere with water,
a restroom, and maybe a phone book. He pointed to City Hall, right across
the street. Next I popped the big question: did he know if there was a
bike shop in town? He did, and it was just a couple of blocks away.
Experienced cyclists on the 'net constantly sing the praises of the
"LBS," or Local Bike Shop. I still remember the last and only time I ever
bought a tube at a Shopko--and got precisely zero miles out of it. Just
pumping it up tore a hole in it. The guy in this shop was cordial, and
showed me all the nice tires he had in stock. One minor hitch, though.
The cheapest tire he had was about seven dollars more than I had on me,
not even counting the tube. In desperation I asked him if he'd be willing
to try hand-entering a Visa number for me, as though I had the credit card
on me but it wouldn't read. He agreed to try it, and to my immense relief
I remembered card number, expiration date, and verification number
perfectly the first try. I've been thinking of shutting that account
down, but suddenly I'm thinking maybe it's worth having it after all.
I stepped out to a convenient bench in front of the shop. (Where there
were three bikes from the shop sitting on display, unlocked.) I yanked
the old tube and tire, tossed them in a convenient trash can, and mounted
the new gear, only to find a two-inch slash in the sidewall of the tire.
It wasn't me--I hadn't even used tire irons on the thing. Back into the
shop, where the guy replaced the tire. Problem, after long delay, solved.
But I was running behind. Heading north a couple of blocks, I saw the
most welcome possible sight--the familiar blue-and-white sign, UTA Route
#822. There were a couple of people waiting for it, and they told me the
bus was due any minute. My other bit of good decision making was to carry
a token with me on the bike. I gave up on a complete circumnavigation and
rode the bus into Prove. There I bailed and rode a few miles back to the
marge of Lake le Barge--er, Utah Lake, where my brother lives. After a
brief visit I headed out again, transfer in my pocket, and began to debate
whether it would be worth my while to go back east and look for another
bus. Phooey--there was still some daylight left, and I was on the ULCER
route. I followed the painted route markers that were still visible, and
before long was back in Lehi. Turning west I found myself riding directly
into the setting sun, and realized that overtaking cars would not be able
to see me. So I did something I never, ever do under any other
circumstances. I switched to the left side of the road and rode like a
"Fred" for a few miles.
I made it to the car as it was getting dark. (I do have a little LED
headlight on that bike, but it's more a "be seen" light than a "see"
light.) Despite the wind, still blowing fiercely, and the rapidly
chilling temperatures, there were bugs swarming all over. I mounted the
bike on the rack, jumped into the car, and slammed the door on the bugs
and the trip.
It wouldn't have been a full "century." This ride is about ninety
miles the way I routed it. Because of the bus ride, I only did
seventy-four, just my third-longest ride of the year. Probably my most
interesting, though. Crises like that are fun once they're over.
Lessons learned: (1) Replace flimsy, treadless racing tires
frequently. (2) Always carry either a healthy amount of money, or a
credit card. And (3) appreciate the LBS. Downhill Cyclery in Payson,
Utah, THANK YOU.
Bill
__o | Get a bicycle. You will not regret it, if you live.
_`\(,_ |
(_)/ (_) | -- Mark Twain