A Pre-Ride Checklist

Some of you may be experienced cyclists or mechanics. So the information in this post may not be new to you.

However, for those of you who haven't been cycling for very long, or are afraid to adjust anything on your bike (When I first started cycling, someone told me "derailleur" is French for "don't try to fix this!") I found this handy little infographic. It shows you what to check before you embark on a ride.

Even if the information is "old hat" to you, I thought you might enjoy the infographic just because it's nicely done:

From BicyclingHub.com

Never Again--Until Now, Of Course

In an earlier post, I talked about the futility (for me, anyway) of saying “Never again!”

I built up a Trek hybrid frame from about 1990 and used it as an errand/”beater” bike for a few weeks before deciding it was just a little too big for me and giving it away.  I said I wasn’t going to do anything like that again.

Did some famous person say all resolutions are temporary?  Or is that just some rationale I’ve devised for breaking vows I make?

 

Or, perhaps, I’m just in the habit of making promises to myself that I simply can’t keep.  You know, like the one that I was going to live as a cisgender heterosexual male.  Oh, well.

Anyway…You’ve probably guessed where this is going.  Another bike found its way to me.  Yes, really, it did…just like that kitten I brought home as a kid followed me home.

Actually, I found it at a yard sale in Brooklyn—not far from the neighborhood in which I grew up.  And the owner made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.  Well, I could have, but I don’t have that much resolve.  What can I say?

So for a princely sum of ten bucks I found myself in possession of a Schwinn LeTour manufactured in October 1975.

The frame itself had barely a scratch and seemed to be in perfect alignment. However, the rims and spokes were rusty, perhaps from sitting in a garage or basement.  Those parts, and the others—except for the tires and seat—were original equipment.

I took everything off the bike, as I would have done to overhaul it.  Then I unlaced the wheels, tossed the rims and spokes and gave the tires, seat and handlebars to Recycle-A-Bicycle.

As the bike probably hadn’t been ridden much, the other parts were in very good condition.  So I decided to list them on eBay, figuring that they’d be good for “period” restorations.

In my listings, I made sure to mention that the parts were original equipment on a ’75 LeTour.   A guy in Tennessee bought the derailleurs, shift levers, cranks and bottom bracket; other buyers bought single parts.  The brake levers—complete with the “suicide” extensions—went to a fellow in Switzerland!

While I didn’t make a fortune from those parts, they netted me enough money to buy a pair of wheels.  I know, they’re kind of strange:  the kind of “Deep V” rims you might find on a “hipster fixie”, with a coaster brake on the rear.  But I figure the rims will take a beating and the coaster brake won’t require a lot of maintenance.  Plus, the bike is going to be used for errands and such, and locked in all manner of places, so I wasn’t looking to assemble a technological marvel.

Those wheels were all I’d need to buy. (After assembling the bike, I bought the Wald baskets.)  The other parts came off other bikes or were acquired for projects I never pursued.  And I got the fenders in a swap.  Someone had drilled them for a custom fitting but decided he didn’t want steel fenders.  The way I fitted them to the LeTour is inelegant, but somehow right.  Anyway, it works.

I’m not going to sell or give this one away.  At least, not for a while, anyway. ;-)

A Guest? Or An Alien?

Perhaps you’ve noticed them:  the bikes parked on your block, at your workplace, in front of your favorite bookstore or café, or by any other building or structure that’s part of your everyday environment. They’re there for a couple of days, a week, a month or two, or longer.  Then they’re gone.

They can be any kind of bike, from a Columbia pulled out of a trash heap to a Campagnolo-equipped Colnago, a fixie or a downhill bomber, a classic three-speed or vintage ten-speed.

They’re there, then they’re gone.  Where do they—and, more important, their riders—come from?  Where do they go?  Why are they parked to the parking meters, signposts or fences where you see them?

At different times in my life, one of those bikes has been mine.  I’ve parked in front of campus buildings where I took classes for a few weeks, a few months.  I’ve locked my bike near office buildings where I took workshops or seminars, or worked temporary jobs.  I’ve left my bike chained in front of houses or apartment buildings where I tutored young people who were having difficulties pronouncing Spanish sounds, conjugating French verbs, following the currents of history or constructing a sentence—or simply passing some test or another.  And I’ve had to secure my bike to whatever immobile objects stood around court and precinct houses, sports areanae or performance spaces when I was writing some story or another for a newspaper.

And then, of course, there were the times I parked a couple of times a week, or every day or every night, for a week, a few months, or even a year or two in front of the house or apartment building of someone with whom I had a relationship—or simply some sort of recurring business or errand.

I wonder whether the bike in the photo has a story like any of the ones I’ve mentioned.  I saw it every day for a couple of weeks, then it was gone.  The last time I saw it, I didn’t notice any scratches or marks that weren’t there the first time I saw it.  That’s especially interesting, perhaps even a little disturbing, on such a stark white bike.