Retail Therapy

In the days after 11 September 2001, the US stock market incurred some of its biggest losses up to that point in its history.  Other markets around the world took similar "hits"; some feared that a recession that had begun earlier in the year would turn into a depression.

While there would be further losses, and the economy would show other signs of weakness, by end of 2001, the markets and other sectors of the economy had regained most of their losses.  And, even though tourism (particularly the airlines) experienced a major slump, the economy as a whole didn't fare as badly as some expected.  This, according to economists, was due at least in part to consumer spending.

In other words, people (at least those who could afford to do so) used "retail therapy" to deal with the stress and anxiety caused by events of that time.  They were encouraged by the President himself and enabled by low interest rates on loans and credit cards.

Now, I don't mean to equate the death of my mother with the shock of 9/11, though it's the saddest event of my life.  But I suppose that buying something you like can ease, if momentarily, some emotional pain.  And, aside from what it does to one's budget, I guess it's better than, say, taking drugs or drinking, though not quite as good for a person as bike riding--which, by the way, I've been doing.

Speaking of bike riding--with the emphasis on "bike"--I engaged in a bit of retail therapy.  Yes, I bought another bike.  I couldn't resist.  Well, all right, I could have.  But when the guy who sold it dropped the price, he lowered my resistance.

Truthfully, that bike would have been hard to resist anyway.  For one thing, it's a Mercian.  For another, it's the right size.  And the Campagnolo triple crankset and Rally derailleur definitely are rarities.

Oh, and that paint job!

One of the reasons why I got such a good deal, I believe, is that the bike has sew-up tires.  I haven't ridden such tires in about twenty years, and have no intention of riding them again.  The other things I'll change are the stem (because it's too long) and the saddle.  But, really, I simply couldn't pass up an almost-full Campagnolo bike on a Reynolds 531 frame with that paint job.  That paint job!

And it's a Mercian--a 1984 King of Mercia, to be exact.  The wheelbase and clearances--not to mention the rack braze-ons and the bottle cage mount on the underside of the down tube--give this bike a more-than-passing resemblance to touring bikes from Trek as well as a number of Japanese manufacturers during the early-to-mid '80's.  Tubular tires don't make much sense on it; I think that the original wheels were lost.  

Even after I replace the tires, rims, saddle and stem, this bike will still be a great buy.  Especially with that paint job!

Home, Into The Sunset--For Now

Daylight Savings Time ended last Sunday.  That meant setting clocks back an hour.  A result is that, for at least a couple of weeks, I'll pedal through the sunrise during my commute to work, and cycle through the sunset on my way home.

He Survived Combat. Then His Bike Blew Up.

Once upon a time, before X-boxes and I-phones roamed the Earth, kids actually wanted--and sometimes got--bikes for Christmas.  So, after my first bike shop laid me off early in the Fall, the owner asked whether I could come back for a few weeks in December and early January.  

I was surprised that he would want me, even for a few days, in the New Year.  I would learn that some of the bikes we sold for Christmas would be brought in for adjustments, as promised by the shop.  But other kids brought in bikes their parents hadn't bought from us.  Some of those machines were really twisted.  Even more serpentine were the stories they told us.  My favorite came from the parent of a kid whose wheels had folded into the shape of a certain Bachman's snack.  

According to that kid's supposed role model, the wheel assumed its form when the kid "turned the corner" and "the rim bent."

Now, I admit that my knowledge of physics was, at best, rudimentary.  So perhaps you, dear reader, can forgive me for not understanding how something made from two layers of steel could just fold over when a 65-pound kid turned it at a 45 degree angle.

Oh, and that kid's parent wanted us to replace the wheel--for free--on that bike, which wasn't purchased in our shop or, as best as I could tell, any bike shop.

Perhaps you can thus understand my skepticism when anyone claims that a bike fell apart as he or she rode it.  I know, well, that some bikes aren't very well-made, but very few are so shoddy that they will disintegrate under you as you ride.  I mean, I've heard of Lambert's "death forks" snapping when their riders hit bumps, and of various parts failing in one way or another under normal use.  But I don't recall any bike snapping at its frame joints during the course of a routine ride.

That is, until I came across the story of Ronnie Woodall.  

The Austin, Texas resident was riding along 4th street when the welds broke on his $1600 All City bicycle and sent him flying face-first into a construction fence.

The head and down tubes separated from the steer tube.  The result that Mr. Woodall's nose all but separated from his face.  It was "barely hanging on by this left side of my nostril, across the top," he recalls. The impact, which pushed his head back and twisted his neck,  "blew out out all of the vertebrae in my neck," he explains.

His doctor estimates that it will take $2 million to care of him medically in the future.  All City is a brand from Quality Bicycle Products.  According to a company statement,  QBP has  inspected the bicycle and claims to "have not found evidence" that "the bicycle spontaneously came apart," which is "something that, in our experience, bicycles simply do not do."

Whether or not the bike fell apart at faulty welds, or whether there was some other mitigating circumstance, there is another part of this story that is ironic, almost to the point of being incredible: Ronnie Woodall, a retired 30-year Army veteran, suffered his worst injuries, not on a nameless hill in some distant, forlorn country, but on a bike that cost more than most people in some of those distant, forlorn countries make in a year.  And it happened in the middle of the 11th-largest city in the United States.