Objects in your Mirror are closer than they appear.

I just got home from my annual Tucson trip. It is not a big bike trip but a shopping trip for beads, gems and glass. I do manage to get in a ride if I can and they are always interesting. One thing to keep in mind about Tucson is that is never really flat, at least not South Texas flat. Tucson sits in a bowl of mountains that look really close but are actually just really big. I did a flat ride this year and still got in almost a 1000 feet of climbing. When I lived in Oregon I considered myself a bit of a mountaineer. I moved to South Texas 20 years ago and one morning I woke up a flatlander. This is not a good thing coming from a long line of hillbillies.

I will not refer to the riders in Tucson as hillbillies. It is a term to be used by people who are actually hillbillies. Use by outsiders is usually derogatory. I personally would take offense if a flatlander called me a hillbilly but not if a true kinsman did. It’s a lot like the “N” word. Lawyers have a similar problem with labels. The extent of lawyer jokes should give you a

clue. I have been known to attach various degrading adjectives to the word. This being said, there are a few people I know that are attorneys, fair and noble practitioners of law. They can pretty much be counted on one hand but I can be a harsh judge.

Erik Ryberg (http://www.tucsonbikelawyer.com/) stands out as a noble practitioner. He is a cycling advocate, a former racer and a commuter. He gets very excited about cargo bikes and was as proud as a new father when he showed me his Dutch commuter bike. Last year he used his lunch break to take me up Sentinel Peak. This year he got going early to meet my wife and I for coffee. This means a lot to me and is one of the reasons I try reach out to cyclists who are visiting.

I rented a bike from Fairwheel bikes again. I was hoping to get a Trek Madone but evidently Trek doesn't like short people so I wound up with a Fisher. Good enough for me and more important, it fit. Bruce set it up for me and by some luck of the gods, eyed my legs and adjusted the seat height by eye. I like Bruce a lot. The first time

I rented from him he told me to

“Ride fast and take chances” Unfortunately he jinxed me this time. He innocently asked me if I knew the lay of the land and I foolishly replied “yep”. After all I had a map, what could go wrong?

I had planned on riding with the Cactus Cycling Club but their plans and my time did not work out right. I am a member of the club but just a $20 member. This entitles me to say I am a member on paper but since I only show up once a year, not much more than that. So, I left the bike shop on my own, headed out into the sunny cool morning, and promptly started getting lost. The first wrong turn was a pretty good stroke of luck. I stumbled onto a bike path (no cars) that took me a long way out of town. The second wrong turn was the result of a momentary lapse of reason, a brain fart, or sudden onset dyslexia. A left turn would have taken me to the right road and given me a small chance of connecting up with the club. The right turn I made took me way out of the way to a place even the locals can’t quite place unless they too have gotten lost. Should you ever find yourself at the intersection of Houghton and Valencia, don’t bother to stop and wonder where you are, don’t waste your time looking around for familiar landmarks, you are lost.

There was an upside to this unplanned excursion. The reason I knew that the way I was going was absolutely the wrong way? Somebody moved the mountains. Yes, the hereditary hillbilly surfaced and for one short moment I was a flatlander no more. I turned around and headed back in the right direction, back up the hill and towards the snow. My head was clear, I was heading the right way, and it was indeed a beautiful day.

Shameless Commerce

The harsh reality of life has burst the Utopian bubble of my blog. Yes indeed loyal readers it has come to my attention that I need to make a living. It’s a cruel world we live in but the alternative is, in my case, less than heavenly.

So just in time for the solstice celebration of your choice, I am offering you the chance to buy an Alley Katz T-shirt. The Alley Katz is my logo and can be found on everything from homebrew to bikes. The T-shirt is 100% heavyweight pre-shrunk cotton and sized from small to xxl. A mere $20 buys you one of these lovelies and keeps me one step farther from the poor house. Shipping is $5 for priority mail or I can deliver in the Mission/McAllen area. You can reach me through this blog by posting a comment or you can email me at curtistex@sbcglobal.netnospam. (You'll have to remove the nospam from the address)

Thanks a million and should you need a million shirts, I can arrange that.

The Huffy

I knew this day would come. The day that someone shows up with a Walmart bike for me to fix. The bike that cost less than what I need to charge for the service. My buddies warned me and said I should just say no but I couldn’t do that. How could I tell someone they should toss their bike in a dumpster and save up for something better?

I got a lot of responses when I mentioned that working on the Huffy made me feel dirty. It seems a lot of people started out on Huffys. The famous 7-Eleven Team road Huffys. They were actually made by Ben Serrotta and

then branded Huffy. There really wasn’t anything terribly wrong with the old Huffys. They were heavy and the components were not top drawer but they worked, they were tough and they would get you from point A to Point B.

The bike that came to me was not your fondly remembered old Huffy. This is a Chinese beast that could scare Godzilla. (Oh no, there goes Tokyo!) It is not a road bike and no self respecting fattie would claim it. I could go on all day as to what is wrong with this bike starting with the color. Instead, I will just give you the highlights.

It has an Ashtabula crank. These are easy to work on, all you need is a large crescent wrench and a screwdriver. Aside from that and the cool name they have little else to offer. They were phased out many many years ago and are only compatible with Granny’s garters.

It weighs 38 pounds. That is more than two of my road bikes. It is hard to lift. I can’t imagine trying to pedal it uphill. The brakes are stamped tin and I would not want to ride this behemoth downhill with out steel toed boots and full body armor.

The components are not Shimano, SRAM, Campy or even Tektro. I’m not sure who exactly makes them. Enzo or something. I’ve never heard of them and have placed several industrial strength hex signs on the shop to keep them from ever haunting me again.

The stem is 7/8”. Okay this a bit of a mystery to non-mechanics. It falls into the Bermuda Triangle of reason. Stems are 1” or 1 1/8” for the most part. They are also threadless these days. This one is under sized and a quill. It is a pencil neck. Nobody uses this one except possibly the North Koreans.

So why didn’t I run and hide? It wasn’t bravery, never been my strong suit. The couple were a wee bit heavy and young enough to do something about it. They were having fun riding in the park and above all they were riding. I told them the down side to their bikes and fixed them up cheap. I also promised to take them shopping when they are ready to trade up. The important thing is here is a couple concerned about their health willing to take the first steps to get better. Who am I to let my pride get in their way?

Ride on.

Soyez cool; soyez relax

Every once in a while I just want to go off on a rant. I want to rage against injustice and insult both real and perceived. Right now I really would like to rant but I’m going to be nice. I am not going to call the entirety of the Saturday riders blathering idiots. I am not going to even mention that they were riding ditch to ditch across the road or even that they w

ere ditch to the paint line on a busy highway. Nope, not a word. I am going to be positive and talk about something light and mood enhancing, my favorite squirrels.

Jay Ward’ s creation “Rocky the

Flying Squirrel” has to lead the list. while not as accidentally erudite as his pal Bullwinkle, he still manages to save the day. Not like the wannabe flying squirrels who overtook me from both sides with no announcement.

Twiggy the water skiing squirrel is number two on the list. This intrepid rodent not only water-skis, she teaches safety. The invisible ride captains could learn a lot from Twiggy. Safety is not only fun but if you do it right you get your own travel home and some

mighty fine nuts.

There are not a lot of famous squirrels to draw on for information. There was the one who attacked a buddy of mine while he was playing disc golf. That was shameful and I am not talking about the rodent. The Ninja Squirrel on you tube shows just how maniacal a fuzzy friend can be. Squirrels are just plain dangerous. That’s a fact.

Steven Speilberg debuted Slappy and Skippy in 1993 and they have had quite the career even if it is built on gags about blowing things up.

Slappy is the dynamite wielding diva and Skippy is her innocent nephew.

In short, one squirrel wrecking things and the other acting innocent,

nothing at all like weekend cyclists.

Last but not least we should mention the Pink Squirrel, a lovely concoction made by pouring, cream, creme de cacao and Amaretto over ice and then shaking till frothy. I particularly like the part about shaking till frothy.

So you see, it isn’t that hard to be nice, is it?

Squirrel: noun, a cyclist who is all over the road, id est your nuts aren’t safe

.

What Would Willie Do?

Those of you who have known me for a while might have the suspicion that I am wound up a little tight. This is not entirely wrong. I have a tendency to go at things full tilt. This could be signs of a manic/depressive disorder or too much caffeine and beer.

Lately things have been a little rough. Life doesn’t always work out according to plan. Expectations often exceed recompense, you can’t always get what you want. Fortunately there is always a country song to set things into perspective. I was riding to meet a friend at 5:45 AM with all of my turmoil's rumbling in my mind. My head light went out and I had to stop and fix it. I had hit a bad bump and things got loose. It occurred to me that I had better get my mind on my riding and forget about the distractions. Then it hit me, the song that fixes everything. “What Would Willie Do?”

I got myself all worked up about the local bike club. I didn’t think the race course they selected was all that safe and when I protested I got shot down pretty hard. It was hey you, get off of my cloud. The club is taking a direction I don’t agree with and getting involved with too many events without enough money or volunteers. I was taking it all seriously and personal, getting way to emotionally involved and then I thought, What would Willie do?

Well he’d just take a deep breath and then he’d let it all go.

Right now my bike repair business is tanking.  No one has been in for service or repairs for weeks on end. There is a new bike shop with lots of shiny bikes, a good looking young owner and air-conditioning. There isn't even a single mosquito in his whole shop. I was starting to feel like nobody liked poor pitiful me any more but it hit me again, What would Willie do?

And he’d take another deep breath and let it all go.

Then my bank says if I don’t have $10,000 in my account they are going to charge me $20 a month for checking. My cat is 14 and not getting around too well. I’ve had four flat tires in three weeks . I have a catering job and a major art show coming up and I am really starting to stress, and heading for my 19th nervous breakdown and....What would Willie do?

and he’d take another deep breath.... and he’d hold it.

Yes there is always a good country song for just about every situation. In this case it isn’t really “ What Would Willie Do?” It is a song by one of the old outlaws though. It’s “Luchenbach, Texas” or Back to the Basics of Life. I did a lot of thinking and beat myself up pretty bad for not doing better. This of course did no good what so ever. So I am going back to the basics of life. I am going to get my catering job done, whittle away my to do list one step at a time and put up one hell of a show. I’m going to appreciate my ancient cat while she’s still with us. The bike club is going on low priority and riding is going on high priority. The bike business will get reinvented as something else, or not. The main thing is to quit whining and get back to having fun and enjoying life and the time I have with my wife. It’s time to remember the basics of life.

Sometimes you get what you need.

Special thanks to Bruce Robison, Waylon Jennings and the Lads.

Hercules, a Labour of Love

Every once in a while around here a bike shows up on my doorstep that makes me shudder. This was one of those bikes. When it arrived my initial reaction was to make the sign of the cross, chew some garlic, light some incense and run like hell. Something made me stay and take take a closer look. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was pity. This poor bike is a Hawthorne. Those of you old enough might remember this was the house brand at Monkey Wards. (If Monkey Wards doesn’t register ask an adult) My first new bike was a Hawthorne. Bronze with a leopard print banana seat. Way cool.

You can see from the first picture that this bike was not in the best of shape. The rear tire had started a rapid return to it’s molecular origins, it was dirty, rusty and things either failed to turn or turned without need or reason. There was a glimmer though, underneath the Hawthorne was the name Hercules, made in England. The down tube sports a little decal boasting “Genuine English Lightweight” This bike was abandoned to neglect by a caring owner who got old and passed on. The new owner brought it to me because I have the dubious reputation of being able to fix anything.

We did a little triage and divvied up the chores. This was to be a partial restoration. The bike would look better and be redeemable but not a museum piece. Here is where things started turning strange. The man who brought in the bike had a stroke. I was pretty sure I was going to have a few parts I didn’t need cluttering up the debris field I call a shop. Then his wife shows up and tells me his son wants to take over the project. This is number two son, in high school, a neat kid but hardly a mechanic and what do I know about kids anyway?  I’ll skip all of the heart warming Capraesque nonsense and get back to the bike. Willy did do a lot of work helping me clean up the bike. I got to know a little more about him and my faith in the future of mankind is at least partially restored. Willy and his friend helped me pick up the ball bearings that hit the floor and scattered. Much grime and dirt was wiped away. Rust was removed and everything made shipshape, more or less.

The Hercules looks good. Its a classy bike and Willy will be riding it this summer. It was not a lucrative job but I’m a softy when it comes to old bikes. Especially when it is going to be ridden. So old Herc has left the building but he won’t be soon forgotten.

Keep The Sunny Side Up

This should be a recounting of wonderful adventures in the Texas Hill Country. I really was going to regale you with stories of fast decends and heroic attacks. It truly was my plan but I don’t think it is going to work out that way. Honestly we just were not all that heroic. We rode well, we all had our moments, but it was hardly a spring classic. (Paris -Roubaix, Liege-Bastogne-Liege)

I could be wrong about this. I might have a grander definition of heroism than is needed. Sponge Bob rode like a champ. he broke his hip last October and has hardly been on the bike since. The Big Guy gave up all he had and then some on the Saturday ride. Hudler lacked a certain respect for cheerfulness but otherwise rode very well. Myself? Never too fast or too slow but I had a good time.

This was the first year that all of us have been able to ride together in years. Sponge and The Big Guy have been trading off injuries for four or five years now and Hudler just started going with us 3 years ago.  I have been blessed with good health and opportunity. Usually there is a litany of what rotten condition we are all in.  Most of it is lies. We are all in the best condition we can be in. This was also the first year we are all over fifty. None of us are retired or a paid athlete so training is hit and miss. Hudler commented to my wife that he seems to ride less and drink more beer. He is no longer allowed inside or within ear shot of  a spouse.

Hudler and I are a pretty good match. We both climb pretty good, he goes down hill a lot faster than I do but I’ve got a little better stamina. The Big Guy comes down hill faster that anyone and hardly even pedals. For perspective, I clocked 40 mph down hill and he was a lot closer to 60 mph. Sponge Bob is in between a rock and a hard place. He’s in better shape than the Big Guy but not quite as fit as Hudler and I. He comes down hill well and climbs well but ju

st hasn’t had time to get his fitness back.

The portrait you should be seeing now is four guys over fifty who really are not race ready but have reasonable expectations. Sponge and the Big Guy went on the shorter route Friday so they were in charge of finding beer and icing it down. The Jacuzzi was not just a luxury it was a necessity. The game plan was pretty much ride, soak, eat, sleep, eat, sleep and repeat. Beer was also involved but not nearly as much as you might be led to believe. (Do not listen to Hudler, or my wife who listened to him.)

So here we have a bunch of buddies, we even picked up a couple extra, who are not looking to set any records but just finish with out too much agony or embarrassment. Since speed is not so important I think good humor and chivalry should be our aim. Hudler is not so sure. Case in point, The Wall. The Wall is a little nuisance that is an 18% grade at the top. Last year I did the paperboy weave up it to conserve strength, this year I just followed Hudler. By the time we got to the last 1/4 of the climb most of the people were weaving or walking but Hudler and I were slogging it out like manly men. Politeness and cheerfulness are important so I said “Good Morning!”, “On your left!” and “Good job keep it up!” to everyone we passed. Hudler for some reason was mumbling something unintelligible. We will have to work on his enunciation. 

The next day we all decided to stick together because the weather looked bad. Shortly after Camp Verde a guy on a blue bike passed us in his big gear. He did not say “Good Morning”, “On your left” or even “Out of my way lard ass”. He just rode by us in silence, completely rude. He did not get very far in front of us and we started closing the gap. I started whistling a pleasant cheerful tune so he would know we were behind him. Sneaking up would be rude, would it not? We had to pass him So I said, “Good Morning, on your left, grab a wheel!” It is not easy being so nice but I work hard at it. He went to the back, rested a while and came around us again. No word of thanks or anything. We kept him in sight for quite some time. I thought he might be mute but there were some loud guttural noises when he missed a turn. We caught back up and Hudler told me to go ahead, he’d bring the others up. I got to with in a bike length of Mr. Rudeness and thought maybe he needed some cheering up. He did not look happy and was working real hard so I decided to serenade him. I stayed right behind him for a couple of miles doing my best to whistle a show tune. (If I Only Had A Brain) I know I can’t carry a tune in a bucket but he didn’t have to just run off like that. He wasn’t looking real good on Bandera Pass. He either had bad gas or was trying to cough up a lung. It was a little later in the day so I did not say “Good Morning” as I passed him with Hudler and Sponge Bob in tow, I said “Good Afternoon”

We may not be heroes but we are polite.