WEEK 8: Get Well Soon
The South East bakes under a relentless sun and drought orders are issued in 3 counties. Buildings not owned by Government agencies are forbidden from being cleaned and clowns may not hose each other down, however badly they may need it.
And it’s pissing down in Warrington. Hurrah! It’s the wettest drought in recent history.
The Great Cycle God continues to smile on me, for each time I set off the weather breaks, or at least rains less heavily, so that I am rarely caught in the full fury of it’s downpour before I’m a few hundred yards from shelter. The sacrifices are clearly paying off. My only problem is ensuring my supply of Bicycle Virgins until the end of the rainy season. Perhaps I can import them from Beijing? Made In China. One Bicycle Virgin. Never Been Ridden.
Unfortunately, it seems the Great Cycle God’s good favour only extends as far as the weather. In matters mechanical I seem to be on my own. There was something wrong with my gears. I could feel it in my lubricating oil. I didn’t know exactly what it was but they felt unreliable. The gear changes didn’t always feel solid. Sometimes I didn’t feel confident about leaning on the pedals. I thought that I could occasionally hear little chinking sounds on the edge of my hearing. But when I looked at them, they seemed fine. A little row of sprockets huddled around the axle of my rear wheel like a pathetic bundle of lost puppies sheltering under a baked bean tin. But I wasn’t buying this sweet and innocent act! I started mounting surprise inspections at irregular intervals, lurking outside the door and then dashing in suddenly, flicking on the light to try and catch them with their cogs hanging out and groping each others locknuts. Dirty little sprockets. They must have heard me coming. I wasn’t fooled! There was something wrong and I would know what it was!
And the next day, I knew what it was. Came time to head home and I studiously donned my cycling garb. The weather was fine; a bit overcast and breezy but not too bad. Traffic was light. I mounted the saddle just as a glorious ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and a fresh scented breeze filled my nostrils. Ahhhh. I pushed off. Three yards later my rear wheel disintegrated. Ever slipped off the saddle and landed on the top bar? Oh yes, you know what I’m talking about.
So, eventually, I regained the power of walking upright and me and my bike mutually hobbled back inside where a committee of well meaning persons offered a variety of advice on the problem. The problem was that my rear wheel was hanging off by the chain. The solution turned out to be the application of a spanner to the wheel nuts. The committee decided I must not have tightened them properly when repairing the puncture. That was fair enough. It seemed likely. By the time I’d cajoled the wheel back into it’s place, the weather had turned and beyond the door was a solid sheet of vertical water. And by the time I’d pulled on my waterproof trousers and set off again, this sudden squall had passed and I was bathed in glorious sunshine all the way home. I always wanted my own personal sauna, and now I was wearing it.
Next day the wheel fell off again. Suffice to say that this was becoming a tad annoying. As were the mocking calls and whistles of some drivers and pedestrians when they saw my road side repair shop in action. I cobbled things together as best I could and ground my way down the road in first gear, the chain screaming and yoweling like a cat trying to go to the toilet through a sewn up bum. Every little bump and twist in the road threatened to derail the entire assembly again. I dreaded having to stop at red lights in case pushing off would be too much for the hub to bear. I never rode so gently in my life, as though the bike was made of rice paper and I was a 200 lb gorilla.
Well, tonight my bike slumbers in the local bike shop, suspended from a workstand like a cadaver on a meat hook. The gear hub assembly is knackered. It seems to be an internal problem, most likely a crushed washer. There is also some surface damage. One or two of the cogs are actually bent over, which I never spotted, and the cable guard is hanging much lower than it should, which brings the cable conduit into frequent contact with the chain, amongst other things. Bike goes into theatre on Tuesday when they will dismantle the whole assembly to see if it can be repaired. If not, we could be looking at transplant surgery, but the waiting list for 4 speed Shimano gear hubs is a long one. All we can do now is offer moral support. Grape, anyone?
And it’s pissing down in Warrington. Hurrah! It’s the wettest drought in recent history.
The Great Cycle God continues to smile on me, for each time I set off the weather breaks, or at least rains less heavily, so that I am rarely caught in the full fury of it’s downpour before I’m a few hundred yards from shelter. The sacrifices are clearly paying off. My only problem is ensuring my supply of Bicycle Virgins until the end of the rainy season. Perhaps I can import them from Beijing? Made In China. One Bicycle Virgin. Never Been Ridden.
Unfortunately, it seems the Great Cycle God’s good favour only extends as far as the weather. In matters mechanical I seem to be on my own. There was something wrong with my gears. I could feel it in my lubricating oil. I didn’t know exactly what it was but they felt unreliable. The gear changes didn’t always feel solid. Sometimes I didn’t feel confident about leaning on the pedals. I thought that I could occasionally hear little chinking sounds on the edge of my hearing. But when I looked at them, they seemed fine. A little row of sprockets huddled around the axle of my rear wheel like a pathetic bundle of lost puppies sheltering under a baked bean tin. But I wasn’t buying this sweet and innocent act! I started mounting surprise inspections at irregular intervals, lurking outside the door and then dashing in suddenly, flicking on the light to try and catch them with their cogs hanging out and groping each others locknuts. Dirty little sprockets. They must have heard me coming. I wasn’t fooled! There was something wrong and I would know what it was!
And the next day, I knew what it was. Came time to head home and I studiously donned my cycling garb. The weather was fine; a bit overcast and breezy but not too bad. Traffic was light. I mounted the saddle just as a glorious ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and a fresh scented breeze filled my nostrils. Ahhhh. I pushed off. Three yards later my rear wheel disintegrated. Ever slipped off the saddle and landed on the top bar? Oh yes, you know what I’m talking about.
So, eventually, I regained the power of walking upright and me and my bike mutually hobbled back inside where a committee of well meaning persons offered a variety of advice on the problem. The problem was that my rear wheel was hanging off by the chain. The solution turned out to be the application of a spanner to the wheel nuts. The committee decided I must not have tightened them properly when repairing the puncture. That was fair enough. It seemed likely. By the time I’d cajoled the wheel back into it’s place, the weather had turned and beyond the door was a solid sheet of vertical water. And by the time I’d pulled on my waterproof trousers and set off again, this sudden squall had passed and I was bathed in glorious sunshine all the way home. I always wanted my own personal sauna, and now I was wearing it.
Next day the wheel fell off again. Suffice to say that this was becoming a tad annoying. As were the mocking calls and whistles of some drivers and pedestrians when they saw my road side repair shop in action. I cobbled things together as best I could and ground my way down the road in first gear, the chain screaming and yoweling like a cat trying to go to the toilet through a sewn up bum. Every little bump and twist in the road threatened to derail the entire assembly again. I dreaded having to stop at red lights in case pushing off would be too much for the hub to bear. I never rode so gently in my life, as though the bike was made of rice paper and I was a 200 lb gorilla.
Well, tonight my bike slumbers in the local bike shop, suspended from a workstand like a cadaver on a meat hook. The gear hub assembly is knackered. It seems to be an internal problem, most likely a crushed washer. There is also some surface damage. One or two of the cogs are actually bent over, which I never spotted, and the cable guard is hanging much lower than it should, which brings the cable conduit into frequent contact with the chain, amongst other things. Bike goes into theatre on Tuesday when they will dismantle the whole assembly to see if it can be repaired. If not, we could be looking at transplant surgery, but the waiting list for 4 speed Shimano gear hubs is a long one. All we can do now is offer moral support. Grape, anyone?
posted by Mike Ranson at 12:00 am
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