Challenge Accepted

A while back Doohickey told me that I wasn't a real mechanic until I fixed a bicycle I found in the dumpster. That challenge has been percolating around in the back of my head for a while now so I kept my eye out for a suitable candidate.

Well, I found it. It wasn't in the dumpster. We found it abandoned on one of the trails we ride on old Ft. Ord. My wife said "sure, go for it" with a knowing smirk on her face. Yeah, it's going to be bandaid time around here shortly.

It's a Schwinn World Traveler and it's best days were in the 70's. 1870's if it's condition is any indication. Still, a challenge has been issued and accepted. Let the swearing begin.

Uh, is that frame bent? Well, maybe just a bit.... It looks like that old Bond villian Jaws tried to take a bite out of it.

Broken and basically completely trashed thin tube aluminum handlebars? Check.

Rust? Check, check, check aaaand check!

Ok. This is the plan. I'm going to try my best to make this an actually working bicycle. One that rides, shifts and everything. I'm not promising it'll be pretty but I'll do my best and it will work. I'm going to keep track of my expenses (bandaids will not be calculated into the final cost). I need to keep it as cheap as possible to stay within the (self imposed) rules of the challenge. I will need tires, tubes and a chain. Probably handlebars (but I've got some ideas about that). Other than that I think I can salvage everything else.

Cost so far: Spoke - $1.00.

Next up: The bent axle/big hammer confrontation.

Stay tuned. This could be a disaster.

The Thing

Ok. I'm back. Thanks to everyone for realizing that this last week or so was a bit difficult. But it's time to get back to life.


I'm a father and like any father I dearly love my child. We all know we're supposed to love and cherish our children but there's something else we are supposed to do.

Make fun of them from time to time. It's good for them and hey, if you can't point and laugh at family who can you do it to?

I present for your comedic consideration The Van. When Jen went haring off to Hungary (the land of The Huns you know) she left us her van. Now, for those of you who have or ever had small children this without a doubt comes as no surprise to you.

Parents have better things to do than constantly keep up on the cleanliness of their various Child Transportation Conveyances. Hence, the state of hygiene of The Van. I decided to drive The Van around a bit. You know, keep the fluids flowing, keep the tires round and see what she's got. (Hint; It's a van, she don't got much). During the ride I noticed a certain....odour. I noticed it as it crept up from the back and started beating me about the head. It was piquant with a full bouquet and just a tang of baby vomit. And is that a hint of spilled milk mixed with the musky remnants of a full diaper? Why yes, I believe it is. So, with head firmly out the drivers window, I felt it might be time to maybe do some Spring Cleaning. In February. Hey, you take Spring where you find it.

I present you proof that small children are in fact wanna be chipmunks. This is my granddaughters seat. Where her car seat goes. We found this after removing said car seat.

If you look closely you can find all kinds of goodies in there. Nuts, M&M's, cracker remnants and various bits unidentifiable as actual food. Hey, is that a pretzel?

This is my grandson's side.

Please note that there is actually considerably less food like items on the boys side. Is it because he's just naturally neater than the girl? Did he get fed less? Did the cleaning fairies start on his side first? Um, no. Rather it's either because he seldom let anything slip past his always ravening hunger or he was busy fishing around down there for a snack. I'm voting for that second one. That boy is always looking for something to eat.

This is the floor mats directly in front of the kids' seat.


Jen wisely chose a mat with little indentations to catch whatever fell down there. Each of those indentations, cups if you will, was packed with to the top with...stuff. It was compressed to the consistency of concrete. I took the mat out and threw it on the ground upside down. Then I beat on it with a broom. When I turned it over again not one single molecule of this....stuff had fallen out. It required a jackhammer and industrial strength solvent to clean. Well, I exaggerate. It was only Muriatic Acid.

This was the rear of The Van, in a secret compartment behind the rear seats. Hey Jen, is that wrapping paper? Heh, heh, heh.




So, why the rip off of a reasonably good and pretty darn frightening Kurt Russel movie for the title to this post?

I think something is alive in The Van. After cleaning it to within an inch of my life I decided to drive it again. As I drove I could have sworn I saw something move. Out of the corner of my eye. When I turned it was gone but was that the tip of a tentacle disappearing under the floor mats I saw? I dismissed it but later I swear I felt something brush the back of my neck. You know, where the alien sticks it's tendril to suck out your brain and take over your body? You know? Like that.

I screamed like a politician facing a runoff election and piled out of The Van. I fired 3 quick rounds into the floorboard. I think it was 3. It might have been 15. I was a little spooked. (Don't worry Jen. The holes are barely noticeable. Sorry about that). When the smoke cleared I saw....nothing. We've set off several Febreeze bombs but I'm pretty sure I saw movement in there again yesterday.

I parked The Van and there it remains. I am startled. I am so, so startled.

Could it be true? Can the leavings from kids snacks, combined with sleep drool, spilled juice and the smell of overripe diapers actually create life?

I don't know but I'm not going in there again without Kurt and a flamethrower.

Jen, when are you coming home????

eric

A Tribute to the Fallen

They buried 4 of my brothers in Oakland today. 4 men I never met but knew oh so well.

I see fatherless children.
I see bereaved widows.
I see parents without a beloved son.
I see grandchildren who will never know the men who should have bounced them on a knee.
I see crying brothers and sisters.
I see an empty patrol car.
I see a riderless motorcycle.
I see a somber roll call.
I see a wide eyed rookie, suddenly uncertain.
I see an empty uniform.
I see tears in the eyes of men and women unused to crying.
I see 4 fewer guardians.

To The Everlasting Glory of the Oakland Police Department
Shines the Name
Shines the Name of

Sergeant Mark Dunakin

Sergeant Ervine Romans

Sergeant Dan Sakai

Officer John Hege

Rest in Peace my brothers.

eric

A Quick Note

Sorry I haven't posted anything nthis week but I've been in an instructor class that really kicked my butt. I had homework and everything. Plus, the course was hard enough that I wasn't sleeping. Lying there every night with visions of disaster screaming through my head. Have I ever mentioned I'm a pessimist at heart? No?

Well I am.

The class is done, thank ghu, but I'm still trying to recover. I'll post something slightly more interesting this weekend, I promise.

But only slightly. I do have standards to live up to after all.

eric

MTBers Are Apparently Not Wusses After All

When we started riding seriously (as opposed to riding comically?) we decided that we'd put our time and effort into road riding. Oh we kept the Gary Fishers but that was only for the occasional fun trail ride. Right?

After all, the serious guys and gals were road riding. The Mountain Bikers were just goofing off. Right?

Hey, we're all entitled to be wrong from time to time. I mean, I'm right most of the time. Well, some of the time. Ok, from time to time. Occasionally.

Lu and I decided to take a nice trail ride Saturday. We loaded up the Fishers and headed to old Ft. Ord for a nice, leisurely day. Well, that's how it started anyway.

We parked at the start of a nice, flattish fire road and headed off. We climbed to the top of a spine of hills that runs parallel to the road. Not too bad but still we were puffing a bit at the top. Still, just goofing off. Right?

Down the back side with a little trepidation. After all, we'd have to climb back up it to get back to the truck. Ah, what the heck, it's an easy trail ride. Should be no problem. Right? Right? Please tell me I'm right.

As we wended our way down the trails we came upon a piece of SRAM tape across the trail. It looked suspiciously like someone was laying out a course. Cool! We'd ride around the course and see what the MTB folks called a race. Can you see where this is going?

I knew you could.

Down we went, around the flat sections, commenting on the layout and wondering about the race. Then we got to the uphill. Or should I say the uphills jumped out and smacked me in the mouth.

Man, it's harder to climb when you're turning a knobby on soft dirt as opposed to a skinny tire on asphalt. A lot harder.

Should I have anticipated this? Should I have been a little less confident in my ability to climb those hills while out for 'just a nice trail ride'? Do ducks fart underwater?

Why yes, I think they do.

Switchbacks. Soft dirt. Narrow single track. Bushes. Bumps. Washboard. All while climbing straight the hell up! It was leg breaking and I'm not ashamed to say I got off and pushed at one point. Well, maybe a little bit ashamed. Especially since Lu 'The Chick Climbing Machine' didn't seem to have the same problems. At one point she got so far ahead of me on a climb she actually came back and goaded me to continue. Such a comedienne. I'm married to the Shecky Greene of bicycling.

We finished and I was cooked. Spent. Bonked like Lurch's head in a backyard playhouse. I won't even say how far the ride was but suffice it to say it was just about the distance of one lap of the race. And the race beginners do 3 laps. Ouch. This mountain biking stuff is hard.

We went back on Sunday to see the actual race. Got a good spot and watched the suffering. Good fun that. And you know what? We really enjoyed it. The mountain bike folks seemed a little bit more friendly that the average road biker we run across and they were having an absolute blast.

We talked to a really nice guy named Joey from a group who call themselves the Highway 68 Hillbillies. They seem to concentrate on riding, racing from time to time and drinking large quantities of fermented beverages. Good bunch. Joey gave us the info on the races and the website for the organizer, Central Coast Cyclo-Cross. http://www.cccx.org/. Lots of races, lots of categories, lots of pain and seemingly lots of fun.

After the race I went home and checked them out. Hey, there's a beginner age 45 to 54 class. The next race is March 29th. It's just a few miles away.

Lu says she'll pit crew for me. I think she's just trying to talk me in to it so she can watch me suffer and laugh at me.

I haven't decided whether I'm going to do it or not for sure just yet but I am leaning toward a yes. If I do it I'll post results and pics here.

What the heck am I thinking?

eric

A Nefarious Plot

I have discovered a Very Frightening Thing.

Those who know me would never describe me as a conspiracy theorist (Please ignore the bomb shelter, arsenal and years food supply. They're for personal use only. I swear).

All that notwithstanding, I have stumbled upon a discovery so shocking, so frightening, so terrifying in it's sheer scope that I hesitate to mention it. Of course then I'd have nothing to talk about so forget I said that part about not mentioning it.

Ready? Ok, here it is.

My dogs drool heavy water.

That's right, heavy water. The stuff needed to make nuclear weapons. Right here in my dogs water bowl.

How did I make this monumental and world altering discovery? Let me explain.

I have 2 brain damaged Black Labs. Of course saying your Lab is brain damaged is a little like saying the sun is hot. They just naturally go together. Labs. Brain Damaged. Redundant.

Anywho. These 2 dogs go through water like a dying man in the Sahara. Oh, they don't actually drink it but they instead do a messy imitation by plunging their faces into the bowls while making lapping, slurping noises and somehow managing to swamp the floor and surrounding walls to a height of 6 feet. So much so that we are required to refill their bowls approximately 17 times a day. With much mopping. I always wondered why.

I wonder no more.

It was during one of these interminable bowl refills that I made The Discovery.

When finished "drinking" they made a crucial error in their nefarious plans. They left some of the "water" in the bottom of their bowls. When did this go from a simple case of excreting a substance necessary to the construction of weapons capable of destroying Hoboken, New Jersey to a plan for world domination? When I caught Trooper giving me the stink eye when he caught me making The Discovery.

It was pretty disgusting to look at. Some water mixed with floating bits of kibble, cookies, grass and various unidentifiable bits that Labs just naturally try to eat but can't quite seem to get out of their gums. Then I looked closer.

Don't ask me why I decided to take a closer look at this noxious mess, I don't really know. Maybe it was divine inspiration. Maybe it was my keen interest in broadening my mind. Maybe I was just bored.

In any case, take a closer look I did. And what did I see? I saw a clear substance floating in the bottom of the pan. Similiar to but heavier than water. You see where I'm going with this. Clarity struck me like a groin kick from an angry prostitute in stiletto heels (Again, please don't ask). It was obviously that fabled substance of story and song, Heavy Water.

My hands shook as the realization sunk in. My dogs drool Heavy Water. How? Why? I was dizzy with questions. It may have been the cough syrup but whatever. The point is that I was dizzy.

What to do now? Did the dogs know that I knew. I didn't know if they knew. Or that I knew that they might know that I suspected that they drooled Heavy Water. Would they kill me quick or just lick my face until I died of radioactive dog cooties? I can't begin to tell you how frightened I was. Well, I could but the Nyquil was starting to kick in about then and things got a little fuzzy for a while there. But I'm certain I was scared. Quite certain.

The happy looks on their water drenched faces didn't fool me for a minute. They were riveted to my every action. Almost as if they were watching me to make sure I didn't make any sudden moves toward the cookie jar.

I decided to go the casual route. I only pretended to pour the water down the drain while what I really did was pour it into a glass I had left in the sink. It had some dried milk from a few days before but what the hey. Any container in an emergency as my old Pappy used to say. Pretty peculiar guy, that Pappy.

I then carefully rinsed the pans and filled them with normal tap water. About this time is when I noticed Trooper (aka The Muscle) giving me the stink eye. It was unmistakeable. Stink eye. Right there in my kitchen. Chrisi (The Brains) pretended casual indifference but there was definitely a "look" between them. A "now we're gonna have to kill him" kinda look.

I feigned a casual indifference while leaving a water trail across the floor as I carried their pans back to their spot in the kitchen. Both dogs quickly scampered over and very carefully inspected each one, taking turns and going back and forth many times. Satisfied that there were no traces left of their special drool, they wandered off to sleep. I think that Heavy Water production must be draining. That would explain the daily 22 hour "naps".

I was certain. My dogs somehow managed to convert normal, "Light" into nefarious Heavy Water by some hitherto unknown Special Labrador Drool Gland. Probably by combining the water with some other, seemingly harmless substance. I suspect the pigs ears.

Later that night, as each was busy munching on their nightly pigs ear (See!!!), I quietly stole back into the kitchen and recovered the evidence. It's in the freezer right now, it's damning milky heaviness taunting me. Are they stockpiling this Heavy Drool? Is this a terrorist attempt to build The Bomb? The insane experiment of some mad scientist? A plot by the Canine Mafia to take over the world?

Or is it just the lunatic ravings of a mind pickled on Benadryl and Mountain Dew?

Man, I gotta get rid of that glass before Lu sees it. She'll freak.

eric

Wherein I Prove I'm A Cheap Bastard

So, I'm back into bicycling. Going out and riding and getting all the benefits of pain and sweat.

Good fun that.

But there's more to it than that. I really don't want to ride around here on the streets so I usually load up the bikes and whoever is going with me and heading out to a nice ridey place. Easy peasy lemon squeezy right?

Not so much.

See I have not one but two trucks. Sweet. Just pick one, throw the bikes in the back and go.

Well, we have two dogs. I say dogs but really they're black labs so they're more like furry pathetic begging machines. "You going somewhere? Can we go? Can we go? Can we go? Please, please, please....." You get the idea. And being that I can't say no (really, if I was a chick I'd be perpetually pregnant and have like fifteen kids) they usually end up coming along.

So, we bought shells for both trucks. I really don't know why we did it for both trucks but I think you might be able to figure it out from the last paragraph (Salesman: you need the new single handle doodad and look, it comes in puce. Me: Ooohhh.).

The shells are nice and the dogs love them, hanging their little heads out and barking madly at passing squirrels.

But. They are a pain to load and unload more than one bicycle into and out of. And I almost never ride alone (Hey, I have a mortal fear of those selfsame squirrels. Why do you think I have dogs?) so there's always at least 2 bikes coming along.

The answer is obvious to anyone with more than 2 working brain cells. Bike Rack. Perfect. Except for one thing.

I'm cheap as hell.

I priced some racks at the local bike stores and REI. I was aghast and I don't ghast very easily. A good one was close to 300 bucks! Used ones on CL were still in the 100 dollar and up catagory.

And did I mention I was cheap?

So what to do? The solution was as obvious as it was potentially comical. Make one myself. I have a welder. I have some scrap. I have skills. Well, I have the fantasy that I have skills which is almost the same thing.

The end result

Another view

I had the hitch left over from an accident where an uninsured driver hit my boat trailer and bent it (My insurance paid for everything. Uninsured motorist coverage is a must these days). I hacked it up and added some square tubing I bought at a scrap yard for 3 dollars. two crosspeices to hold the bike frames, some carpeting to pad everything, a neato little hook at the bottom for a bunji and some black Krylon and Viola! A bike rack. I had everything in the shop except the tubing.
And it works pretty good too

Pretty cool eh?

Is it crude? Yes it is. Is it ugly and cheap looking? Oh yeah. Will the welds make any competent fabricator fall over with an immediate massive coronary on sight? Almost certainly (sorry about that). Is it a little crooked? Uh, yeah, it is.
Does it work like stink? Why yes, yes it does.
I figure I've got no more than 5 bucks into the thing. Proof positive that anyone with a little material, a welder, a high tolerance for ridicule and a misers attitude can make something at least marginally useful.
Of course, I did burn all the hair off my arms because I was welding in short sleeves. And I did pick up that cross peice before it was sufficiently cooled. And I did grind off a fair amount of flesh from a finger that later got infected and quite painful.
I guess in the end this project taught me a lesson even more valuable than the money I saved (Wait. Did I say that?).
Being a cheap bastard isn't for wusses.
eric