Getting To The Bottom of Things
Not Riding A Brand New Bike
Five-ish years ago I wore out the saddle on my bike and had to find a new one. The trouble with buying bicycle saddles was (and still is) that I couldn't really go and try them out for 100km or so; I had to just give it my best guess and let my bottom be the judge as time passed and the kilometers accumulated. I bought a new saddle with fancy pants gel topping and hoped for the best.
My new saddle performed admirably. Over time the fancy gel topping accommodated the specific shape of my bottom, reducing the need for padded pants and allowing me to jump on my bicycle in my everyday duds and zoom (or in my case chug) off for a quick (slow) 40km or so.
A couple of thousand kilometers went by and, lulled into the security of a comfortable bum, I didn't give my saddle a second thought until, with nary a pop, the bubble burst. More accurately the welded seams of my saddle burst and over the course of a month or two all that high-tec gel escaped, falling out in gobs and leaving little pellets of gel behind me on the road. Were I in a forest trying to escape from a wicked stepmother I would have had no trouble finding my way home but alas, this was not the case.
I persevered riding with my gel-less saddle, in the hopes that my bottom would toughen up and come to a new agreement with the residual foam/gel combination and we would all be happy for many more thousands of kilometers to come.
Unfortunately the only thing this bum-toughening riding achieved was to confirm that bum/saddle compatibility had declined to the point that a breakup of the relationship was imminent, and the only option was to find a suitable replacement and start a new chapter characterised by increased comfort in the sit-me-down department.
Which brought me full circle to the questions with which I tortured myself five years ago: did I go with another gel-tech wonder complete with welded seams threatening to split at inopportune moments? Did I opt instead for old-fashioned leather and wear it in until it fits my bum like a well-worn pair of shoes fits my feet? Did I choose a plush, padded, well sprung bum support or should I start a new relationship with a lean, mean piece of padded fibreglass designed to propel me up hills at Tour de France speeds? The decisions were all too difficult, the options too endless, the implications for my poor old bum too profound...
... and one thing led to another and eventually I took delivery of a brand new bicycle seat to which I hadn't paid a great deal of attention seeing as it came attached to a whole brand spanking new bicycle.
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Try one of these Crane Suzu bells. They resonate like a tuning fork and certainly get the attention of peds on the path in front of you!
1 year ago
I collected my brand new bicycle in between cleaning and packing up one house sit and zooming off to the next in time to let the tired old dog out to.. ahem.. visit the back yard grass. There was just time, I thought, to squeeze a quick ride in on my brand new bike between unpacking my stuff and dog-nannying. And then it rained, and proper rain too: heavy and consistent and cold. I couldn't possibly take a squeaky clean bicycle out in the rain for its maiden voyage, so I had to wait and eventually the sun set and I gave up and planned my maiden voyage for tomorrow.
As luck would have it the whole of tomorrow was taken up with errands which, while important and even enjoyable in their own right, forced me to leave my new bicycle locked in the garage at A while I drove up hill and down dale and all I really wanted to do was ride my bicycle and I even took delivery of a brand new bicycle lock with which to lock up the brand new bicycle that I hadn't yet got to ride. I got home just in time to squeeze in a quick maiden voyage but first of all I had to pump up my new tyres, because the bicycle shop and I had different ideas about what constituted an acceptable tyre pressure for riding up and down the esplanade on my maiden voyage. With the dog for company I got out my little hand pump and went to pump up my tyres, except that my pump was set to pump tyres up via a Schrader valve and my new bicycle had presta valves and the pump fitting for one couldn't be used with the other and although I knew my pump could be converted I hadn't had to do so in a very long time. I fiddled with the valves and had a half-hearted attempt at converting my pump by which time I was getting frustrated and the dog's malevolent body odour was becoming overwhelming in the confined garage space.
"I'll go down to the esplanade" thought I, "and pump up my tyres with the free pump at the public bicycle service station." And off I went, walking because my fiddling with the valve had let some air out of my tyre such that I didn't want to ride it until it had been inflated. I enjoyed being out in the fresh air. I saw a Pelican floating on the silver sea, fishing in the shallows of low tide. A bird of prey hovered in the updraft at the edge of the cliffs, and the rain stayed safely contained in clouds down over the Fleurieu Peninsula.
The bicycle repair station had a pump and the pump had a fitting for a presta valve, and by the time I'd figured out that the pump head didn't work I'd released all the air from my tyre and it was totally flat.
Bummer.
I walked home again, this time wheeling my bike along on its back wheel because I didn't want to ruin the flat front tyre, and grumbling under my breath about useless public bicycle repair stations. I got some funny looks. Oh well.
Back at the house I locked the smelly dog out of the garage and did what I should have done in the first place, which was to Google how to convert my hand pump. The whole process took 2 minutes and was easy peasy lemon squeezy (once I knew how, of course). Then I pumped up my bicycle tyre and stopped to chat to my beautiful daughter and by the time we finished talking the sun had set and the dog wanted his dinner and the time for bicycle riding was over.
Tomorrow, come hell or high water, I'm going for a ride on my brand new bike.
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