With the last storm, 2008 officially became the wettest year on record in New Hampshire. Three of the top five years occurred in the last four years. The record was formerly held by 2005, with 2006 in third place. Records go back to 1870 in Concord. The next two places are held by 1888 and 1897.
Last summer seemed like it never happened. Cloudy skies and chaotic storms dominated every week after the drought and fire danger of May ended as abruptly as it had followed the extraordinarily snowy winter. The air was warm and damp. Closets and drawers in the house grew rank with mildew.
Ugly weather discourages many people from playing outside. The early surge we got in the dry start tapered off to a steady flow of repairs and a light rhythm of sales.
As this winter gets underway it seems to take up where last winter left off. We've had early snow, but temperatures that have started to seesaw above and below freezing. Sure it's zero right now, but tomorrow we're looking at almost 40, with rain moving in. For the next week the forecast calls for mixed precipitation including snow at temperatures above freezing. There's a lot of water in snow like that. Sign of the times? Can we look forward to another non-summer after we crawl out of the snowbanks again?
One can never be sure, of course. We could slide just a few degrees farther to the warm side and get only rain for the rest of the winter. I don't wish it, certainly, but I've seen it before.
A snowless winter does not mean an early spring. It just means the local economy is further depressed because the businesses that depend on snow didn't get it. In this economy, how well are those businesses going to do anyway?
Nordic skiing is "the cheap skiing." That's a benefit if people feel they can afford to go skiing at all, but no help if people have no budget for recreation. Bicycling has transportation benefits, but only if people can and will take advantage of them.
Wet weather will discourage everyone somewhat, and some people completely, in any season. It's one factor we can't control on a day to day basis.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Bike Shop Economics with a Twist
Here in our little northern refuge, our shop started as a cross-country ski shop. Long before I arrived, the owners added bikes as a summer line to carry them through their off season. It was 1972 or '73, a particularly good time to have a few ten-speeds kicking around for sale.
The 1970s treated shops that sold bikes and Nordic skis pretty well. The Baby Boomers were young and strong. Moving into the 1980s, many of them were chasing and catching the Almighty Dollar or at least running up their credit on the hope that their success would catch up with their spending sooner than the bill collector did.
By the end of the 1980s, when the cracks in the exuberant economy began to show, mountain biking rose to take the torch of the bike industry from the drooping hand of the road bike market. People's finances took a hit in the recession that began in 1989, but Nordic skiing was "the cheap skiing" and mountain bikes used human power, not expensive fuel. It wasn't great, but it was good enough.
The 1990s began with some shabby winters around here. At the same time, economic changes in the neighboring state to the south that we love to hate meant that fewer people were coming north in herds to spend their disposable income on winter recreation. But with mountain biking huge and getting huger we changed from being a ski shop that sold bikes to being a bike shop that sold skis. We all studded up our tires and hit the frozen lake and snow machine trails to show that nothing would stop us from playing outside.
Nothing symbolizes the desolation of globally warming winters better than a wide-open blue lake that should be frozen several feet thick. It looks so wrong after you've gotten used to the gray and white expanse dotted with fishing shacks and parked cars year after year. Winter has become wildly unpredictable since then, and winter cycling never really threatened to become the next big thing.
The stars our wagon was hitched to have become two lame mules. A tired, irritable and fat public pays lip service to the joys and benefits of cycling, but fears the road and lacks the cash and the will to construct better infrastructure. It is cheaper and easier to bitch about how there's no place to go and nothing to do than it is to do something about it. On the winter side, Nordic skiing isn't really "as easy as walking." It also requires snow, which has become a luxury, apparently.
Good snow has become a luxury anyway. Packed and packable powder that allows both classical and skate skiing on plausible waxes seems to show up less and less. We may get lots of snow in an odd winter, like last year, but it's bulk-packed, cheap discount store crap. We got feet of wet glop last year. If you got out at precisely the right time on the right days you had a great time, but the majority of the time the surface was maddening. The soft snow never firmed up into a good skate platform. The warm temperatures made grip waxing insane. Snow stuck to everything unless you lathered on some sort of chemical slop to prevent it. It was a year for no-wax skis. I'm sorry. That's just not a quality season.
Commercially, most customers only see white, think snow and buy whatever they choose for winter toys. But last winter would have had to be phenomenally lucrative to make up for the staggering canyon the whole northeastern Nordic industry went into in 2005-'06. No winter since then has been able to make up the deficit.
There's no summer savior like mountain biking anymore. We survive mostly because our mechanical shop has a decent reputation. That can only bring in limited money because it requires the mechanics to spend the necessary time to do a quality repair, assuming the mechanic in question is capable of it. We're not pumping out dozens of happy hardtails to new enthusiasts and equipping them with full accessories day after day. Biking has broken into niches and most riders are afraid.
In our enclave of the unimaginably wealthy, money never dries up completely. One can study the trickle-down theory up close and personal when someone who could buy out your entire net worth with the loose change in his couch cushions is asking if you can knock a few percent off your price for no other reason than that he asked you to. And even if the deep pockets toss a few coins our way without chiseling us, their business is not enough to keep us afloat.
Take note, my wealthy friends: I will happily continue to keep your bikes in fine working order if you want to put me on a retainer. Since the middle class is dying, the poor schmucks who used to subsidize your mechanical lackeys have mostly gone away. See that? The wealthy DO need the middle class.
For a starting salary of, say 50 grand a year plus a housing allowance, I'll travel with you as your personal mechanic.
We saw a little surge of interest and business last summer as fuel prices soared, the economy sputtered and coughed, and the scientific community assured us that we needed to lower our CO2 output as much as our cholesterol intake. But all the problems of cycling, combined with dreary weather, soon put that to rest.
We cyclists know that if major numbers of people started cycling, conditions would improve instantly. They really would. Each cyclist would be one less occupant of a car. Each bike would be one less car to park. Small vehicles powered by humans would flow more easily than ungainly steel boxes in the streets. Some steel boxes would remain, but we would outnumber and surround them.
We cyclists must admit that during the transition period, cycling accidents could increase as less skilled riders tried to use their bikes. There's a crossover point where increased bike ridership crowds the space with those still in their steel boxes. Carelessness and anger would generate conflicts and collisions. If it looked bad enough for long enough (perhaps not long at all), the new cyclists would shrink back, leaving only the memory of the bloodbath to make future adopters even more wary.
This is not a reason to give up. It's just something to prepare for. Can anyone in a bike shop anywhere tell me they haven't heard a customer say they're afraid out there? I've been doing this for decades, and I'm afraid out there.
No other sport is played in traffic. Any time you ride for any reason except a practical one, you're playing in traffic. Traffic is sometimes understandably resentful. Then we have to get into how many motor vehicle trips are frivolous and unnecessary to compare the score card between cyclists and motorists.
All this seems like a digression from the question of economics and cycling, but economics are a political force and a symptom of social structure. If people really wanted to bike they would bike, just as they did in the crazy 1990s, when times were tough but we couldn't keep enough mountain bikes in stock.
We cyclists know that cycling is great and affordable, good for the environment, good for health and fitness and peace of mind, but only if you make it out and back in one piece. Make cycling's built-in appeal obvious enough and the business side will take care of itself.
A word to the industry: If you engage in the kind of elbow-throwing, criterium-style competition you did in the mountain bike boom you will screw it up again as badly as you did then. Bad enough when you hook each other into parking meters and litter barrels along the course, but you ended up crashing on top of bystanders and lower-category riders just warming up. If the money starts flowing again, be cool this time and see if we can keep it going for a long, long time. Biking is a lifetime sport, even though hard-core competitive cycling emphatically is not.
The 1970s treated shops that sold bikes and Nordic skis pretty well. The Baby Boomers were young and strong. Moving into the 1980s, many of them were chasing and catching the Almighty Dollar or at least running up their credit on the hope that their success would catch up with their spending sooner than the bill collector did.
By the end of the 1980s, when the cracks in the exuberant economy began to show, mountain biking rose to take the torch of the bike industry from the drooping hand of the road bike market. People's finances took a hit in the recession that began in 1989, but Nordic skiing was "the cheap skiing" and mountain bikes used human power, not expensive fuel. It wasn't great, but it was good enough.
The 1990s began with some shabby winters around here. At the same time, economic changes in the neighboring state to the south that we love to hate meant that fewer people were coming north in herds to spend their disposable income on winter recreation. But with mountain biking huge and getting huger we changed from being a ski shop that sold bikes to being a bike shop that sold skis. We all studded up our tires and hit the frozen lake and snow machine trails to show that nothing would stop us from playing outside.
Nothing symbolizes the desolation of globally warming winters better than a wide-open blue lake that should be frozen several feet thick. It looks so wrong after you've gotten used to the gray and white expanse dotted with fishing shacks and parked cars year after year. Winter has become wildly unpredictable since then, and winter cycling never really threatened to become the next big thing.
The stars our wagon was hitched to have become two lame mules. A tired, irritable and fat public pays lip service to the joys and benefits of cycling, but fears the road and lacks the cash and the will to construct better infrastructure. It is cheaper and easier to bitch about how there's no place to go and nothing to do than it is to do something about it. On the winter side, Nordic skiing isn't really "as easy as walking." It also requires snow, which has become a luxury, apparently.
Good snow has become a luxury anyway. Packed and packable powder that allows both classical and skate skiing on plausible waxes seems to show up less and less. We may get lots of snow in an odd winter, like last year, but it's bulk-packed, cheap discount store crap. We got feet of wet glop last year. If you got out at precisely the right time on the right days you had a great time, but the majority of the time the surface was maddening. The soft snow never firmed up into a good skate platform. The warm temperatures made grip waxing insane. Snow stuck to everything unless you lathered on some sort of chemical slop to prevent it. It was a year for no-wax skis. I'm sorry. That's just not a quality season.
Commercially, most customers only see white, think snow and buy whatever they choose for winter toys. But last winter would have had to be phenomenally lucrative to make up for the staggering canyon the whole northeastern Nordic industry went into in 2005-'06. No winter since then has been able to make up the deficit.
There's no summer savior like mountain biking anymore. We survive mostly because our mechanical shop has a decent reputation. That can only bring in limited money because it requires the mechanics to spend the necessary time to do a quality repair, assuming the mechanic in question is capable of it. We're not pumping out dozens of happy hardtails to new enthusiasts and equipping them with full accessories day after day. Biking has broken into niches and most riders are afraid.
In our enclave of the unimaginably wealthy, money never dries up completely. One can study the trickle-down theory up close and personal when someone who could buy out your entire net worth with the loose change in his couch cushions is asking if you can knock a few percent off your price for no other reason than that he asked you to. And even if the deep pockets toss a few coins our way without chiseling us, their business is not enough to keep us afloat.
Take note, my wealthy friends: I will happily continue to keep your bikes in fine working order if you want to put me on a retainer. Since the middle class is dying, the poor schmucks who used to subsidize your mechanical lackeys have mostly gone away. See that? The wealthy DO need the middle class.
For a starting salary of, say 50 grand a year plus a housing allowance, I'll travel with you as your personal mechanic.
We saw a little surge of interest and business last summer as fuel prices soared, the economy sputtered and coughed, and the scientific community assured us that we needed to lower our CO2 output as much as our cholesterol intake. But all the problems of cycling, combined with dreary weather, soon put that to rest.
We cyclists know that if major numbers of people started cycling, conditions would improve instantly. They really would. Each cyclist would be one less occupant of a car. Each bike would be one less car to park. Small vehicles powered by humans would flow more easily than ungainly steel boxes in the streets. Some steel boxes would remain, but we would outnumber and surround them.
We cyclists must admit that during the transition period, cycling accidents could increase as less skilled riders tried to use their bikes. There's a crossover point where increased bike ridership crowds the space with those still in their steel boxes. Carelessness and anger would generate conflicts and collisions. If it looked bad enough for long enough (perhaps not long at all), the new cyclists would shrink back, leaving only the memory of the bloodbath to make future adopters even more wary.
This is not a reason to give up. It's just something to prepare for. Can anyone in a bike shop anywhere tell me they haven't heard a customer say they're afraid out there? I've been doing this for decades, and I'm afraid out there.
No other sport is played in traffic. Any time you ride for any reason except a practical one, you're playing in traffic. Traffic is sometimes understandably resentful. Then we have to get into how many motor vehicle trips are frivolous and unnecessary to compare the score card between cyclists and motorists.
All this seems like a digression from the question of economics and cycling, but economics are a political force and a symptom of social structure. If people really wanted to bike they would bike, just as they did in the crazy 1990s, when times were tough but we couldn't keep enough mountain bikes in stock.
We cyclists know that cycling is great and affordable, good for the environment, good for health and fitness and peace of mind, but only if you make it out and back in one piece. Make cycling's built-in appeal obvious enough and the business side will take care of itself.
A word to the industry: If you engage in the kind of elbow-throwing, criterium-style competition you did in the mountain bike boom you will screw it up again as badly as you did then. Bad enough when you hook each other into parking meters and litter barrels along the course, but you ended up crashing on top of bystanders and lower-category riders just warming up. If the money starts flowing again, be cool this time and see if we can keep it going for a long, long time. Biking is a lifetime sport, even though hard-core competitive cycling emphatically is not.
Friday, November 28, 2008
It's the stops
said...
Here is a photo of the typical and inevitable destruction of cable housing on a bike with head tube stops and conventional drop bars.
The aero bars on the black bike did complicate the problem, but the basic flaw affects any cabling. The curve ends too abruptly, too close to the pivot point of the whole assembly. It would only work well if the cables went into a ball swivel that allowed the ferrule to rotate freely without turning the threaded adjuster or fraying the cable over a hard edge. That's why I hate them. They make life worse in a small way and better in no way. The only way to work around them would be to remove them entirely.
The salt and sugar bath poured over the black bike only made the cable adjusters corrode into the stops. That can't be cleaned off after the fact without disassembling the bike to some degree. Salty water seeps in along the cable and down the threads of the adjuster by capillary action. Well-greased adjuster threads will guard against the damage for a while. Eventually, everything needs to be taken apart, hosed out with spray lube and put back together with fresh grease.
I suggested to the triathlete whose bike inspired my rant that she get a beater bike to stick on her trainer. Sweat on a real ride blows away on the breeze. That confines the sugar water to the vicinity of the water bottle cages and wherever the rider drools a significant amount. Much of the lip-drip blows away like the sweat. If the beater isn't an option, rig a towel or buy one of the prepared sweat catchers you can stick on your bike to catch the briny swill before it soaks anything expensive and delicate.
Here is a photo of the typical and inevitable destruction of cable housing on a bike with head tube stops and conventional drop bars.
The aero bars on the black bike did complicate the problem, but the basic flaw affects any cabling. The curve ends too abruptly, too close to the pivot point of the whole assembly. It would only work well if the cables went into a ball swivel that allowed the ferrule to rotate freely without turning the threaded adjuster or fraying the cable over a hard edge. That's why I hate them. They make life worse in a small way and better in no way. The only way to work around them would be to remove them entirely.The salt and sugar bath poured over the black bike only made the cable adjusters corrode into the stops. That can't be cleaned off after the fact without disassembling the bike to some degree. Salty water seeps in along the cable and down the threads of the adjuster by capillary action. Well-greased adjuster threads will guard against the damage for a while. Eventually, everything needs to be taken apart, hosed out with spray lube and put back together with fresh grease.
I suggested to the triathlete whose bike inspired my rant that she get a beater bike to stick on her trainer. Sweat on a real ride blows away on the breeze. That confines the sugar water to the vicinity of the water bottle cages and wherever the rider drools a significant amount. Much of the lip-drip blows away like the sweat. If the beater isn't an option, rig a towel or buy one of the prepared sweat catchers you can stick on your bike to catch the briny swill before it soaks anything expensive and delicate.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Surprisingly Intimate
Recent fixed gear rides with the cellist have turned into synchronized flights closer than any ride we've shared on multi-speed bikes. Riding identical gears, our rhythms match with every change of terrain.
I'm stronger and have decades more experience, but the fixed gear bike teaches technique unconsciously and rapidly. If you don't hate it in the first fifty yards you will love it within the first 100. So it seems to be with her.
I don't think she's just doing that thing I want that none of the other girls would do. She really seems intrigued. She gets it. If you get it, too, you know exactly what I mean.
She remarked right away on the pleasure of instant control through the pedals. I see her doing things she may not even realize she's doing. The bike shapes the rider if the rider is willing to let it.
After one training ride on the easiest ground, she wanted to go farther on a blustery, cold day. The longer flat ride went farther downwind than I thought was a good idea, so I suggested a shorter alternative with a bit of up and down. She was nervous about that, and the dirt section it included, but she went for it anyway. I knew she had the skills to master it. She had to find that out for herself. With that out of the way, that 15-mile loop can now be one of her standards and the longer ride, with more time on a milder day, will be that much more fun for her.
The turns, the climbs, the descents, the changes of surface called for all the subtle shifts of weight and cadence, the hip-steering and line-choosing a single fixed cog demands. In addition, I maneuvered around her, reacting to her movements in a coordinated dance. As she learns more, she will notice the pleasure of these synchronous movements herself.
I'm stronger and have decades more experience, but the fixed gear bike teaches technique unconsciously and rapidly. If you don't hate it in the first fifty yards you will love it within the first 100. So it seems to be with her.
I don't think she's just doing that thing I want that none of the other girls would do. She really seems intrigued. She gets it. If you get it, too, you know exactly what I mean.
She remarked right away on the pleasure of instant control through the pedals. I see her doing things she may not even realize she's doing. The bike shapes the rider if the rider is willing to let it.
After one training ride on the easiest ground, she wanted to go farther on a blustery, cold day. The longer flat ride went farther downwind than I thought was a good idea, so I suggested a shorter alternative with a bit of up and down. She was nervous about that, and the dirt section it included, but she went for it anyway. I knew she had the skills to master it. She had to find that out for herself. With that out of the way, that 15-mile loop can now be one of her standards and the longer ride, with more time on a milder day, will be that much more fun for her.
The turns, the climbs, the descents, the changes of surface called for all the subtle shifts of weight and cadence, the hip-steering and line-choosing a single fixed cog demands. In addition, I maneuvered around her, reacting to her movements in a coordinated dance. As she learns more, she will notice the pleasure of these synchronous movements herself.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
No Pictures (Okay, some pictures)
Wednesday seemed cold at 21 degrees, but I had the time. I grabbed a dawn patrol. Thursday I let the work schedule and the 17-degree morning low convince me to skip a day. But then on Friday I had the later start time so I went out at 12 degrees. Double digits. That's not cold.
Yes it is.
You know it was a cold ride when you felt like sweat was chilling on your skin the whole time, but your clothes are dry when you take them off after you get home. You also know your layering was working perfectly. Moisture traveled out to the surface unimpeded. That hardly ever happens.
Riding at sunrise treats me to visual delights even on the same loop day after day. Unfortunately, riding in a very small time window, I don't want to take time to stop and set up a picture.
Ossipee River frequently looks like this. This picture is from a year or two ago.
On a mid-day ride Tuesday, I saw Huntress Bridge Rapid was up.
I acted as the Huntress Bridge Traffic Cam. This guy was hauling ass approaching the bridge.
Yes it is.
You know it was a cold ride when you felt like sweat was chilling on your skin the whole time, but your clothes are dry when you take them off after you get home. You also know your layering was working perfectly. Moisture traveled out to the surface unimpeded. That hardly ever happens.
Riding at sunrise treats me to visual delights even on the same loop day after day. Unfortunately, riding in a very small time window, I don't want to take time to stop and set up a picture.
Ossipee River frequently looks like this. This picture is from a year or two ago.
On a mid-day ride Tuesday, I saw Huntress Bridge Rapid was up.
I acted as the Huntress Bridge Traffic Cam. This guy was hauling ass approaching the bridge.Putting almost 100 miles a day on the car some days, I know I wouldn't be doing my job with a Big Dummy and strong resolve. I've changed for now from a transportation cyclist to a fitness rider.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Plug and Play
Here's the cellist on her very first fixed gear ride ever.Because she rides a 54 cm Surly Cross Check and so do I, it was a quick and simple matter to change the stem on Blue for a shorter one and exchange her seat and post for mine. Voila! Instant fit.
I'm often frustrated when I try to ride with her in colder weather because I have to coordinate my rhythms on a fixed gear with hers on a multi-speed bike. Usually I just ride my Cross Check with multiple gears and put up with being cold and getting less of a workout. Since I have the Traveler's Check as a fixed gear, swapping parts to make it her bike took only minutes.
I run a gear most fixie fashionistas consider laughably low. The joke's on them, of course, when it comes to practical riding, because my 63-inch low and 73.5-inch high gear cover such a range of terrain and traffic conditions. When I did ride in an urban environment, I ran the 63 for winter and a 67 for summer. It's easier to do a track stand and bolt away from intersections in a lower gear. With a well developed spin a rider can take the 63 from zero to 25 mph for short sprints, 30 for short descents and cruise at 18-20 with city traffic all day.
Because of the low gear, the cellist had no trouble getting on it and staying on it. She instantly discovered how to control speed through the pedals. Aside from the time trial bars and the continuous drive, the bike was hers in all respects. She did not have to get used to twitchy handling.
Taking advantage of Effingham's excellent terrain, we could put together a ride of 12 miles with no hills. With a bit more time we could have stretched it to 15 or 20. Bending the loop differently, a rider can do everything from a total wall to a mixed bag of medium-sized grades in a range of distances from four to 20 miles. Today we kept her on the level so she could concentrate on developing basic fixed gear skills. She did a great job and was intrigued. Because the conversion is so easy, she can try it again any time she wants without significant inconvenience. I guess I should say I could reclaim Blue any time I want, because I'm going to leave it set up for her and ride the silver bike for a while.
Thanks, Surly!
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Self-medicating
November tries to get its claws into me every year. I used to lean forward and train hard in November, anticipating mountain adventures. As I find no time for those, I have no physical goal. With the warming climate, no one can count on being able to do any particular thing in the winter. The skiing could be lousy, but nasty weather could still prevent biking.
In dwindling daylight, with various pressures on my time, I try to get a ride whenever I can. I'm not ready for the rollers yet, because I should be reshaping myself in case I do get to ski. Rollers come around in March. Late February at the earliest. By then I see the rising sun and imagine the open road. Right now I go on the fixed gear for 15, 20 or 25, depending on the available time.
Today was a good one. The temperature was in the mid 40s. The wind howled out of the west. I worked my way west on diagonal roads and then blew east on Route 25 for about eight miles. At Loon Lake Road I turned north into Freedom. From the village there I pushed my way back against the wind, sometimes nearly halted. I stood on the pedals with my hands on the drops, put my nose down on the front tire and grunted out one pedal stroke at a time. The route home crossed the wind except for that stretch coming out of Freedom and a short bit on Green Mountain Road back in the 'ham.
The power had gone out. I left the house dark when I started my ride. I saw the power company truck at a pole several miles from my house. They had the juice back on by the time I got home.
November is National Go Back to Sleep Month. I have very little energy. It's been a rough few years. Maybe that's about to get better, but it hasn't quite kicked in yet. I need the small accomplishment of rides. It's a simple thing, on equipment I already own. All I have to do is get dressed and go do it. I always feel better afterward, even if I got soaked and chilled.
November's skies and the mountain landscape change from one dramatic vista to another in a fraction of a second as clouds gather and shred, gather and shred. All around the continuum of the ride swirls the constant change of the turbulent sky. And then you'll get a day as flat gray and unchanging as the walls and ceiling of a mental institution. At that point, your motion seems to flow through frozen time. Nothing was. Nothing ever will be. You have only this ride, from home to home, for no particular reason. You flicker through a static world, a flash of color in defiance of gray.
In dwindling daylight, with various pressures on my time, I try to get a ride whenever I can. I'm not ready for the rollers yet, because I should be reshaping myself in case I do get to ski. Rollers come around in March. Late February at the earliest. By then I see the rising sun and imagine the open road. Right now I go on the fixed gear for 15, 20 or 25, depending on the available time.
Today was a good one. The temperature was in the mid 40s. The wind howled out of the west. I worked my way west on diagonal roads and then blew east on Route 25 for about eight miles. At Loon Lake Road I turned north into Freedom. From the village there I pushed my way back against the wind, sometimes nearly halted. I stood on the pedals with my hands on the drops, put my nose down on the front tire and grunted out one pedal stroke at a time. The route home crossed the wind except for that stretch coming out of Freedom and a short bit on Green Mountain Road back in the 'ham.
The power had gone out. I left the house dark when I started my ride. I saw the power company truck at a pole several miles from my house. They had the juice back on by the time I got home.
November is National Go Back to Sleep Month. I have very little energy. It's been a rough few years. Maybe that's about to get better, but it hasn't quite kicked in yet. I need the small accomplishment of rides. It's a simple thing, on equipment I already own. All I have to do is get dressed and go do it. I always feel better afterward, even if I got soaked and chilled.
November's skies and the mountain landscape change from one dramatic vista to another in a fraction of a second as clouds gather and shred, gather and shred. All around the continuum of the ride swirls the constant change of the turbulent sky. And then you'll get a day as flat gray and unchanging as the walls and ceiling of a mental institution. At that point, your motion seems to flow through frozen time. Nothing was. Nothing ever will be. You have only this ride, from home to home, for no particular reason. You flicker through a static world, a flash of color in defiance of gray.
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"I have to be devils advocate here and ask a couple of questions.
Was the problem the stops, or was it that the owner did not properly care for their bike? I understand you sweat, but can you clean it?
Also, was the problem due in part, or wholly, to the fact that you were using aero bars on the bike? Just curious."