Dogs in the morning, bears in the afternoon

On the way to work this morning, on a dirt road in North Wolfeboro, I had to get past these dogs. I almost always hear barking when I ride by this particular little farm. Occasionally, I have been chased. Today, two dogs I had never seen here before were already out in the road, long before I got there.

I talked to them until I got a clear shot at the downhill to escape.

I didn't remember turning the camera on. I was surprised to see that I had. I noticed it when I got down to College Road.

After a pretty placid day, we knocked off at 4. Back out in North Wolfeboro, nearing the top of Bryant Road, I spotted bear cubs trotting out into the road. I stopped to let them go on through, figuring the mother was somewhere nearby. That's assuming some intrepid gunner didn't blast her over a pile of old doughnuts last month, or chase her down with baying hounds after baiting season ended.

This time of year, one hears the truckloads of howling bear dogs passing on the road, usually very early in the morning. Being intrusive seems like it might be part of the appeal for bear hunters. It does help me get the cats back indoors so I can have them safely contained before I leave for work.

Dog crap and dirt bikes

The Cotton Valley Trail has become outlaw country. Tracks reveal that dirt bikes -- the motorized kind -- have been cruising it regularly now that the permitted users have thinned out to nearly none.

The dog walkers have quit picking up after their pets. The way a knobby tire flings the feces must be rough on the dirt bikers. It explains why the tracks show them riding side by side rather than one following directly behind the other.

I'm grateful for my fenders. However, I did grab a big handful of dog dookie that was stuck to the down tube when I hoisted my bike onto its hook at work.

Dog crap is much more of a path problem than a road problem. Dogs seldom stop for a squat on a road. They might hit the gutter or the sidewalk, but not usually the travel lane. But I constantly encounter dog crap on the fat tires of people's path bikes. It's an occupational hazard. And when I ride the path I'm in the same minefield.

Today I saw something else to think about.

This morning, about a hundred yards out from the first bridge I cross on the trail, I spotted a dark-clad figure on it. It was suddenly joined by another, and another, the way a flock of wild turkeys will file out of the woods. As I got closer I could see three cheap bikes and assess the attire of the bearded young men. They looked like they might be living under that bridge. Homelessness looks different in a rural area, where the dispossessed can disperse to many more unobserved campsites than in an urban setting. Or they could have been a few dudes out groovin' on the woods on the only bikes they can afford.

If people are living under that bridge it could make the ride in the dark a little creepier. I have sympathy for the down and out, since I fully expect to end my days among them. But I also don't like to meet new people by headlamp on a dark trail by myself.

Guess I'll find out tonight.

This guy REALLY doesn't like dogs

A woman asked me to help get her father's bike out of the car so he could leave it with us to get new tires. The front wheel was off. The bike was stuffed into the back seat of a sedan.

In the bottle cage I saw a full size can of hornet spray. I said it was a strange choice of refreshment.

"He carries that for when dogs chase him," she said.

I ventured that it was pretty harsh stuff to blast a dog with. Not only that, blowback would be pretty rough on the rider,too.

"I know," she said.  "But he's been bitten a couple of times and he's 86 years old. I can't really tell him a thing."

So, word to the wise: don't startle or intimidate the old dude on the 17 inch black Fuji Absolute. And definitely don't bark at him.

A little laughter, a few moments of terror...

Actually, the terror was a couple of days before the laugh.

On Wednesday I rode the park and ride commute on the Cotton Valley Trail for the first time in a week. A digestive complaint had kept me from eating or sleeping well for several days, so I ventured back out cautiously. The morning ride put me in a good mood for the day. I looked forward to the return trip in the dark.

Still unable to pound down my normal quantities of food and not entirely sure I was completely clear of the intestinal ninjas that had been ambushing me, I rode conservatively, but some sections encourage a little friskiness. There's one bit where the trail crosses a road, goes a few yards level, then hops up and over a small knoll. Coming down the back side of the knoll I always enjoy the acceleration and the way the generator light burns bright white.

The path runs outside the tracks here. Outbound, the tracks are  to the left. Just across them are a couple of houses on wooded lots. I could see lights inside and out on the house that sits closer to the tracks. I heard barking.

No big deal. I hear barking from houses along the trail all the time. This time, the barking went from a questioning woof to deep, aggressive, rapid barking. Crashing sounds in the undergrowth indicated that a large dog was charging me from the blackness to my left.

"Hey, dog," I said in a loud but friendly tone. Then "Hey! HEY! HEYYYYYY!!! GET YER DOG!"

As I bellowed for the dog's owner I was sprinting forward. Outside the light from my headlight all was blackness. Even with a good helmet light anything outside its beam would be in black shadow. I couldn't waste time or attention trying to see the beast that was thrashing after me. All I could do was crank as hard as I could and hope the stupid dog didn't crash into me or chomp down on any part it could grab.

In several years of incorporating that section of path into commutes in all seasons I have never had a problem there. Yesterday and today's rides followed the placid pattern I had come to expect. But now I have to be a little more alert in case the mysterious hound returns.

One day on, one day off: On Thursday I drove to work because that's the day I pay a musician to be my friend. I don't have time to do the bike commute in any of its forms and still get to the string band's meeting place on time.

Yesterday the weather was showery. The morning sleet almost convinced me to skip the ride, but I went for it instead. The dirt road and path were still frozen from the previous cold weather. On the evening ride the top layer had thawed, so it was like riding on flypaper. The tires didn't sink into glop but they stuck stuck stuck, demanding a full grunt from every pedal stroke. It was a real thigh burner.

And so we come to this morning. Things had frozen up again. My digestive system was still behaving itself. I was doing okay on time. The sun was out. Great.

As I started down from my parking point I did not seem to be getting as much speed out of the descent as I usually do. Maybe the road was still a little fly papery. Maybe my first cup of coffee in four or five days was making me tach up a little. I kept pushing, down and down until I got to the path.

Maybe my seat was too low. It felt a little low. It had felt a little high when I started using the mountain bike commuter this fall. Maybe I raised it last winter when I started wearing the Snow Sneakers and needed to raise it again now that I had gone back to them. I pulled one foot out of the toestrap so I could put my heel on the pedal to check leg extension. It seemed okay.

As I brought my foot back around to slip into the toeclip again I heard a weird metallic click as my shoe caught on something projecting from the bike. I discovered that one brake spring had popped out from my rear brake, probably from shoving the bike in the car and dragging it out again in a bit of a rush. A brake pad had been rubbing the rim since I started.

Wow, was I fast after that! At least until I hit the blasting headwind on the causeways where the path goes along the lakes. But headwinds in the morning are often tailwinds on the way home. And so it was.

The evening commute gained a whole lot of atmosphere when a thick snow squall moved in as I was starting from the shop. It was a snow shower at first, steady but light. It thickened after I got out of the downtown area and headed into the darkness. But that wind was behind me. The snowflakes flared in the headlight beam. Occasional big ones in just the right spot flashed brilliantly for an instant. The cone of floodlit snow streamed toward me as the dusting whitened the path. A wild evening.

Take your dog to work day

Because the cellist had a 15- or 16-hour work day ahead of her, I agreed to drive instead of ride, to limit the amount of time our geriatric terrier would have to wait to go outside. He's on a diuretic medication for congestive heart failure, so he doesn't get really great mileage between stops. For example, he's been getting me out of bed between 1 and 2 a.m. every night and is still barking desperately at 5 a.m. to go again.

Since I was driving anyway, and work has REALLY slacked off, I brought the little dude with me.

When I went for coffee I left him tied out in front of Lydia's Cafe. I thought he might bring in a little cash to help offset the expenses of his upkeep.

Unfortunately, tourist traffic has plummeted, so no one came by. I took as long as I could, filling a couple of cups and paying. Then  we both had to go begin our hours of incarceration.

We waited months for summer to get going and now it's over. August was a little hectic, but it's been years since we had a summer like they were in the 1990s. Last summer was close, but this year we only seemed busy during the few peak periods because the shop can't afford to have a full staff. When it's dead there's not enough income to pay for one person. When it's busy, two or three people have to do their best. Those rushes haven't lasted long. They started late and ended abruptly.

Pretty weekends may bring some activity, particularly when the leaves turn.

Organic chain lube

Having environmentalist inclinations I often wonder whether non-petroleum-based lubricants could perform adequately on the bike. Apparently commercially available olive oil might as well go on your chain rather than down your throat. I even recall some letters to bike magazines regarding the use of vegetable oils for eco-friendly chain lube.

I'm not quite ready to begin trials yet, but I have started considering the lubricating capabilities of dog slobber. The cellist and I recently adopted a geriatric terrier, so I am once again dealing with dog bowls. Washing Scruffy's bowl I have been reminded once again how persistently dog drool retains its slipperiness even after vigorous scrubbing with dish soap and water. Since wet-weather performance is a critical characteristic of chain lube, this durability may be a key advantage to dog saliva.

Dog drool may function as a true dry lube. It does seem to dry, but reactivates to full sliminess as soon as water hits it. So: does it reduce friction between link plates and rollers and does it act as an effective corrosion barrier? You've never seen a rusty dog tongue, have you?

The next step will be to treat sections of chain in my drawer full of leftover links and expose them to various environmental conditions. I might get to that some day. For now this remains a "thought experiment," which is the high-falutin' science term for daydreaming.

The Beast Defense

The Saint Bernard that bit me almost exactly two years ago has been running loose again. He's come after me two or three times this season. The last time was on my way home today. My mind was already on the things I had to do at home to get ready to go to a zoning board meeting. The dog just materialized beside me.

I heard the owner yell, but the dog was already accelerating. I dumped the chain onto a higher gear and lurched out of the saddle to try to get to the dropoff of the next downhill ahead of the remarkably quick behemoth. I made it.

Seething, I considered my options. Right away I figured I would phone the dog in to town authorities. That seems kind of insipid, even though it is completely justified. The dog should be restrained from running out into traffic. But people get funny about these seemingly minor issues. Law enforcement has better things to do than chase down dog complaints. The animal control officer (if we still have one) is probably some part-timer who works long hours at a real job. I will probably have to deal with this beast again.

I want skunk spray. Pepper spray hasn't worked well for me. I did not realize when I picked up a can of Halt brand spray that it didn't mean it would halt the attacker, but rather that you had to come to a dead halt yourself so the spray wouldn't just trail back in your slipstream. If I could blast the animal with skunk spray it would not only deter the attack, it would inconvenience the owner in such a tangible way that restraining the dog would look like the obvious best choice.

My quick web search has turned up suppliers of skunk scent as a cover scent for hunters. One supplier actually took it off the market because he'd heard it was being used for too many revenge schemes. I salute his principles. My scheme wasn't revenge as such. It was more along the lines of the way the skunk naturally uses the scent for personal defense.

We'll see what happens in the next few days.