We’ve gone to a full lockout here at the shop. If you want to drop off a bike for repair, you can make an appointment and leave it at the back door. If you need a product, call to see if we have it. We can take your payment info over the phone and bring the item out to you.
Unfortunately, web commerce has not gone exceptionally well. Over our few years trying to offer most of our inventory to internet shopping, we’ve gotten pounded in shipping charges, and ripped off numerous times. Now we offer only little items from the ski inventory, so the packages are small and the financial risk is low. You can’t browse our store stock and place an order. It will seriously shrink our cash flow during the current situation, but at least we still can offer mechanical services.
I have to say it’s pretty nice working without interruption. The phone might ring. Someone might arrive for their prearranged drop off or pickup. Those are generally quick and concise. Other than that, I can tend the machinery with few distractions. I mean aside from the distractions that have plagued me for a lifetime.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Some swords make lousy plowshares
Early in the pandemic response in this country, transportation cycling has been held up as an emerging alternative in areas where public transportation was shutting down or scaling back. Since so many news sources are paywalled, I am not including links to footnote my assertions. Considering that gas pump handles have been rated as grossly infectious as the Broad Street community water pump that caused a cholera outbreak in London in 1854, you might want to consider cutting back on trips by car just to reduce your visits to the gas station.
In some places, people are being encouraged to go outside and get sunshine and healthful exercise away from crowds and indoor facilities like gyms and fitness clubs. In other places, the social distancing mandate amounts to virtual house arrest. This complicates your decision to bike or not. Check your local jurisdiction.
Here in New Hampshire, we actually have idiots suing the state because of the ban on large gatherings. Fortunately, the kind of people who would do that are the kind of people I routinely avoid anyway. One can only hope that they fester in their own Petri dish and leave the rest of us alone. Their suit has been dismissed by a Superior Court judge. No word on whether they will push it further. When they filed suit, the number of confirmed cases was 44, with no deaths. They cited this as a reason to carry on as usual, because so many other people had outright died of causes we consider routine, like car crashes, and influenza. Now confirmed cases stand at 78, still with no fatalities. But the day is young. Meanwhile, we are still free to ride or walk recreationally as well as for transportation.
Thinking apocalyptically, like the bullet-hoarders and panic-buyers of guns, I look at the bikes currently in vogue for their usefulness in the event of complete societal collapse. How easy would it be to rack this thing up and use it as your trusty mount through the savage landscape of a ravaged world? How long would it last without access to fresh hydraulic fluid, tire sealant, shock oil, and tinfoil chains?
Early mountain bikes were based on actual bicycles. They evoked the early geometry of safety bicycles from back when few roads were paved. They used the most widely available tire size in the world (26Xdecimal -- eg:1.75, 1.95, 2.1). This is different from 26 fractional (1 3/8, etc.). Until the explosion of suspension technology, the format remained the same even as the frame geometry tightened up to suit a sportier style of riding. Designers discovered that they didn't really need hugely long chainstays and super laid back head angles, although slack head angles have returned in the current era of motorcycle-based designs and long-travel forks.
Any mechanical transportation will eventually die out unless support industries manage to survive or reconstitute themselves. Even a chain for 6-7-8 speed wears out eventually. I wonder how long massively heavy one-inch block chains used to last? That was also before the age of derailleurs. As vigorously as I resist the over-engineered modern marvels of today, I don't pine for some 90-pound wrought iron monster fixed gear to tool around on. But that brings us to the rubber problem.
Early bikes used solid tires. Really early boneshakers used what were basically wagon wheels, with iron bands around a wooden wheel with solid spokes. Real sketchy cornering traction with those bad daddies, but of course no worries about flats. The next big innovation was solid rubber. High wheel "ordinaries" used that. As a friend of mine who rides such things observed, "we laugh at broken glass, but we're all in a dead panic when a squirrel runs out in the road." Hitting a darting rodent can launch a rider on a tall wheel into the dreaded header, a face plant from six feet up.
Scaling back to a partial apocalypse, or simply adopting the income of your ever more numerous working poor, you will be best served by a simple bike with a rigid frame and fork. This is by far the easiest to maintain, providing the most value for the dollar. A cargo bike might be nice for the big loads, but a trailer serves for the temporary need, and you can leave it home for more nimble cruising. Even a good set of racks and some panniers can increase your load carrying capability, as long as your bike will accept them. Anything too sport-oriented will not have the clearances and eyelets for solid rack mounting and stability with a light to moderate load.
Electric bikes will be tempting. They certainly have a place if everything doesn't fall apart. But in a real post-apocalyptic scenario your ebike is only as good as your charging capability. Since solar panels wear out and wind turbine blades fatigue and have to be retired, even "green energy" will become scarce. You really need to plan on muscle power alone. And various equines who might become more common again. But the rise of the bike in the late 19th Century gave people who couldn't afford to feed and house a large animal the chance to extend their cruising radius for little or no money after the initial purchase.
My own fleet has been selected with versatility in mind. While my early mountain bike acquisitions reflected the state of the art circa 1990-91, the bike I built around 1995-'96 already declined aluminum in favor of chromoly, and had a rigid fork because suspension forks were changing rapidly, and were still heavy and wobbly, even at the high end of the price range. The constant change makes any super-technical bike a poor long-term investment. But any manufactured item is only as good as the availability of parts. The industry can kill its ancestors and favor its short-lived children simply by stopping production of anything that fits the old stuff. Ultimately we will all be walking, and making shoes out of whatever we can find.
In some places, people are being encouraged to go outside and get sunshine and healthful exercise away from crowds and indoor facilities like gyms and fitness clubs. In other places, the social distancing mandate amounts to virtual house arrest. This complicates your decision to bike or not. Check your local jurisdiction.
Here in New Hampshire, we actually have idiots suing the state because of the ban on large gatherings. Fortunately, the kind of people who would do that are the kind of people I routinely avoid anyway. One can only hope that they fester in their own Petri dish and leave the rest of us alone. Their suit has been dismissed by a Superior Court judge. No word on whether they will push it further. When they filed suit, the number of confirmed cases was 44, with no deaths. They cited this as a reason to carry on as usual, because so many other people had outright died of causes we consider routine, like car crashes, and influenza. Now confirmed cases stand at 78, still with no fatalities. But the day is young. Meanwhile, we are still free to ride or walk recreationally as well as for transportation.
Thinking apocalyptically, like the bullet-hoarders and panic-buyers of guns, I look at the bikes currently in vogue for their usefulness in the event of complete societal collapse. How easy would it be to rack this thing up and use it as your trusty mount through the savage landscape of a ravaged world? How long would it last without access to fresh hydraulic fluid, tire sealant, shock oil, and tinfoil chains?
Early mountain bikes were based on actual bicycles. They evoked the early geometry of safety bicycles from back when few roads were paved. They used the most widely available tire size in the world (26Xdecimal -- eg:1.75, 1.95, 2.1). This is different from 26 fractional (1 3/8, etc.). Until the explosion of suspension technology, the format remained the same even as the frame geometry tightened up to suit a sportier style of riding. Designers discovered that they didn't really need hugely long chainstays and super laid back head angles, although slack head angles have returned in the current era of motorcycle-based designs and long-travel forks.
Any mechanical transportation will eventually die out unless support industries manage to survive or reconstitute themselves. Even a chain for 6-7-8 speed wears out eventually. I wonder how long massively heavy one-inch block chains used to last? That was also before the age of derailleurs. As vigorously as I resist the over-engineered modern marvels of today, I don't pine for some 90-pound wrought iron monster fixed gear to tool around on. But that brings us to the rubber problem.
Early bikes used solid tires. Really early boneshakers used what were basically wagon wheels, with iron bands around a wooden wheel with solid spokes. Real sketchy cornering traction with those bad daddies, but of course no worries about flats. The next big innovation was solid rubber. High wheel "ordinaries" used that. As a friend of mine who rides such things observed, "we laugh at broken glass, but we're all in a dead panic when a squirrel runs out in the road." Hitting a darting rodent can launch a rider on a tall wheel into the dreaded header, a face plant from six feet up.
Scaling back to a partial apocalypse, or simply adopting the income of your ever more numerous working poor, you will be best served by a simple bike with a rigid frame and fork. This is by far the easiest to maintain, providing the most value for the dollar. A cargo bike might be nice for the big loads, but a trailer serves for the temporary need, and you can leave it home for more nimble cruising. Even a good set of racks and some panniers can increase your load carrying capability, as long as your bike will accept them. Anything too sport-oriented will not have the clearances and eyelets for solid rack mounting and stability with a light to moderate load.
Electric bikes will be tempting. They certainly have a place if everything doesn't fall apart. But in a real post-apocalyptic scenario your ebike is only as good as your charging capability. Since solar panels wear out and wind turbine blades fatigue and have to be retired, even "green energy" will become scarce. You really need to plan on muscle power alone. And various equines who might become more common again. But the rise of the bike in the late 19th Century gave people who couldn't afford to feed and house a large animal the chance to extend their cruising radius for little or no money after the initial purchase.
My own fleet has been selected with versatility in mind. While my early mountain bike acquisitions reflected the state of the art circa 1990-91, the bike I built around 1995-'96 already declined aluminum in favor of chromoly, and had a rigid fork because suspension forks were changing rapidly, and were still heavy and wobbly, even at the high end of the price range. The constant change makes any super-technical bike a poor long-term investment. But any manufactured item is only as good as the availability of parts. The industry can kill its ancestors and favor its short-lived children simply by stopping production of anything that fits the old stuff. Ultimately we will all be walking, and making shoes out of whatever we can find.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Your free tuneup
The token work can’t be very important. If it’s free, it must be worthless, right?
Wrong.
Shut in with the few repair bikes that made their way in before everyone headed for shelter, I see the familiar toll of neglect. The guy who brought in one batch of three, none of them a recent purchase, said that he didn’t think they had gotten their free tuneups. He wasn’t angling for the freebie the way chiselers do, which was refreshing. He was just adding some details to the obvious list of what was bent, torn off, falling out, mysteriously severed, and generally shit-covered and corroded.
This brings us to The Free Tuneup Hoarder. The hoarder holds onto the token up to — or well past — its expiration date, in order to get what seems like the maximum value out of it. What often happens instead is that things that would have been minor if we’d gotten to see them within a couple of weeks are now seriously mangled, like a crank arm that could have been tightened, but is now distorted and impossible to keep secured.
When I assemble a bike, I start by taking it apart. Technically, they’re supposed to come from the factory ready just to have the unattached parts attached and go out on the sales floor. I like to think that almost no bike shops trust that bullshit. Most of them will true at least the front wheel before installing it, and maybe adjust gear cables properly at the anchor bolts instead of using up lots of threaded adjuster. But it’s the next level or two that make the real difference.
If the assembler basically does a full tuneup on the bike as it is being assembled, every operation afterwards takes a lot less time and attention. Take off the cassette or freewheel. Properly secure the cones and locknuts to make sure that the hub bearings are adjusted and stay adjusted. Properly secure the front hub adjustment as well. Then true the wheels.
If the bike has rim brakes, undo the pad mounting hardware completely and grease the threads. This will make the pad alignment easier to adjust, and help you tighten the pads securely.
Generally greasing threads anywhere you find them goes a long way to make proper tightening easier.
All this meticulousness takes slightly longer than a slapdash assembly, but it pays off big time down the road or trail. I can’t say that everyone here does that thorough a job, but anyone I have trained has been taught that it should be the minimum standard. Less meticulous work will usually come back to bite you.
Desperate times lead to desperate measures, so our primary assembler will feel besieged. Stuff is going to hit the floor that didn’t hit all the bases first. We deal with that as we can. It’s all safely tightened. It just might not stay that way after bouncing over a bunch of rocks and logs, or potholes, or rail crossings. So don’t blow off the free tuneup, or try to stretch it out to get the most for your zero dollars. It could end up costing you a chunk.
Wrong.
Shut in with the few repair bikes that made their way in before everyone headed for shelter, I see the familiar toll of neglect. The guy who brought in one batch of three, none of them a recent purchase, said that he didn’t think they had gotten their free tuneups. He wasn’t angling for the freebie the way chiselers do, which was refreshing. He was just adding some details to the obvious list of what was bent, torn off, falling out, mysteriously severed, and generally shit-covered and corroded.
This brings us to The Free Tuneup Hoarder. The hoarder holds onto the token up to — or well past — its expiration date, in order to get what seems like the maximum value out of it. What often happens instead is that things that would have been minor if we’d gotten to see them within a couple of weeks are now seriously mangled, like a crank arm that could have been tightened, but is now distorted and impossible to keep secured.
When I assemble a bike, I start by taking it apart. Technically, they’re supposed to come from the factory ready just to have the unattached parts attached and go out on the sales floor. I like to think that almost no bike shops trust that bullshit. Most of them will true at least the front wheel before installing it, and maybe adjust gear cables properly at the anchor bolts instead of using up lots of threaded adjuster. But it’s the next level or two that make the real difference.
If the assembler basically does a full tuneup on the bike as it is being assembled, every operation afterwards takes a lot less time and attention. Take off the cassette or freewheel. Properly secure the cones and locknuts to make sure that the hub bearings are adjusted and stay adjusted. Properly secure the front hub adjustment as well. Then true the wheels.
If the bike has rim brakes, undo the pad mounting hardware completely and grease the threads. This will make the pad alignment easier to adjust, and help you tighten the pads securely.
Generally greasing threads anywhere you find them goes a long way to make proper tightening easier.
All this meticulousness takes slightly longer than a slapdash assembly, but it pays off big time down the road or trail. I can’t say that everyone here does that thorough a job, but anyone I have trained has been taught that it should be the minimum standard. Less meticulous work will usually come back to bite you.
Desperate times lead to desperate measures, so our primary assembler will feel besieged. Stuff is going to hit the floor that didn’t hit all the bases first. We deal with that as we can. It’s all safely tightened. It just might not stay that way after bouncing over a bunch of rocks and logs, or potholes, or rail crossings. So don’t blow off the free tuneup, or try to stretch it out to get the most for your zero dollars. It could end up costing you a chunk.
Friday, March 20, 2020
We’ll last until the disinfectant runs out.
As the pandemic clamps down harder on the world, we adapt as best we can in our small corner of it. No one considers a rural bike shop to be an essential business, because only the desperate and the stupid use bikes for transportation in a country setting. Bike commuters are either worker bees who need to stretch their meager income, or fitness freaks who wobble along getting in everyone’s way. Some of us fall into both categories. But, essential or not, we can function as long as the disinfectant spray holds out. That and the money. It may be close.
We probably have more disinfectant than money. But even if I hadn’t scorched off so many people by being a caustic asshole about the equipment that the bike industry has conned everyone into having to embrace, there’s no guarantee that the absent would have required any more from us than they have demanded wherever they have demanded it.
We’re considering locking down. Bikes could be dropped off by appointment only. Payment would only be accepted over the phone. We haven’t gone there yet, but some shops in urban areas have. Their own personnel maintain the six-foot separation recommended by the CDC. Every bike for service gets sprayed down at check in, before the work is done, and after the work is completed.
El Queso Grande wondered whether we would see a surge in undesirable side effects a few months from now, after the constant exposure to all the cleaners and disinfectants.
We’ve cut the staff to two of us. Trainee David is reducing his exposure. One problem is that everyone in northern New England has sniffles and a cough this time of year, so you have no idea if it’s the usual snot fest or the new plague.
We probably have more disinfectant than money. But even if I hadn’t scorched off so many people by being a caustic asshole about the equipment that the bike industry has conned everyone into having to embrace, there’s no guarantee that the absent would have required any more from us than they have demanded wherever they have demanded it.
We’re considering locking down. Bikes could be dropped off by appointment only. Payment would only be accepted over the phone. We haven’t gone there yet, but some shops in urban areas have. Their own personnel maintain the six-foot separation recommended by the CDC. Every bike for service gets sprayed down at check in, before the work is done, and after the work is completed.
El Queso Grande wondered whether we would see a surge in undesirable side effects a few months from now, after the constant exposure to all the cleaners and disinfectants.
We’ve cut the staff to two of us. Trainee David is reducing his exposure. One problem is that everyone in northern New England has sniffles and a cough this time of year, so you have no idea if it’s the usual snot fest or the new plague.
Monday, March 16, 2020
Paradoxes of Pandemic Preparation and Protection
"Stock up and stay home."
-- Go out every day or two, to see if the stores have managed to replenish necessities cleaned out by panic buying and hoarding.
"Wash your hands as often as possible."
-- Sign in the drug store: "Restrooms closed for the duration of the epidemic." Also, hand sanitizer not available until further notice. If you're not carrying your own, you are S.O.L.
The grocery store still has a dispenser of sanitizing wipes where the shopping carts are parked. No one has yanked them all out and run away with them.
At the bike shop, it's hardly business as usual, because very little is as usual right now. The winter never really happened, so it's looking like early bike season a month earlier than early used to be. In previous weak winters, sometimes people would show up with their bikes, but more often they don't. This year, we've had a small early surge. It's too small even to be a surge, but more than a blip. One customer who dropped her bike for an early tuneup is a Massachusetts refugee who was told to work from home and decided to come up to Wolfe City and work out of her second home rather than stay down in plague-ridden Massachusetts.
The bike business was already hampered by tariffs and by the massive disruption of Chinese manufacturing as the new coronavirus erupted over there. But the shop owner had to get bikes in, so we're waiting for a few dozen to show up. They will all need to be assembled in case we get a season instead of a nationwide total shutdown.
The schools are closed for three weeks. That means our trainee is available for more hours, although he still has to keep up his assigned schoolwork. We haven't had a lot of customers come in and hang around, so the social distancing thing sort of works. Trainee is a bike racer, so he's already averse to getting sick. The rest of us live in the animal fashion of the working poor. We know instinctively that we cannot get sick or injured. If we don't get any business because there's a nationwide shutdown, or we can't work because too many of us are sick, we know that it's the end for us. There is no national support system, and little hope that this crisis will change that.
Americans have long prided themselves on doing as little as possible for each other. I don't know where that E Pluribus Unum bullshit came from. The obvious operating principle throughout my working life has been Every Man for Himself. We are free to associate, and many do, but those associations have clearly delineated membership. Many of them make no secret that their perimeter is fortified and their members are armed. Others are more benevolent. I suppose we're lucky that the hard-core authoritarians have not quite managed to seize control of national policy, since the benevolent ones have failed utterly to inspire national acceptance.
If we should have to shut down, or I have to be quarantined, I could work from home. I have almost all of the basic tools for a commercial bike repair shop. I can't work on hydraulics at home, and I have not kept up with the 15 or 20 different bottom bracket tools you need to service all comers, but I could get a lot of routine crap done. Somehow the bikes would need to get to me. Either the customers would have to truck them out here, or the shop would have to bring them. They could also provide any special tools a particular repair required, and douse everything with the appropriate chemicals to purify it after it came back from the leper colony. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. It would be cumbersome. More likely nobody would bother.
For now, we sanitize obsessively and wash our hands until they're scaly. We'd been doing gloves for a few years already, just to keep some of the grease, lubes, and solvents off of our skin. We have not adopted masks yet, except for the procedures that made them advisable already. But now you look at every incoming person as a potential suspect.
The cellist arrived at Portland Jetport at 11:30 p.m. on Saturday night. Because she fell while hiking a couple of weeks ago, she's been on crutches, and applied for a wheelchair to get through the airport. That meant that I was standing in the greeting area while everyone else got off of two flights that had arrived at about the same time. I watched them stream in and come down a stairway and an escalator to reach the lower level where the baggage claim and the street exits are. A few wore masks. One or two wore gloves. No one made much effort to stand apart, because the system is not set up for it. We arranged ourselves around the conveyor belts in the baggage claim area like bears waiting along a river bank for salmon. When the right one comes along, dart a paw in and snatch it out. The cellist's wheelchair driver waited patiently. He was a quiet, tall young man, probably part of the refugee community that has settled in urban Maine. His presence was calming.
The cellist and I have barely touched since she got here. She extended her stay when the governor of Maryland shut the schools, so she'll be here longer than the two-week quarantine period required for people coming from known hot zones, like Italy. Meanwhile, I'm still potentially exposed every day that I go to work or make a quick sweep through the grocery store because we still can. We don't want to dig into our stash of isolation foods until we know that we have no choice. Otherwise, we might have too little at the point that everything shuts down for real. If one of us gets sick, the other one is almost certain to. But she couldn't stay where she was, because her living arrangements are pretty marginal down there. Her chances of exposure were much greater. That thing that Kurt Vonnegut supposedly wrote, about going into the arts? Yeah, that's bullshit. Go into fucking finance, people. Become a corporate lawyer. Just go ahead and rape the planet and fleece the chumps for your own fat gains, because it's all for nothing anyway. We can't vote away the Apocalypse any more than someone can pray away the gay.
The internet has developed its own familiar symptoms of proud ignorance, conspiracy theories, doomsayers, spiritual advisers, real scientific medical information, pseudoscientific crapola, and malware. It's a perfect laboratory demonstration of every debate about social, political, and environmental issues. It's like watching a Petri dish getting obliterated under a slimy, furry culture going out of control.
Good luck, everybody.
-- Go out every day or two, to see if the stores have managed to replenish necessities cleaned out by panic buying and hoarding.
"Wash your hands as often as possible."
-- Sign in the drug store: "Restrooms closed for the duration of the epidemic." Also, hand sanitizer not available until further notice. If you're not carrying your own, you are S.O.L.
The grocery store still has a dispenser of sanitizing wipes where the shopping carts are parked. No one has yanked them all out and run away with them.
At the bike shop, it's hardly business as usual, because very little is as usual right now. The winter never really happened, so it's looking like early bike season a month earlier than early used to be. In previous weak winters, sometimes people would show up with their bikes, but more often they don't. This year, we've had a small early surge. It's too small even to be a surge, but more than a blip. One customer who dropped her bike for an early tuneup is a Massachusetts refugee who was told to work from home and decided to come up to Wolfe City and work out of her second home rather than stay down in plague-ridden Massachusetts.
The bike business was already hampered by tariffs and by the massive disruption of Chinese manufacturing as the new coronavirus erupted over there. But the shop owner had to get bikes in, so we're waiting for a few dozen to show up. They will all need to be assembled in case we get a season instead of a nationwide total shutdown.
The schools are closed for three weeks. That means our trainee is available for more hours, although he still has to keep up his assigned schoolwork. We haven't had a lot of customers come in and hang around, so the social distancing thing sort of works. Trainee is a bike racer, so he's already averse to getting sick. The rest of us live in the animal fashion of the working poor. We know instinctively that we cannot get sick or injured. If we don't get any business because there's a nationwide shutdown, or we can't work because too many of us are sick, we know that it's the end for us. There is no national support system, and little hope that this crisis will change that.
Americans have long prided themselves on doing as little as possible for each other. I don't know where that E Pluribus Unum bullshit came from. The obvious operating principle throughout my working life has been Every Man for Himself. We are free to associate, and many do, but those associations have clearly delineated membership. Many of them make no secret that their perimeter is fortified and their members are armed. Others are more benevolent. I suppose we're lucky that the hard-core authoritarians have not quite managed to seize control of national policy, since the benevolent ones have failed utterly to inspire national acceptance.
If we should have to shut down, or I have to be quarantined, I could work from home. I have almost all of the basic tools for a commercial bike repair shop. I can't work on hydraulics at home, and I have not kept up with the 15 or 20 different bottom bracket tools you need to service all comers, but I could get a lot of routine crap done. Somehow the bikes would need to get to me. Either the customers would have to truck them out here, or the shop would have to bring them. They could also provide any special tools a particular repair required, and douse everything with the appropriate chemicals to purify it after it came back from the leper colony. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. It would be cumbersome. More likely nobody would bother.
For now, we sanitize obsessively and wash our hands until they're scaly. We'd been doing gloves for a few years already, just to keep some of the grease, lubes, and solvents off of our skin. We have not adopted masks yet, except for the procedures that made them advisable already. But now you look at every incoming person as a potential suspect.
The cellist arrived at Portland Jetport at 11:30 p.m. on Saturday night. Because she fell while hiking a couple of weeks ago, she's been on crutches, and applied for a wheelchair to get through the airport. That meant that I was standing in the greeting area while everyone else got off of two flights that had arrived at about the same time. I watched them stream in and come down a stairway and an escalator to reach the lower level where the baggage claim and the street exits are. A few wore masks. One or two wore gloves. No one made much effort to stand apart, because the system is not set up for it. We arranged ourselves around the conveyor belts in the baggage claim area like bears waiting along a river bank for salmon. When the right one comes along, dart a paw in and snatch it out. The cellist's wheelchair driver waited patiently. He was a quiet, tall young man, probably part of the refugee community that has settled in urban Maine. His presence was calming.
The cellist and I have barely touched since she got here. She extended her stay when the governor of Maryland shut the schools, so she'll be here longer than the two-week quarantine period required for people coming from known hot zones, like Italy. Meanwhile, I'm still potentially exposed every day that I go to work or make a quick sweep through the grocery store because we still can. We don't want to dig into our stash of isolation foods until we know that we have no choice. Otherwise, we might have too little at the point that everything shuts down for real. If one of us gets sick, the other one is almost certain to. But she couldn't stay where she was, because her living arrangements are pretty marginal down there. Her chances of exposure were much greater. That thing that Kurt Vonnegut supposedly wrote, about going into the arts? Yeah, that's bullshit. Go into fucking finance, people. Become a corporate lawyer. Just go ahead and rape the planet and fleece the chumps for your own fat gains, because it's all for nothing anyway. We can't vote away the Apocalypse any more than someone can pray away the gay.
The internet has developed its own familiar symptoms of proud ignorance, conspiracy theories, doomsayers, spiritual advisers, real scientific medical information, pseudoscientific crapola, and malware. It's a perfect laboratory demonstration of every debate about social, political, and environmental issues. It's like watching a Petri dish getting obliterated under a slimy, furry culture going out of control.
Good luck, everybody.
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Bike Commuting Study Confirms the Obvious
A study in the UK of injury rates for different commuting modes revealed that bike commuters run a higher risk of injuries requiring hospitalization, compared to driving and walking. This information popped up in my Google News feed this morning. I couldn't resist checking it out.
When I was a kid, every kid tried to learn to ride a bike, and virtually all of them succeeded. Whether they liked it much, or kept it up, learning to ride a two-wheeler was a rite, just like losing your baby teeth, which it occasionally contributed to. Along with it came skinned knees, road-rashed elbows, and occasional broken bones. Abrasions were far more common than fractures, concussions, or internal injuries. And that's before anyone knew what a bike helmet was.
The first time I went to the ER with bike-related injuries, I was about eight years old. I burned in hard on a steep descent in Newport, RI. I was knocked unconscious and spent the following week or ten days as The Amazing Human Scab, from all of the scuff marks, but I was recuperating at home. I've been in the ER twice more from bike crashes, once in 1982, and again in 1987. Oh, and there was that one time in the 1990s when I stuffed it mountain biking and broke my wrist. Only the crash in 1987 involved anyone in a car. None of them required an overnight or extended stay.
Balancing on two wheels can be precarious. The whole concept seems ridiculous: it's half of a vehicle. But it works. Once you can do it, it can be addictive. You get more comfortable at it, but you are still very vulnerable. In addition to the big crashes, any rider experiences plenty of other incidents. You're mounted on something that does not stand up by itself. Gravity never quits. The math is easy.
The study report did go on to state that the overall health benefits of bike commuting are vast. The consensus is still that infrastructure, education, and legal policies that encourage cycling are of far more benefit than simply writing it off as too dangerous.
When I was a kid, every kid tried to learn to ride a bike, and virtually all of them succeeded. Whether they liked it much, or kept it up, learning to ride a two-wheeler was a rite, just like losing your baby teeth, which it occasionally contributed to. Along with it came skinned knees, road-rashed elbows, and occasional broken bones. Abrasions were far more common than fractures, concussions, or internal injuries. And that's before anyone knew what a bike helmet was.
The first time I went to the ER with bike-related injuries, I was about eight years old. I burned in hard on a steep descent in Newport, RI. I was knocked unconscious and spent the following week or ten days as The Amazing Human Scab, from all of the scuff marks, but I was recuperating at home. I've been in the ER twice more from bike crashes, once in 1982, and again in 1987. Oh, and there was that one time in the 1990s when I stuffed it mountain biking and broke my wrist. Only the crash in 1987 involved anyone in a car. None of them required an overnight or extended stay.
Balancing on two wheels can be precarious. The whole concept seems ridiculous: it's half of a vehicle. But it works. Once you can do it, it can be addictive. You get more comfortable at it, but you are still very vulnerable. In addition to the big crashes, any rider experiences plenty of other incidents. You're mounted on something that does not stand up by itself. Gravity never quits. The math is easy.
The study report did go on to state that the overall health benefits of bike commuting are vast. The consensus is still that infrastructure, education, and legal policies that encourage cycling are of far more benefit than simply writing it off as too dangerous.
Monday, March 09, 2020
The temptations of Marpril
Today's high temperature was about 62 degrees at my house. In a forecast discussion one day last week on the National Weather Service site, a meteorologist had written that the pattern looked more like April than March. It's true. The high temperatures have been consistently well above freezing, tagging the 50s on occasion. But 62 -- that's the territory of May.
Freakishly warm days can hit at any time. I've seen it hit 60 in January, and turn warm and wet enough to melt off the snow cover all the way to the highest summits. That was 1995. But the odd warm day or two can pop in and out in any month of winter, with less dramatic consequences. Still, the closer you get to the real end of winter, the more these benedictions make you yearn for more like them.
I yielded to it today. I overdressed, of course, but not so much that I was gasping for breath and pouring with sweat. My route passes through one well-known micro-climate where I was glad of every layer I had on, for the seven seconds that I was in that shaded hollow full of snow and spruce trees.
The temperature drops back to more Aprilish conditions starting tomorrow. Tomorrow's 50s with clouds and developing showers mimics the latter half of next month, while the progressively lower temperature waves take us closer to the beginning of it as the week goes on.
The early meltdown has drawn a few riders out. On Sunday, a woman brought in her thoroughly modern gravel bike to investigate a flat tubeless tire. David diagnosed it as just a dislodged bead due to low air pressure. The rider had been told to run 'em soft because it's faster, and it absorbs shock. Because she works out of town, she goes to an excellent shop in Concord. She described her mechanic there as "hard core." Based on his equipment recommendations, I would add "trendoid." But looking back over my life I realize that I have lost every war I was ever in. The industry sold its soul to planned obsolescence in the 1990s, and the addicts who depend on it live in a world viewed through their perceived need.
You don't have to be hard core to be dedicated.
Clearly almost no one respects my opinion about the technology. I do enjoy riding my archaic shit. I love how it works. I do not yearn for anything more sophisticated. All the gimmicky bullshit has not bought us any more respect on the roads, or recruited sedentary legions from the sidelines. The only technological innovation that has stirred much interest is the addition of an electric motor.
How many times over the years did some smartass look at the price of a high-end bike and say, "For that kind of money, I want a motor!" Well, here you go: put up or shut up, asshole.
You can get hassled or run down just as easily on an e-bike as on one powered by meat alone. Think that a motor enhances safety? Ask a motorcyclist about that.
For today, I made it around a nice little 15-mile route on a fixed gear with no parts on it newer than the late 20th Century, except for the tires. They're more recent, but they may not even be from this decade. Oh, and the chain was new within the last couple of years. I could tell I had no strength, but I had enough. A utility rider doesn't need to maintain 20+ miles per hour for hours. You don't need to be first up the hill. You just need to get up the hill.
One ride leads to another, or so you hope. And so begins a season.
Freakishly warm days can hit at any time. I've seen it hit 60 in January, and turn warm and wet enough to melt off the snow cover all the way to the highest summits. That was 1995. But the odd warm day or two can pop in and out in any month of winter, with less dramatic consequences. Still, the closer you get to the real end of winter, the more these benedictions make you yearn for more like them.
I yielded to it today. I overdressed, of course, but not so much that I was gasping for breath and pouring with sweat. My route passes through one well-known micro-climate where I was glad of every layer I had on, for the seven seconds that I was in that shaded hollow full of snow and spruce trees.
The temperature drops back to more Aprilish conditions starting tomorrow. Tomorrow's 50s with clouds and developing showers mimics the latter half of next month, while the progressively lower temperature waves take us closer to the beginning of it as the week goes on.
The early meltdown has drawn a few riders out. On Sunday, a woman brought in her thoroughly modern gravel bike to investigate a flat tubeless tire. David diagnosed it as just a dislodged bead due to low air pressure. The rider had been told to run 'em soft because it's faster, and it absorbs shock. Because she works out of town, she goes to an excellent shop in Concord. She described her mechanic there as "hard core." Based on his equipment recommendations, I would add "trendoid." But looking back over my life I realize that I have lost every war I was ever in. The industry sold its soul to planned obsolescence in the 1990s, and the addicts who depend on it live in a world viewed through their perceived need.
You don't have to be hard core to be dedicated.
Clearly almost no one respects my opinion about the technology. I do enjoy riding my archaic shit. I love how it works. I do not yearn for anything more sophisticated. All the gimmicky bullshit has not bought us any more respect on the roads, or recruited sedentary legions from the sidelines. The only technological innovation that has stirred much interest is the addition of an electric motor.
How many times over the years did some smartass look at the price of a high-end bike and say, "For that kind of money, I want a motor!" Well, here you go: put up or shut up, asshole.
You can get hassled or run down just as easily on an e-bike as on one powered by meat alone. Think that a motor enhances safety? Ask a motorcyclist about that.
For today, I made it around a nice little 15-mile route on a fixed gear with no parts on it newer than the late 20th Century, except for the tires. They're more recent, but they may not even be from this decade. Oh, and the chain was new within the last couple of years. I could tell I had no strength, but I had enough. A utility rider doesn't need to maintain 20+ miles per hour for hours. You don't need to be first up the hill. You just need to get up the hill.
One ride leads to another, or so you hope. And so begins a season.
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