A week after he hit the ground, Steve is up and walking around. He's a long way from getting back into training, but he's easing back into some shop operations.
He's grappling with the complex unhappy feelings that follow a traumatic injury. He's replaying the event, trying to find solid answers in vague memories that grow more vague and mingled by the day as he considers how it might have been.
We look for answers after a catastrophe. How did it happen? How can I keep it from happening again? The victim may be the worst witness. We almost always black out at least a little. Things happen so fast we can't sort them out. Unless someone else sees it or we can reconstruct it from unaltered physical evidence, we're left to guess at some critical moments.
Some of us cope with that guesswork better than others. Because no one has come forward who saw the actual crash we all have to create Steve's flight path from our own visualization. This includes Steve, who hasn't been able to say for sure if he went over the bars or just down past them as the fork collapsed.
The root cause of the crash was Steve's left shoe disengaging from the pedal. In all likelihood, his shoe was never properly engaged to begin with. After that he was the victim of physics. The foot went into the wheel, the wheel dragged it into the forks, Steve went down like a stunt horse in a movie scene catching a trip wire.
Everything is at risk all the time in this life. It may not be obvious. We try to manage and limit risk. But everything is at risk and everything eventually changes into something else. Some dangers are more obvious than others, but a damn asteroid could fall on your house while you're cowering in bed. Just as we only hear about the planes that don't arrive safely while thousands do, think how many cyclists go about their daily rounds with nothing worse than a little chafing to mar their day.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Here's a Weird One
I was just working on a 63-centimeter Raleigh Grand Prix from the late 1970s. That's a 25-inch frame. I have to stand on the balls of my feet to keep certain similarly-titled organs from being painfully crushed by the top tube. Surprisingly on such a tall bike, the top tube measures exactly the same horizontal length as the one on my 53-centimeter Super Course frame from the same period. It's close to the same length as the top tube of my 55-centimeter Trek road frame.
On lower-priced production models, did Raleigh produce only one top tube length, figuring anyone buying at that level would not notice?
I certainly didn't at the time. But I had observed that my Super Course was amazingly long for a bike of its size. I'd never compared it to another Raleigh from the period.
Another utterly unimportant mystery to ponder.
On lower-priced production models, did Raleigh produce only one top tube length, figuring anyone buying at that level would not notice?
I certainly didn't at the time. But I had observed that my Super Course was amazingly long for a bike of its size. I'd never compared it to another Raleigh from the period.
Another utterly unimportant mystery to ponder.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Avid Cyclist and Shop Owner Injured in Freak Cycling Accident
On a noon ride with two other riders on Friday, April 21, avid cyclist and shop owner Steve Flagg was injured in a freakish mishap that put him in the intensive care unit of the local hospital for an overnight stay. Flagg is still in the hospital for one more night, after being moved to a private room Saturday evening.
While sprinting up to speed after entering a major road from a side road, Flagg's left shoe apparently shot forward off the clipless pedal because the cleat had not engaged properly. The accident took its freakish turn when his foot swung into the front wheel of the bicycle. The low spoke count of the Mavic Ksyrium wheel allowed his foot not only to jam between the spokes, but to rotate in such a way that one of the broad, bladed spokes actually jammed under the cleat as his foot was dragged into the forks.
The carbon forks of Flagg's Specialized Roubaix snapped instantly. While he would probably have gone down even if his foot hadn't gone into the wheel, the cleat entrapment and fork collapse probably made the stop more abrupt than if he had simply laid the bike down on its left side.
Examination of the wreckage and Flagg's injuries after the crash indicate that the bike only landed on its left side and bike and rider slid little, if at all. Flagg's body was driven into the pavement with the left shoulder rotated so far that he did not injure his collarbone, but fractured his scapula and two ribs instead. He suffered a collapsed lung and pneumothorax, but avoided serious head injury. He was wearing a helmet.
Steve was not riding fast or in a particularly reckless manner. He was accelerating at the back of the line of three riders.
I've been doing the FAA thing over and over since the wreckage was brought into the shop Friday evening. The spoke jammed under the cleat is in there so far we'll have to unbolt the cleat to get it out. Steve's friend had to remove the wheel from the remains of the fork and the shoe from Steve's foot to release him from the bike.
Aside from the snapped fork and four or five spokes torn out the the rim of the front wheel, the rest of the bike shows minimal damage. The left handlebar plug is slightly ground off. There might be some scratches on the left STI lever. The bike did not cartwheel or scrape down the road.
While pilot error is the primary cause, contributing factors are the low spoke count and high spoke rigidity of the Ksyrium wheel and the low profile of the front of the Shimano pedal, requiring more care when engaging. Steve had a lot of years on Look pedals, which some users say have a more positive feel when engaging. The Shimanos seemed functionally identical until he abruptly discovered what a major difference a minor difference can make.
No product was defective in this crash. It merely illustrates aspects of cycling components you might not consider when comparing specs and ride feel. Items strong enough for normal loads may very well not be strong enough for predictable abnormal loads. On the other hand, the spokes of the Ksyrium wheel were plenty strong, although the nipples tore out of the rim. At least one spoke also sheared off in the round section near the nipple.
A wheel with round spokes and more of them might have repelled the shoe.
A good old-fashioned toeclip would have kept him on the pedal. "Feetbelts" have their other drawbacks, but at least you know when they're snug. Mostly.
Too bad Steve can't tell a gripping tale of screaming down the Dolomites and having a front tire blow or a mountain goat run out in front of him. But it just goes to show you these things can happen just about anywhere, any time. At least it's more dramatic than slipping in the shower.
I'm suggesting we tell people he ran over a land mine.
While sprinting up to speed after entering a major road from a side road, Flagg's left shoe apparently shot forward off the clipless pedal because the cleat had not engaged properly. The accident took its freakish turn when his foot swung into the front wheel of the bicycle. The low spoke count of the Mavic Ksyrium wheel allowed his foot not only to jam between the spokes, but to rotate in such a way that one of the broad, bladed spokes actually jammed under the cleat as his foot was dragged into the forks.
The carbon forks of Flagg's Specialized Roubaix snapped instantly. While he would probably have gone down even if his foot hadn't gone into the wheel, the cleat entrapment and fork collapse probably made the stop more abrupt than if he had simply laid the bike down on its left side.
Examination of the wreckage and Flagg's injuries after the crash indicate that the bike only landed on its left side and bike and rider slid little, if at all. Flagg's body was driven into the pavement with the left shoulder rotated so far that he did not injure his collarbone, but fractured his scapula and two ribs instead. He suffered a collapsed lung and pneumothorax, but avoided serious head injury. He was wearing a helmet.
Steve was not riding fast or in a particularly reckless manner. He was accelerating at the back of the line of three riders.
I've been doing the FAA thing over and over since the wreckage was brought into the shop Friday evening. The spoke jammed under the cleat is in there so far we'll have to unbolt the cleat to get it out. Steve's friend had to remove the wheel from the remains of the fork and the shoe from Steve's foot to release him from the bike.
Aside from the snapped fork and four or five spokes torn out the the rim of the front wheel, the rest of the bike shows minimal damage. The left handlebar plug is slightly ground off. There might be some scratches on the left STI lever. The bike did not cartwheel or scrape down the road.
While pilot error is the primary cause, contributing factors are the low spoke count and high spoke rigidity of the Ksyrium wheel and the low profile of the front of the Shimano pedal, requiring more care when engaging. Steve had a lot of years on Look pedals, which some users say have a more positive feel when engaging. The Shimanos seemed functionally identical until he abruptly discovered what a major difference a minor difference can make.
No product was defective in this crash. It merely illustrates aspects of cycling components you might not consider when comparing specs and ride feel. Items strong enough for normal loads may very well not be strong enough for predictable abnormal loads. On the other hand, the spokes of the Ksyrium wheel were plenty strong, although the nipples tore out of the rim. At least one spoke also sheared off in the round section near the nipple.
A wheel with round spokes and more of them might have repelled the shoe.
A good old-fashioned toeclip would have kept him on the pedal. "Feetbelts" have their other drawbacks, but at least you know when they're snug. Mostly.
Too bad Steve can't tell a gripping tale of screaming down the Dolomites and having a front tire blow or a mountain goat run out in front of him. But it just goes to show you these things can happen just about anywhere, any time. At least it's more dramatic than slipping in the shower.
I'm suggesting we tell people he ran over a land mine.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Critical Difference
What's difference between a hunter facing a charging buffalo and a cyclist with an aggressive motorist bearing down on him?
The hunter is allowed to shoot the buffalo.
The hunter is allowed to shoot the buffalo.
Victory Robbed of Full Sweetness
After early season motorist aggression that included a driver trying to run me into a concrete barrier at a costruction site and another one going out of her way to screech obscenities, I looked forward to the season quieting down. Those incidents had happened on Saturday, April 8, one on the morning ride to work, the other on the evening ride home.
The following Saturday, April 15, I started out from Wolfeboro to ride to Gilford after work, to fetch my car from the mechanic's shop. Not five minutes into the ride, still in downtown Wolfeboro, though not in the center of it, I felt a sudden sharp sting as a bb ricocheted off my right buttock. A white mini van that had just pulled out from a convenience store on the left side of the road passed me, with a young man still pulling his arm back in through the window. I heard laughter and saw the occupants of the van looking back through the tinted glass. I noted Florida tags, but couldn't get the number.
After an impulsive double-handed middle digit salute, I remembered I had my cell phone in my pocket, already powered up. We were less than a quarter-mile from the police station, headed toward it. It doesn't get much more convenient than that.
I called the dispatcher and calmly, succinctly described the situation. Because of traffic, I was able to keep the van in sight as it turned down a side street. When I got to the street, I followed, still in contact with the police. The dispatcher relayed new information to the approaching officer.
The van driver soon discovered he'd turned down a street with no other outlet. I was able to get a look at the driver's face and a description of his clothing, though I still didn't get the plate number.
By the time I got back out to Main Street, the officer had already hooked and landed them. I pulled up behind the flashing cruiser as instructed, to give my statement.
The officer extracted the driver and two passengers. When he searched the vehicle he found the weapon and a large quantity of ammunition. When he finished with the van's crew he came back to me. We discussed my options for charges in addition to the traffic violations and weapon charges they already faced because at least one of them was a juvenile. Then I had to dash on to Gilford to beat sunset.
The exhilaration of actually getting to nail someone for attacking a cyclist got me up all the hills on my route and kept me laughing all night. This was one carload of punks who wouldn't get away with treating a cyclist like a shooting gallery target.
Ah, but nothing is free in this life.
The great thing about a small town is that the police force has time to pursue something like a cyclist pinged with a bb gun. In a major metropolitan area the police would have hung up on me. Unless there's a limb blown off, they have many more important things to do. You want to be an idiot and ride out there? Wear Kevlar.
The downside to living in a small town is that the punk who nailed you could very well be someone you know. Wolfeboro is a resort town and pulls in a lot of people from surrounding towns to work or attend the middle and high schools there. I was hoping, between the Florida tags and the dirtbag behavior, that it would turn out to be someone with some real karmic debt. No such luck. The shooter was the son of a friend of a friend, doing something juvenile and stupid, even though he is old enough to be charged as an adult with his reckless actions.
The facts of the incident are stark. Someone fired a weapon on a busy street. If the projectile had not hit me in a fairly harmless way, it could have hit any number of pedestrians or other motorists who were in the same area. It could have hit me in a worse spot. What 12- or 14-year-old boys do to each other playing in the woods is one stupid thing, but adults or near adults taking potshots from a moving car on a busy street is criminally stupid.
The young man's mother is not making any plea to me or anyone else to let the whole thing drop. She understands and wants the miscreants to understand, the full significance of their actions. But now I can't just sit back and enjoy the machinery of justice grinding up a malicious enemy of bicyclists. I have to watch a dumbass drag himself, his family, his mother's friend and, to some extent, me, through a painful extra lesson in responsible behavior.
The following Saturday, April 15, I started out from Wolfeboro to ride to Gilford after work, to fetch my car from the mechanic's shop. Not five minutes into the ride, still in downtown Wolfeboro, though not in the center of it, I felt a sudden sharp sting as a bb ricocheted off my right buttock. A white mini van that had just pulled out from a convenience store on the left side of the road passed me, with a young man still pulling his arm back in through the window. I heard laughter and saw the occupants of the van looking back through the tinted glass. I noted Florida tags, but couldn't get the number.
After an impulsive double-handed middle digit salute, I remembered I had my cell phone in my pocket, already powered up. We were less than a quarter-mile from the police station, headed toward it. It doesn't get much more convenient than that.
I called the dispatcher and calmly, succinctly described the situation. Because of traffic, I was able to keep the van in sight as it turned down a side street. When I got to the street, I followed, still in contact with the police. The dispatcher relayed new information to the approaching officer.
The van driver soon discovered he'd turned down a street with no other outlet. I was able to get a look at the driver's face and a description of his clothing, though I still didn't get the plate number.
By the time I got back out to Main Street, the officer had already hooked and landed them. I pulled up behind the flashing cruiser as instructed, to give my statement.
The officer extracted the driver and two passengers. When he searched the vehicle he found the weapon and a large quantity of ammunition. When he finished with the van's crew he came back to me. We discussed my options for charges in addition to the traffic violations and weapon charges they already faced because at least one of them was a juvenile. Then I had to dash on to Gilford to beat sunset.
The exhilaration of actually getting to nail someone for attacking a cyclist got me up all the hills on my route and kept me laughing all night. This was one carload of punks who wouldn't get away with treating a cyclist like a shooting gallery target.
Ah, but nothing is free in this life.
The great thing about a small town is that the police force has time to pursue something like a cyclist pinged with a bb gun. In a major metropolitan area the police would have hung up on me. Unless there's a limb blown off, they have many more important things to do. You want to be an idiot and ride out there? Wear Kevlar.
The downside to living in a small town is that the punk who nailed you could very well be someone you know. Wolfeboro is a resort town and pulls in a lot of people from surrounding towns to work or attend the middle and high schools there. I was hoping, between the Florida tags and the dirtbag behavior, that it would turn out to be someone with some real karmic debt. No such luck. The shooter was the son of a friend of a friend, doing something juvenile and stupid, even though he is old enough to be charged as an adult with his reckless actions.
The facts of the incident are stark. Someone fired a weapon on a busy street. If the projectile had not hit me in a fairly harmless way, it could have hit any number of pedestrians or other motorists who were in the same area. It could have hit me in a worse spot. What 12- or 14-year-old boys do to each other playing in the woods is one stupid thing, but adults or near adults taking potshots from a moving car on a busy street is criminally stupid.
The young man's mother is not making any plea to me or anyone else to let the whole thing drop. She understands and wants the miscreants to understand, the full significance of their actions. But now I can't just sit back and enjoy the machinery of justice grinding up a malicious enemy of bicyclists. I have to watch a dumbass drag himself, his family, his mother's friend and, to some extent, me, through a painful extra lesson in responsible behavior.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Punish the Customer
Maybe it's the same in all industries, but the bike industry is the one I work in.
Manufacturers are always punishing the customer to some degree for trusting them.
Shimano has been my pet example for years, changing specs willy-nilly, purportedly for improvement. The improvement has been subject to debate. Some are, some aren't.
Buyers of lower end bikes get punished more often.
Right now I'm trying about to adjust a cup-and-cone conventional bottom bracket. The fixed cup is probably loose, based on the amount of play and the amount of adjustable cup visible on the left side. In the old days, the fixed cup would have wrench flats. Tightening it that way would not be ideal, but it would suffice for a quick tuneup on a low end bike. It would add seconds to the job, so we could absorb it.
With the common use of sealed bottom brackets, low-end models come with fake sealed BBs. The fixed and adjustable cups have splines like a cartridge unit. To tighten the fixed side, I now have to pull the crankarm off and use a cartridge BB tool. We either have to eat the longer labor time or pass the charge along to the customer.
The BBs are functionally no better than the old ones with wrench flats. They're just harder to service.
Way to have my back, Bike Industry!
Manufacturers are always punishing the customer to some degree for trusting them.
Shimano has been my pet example for years, changing specs willy-nilly, purportedly for improvement. The improvement has been subject to debate. Some are, some aren't.
Buyers of lower end bikes get punished more often.
Right now I'm trying about to adjust a cup-and-cone conventional bottom bracket. The fixed cup is probably loose, based on the amount of play and the amount of adjustable cup visible on the left side. In the old days, the fixed cup would have wrench flats. Tightening it that way would not be ideal, but it would suffice for a quick tuneup on a low end bike. It would add seconds to the job, so we could absorb it.
With the common use of sealed bottom brackets, low-end models come with fake sealed BBs. The fixed and adjustable cups have splines like a cartridge unit. To tighten the fixed side, I now have to pull the crankarm off and use a cartridge BB tool. We either have to eat the longer labor time or pass the charge along to the customer.
The BBs are functionally no better than the old ones with wrench flats. They're just harder to service.
Way to have my back, Bike Industry!
And Then It Hit Me
We're providing therapy for them. Poor motorists, trapped in their cars, feeling like insignificant specks in the vast machinery of modern life, see a free soul on a bike and identify it as someone even more insignificant than they are. They see someone out in the open, unprotected in any way, on whom they can vent their frustration, brought to a boil by the constant annoyances that come with driving anyway.
We're providing a service. We just have to figure out how to bill for it.
We're providing a service. We just have to figure out how to bill for it.
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