Blog Scribbles

Sometimes it's difficult to read my own writing.

Over the past year and a half since I started this blog there are times I've struggled with the writing. I do not have a broad vocabulary. I've learned to just get the basic idea down then work on clarity and varying the words. For me, talking about bikes is a passion. Through this venue I hope to accomplish a few things: share bike ideas and meet others who are of like mind, share photos of Vermont, show others how easy it is to tour, cycling slowly is just fine, and work on my writing while sharpening my brain.

I often have 3-6 posts in the queue. Some are just titles. Some are only photos. Some are titles with phrases. It's common that while I'm in transit, specific words or ideas pop into my head. The other day I had three things I wanted to remember, so as I pedaled I recited the items out loud. And hoped no one noticed! After a while I stopped, pulled out my little notebook, and scribbled, clearing my brain. I mean, what if other thoughts drifted in and the hard drive wasn't cleared? I know, it's a pathetically small capacity. (By the way, any more than 3 items on the grocery list also gets written down.)

Things I always do:

• Post a picture with every entry (I dislike blogs without pictures, even if the writing is spectacular)
• Keep the word length reasonable
• It's okay to show my failings; it's good for a laugh.
• The Synonym Finder is my friend, a thick thesaurus I find invaluable
• Post 4-5 times a week.
• Comment on at least one blog per day to support others (who doesn't like getting a response?)
• Only blog at night, after helping the kids with homework. Know when to turn off the computer and live my life.

The blogging format gives me great pleasure; it's a source of amusement and documentation that others might find just good enough to read. And if not, or at some point I fail to come up with ideas, I will stop. I love to hear how other bloggers handle this medium. What gives you ideas? How do you organize the writing?

Hunger and The Drawer

I was pedaling home in a headwind when, after 8 miles, I began to slow. Then I got downright shaky. As I headed to the pet store on an errand, I did some stupid maneuvers: unsafely crossing streets before the walk signal lit, not once but twice. I was cranky, agitated, and unable to concentrate, in other words I was in serious caloric deficit. I was bent on getting the rabbit food so I could get home and fill my face. Fortunately, as I dug in the pannier for my wallet, I also extracted a granola bar and gobbled it on the spot.

During commuting times I try to keep snacks in my desk drawer.

I'd forgotten to hit The Drawer before I left work. At 3 p.m. when that flagging energy zaps all office workers I usually grab a snack. But this time I'd only gobbled chocolate chips and, while it satisfies my chocolate craving, it doesn't provide proper fuel to stave off panic mode miles down the road.

This instance reminded me of two episodes on our world tour. One was in Germany and we'd eaten a big breakfast before setting off, but 45 minutes later I stopped, barely able to pedal. I was famished. So I ate two hunks of bread with jam and that cured my hunger. The other time was in Turkey and we were riding up a mile long hill. It wasn't steep, but I had to suck it up and walk. It was the first time on our adventure that I couldn't ride hills, normally a source of intense pride.

You'd think I'd learned my lesson. And though it's only an 11 mile one-way commute, sometimes it feels like I'm bike touring and I should pay attention to what my body needs.

Does anyone else encounter low blood sugar on a ride to/from work?

New Handlebars for the Ross, Take One

It's like Christmas in March. I opened my package from aebike.com. Ooooh. The handlebars are so light that I didn't think they were in the box. I also picked out leather toe straps for the Ross, cork handlebar tape and a bell for the Miyata (the bar tape is fraying).

Now that I've decided to keep the Ross, the one change I wanted was to swap the current flat bar with something that provided more reach. I ordered an aluminum mustache bar, Dimension brand, affordable at 25.00. A local bike shop confirmed it's a worthwhile purchase.

Holding the new bar up to the existing flat bar, you can see that it will give me more flexibility with hand positioning. Now it's important to note that when I had the bottom bracket worked on at Old Spokes Home I also ran the idea by them about the new bars. Upon measuring they said the new bars wouldn't work because the tubing is 2mm thicker. So, I thought about it for a while. I searched for alternative bars and didn't come up with anything that would give me the set back. It's only 2mm difference, what could it matter? Figuring I could use this lightweight bar on the Miyata at a future date (the Miyata's bar is steel and wider, I wouldn't mind lighter and narrower) if it didn't work out on the Ross, I went ahead with the order. Upon initial inspection, this bar looks nice.

I struggled with removing the leather grips. Normally I would just soak the entire grip with soapy water, but I soon discovered the leather is impervious to moisture. I pried the ends and applied full strength dish liquid, and with lots of twisting and turning, eventually removed both grips. But I tell ya', it took an hour to get both of those buggers off! And my arms were sore the following day. The shifters and brake levers, on the other hand, came off with ease.

I removed the green steel bar—that baby was heavy. It's no wonder the bike is on the hefty side. I presume many of it's parts are constructed with steel. But then the moment of truth. Would the mustache bars fit, not to mention finagling the curves through the steel clamp?

Using a mini pry bar (I love that tool, need my own) I was able to enlarge the bulbousy clamp ever so slightly to work through the curvy part of the new bar. I never felt that I compromised the metal in the least either, which was important. So much for bike shop advice...but I've learned to think some of these problems through on my own, and like I said, I had an alternative use for the new bar had it not worked out.

What I didn't expect was that the mountain bike brake levers would not fit over the slightly larger tubing, nor could I figure out how to enlarge the opening. Rats. I dug around in three boxes of bike parts and came up with Mafac brakes that used to be on my husband's old 12-speed Peugeot. They are kind of retro (ha! like all my bikes), are curved nicely, even sport rubber covering on the lever. They fit. But were they appropriate for the mustache bar? I tied up everything so it wouldn't rattle or fall apart and hauled the bike on our car rack to the shop. The clerk said the levers would be fine.

At this point I didn't feel comfortable continuing with the project; the current cables and housing weren't long enough and I'd never replaced cables before. I asked for an estimate. But wasn't prepared to hear $80-100, which included an overhaul, new cables and housing. I guess they didn't like my drivetrain maintenance. And the rear hub was loose. I can deal with the hub. Cleaning is no problem. And I could hear my husband's frugal voice in my head. So I plucked some courage and said, "Okay, I'll just buy the parts, please." That saved me 50.00.

Now I just need to learn how to do this. YouTube videos, here I come. How hard can it be?

Netherlands - Den Haag or Bust

Follow New Posts in the Around The World series on Mondays. Click here for the Introduction.

90 miles, Friday, August 12

We left at 7 a.m., needing an early start for the attempt at reaching The Hague (Den Haag). We are bent on parking the bikes for a bit and catching up with an old friend. I’m not normally an early morning riser. Andy nudges me and then the whine of the tent zipper creeps into my fuzzy-headedness. I could easily go back to sleep, though once I’m up, breakfast eaten and we’re packed and pedaling, I realize that the solitude on the road is the best part of the day.

Photo credit: exposedplanet.com

In the country slim-bladed white windmills anchor the waterways, whipping in a tailwind breeze. The quintessential Dutch windmills are displayed in city centers for posterity. Poplar trees line roadways reminding me of a comb, belly-up on the horizon. Their rustling is soothing. And there is the warm rain, but it’s at our backs.

We take a ferry (free to bikes) over the Westerschelde channel before heading east to Bergen op Zoom. Map routing between here and Rotterdam with all the inlets promises to be challenging, but we are hopeful that with the popularity of cyclists, signage will ease the way. Of immediate concern though, my bottom bracket has finally complained, creaking and groaning with every revolution. It does not sound good. I picture the whole crank seizing up, leaving me stranded.

And to top it off, I attempted to pedal over a railroad crossing, turning into the road, setting the front wheel at the proper perpendicular angle to the tracks, when a large truck came up from behind. I feared a collision and countered, pulling the handlebars back, but the front wheel slipped on the wet rails and I went down. I was okay though. Fortunately, I had slowed beforehand. The bike was fine. Loaded panniers were a salvation, protecting much of the drivetrain.

Well-marked Dutch bike paths. Note the open map on his rear rack.

In Bergen op Zoom it was an easy search for a bike shop. And we learn that English is a second language for the Dutch people. Their country is so small that in order to communicate it’s common to know 2 or 3 languages. For 5 guilder (approximately $3 USD) a mechanic took apart the bottom bracket, revealing rusty bearings. I was a bit embarrassed. When my bike was rebuilt in the U.S., I presumed everything was greased and we hadn’t encountered much rain since. It was certainly odd, but I was thrilled to have it finally taken care of, and without great expense.

No bikes allowed.
This type of sign was confusing
to Andy and me.
Photo credit:  Enjoy Europe

Continuing northward following cycle paths towards Rotterdam we become confused and frustrated, negotiating numerous locks and dikes. Much to our dismay, there were particular ways to cross these waterways of which we couldn’t quite fathom. We cursed the red circled signs with a bike in the middle, indicating no bikes allowed. We tried pedaling on a few of these roads, but drivers wagged an admonishing finger. In this often frustrated manner we made it to Rotterdam, the last harried lane shared with motorcycles and buses, a steep descent and incline beneath a river.

Now 7 p.m. I am tired, ready to take a train the last few miles to Hugo’s place. Unfortunately the cost is prohibitive and my spirits sink. Andy and I are caught in a big city and it’s nearly dark. It’s drizzling. The population is dense between Rotterdam and Den Haag. There is nothing to do but press on. We have lights. We call Hugo to let him know our plans.

We crept on through fog, but fortunately we are mostly alone on a separate bike path. My mind wandered, thinking of the last time we saw our Dutch friend. It was at our wedding, 5 years ago. He’d driven from Michigan to Vermont. He was someone we met in 1984 at the end of our U.S. bike tour, a roommate of Andy’s brother, Peter. Fun-loving and witty, his Dutch accent was an endearing part of his personality. We’d lost touch for three years, but through mutual entomological contacts, Peter had tracked down Hugo, who’d returned to his homeland. Andy and I shared these thoughts as the miles slowly went by, the only light from our beams on the wet path. This time the Dutch signs were helpful. We pedaled through Delft and finally, after 15 miles, entered Den Haag. We’d planned to meet up with our friend at a central location, but with the aid of a bus map we pedaled right to his apartment. It was after 10 p.m. and we were both exhausted. When Hugo answered the door, with the same grin plastered on his face I found so heartwarming, I wrapped myself around him and held on for a long time.

Stairs and Funny Business

Believe it or not the fastest route between home and our children's school is to navigate this long stairway at the hospital. It's also the quickest route to downtown. The two channels down the center are for bicycles. When the children were young the wheels on our double stroller coincidentally fit perfectly in the grooves. 

My youngest boy has gotten good at hopping down the stairs on his inline skates and lately rides the last three feet on the raised sides of the bicycle grooves. I brake the weight of my bike and have to negotiate an inverted rail (to keep skateboards off) on each of the 3 landings. Between medical students, hospital personnel and locals, it's a frequent cut-through to the University of Vermont and all points downhill to the waterfront. In the morning we often greet a commuter pushing his bike, someone I've gotten to know over the years as he helps patients out of vehicles and into the hospital entrance.

Using the stairway comes naturally now, but passersby often make comments. "Ah, I've always wondered what those were for." And one day while we all were on foot, my son stopped at the top, pulled a super ball out of his pocket and started it rolling in the gutter, letting gravity do it's magic. I had to laugh. He ended up chasing it all over the place because beyond the bottom of the stairway there's a gradual downward slope.

And while I'm on the subject of stairs, a funny thing happened at home. We have a quirky pet rabbit who lives in a pen in our basement. We let Hershey out occasionally so he can have the run of the whole floor. Lately he's taken to the stairway. He hops up and down. Without stopping. The soft thumping of his feet is a delightful sound and I peek from the kitchen doorway.

Bicycles and cute bunnies. Does it get any better than this?