The Miyata Fender Blues

Left - kitchen upon initial tinkering. Right - kitchen 5 hours later.

At least it's over. I can smile, store the Miyata and know it's in good shape for Spring commutes. I can say that now. Now that the marathon kitchen session is behind me.

There is nothing quite like installing fenders to test my patience. It's a project that's never cut and dry, but becomes complicated, especially on a 30 year old touring bike. It reminds me of excitement and angst over new computer software. One thing leads to another and before you know it you've spent hours configuring existing software to play nice with the new guy. It's never simple, much like fitting fenders.

What a grimy mess beneath the kickstand!

First off, I removed the kickstand. Hidden underneath were bolt and screws used to secure the old fender (broken on GAPCO trip), which was then easy to remove.

New fender hooks in place instead of using hardware. It's one less thing to worry about, though there will be more complications. I am a realist when it comes to fenderamics.

Snaking the plastic fender under the rack and through the narrow seat stays was a bit difficult. The new tire had more profile than previous tires, but that's another issue altogether. For now, with patience, I connected rear fender stay to frame eyelet. I used the existing frame bolt, tightened it then noticed that it butts to lower rack bend—the place I always hook my panniers. (Fenderamics anyone?) Fortunately, I located older hooks, once used for panniers with O-shaped attachments. That'll have to do for alternative latch positions.

Loop P-clamp around rack then bolt to fender brace. Now why didn't I think of that?

With both ends of the rear fender secured, difficulty lay in raising the fender an adequate height, allowing enough clearance between fender and tire. It wasn't possible with provided plastic clamp (hard to see in picture) to attach in the normal frame hole. I was beside myself, muttering, which fortunately my husband heard and came to my rescue. (Whine loudly enough and they will come!) Give me any sewing problem and I can fix it. When it comes to building or reconfiguring mechanical things I need help. My husband is pretty handy so he immediately came up with a wonderful solution: use a P-clamp to "lift" the fender bracket in the exact point along the arc where it needed additional space. Secure around rear rack with bolt and screw. Done.

The genius saves the day -- again! 

Front fork clearance has been a long standing problem with this bike. Since I was dealing with existing fender, the only way to gain more space was to drill a lower hole into brace that bolts through frame. Or so I thought. I asked the household genius to do this for me because I despise power tools. Okay, a better word would be "afraid" of plug-in tools. With some wrangling over the work bench, trying to perfect the angle with drill, the genius decided bending the bracket closer to the fender would do the trick. It took a few twists with pliers. Visually, the bracket looked like it might work better. 

Before trying the genius's handiwork, I also clipped the jagged front end of fender and used the power grinder to smooth the cut. And yes, I sucked up to the power tool gods this one time, didn't freak out and smoothed out that baby quite nicely. You wouldn't know it had once been a mangled mess (see GAPCO - Day Two). 

One last look before putting the Miyata in storage. And yes, I have black rear fender and silver front one.

To put the revamped fender in practice, though, I first set about fixing a flat front tire—something I noticed had happened the day after I stopped commuting to work. I couldn't put the bike away for the winter without tending to that, which was why I ended up performing fenderamics in the first place. Like I said, one thing leads to another...

Tire patched, wheel back in position, and indeed tweaking front bracket cured the problem. The fender is a good four inches shorter, but from now on shouldn't drag/scrape/annoy me any more. Hallelujah!

Replace kickstand and I'm finally finished after five hours in the kitchen workshop—a record I hope stands for a long time.

What's your longest bike session?

Bundle Up and Go

Winooski River Bridge cameo.

Writing about my lack of inspiration got me off my duff. That, coupled with nasty weather that never materialized seemed like providence.

A views that inspires.

I took my mini tripod along and wore jeans—a rare piece of cycling clothing for me—but the snap decision to get outdoors meant I needed to go now, or else watching a movie was beginning to feel like a better option.

I noticed (look behind the handlebars) another monstrous house going up along Spear Street. 

Only two days later, I sprang aboard the Ross. I needed stability, extra baggage space for possible Christmas shopping, easier setup for lights. Plus, I love this bike. And contrary to what I might've said about eventually getting rid of her, well, I just can't until I explore more options to make her fit better.  A girl can change her mind...

Enjoying the Follett House holiday lights.

I was out past dark. It was a little creepy, what with tunnel vision, yet exhilarating too. White ice patches glowed along the shoreline—a sure sign the temperature was dropping. I discovered my headlight was inadequate in pure darkness, though I managed, safely slowing when I couldn't see a reasonable distance ahead. In spite of my caution however, I found myself atop icy puddles. It was fleeting and as long as I steered straight (holding my breath!) I was back on dry pavement in a heartbeat.

25F with footwarmers is doable on a bike. I just have to get myself out the door.

Pedaling Reverie

Among my warm weather thoughts and musings, I stumbled across this video my son took on last summer's family adventure. We'd spent a wonderful evening with friends, toasting marshmallows, sleeping in tents, then packed up the following morning after a lazy breakfast, drinking coffee and eating bagels. Heading back south across the causeway into a stiff headwind taxed our eldest son. I gave him the job of making a video to keep his mind off the difficult road ahead. Beware: the full effect of mother nature rattles the camera on his handlebar-mounted tripod.

Uninspired

On my first visit to Rossetti Park Beach in Colchester, late October.

Grey skies, leafless trees, and for two weeks colder than normal weather, has caused me to lose interest in cycling. At least for the time being.

To be honest that's only part of the reason.

There's my annual mileage goal, which I'm normally proud of. I've fallen drastically short, without ample time to make up nearly 200 miles before the new year. So why bother trying? It's the first time since I began tracking daily counts, that I haven't reached magic number 3000. It had a nice ring to it. Had being the operative word.

I shouldn't be too hard on myself. I succeeded at bike overnights. I went on three wonderful jaunts—a record—plus the big one in September.

Truth be told, this has never been my favorite time of year. I love the holidays but dislike the lack of sunshine and daylight. I call it November funk, which often spills over into December. Low Vitamin D levels affect me more than I like to admit. More chocolate milk, perhaps?

So, without the impetus to ride, I've lost momentum. I still exercise—surely a mood lifter in itself—it's just taken on a different form: walking and lap swimming with yoga thrown in for variety. Winter transition came much quicker than I expected. I suppose that's what's really bothering me.

It's okay, kind of. On the bright side (term seems fitting, no?) I hope to squeeze in a couple more rides before the end of December. Who knows, maybe writing this post will spur some interest.

Are there times of the year when you don't feel like riding a bike?

GAPCO - Hancock to Antietam Creek

Wednesday, September 25, 55 miles.

Day six started cool, once again, and I struggled to rise from a cozy warm sleeping bag. This time, however, I had the impetus to dry out a wet rain fly. Moisture adds weight and since I schlepped the tent, might as well buck up to the elements. Again I was the last one up, though this time I ate breakfast with the crew.

Patty (in yellow jacket) takes advantage of extra picnic table to organize gear.
In the foreground, a clothing bag, toiletries, and shoes are lined up, ready
 to take with me into wash house before stowing items into panniers. 

We were the only campers at Hancock's Municipal Park. Before we roll onto adjacent C&O Trail, I wheel my bicycle to the wash house. Despite primitive camping, bathrooms are spacious and include hot water—a small luxury I take advantage of before setting off.

Aiming for another 50+ mile day we head out early, enjoying sun-kissed views of the Potomac River.

Park employees driving a large tractor-size mower and pickup truck (behind)
 pull over to let us pass. Photo credit: Patty

Again we are dressed for warmth. By now we expect heavily wooded trail; rays of sunshine are minimal, yet we accept the park for what it is: a historical reminder of what once was an amazing engineering feat, preserved for all to enjoy by foot or on two wheels.

It's a well-maintained path, cleared of major debris. We wave to park employees. One drives a monster lawnmower to cut grass. That's a 180 mile lawn mowing job!

Photo credit: Patty

In Williamsport there is a grassy bank in full sun. It just so happens it's also lunchtime. We strip to t-shirts and shorts, grab food bags, and relax near Conococheague Creek Aqueduct. Nothing like eating lunch, letting bare feet breathe.

It's a good vantage to inspect the collapsed wall. A canal boat accidentally hit the wall, sending the barge into the river below. The captain's quick-thinking son released the towline and saved the mules while the captain jumped to an intact abutment wall. A wooden replacement barrier was erected and used until the canal closed in 1924.

Andy fixing his lunch.

I thought our bikes and baggage resembled a Himalayan mule train.

After lunch we replenish our food supply at the local Dollar General. It lacks fresh produce, yet we often can't be picky. One of us usually remains behind to watch the bikes while the others shop. Since I'm the only meat eater I'd rather they choose what fulfills their diet. After one smelly tuna fish can that they both complained about  (we had to pack out all trash from campsites) I was happy to eat boiled eggs for the remainder of our trip.

Overlook at Lock 81 & 82.

Andy and Patty cross knife-edge.

Beginning of Big Slackwater pathway.

Dam #4 pooled the Potomac which allowed the canal builders to use the river channel instead of constructing a canal. Without a towpath, cyclists detoured this slackwater section until 2012 when a raised concrete 2.7 mile pathway was built, drilled into bedrock, integral to completing 180 continuous trail miles.

Photo credit: Patty

It's nearly 20 minutes of unfiltered sun—something we were truly grateful for in late September.

Photo credit: Patty

In Shepherdstown we leave the canal path, cross the river on a segregated access ramp, safely apart from automobile traffic, then pick a route through university campus. We search for a private campground, as the symbol on our map suggests, but do not locate any signs. We pull into a fire station and inquire. The fireman assure us there is no campground though they offer a patch of grass behind the building. We thank them and inspect the spot. It would be okay as last resort. I rather liked the idea of attending bingo in the fire station, offered that evening, yet a picnic table, outhouse, privacy, and readily available water awaits only 3 miles further once we backtrack to the towpath.

While in Shepherdstown Patty and Andy shop for dinner and breakfast. Patty returns, all giddy and excited; wine is sold in the grocery store, a first on our adventure. It's providence. Only half hour later, at Antietam Creek Campsite, at 6 p.m. we are still in shorts. After dinner, in the dark we stroll along the path, using flashlight to avoid any dips that might've collected water from a few days before. Crickets chirp, bird calls, frogs cheep—at least we think they are frogs. What's totally absent are trains—first time on GAPCO. It's such a pleasant evening that Andy, Patty, and I play Yahtzee on the picnic table. Another first.