Wrenching in the Kitchen

This time of year when it's chilly and my bike requires minimal repair, to heft my bike through two doorways, then down a narrow staircase to the basement, well, it's not worth it. Wrenching in the kitchen is a suitable alternative. Bright lighting and 1970's linoleum that cleans up well, plus the advantage of a nearby sink means easy wash up—actually I can't think of a better place than the kitchen for all bike maintenance, though my family might object if it's a regular practice. 

There'd been some play in the front end, so-to speak. Squeezing the left brake at a dead stop revealed a rocking motion, which could ruin the bearing race if left too long. First thing: tighten the headset. This job called for the big gun—the Park headset wrench. It was an easy adjustment: turn the top lock ring clockwise until tight, but still allow the front wheel to easily swing when lifting the front end off the ground. In five minutes I was done, so why not do a couple other things I've been meaning to get to?

The Jellibell is shaped like a rear derailleur pulley. Funny how I never noticed that until now!

I've missed having the bell on the Ross—it was removed when I flipped the mustache bars—so I put the Jellibell back on.the stem again. I definitely prefer it in this position as opposed to on top of the bar. It is much easier to flick with my finger and thumb. This type of bell rings when moved forward or backward, though it sounds like a croaking frog when wet. I also applied a bit of bike oil in the crevices—it's been a bit unreliable lately, refusing to move on first try, which is, of course, when I most need it. It now sounds throaty (ugh!) though it moves more fluidly now.

Shawn from Urban Adventure League recommended applying oil to a steel frame. I just used some bike oil on a rag. It was amazing, really, how it brought back luster to dull, black paint. I also expect it will protect the bike from salt, which is commonly spread on slippery roads here in New England.

Maintenance in the kitchen also means that sustenance is close at hand. My favorite chocolate chips, yum!

The front derailleur's been sluggish lately. Now I know why. Look at that cable slack!

Out comes the multi-tool. I loosened the nut that secures the cable and pulled the wire taught, then retightened the nut. Voila! Another task done.

What is it about the extra allen key cap? It seems to allow one larger size, yet I've never, ever used it. Any idea what that is for?

Last item: oil and wipe down the chain. I always marvel at the importance and effect of  this simple procedure. If nothing else, this task is worth spending a few minutes at, as it immensely improves shifting.

After only thirty minutes, the Ross is in better working order. I wash my hands then put the tools away. Oh yeah, don't forget to sweep the grease balls that've collected under the bike. Wouldn't want to track that all through the house.

Provence, Day Five - Aix en Provence To Salon

Sausages infused with everything from hazelnuts to goat cheese

To visit the Saturday outdoor markets in Aix en Provence is to stroll through food nirvana. A quick jaunt down antique alley and crafter's row was enticing, but the temptation was a tease; I was unwilling to haul more than edibles with several more riding days ahead.

Spices. Photo credit: Michele

That's me, drooling over the produce. Photo credit: Patty

Patty and I stuck together, tasting cheeses, sausages, pears, and several types of tapenades. I was intrigued with the sausage selection and a gargantuan paella mixture, plus an abundance of  breads.

Figurines decorate the olive selection.

Paella man with amazingly large pan. Photo credit: Michele

Many elderly women hauled wheeled carts down the aisles. We stepped aside, sometimes overlooking their tiny stature until we felt a gentle tap on the arm.

Fruits de Mer. Baby squids are in the center.

I can't speak for Michele, but Patty and I are all about food. We bike to eat, or is that eat to bike? 

I brought the plastic yellow sunflowers from home, feeling like we needed
decoration that represented a girly adventure. Unfortunately, the real Provencal
sunflowers were already harvested or past their prime.

By late morning we met back at the bikes. I bought a chevre sausage, black olive tapenade, figs, and a dense flatbread. I craved a softer bread; crusty baguettes were rough on my palette. It's a humorous sight: three women reorganizing panniers, stuffing handle bar bags until sagging; eventually some items need to go on top of the rack. Patty, in particular, tends to pile more and more items on the back (see upper left photo) and I teased her about it. I also love her cargo net; she could easily stow a baguette plus the elastic doubled as a laundry line.

Picnicking in a vineyard. Patty's lunch: baguette, heirloom tomato, avocado, fig, carrot, and a special cheese—of which I can't recall the name. Photo credit: Patty

We climbed all of the elevation we lost the previous afternoon, heading northwest to Eguilles. Cyclists passed in the opposite direction. It seemed like an organized Saturday ride was in progress and surprisingly, a few riders wore helmets. This is contrary to what we encountered nearly 20 years ago as my husband and I passed through France. But as before, guys dominate Saturday rides. 

West of Eguilles the landscape opened, displaying fruit orchards and vineyards. Lots of vineyards! Patty was determined to have a picnic among the grapes, which seemed fitting for a couple of winos—oops—I mean wine conniseurs. We ducked onto a dirt track and tried to get comfortable upon the hard, dry earth in shade with a prime view of plump, purple clusters.

Munching in the quiet heat, barely off the paved road, we were surprised by a Jeep suddenly halting in the dirt, interrupting the picnic. I scrambled to my feet to move my bike from the lane, apologizing "Excusez-moi!" By the look on the driver's face, he was just as surprised as we were. The two guys appeared to be firemen—from what we could surmise from the vehicle's sign—and they continued into the vineyard without further incident.

Patty and I enter the outskirts of Pelisanne. Michele brought up the rear
 for  nearly all of the trip, but oh, does she take some nice photos! Thanks, Michele.

The miles clicked by. We pedaled slightly downhill for a while as the vineyards gave way to scrub land. A long escarpment of white rock kept us company on the northern horizon. But then, the demarcation was abrupt. Greenery sprang from irrigation, and manicured lawns and plane trees signaled another village.

A wedding party in front of Salon en Provence's Hotel de Ville.

We skirted downtown Pelisanne and found an alternate to a busy highway into Salon en Provence. The guidebook said little about any of the places between between Aix and Arles, yet I personally found this stretch to be some of the best riding—precisely because I didn't know what to expect. Prime example: we descend into Salon on a green-colored road lane—the first, I noticed, that was specifically for bike riders. Then, soon after, a Muslim wedding party and guests spill out of Salon's city hall, complete with marching band that travels down the street a couple blocks then disappears into an alley.

Empiri Castle.

It's only 2:30 p.m. but a lady in the Information Center confirms a nearby campground, but nothing further within reasonable cycling distance. It's an easy decision to relax and explore Salon, then shop for dinner before heading out of town the last few miles. We lock the bikes and walk the long stairway to the Empiri Castle.

The edifice was once an archbishop's palace, but like many of these ancient structures, it's been renovated and is now a museum and venue for concerts. I especially enjoyed the iron sculptures and the herb garden in the courtyard.

A most interesting way to direct one to the toilet.

We walked the ramparts for a unique view of the city. A double-steeple church. Clock tower. More rock hills await us on the horizon.

A close-up of rooftops provide a mixture of colored clay tiles. I was fascinated by the number of skylight styles: concave, bubbles, pyramid-shaped, square convex. From the ground the streets appeared orderly, yet viewed from above, the buildings were jumbled, resembling a textured mosaic.

By late afternoon, after a coffee and filling panniers with food, we head out to the campsite.

By the end of the fourth cycling day, after pedaling more than 100 miles so far, I realize that my arm extension is too short—similar to the reach on my Ross's flat bars—though with 30 miles a day the discomfort remains minimal. Bar ends would've helped, but the rental company didn't offer the option. Neither Michele nor Patty had a similar complaint. Other than that, the bikes are performing well. In fact, the Specialized model provides many firsts for me. The V-brakes (a first) stop effectively. I am impressed. I love the ergonomic grips (another first) and despite the fact that mine rotate, possibly due to the heat, (of course I perpetually forget to remove them in camp to clean the bars—too much wine perhaps?) they made a significant difference. The aluminum frame (a first) lightened the bike and with Nimbus puncture resistant tires the bicycle absorbs road noise. (Our vacation was pleasantly flat free.) I initially chuckled at the leather white seat—who would put one of those on a bike?—but after several days the seat remains clean. So used to black everything on my own bicycles, this rental bike taught me how simple and lovely a bike could look, especially without fenders. RapidFire shifting is new territory and once I got the hang of it, it never failed. On the other hand, Patty has continual difficulty shifting the front derailleur (operator error!), depressing the wrong lever each time. Considering her usual quick wit and organization, it's become a comical affair. She laughs each time she tries to shift, never grasping which way is which. Michele and I get used to the clatter of her double shifting.

Patty with her obligatory baguette and bottle of red wine.

Salon en Provence is where Nostradamus lived, thus the name of the campground. Note the third line: "Vive le Velo!" Think they get a lot of cycle tourists?

Typical end of day routine: line up the bikes for check-in at campground reception.

Home sweet home. Patty sleeps in the grey tent—sans rain fly—to save weight. If precipitation
falls, she will squeeze in with  Michele and me in the roomy, orange monster.

We have dinner on the terrace after dipping toes in a frigid pool, deciding it's way too cold to get in. It's difficult to eat salad for lunch, but for dinner the ladies taught me to eat salad out of a bag. Voracious appetites that we have, we each gobble a full bag with added avocado, almonds, a whole fresh, tasty Provence tomato, tuna, with mustard (from a tube) and olive tapenade for dressing. It's easy clean-up too. Afterward, we munch on chocolate, sip wine, write in journals and always, always read the guide book. Good thing we each have our own copy...

After dark, we use flashlights and giggle our way to the bathroom, then crawl inside the tent.

Links:
Day One - Avignon
Day Two - Fontaine de Vaucluse
Day Three - Gordes, Roussillon, and Oh, Those Hills
Day Four - Saignon, Ingenuity and the Descent into Aix en Provence
Day Five - Aix en Provence to Salon
Day Six - Adventures in Arles
Day Seven - Les Baux, St. Remy
Day Eight - Tarascon Castle
Day Nine - Chateauneuf du Pape and Avignon

Triathlon Days

A festive ensemble for a 40F afternoon.

In the transition month that is November—sometimes well into December—I waffle between riding a bike, walking, and swimming. Temperatures dip into the 20sF and I dive beneath the warms layers of my down parka for errands by foot. A warm spell, which ranges from 40-55F, makes me take the bike out again for an hour's ride. I am also a water girl, preferring pool strokes to build shoulder muscles and loosen a stiff back.

Such is life on my days off. The car sits in the driveway. I ride the bus with my youngest boy to his school. I walk home, write, organize photos, read a book, maybe cook a pot of soup, watch a movie. With the upcoming holidays I take the opportunity to ride to stores, pick up at least one gift. Then I squeeze in a half mile swim at the YMCA before the 2:45 pick-up at school. As it just so happens, some days include all three active pursuits. I like that. A lot.

Triathlon days.

Switzerland - Borderlands to Lac Leman

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Enney, Gruyere Valley. Photo credit: Wikipedia

60 miles - Wednesday, September 21

The day dawned with grey skies, but fortunately the wetness cleared. We remained optimistic, keeping an eye on the sky as we descended through the Gruyere Valley. Because of Switzerland’s dense population—and unlike other European countries that we pedaled through—houses fill the space between villages. Their brown chalet style, with red or green shutters and window boxes overflowing with flowers is far from unsightly. I have yet to spot an ugly Swiss home. Some even display old English-style writing beneath the eaves.

Lunch on the road in the Guyere Valley
would not be complete without
a hunk of this flavorful cheese.
Photo credit: Specialty Cheeses

Shortly after leaving the hostel we crossed into French Switzerland. The border is a rock monument between German speaking Gstaad and French speaking Rougemont. It’s comforting to communicate in our limited French again.

It’s a relief in more ways than one. As pleasant as the Swiss German people have been, there is a brazen side to their personalities that I find trying, as if there’s only one way to do things. It’s evident in our daily existence; standing in line at a bakery or grocery check-out, the stone-faced cashier staring, pointing to the register for our total. Sometimes we hold out coins in our hands for the attendant to take the correct amount; they reluctantly pick through, always with a sigh. The disquiet extends to German cycle tourists also. They set up tents, often in the next site in a vacant campground—all without acknowledging our similar modes of travel.

After a long day on the road, past Bulle and the back roads by Saint Marten, skirting busy Lausanne, we pedal near Lac Leman (Lake Geneva). It’s warmer; the sky is clearing, and the expensive (23 Francs) campground in Morges is right on the shore.  I don’t need to huddle inside the warmth of my sleeping bag directly after dinner. We stroll in town, through a waterfront park, admiring moored sailboats. A men’s soccer game captures our attention for a while. Swans and ducks paddle the water’s edge. Andy and I are momentarily frightened by an occasional heron flapping it's broad angular wings from nearby boulders, but then we laugh, delighted to be near a large body of water much like the Lake Champlain of our youth. It’s a calming presence.

Morges harbor. Photo credit: Switzerland Trips

White Walling on Trails

I took the Ross out for spin through the Intervale. I wanted to test the new tires on dirt.

With its simple tread pattern, I was quite pleased. Now I know it will also handle an occasional dirt road, a tally through the forest. I'm anxious to try it in a little snow, which has fallen already. My only problem is to acclimate my body. I couldn't bear to ride in 15F this past week.

Newly painted Cycle the City route signs.

I pedaled beside my husband the other day and he said the whitewalls look silly, "I can't take you seriously with those tires." I just smiled. To each his own.

Catching nice evening light.

The only way to classify this machine is my rendition of the Urbana or Pilen with the advantage of additional gears. A rugged, beefy girl-bike with a bit of off-road style. Wear a skirt, ride sidewalks, crank along the Intervale Trail, or possibly take it on a bike overnight (that's my next goal.)