Reaffirming My Appreciation for Rule No. 5

When I remember some of my journal entries from long distant September, it's hard to believe I ever thought 66 degrees was "too cold" to enjoy a ride.

Oh, MY GOD. You crybaby! HARDEN UP.

This morning, in observation of Rule 5, I ventured out into a chilly 28 degrees and just kept on going. Hazleton to Beaver Meadows, Tresckow and back. I even went a little out of my way to pick up cat food. A 17 mile commute just to get to the corner grocery store. I'm sure my cat would do the same for me. (Probably not.)


Now, coldness is one thing, but what would a ride into glory be without a few snow flurries and freezing headwinds? As I rode into Tresckow, a bitterly cold gust blasted me in the face, holding me back as I struggled to keep my pace. This was one of those turning points where I thought, "Why the hell am I doing this? I'm supposed to be enjoying myself; this is like punishment!" And then a thought occurred to me. "Is this worse than the soul-sucking depression I feel when I can't go for a ride?"

I didn't even need a moment to consider the answer. I knew it was better to be on the bike than to be on the couch. "You can sit on the couch all afternoon, after you get home," I told myself. "But right now? It's 'GO' time. Time to shine, time to harden up, time to crank the pedals and conquer that next hill. Over that next hill, the clouds are gonna break, the sun is gonna come out and the heat on your back will make you forget all about the cold. Over that next hill, the ride will be good again." And it was. Somehow, miraculously, that's exactly what happened.

And then the cloud cover came back and I was freezing, once again. C'est la vie.

"I have to warn you, this is about to get very personal, but, my nipples could cut diamonds, right now. #justsayin I am sofa king cold."

So, there was that. Even as the temperature climbed into the mid-30s, it was still really cold. Meh.

At least I didn't have it as bad as these dudes:

So, what have we learned?

First of all, 66 degrees isn't cold. Even if I have an extremely high tolerance for heat and an extremely low tolerance for the cold, 66 is MUCH more preferable to 28.

Second, I love my cat. All the other cats in the neighborhood should be super jelly. Like, totes, fer sure.

Third, I had "Love Song" by Tesla stuck in my head the entire ride. So now I'm going to torture you with it. Ride on!

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Thursday night trail riding in Kirby Park with Valley Cycles

As much as I consider myself a roadie these days, there was a time I loved mountain biking more than anything in the world. And I'm not just talking about riding a bike with knobby wheels around on the street, I'm talking about actually going off-road, through trails in the woods and out into the middle of nowhere. It's been an awfully long time since I've done that.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a new bike shop I discovered called Valley Cycles. Every Thursday night they go out trail riding through Kirby Park, which is only a few blocks from the shop, across the Market Street bridge into Kingston. Last night, I took my bike up to join them and had the time of my life.

The post on Valley Cycle's Facebook page said, "Snow or no, we are riding," so I purchased a pair of wool hiking socks specifically for the event. Along with a headband/ear cover to pull on under my helmet, I was ready. With the temperature dipping into the mid-30s, it certainly wasn't warm out, but I was snug as a bug. It was going to take more than a little bit of cold weather to hold me back!

If a picture says a thousand words, the following video I found online from a previous ride should pretty much cover this blog post, and yet it still wouldn't convey the amount of fun I had last night, nor would it convey the enthusiastic, friendly attitude of the Valley Cycles staff in setting up these rides and introducing them to new riders. Just watch:

There were 15 riders in all, and the sight of headlamps flying through the near-pitch blackness of the woods at night was astonishing. Riding along the river bank, knowing that a slight wrong turn or loss of balance could be the difference between mountain biking and an impromptu swim in the Susquehanna River made the ride that much more exhilarating. But it was the feeling of camaraderie as we tackled steep hills, dips, low-hanging branches and thick brush that made the ride a great time for everyone. And don't think these rides are a young man's game! There was a wide range of ages represented in our group, and several women riders, as well.

As one might expect, the ride wasn't without some consequences. There were a few spills as riders hit nasty sections of the terrain, and I managed to find nearly every puddle of mud along way, slipping and sliding as my thin wheels sank into the softer spots of earth. On one occasion, I bottomed out on a log-over and broke the chain-guard on my front sprocket. If I'd been going a bit faster, I might have been able to get a little more air under the front wheel and cleared the log, but at least the sprocket survived without major damage.

To be honest, I'm surprised my city-hybrid survived at all. I certainly didn't baby it, and though it might have fared better with wider tires, I can't say I had much of a problem getting through the night. I think I held on pretty well, considering this was my first night ride on unfamiliar ground. 

Afterwards, kicking back with a post-ride beer and chowing down on a pasta dinner at the River Street Jazz Cafe while sharing battle stories and war wounds was the best way to finish the night. I'm so totally looking forward to next week!

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In Search of Pete's Bicycle Shop

Leonard Nimoy knows what's up.

They said it existed, but I knew otherwise. They needed proof, I found it. The truth is out there... this is my story.

The other day, my friend and I were looking up bicycle shops on ReferLocal.com, just to see what was out there. That's when I was visited by a ghost...

I'm not sure exactly where ReferLocal gets its information (more than likely Google Local search) but the first hit that turned up was... Pete's Bicycle Shop.

"Impossible!" I said. "He closed the shop years ago!" But there it was. Shocked as I was, I had to see it for myself, I had to know the truth. Had Pete's Bicycle Shop actually closed down? And if so, was it now back? Back from the dead?

What makes this case so compelling is that, as sure as I was that Pete's Bicycle Shop didn't exist anymore, I'd heard from several sources that it did. How could these people have been so misinformed? It had been at 1 W Broad Street in Hazleton for at least 20 years, and though I don't know how long it was there before we moved here in 1990, when a business is that old, you come to expect that it's still there, simply because it's always been there. I had to separate the fact from the fiction, but it wasn't going to be easy.

I remember driving past a few years ago and seeing that the place was empty, and yet, there is photographic proof that backs up the claim that it still exists. Take a look at this Google Street View of West Broad Street. That looks like a shop with bikes in the window, doesn't it? Sure does. What's going on here? Compelling, hard evidence? Time to dig a little deeper.

Never mind the fact that the date stamped on the image is from September 2009 and that Pete's could have closed since then; that's not good enough. The only way to solve this mystery was for me to get out there and see it with my own, two eyes.

In the days since Hurricane Sandy (which spared us most of her wrath, thankfully) the temperature has plunged into the 30s. As threats of a Nor'Easter in the next week loom over our heads, I can already feel the onset of cabin fever. Call it ennui, call it a stubborn refusal to accept that Winter is here, but for whatever reason, I bundled up, hopped on my bike and headed out on the road. I was on a mission.

The ride was comfortable, and though it was 38 degrees, I didn't feel so cold once I got going. I made straight for 309 and headed over the hill to Broad Street, taking the lane like a boss at every intersection. It was a smooth trip, and no one gave me any grief about temporarily being in their way.

My first stop was Jimmy's Quick Lunch for a damn fine hot dog with everything on it (minus onions.) As I walked in and removed my helmet, the owner just looked at me and asked, "Isn't it a bit cold for a bike ride?"
I was actually shocked at my own response when I heard myself saying that it wasn't that bad. Then again, I was bundled up quite snuggly, with two upper layers under a jacket and a scarf around my face. If anything, I was worried about overheating and sweating, as that can make it worse.

I finished my hot dog and was back on the job, making my way up Broad Street towards the building where Pete's Bicycle Shop would have been. As I rolled up to the building, however, I knew I was right all along.

There were no bikes in the windows, or anywhere inside, just a group of people sitting at tables. I decided to head in and see what was going on. What I found was a small headquarters for the Ransom Young campaign in Hazleton, certainly nothing that would resemble a bike shop, but I was skeptical.

I questioned a few of the volunteers, who assured me that Pete's closed down a few years ago, but who knows? Perhaps they were in on the conspiracy? It's only a few days until the election; maybe they'll clear out and return the shop to it's original condition now that they think they've thrown me off the case? Maybe the bikes are neatly tucked away somewhere, and I just need to look around a little more? Something is up, and now that I know local government is involved, this case just got a whole lot more complicated. Maybe this thing goes all the way to the White House?

As I stood outside, I knew there wasn't much more I could do. I decided to whip out my camera and take some photographic evidence of the new front. Unfortunately, a bright light appeared in the sky, and an alien sasquatch ran up and snatched the camera out of my hand. Before I could get it back, Elvis tripped me and tried to steal my bike while a group of Atlanteans zapped me with their crystal sphere, knocking me unconscious. Some time later, I came to and found my camera, but the magnetic interference of the Bermuda Triangle had erased the camera's memory card! There was nothing I could do... So close, yet so far away.

I can't say this case is closed, but I'm walking away, satisfied that I know the truth. I urge anyone who dares to take up this case, to dedicate their lives to finding proof that Pete's Bicycle Shop is gone, to tread very carefully. There's too much at stake, you don't want to end up like I did. I have the proof I need, but you'll just have to take my word for it until you see it for yourself.

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Let them eat crow! And milk, and apples.

1/2 peck of apples. Image Source

There were a few hours yesterday that I really wished I hadn't written this. As is, it's a bit preachy, and that's not my usual style. However, I felt I'd leave it because I wanted to get in the habit of writing some of the self-motivational stuff (read: rhetorical drivel) that runs through my head while I'm riding. But what really made me regret that post was yesterday's high temperature: 49° (F).

Despite my passion for cycling, and my newfound appreciation for riding on days with less-than-ideal weather conditions, I really just didn't want to go out into that. And then, as luck would have it, we ran out of milk.

Aha! I thought. Here's my chance to prove I'm not a big, sissy-pants hypocrite! I can ride my bike to the store, pick up a gallon of milk AND practice what I preach! Make today a perfect a day to ride... that's what I said, right? And because I was feeling extra cocky, I decided to pick up a half peck of apples, too.

I put on a jacket, some sweats and hit the road. And because I was feeling extra, extra cocky, I didn't even wear a pair of gloves.

We have a couple of stores that are all within 2 miles, so why I chose the one that's at the bottom of a steep hill, I'll never know. Maybe I was just feeling extra, extra, EXTRA cocky and wanted to prove something by slinging 12-14 pounds worth of apples and milk on my back and riding half a mile uphill to get back home. Actually, that's exactly it. I felt like such an ass for Monday's post that this was my way of achieving atonement; a blogger's penance, if you will.

For the sin of publishing self-aggrandizing, rhetorical drivel, thou shalt eat thine words and pedal uphill in the cold!

In fact, it still bugs me that the store was only a mile away instead of 20 or so. Never mind the fact that there are thousands of people who commute to work/go shopping on bikes every day in conditions much worse than 49°. Just who the hell do I think I am, anyway?

Rest assured, next time, I'll ride to the store that's about six tenths of a mile farther but doesn't go up or down any hills. Much easier, much less... flagellant.

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Brent Cohrs eloquently sums up my feelings on Autumn

Normally, I like to speak for myself, but sometimes, you come across someone else's prose that just says it so much better. That's what I've got here in this piece by Brent Cohrs on ChicagoNow.com.

In the post, Brent mentions that his posts have been decreasing as the season ends, due to his getting out and enjoying the good days left. Meanwhile, I'm riding less and writing more, and thoroughly unhappy about it.

I need to prioritize my time, write when the weather is bad (like it was for most of this past week) and ride when the weather is good. Instead, I spent the one good day we had this week cramped up in my room, fingers tediously tapping away. I'm glad that I was able to produce a lot of great content for the site, but my heart's not happy unless I'm sitting in the saddle.

The rest of Brent's post is a great read; he makes the crisp, chilly air sound almost pleasant. That could be just enough to get me out on the road. My aim is to take a few days this week and just ride, whether it's cold, hot or whatever. Especially with the 50k coming up on Saturday, it's important that I do this. Dress in layers, ride hard. There's only one week left.

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