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July 9, 2007
A Broken Spoke
Yesterday I thought I'd ride out to London, Ohio for some chicken gizzards. I figured the round trip would be about 50 miles but about 10 miles into it I realized that would have been via the most direct route. The route I was taking had been part of the 100-miler I did last year and I know it contained some bonus miles at the start.
Not to worry. Gizzards have magic healing properties and if the ride went 60 or so miles I knew I'd be OK. (The KFC in London is the only KFC I know of in the area that sells gizzards.)
About 13 miles into the ride I passed Roberts Road, which is about 4 miles away from where I live at it's closest point.
About 16 miles from home I slowed for a train and noticed an odd feel coming from the rear wheel. I crossed the tracks and pulled off into a field-access drive next to a 'lost tortoise' sign.
I could tell the rim had gone out of true and when I checked the tire it had an odd look to it — sort of like a steel belt had shifted on a radial tire. I assumed the odd look the tire had was due to the rim problem.
I also assumed I had a broken spoke; none of them, however, were dangling.
A smart man would have simply turned the bike toward home and gotten there the shortest way possible. I, however, had a set of tools with me and thought I'd take the tire off. (Nothing sucks the 'smart' out of a man like having a set of tools nearby.)
Have I mentioned it was 92 F (33.3 C) today and very humid (wet) today?
Removing the wheel involved getting a lot of dirt and a bit of grease on my hands. I was wearing a brand-new yellow jersey and had a bit of concern about getting it greasy. Fortunately, Americans are litterbugs. Horrible litterbugs. Such litterbugs that many countries refuse to grant us entry and we find that the only way are able to visit to admire their beautiful mosques is to invade. I found a discarded roll of paper towels in fairly short order.
Actually, we're not all that litter-buggy, but I was able to find a couple of sheets of paper that I used to wipe my hands on. (In the end I'd only get two grease smudges on the new jersey. In the very end, I'd use a water bottle to wet my hands and take one of my socks off to wipe and dry them.)
I let the air out of the inner tube, removed the tire, gave it all a serious look, and decided, "Yep, the rim is out of whack." I put it all back together and limped on home.
And limping is an exaggeration. After a little bit of doing 14 mph I decided I could probably pick up the pace … which I did for the 12 miles it took me to get to Donato's where I stopped for a small Chicken Vegy Medley Pizza (green olives instead of green peppers) and some wings (no sauce). It wasn't gizzards, but it wasn' t bad.
I found the broken spoke while I was at Donato's.
And then I started thinking which, as you know, is rare enough. A couple of rides ago, and I think it was toward the end of the 50-miler, I'd heard a noise of some sort and at the same time I felt a vibration through the horn of my seat into the bottom part of my manly region. I almost blogged about it when it happened but I figured you'd heard enough about my testicles. (I know I know I know. Can you ever really hear enough about my testicles?) Anyway, had I blogged about it then I'd have been a bit more clear about when in the ride I'd heard the noise and how it hadn't sounded like anything I'd heard before and how I would have expected a noise like that to continue (like a bearing going bad).
When all the math is done, it looks like I rode with a busted spoke for about 55 miles or so.
Anyway, more photos.
A portion of the Heritage Trail Bike Path. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing and accidentally went off the path into the grass. In order to make anybody watching think that I'd veered into the grass on purpose I had some water and took this photo. Of course, anybody watching might have had the thought, "I'd have slowed a bit before leaving the pavement."
Beach Road Bridge
The creek that flows under the Beach Road Bridge. I really should know the name of this. It almost has to be Darby Creek.
Someone has lost a tortoise.
The jersey on the left is a XXXL Nashbar Essential Jersey. The Jersey on the right is a XXL purchased from Aero Tech Designs. As comfortable as the one on the left is, it is just too freakin' big and doesn't look good. I'm going to vote for XXL's (the Nashbar XXL fits about the same) for folks my size (6'4", 230 pounds). Aero Tech Designs makes a taller jersey, but I don't think I'm going to buy one. Please note, in the photo on the right that bit that looks like an extra-large love handle (again, not the ears) is, in fact, one of the three back pockets. (Sorry for getting all girly on you.)
Posted by delmer at July 9, 2007 12:20 AM
Comments
It's a good thing that you clarified the love-handle vs. pocket thing. Of course, that was the first thing that I noticed (not). BTW, the corn reminded me that you could pull a cob out of any Dublin politician's posterior, not just the Republicans'.
Posted by: Icy Mt. at July 9, 2007 12:30 PM