I’ve been trying to take a daily ride for a few weeks now, and I’ve mostly succeeded. I started out riding the Schwinn Landmark mountain bike because it’s more recent and in pretty good condition. Step one, inflate tires to 80 psi. Take ride. But the next day, the rear tire was flat. I had a look, and discovered that the tube stem had dry rotted. Never mind the tube. Dad used to cut the old ones up for big thick rubber bands. So I fished down the Sears Free Spirit, which I bought with the 1st of my CETA grant money back in Sioux City, 1978. I pumped up the tires and rode that. Short rides, at first. I went straight to the so-called Retention Pond, which on the map above is the blue bone shard above the MCC, rode around it, and rode straight home. Problems. The Free Spirit is heavy, uncomfortable as ever, and suffers from a lack of basic maintenance. The brakes were out of adjustment, and the rear hub was so gummed up with crud that the chain would fall slack when coasting. I took the wheel off the Schwinn and replaced the tube. Riveting narrative, without doubt.

It was only a mater of minutes before I was jonesing for a new bike. My brother, Richard Beck, an avid and serious biker, in the midst of, or freshly back from a bike adventure with his buddies that went from Spokane to Cour d’Alene, got wind of it (Facebook). He put into my head the idea of a ride together at some point. I couldn’t very well bring that Free Spirit to such a trip! I’m not at all sure I care to ride the Free Spirit from Walmart to Saint Joseph! But I’m getting ahead of the narrative. Such as it is. I got an app. It’s the modern thing to do, is it not? The app is called traillink, and there’s a website here. That’s the link to the Kickapoo rail trail that I’m planning to ride asap that will run from East Urbana (Walmart parking lot, basically) to Kickapoo State Park, but does run from East Urbana to Saint Joseph. The app and website are sponsored by the Rails to Trails Conservancy, which I believe I heard Rick say he was involved with or a member of. Or Something. A worthy bunch. Rantoul has its own rail trail, also known as the ‘bike path.’ It is in need of some maintenance, for which the money and will does not exist. It does, however, form an acceptable springboard for local adventures on a bike.

So today, I took the road I live on, Garrard Street, up to an access point for the bike path. I then took the bike path as far East as it goes before heading back over to Route 136. Then, I faked it on a sidewalk to the Rural King, where I realized I’d forgotten my bike lock. So I came back via residential streets until I hooked up again with the bike path and was back where I started. See map.

Plenty of time in all of that for musings about new bikes.

Some pros and cons:

Pros…

• A new bike should be lighter.
• A new bike should have disc braking.
• A new bike could potentially be a better fit and more enjoyable to ride.
• A new bike would be in better mechanical condition than the Free Spirit.

Cons…

• If I’m going to buy a new bike with the above features, it’s going to cost money.
• How much money is controversial.
• Also controversial is exactly what new bike I should buy.
• See the above controversy about the money.
• One controversy seems to stem from who is going to maintain this new bike.
• Who maintains any bike around here?
• Who is even qualified to maintain a bike?
• Bike maintenance is controversial.
• Who would have thought that biking would be so contentious. And you thought politics was bad!
• I’ll need to explore the local bike shops to buy a new bike, and to have it properly set up and maintained.
• Unless I want to buy one sight unseen online… (Controversial and maybe foolhardy.)

OK.

Did you know there are bike books?

Of course there are!

Check these out! Thanks to Dan Moore. His remark about riding in Tevas with no Spandex is what I have been meditating on as I ruminate on the following tales from my biking past:

The Story About the Free Spirit and Bikeman Bruce

One fine afternoon about 20 years ago, I was riding in Urbana, on my way home from Shelley Masar’s house. I might have not been paying attention, but neither was the driver of the station wagon that ran a stop sign and came between me and my direction of travel. I remember turning out of the way, and going down to the pavement. It was, as these things often are, seemingly in slow motion. The woman stopped her wagon, and the next thing I knew, as I was preoccupied with determining my status, she was yelling at me. “What are you doing?” “I didn’t see you!” “Are you ok?” Etc, etc. I got up as soon as I was able, picked up the bike, and headed for the side of the road. The urban forest was full of birds and bees and yelling woman. I did not, in those days, have the sense god gave a grasshopper, and so I said: “I’m fine.”

I was fine, more or less. I might have had a few contusions, but no concussion or broken bones. But the Free Spirit was NOT fine. The handlebars were askew, for starters. The spokes of the front wheel were dangling, and the wheel itself was bent. I don’t remember exactly what I did next. Memory fails me. There are a few plausible possibilities. 1. I walked the bike back to Shelley’s. I was closer to Shelley’s than my own apartment. 2. I walked the busted bike back to my own apartment. 3. Nope… There really is no number 3. I’m pretty sure I straightened out the handlebars and walked the bike home. 5 miles. At least.

The next step, obviously, had two basic elements. Tell Shelley what had happened. Take the damaged wheel off the bike. Shelley said I needed to take the wheel to Bikeman Bruce. Pretty sure she called him that. Bikeman Bruce turned out to be a first order curmudgeon of local repute. For years, I was fond of saying that there should be a sign on the highway, you know, I-74, one of those brown ones denoting historical items of interest, saying “local character, this exit.” Bikeman Bruce. Bruce fixed the wheel for a very reasonable fee. He then lectured me along the following lines:

• Sears never made a good bike. They were all pieces of shit.
• The Free Spirit was the WRONG bike for me. It was much too large. (Mind you, all he had was the wheel. I’m sure I told him the make, and sure he had asked.)
• WD-40 is not a lubricant. It’s a solvent. (The wheel likely smelled of WD-40.)
• I should really get a new bike. Something more appropriate for my size and riding style.

This was all true, and good advice. Words cannot quite express the sarcasm with which his advice was delivered. I vowed to stay the hell away from Bikeman Bruce. But there was no way to do that. He rides (or DID ride) each morning, rain or shine, to Cafe Royale, directly in my path from parking lot to my office, without fail. Thus, for 20 odd years, I’ve cursed him without mercy innumerable times. To think that I need to visit the local bike shops fills me with dread. I am now freshly retired, and will never again have to see the man on his daily ride for caffeine. Yet, it seems to me, NOW is the time to call again on the Bikeman…