Wednesday, 13 February 2008

Scottish As Hell

My cheapness is coming out in full force. Despite my visceral lust for a new SRAM group set, I have instead decided to recycle Kevin's once beloved 9 speed shifters to provide the Wagonnette (a.k.a. the FPG's bike, which she keeps threatening to roll in anger this year, and will soon have the proper team kit to do so - such details are critical - but I maintain a healthy skepticism) with a properly functioning pair of paddles (and myself with a fully functional set of spares, more importantly - I'm a junkie for well equipped tool boxes) and keep every bike in the house on the same chain/cassette deal. Really, when I think about having to swap cassettes it gives me hives.

Second, my trainer has proved the hex that you should never speak well of the trainer and decided to break last night. There were maybe a couple loud cracks that I've heard in recent weeks that maybe got ignored. Maybe. Maybe even one really loud one. Anyhow, while trying to hitch my wagon to the trainer last night it really went tits up. There's a sleeve that has a lip on the end that provides the counter force to the fastening screw. Without this lip, the screw that you turn to clamp the trainer onto the skewer doesn't get tight. Fortunately, my world comes equipped with epoxy. I epoxied the living hell out of the thing and it should be all ready to go ce soir. Jim, I would take a picture, but exhibit A would be orangey-yellowish Elite trainer without unseen threaded sleeve, and exhibit B would be orangey-yellowish Elite trainer with unseen threaded sleeve. So in keeping with today's Scottish theme I will save the battery on the flash and the bandwidth and go sans picture.

What the trainer breakage did force me to do is bust out the ol' rollers. Rollers are okay. Mine are a little loud. They're Performance ones and the drums aren't models of roundness, so they're a little bouncy and noisy, but they work just fine. Especially since I had only to do a little light recovery spinning. About 40 minutes in, bored as hell, I decided to finally get riding no hands down cold. Done. I can ride 7 minutes no handed, and I didn't even splatter myself all over Manhattan (or the floor) learning such. Sweet.

It took me 2.5 hours to drive home last night. It normally takes me 30 minutes. From Old Town to Reagan took an hour and a quarter. I was PISSED, and not like that Piper at Charlie's wedding (if ya want ma body, an' ya think I'm sexy...), although when I got home I wanted to get pissed like that guy. But then I wouldn't know how to ride the trainer no hands for 7 minutes, now would I, laddie?

5 comments:

Jim said...

Why dinna ye jest glue thee bike innit, ye cheap Scottish git...

layzeesusan said...

Harriet? Harri-et. She was a thief. Ya' gotta beleaf. She stole my heart and my CAT!!!

Betty! Judy!

Hands down. Favorite movie!

Chuck Wagon said...

The crazy sister is the daughter of the father from Sound of Music. How 'bout that?

So Jim, the new picture B would be the nice Cyclops Magneto trainer that Santa brought today when the repair and a few other things blew up a few minutes into using the repaired thing. Went with that one instead of the one you got b/c I need race portability for warm ups.

TCR James said...

Och, aye.

Yeah, well, when you're 6'0" 255 with a history of powerlifting, a 75 pound trainer *is* quite race portable.

The only downside, as it turns out, is that on most days my ass isn't.

Jim

Kate said...

Heeed! Pants! Nowwww!