First Cruise, First Repair

I took the red rocket around the lake today and while the weather was perfect, the structural integrity of my rear wheel, unfortunately, was not.

With an eye to my watch, I cruised along the Capital City Trail, passing Monona Terrace and the tennis courts that do not appear to be car-accessible (yay for bikes and walking!) after only about 12 minutes of riding. Today's objective was to get a feel for the neighborhood and how long it takes to get to the nearby attractions. Just past M.T., there is a small footbridge and on it, two ladies traipsed along side by side and dragged their yip yip dog over it as I approached.

Now I should mention that I really believe that everyone that lacks common sense on public trails and paths needs a re-education in the etiquette of not dying while walking. We need a drastic deterrant, like, say, a $50 minimum fine for public idiocy, with an upward scale based on the severity of the stupidity. Common sense should pretty accurately predict the outcome of a collision between a two-hundred-plus pound man and a four pound dog. We're not talking a "pink mist" kind of horror, but pretty close. The rule, of course, for avoiding death is for walkers and slower cyclists and pooches to stay to the right; bikes and runners pass on the left. Predictability above all else (when riding).

As I came within 50 feet of the bridge, I holler, "On your left! Passing on your left!" which should have given the two ladies and the yipper adequate time (considering the snail's pace at which I was enjoying the morning cruise) to stagger and put the dog back in the purse. But instead, they look over their shoulders, smirk at me and continue marching in formation. The dog smiles at me, its tiny tongue hanging out of its tiny mouth.

By now I was within 20 feet. "On your left! Passing on your left please!"

This time, rather than smile dumbly at me, the lady on the right scoops up yipper and pushes the lady on the left into the left hand guardrail, right as I go for the pass. I slam on the brakes and do a squiggly swerve maneuver to avoid crushing all of them. Thankfully, no one was hurt and they even apologize. But all could have been avoided. Stay on the right, people.

Further down the trail, I veered off to the left and followed a residential street around the lake. After living and riding in H-town for two years, any %grade above flat is torture for me. I suppose that I've gotten a good deal, all in all: trading in flat roads and six months of 100% humidity for 75 degrees, cooling (not roasting) breezes, and very slight uphills. (And hockey, of course, but that's a different obsession for a different post). I steered the rocket around a bend, clicked into an easier gear and made it up my molehill with minimal sweating and swearing.

If you ever want a chilled out ride through a neighborhood that will make you heartsick for home ownership, Waunona Way fits the bill. The houses range from quaint Americana, front porches and wood frames to whoa to what-the-hell-kind-of-angle-is-that? Even if owning a house isn't your dream (and for me it's a long, long ways off kind of dream), there's plenty of sneak peaks of the lake between the houses that are good for indulging your lakefront home fantasy, at any rate, and for some, might make us a bit more eager to find gainful employment.

I stopped at my turn around point, slugged some water, and walked over to a For Sale sign. The place was a short wood-framed place that the flier claimed contained 7 bathrooms. Asking price: 998,000. Maybe I'll put off getting a job for a while and keep dreaming. . .

. . .and two minutes later, I broke a spoke and knocked my rear wheel out of true.

On the way back, I guided the red rocket gingerly over large cracks and potholes, past the Spanish-only Sunday soccer game, past the Band Camp concert where the lead singer was extolling the crowd in a deep metal voice "THANKS FOR COMING OUT! DON'T EVER FUCKIN GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS! EVER!!!" past the tennis courts and the lake, and the fishermen with their kids and the old man wearing a Cubs hat who said hi to everyone, past the pit bull enthusiasts, and all the other people out enjoying a near-perfect Sunday. A short while later, my rear wheel screeching against my brakes, I was back in mredison's neighborhood.