(c) Andy Click on photo for a larger image
Thursday, October 27, 2005
This from Wednesday...
When I got home my bum hurt SO badly. Not just bruised cheeks but a feeling that I’d been riding with the bones in my ass being forced outwards by the saddle and my tendons (being weakly out of practise) couldn’t hold my hip bones in my pelvis any more. I couldn’t get out of the saddle and rode in a tiddly gear. When I did have to force myself out of the saddle, it was excruciating to sit back down again. The pain ran all down my legs, made every muscle cramp and caused the backs of my legs to ache for two days – which has never happened. I decided that something had to be done so I went to the bike shop after work yesterday.
The nice man asked if I needed help and duly pointed me towards the saddles. I began to explain my discomfort of separated bum-bones. He waved a piece of neoprene stuck to cardboard at me and asked with a twinkle in his eyes, “Have you ever had your sit bones measured?”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, always up for a neat way to find the right solution to a painful problem.
It wasn’t really any fun at all. I sat on the neoprene pad with my feet on a step for a few secs then he measured the dents my bum bones made in the neoprene with the graduated scale on the piece of card. I was disappointed that my bum dents were a little squidgey. Not enough riding. But my bum bones are 14 cms apart which apparently is “quite normal” but then he added I was like him and would need to find a wider saddle, which tells me that the average saddle is not made for the average rider. So we set-to with the tape measure, measuring saddles and I also decided I wanted a longer one with long rails on it to make it adjustable in the fore-and-aft direction. After all the effort I bought one the same as my MTB saddle because it’s always been comfy and it was.
At midnight last night there was a downpour. The kind of downpour that woke me up like a shot because it sounded like some horrendous natural disaster was occurring, or it could’ve been really cold outside because it sounded like the furnace starting. Eventually after shaking my head and putting my brain in first (if I were a cat I would’ve swivelled my ears a few times), I realised it was raining – really hard. I could feel the prospect of my ride to work thinning, but when I got up at 5:30 all was well and the sky was crystal clear. Good morning Orion, is your belt particularly long this morning or are you just pleased to see me? And… my leg bones were no longer disconnected from my pelvis bone by my old, hard, racing saddle.
Sorry “Terry Liberator,” this day you lose. I positively enjoyed the feeling of the old aches and pains being soothed by the new, softer support network of the “Specialised BodyGel”. Maybe I will manage to ride home too, so long as the sky is not falling again by then.
The nice man asked if I needed help and duly pointed me towards the saddles. I began to explain my discomfort of separated bum-bones. He waved a piece of neoprene stuck to cardboard at me and asked with a twinkle in his eyes, “Have you ever had your sit bones measured?”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, always up for a neat way to find the right solution to a painful problem.
It wasn’t really any fun at all. I sat on the neoprene pad with my feet on a step for a few secs then he measured the dents my bum bones made in the neoprene with the graduated scale on the piece of card. I was disappointed that my bum dents were a little squidgey. Not enough riding. But my bum bones are 14 cms apart which apparently is “quite normal” but then he added I was like him and would need to find a wider saddle, which tells me that the average saddle is not made for the average rider. So we set-to with the tape measure, measuring saddles and I also decided I wanted a longer one with long rails on it to make it adjustable in the fore-and-aft direction. After all the effort I bought one the same as my MTB saddle because it’s always been comfy and it was.
At midnight last night there was a downpour. The kind of downpour that woke me up like a shot because it sounded like some horrendous natural disaster was occurring, or it could’ve been really cold outside because it sounded like the furnace starting. Eventually after shaking my head and putting my brain in first (if I were a cat I would’ve swivelled my ears a few times), I realised it was raining – really hard. I could feel the prospect of my ride to work thinning, but when I got up at 5:30 all was well and the sky was crystal clear. Good morning Orion, is your belt particularly long this morning or are you just pleased to see me? And… my leg bones were no longer disconnected from my pelvis bone by my old, hard, racing saddle.
Sorry “Terry Liberator,” this day you lose. I positively enjoyed the feeling of the old aches and pains being soothed by the new, softer support network of the “Specialised BodyGel”. Maybe I will manage to ride home too, so long as the sky is not falling again by then.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
This just in... BC drivers have eyes in their head and know how to use them.
(From Tuesday on what happened Monday)
I got inspired by Crazy Biker Chick and yesterday I rode my bike to work. It being my ISO Audit this week, I realised it was important for me to have something to look forwards to on Monday morning. When the alarm went off I knew I had to get up or lose the stress-busting experience so I did manage to pull myself out of bed to some semblance of organisation, having spent half of Saturday laying out clothes and working on Green, resetting the brakes after the bike shop interfered and left the adjustment screw thread close to shearing off the one and a half threads at its tip. Of course I should change the pads eventually, but playing with cable was more immediate putting me on the road on Monday morning and anyway, I found out someone (no me, no, I never service anything) had put the assembly together backwards. You can tell Lynton that dad. I also went in search of the slow puncture but to no avail.
So yesterday morning I got dressed in a blurr, pausing only to choose my warmer clothing on the basis I’d rather de-layer than shiver for the first 20 minutes. At 6:55, my non-existent slow-puncture was back but by then, of course, the panniers were in the way so re-inflating was tricky. Particularly when I forgot to unfasten the valve.
This made me hot and thirsty. I already needed a drink but I had none as my nice chunky battery for my rechargeable lights was occupying the bottle cage. I decided (without digging my watch out from layers of clothing) that I had no time to go to the kitchen so bright lighties and reflective jacket on I set off.
I struggled up the stairwell with the fully laden Bike and blanched at the concept of wheeling it through the new 5 inch deep gravel drive. I opted for the firmer flowerbed – no flowers yet though.
“Dimp dimp dimp” said the bike as my straining spokes bowed, tapping the computer magnet against the detector on my forks. I can’t stop yet on this hill so I cope with the “dimp dimp dimp” as long as possible, not stopping at road junctions because this is my village and no-one else goes this way at 6am. Eventually I’m warm and have to stop to undo arm zips and adjust my magnet. Someone’s dog knows I have stopped and starts to bark. I move on before I find he’s loose.
3 cars pass me on the road from the village. My hi-vis gear and lights do their job as they all give me lots of room. Then a car approaches. He’s a good ¼ mile away on a straight hilly section of the road and he dims his headlights. I start to wonder what my main-beam light is for – the one I’d flash at approaching UK drivers who had their main beam on me. Failing that I used to wave my hand in front of the beam to make it flicker and failing that, I’d just ride at the drivers hoping that they would see me before I was completely blinded and hit them.
I had the opportunity to test my new-found luminescence a few times and even a car behind me gave way to an oncoming vehicle before he passed me. Top marks village drivers for a job well done.
Joining the KVR I remembered what this high-beam setting is for. The last time I went off-roading in the dark was in Sheffield with the MTB baby when we rode to the peak, got drunk then off road downhilled all the way back into the city. That time was without lights and infinitely less scary due to the alcohol consumed. I turn my hi beam on for this day I am without backup.
In place of the drunken giggling, this day, the only noises are my jiggling panniers and the crunch of my wheels on the compacted sand surface. My eyes focused on the circle of light in front and the shadows of my cables on the trail, like antenna on a bug, my senses turned instead to the smell of cider from the fallen apples rotting on the orchard grounds to either side.
Another dog barked some distance away and a farmer was starting his day, charging the battery on his tractor. Then I was back at the road, riding past the (thankfully) peaceful cemetery and looking across the lake to the steady stream of headlights on the highway. I scoff at the poor rich people in their big SUVs who will never know the peace I feel now. And just at that moment an adolescent moon-deer strides across the road, its stumpy downy not-yet antlers so tempting to reach out and stroke. Then his sister crosses the other way and prances into the cemetery in elegant bounds that make me think of Pepe le Peu. Then I turn off my main beam since I’m now in “the city”… though I’m not sure what part of “city” applies to the Agricultural Land Reserve that I am riding through, but the border is crossed so the street lights exist.
After 1 mile of road I’m back on the KVR, flitting silently past the windows at the back of 5th storey apartments as cats yeowl at each other in the car park. Then the 3% grade finally pours me out somewhere the school where a sleepy-eyed caretaker is turning on lights and cranking up the heating for the children to come back to school.
I affect the rest of my journey without signalling, never mind dabbing (my foot) because on these roads, no-one’s ever coming at the intersections. I consider cutting off the last corner through safeways staff carpark and a lane but allowing for potholes the main road is safer. Just as I think I might have to put a foot down, a car pulls past me and turns the light before I get there.
I race through the last green light at work and have to negotiate our first trucker of the day who overshot the driveway. Only the start of the day’s chaos but I feel fine.
I got inspired by Crazy Biker Chick and yesterday I rode my bike to work. It being my ISO Audit this week, I realised it was important for me to have something to look forwards to on Monday morning. When the alarm went off I knew I had to get up or lose the stress-busting experience so I did manage to pull myself out of bed to some semblance of organisation, having spent half of Saturday laying out clothes and working on Green, resetting the brakes after the bike shop interfered and left the adjustment screw thread close to shearing off the one and a half threads at its tip. Of course I should change the pads eventually, but playing with cable was more immediate putting me on the road on Monday morning and anyway, I found out someone (no me, no, I never service anything) had put the assembly together backwards. You can tell Lynton that dad. I also went in search of the slow puncture but to no avail.
So yesterday morning I got dressed in a blurr, pausing only to choose my warmer clothing on the basis I’d rather de-layer than shiver for the first 20 minutes. At 6:55, my non-existent slow-puncture was back but by then, of course, the panniers were in the way so re-inflating was tricky. Particularly when I forgot to unfasten the valve.
This made me hot and thirsty. I already needed a drink but I had none as my nice chunky battery for my rechargeable lights was occupying the bottle cage. I decided (without digging my watch out from layers of clothing) that I had no time to go to the kitchen so bright lighties and reflective jacket on I set off.
I struggled up the stairwell with the fully laden Bike and blanched at the concept of wheeling it through the new 5 inch deep gravel drive. I opted for the firmer flowerbed – no flowers yet though.
“Dimp dimp dimp” said the bike as my straining spokes bowed, tapping the computer magnet against the detector on my forks. I can’t stop yet on this hill so I cope with the “dimp dimp dimp” as long as possible, not stopping at road junctions because this is my village and no-one else goes this way at 6am. Eventually I’m warm and have to stop to undo arm zips and adjust my magnet. Someone’s dog knows I have stopped and starts to bark. I move on before I find he’s loose.
3 cars pass me on the road from the village. My hi-vis gear and lights do their job as they all give me lots of room. Then a car approaches. He’s a good ¼ mile away on a straight hilly section of the road and he dims his headlights. I start to wonder what my main-beam light is for – the one I’d flash at approaching UK drivers who had their main beam on me. Failing that I used to wave my hand in front of the beam to make it flicker and failing that, I’d just ride at the drivers hoping that they would see me before I was completely blinded and hit them.
I had the opportunity to test my new-found luminescence a few times and even a car behind me gave way to an oncoming vehicle before he passed me. Top marks village drivers for a job well done.
Joining the KVR I remembered what this high-beam setting is for. The last time I went off-roading in the dark was in Sheffield with the MTB baby when we rode to the peak, got drunk then off road downhilled all the way back into the city. That time was without lights and infinitely less scary due to the alcohol consumed. I turn my hi beam on for this day I am without backup.
In place of the drunken giggling, this day, the only noises are my jiggling panniers and the crunch of my wheels on the compacted sand surface. My eyes focused on the circle of light in front and the shadows of my cables on the trail, like antenna on a bug, my senses turned instead to the smell of cider from the fallen apples rotting on the orchard grounds to either side.
Another dog barked some distance away and a farmer was starting his day, charging the battery on his tractor. Then I was back at the road, riding past the (thankfully) peaceful cemetery and looking across the lake to the steady stream of headlights on the highway. I scoff at the poor rich people in their big SUVs who will never know the peace I feel now. And just at that moment an adolescent moon-deer strides across the road, its stumpy downy not-yet antlers so tempting to reach out and stroke. Then his sister crosses the other way and prances into the cemetery in elegant bounds that make me think of Pepe le Peu. Then I turn off my main beam since I’m now in “the city”… though I’m not sure what part of “city” applies to the Agricultural Land Reserve that I am riding through, but the border is crossed so the street lights exist.
After 1 mile of road I’m back on the KVR, flitting silently past the windows at the back of 5th storey apartments as cats yeowl at each other in the car park. Then the 3% grade finally pours me out somewhere the school where a sleepy-eyed caretaker is turning on lights and cranking up the heating for the children to come back to school.
I affect the rest of my journey without signalling, never mind dabbing (my foot) because on these roads, no-one’s ever coming at the intersections. I consider cutting off the last corner through safeways staff carpark and a lane but allowing for potholes the main road is safer. Just as I think I might have to put a foot down, a car pulls past me and turns the light before I get there.
I race through the last green light at work and have to negotiate our first trucker of the day who overshot the driveway. Only the start of the day’s chaos but I feel fine.
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