Nothing egregious, mind you, just the typical ravings of an irascible and churlish elderly Tarmac. And all done under his breath. I believe I've previously mentioned his occasional intransigence. Whenever he's being snarky he mumbles. He thinks this makes more plausible his subsequent denials. Because when I call him on it, he always responds with, "What? I didn't say anything." For his age, he acts SO immature at times. Anyway...
There we were, just finishing up a 25 mile ride - only three miles from home and IT happened. As I was pedaling I felt something brush the inside of my left leg. When I glanced down, the left pedal was just starting its downward arc again and there in front of it was the top of the bottle cage which normally rides securely on the down tube. It turned out that the top bolt had come loose and the top of the bottle cage had fallen to the left. As fate would have it, I was unable to stop my wayward left foot in time and the pedal came down on the cage.
Having received a refresher on physics as a result of Spot's recent encounter with the mini-van, I recalled a quote from Archimedes, "Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it and I shall move the world." In this case the lever was only the length of a bottle cage, but I wasn't moving the world - just the remaining bolt at the bottom of the bottle cage. There was a distinct "pop" and the pedal cleared the bottle cage. I later learned that this was the sound carbon fiber bikes make when they cost money. Unfortunately, the rear bolt was pulled free of the frame. This was not good. I was distraught, but rode Spot the remaining three miles home. He didn't say anything, at least so as I could hear. But there was plenty of mumbling. I think he blamed me.
When we got home I immediately showered and told Susan. We then departed forthwith to take Spot to the ER. When we made it to the shop Doctors Dave and Ben gloved up and quickly examined the patient. Now it wasn't just Spot - Dave and Ben were both mumbling under their breath. This couldn't be good. Eventually, they both turned and pronounced, "This isn't good."
There followed some discussions of carbon fiber repair specialists and cosmetic work (repainting). This fooled Susan (by now I assume the reader is aware of her proclivities in this regard as she's still married to me) who remained mildly optimistic as we left the ER/shop. I remained distraught while Susan kept trying to lift my spirits. God bless her for being positive, but I knew in my heart that things weren't good. I eventually had to let her know that the Doctors were only being polite, that we all knew Spot was on his last legs, and that his demise was imminent. They were just giving me time accept it and to mourn in private. I cried. Really. Not big heaving sobs or anything, but I leaked pretty good as Susan drove us home from the ER. Spot and I had been together for almost 25,000 miles. Spot takes selfies to commemorate our rides together.
Spot is...well...Spot.
We'd been across the state of Kansas - IN A DAY, South Dakota, BAK... The memories. The next selfie is particularly poignant. Who know when Spot took this picture last summer that his time was so short...
Shortly after Christmas, I got the call. The specialists had weighed in. Spot could be repaired, but his quality of life would decrease dramatically. There would be a large hump where there had formerly been sleek and sexy lines. He would be disfigured. And make-up (paint) wouldn't hide the fact. A crack in a carbon fiber bike frame is the rough equivalent of a split hoof in a thoroughbred. Indeed, it was time to put Spot out to stud. I think I mentioned in a previous post that Spot was my favorite bike. Now I have to say that Spot WAS my favorite bike. They're the same, but very different.
As I was going thru the five stages of grief at home with Susan, she figured out how to shorten the process considerably - wave a shiny new object in front of me. I was apparently a crow in a previous life. She suggested that if Spot was truly at his end, I should consider a new bike. Not until I was ready, mind you - but consider it I should.
So - a few days later I went to the ER/shop. I met with the Doctors. They were very sympathetic and spoke well of Spot, but I wasn't fooled. When referring to him they always used the past tense. But mostly they were very understanding. Eventually, even I came to the conclusion that it was time to move on, this was made easier by virtue of the Doctors' use of the term "crash replacement program". As it turns out, there exists in that great bike supply house in the sky an inventory of past year's bikes which have not yet sold. And as it so happens there was a new-in-box Tarmac Expert in my size (56) with full Dura-Ace to be had for a song. Well - OK - it was a really long song. Anyway, after about a week I got the call. The new bike was in. It was time to introduce Spot to his successor. I think it went well...
Though they were both a little cautious when first introduced. But after an exchange of formalities...
Spot! What can I say, he's friendly, I guess.
So far I've not named the new ride - though I'm leaning to Delta-V. Delta being the mathematical symbol for change and V = velocity. Delta-V is used in flight dynamics as a measure of the impulse needed to perform a given maneuver. Seems somehow fitting. And check out that blue/purple fade paint!
So, Spot will be put out to pasture - or in this case hung in a place of prominence on the garage wall where he can keep an eye on the new comer. While I'm still sad, this is the way of things. I'm pretty sure that when my time comes, Susan will put me on the wall beside Spot. (Note: I read this last part to my Editor. She says to add "If you're lucky".)
Thanks for reading. Memorials may be left in care of: Crazy Guy On A Bike
