THE DEFINITION OF A SISSY

This will be brief as I'd not originally intended to post again so soon.  I believe I mentioned in a previous post that the weather had cooled a bit in February.  Today’s ride looked like this at the end.

The Sequoia wanted a selfie.

 Kansas bike stand - February edition.

We're fortunate in Kansas.  We get to drink slushies in the winter.

I filled it with warm water before I left on the ride.

Yeah - the ones hanging off the glasses are dramatic.  Check out the beard.  The grey obscures more of the same.  I'm smiling crooked because: (A) I had a stroke on the ride. (B) That side of my face is frozen.

So - the definition of a sissy is:  Anyone who rides a bike south of the Mason Dixon line in the winter and complains about the cold.

(Mic drop)

RV STANDS FOR RENO-VATE

As the title of this post is fairly descriptive, I'll leave the reader to his own devices and just say that if you're not into an RV remodel project, you may just want to look at the pictures. This is probably my longest post.  That said, I'll be depressed for like...5 minutes...if you do.

As the astute reader knows, Susan and I purchased an RV with which to commence our cross country trek this summer.  This was no small undertaking.  I pretty much lived on Craig’s List and various other RV sales web sites for a month before we pulled the trigger.  In my experience, a good used RV is difficult to find. We first looked at one locally, and it was nice.  Always garaged.  But it was 36 feet long and a class “A”.  For those of you who know nothing about RVs, class A’s are the ones that look like a bus with the driver sitting in FRONT of the front wheels.  It was in great condition and the price (as it turned out after looking for another month) was pretty good.  But, did I mention that the driver sits in FRONT of the front wheels?  Class A’s Look like this...

I think the Beemer stored under the one we looked at was a year older than the one in the pic.  Oh, and the one we looked at was white instead of grey.  I’m pretty sure those were the only two differences...

Plus, I knew the instant I looked at it that there was no way on Earth that Susan would ever drive sitting in FRONT of the front wheels. I confirmed this with Beelzebub himself who said, "Nope - even if it were frozen over down here she wouldn't drive it."  So - we moved on from class A’s in short order.

Eventually things had reached the point that I was beginning to believe it might be necessary for us to go further afield to find an appropriate rig.  I was seeing them in Texas, Arizona, Florida - you know...all the warm places.  Then I stumbled across one for sale in, of all places, Emporia, Kansas.  A mere 77 miles away according to Google Maps. We called to schedule a visit, hit the bank to withdraw the requisite cash and off to Emporia we went.  This is our rig at its new home. Its a 2006 Forest River Forester and had just less than 12k miles on it when we bought it.  There were only 43 hours on the generator.



We knew there were a couple of issues with it when purchased, and despite the fact that an RV repair place told us the roof would be good for maybe 5 years, we decided that the first thing to be replaced would be the roof.  Its basically a giant sheet of rubber glued to a thin plywood substrate with holes in it for all the accessories and vents necessary on an RV - chief of which is the air conditioner.  So, off came the old rubber...

And on went the new...

As I recall, the roofing material alone ran just under $800.  By the time we were done the total bill was just over $1,700.  Hey, there's all sorts of caulk, screws, Eternabond tape (google it), a new vent fan, a new TV antenna - you get the picture.  BTW, thanks to Keith, Susan and my Dad (who passed in May of 2018) for coming down to help.  Couldn't have gotten it done without 'em. 

Next up on the hit parade was some work on the back wall of the rig where there was some water damage around the tail lights.  The bumper and tail lights are already off and the damage shows in the pic below as wrinkles in the laminate starting just above the hitch in the center and working up toward the holes where the tail lights formerly resided.

This is what it looked like after I tore the back wall out.  And at this point I had yet to clean up all the exposed aluminum square tubing with a 4" angle grinder equipped with a wire cup brush.  BTW - this was a winter project.  Turns out that it's helpful to have a brother-in-law with a shop equipped with a heated floor.  Of course, this would be the same brother-in-law who remains convinced that the swivel wheel trailer will lead to our untimely demise - so there is that drawback...  He is an unique combination of both helpful and pessimistic and lives in an eternally conflicted world.

The next step was to frame up the opening.  I used treated 2x4s and marine grade plywood since I wanted to minimize the damage future minor leaks might occasion.  Though I don't show it, I used that rigid pink insulation sold in 4x8 sheets to fill in the square openings still showing in this pic.  Basically, I put wood back in all the same locations where the manufacturer had it.  Same with the  insulation.

This was followed by covering the framing with 1/4" marine grade plywood.  Wouldn't you know it, the RV was just wider than an 8' sheet of plywood - hence the strip down the center line.  The plywood was both glued and screwed into place.  All the screws were counter sunk for the next step...

Then came the cool part.  Every rig needs some bling.  At least that's what the guys at the truck stop  tell Susan.  And what says bling better than aluminum diamond tread?  Nothing - that's what.  I later came to discover that my lovely bride was skeptical concerning my fashion sense.  However, she was possessed of both sufficient good sense and decorum to keep it to herself until the project was finished.  A friend of mine owns a welding/fabrication shop, so I bought a sheet from him and he cut it using the measurements I gave him.  The pic below is the initial test fitting.

Once happy with the fit, the next obvious step was to affix it in place.  I used two different types of glue in an effort to make sure at least one of them would work and then "clamped" it in place using the weird looking, extendable poles you see in the pic below.  Both my father-in-law and brother-in-law have (had) trucking companies and hauled swinging meat from Kansas to California for processing back in the day.  (Apologies to vegetarians and Californians, but isn't there something incongruous about  hauling meat TO California?  Maybe they went to the Northern part of the state.) Turns out these poles were positioned inside the trailer between the sides of pork to keep them from swinging around too much during transit thus adversely affecting the balance of the trailer when maneuvering.  The things you learn here, eh?

 

So - with trim, bumper, tail lights and license tag re-attached, I think it came out swimmingly.  It's been a full year and a number of trips, and is holding up well.  I think I nailed it.  Susan's chief concern is that the diamond tread is too shiny and might reflect sufficient sunlight to blind drivers following us down the road.

Really

 I can't make this stuff up.

My reaction?  Hmmm... disaster around every corner.  I'm beginning to note some resemblance to her helpful brother...

Total tab for this part of the remodel: barely over 1k.

This ladies and gentlemen is where things began to go awry.  The Missus had already been making some noise about "re-decorating" the interior.  And in her defense, I agreed that the old carpet needed to go.  So far as I have been able to determine from a thorough search of the internet, RV manufacturers purchase their carpet from hovels in Bangladesh when some Bangladesh Missus tells her unfortunate husband that the local version of Carpet Warehouse is selling off old inventory for poisha on the taka.  The pic below is Susan supervising the debris field from the exterior wall remodel.

"What?  This is it?  Surely we can do better than this?"

That's when I knew there was more to this project that a simple wall repair.

These are pictures (fore and aft) following removal of the carpet, the jack knife couch, the dinette and the vinyl flooring.  I'm pretty sure there was enough sand under the carpet to start an Arab country.

 
This is a picture of the cabinet we designed and I built to replace the traditional RV dinette.  The lower opening will eventually have a door which opens down from the top and is where I'll keep my tools while on the road.  The top will open up from the front with a hinge on the rear and is designated as Susan's storage space.  I know not what will go there.  It will also have a drop leaf that attaches to the front in order to make a dining counter.  Pretty ingenious...

This made Susan happier...

And this...

...is the finished product.  We eschewed carpet and vinyl for laminate wood flooring, installed a reclining love seat on the slide where the jack knife sofa was formerly located, and you can also see how the cabinet works.  The drop leaf is up in this photo.  The tab for the interior remodel came to right about 2.3k.

So - I'm gonna display my math skills here and say that 1.7 + 1.0 + 2.3 = $4,000.  Not bad.  Would have been a ton more if we'd paid someone to do it.  Plus, it gave me something to do, and I kinda like figuring these things out and making them happen.

Finally, if you look at the cabinets above the table you will see one opening with no door.  That's because when this RV was built, flat screen TV's were science fiction stuff.  What with them being all the rage now, I plan to make a door for that opening and mount a small flat screen on it, then install a shelf in the opening where the TV now sits, thus making more storage.  That project will commence when we bring the RV back to Manhattan from its winter home in my brother-in-law's shop at  Downs, Ks.  I may do a short post on that project just for fun.

We're both getting excited now what with the Texas trip coming up soon and shortly after that we're off on our grand adventure.

Till next time...

TEXAS TEST FLIGHT

For those of you who pay attention when reading may blogs, let me apologize... Particularly if you happen to be from Texas.  One of my earlier posts may have inferred that, I believe the way I put it was, "It would suck to be from Texas.”  I may have spoken too early.  Particularly since Susan and I have now decided to do a Trans-Am test run in Texas starting in the third week of March.  This means that I’ll be riding the roads of the great state of Texas (cough, cough - sorry, uh... recovering from a cold...) in the near future.  So, presuming that Texans read, and on the off chance that one or two of 'em happened upon my blog, and given that I’d hate to be impaled on a set of cow horns mounted to the front of a pickup truck - Texans everywhere have my sincere apologies.  Really!  Especially those that drive pickup trucks with cow horns mounted on the front.  For all I know that cohort may be minimal, but somehow I suspect not.

Well, now that that’s over I feel better. My hope is that Texans everywhere feel the same.  I've always been a closet Texas fan...



Kansas State vs. Texas Basketball Score

Well dang it (some Texas slang there) I've no idea how that link got there.

So, here’s the scoop.  My bride of lo these past 39 years informed me several months ago that she wanted to go for a Trans-Am “trial run”.  Specifically, she wanted to load up the RV as if for the Trans-Am, travel somewhere, kick me out, and see if I could hack the whole ride 60 miles a day thing.  More importantly, she wanted to know that we could handle the rigors of the road for more than a week.  Her reasoning being that we can pack enough clothes, food, whatever - for a week.  The real question is how we will handle things like finding someplace to wash clothes, dump tanks (hey that grey and black water has to go somewhere - don’t ask), etc.

So after casting about for a bit on the ACA web site, I came up with the Texas Hill Country Loop.  It is, by all accounts a particularly scenic route - and as I later learned this is never more true than when the wildflowers are in bloom.  Which, as fate would have it, also happens to be about the time we intend to show up in Austin to commence the ride. Now Susan wasn't particularly enamored of the location when first I pitched it.  However, she was quickly won over upon learning of the much ballyhooed wildflower bloom.  I actually have a cowboy hat around here somewhere.  Wait a minute...

This is my best, "Boy, if'n ya keep on, I'm fixin ta slap iron and plug ya fulla holes" face.  Also known as Texas incognito...  I actually wore this hat as part of my "police" uniform in the early days of my career.  My Department was a consolidated agency serving the entire County and all Municipalities in the County.  I suspect the hat was an deference to the general uproar of County (as opposed to City) residents at the time of consolidation since the office of Sheriff was abolished with the consolidation.  A way of demonstrating that as an agency we remained true to our roots - as it were.  Anyway, I think I look pretty intimidating.  I hope not to have occasion to show this face on the trip, but thought it best to be ready.

So - back to the ride.  Training continues.  I put in just over 400 miles in January and just over 150 so far in February.  Its been a little tougher in February.  After some initial warm weather in the first week, temperatures cooled considerably and we've had some snow/ice on a couple of occasions.  However, I did make it out today - if only for 21 miles.  Sorry, I neglected to qualify those miles...21 MISERABLE miles.  The temperature was 39 degrees, which isn't too bad for me as I've got the gear to ride in those temps.  However, the wind was blowing steady at 18 with gusts up to 30.  At least that's what my weather app said when I left.  I believe the app is called "AccuWeather".  Bah!  Pay their name no mind for they are anything but.  When I'm riding at 14 into the wind its windy.  When a gust drops my speed to 9.5, that's REALLY windy.  That's my way of saying that the wind was worse than described.  I think they should get a little old lady on the South Side of Manhattan to lick her finger and stick it out the door - then guess.  Little old ladies say of every car, "They had to be going at least 80."  At least they'd be more accurate than "AccuWeather."

Now I'm from Kansas.  I've ridden in some wind.  Wind that blew sand against my legs at a BAK SAG stop with enough force to feel like I was getting sand blasted from the shins down.  My daughter was with me on a 30 mile stretch into the wind on that day, and to this day still fervently holds to the position that on one occasion it actually blew her backward.  I've tried explaining the physics of  controlling a bicycle moving in reverse and that she was so light that it just slowed her more than me thus making it appear that she was moving backward in relation to me.  If you run into her on the trip and want to clarify this abject failure to comprehend physics for her (she and her husband Parker will be joining us for a couple of days near Breckenridge) have at it.  But I'm tellin ya, you've got your work cut out for ya.  BTW - if you happen upon her or Parker before then, don't tell either of them about Hoosier Pass.  I sense another physics lesson in the making.  Just sayin...

Today's version of the wind was doing some weird things.  On one occasion I was riding below Tuttle Creek Dam (in a vain attempt to get out of the North wind) when I went past the entrance to the campground.  Like many such campgrounds there is a little shack where you check in when staying there.  And beside the shack were the obligatory flag poles, one with the US flag and a lower one with the Kansas flag.  As God is my witness: The US flag was pointing away from me.  Great - a tailwind!  But I was still working by butt off!  That's when I noticed that the State flag was pointing at me.  At the same time, the US flag was pointing away from me.  These two flags were a mere five feet apart!  Now how does that work?  As I watched, the State flag turned to get in sync with the US flag.  Amazing.  Maybe I need to let up on weather guys...

Anyway, it was really windy and cold today.  As evidence of same I proffer this selfie the Sequoia took on top of Tuttle Creek Dam this afternoon.  The wise reader will take note of the ice stacked up against the dam by the North wind.

Oh, and in the interests of full disclosure I should probably point out that the face I was making earlier is actually just frozen that way from the ride today.  The gunslinger thing was just a ruse until I find out tomorrow if my face returns to normal.

So, anticipate blogs from the Texas hill country starting in late March and running thru early April.  Until then...

SOPHOCLES STRIKES

Came then December 22nd, 2018 and I elected to take Spot out for a Holiday jaunt.  The weather had been a bit chilly as of late, but was warmer that day, and Spot (his given name - and for obvious reasons) needed to get out and stretch his legs a bit.  He tends to get cranky when confined in the garage for too long.  I could tell it was time when, despite Christmas being his favorite time of year, he was mumbling insults at me under his breath every time I went to the garage.

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

THE KANSAS WIND

Many are the woebegone Trans-Amers who complain of the wind in Kansas.

Hurricane warning flags...

It blows them off the road.  It blows them onto the road.  The trucks make it worse.  The trucks make it better.  Its always a headwind.  They could only manage 4 miles per hour into the wind.  They hate the wind. Its like riding uphill all the way across the state.  I was never so glad to leave a state for the remainder of the trip.  Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah...

Kansas warning flag...

As my Dad used to say of the wind, "Yeah, there was a barb wire fence in Oklahoma to break it up, but it blew down last year."

My immediate family's view of the wind is no different than the Trans-Amers whose blogs I've read.

Susan, who most of my followers are familiar with, takes a view of the wind markedly similar to that of hills.  They both are to be avoided whenever possible.  Since her failing in this regard has been discussed previously, we won't bore the reader with additional details.

Susan can ride today flag...

My daughter Kelsy, recently married BTW, has a viewpoint similar to that of her mother.  Though possessed of a bit more grit.  Speaking of which - grit , that is - the wind has provided considerable “story fodder” over the years.  One example: Several years ago I was riding BAK with Susan (on the tandem) and Kelsy on her single bike.  We were someplace out West where cows and feed lots dominate and the forecast for the following day was for - what else - wind.

Now I am as familiar with the wind as are they, but view it as something to be managed rather than suffered.  The route the next day called for a jaunt to the North of about 15 miles followed by something like another 60-70 miles pretty much straight East.  In my view the forecast couldn't have been better.  This because the wind was predicted to be out of the South at about 20-25 mph until 0630, when it would shift to the West at roughly the same speed.  PERFECT.  Get up early, hit the road by 0545-0600 and enjoy a tailwind as we're Northbound.  Then make the turn to the East at about the same time the wind shifted around to come out of the West.  We could enjoy a tailwind all day - provided the weather guys were accurate.  Concerning which, let me digress for a moment to vent my spleen about weather guys everywhere...

Seldom have I encountered a profession in which one could be right maybe (maybe!) half the time and remain employed, let alone smile about it as one dissembles concerning the following day's prediction.  If the guys where I work managed to arrest the right people only half the time, well - suffice it to say that I'd spend a lot more time talking to lawyers.

But back to the story at hand.  Despite my suggestions to the contrary, my two dilettantes  refused to listen to reason and slept in that morning.  If you've been on an organized ride with 800 plus people sleeping in a gymnasium you know that this is an accomplishment in its own right.  I mean really, the cacophony of noises produced by that many human bodies at night in a gymnasium is rivaled only by a pod of dolphins in pursuit of prey (plenty of chattering and venting) - and a good deal smellier.  But apparently  those air mattresses are quite the slumber inducing proposition, because despite my entreaties we didn't get out the door on time.  The net result of this slothful approach on the part of my compatriots was that the princesses and I had to ride in a 20-25 mph cross wind for the first 15 miles.  This, of course, generated the anticipated result; the royal party whined and carped about the wind incessantly.  Oh - I may have failed to inform the reader that the wind speeds I mentioned previously were the straight winds with gusts in the range of 30-35.  My apologies.  Regardless, at this point I viewed the wind as a blessing - at least it masked the whining and carping.

Now a tandem is nothing if not a rather large sail in crosswinds. And my daughter on her own bike, weighing whatever it is that high school girls weigh - which is considerably less than the good Lord can justify when compared to her parents - had her own difficulties maintaining a straight line.  I reminded them both that I had suggested an alternative plan - but I only reminded them once.  Neither was in a mood to cotton anything resembling "I told you so."  So I maintained an enforced silence.  But I was THINKING "I told you so."

Comes now the first feed lot - and much to our misfortune it was on the upwind side of the road.  For those of you who ride where wind isn't a big deal, or where there are no feed lots - are there such places? - this means that all the dust from the feedlot was blowing right across the road.  This was some serious wind, wind which stirred a quantity of feed lot dust sufficient to obscure the head lights of oncoming vehicles until they got rather close.  As we continued thru the cloud I could hear my daughter occasionally spitting behind Susan and I on the tandem.  I chose not to inquire as I had already suffered the wrath of the X chromosome.

When we came out the far side of the feedlot dust cloud, which coincidentally was right at the turn to the East (a tailwind - thank God), Kelsy continued to spit.  Given that we could now carry on a conversation without shouting, I inquired as to the reason for her salivary distress.  She replied that because of the dust cloud, she had a lot of grit in her mouth.  Hmmm - reasonable, but...  Having borne the burden of enforced silence as long as my Y chromosome permitted , I politely informed her that as we has just passed thru a feedlot dust cloud, what she was spitting out wasn't grit; but it certainly rhymed with grit.  After a (very) brief pause to reflect, this occasioned (much) more spitting and concomitant complaining about the wind.

The moral of the story here is, "Manage the wind and you won't spit grit."

The alternative morale of the story is, “Breathe thru your nose when the grit hits the fan.”

Disclaimer:  Susan (who reviews my missives before posting) says I have the story wrong and that my assessment has some mild inaccuracies.  I'm pretty sure that was the term she used.  Something to do with the timing of the wind change, or the wind speed.  But she does admit to sleeping in that day.  Who knows?  Regardless, in her view this makes all the difference in the world.  I told her I had noted her objections and would give them the attention they deserve, hence this post script.  For her version of the event, please see her blog.  Oh wait - she doesn't have one...

I believe it was Indiana Congressman Charles Brownson who said, "I never quarrel with a man who buys ink by the barrel."

WHY ARE YOU RIDING ACROSS THE COUNTRY? - OR, FUNERALS ARE BORING...

Editor's note: If you're here for the pictures - go to the end.  Tawdry of you, but hey, its your life.  If you're  "...only looking at the blog for the interesting articles"  please continue...

As preparation for the ride continues (and my discussions of the ride expand) people have occasionally inquired, "What made you decide to do it?" or "What is your motivation?".  Having read any number of blogs from others who have done the same thing, I'm given to understand that these questions are pretty typical.  The average sofa bound American can't fathom riding a bike even a few miles, let alone repeat days of 60+ miles.  BTW - Thanks for that insight Nichole.  She's my Administrative Assistant.  Until discussing The Thin Blue Ride with her, I'd no idea there existed people of this ilk - not that she's "ilky".  But back to the subject at hand...  At least for me, there are many answers to this question.  There is no single motivator.  Sure, I'll see sights and meet people I never would have encountered had I not gone on the trip - and that will no doubt be enjoyable.  But I'd be lying if I denied that at least some of the motivation has to do with bragging rights and some with funerals...

I believe I mentioned in an earlier post that several cycling friends and I had once ridden across the state of Kansas from South to North in a day.  When I pitched the idea to Susan, her immediate reaction was denial.  Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't the typical "You’ve got to be kidding me" internal disbelief kinda denial that has become her staple when responding to my much maligned but utterly brilliant ideas.  We're talking outright denial here - "No you're not."   This was more like the -

It’s-not-safe-and-might-be-so-physically-strenuous-as-to-be-dangerous

 - kinda denial.  Hey - she's little, but she's feisty.

But being nothing if not a planner, at least when it suits me, I'd already considered this objection and as it turns out (what a coincidence) one of the guys going along was an ER Doctor.  I try to never start shooting my ducks till I have them all lined up in a row, eh?  Now how on earth could anything so simple as riding a bicycle be dangerous with an ER Doc along, I argued?  This did little to assuage my bride's doubts, but the logic was inescapable and she eventually relented.  (As a side note, I'm prety sure the Latin root for "relented" has something to do with being "worn down".)  Though she steadfastly refused to go along, "Why would I want to see all that misery?”   

Misery?!  Bah - I responded, what's an IV between friends?  After all, I'd already ridden across the State on BAK with Matt (this would be the Doc mentioned previously) on two occasions.  So - the planning commenced and when the time/forecast proved favorable, off we went.  On the day of the ride we pounced on the Pizza Hut buffet in Scott City after about 110 miles, wiped down and changed kits in the bathroom, oiled the chains up,and hit the road again.  The ride went off without a hitch - well, except for the cramps in the last 15 miles.  A guy can apparently only drink so much Gatorade...  Anyway - all seven of us finished the ride that day.  And, I might add, no tubes or needles proved necessary.

The point here is this, how many people do you know who can say they've ridden their bike across the state (pick any state) in a day?  It would suck to be a Texan (well just generally, but specifically in this instance - apologies to Texans everywhere.) because of the distances involved.  But Oklahoma?  What's that skinny part of the state - maybe 30 miles?  I ride that far for pancakes!  Who cares about that?   Kansas was the perfect state: 229 miles.

So - whether its riding across Kansas on BAK eight times (so far), South Dakota, The Thin Blue Ride, Crossing Kansas in a day; in my view lives worth living are remembered for exceptional reasons.  It’s been my mantra for some time now that priorities in life matter and that the appropriate sequence is: faith, family, friends, and then work.  What with retirement looming, work gets replaced with hobbies.  Having some fun while at it can't hurt - but it does cause mild irritation amongst the safety conscious.

The point here is this, people often times are looking for things to say about the dearly departed at funerals.  It’s awkward.  I've decided that my mission in life is to make my funeral easy on the mourners.  They can feel free to use the adjective of their choice in referencing me (Who am I kidding - they already do.) but at least they'll have something to talk about.  Hopefully, most sentences at the funeral will start with, "Do you remember when  he...?"  I’ve observed at some funerals that the family will have a bunch of pics or a slideshow of the deceased.  I think I’ll prepare mine ahead of time.  Check below for a short preview...

This one is Susan and I at an MS150 SAG.  We had a good time, as you can see.

Other than the cross-state-in-a-day ride, this one was a three day excursion with friends.  Note: this is not BAK - which goes West to East.  Having visited Nebraska and lived nearby for my entire adult life, I feel comfortable saying that that "good life" stuff is open to debate, but apparently Arbor Day is the real deal.

This is a friend from work and me.  I'm in blue.  The friend is Jeff Hooper, the newly installed Chief of Police in Hutchinson, Kansas. I believe the temperature that day was -3 degrees.  Low temperatures apparently make ladies...cranky.  I only say this because Susan thought I was an idiot that day.  Clearly the temperature got to her.

If you've read my earlier posts you know I'm a Police Chief in Manhattan, KS.  This pic was taken during the initial week long training all our bike guys go thru before being set free on a bike.  I'm the third from the left.  and yes - I could keep up.  Good Lord, they're all so young they don't even know their knees hurt - yet...

Vail Pass on the Copper Triangle.  About 5 miles to go on an 85 mile day.  Interestingly, Vail Pass was a Category 1 climb (so I hear) from this side, but I thought the opening climb of the day was more difficult.  Shorter, but a little steeper.  My goal was 5 hours - missed it by about 15 seconds.  Not bad for a flat lander.

This iguana kissed me on a trip to Cozumel and totally embarrassed Susan who was taking a pic of me at the time.

I snuck upon this free range pig in Lancester County, PA on an anniversary ride with Susan on the tandem.  Pennsylvania pigs are both slower and dumber than those my Dad raised on the farm.  This one was mildly irritated with me and I had to run like mad...

I believe that I've mentioned my kissing habit in a previous post, and that I'm from Manhattan, KS - home of the Kansas State Wildcats.  On a day trip to Lawrence, this Jayhawk (In-State rivals) snuck up on me...

Ah yes - not me but one of my favorites.  I'll tell two versions of this pic and maybe reveal the truth after a poll in a later post.  Version 1:  Susan and I were on a tandem ride on our 33rd anniversary when we were sideswiped from behind by an 80+ year old lady driving home after visiting her husband's grave on Memorial Day.  This is the trooper who worked the accident.  Version 2:  The Trooper misinterpreted Susan's wave when he passed us while we were on a ride and Susan is proving that she really does have 5 fingers.  Note the cool jersey.

Until next time...

REACTIONS TO THE THIN BLUERIDE - AND, “HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

As regular readers know, Susan and I have two children - Keith and Kelsy.  When the kids were young we regularly took them skiing in Summit County, Colorado - home of Hoosier Pass, the highest point on the Trans-Am.

When we went skiing, there invariably existed on every run a point at which the slope immediately below was not visible. OK, not on every run - but at least on the fun ones.  Upon reaching this point, the family split into two separate camps.  There were those among us who carefully skied up to the edge of the precipice, peered over, and planned the most efficient (read safest) route to the next potential hazard. Conversely,  there were those whose approach was to figure all that stuff out whilst airborne after going over the precipice.  Susan and Keith subscribed to the former philosophy, Kelsy and I to the later.

What has this to do with reactions to The Thin Blue Ride, you ask?  This...

As I’ve discussed the ride with friends, family, people from work, and sometimes with people I know only peripherally but who have heard of the ride; reactions seem to split along the same two lines as did the family on those long ago ski trips.  The two camps will be reviewed briefly below.  For the purpose of clarity, we shall refer to them as the “What if...” and the, “We’ll figure it out...” camps and illustrate their respective views of The Thin Blue Ride with questions typical of each camp.  My response follows each question.  Without further ado:

WHAT IF

Who will you call if you need help?  Answer: It depends on what we need help doing.

How will I know (fill in the blank) you’re OK, where you are, if you’re alive, etc.  Answer: If the blog sports no new entries for a week or two at any point following the start of the ride, assume the worst and make a donation to the RCPD Scholarship Fund on my behalf.  If you’re family, follow my Cousin Deb Neiermeier on Facebook - she has assumed the mantle of “Official family news hound.”

Is your will current?  Along with it’s variant: Where do you keep your will so we can find it “should the need arise”?  (Only two people are really interested in this question - you do the math.).  Answer:  It will be by the time we leave.  And it’s variant: Susan and I plan on having a family meeting before departure to hand over the keys to the kingdom.

What will you do if the RV breaks down?  Answer:  Fix it, just like when anyone’s car breaks down.  I’m pretty sure mechanics have a relatively expansive natural habitat.

WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT

What will be the best part of the trip?  Answer: Spending time with Susan. I think I’ve mentioned previously that she’s my best friend, and it’s true.  We genuinely like hanging out together.  God bless the woman, I don’t know what’s wrong with her - but to date it’s been to my advantage.  Disclaimer: I’ve presumed to answer all other questions on behalf of both Susan and I.  For her answer to this one, you’ll just have to ask when you see her. For my part, I’m just happy she is possessed of the aforementioned patience of Job.  Interestingly, this seems to be a characteristic typical of many of my friends.  Curious that they all seem to have this in common...  What are the odds?

AND, “HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM.”

This was as far as I’d gotten thinking about this post whence came September 18 and a conspiracy by the forces of “What If” the rough equivalent of which haven’t manifested since the Kennedy assassination.  Specifically, I’d just glimpsed a man on a nearby grassy knoll and was riding merrily along at probably 20 mph, sadly on my favorite bike.  I was on a route I’d ridden hundreds of times (note the sense of foreboding - pay attention to that) when my bike and a 2005 Dodge mini-van entered into a disagreement on principle.  My bike believed it had the right-of-way over the mini-van, which entered the road from a private drive and turned directly into the bike’s path.

Turns out my bike was right on principle.  The Trooper who worked the crash agreed whole heartedly.  The crash investigation also revealed that both the Trooper and my bike had missed that day in physics class when mass and velocity were discussed.  This doesn’t surprise me on the part of the Trooper, but I’d come to expect more from my bike.    It also turns out that the disagreement was decided not on principle, but on physics.  Ah... would that my bike had consulted me on this matter before arriving in  the same space and at the same time as the mini-van.  But such was not to be.  This particular bike has always been a dissolute sort possessed of a mind of its own.

This rather rude introduction to physics on the part of the mini-van (A misnomer, by the way - it seemed plenty big to me) resulted in the aforementioned, if benighted, bike being knocked sideways out from under me.  This occasioned another rather rude introduction - this time between the pavement, playing its role as the immovable object, and my head/right shoulder - playing their role as the irresistible force.  The immovable object won and I shortly found myself sliding down the pavement on my head (helmet) and right shoulder.  I quite distinctly recall thinking, “This can’t possibly be good” before the pain held sway, obscuring further intelligent thought for a bit.

I won’t go into a great amount of detail concerning either the crash or post crash issues due to (what else) possible legal ramifications surrounding the matter.  Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are lawyers.  Well, OK - I know some lawyers who seem friendly.  Sigh - OK - I know one lawyer who claims he once had a friend - until they had a falling out... he sued the guy.  Lawyers and their concerns aside, I feel comfortable that the following assertion will be universally understood by riders and non-riders alike: road rash and concussions suck.  I will however, provide a few pics of the aftermath.  Spolier alert - depending on your "gross" tolerance, the last pic may not be for faint of heart.  As road rash goes, I've seen worse, but those with weaker constitutions may not be so discriminating in their assessment...

Always - ALWAYS wear a helmet.  This one is compressed between 1/4 to 1/2 inch in places and the exterior plastic shell is ground away in spots.

This pic shows some (not all) of the fractures to the foam that comprises the inner shell of the helmet.  The section right by the strap was just above my right temple at the time and was nearly separated from the helmet.

I tell Susan that I now have a ready made excuse for nearly everything from being forgetful to erratic behavior.

One word, "Ouch."  Three days post collision.  The arm was as bad or worse but as graphics go, this will suffice.