Tuesday Musette: 10NOV2009

Ronde Van Oakkenberg

First up, a reminder about this upcoming cyclocross event. For a taste of the excitement, take a look at Elisa's post on the BikeSkirt blog. She attended her first ever cyclocross race and is now well hooked.

Barring accidents, family emergencies, earthquakes, tsunamis, or another abduction by those pesky super-models, I'll be at the Ronde Van Oakkenberg this Sunday.


Draw your own crash

This site insists on calling them 'accidents' which would be true enough if they were acts of god. Getting hit by a meteorite or a falling tree branch is an accident. Getting left hooked by elderly Aunt Edna in her '71 Chrysler New Yorker is a crash - despite old auntie's insistence that 'she never saw you.' Crashes are preventable. Acts of god are not.
http://draw.accidentsketch.com/

This tool includes bicycles, motorcycles, and various trucks as well as automobiles. Bookmark this for future reference, or, if you're extremely 'accident' prone - go use it today.


Typewriter erasers

Who still uses the humble typewriter eraser? These were ubiquitous once upon a time. I always kept one in the case with my manual Smith-Corona portable typewriter. They look like a pencil with a nylon brush at one end and a coarse, high pumice content eraser replacing the pencil lead.

I still use them, though in all honesty, I haven't used a typewriter for decades. (And no, I don't use them to erase mistakes on my computer screen!) These days, they're very handy for removing corrosion from battery terminals and cleaning the threads of small parts. They're slim enough to reach down inside battery compartments. And if you have recessed fasteners like Allen bolts, they can be used to remove rust. The white erasers are natural rubber and do not contain oily coloring agents. So they're a good choice to clean camera batteries, cyclocomputer batteries, or similar low current devices. Just don't touch the contact areas with your fingers afterward. Fingerprints leave oils and salts behind.


Aches and pains: An update

I recovered well from Saturday's fall. Sure, I was stiff and sore all of Sunday, and who would have thought that it's possible to pull muscles in the abdomen when tumbling onto your back? It's mostly gone, anyway.

And my shoulder is improving. It doesn't wake me up at night anymore, though it's still noticeable. I damaged it by carrying my upper body weight on it while laying tile last year. Yes, last year. This getting old stuff really sucks sometimes. We have more flooring to do after painting the living room. Oh joy. But this time I'm manning the table saw, cutting wood flooring, rather than being down on my hands and knees doing tile. Oh, there's still MORE tile to do, but I'm not in any hurry.

Gravity still works

...as opposed to comedy, which only works when it feels like it.

Yesterday, Lyndsay said she wanted to go to Woodward Park in Tulsa. Our kids referred to it as 'squirrel park' since they were small, because we went there with peanuts for the squirrels. It's fun to watch a toddler who's both excited and slightly frightened by these wild animals. Lyndsay caught on to the idea of getting the squirrels to take a peanut from her hand. Jordan would let the get only so close, then he'd hurl nuts their way.


But that was years ago. Yesterday, Lyndsay was intent on using some of the information she'd learned in a digital photography class last month. She roamed around, shooting leaves, flowers, and inevitably, some squirrels. We'd arrived armed with peanuts, as usual.

While she wandered, I took some leaf photos too, but I took more shots of her. I'm not foolish. I know that my daughter will only be here at home with the old folks for a short time. Soon, she'll be off on her own, so I cherish these afternoons together.


The trip was not without incident. I wanted to get this photo, but in moving around to get the right angle, my foot was caught on a rock. I toppled over backward, landing flat on my back. My only concerns were to keep my head tucked in case another rock was behind me, and I cradled the camera in my arms. Fortunately, there was no damage to my back as I landed on grass and dirt. This morning, though, I was moving quite slowly. My back aches from the impact.

Ibuprofen is my friend today.

Apocalypse or something like it

I was indulging one of my two talents - staring vacantly into space, the other one being annoying my wife - when Wally plopped down on his usual bar stool. "I'm worried about this whole Mayan calender thing," he began. "I was just talking with Larry and he says that their calendar ends in 2012, but when you translate that date to binary and parse it, it spells 'apocalypse' in ASCII."

That was a lot of paranoia for just one sentence, even for Wally.

"Larry's just messing with your head, Wally." I smiled. "He's had you spooked ever since he said the IRS was looking for you. It's the after effect of Halloween. People pretend to believe any damnfool thing if they think it's scary. And what would scare you more than a supposed visit from those Treasury agents?"

"Well, maybe," he said. "The only thing scarier than Halloween is when the presidential election season coincides with it every 4th year. And you're right, people do believe a lot of damnfool ideas." He jerked a thumb toward the far end of the bar. "It's a lot like that movie, Resident Evil, but without the light-hearted whimsy." He mentioned the movie because it was playing again on the television. We'd all seen it many times, so Larry wisely turned the sound off. Some of the patrons mouthed the lines in some sort of drinking game as the silent movie played out.

Wally had a story to tell. He'd bumped into Bill Howard at work. Bill is the chairman of the Philosophy Department at the Broken Elbow extension campus, a big fish in a small pond. Howard was that breed of pompous academic who insisted on being called William and positively beamed when brown nosing students called him 'Doctor' Howard. He had a masters degree in education, and that nicely framed piece of paper coupled with his skill could land him a job stocking shelves or flipping burgers. Wally despised him, but always greeted him with a big, cheery smile. "Bill! How are ya? How you feeling this morning, just peachy or just Nietzsche?" He deliberately pronounced it Nee-Chee in an effort to be annoying. They nearly came to blows in a faculty meeting when Wally called him William Howard Daft. Over the years, Bill had produced a huge, steaming pile of wisdom, and we felt sorry for the students who had to sort through it.

Wally had just started into his tale of the latest assault on Bill's over-inflated dignity, when Bill himself walked into the bar. He looked around in the gloom and spotted us near the back. Fixing his eye on Wally, he walked toward us with a rapid, purposeful stride. It was one of those western movie moments. The Resident Evil drinking game stopped as did all conversation. If Larry's had a piano player, he would have ceased playing too. Larry reached under the bar for a cut down pool cue. Fistfights were not permitted in the bar. Combatants had to use the alley out back among the garbage cans, like civilized people.

"Wally, I just ran over your damned bike. It scratched up my car and you're going to pay for the damages!" Bill was furious. His fists were clenched and he was ready to start throwing punches.

A big surge of adrenaline makes time slow down. Wally stood up so quickly that his barstool went flying. Bill's right fist delivered an uppercut into Wally's chest. The air whooshed out of him and his eyes bulged. Larry's pool cue tapped Bill on the head. He collapsed onto his knees. My kick to his shoulder put him on the floor. Wally's barstool clattered to a stop.

Shelly, Larry's pretty young barmaid, called the cops. Fred and Ethel were on the scene within a couple of seconds because they'd seen Wally's old bike crumpled up on the sidewalk outside. They came into the bar. Ethel was hoping to find Wally equally crumpled. "What's all this?" Fred asked. He talked with Larry about the incident while Ethel glared at me and Wally, obviously intent on cuffing and arresting the two of us. Any pretext would do. He'd tried reckless bicycling, public intoxication, jaywalking, and even mopery. We still didn't know what mopery was, but none of the bogus charges had stuck.

He stood close in order to prevent our escape if we decided to make a run for it. Wally was still gasping for air, his voice little more than a croak. He couldn't run the length of the bar. And my bad knee wouldn't hold out to the door.

Shelly came down to our end of the bar and fixed her lovely blue eyes on Ethel. "I thought this was a quiet little town," she said. "Do things like this happen often?" Ethel blushed and stammered a reply. He half-turned toward her, finding Shelly's gaze as compelling as any moth in a candle flame. Adrenaline also causes tunnel vision. We quietly slipped off our barstools, crossed behind Ethel, and went out the front door unnoticed by either cop. Shelly, of course, was sweet on Wally despite him being twice her age. I will never understand women, but she gave us an opportunity to escape.

Sure enough, Wally's disreputable Peugeot was strewn across the sidewalk next to Bill's Volvo. Both wheels were tacoed. The tires were flat. And one chain stay had pulled out of the bottom bracket, revealing extensive corrosion. The bike wouldn't have lasted much longer, but on the other hand, anyone else would have consigned it to the scrap heap more than twenty years ago. Still, it was the bike Wally had hoped to ride to the White House during his campaign to be our next vice-president. It had some historical value, in that regard.

Wally was heart-broken. He picked up some pieces, a broken shift lever, the scuffed Ideale 90 saddle, and carefully set them back down on the concrete. "How did my bike get over here? I put it against the front wall on the other side of the sidewalk. Someone must have moved it."

No one in their right mind would dare to ride that bike, so about half the town's population was above suspicion. Still, there were some questions to resolve. First, how did the bike get under Bill's Volvo? Second, what kind of bike should Wally buy to replace the Peugeot? And would I have to accompany him on a shopping trip to some bike shops? Maybe I could fake appendicitis.

To be continued...

Movie remakes

This is my regular column for the Red Dirt Pedalers newsletter.

November is coming. The weather will be turning worse and there will be days we're stuck in the house. I'm not a sports fanatic, but I do loves me some old movies.

Hollywood has about thirty different plots that we've seen endlessly. We pay big bucks to sit in a dark room watching flickering lights on the wall, so if the movie moguls want us to keep coming to their theaters, they really should offer something for us cyclists.

Imagine the possibilities if some iconic old movies and television shows were remade with bicycles as a central theme. Some, like Cannonball Run, Vanishing Point, or North by Northwest, just wouldn't work as bicycling movies. Others, however...

Route 66: Two cool guys wander along the Mother Road solving problems for a host of guest stars. One big plus comes from the simple fact that bicyclists travel much slower than automobiles. In the original program, the guys traveled in a Corvette and may have driven between Chicago and Los Angeles half a dozen times. On bicycles, a whole season could play out in Oklahoma alone. And when you consider the multiple alignments of the road over its history, the story line could include frequent dead ends and tales of characters becoming profoundly lost.

The Road Warrior/Mad Max: It says tons about our culture when a post-apocalypse story revolves around motorcycles, automobiles and the omnipresent search for fuel. This takes place in a stinkin' desert without a water hole in sight. Yep, these folks are fighting over gasoline. When I last checked, humans don't really need gas for survival, but water is a necessity. We can't last a week without it. So imagine a remake with a bunch of punk wannabes duking it out over some water. If you don't think it makes a compelling story, see Humphrey Bogart in Sahara. Keep a Big Gulp handy. You'll need it.

Christine: Sure, this was a horror move, but the bicycle version would involve a young man's slow descent into madness as he tried to find parts for an old French bike, finally losing it completely when he discovers that breaking in an Ideale 90 saddle is an exercise best left to committed masochists. Finding proper French parts for a bike was a pain-in-the-butt back in their heyday. It's infinitely worse now.

Lonely are the Brave: Kirk Douglas plays a cowboy, a rugged individualist wandering the modern west. He cuts fences. He's a throwback who just doesn't fit into the modern world. Douglas gets tossed in jail where he's beaten up, and later escapes. If you've seen First Blood, with Sylvester Stallone doing his shirtless, thespian best, you've seen the basic plot of Lonely are the Brave. The latter is a far better movie. Douglas keeps his shirt on. Substitute a battered mountain bike for the cowboy's horse, and it would work.

While the rain beats on the windows, make yourself a bowl of popcorn and watch some of the good stuff. If you have an idea for a remake, let me know!

Ask Dr. Wally

This is Wally's November column from the Red Dirt Pedaler's newsletter.


Dear Dr. Crankset

What is cyclocross racing? There's talk of it growing in popularity but I've never heard of it until recently. What gives?

Newbie in Nowata


Dear Newb,

If you're the kind of rider who enjoys cold, wet weather and copious amounts of mud, you just may like riding in cyclocross. On the other hand, if you're the type who'd rather stay indoors with a hot drink when the weather turns foul, you may like watching those other fools race in such conditions. Cyclocross events are usually no more than an hour, so they're not too hard on spectators even in bad weather.

Cyclocross courses are short and include both paved and off road sections, barriers that require dismounts and running, and sometimes water crossings or even stairs. A skilled racer will barely slow down as he dismounts, runs and jumps over barriers, and remounts to continue. They make it look easy. It's not.

For competitors, the races begin as a mass start that quickly devolves to an individual time trial. Slower racers struggle to avoid getting lapped, and if it's muddy, everyone struggles to stay upright in slippery conditions. It's difficult, exhausting - and a whole lot of fun!

There are events nearly every weekend somewhere in the area. Better yet, most are open to anyone who wants to compete. Local events generally allow mountain bikes, but it's best to confirm this with the race organizers.

Dr. Wally

Tulsa Cyclocross piece

I just posted the Tulsa cyclocross piece to the Examiner. This is the Ronde Van Oakkenberg, possibly the forerunner of an annual multi day event. It sounds great. Since I've ridden in cyclocross races, I have a small appreciation of the difficulty. But even if you've never raced, cyclocross is a spectacle. Trust me. And this one includes beer!



Sorry to keep this so short, but 'V' is coming on in a very few minutes. I can't wait to see if there's any hampster eatin' goin' on!

Monday Musette

Just two items today, but there's something tantalizing for tomorrow. I just haven't had enough time to write it. Yep, that's a teaser.

56th Street North

I was out wandering yesterday, trying to get some photos of the road construction along 56th Street North just east of US169. This is a popular and useful route for cyclists as it connects Owasso with Tulsa to the south. It's not the only route as Mingo Road is another north-south road off to the west, but 56th sees far less traffic, making for a pleasant commute.


A year or two ago, I met a survey crew out there. They were drilling for core samples to determine the soil and rock composition under the one lane bridges across Bird Creek. Presently, there's a steel bridge spanning the creek and an old wooden bridge just to the west. The wood bridge has been reconstructed at least once already. The survey crew said that there was a plan to replace both bridges with a new span.

Improving this road makes sense. It will connect the highway to Owasso's new 400 unit housing area to the east. Unfortunately, my quiet rural commute will be lost.


These photos show that heavy equipment has been operating on both sides of the existing roadway on the approach to the steel bridge. Perhaps this is preparation for widening the road and replacing both bridges. Time will tell.

Cyclocross at Mohawk Park

In my wanderings, I blundered across the crew from 360 Sports in Owasso as they were preparing to leave for a cyclocross event in Mohawk Park. I was very tempted to go along, but another household crisis intervened. Our drier vent plugged up, and rather than have a house fire, I decided to fix it. One thing lead to another - as they usually do around the CycleDog ranchero - and what should have been a 45 minute job took the rest of the afternoon to sort out.


Anyway, here's a truckload of cyclocross bikes, all shiny and bright. I'll bet they looked considerably worse after the event.


And here's the 360 Sports crew, all shiny and bright.

There's more cyclocross news coming up, but that will be tomorrow's subject. It's a goodie, I promise!