The Third Century

No, not the years 200-299. I mean my third 100-mile ride of the season.

This one was particularly lovely. My wife, who has been living in northern Michigan this fall as she works on writing projects, was in Holland (MI) giving a workshop. Because I had left a car up north when I went to drive my parents down to Ann Arbor, I saw this as an opportunity to recover my car and get in a nice bike ride.

So on Friday I set out. Perfect weather! Temperature around 70, sun and clouds, and--get this--a 10 mph tail wind. An east wind, just when I needed it!

I rode from Okemos to Holt on Waverly Rd, then across on Holt Rd. to Dimondale, then across on Vermontville Rd to (guess!) Vermontville, continuing on to Hastings, where I stopped for my lunch of cheese and crackers (and a purchased orange juice). Then on from Hastings through non-towns basically to Holland, for a total of 99 miles. OK, I know that's not really 100. Close enough.

The Rambouillet was magnificent. The new Avocet Women's Touring II saddle was fabulous. The new hi-viz reflective vest protected me.

But I kept getting flat tires. There must be some tiny little pokey thing creating a tiny hole that slowly drains the tire. I had to inflate it every ten miles. Not a huge problem, but annoying.

My cheap Nashbar frame pump worked beautifully. Much better than my old Zefal. (Sorry.) I may buy another Nashbar pump for my touring bike.

Etiquette

To the young gal in the full spandex, click-in pedals bike costume who passed me the other day:

I know I looked sort of dorky on my commuting bike with the rear basket, wearing baggy shorts and tennis shoes, but you might have handled the transaction with a little more, I don't know, friendliness. First, when you pass someone, say hello, or at least acknowledge the passee's existence. But your taciturnity would have been forgivable if you had been going, on average, faster than me. In fact, when you passed me you must have been laboring mightily, because you immediately slowed down to a speed that was slower than my average speed. (I was out for a little exercise, so I was averaging 18 mph.)

So what should I have done? I don't like to pass, so I slowed down to your speed for a while. Luckily, just as I was getting ready to pass, you went straight where I turned. Problem solved. But if we had continued in the same direction I would have passed you and humiliated you: me, a middle-aged fart in extremely low-tech gear on what looks like an antique jalopy blowing past a decked-out young racer girl on a space-age bike.

And what would I have said? Well, since we missed our chance to say hello when you passed me, I probably would have said, "Sorry."