Need more cowbells

One of my friends asked what I was going to be doing this afternoon.

"Watching the race."

"Oh, NASCAR?"

Ah, no. Better. Much better.

I've always enjoyed bike racing, and having the action so conveniently close — right outside our front door! — makes it all the better.

We started the morning out at the Harting's place on the other side of the island, where Hal made breakfast casseroles for everyone he'd invited (he made eight pans of it this year) as we watched the men's category 4/5 race start off the day. I had to sneak off for a few hours, as I had to run the sound booth at church, but by the time I got back, the lunch fixings were ready, and I fired up the grill.

One thing was lacking. Cowbells. See, rather than keep yelling, or clapping with every lap (50+ for the last race...) we ring cowbells — or, alt least, everyone on our block does. And I forgot, again, to go get some. Hal Harting loaned us a few for the afternoon races, though, and we egged the riders on. Fiona and Grandma Renaud both showed great enthusiasm.

You go, girl.
Fiona again demonstrates why she's actually a difficult subject to photograph.

* * *

A good number of people have asked whatever became of the girl and the rider that had an unfortunate meeting at last year's race. As I was walking back from where I'd parked, I passed by a rider in a NUVO uniform getting ready, and I asked whatever happened to his hapless teammate from last year's race. As it turns out, the USCF did press the case, and tried to strip him of his racing license, and then the girl's parents also tried to sue — and by the rider's use of the word "tried" I presumed they were unsuccessful — but at the end of it all, he threw in the towel and stopped racing. The girl has apparently recovered.

The race organizers this year made certain there would be no one behind the hay bales in that corner. Good move.

Me, a person of influence?

Almost exactly a year ago, I was grousing about the incomplete snow removal on the Lake City Greenway. Today, as I was riding to work, I noted that the whole thing had been cleared. It was much more pleasant than taking the snowy streets. So, since I originally griped publically, I shall un-gripe publicly: Good job, guys!

Of course, they might not read this at all, but you never know. Stranger things have happened due to this blog....

Happy traaaaails to you...

Now that the new trails have opened up in the woods, and most of the bike paths are in place, we've been taking the kids out riding with us. Paul occasionally joins us, too. Between the trailer and the bikes in the shed, we've got seating for eight!

Grin!

Since Aiden is now big enough to go riding with us, he now also gets a helmet. He picked the design out himself — bright yellow with little white chicks. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but then, my helmet is a graphite gray. How dull!

Pulling that trailer keeps me humble. As we were going up an incline, I stabbed the shifter down to get a lower gear, and discovered that I didn't have any lower gears left!

The new trails are beautiful. The new pavement is black and smooth, almost dreamy. The old mountain bike trails — the ones I used to ride back when it was still "trespassing" to do so — are still there, but Deborah prefers to go on the paved trails with me. Somehow, dodging trees and bouncing over roots at high speed doesn't jive with her idea of a relaxing afternoon. Go figure!

Update (?) on race crash

For the past few days, I've been swapping emails with Aaron, a teammate of the guy that accidentally crashed into the girl at the races. There seem to be two different stories about what happened — one where he knew he had hit a spectator, and kept on going (which would lead to disciplinary action by the USCF), and one where he didn't realize what had happened, and got back into the race. I've been hunting around to try to find someone who saw the incident directly, but all I've found so far is people who didn't see it, but have a strong opinion about it one way or the other.

I've tried finding out more about the girl and her condition, too, but all I've found is that she was from out of town. Investigative reporting isn't something I'm much good at, apparently.

Blood, Sweat, Gears (and Beers) at the Fat & Skinny Tire Fest

With the Village at Winona just down the street from us, there are events going on all the time. At Christmastime, we're treated to live music from a group of horn players. We make a point of strolling through the Art Fair in June. And there's one event that we can't possibly ignore: The Annual Fat & Skinny Tire Festival. Part of the reason we can't ignore it is that the road races pass right in front of our house. (These are the "skinny tires" — the fat-tired mountain bike races are out in the woods.)

The whole island pretty much shuts down for the races. They start early on Sunday morning, and you have to move your car off the streets the night before, as they block off the roads. (This makes getting to church a little tricky; we parked over by the post office and used the stroller to get the kids to the car.) Most everyone sits out on their porch or sidewalk to watch.

Nick and Brett had the party across the street in full swing. Fortunately, we all liked the music they were playing, because it pervaded everything. We could tell whenever the peloton was approaching by the distinctive mix of sound: Dance music, cowbells, cheering, and chattering whir of 50 speeding bicycles. I hadn't remembered cowbells from the races I watched in Spain, but everyone on the block had them. I wondered what they knew that I didn't.

We ribbed Nick mercilessly about taking the siding off his house the day before the races. Several news crews got footage of the party along with the race.

Half the races were over by the time we got home from church. The Category 4/5 race was going on when we got there, so after we tucked the kids in for their naps, I told Deborah I was going to walk arund the block and get pictures.

Lest you be impressed by such pictures, keep in mind that these are only one of about 70 that I took, and I also mananged to get a good number of shots of the opposite curb, with no bicycles in sight.

Bicycle Racing, Winona Style.

After I got that shot, I crossed the street, and headed up the sidewalk towards the finish line. Some of our neighbors were out, watching the races. As I was walking by, one of them said, "Hey, would you like some sausage casserole?"

Well... OK...! It wasn't the way I was used to being greeted, but I certainly didn't mind. As I was sampling the rather generous portion on my plate, and debating between the variety of hot sauces available (I think I like these people...) they also offered me a Bloody Mary, which was also portioned out rather generously. I had no excuse not to stay and chat a while.

My outgoing hosts on this section of the sidewalk turned out to be Hal and Jennifer Harting. (I could have sworn her name was Lisa or Lindsey, but the phone book says Jennifer, so I'll go with that.) Hal has a fierce shock of long, pure-white hair, and rides the 1978 BMW motorcycle that I have stopped to admire on many occasions. We chatted a bit about riding, and I asked about the wide assortment of cowbells that were on the picnic tables, and being rung with every passing lap of the race. "I went into TSC [Tractor Supply Company] and said, 'I want some cowbells,'" he explained. "They asked, 'Well, what tone do you want?' and I said, 'All of them! Give me two of every one you have.'" From the looks of it, TSC carries at least 6 different tones.

Realizing I had promised to help prepare lunch, I cut short my trip around the block, and said I needed to get back home, where, I joked, Deborah would want to know where I had been, why I had a drink, and why I hadn't brought her one.

I should joke more carefully. I probably wouldn't have drawn any attention at all, walking along with two large cups, but the Hartings had garnished the drinks with two of the biggest celery stalks I've ever seen. I felt a little conspicuous.

Paul, Deborah and I fixed lunch. We set the table for four out of habit, and only after a long while did we realize that we really only needed three. It's strange having May gone. Was it really only Friday morning that she left to go back to New Hampshire?

The final race started as we were finishing the lunch preparations. Once everything was in the oven, we retired to the picnic table (provided by the town, free for the asking, for this event) to watch the race. I provided color commentary for Deborah and Paul, pointing out what strategies the racers were using, and oppining on whether the currect breakaway would succeed. After a few dozen laps, I got up walked the other way around the block towards the finish line, to see what there was to see there.

Quite a bit.

Most of the spectators were out by turn 1, where there was also commentary broadcast, booths, tables, and all manner of things bike-related.

This sign still reeks of irony.

Some of the races are sponsored by the local orthopedic industry. Warsaw, IN, is the self-proclaimed "Orthopaedic Capital of the World." This trophy is made up of a sprocket and three hip implants.

You can't see it well in the picture there, but at least one of the hips says, "do not implant." Good thing they said that; after what I saw, some of the race participants might have been tempted.

Turn 1 is a devilishly tricky left-hander coming off the bridge — blind, tight, steep, downhill, off-camber, and recently painted. I had marveled that there hadn't been accidents on that corner in previous years; this year, I saw two in the 15 minutes I was standing there. They were nasty.

Can you see the disgust?

The first one I saw was about 10 laps before the end of the race, when a rider blew a a tire going through the corner. He went down, and the rider directly behind him went over the hay bales. The second rider jumped up and got back into the race, apparently not realizing that he had clobbered one of the spectators pretty badly — a young girl, about 10, I think. The paramedics took her away on a back board. When the rider found out what had happened, he quit from his third-place position in the race and asked to be taken to the hospital to see her.

I don't have further details about who she was, or her condition. She wasn't mentioned in the newspaper I bought this afternoon.

The second one occurred just three laps before the end, as one rider's tire slid out in the turn, taking down about 8 riders; about half of those managed to get back on and keep riding, the others out of the race for injuries or mechanical reasons. One guy couldn't get up right away, prompting a lot of jumping and handwaving around the corner to keep the fast-approaching pack from running him over. It occurred to me that bicycle racing could learn a lot from motorcycle racing — on the track, you have corner workers with flags, watching out for problems just like this one, and ready to wave different colored flags to signal the approaching riders of the problem ahead. It wouldn't be practical for long races through the countryside, but it could be a lifesaver — possibly literally — on a criterium like this one.

Nice shot, Gary! I'm actually in this photo; you can see the top of my head and Aiden's right where the tree meets the red jersey. After that, I moved to a safer place...

Getupgetupgetup, the pack is coming....!

As I was heading back home after the end of the race, I met up with Gary Neiter, the photographer for the Warsaw Times-Union, and prof. for all of the photography classes I took at Grace. He didn't recognize me at first, but we chatted for a bit once he remembered me. He was floored to meet Aiden, and more so when I said he was my youngest. Ah, yes, time has passed since I was in his classes back in 1997 or so!

After lunch, I went and joined the party across the street for a while, and was pressed with more food and drink. (Yep, we have friendly neighbors!) Even some of the guys who had been racing were there. Brett gave me a short lecture on various beers available and their merits, I chatted with John Hawkins about photography, and a number of people crowded around to see my pictures and news of what had happened at the other end of the race course.

And that was plenty of excitement for a single afternoon.

Greenway updates

I stopped in to ask Rob about the sign on the bike shop lawn. He said he'd gotten a few queries about it, but that it just meant that there should be no bikes on the sidewalk, as it wasn't wide enough. I shot him a curious glance, and asked if he'd actually seen the sign. He hadn't, so I took him out to the corner. His response was hilarious. No bikes! Right on the lawn of the bike shop! And he hadn't even known it was there! Fortunately, Rob has a pretty good sense of humor, and he told me that it was part of a regulation for the marking of the greenway, and certain things were required to get the state funding. Still...

Elsewhere, as I had hoped, they've been painting lines to supplement the plethora of signs on the new greenway. It's much easier to figure out now.

This looks promising. Note the suggestion of helmet usage.

On the bright side, we've got better traffic direction here. On the down side, we now have a concrete post to run into.

Marking lines for painting a path along E. Canal St. By the way, there's no crosswalk here, either!

Signs of the times

Spring is in the air. Earthmovers move about, digging up random patches of land. Signs spring out of the ground. And the citizens of Winona Lake all wonder: What are they doing now?

Most of what I'm noticing these days has to do with the further construction of the bike path/greenway. And, I'm sorry to say, there are several parts of it that look either poorly thought-out, or downright unfriendly.

Winona Lake is acquiring a sad history of unfriendly signs; for many years, there were signs all over the place stating that "This Park is for the Use of the Village at Winona Patrons Only" ...which was offputting, to say the least, given that we'd been here longer than the Village, and it was previously just a public lawn. Those signs, fortunately are gone. More creative, I thought, were the ones stating "Parking in designated spaces only" ...with a notable absence of designated spaces nearby. But some, I can only look at in wonder, and ask, "What were they thinking?"

Take this one, for example:

This is, I must stress, on the lawn of the bike shop. Neither Nancy nor Rob were in at the moment, so I couldn't ask what was going on there, but I can't imagine they're pleased about it. No bikes! At a bike shop! If you want to say, "This is not the bike path you are seeking" then it would be better to put an arrow towards said bike path. Banning bicycles from that street isn't the answer. I might note that there's a similar sign right across the street. The deep irony there is that in about a week, they're going to be running a number of criterium-style bicycle races right down that very street!

Here's one that's just confusing, even a bit dangerous:

Use crosswalk? I don't see a crosswalk. There's a semicircular sidewalk, did they mean that? Are bikes supposed to go on the narrow sidewalk? If a cyclist makes that assumption, then there's trouble once s/he gets to the next sign:

Routing bicycle traffic down that little passageway looks like a recipe for disaster, especially given the two sets of double doors that open right into it. I can only hope that some future painted lines help clarify that cyclists should go on the asphalt; otherwise, there are going to be some painful accidents and probable lawsuits.

Here, though, is one that I agree with:

The bike route ends here. It was supposed to continue on for several miles, all the way to the other end of Warsaw. But Warsaw seems to have dropped that ball. So: Winona Lake: Kudos to you, in spite of the signs. Warsaw: get crackin', ya slackers!

Fiona's first photo

I was up early, getting ready to go to church — I had to run the video and audio recording — and Fiona wandered out, saying she was looking for her camera. There were four of these little "cameras" running around, but I couldn't find any of them. "What do you want to take a picture of, Fiona?" I asked. "I want to take a picture of your bicycle." "Would you like to try using a real camera?" "Sure!" ...and so, I present to you, Fiona's first photograph:

OK, so there was a bit of coaching and handholding, but I'm proud of her anyway.

Tandemonium

We had planned to all go out for a bicycle ride together, but only two out of five of our bikes (the kids' trailer makes six, I guess) were ready to ride; the rest needed some work to get them road-worthy again. The first one Paul and I worked on was the tandem, which, just when we thought we were done, blew a tube. By the time we walked over to the Trailhouse, got a new one, and installed it, there wasn't really enough time to all go for the ride we'd been planning. So we took turns taking spins around the island on the tandem. It was a very new thing for May and Paul.

Now you see me

The Pontiac (a.k.a. Bree) hasn't been repaired yet — when do I have time? — so I've been riding my bicycle to work quite a bit, despite the snow and ice. The surprising thing? I'm really enjoying it. (Anyone who remembered me and my 400+ mile weeks in high school might wonder why this would be surprising; short story is, I got my driver's license.)

One thing that definitely needed improvement, though, was twilight visibility. I spent a while the other night, cutting red and white reflective tape and applying it on the inside of my back rim.

Must be pretty effective; cars are now driving off the road on the other side to give me plenty of room when they're passing me. Maybe I'll sit down sometime and do the front wheel, too.

If you give a town a greenway...

If you give a town a greenway,
They're going to want to use it.

If they're going to use it,
They're going to want to use it year-round.

If they're going to use it year-round,
you're going to have to clear the snow off of it.

If you're going to clear the snow off of it,
for Pete's sake, clear the snow off of all of it!

As far as I can tell, the path was cleared only as far as the entrance to the Winona Lake Hotel condos, which is right across the street from this picture. So, what — it's only cleared so that Hotel residents can get to the Boathouse restaurant for lunch? The number of tracks walking off the other side of the street lend some credibility to this idea. Thing is, look at the tracks that go off into the snow — there are a lot of them. But they're not going towards the Village and it's shops, so they must not be worthwhile, eh?

OK, I'm done ranting for a few minutes.

Just as well

Thursdays have been interesting as of late, especially with regard to transportation.

Now, the plan was that I would take the motorcycle to work, and, around noon, Deborah would drop the kids off at Tonya's house, come home, switch cars, and drive to her work, and then to her class in Ft. Wayne. Once I got off of work, I would then ride the motorcycle home, switch to the car Deborah had left (the one with car seats; you think we can afford four of those things?) and go pick up the kids from Tonya's house.

But that was not to be...

I got bundled up and trudged out into the pre-dawn darkness. I put the key in the bike, fiddled with a few levers, and ... RrrrrRRRrrrrrrrrRrrrr[click]. I tried again. And again. And again. The bike wouldn't start. I muttered something along the lines of how some engineer thought motorcycles were only for warm-weather use, and went hunting for the trickle charger to hook up to the battery. Couldn't find it. Somewhat grumpy, I went and warmed up the car, resigning myself to a good ten minutes of windshield-scraping. When I went to open the driver's side door, the button stuck, and I couldn't open it. I got in the passenger-side door, and then that one wouldn't close. (Too bad statistics don't work in real life. If I have one door that opens, and one door that closes, then on average, I have one working door, right?) When I finally got to work, and shut off the car, the engine kept running, slow and shaky, like an old Harley. Dieseling, I think it's called. That's weird, I'll have to check the coolant, I thought, and then promptly forgot.

At lunch, I made a quick side trip to AutoZone and got a new trickle charger. I was pleased to discover that the one I wanted was on sale, and that they had new connectors — ones that are the same kind as I use for the electric vest. Hooray! Now I dont have to ride around all winter with the side panel off the bike — I can just unplug the vest and plug in the charger. I zipped home quick to hook it up. When I went to go back to work, I noticed that the car was sitting in a pool of it's own antifreeze.

Oh.

Now what?



I have a car out of commission, a motorcycle that won't be ridable for another few hours, Deborah needs the other car, and I'm already behind enough in my hours as it is. Well... bicycle it is, then!

Soon after I got to work, Deborah called and reported that she had found some one (Abby) to come watch the kids for a few hours. I'd have to go home at 6:00 rather than at 3:00. Hey, I might be able to get all my hours in after all...

Around 5:00, it began to rain. And freeze. (For you readers in California, this is called "glare ice" or "black ice" and is hard to stand up on, never mind driving.) at 6:00, I began inching my way home on foot, using the bicycle as a sort of cane. I felt rather grateful that Winona Lake, for all it's odd ideas, had decided to go ahead with the Heritage Trail greenway path, which kept me off of the streets for 90% of my walk/ride/slide home.

While I was getting the kids ready for bed, Duane from church called. They were having a Car Care clinic this weekend; did I need anything done to any of my cars? Why yes, actually...

Deborah finally made it home after her class around 9:00, having had adventures of her own driving slowly along some of the unsanded stretches of highway between here and Ft. Wayne. (Note to the Californians: You don't plan a 100-mile round trip if you know there's going to be freezing rain involved.)

At the end of the day, though, several things were evident:

• We all got where we needed to go, and got home, safe and sound.


• Neither of us had to go anywhere or pick up anyone in a coolant-free car.


• The two-wheeled vehicle I got to guide home on the ice was a 20 lb. bicycle, not a 400 lb. motorcycle. (I've done the latter; it's not on my list of experiences I'd care to repeat.)


• Deborah had the best car for the job — the only front-wheel drive vehicle we own.

Sometimes I think God takes care of us by letting things break down that we think we need!