Jim's Birthday Ride, More Piggy Problems, and Doofus Wrenching

Township Line Road, Hillsborough

3 May 2015

For pictures of the party, the people, and the cake, surf on over to seeming verb.  Jim and Dave have that well covered.

Dave drove to Jim's birthday ride and party in his 1970 MG.  His bike is taller than the car.  The car is so small that when he was driving behind an 18-wheeler, he could see straight under it. Still, wow.

Here it is, later in the day, with his bike packed in:

Jim took us from his house in North Brunswick towards the canal, where we had to climb Coppermine, of course.

By the time we got there, I'd lost Miss Piggy's entire middle chain ring to front derailleur rub, this despite everything having gone smoothly on the work stand last weekend. Moving the derailleur up had made the problem worse.  I spent the ride mostly in the big ring, dropping down to the granny for Coppermine, and scraping away in the middle for as long as I could stand it when the hills were small.  By the time we got to the rest stop, I was ready to toss Miss Piggy into the scrap heap.

The rest stop was the highlight of the ride.  We were talking wrench talk, a new language for me, now that I've taken Jim's bike maintenance class and reduced Gonzo to a pile of parts in a box.

I'd taken the frame to Wheelfine on Friday evening, where Michael J pried out the bottom bracket (R.I.P.) and hammered out the headset.  Despite everything I've put this frame through (you should see how the bottom of the frame sways when the rear wheel is locked into the fluid trainer and I'm in 53/11), it is somehow still alive.  The paint is scraped and chipped, though.  Michael can paint it, but I'd have to wait until after Labor Day (it might take me that long to rebuild the rear wheel) and cost more than I'd paid for the frame on eBay in 2003.  He suggested getting it powder coated by a shop in Trenton; they'd do it for less than half of Michael's price.  So that's what I plan to do.  Black glossy, or white glossy if they have it.  Whatever color I choose has to go well with the new metallic red hub and spoke nipples.

So, anyway, I was telling the guys that Michael had suggested an industrial-strength compound for me to pour into the tubes and slosh around in order to clear out the thin layer of rust and prevent more from forming.  Jim offered his favorite version of the stuff, and Ron has something else at home. Dave, meanwhile, was contemplating something.

"What you need," he finally said, "is the Best Universal Grit, Grime, and Effluent Remover."  He paused. We looked confused. "BUGGER!" he said.

"BUGGER!" Jim repeated.

"Then," Dave said, "you could BUGGER off!"

"Hey!" I said, "BUGGER my tubes!"

I should, at this juncture, point out that high school was a long, long time ago for all of us.

Because we were ahead of schedule, Jim kept us to what he refers to as a "stately pace" on the way back to his house.  I stopped for pictures on Township Line Road.

That's the Sourland Mountain in the background:

These trees are having a slap fight:

Halfway home, Ron had a flat.  We pulled into a long, sloping driveway to fix it. I'd tell the story of what happened while we were changing the tube, but this is a family blog*.  You'll have to ask me in person.  Suffice to say that Snakehead will be sorry he'd gone ahead of us and missed the exchange.

We got back to the house exactly on time, as the first guests were arriving.  

I grumbled about Miss Piggy.  Sean asked to take a look, so we went out to the car and he put her through her scraping gears.  After five minutes or so, he was stumped, and he's the owner of his own finicky Cannondale.  Off to Hart's with her tomorrow.  "And I don't even want her back unless she's fixed!"

Terry C had picked up Jack.  Both had brought guitars, as had Snakehead's wife, Cathy.  The instruments didn't come out till early evening, long after I'd have thought Jim and TEW would have wanted to be well rid of all of us. But Jim was in the middle of it, singing away, and we didn't leave his house until after 7:00.

*****

I'd agreed to Cranbury on Sunday.  It's spring; Winter Larry has ceded his time to others. He and I were figuring we'd get dropped, what with Peter F leading and Gary F's fastboys sure to be there.

Peter had a big group, which included three women (me, Donna, and a state racing champion who never -- not even once -- put herself in front, even though she could have dropped us all with one leg in a cast) and two recumbents (both with 700 cm wheels, carbon frames, and impressive climbing ability).  

On a small downhill, Larry jumped ahead, yelping with joy.  Peter laughed.  "He's having fun."  I said, "He's not leading.  He should not-lead more often."

We were a mile or so away from the 7-mile Macho Mile when Larry had a flat.  The racer woman came up from the back to tell Peter that Larry had instructed us to go ahead.  "We should wait," I suggested. Peter agreed.

Somehow, Peter managed to keep everyone together for the entire ride, despite the Macho Mile.  I was impressed.  This is not an easy thing to do with the Cranbury crowd.

*****

Off to Hart's with Miss Piggy.  Ross was there, which is always a good thing.  I don't have to temper my disgust for her drive train around him or Oscar.  He knows.  "Six thousand four hundred miles," I said, "And she's worked for about 70 of them.  Why can't we figure this out? Is the derailleur too small or something?"

Ross is a good sport.  He tweaked the derailleur, then took her out back to test the shifting under load. He put her back up on the stand and tweaked some more.  "Can I keep it here?" he asked.  "I want to take this apart."

I waved my hand at the bike. "Keep her here.  I don't want her back unless she's fixed."  

"Shimano has a new XTR derailleur," he said.  "So many people are putting mountain bike gearing on road triples that they've come up with a new one to accommodate it."  Or at least that's what I think he said.  Whatever he said, he's going to try a new part, and he might swap out the front derailleur too.  If the two derailleurs can finally work together the way they should...

If not, I'm taking Beaker to Bike Virginia.

While I was at the shop I asked Ross to order a new bottom bracket and headset for Gonzo.  I was just about able to tell him exactly what I needed; he had to prompt me and show me a picture or two, but, still, I think I'm learning the language.

I also asked to test another saddle.  The ones I have (the same model on all my bikes) are fine for ten miles or so, then they hurt, then they're fine, then they hurt, and then they're fine.  If I was a guy, I'd say that they're pressing on my junk.  I can feel my sit bones the whole time, which is weird, because I'm not lacking in padding down there.  The one I'm testing has a cut-out, as my old saddles did but my new ones don't.

Changing saddles on Kermit is relatively straightforward, so, of course, it took me over an hour to do the job.  I had to get the height and setback exactly right, down to the millimeter, and then I was a pure doofus when I convinced myself that the saddle bag hanger didn't fit on the new rails.  Only after digging into the spare parts box in the garage and finding two bags that were discarded for good reason (they're huge), did I realize that I'd been trying to put the hanger on backwards.  One good thing did come out of this:  I found a spare multi-tool, spoke wrench, and chain tool (which, thanks to Jim and his class, I now know how to use) in one of the bags.  Those will travel with Kermit from now on.

I had to take a few spins around the neighborhood, too, just to make sure the height was right.  The saddle felt better, but the true test will come next week when I put some real miles on it.  

*****

(*Not really.)