Saturday, February 15, 2020


I didn't get back on the bike until yesterday. My shin was all kinds of ouch, feeling like a sunburn being rubbed by sandpaper every time I took a step, so pedaling was probably going to drive me a bit nuts. I listened to the little voice in my head that said to wait--which was helped out by several days of heavy wind--but yesterday was bright and beautiful and I just kinda had to.

It felt good. But I got a few miles into it and noticed a click that occurred with every pedal rotation. My first worry was that I'd done damage to the bike when I went down last week. My second was that if I kept riding, something was going to give and I'd eat asphalt again. So I stopped, and spent some time slowly back pedaling to see if it was the chain or the cogs, or what.

I noted one little blip on one cog, one tooth, but wasn't sure. So I ended the ride at 5 miles, which was fine for the first one after a week.

This morning I put the bike up on the work stand and tried again. I didn't know if I'd be able to figure it out--I'm still way too much of a newby--but I hoped I would at the very least be able to get some video and articulate to the bike shop what the issue was. And I found that same little blip, but I could not replicate the click.

I rotated the pedals forward, backward, fast, click.

So, I too the bike down, decided to go for a ride to see what was what, and right at 10 minutes, the click started again. It was with every full rotation of the chain, I thought, but when I stopped and tried to back pedal, no click.


I decided to take a minute, think, get a drink. And as I held the metal water bottle, turned a little, I heard it. Ice cubes against the metal...

I'm a moron.

Friday, February 07, 2020


A couple days ago, while we were out on a planned 10 mile ride, I tried to go up a sloped curve--the kind typically found at the entry to someone's driveway. I've gone up this exact spot a couple hundred times over the last 3 years, no problem, but this time I didn't quite approach it at the right angle, the tire caught, and I went down like a sack of potatoes.

Just =boom= onto my left side.

It was a good thing I wasn't alone, because I needed help getting up. Getting old, it sucks. If not for the bike still begin firmly between my legs I could have just rolled over and crawled up onto my knees and then up, but I was kinda stuck. And everything hurt. But, the Spouse Thingy helped me up, I made sure I could still move essential body parts, and we then slowly made our way to Dutch Bros where I could sit and assess how I really felt.

Nothing was broken, but my entire left side was not happy with me. And in that moment, more importantly, the bike was okay. We took fifteen minutes, shared a drink, and then finished the last 3 miles of the ride.

Got up the next morning and holy hell. Ouch. All over. And as the day progressed, the bruises began to show. My right index finger must had gotten caught under the brake lever, because it's a lovely shade of red. My left shin must have hit the ground first, given there's a nice softball sized bruised rearing its lovely head, and it's a bit swollen to boot.

My left shoulder, left hip, and my neck are all reminding me that they, too, were unhappy with meeting the ground.

Still...I was mostly miffed about not being able to ride. I mean, I could have, but it wasn't a great idea.

Now today I'm sitting here, looking outside because it's a gorgeous day, trying to decide if it's worth getting on the bike and piling onto the pain. My left shoulder especially is telling me it's still not happy, and my shin hurts every time I walk.

But I kinda wanna.

We'll see.

Oh, and I still keep reaching for brake levers that aren't there. Muscle memory is a hell of a thing.