A rainy Saturday...

I rode to work only twice this week, Tuesday and Wednesday. Monday had ice and snow on the roads, but although there was still ice over the Bird Creek bridge those days I commuted, it was still passable. The bridge is one lane and probably close to a quarter of a mile across. There were two tire tracks and I rode in them. Trust me, skinny tires do not like to encounter deep snow or ice!

But I felt puny Thursday and Friday. I've been getting leg cramps at night and it's difficult to sleep. Experience has taught me that the cramps come from dehydration and fatigue, so I'm trying to stay hydrated. That means drinking a tall glass of water before bed, and that means another sleep interruption in the middle of the night. I can't win.

The other thing that helps to avoid cramping is keeping my legs warm, so I'm sleeping in sweatpants. Actually, even on a warm day, my legs will cramp if they're subjected to a sudden temperature change. So I pay attention to wind speed and direction. I can be nicely warmed up, turn into the wind, and the muscles cramp.

Usually, it's the left one that cramps. It was broken in a car crash back in 1983. The tibia was held together by a stainless steel plate that ran from just below the knee to just above the ankle. The center section was a bone graft. It was broken again in another crash about 10 years ago. The leg works well as a barometer, and I can predict the weather with fair accuracy.

So that brings us to this rainy Saturday. What to do? What to do? I awoke early, partly due to the aching, and partly due to one of the elderly cats who decided she'd gone without attention for too long. She sat in the bathroom howling until I got up. We are not on good terms just now.

The house is cold, so I'm having another cup of coffee. It's my inspiration. The Wally Crankset stories come from an over-indulgence in caffeine, as my feverish imagination spins along on a tidal wave of coffee. Fritz gave me an idea for a story, but it may be a while before I get around to writing it.

Meanwhile, here's a piece from the Red Dirt Pedalers newsletter:

Stoopid advice for cyclists.

We’ve all encountered well meaning but uninformed people who, when they discover we’re cyclists, suddenly become wellsprings of ‘advice’ about road riding. Now, many of these folks haven’t been on a bicycle since their grade school days and their learning curve flat lined back then. In fact, most of the advice I’ve received this way came from various elderly relatives. It’s respectful to listen carefully, nod sagely now and then, and wait for them to tire out and take a nap.

Come to think of it, that’s the strategy my own kids employ these days.

“Ride facing traffic.” I’ve read of an alleged bicycle ‘safety’ movie from the 50s or 60s that preached this dubious advice. But I’ve never seen it or even seen a title for it. Yet many people claimed they were exposed to this in school, along with duck and cover drills, and the CONELRAD system. If you don’t know what these are, you’re just too young.

I broke this rule once, riding against traffic for miles as I searched in vain for my lost wallet. Eventually, the wallet returned in the mail, sans cash and credit cards. Some of my jerseys now have Velcro tabs to keep the pockets closed. Sure, there used to be some elastic there, but it’s long gone. Elastic and I fight an on-going battle. The elastic always loses. This is why I prefer shorts with drawstrings. It prevents surprises for motorists and confrontations with the local constabulary.

“Ride on the sidewalk/on the trail/in the bike lane.” The unstated corollary is, “Don’t ride on MY road!” For cyclists themselves, this is often coupled with the you-can’t-get-there-from-here mentality, as in, “You can’t get there from here ‘cause there’s no bike lane!” If I’d followed this ‘advice’, I wouldn’t have been able to reach my grandmother’s house with all those cookies, pies, and fresh-baked bread. And she would have been deprived of another chance to tell me about the dangers of riding a bicycle on the road. I couldn’t deny her – or the cookies – that opportunity.

“Ride like you’re invisible.” This is the worst of the lot! Imagine telling a motorist to drive like he’s invisible. He’d yield to any traffic that could pose a conflict. He’d slow and stop unpredictably in response. He’d be a nuisance and a danger to those around him. So why advise a cyclist to do so?

Instead, tell him to ride like a big, pudgy guy with baggy shorts and change falling from his jersey pockets. Motorists notice people like that. Maybe they just notice the money. My own daughter, for instance, could spot a loose quarter falling from my pocket nearly a hundred yards away, and I think she’s fairly typical. A twenty-dollar bill would show up on her radar screen at over a mile.

But those sagging, just-about-to-fall-off shorts are the real attention getters. Motorists want to look away. They really do! But they simply can’t tear their eyes away from what could be a major catastrophe. It’s like watching a really bad horror movie, simultaneously hoping it will get better and fearing it won’t. It’s an experience both fascinating and painful, like watching Paris Hilton try to act. And the best part is when it’s over.