Wednesday, April 29, 2009

04: Bike Service

Is it attention deficit youth, or cranky old age that creates communication errors? Are we so picky and demanding that we confuse and traumatize the younger generation, or is their attention upon us so briefly that they have no idea what we said or wanted, except for a half remembered word and an assumption based on context?

I hate paying bike shops to do anything. I used to build bikes myself, but some jobs require tools and facilities that I do not have; like changing a free hub, for instance.

The Trek shop in South Tampa were supposed to do just that; install a new free hub in the rear wheel. Nothing else. Not look at it, not clean it, not inspect it – replace it. The old one wasn’t broken or even slipping, but it was 11 years old and I don’t want it to fail in the Mojave Desert or any of the three mountain ranges.

Maybe I could have avoided the impending confusion by taking only the wheel and leaving the rest of the bike at home; but I didn’t. In the shop, I also decided to get top mounted brake levers installed and ordered a frame pump and new Armadillo tires to take away and put on later.

One week after the promised date and without the courtesy of a phone call to advise that it was ready I went to collect it. John wheeled my bike out and I accumulated supplies.

Nice job on the brakes, but the wrong tires were draped over the handlebars, the pump had never been ordered and ‘install new free hub’ had morphed into ‘check bottom bracket’.

I’ve never subscribed to the ‘customer is always right’ concept because the customer can sometimes be a complete pig. I am usually polite and I am always precise so, if the person to whom I’m speaking gets distracted and doesn’t write down what I said, whose fault is it? Is his job to listen, or to allow his eyes to wander over anything and everything else that might be occurring in the shop?

I pointed out the problems but John stared, zombie-like, at another customer for almost a full minute before handing me the bill and a pen as if I’d said nothing worthy of interest.

My politeness slipped. It may not have, had they not kept me waiting for two weeks. It may not have, had John offered to get the job corrected immediately. It may not have, had he called the other store to see if the correct tires and pump were in stock. It might not have, if the bill hadn’t included $79 for unspecified parts and $25 for installation.

My politeness slipped further when he tried to pretend that the job had actually been done, but that the computer had reported it wrongly and that I should call back if I had any problems.

It disappeared altogether after he called the mechanic at home and discovered that no such work had been done but then turned back to me, smiling as though the problem was now solved. Free hubs weren’t a stock part, he said, and they hadn’t wanted to take extra time by ordering one. So they’d done me a favor?

My voice rose. I paid for the brakes but nothing else. Cancel the tires, cancel the pump, delete the erroneous bottom bracket entry and take back all the merchandise and then added gruffly - loudly enough for other customers to hear - that I would never be back and was going down the street to Flying Fish bikes.

Should I have doffed my cap and slithered away, perhaps to grumble with close friends and repeat this tale of misadventure as prime conversational material for the next 20 years? I am English, after all…

I thought not.

So – if you’re in South Tampa and need bicycle service, you know where not to go.

And what if you happen to be from the Trek shop in South Tampa and feel that this account has unfairly caused you to lose customers?

Sue me.

Friday, April 24, 2009

03: Training

It’s real.

I hurt.

Even I, who can usually find plenty of reasons for not doing so, know that some training is better than none.

People who live in Florida have as much of a notion about hills as a Dutchman. Tired and sweaty on Sunday, after 43 miles around San Antonio and Zephyrhills - what locals amusingly call the Florida Alps - it became obvious just how much the first two weeks of the tour will hurt.

It’s not just the distance, not just the heat and not just the hills – it’s having all those at the same time and then having them again the next day and the next and the next…

Greater Los Angeles is relatively flat, so that presents no difficulty, but then there are more than 500 miles to ride in 6 days in temperatures of at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

The first part, on the shoulder of I10 through the Mojave Desert, has moderate gradients but which go on endlessly until you’ve lost the will to live. Following that are never-ending switchback ascents through the Sierra Nevada Mountains – less hot and less traffic and nice views, but climbing over 7,000 feet in two days will make my legs burst.

That’s 7,000 feet.

In 2 days.

Sweating, tired and proud of myself on Sunday, I passed a sign that proudly proclaimed an elevation of 324 feet.

There’s not much to say about that, is there…

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

02: Preparation


3 weeks to go.

504 hours.

30,240 minutes.

Don't ask how many seconds - that would just be anal.

Ok, if you want to get detailed, it's 9 laundry loads, 3 gas-ups, 6 movies, 4 dance lessons and about 120 bathroom trips for purposes other than taking a shower. I’m not going to guess how many times I’ll wake up with female company and a smile on my face but, if recent history is any indication, a disappointingly low number.

Loads of things to do, but preparation is key. There are spares to buy, parts to replace and equipment to install. I need tubes, tires, spokes, patches, glue, gloves, computer, bike bag and more. What happened to the fun of cycling?

The checklist gets longer every time I cross something off. Stress, stress, stress and it won’t end until the bike gets shipped and I reach Los Angeles and find it reassembled and ready to go; assuming it gets there. But if not, then I’ll sue. Hey – this is America. Knowing when to sue (always) is question number one on the citizenship test.

Just as well the other stuff got done already: get loan, pay rent, quit job, renew lease, purchase house and order maps. My hair would go gray, if it wasn't already white.

I feel like a prisoner in a WWII prison camp, tunneling for freedom and scattering dirt across the exercise yard from pockets in modified trousers. The checklist is my personal tunnel and every item checked is another bag of dirt. Just a few more walks around the compound and I’m out.

People think I’m insane. Me? How about their strange questions and useless advice? What use is a GPS that plugs into a cigarette lighter? Or a universal charger for a phone, laptop, camera, shaver and all the other things that have no place on a bike? Or a AAA membership?

What would you expect to pay for 50 hotel rooms and meals and on-the-road support, I ask the doubters whose eyes widen when they ask the cost and think I’m somehow being ripped off? But that’s only the first half – and don't forget four months' loss of income. Add it up and it's half the gross national product of Cuba.

Emails flit back and forth daily from riders and staff with advice on equipment and supplies. If I took any of it seriously, I’d accumulate gallons of A&D ointment to smear on my backside (and stain seats across America), stock up on Power bars and Gatorade powder, ingest countless articles on nutrition and rush to purchase leg warmers, arm coolers, head bands, sweat bands and all kinds of personal equipment.

How about an assault rifle for protection in the badlands? Maybe a little motor to help on those hills? No one’s mentioned those.

Laziness and the flatlands of southern Florida have attracted flab to my middle and decreased my stamina. The SAG van driver will get to see my sun-scarred countenance often during the first week, when I’ve ground to an exhausted halt or fallen off, screaming from quad cramps and twitching from calf spasms. Maybe he’ll take a picture.

What I really need is a good dose of training but there’s always a good excuse – allergies are playing up, there’s a party at the weekend and, of course, Happy Hour. Can I buy fitness in a pill at GNC? Maybe they’ll give me a gold card.

Hiking will help, so I’m going to Joshua Tree and the Santa Rosa mountains for a week. Not quite the same muscles, but it’ll generate a sweat, burn up a calorie or two and can’t do any harm - unless I fall off a ledge or get eaten by a mountain lion.

As a last taste of civilization after that, the entire 8th of May will be spent in an air-conditioned IMAX theatre somewhere in Los Angeles, watching Star Trek XI.

One to beam out...

Energize…