Too late for a midlife crisis

Like joining the Procrastinator’s Club, I never got around to having a midlife crisis. I always was a late bloomer.

Now I’m old, so it’s too late…but I can combine a midlife crisis with an old age crisis – so I’m making some big changes today.

Out go all of my bikes, to be replaced with a Lamborghini. Granted, it’s a 1967 Lamborghini Miura, the car I wanted as a teen, so it’s older than any of the bikes. That makes it okay.

Out go the canoe and the kayak – too much work for an old guy. I’m replacing them with a Chris Craft, the boat that my father taught me to covet in my youth. Again, it’s older than the boats it’s replacing, so it’s still okay. All of that beautiful mahogany…

The espresso machine will go, to be replaced by a giant coffee urn, so I can brew that horrible church basement coffee where the water keeps circulating through the grounds until it takes like burnt mud. I’ll drink many cups every day in my old English bone china cups. (Now, bone china, that’s another story. See my friend Roy’s blog “About Bone” for that. Actually, I guess it’s in one of his books, as I didn’t find it in a blog search. Suffice to say it is made with real bones. You can read Roy’s blog anyway.)

The kids are grown so the minivan will be replaced by a Morgan Plus Four. The Morgan is hand-built on an oak subframe. The retro bikers say, “Steel is real.” I say “Wood is good.”

Of course my wife has to go. Since the theme here is “Out with the old, in with the older”, I don’t plan to take up with a Hollywood starlet as so many old men do. I can’t afford to be a sugar daddy. I’m now dating Helen Mirren. She can afford to keep me better than vice versa.

I’ve been reading a lot about micro-dosing. Psychedelics scare me, so I’m going with Rogaine. What do you think so far? Maybe Grecian Formula next? Or Carter’s Little Liver Pills? Geritol? Possibly Serutan. (“Remember, ‘Serutan’ spelled backward spells ‘Natures’.”)

It may be time to turn in the smart phone. I’m not sure what’s next. Possibly a rotary phone, though in this digital world I can only receive, not make, calls; and no one calls me except telemarketers. I thought about a tin can telephone with branches to connect the homes of all of the stalwarts of the half-fast cycling club. A telegraph key might do the trick. I can brush up on my Morse Code and the signal will travel lightning fast over fiber optics.

Father William

  “You are old, father William,” the young man said,
    “And your hair has become very white;
  And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
    Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

  “In my youth,” father William replied to his son,
    “I feared it would injure the brain;
  But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
    Why, I do it again and again.”

  “You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
    And have grown most uncommonly fat;
  Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door —
    Pray, what is the reason of that?”

  “In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
    “I kept all my limbs very supple
  By the use of this ointment — one shilling the box —
    Allow me to sell you a couple.”

  “You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
    For anything tougher than suet;
  Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak —
    Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

  “In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
    And argued each case with my wife;
  And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
    Has lasted the rest of my life.”

  “You are old,” said the youth; one would hardly suppose
    That your eye was as steady as ever;
  Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose —
    What made you so awfully clever?”

  “I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
    Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs!
  Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
    Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

“That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar. 
“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” said Alice timidly;
“some of the words have got altered.”
“It is wrong from beginning to end,”
said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.
Lewis Carroll

Happy birthday

You may may noticed that music creeps into this bike blog on a regular basis. Usually it is squeezed into some other topic.

This time it doesn’t fit with the next scheduled post, so Charlie McCoy gets his own. Charlie McCoy is one of the greatest harmonica players out there and you have probably never heard of him. He mostly works as a sideman in the country and western genre but I’d put him up there with the blues greats.

One day my roommate came home with an album by this guy I never heard of. We played it constantly.

We think of this as a fiddle tune, but the harmonica was made for railroad songs.
Jazz standards, anyone? (Written by Hoagy Carmichael, best known for Ray Charles’ rendition.)
Gospel
Yes, he plays the blues and he pays his dues to one of the greats.
How about The Beatles?
One of his earliest recordings, with Roy Orbison

Charlie McCoy was born in West Virginia on March 28, 1941. He has been active as a Nashville session player and is one of those people you have heard many times without knowing it, having played on up to 400 sessions per year at the height of his career. He also plays guitar, bass, trumpet, and drums in addition to his better-known work on harp. He sings now and then. He played guitar on Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” and “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”. He was the bassist on all of Dylan’s album “John Wesley Harding”. He was probably best known as Musical Director for the TV show “Hee-Haw”, source of the first clip here. For all of its corn, it had some amazing music. He has also worked with Elvis Presley, Kris Kristofferson, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Ringo Starr, Steve Miller, Johnny Cash, Joan Baez, JJ Cale, Al Kooper, and Paul Simon, among many others.

Happy birthday, Charlie…and thanks to My Old Pal Ovaltine for introducing me to his music some 50 years ago.

Contrary to the proverb that “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb”, this year March came in like a lamb with a temperature of 49 degrees F (9.4 C) and is going out like a lion with a temperature of 26 (-3.3 C) as I write this on 3/28 and a forecast for snow on 3/31.

What would SCUBA do?

Bicycle is to car as SCUBA is to snorkel.

In a car I can see the world through a windshield, as though watching it on TV as I zoom through it. On a bike I can be in and of that world.

I will never forget my first snorkeling experience. I was on the island of San Andrés (a Colombian territory off the coast of Nicaragua) at a place called “La Piscina Natural” (The Natural Swimming Pool). The bottom was about 30 feet below, and that’s where the action was. Floating on the surface, looking down through my mask, was watching another world. For the brief moments I could stay that deep on a breath of air, it was being in another world. I spent an afternoon going up and down. I knew I had to find a way into that world.

Jacques Cousteau (the co-inventor of the AquaLung, the means of getting into that world) said “the best way to observe a fish is to become a fish” (National Geographic, 1952). I knew I had to become a fish.

Several years later I was preparing for a trip to Australia to visit an old friend – the friend with whom I had gone to Colombia, though he hadn’t joined me for the underwater portion of the journey. Another friend said “You’re going to dive the Great Barrier Reef, right?” I said I didn’t know how to dive. She reminded me I had plenty of time to learn, so I found a PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) 5 star diving school and got certified. As part of our introductions, the instructor asked each of us why we were learning to dive. His response to me was “I hate you.” Twenty years of diving and he had never seen the Great Barrier Reef. It was going to be my first dive destination. He reminded me of my awesome responsibility. It was in that reef that I was introduced to my favorite life form – the nudibranch.

coralrealm.com

Now I knew I was in another world. After diving in a different part of the reef every day for a week, I went on to see a few more places in Australia before a stopover in Fiji on the way home. In Australia, we were on a dive boat with a divemaster who told us what to expect at each spot. In Fiji we were in a tiny aluminum fishing boat whose driver just asked, “How deep do you want to dive?” When we reached our spot, he merely tossed the anchor over the side and looked at us. We were on our own. We were parked at a wall which started about 8 feet below us and dropped to a sandy bottom 60 feet down.

We went over the side. As I descended the wall, I was Alice going down the rabbit hole.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled “ORANGE MARMALADE”, but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

From Chapter 1, “Down the Rabbit Hole” in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

I made my way slowly down the wall, noting little plants and animals in niches on the way, noting the changes in flora and fauna as I went deeper. We checked out the world at the bottom, then slowly made our way back up another section of wall.

For our second dive we were taken to a canyon. Imagine that, instead of standing at the top of a canyon, or climbing to the bottom, you could fly through it, going up or down at will. That is the experience of an underwater canyon and SCUBA – the gift of flight.

In SCUBA you seek a state of neutral buoyancy – neither heavier nor lighter than the atmosphere that surrounds you. Take a deep breath and you rise subtly. Exhale and you descend. You are floating, weightless. You are in another world. As Cousteau said, you have “become a fish.”

And that is why I rode a bike across the country. And why I continue to ride. After seeing another world, I became more appreciative of this one. I ride to be in and of the world, not just passing through it. (10)

Not just for transportation anymore

Just as “Leinenkugel’s beer ain’t just for breakfast anymore”1, riding a bike ain’t just for transportation anymore.

How do you get ready for bicycling season? First, disabuse yourself of the notion that there is A Season. Any season is a season for bicycling. For some, the winter is for fatbiking. For others, it’s indoor cycling. For still others, it’s cyclocross. For me, it’s mostly for transportation. It’s how I get to work, the store, the library. Riding just for the hell of it is not common except for my New Year Ride.

New Year Ride. If you were sitting at home nursing a hangover, you missed this.

On the other hand, if “just for the hell of it” is not part of most of your rides, it’s time for an attitude adjustment.

Do you need a special pre-season exercise program? No. You ride your bike. Start slow and easy. Gradually increase speed, distance, time. You don’t need to be a slave to numbers. Listen to your body.

For me, spring is the time to feel the wind without the word “chill” attached to it. It is time to explore the back roads and watch for potholes. It is the time to look for the first robin, the first crocus; to listen for the Spring Peepers; to smell the earth and the lakes come to life; to watch the grass turn green and buds appear on the trees; to notice all of the different greens as they appear. Notice that tree flowers are a different green than the leaves. It’s a time to ride with friends again.

Sunday I rode with friends. We chatted. I still needed tights and a jacket. We rode through “The Only Waunakee in the World” to get high on Bong Road. Monday I rode alone, in shorts and a short-sleeve jersey. I rode beyond Hope and into Coffeytown. Was it a week ago that I shoveled snow?

Part of the half-fast cycling club, at the top of Bong Road. It’s all downhill from here.

Do you need a special bike? No, you need the bike you have, if it is well-maintained and fits you. If either of those criteria are puzzling to you, talk with a knowledgeable friend or visit a reputable bike shop (with your bike). I am riding my commuting bike. It reminds me that I’m not in the shape I’ll be in come July. It makes me get into a rhythm to climb hills rather than just charge up them. It is better suited to spring road conditions, with wider, lower pressure tires, and fenders. When I switch to a bike that’s 6 pounds lighter, I’ll feel faster. When I switch to the bike that’s another 6 pounds lighter, I’ll feel ready for a century, or to ride across the country. I won’t be, but I’ll be in that frame of mind.

Which brings us back to paying attention to your body. In these early spring rides, I don’t have a power meter, a heart rate monitor, an altimeter, a speedometer, odometer, or a clock. I ride how I feel. The “goal” is to have a good time. Numbers do not add to that good time. I know my heart is beating. I know when I’m exerting myself. I know the sun is high in the sky so I don’t have to hurry home before it gets dark. I don’t need more data.

Do you need special gear? Depends on the conditions. Bike shorts are a lot more comfortable than jeans, but I wear regular clothes to ride to work. I’ve written extensively on clothes for winter. It’s not winter. Wear a helmet that fits well. Try a few on. Lean forward into the position in which you ride. Can you see under the brim of the helmet? Ask for help in a bike shop if you’re not sure. If they steer you straight to the most expensive helmet, try another shop. On the other hand, even the most expensive helmet is cheap compared to a craniectomy to relieve bleeding on the brain. You might argue that helmets are unnecessary. That may be true until you hit your head. You might argue that folks in the Netherlands ride more than we do in the US and they don’t wear helmets. I’m not in the Netherlands. Yes, I’ve read the study that claims that people ride more dangerously with a helmet on. They had people ride through a course with and without helmets and they rode marginally faster with helmets. Were they riding dangerously, or without helmets were they overly cautious? The study was not clear. Remember that, if you’re going to quote a study’s conclusion and jump to your own conclusions from that, you might want to read it. I know a hill that I can descend safely at 40 mph. I’ve ridden it at 50. Would I ride it at 40 without a helmet? No way. Did I ride without a helmet in the 1970s? Sure, but then I also rode in cars without seatbelts in the 50s.

1 Song lyric from “Guys on Ice”, book and lyrics by Fred Alley.