Saturday, August 3, 2013

ruts

I don't like them...I try to get out of them...even at Triangle Road...a place where minibikes and knobby tires rule. Mud ruts keep you in place and puddles have rocks and dips that either keep you there or knock you over. Despite the fact I have experience with gears and two wheels, I was a newbie trying to negotiate the loam and rocks. Squishy mud, bendy trails...this is new on many levels. Around a curve, through a puddle, up, down, around...back tire going left then right...too much gas...then not enough. My brain tries to catch up to the rhythm. My arms look for reprieve. I am in a rut..but not the kind that pulls you under...it is the kind that keeps you moving forward. As my last hurrah I bravely consent to riding down and then up - what feels and seems like a huge feat. I am unsure - nervous - scared and yet as I take off that brain of mine has not yet engaged to what I need to do at the end...and in a moment of panic I realize brakes are not applied and I am instead heading toward a sludgy puddle...and that is what happens. The bike sails forward with me over the handlebars, into the pond...laughing...relief...A few scrapes..a bruise...but out of the rut.

breakdowns...

...they happen. Old bikes succumb to problems, as do old bones. After a motomeet in July, the man seemed to be running at 1/2 speed on the '59 Pan. He motioned me, but ever curious as he puttered to a stop he told me to ride ahead. He was confident to push his bike a few km to a gas station. Speeding away tossing my imaginary cape behind me, I was off like a vengeance, expecting a call of rescue. I had no more than crossed the Alex Fraser bridge and yielded to the 72nd turn when my engine not only quit, but would not start again. Perched precariously between cars passing me on the right and curiously watching me on the left, I tried in vain to turn the engine over. A flash of blue and red made me the center of attention and when the SUV parked on a diagonal and yelled to get my bike off the highway. Adrenalin took over and I ran the bike across and up 72nd to safety. "Looks electrical" the cop said. "When you tried to turn it over the light was not on"...hmmm.. The man not answering his cell - probably because he was pushing the bike. I urge the cops to leave. I am fine I say...though not confident that I really can get home. It ended well. The bike started a few minutes later and I was able to bolt nervously away and then had to wait for the man to arrive. 'Twas one of those nights...