Ride Report 8/11

23? miles in a lot of time on the Trek

I have to find a way to mount my mini pump and a second bottle cage on the Trek, so I head to some local bike stores to see if any of them carry premade gadgets to help me out. The first store does not carry frame mounts for pumps or for bottle cages. The sales clerk who is helping me is nice enough to test ride the Trek and dismisses my concerns about the front brake hissing when it is engaged. The second store does not have bottle cage mounts for the Trek's fatter frame, but they do give me extra rubber strips to pad hose clamps and protect the bike frame. I head out on my ride to the bike trail to Elverta and back.

To my surprise, I don't feel like listening to music today. I am content to listen to the sounds of traffic. In contrast to last week, most of the bike path occupants are courteous or at least neutral as I go by. Twice, cars stop to wave me through crosswalks. What is wrong with people today? A couple miles short of my halfway point, I pass Bernie going south on the path. We both stop and turn around.

I join him going south, and Bernie pays proper homage to the new bike. He agrees that it is the proper size for me and that my riding form is improved just by being on a correct bike. We discuss my equipment mounting issues and the unusual weather (overcast, windy and surprisingly nice for a day with a forecast high of 102) for the short distance before his exit.

On my way back through downtown, I try one more bike store. They do not have a bottle cage mount, but they tell me to check with the "guys in back" to see if they have a spare pump mount. They do, and it fits my fat mini pump when it's extended, so one problem out of the way. I have no choice but to go with hose clamps again to mount a second bottle cage.

As I get home, I decide to test the brakes again. I put my hands on the drops and brake hard on my corner. I have my left foot unclipped to balance on, so I naturally fall over onto my right side, reopening the almost-healed scab on my right knee. I swear loudly, which may be why I do not hear inquiries into my well-being from my neighbors sitting on their porch across the street. Dripping blood and with a bruised ego, I make my way inside to patch up both.