Nerdish Alert

. . . about this post. There, you've been warned.  If you're into nerdish though, this post is kinda good.

The plan for this weekend was to find some nooks and crannies in my schedule to shake down and test out some of the gear details at Antoine, which I see as a fine proving ground for the Quilomene trip.  And also, to acquire a bit of fitness, of which I acknowledge I am seriously lacking.

I did manage to get the ass-end gear strategy implemented, at least for this trip.

Tent on top, sleeping bag underneath.  Both in super lightweight dry bags.  Hell ya.

Sleeping pad on the left, funky lightweight camp chair on the right.   Hell ya.

But as I was climbing, climbing, climbing Antoine, as one is wont to do, the shit kind of hit the fan:  I was on this steeper-than-average incline and so I was standing.  And then the pedals stopped turning.  Like, as in, some sort of serious chain suck type of event.  Except that it wasn't. It was similar, but it was a small chainring buckling type of event, as I have now begun to refer to it.

This picture's not the best, I know.  But I think you can at least ascertain that something's not exactly right.

There was no more pedalling that was going to be happening on this ride, with this bike, on this day.  Fortunately, karmically, I had been pedalling uphill, and all I had to do was generally coast downhill, back to the parking lot and truck.  Where I piled my quite messed up steed into the cargo hold.

Back home, I pulled the crank arm and got a glimpse of how bad things really were.  Let me say it for you:  "Holy living hell."

I would like to tell you that it was the massive power in my legs that destoyed this chanring and that I wouldn't wish the curse of massive leg power on you, let alone my worst enemy, but in good conscience I cannot. Because the picture does not lie.  Here's the deal, nerds:  The 3:00 bolt was "snug". The 6:00 bolt was visibly loose and backed off.  The 9:00 bolt was gone.  So there was very little resistance to the massive force generated by my legs (sorry, I cannot lie), and as a result, the system failed.  The 12:00 bolt, which I suspect was already loose, got pulled sideways out of the crank arm and left this aftermath . . .

So in conclusion, the little chainring and the crank arm are toast. I also need four of those funky machine screw dealies, because one is lost and one I don't feel good about and the other two I just want to replace, on principle.  I got everything pulled apart at about 6:30 and there's exactly one bike shop in town that I know of that is open at that time on Saturday and that is REI and so I bee-lined down there, hoping against hope. Which one should not do.  Because they didn't have what I needed.  Nothing against them.

Here's where the story gets kind of interesting, though . . .

Knowing that I would not have the time to go through my bike, mechanically, in preparation for this trip, I dropped it off at my LBS and told them what I knew was wrong with it and asked them to look it over from top to bottom and get it ship shape.  One of the things they found was that the large chainring had a chipped tooth, and I asked them to replace it.  Which they did.  In the course of which, they would have pulled the crank arm and possibly noticed anything weird about how the small chainring was fastened.  I guess I would have expected them to.  They would not have technically had to pull the small chainring off or have otherwise messed with it to replace the big chainring, to be clear.

BUT.  I rode this bike across the state and for hundreds of other miles and there were no chainring problems.  And then I take it in.  And when I get it back, within just a few short rides, I have this crazy failure.

I get that I'm responsible for my bike.  I guess.  On the other hand, if I trust a shop that assures me that they are qualified to look over my bike and charge me a considerable amount of money to do so, then I expect them to find and fix problems.  The whole thing just smells kinda funny to me, but I'll let you be the judge of whether I'm out of line here.

In other business, then.

I've always thought the idea of protecing your stay with an inner tube is quite rad, aesthtically, if not functionally and frugalitically (if that is actually a word).  All things in due time, of course, and as I was envying [Quilomene partner] Joe's same-style stay protector this week, I decided it was due time.

I'm pretty sure relatively certain that after last year's flatstravaganza, I will be carrying two spare tubes.

I've unabashedly stolen this concept of securing my dual $25 superflash tail lights against the bounciness of the trail from Mr. Speare.  One zip tie is all it takes.  Pow.  Thank you, Mr. Speare.

Gettin' Busier

I wish I could tell you that I am full on busy as far preparations for my trip are concerned. 'Busier' it is, sadly.  I honestly have no idea how I am possibly gonna be ready and at the same time, I know I'm gonna be.  Bike-karma-magicality-wise.

The first and so far only sole-purpose lasher rack that I know of  is owned by John and of course we're all waiting for him to step up and finally put it to work, but in the meantime I have this hybrid lasher that I took across the state last year and that worked out fabulously, if that is actually a word.

So I'm taking things to the next level, lasher-wise.  The master plan was to head out to the shop tonight and dry-run-lash all these elements to it:

Unfortunately, I didn't/don't have the quite-right straps in house. Strappage is huge, let me tell  you.  So there will be another hardware run tomorrow. What a surprise.

On a tangential subject:

The boots.  They barely got broken in on the cross state tour and they have been dabbling in horse-poop-mud on Antoine, but they are SO ready to throw down at Quilomene.  Mess is what they live for, so that's at least one detail I don't have to sweat.

The LuminAID

The play on words is multi-dimensional and pretty damned clever, if you ask me.  What it IS, may be even more clever, though.

I spend hardly any time on the interwebs these days, which are probably filled with gossip and reviews about this product, but I actually ran across it in [gasp!] the newspaper, under the outdoors section.  I'm glad to not know what I don't know about it, because I just think it's cool and have great hope that it's a great product.  I seriously want it to be, given the mission of the company that produces and sells it.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Please, read on.

What it is then, is this packaged bundled plasticy thing with a big window for catching rays and a plastic snap and an on/off switch. In technical terms.

Once you unsnap the snap, it unfolds into a larger plasticy, nonsensical bag-thing.  That has now become much bigger than a phone.

Leveraging 1960's air mattress know-how against modern day solar electricity generation, electrical energy storage and LED lighting technology is how this company apparently rolls.

Once "blown up", it becomes [much] bigger, as well as substantially thicker, than a phone.  (The master of the obvious is in the room.  Please give him some space.)

From there, the hard work is done and the only thing left to do is turn off all the lights in your house and turn your new LuminAID on.

Brandy is somewhat, but not *that* impressed.

I'm all in, though.  I'm excited about the bike camping potential of the product, of course.  But what make it so easy to throw dollars their way is that they really seem to have have a much higher calling than pleasing some douche in Spokane who nerds out on anything remotely bike and/or bike-camping related.  From their website:

The LuminAID solar light was designed to fulfill the basic need for light in post-natural disaster situations shortly after the January 2010 earthquake in Haiti.  When thinking about what we could design to make a difference, we decided to focus on affordable, renewable light because it had the potential to greatly improve the comfort, safety, and survival of disaster victims.

While on a school trip to Japan, we unexpectedly found ourselves in the middle of the earthquake in March 2011. Having experienced first-hand how a disaster can negatively impact the lives of millions, we are motivated to make the LuminAID light a reality for those affected by disasters, crises, and conflict.

About the Founders: Anna Stork and Andrea Sreshta met while studying architecture and design in graduate school. They shared an interest in solar lighting technology and a common belief that design and design thinking can be used to solve problems at a global scale, including improving access to basic resources such as lighting and power.

The purchase program involves an option to buy 2, of which you get one, and the other gets donated to women around the world in distress/disaster situations that need light.  For thirty freaking bucks!  And they handle it all.  Holy krap, even if they're something other than what they represent themselves to be (which I don't think is the case), how can you not just take a chance on "getting a light and giving a light"?

I just choose to think, until proven otherwise, that this whole enterprise is supremely rad.  The concept of siphoning my bike-douche-dollars as a means of doing something genuinely worthwhile is something I'm not letting go of without a fight.

I'll let you know how this product works, bike-camping-wise.  But that's really beside the point.  The way bigger and way better told story is here.

Getaway

Announcing My Presence

"BRAH, I'M ROLLING THROUGH YOUR HOOD!  LET'S GIVE EACH OTHER SOME SPACE!", is basically what I'm trying to communicate to the wild things on the hillsides of Antoine with this new hardware installation, which was inspired by a suggestion from Andy in Denver.  But there's no actual yelling involved.  The sound is soothing, actually.  And neither self nor beast need suffer my torturous singing any longer. Which is huge in itself.

There's one on the right shifter, and one on the left.  Because redundancy is a good thing when it comes to systems that can flat out save you from having your head flat out stomped in by an ungulate.

They flat out work, too.

"Wha dat thound?!?"

Deer don't talk much, so it's hard for them. Obviously.

A Magical Moment

I took exactly four iPhone pics on this morning's ride.  The first three were rather routine ride shots.  The fourth was to have been another rather routine ride shot until Bill threw a superhuman feat into the mix at precisely the right moment.

Proving once again, that when it comes to cell phone photography, as well as a multitude of other endeavors in life:
a.)  Timing is everything
b.)  It's better to be lucky than good
c.)  All of the above

I won't go into what this event proves from a cycling perspective, or try to debunk any misinterpretation on your part about what actually just happened.  Nor will I try to explain what we were all doing on this trail in the middle of a road ride, on road bikes.  I think it's better if you just use your imagination.  It's important to let you know that Bill and bike are fine, and I will leave it at that.

Pat's Hats

Last year, Pat bonded with a hat. Like, seriously bonded. With a hat.

He would just like to say it before you do: "Holy hell."

But in his defense, it was a GREAT hat. Maybe it still is.  He thinks not, but he isn't entirely sure.  Most of it's value now has to do with it's emotional connection to the John Wayne trip, he thinks. A relic, and a fabulous one at that.  But with expired functional value.  He thinks.  Mainly because it went through a stint in hell which inflicted much torture upon it and which culminated in a certain episode involving the fending off of bees, which rendered it, umm, . . . kind of, uhh . . . limp.  (It's hard to tell from the  photo, but trust him.)

It was this brand, which he didn't know anything about, but came to trust, due to the protection and comfort it gradually manifested.

New, stiffer, hats have recently caught Pat's eye.  A fool and his money are eventually parted and as of tonight then, a second hat is on the rack.

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss . . .

It's hard (pun unintended) to tell if Pat is somehow compensating for personal deficiencies.  Or maybe the new hat is an emotional security blanket - some kind of perceived insurance that the upcoming trip will be as good as the last.  Or maybe, just maybe, his judgement is intact and it's truly necessary that he equip himself with a hat that is 100% functional.  And quite stiff.  Only time will tell.