Seeing red
I got some sun today. Saying I got some sun is like saying Lake Ontario has some water in it.
I was talking with Mark about the bike a couple of weeks ago. He suggested that we go for a ride some time. Today was the first of our rides. It was enjoyable enough that we’re already planning to do it again.
The day was a few degrees either side of 70 as time went by, and absolutely clear and dry. The color of the sky was something I associate with the western desert—a shade that quite defies description.
My arms are turning redder by the minute and are already sore from the burn. My face is red enough that I look perpetually embarassed. As for the top of my head, I think I’ll have leopard spots from where the sun shone in through the holes in my helmet. I waited too long before buying a skullcap to wear beneath it. And of course, I have a red neck. I’d thought of deploying my built-in neck sunshield, but I’ve learned already how tangled my hair gets when riding. I left it tailed.
Mark picked me up around 1:00 and we loaded my bike on his rack. I had to remove the front wheel. Otherwise it would have been just three inches from the street. Thank heavens for quick-release levers. Watching this, Mark commented, “My, you do have a big one.”
Being the first time I’d removed the front wheel, it took me a bit to figure out how to put it back on again when we arrived at our destination. We drove out to the Lock 32 on the canal at Clover St (NYS 65) in the southeastern suburb of Pittsford.
Pittsford, BTW, is the highest income suburb in the county. There’s some more expensive real-estate further out in Mendon and Victor, but Pittsford has the highest concentration of wealth. This was reflected in the bikes and attire of others parked at the lock. I briefly felt out-classed surrounded by all the lycra bicycle shorts, jerseys, clipless bike shoes and the carbon-fiber bikes. (Mine’s aluminum, the same material as beer cans.) But I got over it pretty fast.
We headed east on the canal towpath and immediately encountered a sign saying “Dismount”. One must carry one’s bike down a set of stairs to go under Clover St. You can see the lock and the stairs running up under the Clover St bridge in this photo from one of our staff luncheons at Presbytery. (The bike path and stairs ar on the right. the stairs on the left are for the lockkeeper.) There are 62 other photos in that gallery taken from the water side of the first couple of miles of our ride today.
Remounting, I was shocked when, just a few yards beyond, the pavement ended and the bikeway became crushed limestone and stone dust. Shit, I thought to myself, On the west side the whole damned thing is paved. Which, as a west-sider, made me feel superior. (Even though I live on the east side now, one never loses the taint of one’s birth.)
A couple of miles further along, the pavement returns and we entered the Village of Pittsford. Yes, there seems to be a limited vocabulary of place names around here. Villages and towns with the same name are quite common, and quite confusing to the newcomer. Then there’s places like East Rochester, which isn’t part of the city at all, but a village several miles east.
Anyway, entering the Canal Park in the Village of Pittsford there are signs again, “Dismount” and the pavement is lettered in big, big letters, “Walk Your Bike”. There are a lot of people and not much space, so this is a reasonable request.
The pavement ended and we could ride again. The canal loops south making the not quite a mile overland trip to Fairport, our inteded turnaround point, into a pleasant 4½ mile ride. But the people and bike traffic. Yow!
It wasn’t quite as enjoyable as it could have been since we had to keep from running over walkers, running into bikers and stay out of the way when being passed by other bikers. In that regard, it was nearly as intensive as riding in traffic. But the scenery was nicer and the fairly level towpath was a nice, easy ride.
Halfway to Fairport, we left the path and crossed the canal into Bushnell’s Basin, which was the western terminus of the canal from 1825 to 1832. In Bushnell’s Basin, we stopped for the first Abbott’s Frozen Custard of the season. I had my usual double-dip vanilla in a regular cone. And savored every lick.
Back on the trail, the ride was uneventful out to Fairport and back to the Village of Pittsford. We’d planned to eat at Alladin’s canalside. Locking up to the bike rack, I noticed that I was the only one locking up. Every other bike in the rack—most of them much more expensive than mine—and dozens of others scattered around Canal Park were unlocked.
Screw ‘em, I thought. I’m locking it. Life is apparently quite different for the affluent. They’ll not think twice about locking their cars and setting the alarm (even within a few feet of the bike rack) but bikes worth a thousand or two or more? Just leave it in the rack or against a tree. When we left, Mark asked, “Do I have to take the same one I rode here?” I was still too flabbergasted to reply.
Anyway, we got back to the car around 5:00 and back to my place around 5:30. I was appalled by the amount of stone-dust that accumulated on my bike during our three hours of riding. I’ll never again complain about the dirt in the city streets.
After a nap, I gave the bike its first shower. I don’t have a lot of choices living in an apartment. I could have pulled-out the kitchen sprayer and tried to hose it down on the fire escape, but there were new tenants moving-in and and I’d have showered them too. There is a hose around back, but there was a drunken barbeque in progress there and I don’t have a bucket for soapy water. The final choice was my shower.
I carried my filthy bike through my clean apartment, took off the seat and the front wheel (I’m getting good at that) and stood it on its back wheel in the shower with the handlebars against the wall. The water ran black just from the initial hosing down from the shower massage. Yuck. I made some soapy water in the sink, and used one of my cleaning towels on everything. I paid particular attention to the gears and chain, hosing them down while I cranked the pedals and scrubbing out the grit as best I could with the soapy towel.
Back on the balcony, I used a little WD-40 to chase away the water on the drivetrain and in the morning, I’ll re-oil the chain, derailleurs and cables. Then it’s off to the bike shop for the free 30-day service.
I’ll be without it for two days. I’m already having withdrawal.
