TUCA Ride and a Flying Bike

Giro Ride Optimists Club heading out Saturday for a good soaking

Last weekend was a study in contrast. I got up Saturday morning and, once again, stared at the weather radar for five minutes like a fortune teller gazing into a crystal ball. Also like a fortune teller, I made a guess since weather forecasts this time of  year are just one notch above crystal balls, which is to say they might be right or they might be wrong. In this particular case, my guess was that we might, possibly, with some luck, make it through most of the Giro Ride before the rain started. I was almost right, but could have used additional input from that crystal ball about other near-future events that would be unfolding. So as the 7 am start time approached I wasn't at all surprised to find a skeleton crew of about a dozen optimists ready to roll out under the dark sky. I'd had an upset stomach since getting out of bed - something my morning coffee had done nothing to abate, so suffice it to say I wasn't feeling too hot. Along Lakeshore Drive we picked up a few more riders and as we hit Hayne Blvd. someone at the front put the hammer down. It took me only a minute or two to decide that a hard ride would probably do me more harm than good under the circumstances, so I eased over and eased up. Jeff came by and looked over, "You OK?" I told him I was fine. He hesitated for a moment and eased up also. So with one other rider I figured I'd just ride easy and get back into the group when it was on the way back. A minute later another rider who had lost a water bottle on one of the many holes in the road also joined us. We decided to take a bit of a shortcut, turning onto Bullard to avoid the stretch on the Interstate, and then taking the partially blocked service road to Chef. By then a light rain was starting to fall, so naturally that's when I flatted. After pulling a tiny little arrowhead shaped shard out of my worn-down rear tire, I got rolling again just in time for the rain to get heavier. I looked up ahead and said, "How about we turn around that the next intersection?" which of course we did. So in general, Saturday's ride was kind of miserable, and I got home cold and wet. Taking off my shoes back at home I poured the trapped water out of them and put them in front of the box fan, knowing that blowing humid basement air over wet shoes wasn't likely to get them dry before Sunday. Later in the day I hit both of them with a hair dryer and returned them to the box fan. They were still a little damp when I put them back on Sunday morning.

So Sunday there was a planned 70+ mile Tulane ride up in Independence. By morning the sloppy weather had moved out and it was looking like we'd have a pretty beautiful day with temperatures in the low 60s, a light breeze, and lots of sunshine. Gavin was meeting me at my house at 6:30 so we could drive up together. Around 6:15 there was flurry of texts because Nisha's car wouldn't start and she was supposed to be giving Javier a ride. Fortunately I had all three bike mounts on the roof rack and Javier lives nearby so he and Gavin showed up right on time.

I think we had eight for the ride, which was a pretty good number for this sort of thing. I wasn't expecting it to be a really hard ride since Julia was just coming off being sick and it was Joey's first long ride with any significant terrain. Of course, there were a few Strava segments that were fast, but the longest was only maybe four miles. Otherwise it was nice smooth double paceline looking at the cattle and horses and stuff. By the time we got back to the cars I felt like I'd gotten a good little workout without doing too much damage. I loaded my bike onto the middle fork-mount tray and went across the highway to talk with some of the others for a while. Meanwhile, Gavin and Javier put their bikes on the roof as well. Javier was using the thru-axle adapter since his bike doesn't have the traditional fork ends. There was discussion about stopping for food somewhere around Hammond on the way back, so we kind of rushed off. I asked Javier if his bike was secure and he said it was. I was one of the rare times when I didn't put all of the bikes on the roof myself. Something I'd soon regret. 

Ouch!

We got onto the interstate and within a mile heard a noise above us. Javier looked back and said, "That's my bike!" It had gone flying off the roof at 70 mph. In the mirror I could see his bike lying conveniently on the shoulder of I-55 and thought, "Well, at least it's not in the middle of the highway" as I quickly flipped on the hazard flashers and backed up. A couple of big trucks moved over to the left lane as they approached, and I couldn't help but imagine the disaster that might have ensued if that bike had landed in the middle of the interstate. Somehow the entire adapter, which has big thick lawyer tabs on it, had come out of the fork mount, which should have been impossible if the clamp was closed, and then we realized that the rear wheel had not been strapped down. The handlebar had cracked the carbon fiber top tube all the way across, and both brake levers had obviously hit hard. The rest of the bike was in remarkable good shape. 

This morning I did a nice easy recovery ride on the levee. The temperature was down around 59° which felt quite chilly. It's looking like the next few morning will likewise be on the cool side, but at least things should get a chance to dry out a bit.