Signs of Intelligent Life

I can be a bone-headed person in regular life but throw one of my many obsessions into the picture, reason flees the room screaming and I am absolutely idiotic. Examples abound: when I sit on my bike and my wrist goes out, putting me in excruciating pain, but I decide to ride anyway even though I need both hands to ride that bike and it is a pretty bumpy trail and I rest my wrist on the handlebar and intend to stick with the planned 50-mile day. It takes me until Mile 5, when I have been in tears for 5 miles, and I hit an extremely rough patch, that I realize riding away from the car is a pretty bone-headed move. I could fill the endless space of the disinformation highway with similar examples, but really you don't care about them. My point is this: I did several smart things this week when it comes to biking. I turned back on Mile 5 of a road ride with Lou out in Ligonier and let him do the other 36 miles while I slinked back to the car, got out the easy ramble route directions from the book, and had myself a fine 27-mile ride that was actually fun and pleasant. Astounding. I did it because of Rational Reasons -- we started Way Too Late in the day, it was Very Hilly and it is starting to get Scary Dark earlier than before. Then, five days later, I decided to do only the 44-mile Tour the Montour ride even though we signed up for and intended to do the 62-miler. That was difficult to give up -- it only comes once a year and I really want to challenge myself and only wimps don't do the hardest possible choice available. But I had worked too many late nights in recent weeks with too little sleep and was headed to work right after the ride. And we got on the trail more than an hour later than I wanted. And Lou had already decided to do the veggie route. And really I suppose there is not an absolute need for life to be as difficult as I can make it when there are more pleasant and rewarding options. But I can't let myself think that way -- the only way I keep myself on the straight and narrow is to push myself. It's why I rarely take a day off biking; once I take one day off, it gets easier and easier to take more off. The excuses start to feel like valid reasons and suddenly I turn around and hear myself saying, "It was a little too cold today" or "Yeah, I was just too tired." But actually I am going to pull back from biking a bit and start throwing in more different forms of exercise that don't take every minute of spare time every day -- last week, I swam two days instead of biking. Two days, I hiked with Bandit instead of getting on the Rocket. I am trying to concentrate on making sure I mix in enough weight-bearing activities that I ward off osteoporosis instead of inviting it in the front door with flowers and a hug. But I did give the Rocket a bath today and her gears stopped squeaking. Tomorrow, I fix the bike computer and aim for a good 35 before work.

Knowing when to quit. Or not.

I am not a Turnbacker. I get swept up in the moment, defined by the ride, consumed by the hunt and I do not give up when I should, when any rational person would say, well that's quite enough adversity for the day, thank you, I think I'll go sip an ice-cold liquid delicacy of some sort, knit a sock or two, and plan how better to seize the day tomorrow. No, I put down my head, block out the possibility of ditching and grind stupidly on, a cog eager enough to get bent out of shape by the wheel as long as the job gets done, rah rah sis boom bah. And so when the 50-mile hill ride went horribly wrong early on, when riding up the first hill I discovered that the derailleur was somehow out of whack from being transported on the back of the car and that half my gears wouldn't shift; and when my attempts to fix it only made the other half moan and complain, obviously I should have taken Polly's advice and stopped, gone back to the car with my little tail between my legs, snuffled my way home and taken my other, working bike on a shorter, shadier ride. But I rarely make the right call when I am on a bike, on the ride already bejeezus. And so Lou stuck more closely by than normally he would, and we finished the ride, all 47.22 miles, a not small portion of it uphill in the sun with the temp off the road at 102 and one of the not-insignificant hills hitting 12% grade twice before topping out. I have exercise-induced asthma that gets worse in the heat, and I did stop and use my inhaler several times. Honestly, I was ok until we got back to the car and I tried to get off my bike and suddenly couldn't breathe for several panicky moments without painful wheezing. Which was very odd to me -- how was it that I was OK riding uphill on my bike in the heat until I reached safety, and then collapsed? The human condition, I suppose, that keeps us striving upward and onward, that pushes babies to stand and then to walk, that keeps curious minds searching for God or meaning in the universe, the hand behind the pattern. That is what grander minds aspire to; I am plain pig-headed, too prideful to admit when I have bitten off an insanely big mouthful for myself. No, I'd rather choke to death on it than turn back and do the rational thing. But it was nothing a cold pepsi and some blasting a/c couldn't fix. And so I live to ride another day. My three most recent rides: Friday, May 18 -- 28 miles for me -- pump house to Boston, then a few miles on the yough, and back, accompanied by the delightful Lisa and Christina. Gorgeous day, terrific company. I suckered Lisa into the ride by picking one of her favorite routes, and she rode with us to McKeesport and back to start easing back into biking season. Like a rational person! We all have to build back up into last summer's shape, and I was really impressed with her for sticking to her plan though I know she was itching to ride all the way. Chris and I rode on through dead man's hollow, then past Boston for a picnic before heading back. At McKees point, Chris says, uh-oh, I have a flat. Having changed two flats, nearly successfully, in that week, I felt excited and confident about getting us on the road again. Except that she didn't have an extra tube (I had two, but the rocket has dual 20s, and Chris's has 26s.) Bad, Chris. Still, I had scabz patches, so I got the wheel off, took the tire off the rim, found the hole, patched it and reassembled it and it didn't really take all that long. Except that then I heard the tire still hissing. Patch didn't work and we were 4 miles from a bike shop (other direction). And I had to be at work. So I raced the six miles back to my car and drove back to get Chris, who hung out outside the eatn park waiting for me and reported that people in McKeesport are really hospitable. Nice to know, but Chris, next time bring some tubes. Saturday, may 19. 50 miles on the yough river trail. I get tired of always riding to the start of the yough trail and then back. It's a great ride but really I miss the trail, which is a pretty great, wooded, riverside ride. So Lou and I drove to cedar creek and rode to connellsville and back. I took the fuji, and it was my longest ride on a regular seat in quite awhile. So around 35 miles my butt started getting kinda sore. And I decided last-minute not to wear my helmet -- I always wear my helmet, thanks to Craig at work who tells me how stupid it is not to. And I almost wiped out bad twice last week. But on the trail, leisurely paced, not crowded and with the likelihood of unexpected hazards being microscopic, I forwent the helmet but didn't have a cap, so the sun was killing me. Stopped at the rivers edge campground right outside connellsville and bought a hat so that made the ride back much more pleasant. We poked around in connellsville for vegan food and found a Mexican restaurant, El Canelo, where the sole guy (waiter, cook and cashier -- undoubtedly bottle-washer to boot) made me a perfect taco with lettuce, tomatoes, rice, beans and guac. Lou had a jumbo chicken burrito and with drinks the whole thing (sit down and all) cost $13. Unbelievable. Lou gave him a twenty, no change necessary. Great place. Very friendly to vegans! Sunday, may 20. 47 miles in wash county. Above-mentioned ride in the heat and the hills and the non-compliant gears. Still, all in all a pretty spectacular ride. Four deer, two herons, two hawks -- one of my highest wildlife counts in quite awhile. Few obnoxious frack sites, good company with the meetup bike group called Grupetto organized by Bob Miller, a good guy to wipe out in the mud with. Note to self -- 50 miles in the heat and hills is about 15 miles too much for me. Next time, at least consider this. Or not.

The day of the redwing blackbird

On Thursday, Lou calls me at work: "let's go to Erie this weekend." So I call the kennel for Bandit, rustle up a motel in north east (that's a town, in addition to a compass point) and early Saturday, off we go. I am looking forward to a fairly flat weekend after the difficulty of last weekend's rides, and north is the way to go. In western Pa., the souther you go, the hillier it get. Both of us were in a norther mood. Lou's goal on the bike is to be able to cross another ride off the list in the Great Book of Rides. My goal is to rack up the miles, the more, the merrier. My general plan in life is to ride 75-100 miles on the weekends, and the same over the course of the week. I am not quite there, but I like to have the brass ring just beyond my reach -- all the more reason to celebrate when I push hard enough to grab it. 1st ride: Saturday, may 12. Cambridge springs, 34-mile route; 38 with doubling back, little side trips and the usual intermittent confusion of following a cue sheet. Driving north on 79 to Erie, I have always wondered about the erie national wildlife refuge that is marked on several exit signs around meadville and edinboro. http://www.fws.gov/northeast/erie/r5ernwr_wildlife.html Not enough to actually drive the 15 miles off the highway to visit, but still, I have noticed and I have wondered. The Cambridge springs ride starts at edinboro lake, goes through Cambridge springs, traverses the refuge (seneca division) and then back to Edinboro. The refuge is exhilarating, peaceful, bucolic. We didn't see the bald eagles that nest there, or the hooded mergansers or buffleheads. Or any of the 37 varieties of reptiles and amphibians that frequent the joint. But knowing they're there makes my heart sing in my chest, and yours should too. After the ride, it was about 15 miles to Erie and then 15 miles beyond to the colonial motel in north east -- we really lucked into that one. Clean, comfortable, spacious with a kitchenette -- and only $70 a night after taxes. And right on route 5, so we didn't have to load the bikes onto the car for Sunday's ride. Perfect! dinner at the Freeport inn, a quarter-mile from the hotel. Ok, they had no vegans on the menu. But I got a baked potato and some grilled veggies with some salsa on the side and really I couldn't have been happier. (I won't lie -- the prime rib looked great.) Lou wolfed down his chicken parm. 2nd ride: sunday may 13. We intended to do the 32-mile cruise through the vineyards, into new York and then a long stretch back on 5, but ended up doing only 20 miles of it and then driving to presque isle to finish off the day's adventure. The ride was fine, and pretty, and there were a few really gorgeous sections. But 5 was a little bumpy and I just love presque isle, so given the muther's day choice, I went with my heart. Did I mention 5 was bumpy? Well, when I got onto my bike at presque isle, I immediately felt it -- the dreaded flat, 2nd time in a week. So I hopped off my bike and told Lou to go on ahead, I wanted to fix it myself. 15 minutes later, he calls. Yes, I have the wheel off the bike. No, I don't have the tire off the rim yet. But I'm fixing this myself, dammit, go on ahead. Ten minutes later, I call him -- I can't get the $&@;)?$ tire off the rim. Just couldn't wedge the tire tools around the rim hard enough to dislodge the stupid mfer. Grr. Lou comes back and lets more air out of the inner tube, which makes it much more doable. Plus he puts the tire tools in differently than I had them. Once he gets it started, I'm able to do the rest. But my stubbornness cost me an hour out of an hour and a half ride. What, me stubborn? But I am a little hopeful that next time I'll be able to do it all by my lonesome. I sure don't want to get stuck by myself with an unfixable flat down in dead man's hollow... Highlight of the ride: lunch on the lake at north east township park. Gorgeous. wind-whipped. Sadly, no whales.

The cable guy

It is Saturday midmorning, may 5, and I have not been on my bike much in the last week -- late nights, mad men and a snake encounter. So when Lou says, We need to go shopping today and get the house in order, I say, well maybe you do. I need to get on my bike. He has been riding to work every day and he feels like a change of pace. We'll take Bandit for a walk, he says. Why do we even have bikes, I say in absolute frustration. He laughs. That is a good thing about Lou. And so we head out to butler county for a spin, described in our "road rides of wpa" book as a casual ride for the intermediate cyclist. Where does the fat guy on the back of the book get off calling 32 miles mostly uphill a casual ride? Some people just outright lie, like when I had to get a shot as a kid and Dr. Thiers would say, This is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt you. I knew it wasn't true, but a girl can hope. Our first ride of the weekend: a cruise starting in saxonburg, home of the cable guy, John Roebling, a German immigrant who, there on the site of what is now Roebling park at the saxonburg history museum, invented wire-wrapped rope eventually instrumental in suspension bridges, electric toothbrushes and cable tv. Well, part of that sentence is true. I wanted a nice, gentle ride with a few modestly challenging hills to get me warmed up for the following day's ordeal. This was, ahem, a tad more taxing than I bargained for -- as in 32 miles of fairly relentless uphill, some of it quite steep. Highlight: the elk farm, which I would have enjoyed even more if they hadn't all run away from the fence when I stopped to gawk and coo at them; and if it hadn't been at the base of a daunting uphill. I didn't want to stop but, hey. Elk. Seriously. Low point: we kinda went right on victory road up a very steep grade only to find out a little past the top that we were supposed to go left on victory. Oh well, another notch in the belt.

The Bikeubator

I used to listen to my iPod when I rode, losing myself in Lyle or Paul or Keb Mo or Bonnie, just as I do running on the treadmill or driving long distances alone, a way to help the time shoot by and think as little as possible about the physical exertion of what I was doing. On the trails around here, 2 songs takes me a mile, so I would make a playlist for my rides knowing about how many songs it would take me to power through. There was the occasional day when I was riding with someone, or hadn't charged up, or would be on roads with cars and trucks and so would forgo the soundtrack. Eventually, I found myself listening less and less to music and more to the inner soundtrack I always have spooling through my brain and I realized that one of the things (just one of the very many things) that I adore about riding my bike is how much it heightens my senses, clears my mind and relaxes me into thought. I watch for wildlife, think about family and friends, postulate about the future, rehash the past and formulate plans of attack or approach for present entanglements. I'm an insufferable idea person as it is and, while I carry out only a teeny percentage of my ideas, that doesn't tamp down my enthusiasm for dreaming up more. Today on my ride I was thinking for the gazillionth time just how cool is the Student Conservation Association, for which two of my kids work, and wishing I was 20 so I could go live in the woods and work on trails and teach kids about the environment. And then it hit me that there might be a place for a Senior Conservation Corps, that provides training and opportunity for older people to plunge into some useful community projects. I don't know that it would be residential like the SCA is. I don't know that there would be funding for stipends like SCA offers. I don't know how it would work, or if there is already something like it. But I thought it was worth considering and maybe worth developing. The other thing I thought about was the loss this week of banjo maestro Earl Scruggs and poet Adrienne Rich. And I thought it might be interesting to put together a Book of Lives: 365 Deaths of People We Should Care About. Every time I do the obits page at work (these days, about once a week), I often think the stories are the best in the paper that day, even if I have to chop or water them down. Like Patience Abbe, the 11-year-old travel writer, who observed on my pages that "In Paris, women with children can always find a seat on a bus, no matter how first the others are." Or words to that effect.

Today's ride: Thursday, March 29. 24 miles of City trails, North Shore to the Strip, 31st Street Bridge to Millvale, Fort Duquesne to Fort Pitt Bridge along South Side to Hot Metal Bridge. Highlight: Lunch with Sandi at Little Bangkok; the stupid loss of an hour (a fourth time!), weeks after Daylight Savings Time, because I apparently didn't change the clock on my bike computer.

There's a spot of construction on the trail on the North Side just before the 31st Street Bridge. The trail is still closed right in front of PNC Park though it looks like that construction must be getting pretty close to complete. Over in the South Side, I was headed back to work when I noticed two guys running toward me, one in an orange shirt and a waddly gait -- sure enough, it was Lou. "I know you," he said in passing. I was surprised he was running because it was after 5 and he still had to ride home in the wind and the approaching dark. He called me at work a couple hours later and informed me he had done a "triathlon" -- he ran, he biked, he ate a turkey pita. I may do a "real" triathlon tomorrow. I could run on the North Shore, ride over to Oliver Bath House for a dip and then ride back. Something to think about. Happy trails.

Look, ma, no hands

I wish someone would explain to me why people can't be bothered to pay attention to anyone outside their own little universe. I can't count on two hands the groups of people who stopped on the trail today smack in the middle, strung across the entire path or rode two and three abreast. And didn't yield until the last minute as I approached, causing me to have to brake, swerve and swear. Sure, I'm more sensitive to it because I'm still a bit wobbly on the new bike and having to constantly slow down or swerve or hug the absolute side for fear of crashing into someone is nerve-wracking. And I can understand the occasional little kid wandering into my path, or plain not being able to control her bike all that well or someone hopping a rut. But common courtesy tells you that you have to share the path with other people. If cars acted like that on roads, we'd sink into anarchy, the government would collapse, your dog would refuse to take you on walks and you would have a grandson with a dog collar. Don't have a grandson with a dog collar. OK, I'm done now.

Today's ride: Sunday, March 18. Pump House to Boston, 24 miles roundtrip. Tires hit the road at 12:18. In Boston at 1:09. Back to my car at 2:25. Highlight: Topping 20mph on a downhill without toppling over.

Thought I'd take The Rocket for a little jaunt down to Boston town and introduce her to Dead Man's Hollow. It's a ride I know well, primarily flat and paved, but has several bridge ramps, a couple of uphill sections, two bridges where I'd have to ride narrow sidewalks, and some short road stretches in McKeesport. In other words, a bit of variety and a chance to gauge how ready I am for the rigors of road rides, sharing busier paths with other bikers, hikers and dog walkers, and tackling some hills. The answer: Not ready for everything, but I'm getting there. My feet still fly off the pedals when I go downhill unless I position the pedals properly, with my left foot down at 6-7 o'clock and my right foot at 12-1 o'clock. I guess because my feet are elevated out in front of me instead of being close in to my body, they act like frenzied extremities with a life of their own. The other thing I'm slowly learning is having enough control and balance that I can scratch my nose without crashing. Seriously, it's like water torture -- when I think about the fact that I can't take either hand off the handlebars for even a split second, then all of a sudden my nose itches, my hair is in my eyes or mouth, the top of my head feels wonky under my helmet. But I was able to scratch my nose three or four times today -- Look ma, no hands!

Do you hear what I hear

We are driving away from the house, headed to the Freeport-Butler Trail. We (meaning Lou) have loaded the bikes on the new rear rack. The Rocket has to ride upside-down, otherwise she fights with the Bachetta."Did you hear that, as we were leaving," Lou asks, making a pitiful whining noise. "From the basement?"

OK, so I know my "old" bike is sad. She got me through winter, through the chill rains and biting winds, out in the mud and muck with the other crazy people who refused to let their two-wheelers hibernate. She spent many a dark night shivering in the parking lot outside work, waiting patiently for me to come out, waiting patiently for spring. And now it is warm and the road beckons, and she doesn't understand why I haven't wheeled her out of the basement in almost a week. Well, there's a new baby in the house, that's all there is to it. I will always love my Fuji. She is tricked out exactly how I want her -- handlebar spots for my coffee, phone and computer; my rear rack with a huge carryall that lets me take along extra clothes, my lunch, my first aid kit, my tools, an extra drink or two, a couple snacks, my lights and pretty much anything else I want to pack. I carried a tree (blue spruce) around town for a couple hours one day. She's the bike that got me to fall in love with biking again. But I want to get acclimated to The Rocket so she will have a place in my life too. And so for awhile, she will be my main ride. It takes all different muscles to ride a short wheelbase recumbent -- I feel it in my abs, my knees, my calves. They are both really comfortable bikes, easy on my shot-to-hell wrists and hands, easy on my neck and back, stretched out with the cranks forward, what they call relaxed geometry. If I had to choose just one, it would not be close -- obviously I would choose my "old" bike. Maybe someday that will change, but for now I am less anxious and more confident riding her. And anyway you don't just abandon your first love.

Today's ride: Saturday March 17, hin and yon on the Freeport-Butler Trail, 40 miles altogether (OK, 39.87). Tires hit the road at 1:33. Got to Butler at 4. Back at the car at 6:30.

Highlight: Ian, 5, who was set up near Mile 17 with drinks and snacks for sale in a cooler. There are no (zero, nada, zilch) facilities of any kind on the trail. No portajohn. No water. No place to stop for an energy bar. Oh, wait. Except for Ian's place. He's an adorable little guy who was looking out for me because Lou had stopped before me and paid for a snack and a drink for me -- a whole dollar. Which bought an ice cold bottle of water and a peanut butter bar that was close enough to vegan for me -- wasn't marked vegan but didn't have any ingredients that jumped out to discredit it. "You know why I'm selling stuff?" he said. No, I didn't. He whispered in his dad's ear. His dad said, Tell her. "To buy toys," Ian said. The kid's going to be able to buy some kick-ass toys by the end of summer. There is just no competition.

The trail itself is gorgeous. Much of the first half runs alongside a creek -- I bet it's Buffalo Creek, judging by the name of the bridge near the trailhead. There are little waterfalls all along the way that I'm sure provide a kind of natural air-conditioning when it's hot out. Much of the trail is shaded but it was never cold, even as the sun was thinking of sinking in early evening. The trail passes a large working farm (Jones Farm) with the requisite No Trespassing signs and others that said Do Not Throw Objects At Turkeys. Which was disappointing because I so wanted to. Not that I saw any turkeys or really any throwable objects. And then there were the large brown and white signs around Mile 18 that said CAUTION, ENTERING RIFLE RANGE. They seemed like pretty ridiculous signs. I mean, what are you supposed to do, duck if you see a speeding bullet? So I figured I'd get a picture on the way back but, no fooling, there was the crack of gunfire just as I reached the signs on my return and I thought better of it. So I guess I did exert caution after all.

As good a place as any

Let's start at the very beginning.

Last year, I got a new bike. Yesterday, I got another.

Both events help explain why I am a different person than I was last year.

I love to be out on the road or on the trail, sun, chill, drizzle or mud. Who doesn't love a sunny day? But life is more than just the sunny days and if you wait around for everything to be perfect all the time, you'll lead a sad little life.

This blog is an attempt to chronicle how riding has broadened my perspective, changed my direction, rekindled my enjoyment of my surroundings.

I plan to write a bit about each ride, which will help me see where I'm going and keep track of where I've been, and any remarkable tidbits in the scenery along the way.

My rides this week:

Saturday, March 10 -- about 15 miles on the Montour

We did a little ride, not much of one, poking around the Montour.

Lou has had a very rough winter without going into details, so this was his first time on the bike in a month, and probably only his second time in about four months. Me, I'd been riding all winter but mostly the trails in and around Downtown, Southside, Northside, or from the Pump House out to Boston and back. I hadn't been on the Montour since late fall.

We started at Clifton, rode the mile down to the end and remembered our first ride together on that trail last July or so. I'd really just started riding, had just bought my Fuji Saratoga from Adam over at Thick Bikes. Lou had been on the trail once before and suggested we ride down the hill to warm up, then ride back up and head the other way. Those were the days when 10 miles sounded like a long ride! and I didn't have a bike computer so relied on trail markers for distance. I remembered being terrified the whole way down that coming back up would be unimaginably hard. I remembered watching people's faces who were riding up and being amazed that they didn't look like they were about to fall over from exhaustion. And then I reached the end, turned around and rode back and barely noticed the uphill, at least on that section.

Anyway, this most recent time we kept hitting gaps in the trail and it was kinda frustrating. The last one, we took the ride-around for through riders and did a couple of respectable climbs. Unfortunately I didn't have my inhaler with me (thought it was in my bag and it wasn't) so I wasn't able to give myself any help along the way. When we got back to the car, I kept coughing up crap for about a half-hour which was pretty worrisome -- it was definitely from the hills. I'll triple check from now on instead of trusting my memory.

Sunday, March 11 -- 43 miles, Pymatuning. Highlight: Saw a bald eagle in flight!

Stayed up later and got up earlier than I wanted to for the 2-hour drive up to Pymatuning. We did a cruise out of the Western Pa. Road Rides book (Lou's goal is to do every ride in the book. My goal is not to die trying). Our tires hit the road at the state park office at 1:33 pm and we got back to the car at 4:45. Or was it 5:45? It was daylight savings day and I kept losing track of time. Anyway we didn't get home till 8, so I guess we got back to the car at 5:45? The ride was nice, mostly flat, not much traffic. We made one wrong turn -- damn those unmarked roads -- but it only cost us a mile or so. I had accidentally left my lunch in the car so all I had with me was an apple and some sports beans but that was plenty. The weather was perfect too -- I was glad to have a light jacket along and wore my long sleeve jersey. More lake views would've been nice, but fortunately it wasn't all gas wells or trucks.

Thursday, March 15 -- 18.18 miles, West Newton to the Buena Vista store, back past the bike shop 2-1/2miles to make my 18. First outing on my new Rans Rocket that Mary built for me the night before. I was really anxious I wouldn't be able to ride it with my feet up in the air, but it has dual 20-inch wheels, not the dual 26's Lou's has, and so I think that's why it really wasn't hard to get started. I tried it out in the street in front of the house first -- coasted down the hill and was immediately able to get both feet up and pedaling. So I felt pretty confident I could start it on the flat and that hasn't been a problem. The steering is twitchy though -- I went over the handlebars at 2.74 miles out because I lost control when I tried to brush a hair out of my face, but it was slo-mo and soft into the grass so I wasn't hurt at all. It will be a while before I am comfortable on the roads though.

Friday March 16 -- 7.5 miles, work out to Woods Run and back.

Took the Rocket for a bit of a spin before work, and I'm getting more comfortable on it. I'm still shy of roads and other people and found myself having to apologize a few times for not steering all that well. Made the mistake of trying to wave to Mya as I was nearly back at the parking lot. Bad idea. A guy at the prison yells at me "Hey, someone put your bike together all wrong." Everyone's a comedian. I said, "Huh, that explains a lot."