Trials and Trails

   While I wasn’t exactly thrilled with jury duty, the long wait to see if was to be selected (nope) allowed me to gather my thoughts for what I might write about today. During the screening process, when the question was asked whether I had ever been a victim of a crime, I immediately thought about the driver who ran into me and totaled my blue 1988 Cannondale SR500. No charges were filed or anything, but considering how well I had taken care of the bicycle and how close to new condition it was, despite its 20-year age, I think the word “crime” is fairly appropriate.

I have only a couple photos of my Cannondale. Little

brother Mark is getting a faceful of my rear wheel spray

during this wet Philadelphia Bicycle Club race, circa 1992.

   The bicycle had taken most of the impact, which had sent me sprawling across the hood of the SUV. I remember vividly sliding down towards the front bumper with the bike still attached to my feet by the clipless pedals and also how glad I was that the woman driving had hit the brakes before my legs got entangled with the bike going under the vehicle!  

   The driver was very remorseful and struggled to keep her panic to a minimum. She ranted about rushing to her son’s graduation and that she didn’t see me when she turned in order to avoid the traffic at the next intersection. She pulled herself together well enough to ask if there was someone she could call for me. After I relayed my home number, she even spoke briefly to Sue to explain what had happened and that I was okay, before handing over her phone.

   I was quite shaken, and dragged my twisted bicycle to the sidewalk nearby in frustration. I remember the driver's words clearly, “Don’t worry about the bike – I’ll buy you a new one! It's only important that you're okay.”

   It was only days later, when her jerky husband got involved, that all promises where quickly forgotten. With no police report filed on the scene (I’ve learned my lesson with this issue), the opportunity to escape responsibility presented itself, and because the bike held more value in my eyes than anyone else’s, the insurance companies didn’t exactly throw bags of money at me. I kept thinking about justice in this situation – sometimes there simply isn't any.

   I would never say this was a positive experience, but it did change my life for the good, in that I became more aware of what was on the market during my search for a replacement bicycle. I eventually took the opportunity to buy a personal dream bike (or two) and, faced with the cost of maintaining my small collection, decided to learn all necessary skills to do the work myself. As I became a capable “wrench” and handled basic repairs for folks in my community, things flowed into a repair/refurbish/restoration business to keep me occupied when I wasn’t out on the road.

   We were released from the courthouse early enough that I could get in a long afternoon ride. It was a little warmer today, so I planned to take my ‘cross bike out on a loop that included the unpaved surfaces of the Perkiomen Trail and the section of the Schuylkill Trail from Phoenixville back towards my home.

   This is only the third time I’ve taken the Atala out for an extended ride, and I always come away disappointed with how sluggish it feels while traveling on streets. I shouldn’t be surprised, since I was riding on 28 mm knobby tires and the bike weighs nearly twice as much as my Pinarello, especially since I finished its recent overhaul with carbon parts. I found myself thinking of that Motobécane "tank" I sold a couple years ago because of its cumbersome ride quality. To be fair, the Italian build of the Atala is much more graceful, and with much higher quality, lighter-weight steel tubing than that French beast - there really is no comparison!

   My mood changed quickly, as the Atala really shined when I hit the cinders, reminding me of the type of riding for which the bike was intended. The steel frame absorbed so much vibration, of which there would be plenty on some of the Perkiomen Trail's ragged, stony sections. Because of heavy use, portions of the route have been scoured clear of the original cinder. Here the wider tires, solid 32-spoke wheels and gentle rake (see diagram) of the front fork also helped to smooth out the ride, and I was flying along through the woods!

   When I reached the pavement again near Oaks, I wasn't even letting the sluggishness bother me. Now heading on the Schuylkill Trail towards Mont Claire, I decided to try an experiment on a short wooden bridge that crosses a small tributary emptying into the river. Because the pavement joints on each end of the structure are fairly poor, when riding any of my road bikes, I usually hop over the spaces in order to avoid the awful chain slap and other equipment rattling that would normally occur. However, I chose to ride the Atala right over the bumps, and although I certainly felt the jolts, all I heard was a couple soft thumps – meraviglioso!