On Saturday, I unshipped my chain. I not only remembered that when
the chain falls completely outside the chainwheels, one must get off
the bike at once (fiddling with the levers while moving is apt to get
it so thoroughly jammed up that the crank has to be pulled), I
remembered to get a paper towel and my little box of A&D ointment out
*before* I got my hands dirty.
For frosting, I did get it back on by fiddling with the levers (and
kicking the pedals), so that only one fingertip got a small black
mark. I could have wiped my finger on my tights and been fine, but it
was much nicer to wipe it on a paper towel, then grease it up and get
*all* the black off.
I've completely lost the habit of thumb-testing my tires *during* a
ride, not just when I'm getting ready to leave. I don't think it's
ever been a habit, just a lot of "dang, that oughta be a habit".
Was the tire all right when I left Kroger on Monday afternoon? I
dunno. Emerging from a parking lot, looking in four directions when
crossing McKinley, immediately picking my way to Penguin Point through
another parking lot, there wasn't a lot of attention to spare.
More grump: I asked for four thighs. The clerk said they hadn't any
thighs, but if I waited fifteen minutes, they'd fry some. "What's
ready?" Breasts and wings. I ordered a breast and four wings -- and
waited about a quarter hour for them to put them into a box and give
them to me. And when I got them home, they weren't at all good.
Penguin Point chicken used to be a rare treat! But I think I'll try
the Penguin Point on Lake Street again; they have always been better
than the one on Center Street. Before the plague, I'd frequently
order a three-piece meal at Lake Street, put two pieces on ice, ride
all over town, and have an excellent supper for two in the evening.
And they didn't taste left over.
The tire must have been flat when I left Penguin Point, but I walked
to Center Street -- distance too short to make it worth my while to
mount and dismount again, and Center Street is much easier to cross on
foot at intersections where there is no traffic light.
Whatever, I'd gotten to the little park in McKinley's median strip
(the Interurban used to run down the middle of McKinley, and for a
short distance McKinley is still two parallel streets) before it
struck me that the thunk-thunks were not synchronized with the
transverse cracks. (I was using the neglected side of the street;
both lanes are now two-way.)
So I called my spouse, then unloaded my groceries and packed them in
plastic bags -- I always carry a bag of plastic grocery bags to use as
packing material -- and he showed up in the truck just as I'd
So I took my insulated pannier apart, put the papers into the recycle
bin, hung all my bungees on the shelf, and forgot to remove my cable
lock -- I didn't have the key in my pocket, and something else caught
my attention before I got around to fetching it.
On Tuesday I walked to the Trailhouse. And a couple of hours later I
walked there again and rode back. I needed a new casing, of course. I
don't know whether the sidewalls were damaged, because the mechanic
stopped looking at it when he saw how thin the tread was.
About $38, and *much* cheaper than taking off a back wheel myself.
Shucks, I'd call it cheap if it had been a *front* wheel. I really,
really don't like changing tires.
My hair insists on staying brown even though I wash it in peroxide,
but I'm playing the "white-haired old lady" card for all it's worth.
Friday: I re-insulated the pannier in anticipation of tomorrow's
farmers' markets tour, then insulated the other one too, to be ready
when Duck Down & Above has a dinged-duck sale on a good day for riding
to Leesburg. Much to my surprise, I'm running low on plastic grocery
bags. Perhaps I've been a little too enthusiastic about getting rid
Also we've stopped using Martin's curbside service, so we don't get a
bushel of bags every other week.
west of Fort Wayne, Indiana, U.S.A.