The Fallout

So, of course, once you reach a certain age, a simple bicycle accident is no long just a simple bicycle accident. The week after my mishap, I found I was very angry on the bike. I pounded on the trunks of cabs. I yelled at drivers who failed to signal. I was clearly shaken by the experience and taking it out on anyone who crossed my path.

Also, my wrist still hurts. I've been riding with a wrist brace on, which sucks and is uncomfortable. And because my body is older than it used to be, I can only assume this injury will linger into the winter. I'm off the bike today, trying to get it a little extra rest. Not sure what I'll do tomorrow. Probably not the smart thing.

Last Thursday I compounded my cycling misery with a mechanical on the way home in the dark. I was cranking along when all of a sudden I heard a POP-TING!! For a moment I thought maybe I had kicked a rock up into the frame, but then there was another POP, and the pedals went slack. I'd somehow blown the master link on my chain. The first sound was the face plate flying off and dinging the frame. The second was the link letting go.

Fortunately, I was just up the hill (and thus able to coast) from my bike shop, AND the lunatic who owns the place was still there, half-an-hour after closing time. So he slapped a new chain on for me. It's too bad that, in his haste to get me going (and thus get himself home) he mis-adjusted the spacing on the rear wheel, so that every heavy pedal stroke produces a horrible grinding sound that repeated dirtying of my hands has failed to fix.

That's another reason I left the bike home today. That horrible, horrible sound. It goes away if I flip the wheel and ride fixed, but given the dodginess of my wrist, that prospect held no little charm either.

The Cyclosaur sustained an injury of his own, which has kept him off his steel mount for some weeks. I wish he'd go ahead and tell us about it, but he's too busy for the likes of us. Me. You. And our silly hobby.