My knees are feeling the impact of the past week’s riding, especially after having the previous two weeks off. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have jumped back in with quite such vigor, but I did really enjoy my “commute” downtown to the conference over the weekend. If anyone is reading this from especially cold parts of the country, I apologize, but it’s been just a little too warm here for my personal riding comfort. Because I was going downhill on the way there, I was never sweaty when I arrived at the conference, but coming home, I was usually pretty hot and sweaty. You’d think we could at least get some decently cool weather in January, but you’d be wrong.

Last night I accomplished one of those tasks that I had been dreading and putting off for literally years: disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling a Sturmey-Archer three-speed hub. I had a “spare” hub that needed a diagnosis for skipping in 3rd gear, so I used it as a trial run for dismantling, diagnosing, and cleaning the two hubs on my daily ride and my grocery bike (both of which are now skipping in both 2nd and 3rd gears). The task was not nearly as monumental as I’d imagined, with a little help from a copy of the relevant pages of a Sutherland’s guide. I think I figured out what the problem with this particular hub is (worn clutch and pinion pins), which will help me make a diagnosis on the other two (same problem, I’m guessing).

It feels good to have crossed the “final frontier” of three-speed hub maintenance, and I’m actually looking forward to tearing into the other two. It’s fun to make broken things work again.

On the traffic thing, I notice how much calmer I am in traffic these days. At the base of Park there were all kinds of funky lane things going on: buses straddling lanes, cars trying to get over, etc. But I’ve learned to place myself safely and just wait. I mean really, I’m not trying to break any land-speed records anyway, so why squeeze perilously between a bus and a parked car just to get a few seconds worth of head start off the light? I like the old bike safety slogan for kids from the 1960s: “Drive Your Bike” — which means ride your bike the way you would drive a car. The idea then was to use bicycles as a sort of traffic training for “growing up” and driving a car, but I like the basic message, which I take to mean “Be Traffic.” It’s pretty empowering, actually.

I was happy to find that the hotel has secure, monitored bicycle parking in their garage, which makes me feel better about leaving my rig for hours on end. It’s really convenient, actually, so I’m pretty happy about the prospect of riding to the conference.

I’ll go down on Thursday to pick up my badge and conference packet, and I’ll try Park Blvd./12th Street to Island Ave. instead, bypassing the worst parts of Island and taking about 3/4 of a mile off the ride. Then, for the next three days, I’ll have an actual commute, just like a real person.

I intended to take my regular rider (1955 Huffy/Raleigh Sportsman), but about a half-block from home, the chain slipped off the rear cog (I have no idea why or how) and it proved too greasy and complicated for a quick fix. I walked it back to the garage and took the grocery bike. I don’t often ride these two bikes back-to-back like this, and the difference in comfort level and ride quality has never been so apparent. There’s a reason one is a utility bike and the other is a “riding” bike.

I’m having trouble with both of my three-speed hubs at the moment. Everything is adjusted according to all of the sage advice of a half-century, and they’re still both skipping in second and third gear. I think this means (ugh), that I’ll have to try to take them fully apart, clean the internals, and try to diagnose the problem on the inside. I’m am not looking forward to this. Time to get real familiar with lots of little greasy bits.

Unfortunately, the ride for my wife and I wasn’t all jaunty getups and pleasant showers. About 1/4 of the way into the ride, my wife’s front wheel hit a curb and she took a pretty bad tumble. A little piece of her front brake snapped off, too, so we ended up walking home in the rain, all dressed up. She got pretty banged up, but nothing life-threatening. Her elbow and knee have sizable goose-eggs on them today and are turning pretty colors, and she’s still stiff and sore.

We did, however, manage to get home, dry off a little, and make it back down to The Station for the after-ride party, which was fun. We had a burger and a beer and a lot of good conversation with friends. The rain stopped long enough for the party to be outdoors, which was very pleasant. The wind picked up a bit as we were leaving, and we knew another round of rain was coming in the night. It stormed all night, which was wonderful to listen to.

Today, I took the ride we didn’t get to take yesterday, following the route of the Tweed Ride, about 12 miles.  It was an ideal Sunday afternoon ride. The city was quiet and still smelling of rain, although the sun was out today. The trees are still turning and dropping leaves, and the mid-afternoon sunlight was perfect to show off all the fall color. Balboa Park was surprisingly busy for an off-season and slightly chilly Sunday afternoon, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the lovely fall day. On the way home, a kid on a fixed gear complimented my bicycle, a favor which I returned as he flew past me. I was just happy to see another bicyclist. Altogether, an eventful weekend, a mixed bag of good and not-so-good, but it came out well enough in the end.

I anticipated the nastiness by wearing old shoes (foot brakes become necessary in wet weather with steel rims – no braking power), a coat, and bringing garbage bags to put over my grocery bags to keep everything dry. All turned out to be very necessary, although I was still soaked through by the time I got to the store, and double so by the time I got home.

I saw one bicyclist on my way to the store. He waved and nodded knowingly, I returned the salute with what I hope looked like stolid good cheer, but which probably came off more grim than that.

By the time I got there, I was sure someone was going to need to follow me around the grocery store with a mop for safety reasons, but after I literally squeezed the water from my pant cuffs, I was fine. Soaked jacket and messenger bag went on the bottom of the shopping cart, and everything was cool.

It took me a little longer to load the bike on the way back, since I had to put everything in garbage bags to keep the groceries dry. I also had to put my soaked gloves and jacket back on, which was not pleasant. While I did all this, a couple passed me going to their car and said, “man, we like bikes too, but boy….” I laughed and said “yeah, I know.”

The trip home was significantly more miserable than the trip out. Several sizeable rivers had developed on my route by the time I headed back, a couple of which I forded at low speed, grateful for my fenders. Turning south, the wind hit me full on, coming from the south and west, and several times blowing me a bit sideways. The rain drops actually stung my face, another first for me, at least since living here. A palm tree was down across the street from the Mason’s Hall near our house, and a crew was working to clear it. Sirens sounded almost continually in the distance. This is what happens when Southern California gets a little rain and wind.

Once safely at home in the garage, I unloaded the bike, wiped it down, and took the groceries upstairs. Not a single wet item in my bags, which made me very happy, but it was a fleeting joy, since I next had to peel off my soaked clothes. The hot shower that followed never felt so good. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the whole endeavor had taken twice as long as usual.

It was an unseasonably cool morning, and I will admit that I was somewhat chilled when we started, wondering if my three light layers would be enough. I was also a touch apprehensive, since I have never ridden that far, and my fifty-five year old bike hasn’t had a testing like that since I rebuilt it in the spring.

Thankfully, a couple members of our group had journeyed east before, so we were cheerfully and competently guided through a maze of residential streets until we hit the major arterials we would be using for the rest of the ride. We visited parts of neighborhoods I had never seen before, which is always rewarding, as I gain a new impression of places I thought I had pegged.

After leaving San Diego proper, we arrived in La Mesa. Now, speaking of having your assumptions about a place altered, I had always assumed that La Mesa was just strip malls, stoplights, and four-lane roads, but the actual downtown of La Mesa (the “Village” they call it) is absolutely charming. Imagine a small, pedestrian-friendly, non-blighted Midwestern town. To say that I was surprised is an understatement. Add to that the beautiful autumn day that was shaping up, and I truly felt transported. I was certain we must have ridden too far and ended up in a small town in rural Illinois.

Getting out of La Mesa and onward to El Cajon was a different story. Freeway interchanges, busy four lane roads, and enormous intersections with odd angles and inconsiderate drivers, all made for a marked contrast to the riding we had been doing thus far. There were a lot of good bike lanes, though, and some not-so-good ones, but at least they were there.

By the time we hit Old Highway 80, I was wondering when I was going to start feeling tired. Indeed, I was fairly suspicious of my body’s general acquiescence to the demands I was placing on it. At what point would my knees say, “uh, excuse me, but we politely decline to continue”? Granted, we were maintaining a very civilized pace (just under 10 m.p.h., according to those with computers aboard).

So, then we started to gain some elevation. I hesitate to say “climb” because that’s what really serious riders do over much longer distances and up tougher grades, but with just three speeds, it definitely felt like climbing. I held my own, though, and so did my bicycle. I’m very glad I lowered the gearing a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have tried this ride without having done that.

By this time, we were out in “the country” which means something entirely different here from what I’m used to. The population density was higher than the countryside I’m used to, and there was not as much farmland, but people who live out there really indentify themselves as “country people.” I won’t try to explain what that means — if you understand, you understand.

The farm itself was not a proper farm, at least not as I think of it, but perhaps I didn’t see everything they had. The gardens and craft fair were nice. The kind of nice that you look at and say, “that’s nice” and keep going. But it was a perfect destination for this ride. We walked around, stretched our legs, met some alpacas, rid ourselves of excess fluids, ate our lunches, and before we started to tighten up, got back on the road for the trip home.

Since we had been climbing fairly steadily all the way to the farm on Old Highway 80, the first part of the trip home was a good bit faster, and colder. The clouds had thickened while we rested at the farm, and the breeze had turned chilly.  Moving quickly down long grades, exerting little effort, there wasn’t much to keep us warm, and for the first time I wished for another layer. Before long, we were climbing again, up and down, and that warmed me right up again.

The ride back was as uneventful and pleasant as the ride out. The sky got darker the closer we got to home, and if I wasn’t imagining things, a few scattered drops fell, but not enough to notice. Our group parted ways when we reached North Park, as we were all within a near distance to home.

Although I was certainly tired, I wasn’t sore or worn-out in any particular way, and all joints and muscles checked in fine when I got home. After a hot shower and a cup of tea, I was good as new. I will admit to crashing a bit harder than usual at bedtime, but that was very satisfying. This morning I have nary a touch of soreness to show for my adventure.

The cyclist would grab the bag in passing, sling it over their shoulder, take out the food, and throw the bag away. Ours is meant to keep, but it retains the same simple design and utility. It holds enough food and water for a day-long jaunt around town, plus a tool kit and camera. I’m really happy with how it turned out, and it’s very light and comfortable to wear, not like wearing a messenger bag or backpack.

Bicyclists spotted over the last few days: 20.

Sometimes I wonder if the condition of our bike lanes is a direct statement about how our culture prioritizes bicycling for transportation. Spotted in the bike lane today were a condom (used, of course) and a cat food can. On Thursdays along Utah Street, all the residents (or most of them) put their garbage cans in the bike lane, and the trash collectors put them right back after emptying out the contents. The photo above was taken a couple of months ago.

Aside from that snarky thought, today’s attempt at grocery-getting went much better than yesterday’s. No troubles at all, and my grocery bike is now a champion climber. It was very quiet out, not much traffic of any kind. Picked up a few things for our mini Thanksgiving dinner, including a whole small chicken. It has warmed up a bit this week, and I was sweating a fair amount by the time I got home. But for me, that’s not unusual, I sweat like a Turkish butcher most of the time no matter what the weather.

Bicyclists spotted today: 5