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Archives for September 2012

Finally — Fall!

09.09.2012 by Ray Niekamp // 1 Comment

It’s been a tough summer around here. Maybe not as bad as last year, when we hit 100 degrees (38C) for 90 days. This year, states in the Midwest farther north of here got clobbered with really hot weather.

So I was looking forward to today’s club ride out on the Fitzhugh route. A cold front was due to pass through our area overnight, and lower temperatures to the bearable range. Now, bear in mind that this is a Texas cold front. While we pride ourselves on doing everything bigger and better in Texas, our cold fronts leave a lot to be desired. When I stuck my head outside to get the paper, it was 70 degrees (21C). For much of the country, 70 is often the high temperature on a fall day. Here, it’s the overnight low after a cold front.

Still, it meant we’d be riding in conditions we haven’t seen since April. I had planned to go the full route, for a 46-mile round trip, but Mrs. Noob was leaving at noon on a business trip out of town, and wanted me back home by then. So I decided to cut my route to the usual “B” rider turnaround, at Ranch Road 12.

A good turnout today, probably because the weather was so benign. In addition to temps we haven’t seen for awhile, there was almost no wind. Yesterday, a stiff wind blew from the north all day, and predictions were for it to continue today as well.

The weather must also have put some zip in the legs of the peloton. I was hard pressed to keep up with them as we pedaled through the neighborhood, on our way out to the country. A couple of B riders fell back right off the bat. I expected they’d catch up later.

On Circle Drive, I saw Buddy and Jan as two dots in the distance. I was pedaling easy, waiting for Brian to catch back on. He had been held up by two stop lights the rest of the group had missed. But when I looked over my shoulder a couple of miles later, I saw nothing. I rode with Rob and a young German exchange student, who I thought would be a fast rider, but who seemed content to hang back with us.

It was on this stretch, about six or eight miles into the ride, that I realized something — I was strong today. I caught Buddy and Jan on Fitzhugh, and when the road started to dip and curve in a nice series of mild downhills, I turned on the juice. The German was the only one who kept up with me. I took the hairpin curve at the low point of the route faster than I ever have before, but the student was unimpressed, and sailed by. Okay, so I wasn’t as strong today as I was trying to convince myself I was. But I got to the turnaround about 16 miles out well ahead of the others.

Jan was the first to catch up. “I’m going to keep going,” she said.

“Do that — the route is even more scenic from here on out,” I replied, feeling a little pang of envy since I had hoped to make that same extended trip as she was doing.

Buddy caught up, and told me Rob had turned around, along with Brian. I had already seen New York John heading back — he went even shorter than we were today.

So it was just me and Buddy on the return trip. I still had lots of energy, and covered lots of ground at 26-28 mph, terrain assisted of course. We got to the Starbucks where the ride had started, and grabbed two seats under an umbrella to stay in the shade. Even by this time, the temperature had only risen to 80 degrees (26C).

Eventually, the first of the A riders came in. As they joined us at the outdoor tables, most of the talk concerned the weather — and just how great it was to ride in conditions like today. I said my goodbyes and headed home, noticing that I wasn’t awash in sweat the way I have been for the last several months.

It was a nice ride in the country, under clear, sunny skies — but moderate conditions. Couldn’t be better. It’s for days like this that I took up cycling.

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Categories // Rides Tags // Rides, weather

Once a Jerk…

09.06.2012 by Ray Niekamp // 11 Comments

My wife and I were out on a ride close to home the other day, when I saw it coming. I was in the bike lane of a four-lane divided thoroughfare through our neighborhood. It swoops in a shallow curving downhill past an upscale strip mall. As I approached the entrance to the mall, I could see a pickup truck in the oncoming left turn lane, ready to turn right in front of me.

He had his turn signal on, and he was stopped. But my internal alarm system was clanging away: “Better brake! Better slow! This guy is going to turn right in front of you!”

He did. I squeezed my brake levers hard, and slowed enough to let him pass across my path just before I reached the mall entrance.

Come on, man. I had the right of way. You were making a left turn. Oh, that’s right. Your four-wheel drive pickup is jacked up so high, you intimidate other pickups, not to mention regular cars, and most of all, cyclists. And you’re right. I’m not going to exercise my right of way if it means I’ll wind up getting smeared all across the bike lane, mall entrance, parking lot, etc.

When my wife caught up to me, she said, “That was pretty close.”

“You know,” I replied, I don’t mind if a car or truck turns in front of me, as long as I don’t have to slow down. But when I have to brake like that, it means he’s just being a jerk.”

We continued our ride, and turned onto the Mopac expressway extension. Reaching the turnaround point there is always a good feeling, because we have a slight decline on the way back, and can get up to some decent speeds. I surged ahead of Pat.

As I approached the entrance to a nice residential area, I eased the bike into the left half of the shoulder. I always do that in the hope that anyone turning into the neighborhood will slow and pull into the right turn lane behind me. That’s a whole lot better than them passing you, slowing quickly, then making a right turn cross my path. This time, I heard a loud air horn behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder, and saw another jacked-up pickup gaining on me. It had blown its horn when it pulled even with Pat. Now it was my turn. He got right next to me, and didn’t ease left to give me a little more room. Instead, he stayed planted where he was, and let go with his air horn again. The loud noise was jarring, but I expected it after what he had pulled before, so it didn’t startle me.

Farther ahead, two cyclists were trading pulls and making better time than I was. I could see what was going to happen. Sure enough, the bozo blasted his air horn again — two blasts, apparently one for each cyclist. They weren’t startled either.

I guess he would have been really entertained if one of us freaked out when he blew his horn, and started to swerve, maybe lose control — maybe even fall at speed along a highway where most traffic moved at 65 mph. Jerk.

The only time I get that from cars is when I’m passed by a car full of high school boys. That’s not a problem, since I was once a high school boy (eons ago), and I know they’re jerks by nature. It’s the grownups in the pickups that really bug me. There must be something in the exhaust from a six-foot off-the-ground four-wheel drive pickup that has tractor-tread tires about five feet in diameter that affects the brain.

I don’t own a pickup myself, although I’ve driven them when I’ve needed their convenient carrying capacity to move furniture, appliances, and other bulky items. So I’m not anti-pickup. But two incidents within a half hour of each other on the same day is a bit much for me. I just can’t understand why the highboys are mostly driven by jerks out to aggravate others — especially cyclists — on the roads.

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Categories // Odds 'n ends Tags // pickup, road rage

“Hey, Ray!”

09.04.2012 by Ray Niekamp // 5 Comments

Pat and I were out for a short Labor Day ride. The weather was still nice in the morning, with a slight cooling breeze, and lots of cyclists were out and about in our area.

Whenever I encounter cyclists heading in the opposite direction, I give them a wave. Sometimes, they beat me to it. I was doing a lot of waving this morning.

But as two riders passed me heading the other way and I waved, one of them called out, “Hey, Ray!”

Huh? Who was that? I didn’t recognize the jersey. (Ever notice how that’s how you can pick out riders you know — because you know them by their jersey?) It was a black and white jersey. Not familiar to me at all. Of course, that really means nothing. I wear jerseys during the week that never see the weekends, and I’m sure other people have similar jersey-wearing patterns. After all, just a mile later I called back to Pat, “There’s Jerry and Maggie!” I could tell by their matching green jerseys. And their big blue tandem. No mistaking them.

It bothered me though, that I couldn’t recognize the other two guys. And it occurred to me that this kind of thing has been happening more often. Just a couple of weekends ago, I was riding southeast of town by myself when I waved at an oncoming rider. Sure enough, he called “Hey, Ray!” Who was that? Ah, that one I figured out. It was Ralph. He rides with the club occasionally. But by the time I figured out who he was, we were far apart.

I like to think I pay pretty good attention when I’m out riding, but lately it would seem that’s not the case. I mean, if I were paying attention, I would recognize these guys, wouldn’t I? Not necessarily. Mostly, I’m looking straight ahead while I’m riding, and when I wave, I’m not usually looking at the other rider. Maybe I should start. Here’s a new experiment: I’ll eyeball oncoming riders and try to recognize them. That way, maybe I’ll be the guy who’s calling out, “Hey —!”

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Categories // Odds 'n ends, Uncategorized Tags // cyclist

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