Author Topic: Forgotten but not gone

Forgotten but not gone
« on: June 01, 2020 »
What is there to say? I’ve been sitting in the entirely too rustic shed, nominally a garage, for months now. Waiting.

This would be an improvement

The “good” bike goes in the house. Out here is where Langster, little folding Presto, and I spend our idle hours. And let's not forget Bike Friday in Power Purple, as well as Kalkhoff, in who knows what state, both belonging to her inside.

With London out of the picture for the foreseeable, Presto doesn’t even get to stretch her chain. She looks uncomfortable. Langster, on the other hand, is afforded the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air when the roads have a sheen of wet. Enigma is such a wimp, has to keep that precious chain unsullied by spray.

It’s undignified here in the garage, with crumpled old shopping carriers as mitts and saddle cover in a parody of stewardship. I’m chained to the wall and Langster is D-locked to a ladder. Should a delivery van come crashing through, we're toast. Presto is merely hobbled by a lock in the rear wheel (the thinking apparently being at least it can’t be ridden away if a thief should come calling), so might conceivably be catapulted to freedom.

We keep company with retired wheels and other odd parts, a helmet, a lawn mower and strimmer, bags of litter for the rabbit (also inside with the rest of truly treasured family), and anything else that needs storing out of the way when not in use.

How useful I feel

Did I mention tarp hanging from the ceiling to capture debris, or the vines creeping through the gaps in the walls? This garage requires the services of a gardener, along with Marie Kondo. Squirrels also take shelter from time to time, prisoners of nothing but their appetite.

It's hard to believe I came with such a fine pedigree: built up by Rouleur founding editor Guy Andrews no less, which puts me at precious few degrees of separation from all kinds of cycling greats. Their riders, too.

“Use me please!” I’d shout if it wasn’t so unbecoming. Even life on a turbo {shudder} would be better than this.

The problem? A noise that defies diagnosis: a creaking like the gates of hell quietly opening again and again. We're beginning to suspect an honest-to-god gremlin. One fine day the tool box will come out again, and an answer will be found.

Drowning out our sorrows
« Reply #1 on: February 20, 2021 »
Hands up any of you who don't have issues. Yes it would be nice if I creaked less, but is that such a crime in the scheme of things? Current thinking is that it's a result of different metals interacting after I've warmed up, as years ago I had surgery which installed water bottle bosses (now containing stripped bolts no less) on the underside of my downtube. I think it's a questionable theory, but what do I know, I'm just a bike.

It is a sad state of affairs to be viewed with resignation rather than joy.

We shared a ride on a recent windswept morning, my prized stability and braking ease no hindrance to pleasure, I noticed. It took an hour or so for the noise to start. I could tell by the way you held me that your heart was sinking again even as you made sure the music was turned up.

Oh look, they're playing our song.


And then there was one
« Reply #2 on: May 22, 2021 »
Finally located the source of the worst of the creaking. It was like unwrapping a malign present, as I'd taped over the hole (drilled to admit downtube shifters) years ago.

I did experience bittersweet relief: "So that's what that gnikcuf noise was."

110% my fault. Well, maybe 100%, I can go a little easy on myself considering that the guy who did this should have refused on grounds of customer silliness. I'm happy (well, not overjoyed) to admit when the blame is on me. Hint.

Langster, you're it.