Man of LaMancha

Flats and the Law of Short Intervals Miles 3530-3655 May 16-18

Yesterday on the way to Orrick. Today coming from Camden Point. Flats! First on the front; then on the rear. Julie to the rescue yesterday. Rich today.

Rich Groves, Dale Ahle and I met in front of Biscari Brothers Bicycles yesterday at 7 AM. We wanted to try out an alternate departure route from Liberty in case the tornado damage along H Highway is not cleared in time for our planned Century ride two weeks from today.

Across the shopping center parking lot to Brown Street. Right on Brown to Progress. Right on Progress past the post office to Withers Road. Left on Withers to Holt Drive. Left on Holt to Birmingham Road. Right on Birmingham to Ruth Ewing Road. Left on Ruth Ewing across 291 Highway to Liberty Landing Road. Right on Liberty Landing to Old 210 Highway. Left on Old 210. Then straight ahead for five level miles of river valley road before coming to New 210 and a long gradual climb up past Missouri City.

Dale is riding my blue bike, my back-up bike, the one I ride when my red Trek is in the shop for some quick repair. Both have drop bars and narrow leather seats, with bar-end gear shifts. Today is Dale’s second day on the road. Yesterday Dave Biscari loaned him a hybrid Trek with shocks on the fork and on the seat post, a wider seat, wider tires and straight up-right handlebars. That bike was more Dale’s style, a fact he discovered after just a few miles sitting on that seat and leaning too far forward to work the brakes. But he’s a good sport. He has done well for the ten miles before we come to the hill.

“My first time out I fell twice and hit a pole. It’s okay to walk up. The only wimps are those who stay at home.” Dale wants to do this. And I want to encourage him. His legs begin to cramp, and Dale calls Julie, his wife, to come pick him up. “You and Rich ride on to Orrick. Julie and Emma and I will meet you at Fubbler’s.”

Rich and I have gone another mile or two when it happens. My front wheel begins to bob and weave. I can’t hold it steady. Without a sound all the air has escaped and my tire is limp and shapeless. I pull off the road and release the front wheel. I’ve gotten the new tube in and remounted the wheel when Dale rides up. “I kept pedalin’ after I called Julie. Then I saw you up ahead and thought you might be having problems.”

The tiny pump I carry requires maximum effort for minimum effect. After much exertion the tire is inflated. But just barely. “Why don’t you take my bike and ride on? I’ll put yours in the van.” I exchange bikes with Dale. Rich and I pedal on. Level except for the railroad overpass and with a wide paved shoulder, the five miles into Orrick on 210 are pure delight. Until!! Until we pass over the Fishing River Bridge for the last mile and a-half. The shoulder here has been ripped apart by giant farm machines. It’s a maze of rough and jagged asphalt. Mortal enemy of skinny tired road bikes. I abandon the shoulder to take my rightful place as a vehicle on the road in company with cars and pickups and 18-wheelers. I feel safer.

Then we are there. Dale is standing outside as we pull up. His blue van is parked in front. Julie and nine-year old daughter, Emma, are seated inside. The biscuits and gravy are superb. But more time has passed than I had planned. I’ll be late getting home in time for LaVonna McKinney’s surprise birthday party at Tryst Falls Baptist Church. Dale has a plan. “You and Rich start riding back. I’ll take your bike home. Then take Julie and Emma home and come back to get you.” We have made it back to Missouri City and are just about to attack that long hill when Dale arrives.

This Sunday afternoon Rich and I have driven to Ferrelview and parked my car at the Christian Church. The ride up Interurban Road to Camden Point is scenic and pure pleasure. Interurban and Old 210 are the only two level roads of significant length anywhere in these parts. Our mission today is to check out the bridge over the Little Platte River, a few miles this side of Camden Point. The old wooden bridge that we’ve ridden several times was closed over a year ago and slated for replacement. We want to see if it has been done, and, if so, what the new bridge looks like.

Before we come to the bridge, we come to the pavement’s end and a sign: ROUGH ROAD. My skinny tires are not gravel-friendly, but if I ride where cars have gone most of the rocks have been kicked aside. I ride slowly and straight ahead. And there’s the bridge. The old wooden bridge had a metal superstructure to either side and high over head. The new concrete bridge has a shiny metal guard-rail along both sides. Efficient. But not aesthetic.

At the softball diamond in Camden Point a woman and a young girl about nine are playing as we ride up. The woman is pitching to the girl. They stop momentarily and come over. The woman is impressed that we have ridden 13 miles and will ride 13 back. “Do you ride the MS-150?’ She asks. “He does,” says Rich, pointing to me “Actually, this year I’m riding 10,000 miles to raise $100,000 for MS.” I say.

“My mother had MS. It’s a horrible disease.” She says. “Well, it’s the only one I’ve got. I don’t know how it compares to others.” I say.“Good luck,” she says, “I know you’ll make it.”

We have not ridden twenty yards on our way back when I feel that bump in the back. I’ve felt it before. My rear tire is losing air. Rich is up ahead. No need to call out yet. Several miles later, I must. “Rich, hold up.” When I pull abreast, I say, “I’ve got a flat. Take my keys and ride on. I’ll ride as long as I can. You come back and get me. “

I get to the bridge and find a good spot where Rich can park the car while I mount my bike on the carrier. I sit to write until he comes.

Actually, this is three flats in three days. Friday was Dale’s birthday. We met at 11 when Dave opened his bike shop. Dale picked a bike he thought Dale would like. We loaded it in Dale’s van and drove to Liberty’s Animal Shelter on Old 210. We set off from there on our bikes. Past the Fountain Bluff Sports Complex. We stopped beneath the underpass where New 210 crosses Old 210. Then past the intersection with Raines Road. We had gone two miles. And the rear tire on Dale’s brand new bike went flat.

I rode back. Put my bike on the car. And drove to pick up Dale. I took my bike off, put Dale’s bike on. “Meet me at Liberty Bend Fish Market, just up the road from the Animal shelter. I’m buying your lunch for your birthday.” We get a barbecue and a fish sandwich and each eat half of both. Then we drive back to Biscari Brothers. Dave puts in a new tire, and we drive back to the Animal Shelter. We make it to the end of Old 210 and back. Ten mile round trip. Plus the two before the flat. A good first Day for Dale. He falls in love with that bike. “I’ll see if Biscari Brothers and I can make a deal. I create a website to sell their bikes in exchange for this bike.”

Don Gielker’s Law of Short Intervals has certainly operated these three days. Don teaches physics at William Jewell. He tells me that the most likely time for a rare thing to happen is immediately after it just happened. I go for months and for thousands of miles without a flat. Now in three days and less than a hundred miles: three flats. I hope the law is not in effect tomorrow.