All Spoked Out

Posted on June 2, 2019 by anthonycaferro

Welcome to Mississippi!

Last night my hosts Perry and Lep (also bicycle tourists and enthusiasts) and I were joking about some folks they’ve had come through on some glamoured-out, rich and famous version of what we do. It’s like 10k a pop – I really cant believe this dumb shit exists. These riders have never had to solve a problem in their entire life have whereas Perry assumed correctly that I solved several problems just that day. It was a great laugh and I could tell right away that they were truly awesome people – hopefully they visit Buffalo one of these days.

Butt.

This morning’s events shut my laughing mouth right the fuck up. A metaphorical gag-ball of cassette side broken spoke skullduggery – just minutes into the rough streets of Mississippi USA!

Me eye dubbel ess eye dubbel… it’s also still hot as fuck… pee eye.

This is one of those things you hope to be prepared for and never wanna have to do. But here I am. Do I try to fix this shit in the shade while covered in bugs or in the direct sunshine covered in sweat? Eventually the clouds move in and I have no more choice either way. The glamour folks would just be dropping 20k to helicopter out of this shit right now. Fuck me.

I first used what’s now called a “fiber-fix” kit 13 years ago in the Hero Islands of Vermont.

Butt.

This time, every damn step of the normal repair needed some sort of solution-driven engineering. So a 5 step process was becoming 15 steps and it really pisses me the fuck off – way more than I originally had been.

Butt.

I take it simply and greatly. I keep trying new things. I do not allow myself to give up.

And.

I also have the esteemed help of some fantastic electric tape, a metal file and a thermos full of fresh coffee.

And.

I get it! Yay tools and drugs!

For those keeping count at home – one person stopped to see if I needed help and it took over two hours to figure it all out.

God damn field mechanics is really all I know. I can’t even work on a bike on a stand very well. For feal though, if you tour and you don’t have one of these magical Kevlar string spoke kits. Get one. Or two. They’re like $20. Get three and give one away. They can save your ride – they saved mine today.

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Day 2. 133 Miles. Dumb Hot°. Not dead yet.

Posted on June 2, 2019 by anthonycaferro

I got some southern slang via text today. “Hottern hell”. Speaks for itself.

Up early to move on out – cruising speed of around 10mph. I’ve got 30 miles in before 10am. Feels good, only the standard issue day 2 sorenesses. I pass some pelicans and a fantastic uncredited quote about greatness and simplicity. I forget the quote but it did however set the scene for a day of quotables. And it nailed the shit out of what it is that I get the most out of these rides: this state of everything coming in “great” and “simple” — at the frequency of 24/7!

Rolling along, I decide to spend the afternoon in Baton Rouge, for which I almost get murked (you can read Suburbakillyah for the long version.) But I make it to the French Truck Coffee shop and all is well. Cold brew on the slow drip with some candied maple bacon goat cheese toast with a side of avocado toast. Solid WiFi, bathrooms and bike parking.

The interwebs speak of the Robert Bogan Fire Museum sponsored by the Baton Rouge Council is the Arts, so I head all the way downtown along some sharrows. Great collection of BRFD history there – though I think the art dealers set up for a Saturday market were irked that I am there for the fire history and not to to buy random canvas paintings.

Vehicular traffic is incredibly light, so I cruise around, checking back in on the Mississippi River, circling the state capital, and then napping under a tree at the top of veterans park. Yes little boy, that is my bike between two big ass cannons. Why do you ask?

After that cute little germ factory came up the hill all excited and shit just to wake me up, I decide I don’t wanna wait out the heat anymore and head out for another 25 miles or so up “Scenic Highway”. Oddly, the first 6 or 7 miles is nothing but Exxon Mobil refineries.

After that it gets pretty awesome though. The entire next few miles give me a very Detroit or Buffalo vibe, and there is mural after mural depicting various African American historical figures or moments. I enjoy one from MLK with a great quote: “the time is always right to do the right thing”, followed closely by this mural depicting an Asante Adinkra around a corner and then the great H. Rap Brown over an American flag around the other. Both are very powerful images but many don’t know their significance, so I am happy to see knowledge being passed along in this timeless manner. (And also the “we can b4 columbus.”)

Made it to my prearranged stop, a fantastic compound of a place owned and tended to by Perry and Lep. These two fine people are really sort of famous in the bike touring crowd for their generosity and hospitality. Perry immediately lets me know I would probably be the last of the season, we talk about everything from warm showers to shitty tenants to Airbnb. And of course we need out on bike stuff and camping gear. (I may need a “rollover” internally geared hub soon!). I am certainly not spared their widely known generosity and hospitality – a feast of an organic dinner is served and the beans and quinoa were spicy! It is fantastic. They even have an outdoor hot water shower! I offer to return the favor anytime back in Buffalo, and I do hope they take me up on that offer.

Next up I begin the most excited part: 400 continuous miles of national parkway up the Natchez trace. Few people, few services, lots of awesome.

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Suburbakillyah

Posted on June 1, 2019 by anthonycaferro

Assuming a lack of rail trails or other long stretches of motor vehicle free paths, cycle touring is all about rural yet paved roads for me. While most cities generally are decent for cycling, the suburbs you have to get through to get into them are not. So I have a general touring protocol of avoiding cities and the suburbs that surround whenever I can. Today I broke against that and rolled in Baton Rouge Louisiana.

Coming west up a typical suburban 5 lane road, traffic sucks but I’m pretty happy with the wide shoulder (the name of the road should have tipped me off). This particular stretch of 6 mile shitty chain strip malls is called Florida Street. The shoulder is messy with debris but wide, with a rumble strip. I’m in morning cruise mode, about 10 mph.

At an interchange with a larger highway, the shoulder disappears right after and off ramp to a bisecting highway, so I tuck over the rumbling and into traffic just as a motorist in a pickup truck behind me decides that the three foot passing law should really be interpreted as three inches. At the same time, a motorist in a shitty white car merging off the highway via the curve decides they should ignore the yield sign and instead speed up to vroom vroom me out of their way.

Coincidentally, right in the middle of this pinch point I now in is a fun little crevice of a hole (about 2 inches wide, 3 inches deep, and 2-3 feet long – just the perfect size for my front tire to dip into). And now I have no choice left, so dip into I did. That fucking hole grabs my wheel with a loud pop, jerks me to the side and almost knocks me over in front of one of these two motorists who eagerly need to get to that next ride light before me. I keep pedaling and keep my balance and somehow manage to not fall or get hit – but I yell out one hell of a “fuck” to both of them, knowing damn well that didn’t hear shit and possibly never even saw me.

I even drew a shitty illustration of the whole thing.

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