This Little Piggy

I broke a toe this weekend, thanks to a combination of a) excessive clumsiness, b) an ill-placed box in a dark bedroom, and c) a late night trip to the bathroom. Kicked that sucker like it was a 60-yard field goal attempt to win the game as time expired. Ugh.

It's not a terribly crucial toe, mind you. Just a pinky toe. The one that (according to legend) cries "wee wee wee" all the way home. So it's now taped to the piggy that had no roast beef in a kind of toe "buddy system" while it heals up.

On the bright side: I can still ride the bike. Chalk it up as another benefit of flat BMX pedals and non-bike-specific riding shoes. I just grabbed my Teva sandals, loosened one strap to take pressure off the sore spot, and pedaled off with all piggies (injured and otherwise) free in the breeze.

Thank goodness it's Spring. I may be a touring nerd, but even I have trouble crossing that line to sandals with socks. It's a slippery slope to wearing your glasses-mounted rearview mirror into the coffeehouse.

Retro Raleigh Rolling

A confession: None of my bikes are ever "done." Heck, I was just swapping pedals on a bike that I've owned for seven years, and last night that same bike got a rear rack (the same rack that I took off last year, which replaced the rack that had been on the bike two years before that). I say they're all works in progress, while my wife would probably say I'm a serial futzer. So I can't call the Raleigh a completed thing, but it's at least reached a point of temporary happiness.

The drivetrain is 40x17 fixed, with a de-toothed old 42-tooth chainring in the outer position as a chainguard. The chopped 42 doesn't give enough coverage over a 40, but it was the biggest sacrificial ring in my stash and it looks better than the black 40 sitting alone on the inner position (where chainline is best).

Just to prove that I'm developing a Wald addiction, the bars are straight outta Kentucky, model #8095 as seen at The 6-Miler. Cork grips for squish and style, brake lever with a lock button (for a parking brake effect), Kool Stop pads on the original Weinmann front centerpull, spare saddle, old saddlebag, ugly BMX pedals, and away we go!

(I didn't route the front brake to the right lever to be extra-British. I just can't find the left lever.)

In a perfect world, I'd have a bigger chainguard, some fenders (probably Wald again), a nicer-looking saddle, less-homely pedals, and fancier luggage (or a front basket -- do I dare say Wald? Jeez, I am such a shill), but as it stands right now, it's a hoot to hop on and just take off. Sure, it looks like I stole it from a pipe-smoking, leather-elbow-patches college professor, but it goes like a retro race rocket... at least until my pudgy legs can't catch up with the 40x17 any more.

Happy Bionic Birthday To Me

I was doped on morphine and Valium at the time, but this is how I like to imagine the conversation among my doctors exactly two years ago today:

Jason Nunemaker. Bicyclist. A man barely alive.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology.
We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man.
Jason Nunemaker will be that man.
We can make him better than he was before.
Better.
Stronger.
Faster.

(Cue iconic trumpet theme here.)

Okay, so I'm not stronger or faster... but when I ride, it does sound like this.

Go Steve Go!

That's Local Steve F, a.k.a. Former Neighbor Steve, who is probably kneeling on the deck right about now, tying on his kamikaze headband and lubing up his Karate Monkey (which sounds really dirty, come to think of it) in preparation for this year's Trans Iowa Race.

If you don't know the TI, it crosses our great state on a network of gravel roads in two short days. No sag stops, no support cars, just a bunch of nutjobs out there making the pedals go around and around and around all by their lonesome. Think of it as the Great Divide Race without all the pesky mountains or RAGBRAI on steroids and Red Bull. It's been rainy all week, so those fine, well-maintained Iowa gravel roads should be a bog of tire-sucking, drivetrain-eating quicksand by now. Farmers around here often find the helmets of DNF Trans Iowa racers floating on the spot where rider and bike went under.

So, dear reader, bop on over to Zen Biking and clang your electronic cowbell in support as ol' Steve sets off on the adventure. I'm decidedly anti-Twitter (don't get me started), but I'll actually be watching for his tweets (which sounds dirty again, sorry) as he hits the checkpoints. It's the virtual equivalent of running alongside the race in a devil costume -- and Steve, if you actually see me running alongside you in a devil costume, you've been on the bike too long and need some sleep.