Bicycle Woes

En route to my traditional Saturday breakfast, I was held up for a few minutes this morning when police stopped traffic, permitting a group of bicyclists to pass. They were biking slowly and deliberately, staring at the road ahead. They looked somewhat grim.

I then recalled that today is the start of the annual Seattle to Portland bike ride. Nine thousand bikers this year -- organizers had to stop taking new applications -- were heading south on a two-day, 200-mile ride. (Actually, almost a fourth of them, the more insane quartile, were attempting to do it all in one day). Bikers' ages ranged from 2 years, 4 months, to 85.

As I later worked my way through my ham and eggs, a thought percolated its way up to the conscious portion of my brain -- I still hadn't got the new bike I ordered.

A little background. In November, Denny and I will be traveling in Laos and Cambodia. Most of our days will be spent hiking or boating or jeeping, or simply being ferried around in a van, avoiding bandits. But one day in Laos and two days in Cambodia will be spent biking. The Laotian day will be a 35 mile jaunt, mostly uphill.

Ordinarily, the thought of biking 35 miles gradually uphill on a good bicycle would not trouble me. However, I have not touched my own bike - or any bike, for that matter -- for some time. Now, you attentive readers will recall that Denny leaped headfirst into his first triathlon last month. He trained for the running and the swimming, but not the bicycling. But despite that lack of training, he finished 85th out of 358 finishers in the cycling portion (he finished 56th overall!). I plan to travel with Denny. I plan to look him in the eye at the end of each day, as an equal -- or at least an approximate equal. I do not intend to spend a day choking on his dust!

And so. Three weeks ago, I pushed my old bike, my long disused and neglected bike, down the sidewalk to my neighborhood bike shop for refurbishing. Ok, I admit it had been a while since I rode it. It was covered with dust. The tires were flat. It did look sad, and a tad rusty in places. But I thought, well, hey, with new tires and maybe a new chain, it'll be good as new. The mechanic studied the dusty hulk (and me) with much the same expression on his face as had the painter who painted my house in April. Disbelief and mild disgust, tempered by a gleam of avarice. He studied parts lists, scribbled numbers, and gave me a bid. It would be cheaper to buy a new bike, he assured me.

And how much would that be, I wondered. About $350, he opined.

I gulped, scratched my head, and agreed that a new bike probably would be a good idea. He showed me the bike most equivalent to the one I'd ruined. Ok, I said, always the crafty buyer. I'll take it.

Oh, we don't have any, he chuckled. They did not, I was given to understand, have much demand in today's booming economy for bikes that were this cheap. This one was just a demo, sort of an ornament.

But I can order you one. It will take from one to three weeks for it to arrive.

The weeks available to me for training, before hitting the rutted roads of Laos, were diminishing before my eyes, but what could I do? I left my name and phone number. He'd call when my bike materialized, he muttered, turning already to the next customer.

And so today -- three weeks to the day -- I returned to the shop. Gosh, I was just wondering if you forgot to call when my bike arrived, I chuckled, my eyes narrow with suspicion. "Huh?" the kid behind the counter riposted. What did you say your name was? -- Need I say more? They had no record of my order. -- What model did you order? I didn't know. Well, what was the brand? "Huh?" I explained.

The bike shop kid rolled his eyes, barely perceptively. His tattooed biceps twitched nervously, as he gazed slightly above my left ear. Sorry, dude, best I can do is suggest this brand. He showed me a bike. This one could be the one the guy you say you talked to meant to order. It's about $350. Ok, I replied eagerly. I'll take it.

The Seattle sun was out. At 9:30 a.m., it was already warm. I visualized getting back in the saddle, as it were, for a few hours.

Oh, this is just a demo. We'll have to "build" one for you. Could you leave your name and phone number?

Of course I could! I'm no naive newbie, still wet behind the ears! I know all about ordering bikes. Actually, I have no idea what he means when he says he has to "build" it for me, but he's a professional, right? He's sure it'll be ready for me in about a week.

I just hope that next week he doesn't ask me what brand I ordered. Damned if I can remember . . ..