A Bicycle's Eulogy

It's official. The bike of my upbringing has finally gone belly up.

This has been my horse, my cruiser, my motorcycle. So many memories. All the sweat and soreness, all the struggles up the BYU hill, all the trips to the library. Learning to let go, adjust the brakes (hate that chore), take the tires off, adjust the seat height, and change inner tubes. Crashing outside J Dawgs. Granted, I'm not totally broken up about it, but this bike has been a part of many parts of my life for quite a while.

The problem becomes: what do I do with it now? Sentimentality says to keep it. Practicality says to dispose of it. Frugality says to break it down and keep the parts worth keeping. We don't have a garage. It doesn't seem very sightly to just leave it outside, exposed to the elements, though it would be an interesting observation experiment to watch it rust and degrade back to the elements. Suggestions?

A Desert Adventure

Last week I went shooting with my father. Having amassed a variety of bottles, buckets, and jugs, we decided to go out into the land around the lake so we could cause explosions without fuss. As we're driving around scouting out suitable set up locations, Dad commented that the road seemed rougher than usual, but we didn't make much of it. We finally pulled into an open area next to an old rusted truck that had been deserted long ago and Dad got out to check a hunch. Sure enough, we had a flat.

As we were struggling to figure out how to get the spare off (it was bolted pretty securely to the underside of the bed), pushing off thoughts of succumbing to the same rusty fate as our new-found relic, another truck came by. They were from the County and were sent to look for a particular landmark or some other such business. They asked if we were shooting and would we please not shoot them until they had come back in about 15 minutes. We assured them that we would be occupied at least that long with the tire. We'd made no progress by the time they returned, and they offered to lend a hand. After banging around themselves, they were at as much of a loss as we were. They then offered to drive us into town to either get the old tire repaired or replaced. They seemed nice enough guys, but in Dad's words, we had four choices:

1. We could both get in their truck and leave our truck and all our munitions unattended in the middle of nowhere.

2. Dad could go with them and leave his daughter, the truck, and all our munitions in the middle of nowhere.

3. He could send his daughter with the two complete strangers and stay with the truck and all our munitions in the middle of nowhere.

4. We could send them on their way and be stuck with the truck and all our munitions in the middle of nowhere.

After some consideration and a glimpse of garments on stranger #2, Dad decided the guys were reasonably trustworthy and opted for choice #3. So the tire and I hopped in the rescue vehicle and took off down the road. I knew this was going to be even more of an adventure when I realized as we were driving away that I had left my phone in my car at the parents' house. So I had to content myself with sending positive brain waves back to my dad so he wouldn't worry too much and the consolation that I was armed.

About an hour later, I had found out quite a bit about Carlos and John - schooling, family, occupation, some entertaining anecdotes, and thoughts on travel and history. We'd visited 3 tire shops. At Walmart we learned that the tire was blown so repair was out of the picture, but despite 3 or 4 technicians blatantly sitting around, they were "busy" with 3 cars in front of us so it would take 1.5 hours to fix. No way were were going to sit around for that long, we moved on to a local Joe who, despite advertising "tires" on his building, actually orders in all his tires so he couldn't help us. Third time the charm, Big O Tires fixed us up with an $80 tire in about 10 minutes, the computer taking longer than the actual tire replacement. Back in the "limo," my chauffeurs kindly offered to stop wherever else I wanted - "drink? a show? the airport?" - and after a laugh were back on the road to the lake.

Meanwhile, Dad had taken shelter in the 14" of shade on the north side of the truck lying on the table we brought to put our guns on, worrying that getting back in the truck would cause it to shift off of the jack. I later pointed out that if the truck was going to come off the jack, all the banging around trying to coax the spare off would probably have done it. But water under the bridge. Carlos and John helped us get the new tire on and made sure we were all set before leaving. Come to find out, while we were gone, another car came up to shoot and had also suffered a flat tire. So Carlos and John trotted off to help them. I couldn't help but laugh; I guess they were destined to be the tow truck for the day. I didn't feel real sorry for the other car though - why would you drive a little lime Ford Focus into the wilderness?

Anyway, 2.5 hours later, we were finally able to get some shooting in.

(Yes, this was from a different shooting trip, and yes, my aim has much improved since then.)

Lessons learned:
~ Always prepare for the unexpected. Translation: have tools with you when striking out for the desert
~ Bring water (peanut butter crackers alone tend to do more harm than good) and
~ If you want to practice aim, it might be better to go to a range.

But if your goal is to make things explode, red food dye in water in a salsa bottle is a great way to vent any frustrations from life.

My baby is sick!

We two have become quite the icon in our neighborhoods, both at home in AF and in Provo. Ever since I was blessed with her two years ago, she has become my identifying symbol. People at school or church are constantly saying, "I saw you in your yellow car driving by, or at such and such a place." Two days ago even at work there was a kid who recognized me as "The Girl who won the car." Now, after all the good times we've had together, crisis has struck.

Three weeks ago, I was driving to work, and just as I was pulling into the lot where I normally park, the engine stalled and refused to start back up. Great! I am already late and now I have coasted to a stop right in the middle of the parking garage, in everyone's way and just shy of a spot. Luckily, someone was driving by and helped me push it out of the way, halfway between a regular spot and a service spot. Hoping I wouldn't get a huge fine, I ran off to work and hoped things would work out when I got back. They didn't. The poor thing was still stranded there, refusing to start. Luckily though, I didn't seem to have a fine for being kind of in the service-vehicle-only spot. I tried to contact some people to help me try to jump it, but to no avail. I walked home, feeling like a cat abandoning her kitten to the elements.

The next day, my dad came to help. Jumper cables: fail. Battery tested at Checker: only taking half charge, could be the problem. New battery: $84.99 - fail. We are out of ideas. The next thing we could think of is that there is something clogging the fuel filter so we aren't getting fuel to the engine. We can't do anything more where we are, so we begin the tense task of towing it back to AF. I have never done that before and I must say, it was quite the experience. As dad was linking the cars together with the tow rope he brought, he explained to me that he would be the gas, I would be the brake. My brakes have been complaining rather noisily of late and I thought in my head, "Uh oh, I wonder if they can handle it. Couldn't I be the gas and you be the brake... oh wait..." So one and a half slow, white-knuckled hours later, we had arrived and were ready for the next treatment option.

Dad found a mechanic who was willing to make a house call and his diagnosis to the malady could be a faulty sensor in the engine, the camshaft sensor (I'm not sure what it does exactly). We ordered the part: $140, nonreturnable - fail! We are at our wits' end, and nearly our wallet's. After another inspection, diagnosis #2 was a worn out timing belt. This is bad. This is a routine tune up that is supposed to be done at 100,000 miles and for some reason, both dad & I thought it had been done. Nope, we were wrong.

For those of you unfamiliar with how an engine works, I will explain. I found it fascinating to learn. Inside the engine there are cylinders (mine happens to have four). Inside the cylinders are pistons attached to the crankshaft that turns your wheels, makes the car go. At the top of the cylinder is a valve that lets fuel in which, combined with the fire from the spark plug, causes an explosion that pushes the piston down, turning the crankshaft. There is a gear connected to all the valves and another connected to the pistons. These two gears are connected by the timing belt, which ensures that the valves open when the pistons are down & close when the piston comes back up so that they don't hit each other. There, now you know how it works.

The bad news is that because the timing belt seems to have worn out while the engine was running, the timing may have gotten off in the momentum after it stalled, meaning that the pistons could have potentially hit and bent the valves. If that is the case, changing the belt will not help much and it will take roughly $1800 for a valve job. That was not an option. However, I was not going very fast when I stalled, so there wasn't much time for it to get out of timing. Plus, I would think that if something is hitting something else in my engine hard enough to damage it, I would have heard something. I did not, so I decided to take the risk & gamble the $350 to change the belt (and the water pump, as it is normally recommended to change both at the same time). That has been done and she started! However, we aren't completely out of the woods yet, because after the mechanic left, my parents took it around the block to make sure she sounds ok and everything. I've had to work everyday in Provo, otherwise I would have done it. As they were driving it around, it stalled every time they slowed down or stopped. That was a little disconcerting, so the mechanic was called back. He drove it, and it didn't stall at all. Then my mom drove it to Walmart and it stalled as she was turning a corner, but only on the way there. So the conclusion is that we won't know until I drive it and see what happens, as I am the normal partner in travel. Hopefully all goes well and we can cruise the highways together once again.

Funny Story...

So I'm walking home from the library at midnight Monday night (Tuesday morning? Either way...) I would have still been there, but they kick everyone out then. I was working on this heinous paper and ended up spending ALL night on it. But that is beside the point. Back to the story, I had parked my car in the graduate parking garage, which is down this ramp next to the business building. At the top is this sign:


Ok, so maybe this isn't the exact sign, but it gives the same message. So there I go, minding my own business, trying to stay positive about my paper progress when I hear the noise of a coasting bicycle. I was about 3 feet from where the ramp connects to the parking complex so I decided to take 2 steps to my left towards it to let the bike pass. Poor moment of judgment on my part. Next thing I know I am listening to squealing brakes, a male voice exclaiming, "Oh, shoot!" and a dramatic crescendo of the violin section as I found myself tumbling to the ground. Yes, you guessed it. I was run over by a bicycle! I'd wager I'm am going to be champion of "Have you ever" from now on. :) After a 5.2 second self-analysis, I concluded that I was not seriously injured, scrambled slowly to my feet and turned around to survey my assailant. He turned to be a very attractive boy. I begged his pardon for getting in his way and he sincerely apologized for being so reckless. (Ok, not in so many words, but he was truly sorry) He asked if I was ok: yup. I asked if he was ok: yes, yes. Ok...now what? For a split second I thought about giving him my insurance info, but I didn't think the situation was that drastic. So I just walked away with "Have a nice night!" Ignorant me, I didn't even get his name. But the next time I decide that the eyes in the back of my head are better than the ones in the front of the extremely good looking cyclist's head and end up putting myself right in the line of fire, I will have a much better game plan prepared. Hopefully my keester will be on board with that.