As a 40th birthday gift, my wife Susan got me a set of custom wheels, lovingly crafted by Tom Martin at Ordinary Cycles. Bladed titanium spokes, aero rims–fast and beautiful. They were sturdy enough for daily use, but fast and light enough for racing. I spent the summer putting miles on those wheels and paddling with my Tin canoe partner, Dan Guss.
On the morning of the Josh, we had just been released onto Route 41, and everyone surged for the start line. I started scouting the row ahead of me for the unwitting domestique who would tow me through Great Barrington to the bottom of Castle Hill. Shaved legs and tanned, knotted calves–check. Well-worn racing kit–double check. Race number pinned sideways on the right shoulder–bonus! Clearly a wily veteran of criteriums, this rider would find the best path through the chaos. I was shaken from my survey by a commotion behind me. In our rush to the line, we had surged past one of the pace vehicles and a red pickup was pushing through the cyclists to join the other cars and motorcyclist at the front. Bicycles are incomparable at moving forward at great speed, but are ungainly moving laterally. This is particularly true when at a standstill with the rider clipped to one pedal with the other cleat skidding on the asphalt. So we hopped and scooched to one side or the other to let the truck pass. Trapped against the crush on my right, I could move no farther when the truck crept forward and caught my rear tire under the edge of his tire. I leaned and tugged to no avail, then shouted to the driver to stop. Unheeding, he accelerated forward and my wheel was slurped under his as I was pulled to the ground to be disgorged from beneath, as he proceeded. The combined shouting of the crowd at this point alerted him to my plight and I was able to scramble back to my feet, miraculously unscathed. I looked to remount and noticed that my rear wheel now bore a striking resemblance to a certain reconstituted potato snack sold in a cylindrical canister (you know the ones I mean.) I stared in abject horror, then screamed in anguish. The riders farther back must have feared that a body part had been removed in the accident. Two or three riders in the mango and royal of BCA leapt to my assistance, expertly dismounting the ruined wheel with a twist of the quick-release and a slap, then Bruce Townend grabbed my elbow and we jogged to his truck. He selected a spare wheel, quickly aired it up, and we clattered back to the start where I was assisted in a lightning-fast remount. The pre-race instructions had continued in our absence, presumably including the traditional request for aerobar equipped bikes to stay out of the packs, and suggesting that those with lights and panniers give way to those less encumbered, with the reminder that the Josh Billings was a single day event. A minute later the countdown began and we were off. I don’t know if it was all the miles I had logged on my new wheels that summer, or the spike of adrenaline from the accident, but I stayed with the first pack that day and had my fastest bike finish ever.
Bob Benner, 8/27/16
—
Non-destructive disassembly, cleaning and reassembly will fix at least 3/4 of all mechanical malfunctions.
Benner’s Third Law
