Tag Archives: bicycle

my name is not alexander…

… but I had a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

It’s “cold” here this week, meaning it’s gone all the way down to -3C. But today was the day I was heading over to Quadra, and when I do that, I take my car. The car was covered in frost because I hadn’t driven it for a couple of weeks so I had to scrape the windshield and everything, like it was winter. I had the car running while I did that. Once it was scraped I went back to my apartment to grab my books, music and coffee and headed to work.

The plan was to stop at the library, grab a few boxes of books and then get on the ferry. But when I got down the steep hill of our parking lot I had to wait to turn left onto the road. And then my car stalled. And then I tried to start it. And then it wouldn’t. So there I was, blocking our complex’s entrance with a car that wouldn’t move. It had worked well enough to get me down the hill but now I was on my own.

It’s a standard and not a very big car so I figured I’d just put it in neutral and roll it out of the driveway (pushing it back up the hill to my parking spot was obviously not going to happen). But a car is still much more than I can push while trying to steer it. I got it a couple of inches before hitting a bump the car was perfectly happy to rest against. At that point a guy who was coming into the parking lot helped me by pushing the car while I steered it to the side of the road.

Then I ran to work. I was there late by this point and our other librarian was busy with a question and our manager’s office was closed so I had nowhere to actually be except other people’s workstations. From one of those I looked up the number for BCAA roadside assistance and called.

My complete inability to know anything about a car or the things you need to know about cars then overwhelmed me. I didn’t know my BCAA number because I haven’t received my card in the mail yet and apparently you have to sign up for online access to your account separately, because that internet thing is just a passing fad, so I couldn’t find it in my email. The operator asked if I needed a boost or a tow. I didn’t know. The car ran and then it stopped. I don’t know what that requires.

They sent a tow truck to boost and then tow if necessary. They’d call five minutes before it got there. The tow truck called and asked where I’d need to be towed to. I had no fucking clue. It’s not like I know any mechanics here. I hoped it just needed a boost.

The tow truck arrived and my (factory) car alarm went off. I could not shut it down (it stopped by itself after 30 seconds). I could not find the hood release. I did not know where the battery was in a VW (it has a plastic cover – the tow truck guy found it). I did not know what my role was in being the boostee. If I tried starting too soon would I wreck something? Should I wait for some signal? The signal to try starting it turned out to be the tow truck guy getting exasperated with the moron he was helping.

The car started and he told me to make sure to let it run for 20 minutes. I agreed that was a good idea and sat in the car as he drove away. Two minutes later it died again. So I went back to work.

The other librarian went to Quadra even though it was two ferries later and made it so she couldn’t really get anything done there or here. I could have gone as a walk-on, but then I couldn’t have brought any boxes of books with me. Which is why I “need a car” for this job. I don’t “need a car” to get to work, just to haul work’s shit around for it.

Later I went and tried starting the car again, without a boost. It started but then died after 4 minutes of idling. That time I was paying attention to the dashboard and saw which lights went on just before it died. So I guess tomorrow I need to get it towed to Courtenay where the dealership will know what to do with it.

All of that was frustrating as fuck and has done nothing to make me happier about owning this stupid vehicle. It’s not as terrible a thing as the condo was (which I have to remind myself about – I am not as unhappy now as I was when I was trying to get out from under that awful decision) but I hate it. When something breaks on a bicycle I can see what the problem is, find a YouTube tutorial and (maybe) fix it. When something breaks on a car I can be fucking helpless.

Now, all of this would be frustrating but tolerable if I was somewhere I knew people. Where I could call a buddy up to give me a boost and a bit of advice. Where tomorrow I could go for breakfast with people and gripe a bit but then get on with things. Go play train games on Sunday afternoon or something. Instead I’ll do all this shit by myself and pay too much because that’s what knowing shit-all about this stupid machine costs.

I like seeing water and mountains from my apartment. I love that a cold snap here is -3C. I like my job well enough. But today I’d trade all those for people to play games with and who’d pick me up when it’s too cold to ride my bike.

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the last paragraph is the informative one

Today I finally changed the tire on my bicycle. You may recall, I got a flat coming home from my last class of the term. I got the bike home on the bus then and haven’t been able to use it to take advantage of Vancouver’s nice weather. So today when it was raining and I’m feeling a little sick, I got that fixed.

Now, I am not a handy man. I haven’t ever changed a tire on a car; I wouldn’t be able to build a fence (I mean I’d be able to build a terrible fence, or a fence from Lego, but a real life “keep the cows where they should be” fence? not gonna happen). But I have changed bike tires before.

Bicycles are the one area where I feel like I can handle the difficulties involved. They’re at a good scale of machinery, and each little bit you do doesn’t have to be replicated again and again. There are only two wheels. My bike only has one brake (and no gears). I can see what everything needs to do and understand the physics involved.
tools
My big problem going into this tire change (the first on my favourite bike I’ve owned) was a lack of tools. I had an allen key multitool thing that had a makeshift wrench for dealing with my brakes (which I’ve used before) but I discovered when I went downstairs, new bike tube in hand, that I had no wrench to get my tire off the frame.

This is the problem of living with other people and being able to scavenge what I need off of them. My roommate does not have a wrench set (and since I don’t have even one wrench I don’t even get the satisfaction of saying “How can you not have wrenches?” like I’m sure many of my friends are thinking right now). I had to go out and find a wrench. When I got to Sears I realized I had no idea what size the nut on my wheel was. I’d just wanted a small adjustable crescent wrench, but those only came in gigantic sets. So I went off to find a bike shop.

At the first bike shop they had a very cool wrench that had a bottle opener on the other side, but $30 was just too much. Eventually I found a double headed wrench that I figured one of the heads would be about the right size…

Oh man. I’m sorry. this is terribly boring. My mom is back from France now, so I feel like I should keep people up to date with the minutiae of my days a bit better.

Anyway. I fixed my bike! And I like my little handful of tools in the picture above. That’s what I’ve got for you today. I’m presenting a paper at a children’s literature conference this weekend and blogged the North Shore Writers Festival last weekend. And I’m checking in on and feeding Jamie’s cat while he’s at Ebertfest. That all would have been much more exciting to write about.

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i am a big fat dynamo

Today I did my taxes, got some more Lego out of storage, bought minor bits of recording equipment, dropped off my Emerald City film to be developed, got new passport pictures taken and purchased inner tubes for my bike (because I got a flat the other day coming home from school). That was all before 4pm and watching baseball (on TV in a bar).

The home opener for the Jays season was spoiled by our exceedingly handsome closer, who was unable to not blow the save. Le sigh. At least Colby Rasmus made an excellent diving catch and hit a triple (which, even though it’s illogical, is a feat I respect way more than a home run, no offense to Mister Bautista), and I watched the game in good company.

One of the things I really enjoyed about our Easter dinner yesterday was one of my friends being a little drunk and really wanting to take us all to a goth night. Her pitch to me was “Goth girls are all hot and they love librarians so you should completely come.” While I agree that goth girls are hot, and that their librarian preferences are probably a bit higher than the general population, I didn’t go to that part of the evening. And it turns out that was just as well, because the bar they ended up at was doing a lesbian night as opposed to goth, which would have hurt my chances for love far more than my lack of ink and paleness.

Remember how I talked about the cherry blossoms being awesome here? This is my fucking bus stop/skytrain station:
where i catch the bus
Spring here is great. I don’t care if you’ve already hit 20 degrees for weeks on end in Winnipeg because the planet is boiling.

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feeling like a real cyclist again

I’ve gotten to the zone where I can bike up the bad hill (with a bit of a breather break 3/4 of the way up) even in the rain. It wasn’t pouring today, so it was infinitely nicer out than last week with all the snow and slush (which I didn’t bike through). It’s starting to feel normal to bike, not like some thing I have to psyche myself up for, even on a mildly rainy day.

My rain pants (which I’ll bring the next time I go to New Zealand for tramping so as not to get made fun of) do keep a lot of heat in though, so whatever pants I wear under them are not soaked from rain just damp from sweat. I might have to leave some pants here and change my (below rain gear) cycling wardrobe.

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every prophet in her house

On a boat bobbing we listened to a man talk about the historical significance of all sorts of things around Sydney Harbour. We made fun of some of his inflections (and his accent as us who talk American instead of Australian sometimes do) at he stressed the “really interesting” and “controversial” things he was showing off about the harbour, but he was a pretty good tour guide. We spent the first half of the trip outside on the bow where his voice was a bit more of a background murmur you had to pay attention to hear, which was about perfect. You didn’t feel like you were interrupting if you wanted to talk about something but new information was steadily going on in the background. We learned about Shark Island, which used to be an animal quarantine station, and about the gallows where the colony’s first murderer was hung in a cage for weeks covered in tar, and about how they shipped all the animals to the Taronga Zoo on barges because the former zoo had been in Sydney and the new one

Interestingly, there was barely any mention of any aboriginal history. That’s interesting because places here tend to make more acknowledgement of the traditional lands events happen on. Yes, it’s just lip service and doesn’t change any poor treatment, but now I miss it when someone doesn’t at least make the ritual pronouncement.

We also went to see some contemporary art at a free gallery, which I really enjoyed and had a pancake lunch which I enjoyed at the time but my guts decided to make me regret afterwards. We also met a woman who was selling some sort of medicinal goop and jewellery made from broken plates, and heard her speak at length about different schools of Buddhism (I was wearing my prayer beads but quickly tried to make it clear I’m not actually Buddhist). Holly and I were ready for me to get reprimanded for wearing symbols I didn’t understand, but she didn’t seem too frustrated with us. She kept on making references to toking up in the 60s and decided Holly was a child of those days in spirit.

We also spent some time listening to a pretty excellent busker, Mark Wilkinson. Holly’d heard him while we were talking to the Buddhist woman and wanted to find him and sit and listen. Sadly, there weren’t any free tables at the cafes right there, so we sat on planters to listen. He did an excellent version of Hallelujah but his songs were also good. We got EPs.

I always forget when I’ve been off a bicycle for a while how much I love the bicycle as a transportation method. We rode to Circular Quay through the CBD and even though I cursed at Javier’s bike when it slipped gears on me (oh for my bicycle in its storage locker back in Vancouver) I loved being on a bicycle again. I know Vancouver January biking won’t be this pleasant, but I’m looking forward to it. This morning we were talking about long-distance biking and I would like to do that someday. Do a real trip on a bicycle. Probably not over the rockies, I’m not that hardcore, but maybe heading down the coast a ways would work. I don’t know if my bike would be the best choice, being an urban single-speed, but someday I want to do that.

And the day began with reading Murakami (*contented sigh*) and blueberry muffins. Holly makes them in torn-in-half diet coke cans, because we don’t have muffin tins and because she is awesome and resourceful.

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gallivanting on train and bike

On Saturday I got to go on an adventure. Holly needs a bike to get to work. It’s a half-hour walk that’s really crappy at the end of a twelve-hour day running around a kitchen lifting 20kilos of butter at a time, smashing your fingers under said butter and getting yelled at/needing to dodge the occasional cupcake being thrown by the chef. (I’m leaving out the story about the panicky bike-borrowing that happened this week, because I’m not sure if she’s got it in her queue of blog posts.)

So she went on Gumtree and found a used bike for a decent price. You can get a new bike from KMart for less, but she wanted a bike that was actually going to be good to ride, that was light and fast. Having bought such a bike in Vancouver last fall, I know what she means.

Anyway, this bike was out in Woolooware, across Botany Bay from where we live (yes, that Botany Bay), so I took a couple hours from my Saturday to take the train out there. I like how these suburban trains work here. If you live in a little town like Woolooware you’re still only half an hour from downtown Sydney. I don’t know if that’s what it’s like on the Go Train in Toronto, but this feels even more extensive than Vancouver’s Skytrain network.

I got to Woolooware and phoned the guy to get directions through the town to his house. Now, we have trouble with Australian accents, Holly and I. I especially find it difficult when it comes to names, since you can’t necessarily just figure it out from the context when there’s a word you don’t get. Case in point: Woolooware is down the Illawara Line though Holly’s best guess was Yellow Wire. We just looked at a map until we could piece something sensible together and happily it worked. For getting to the guy’s house I knew his street had a F in the middle and vowel sounds on either side. Maybe an R in there somewhere. It took a bit of getting lost but eventually I made it to Alfred street and went “That makes sense!”

I brought the bike back to Central Station on the train and then rode it home from there. My first time riding on the left hand side of the street. I remembered to be in the left lane, but I kept on trying to hug the right hand side of it. It was a little hard on my nerves but I got the bike home safely, and missed my bike back in Van City (but not that hill up to UBC).

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and it was raining

On my bike-ride home from school today I saw: an old VW campervan next to an old VW bug at a stoplight and they were both the same shade of orange, a portly middle-manager looking fellow in khakis and a blue button-down shirt skateboarding up a hill, a couple of people riding tall custom-built leisure bicycles, and a woman wearing high heeled boots for biking. They were kind of awesome and I told her so. She said “They do the trick.”

Yesterday in class I had a great interaction. We’ve been introducing ourselves a lot this past week, and in the 8am class we did it again. “State your name and something about you.” At 8am I said “I’m Justin and I think Joss Whedon’s best work was on Astonishing X-Men.” Nerd talk, but fine. Going around the room we got to Corey, who is a big guy from Houston, who served in Afghanistan (I don’t know which branch of the military) and then got an MA and now is getting this degree. He says his bit, but tacks onto the end, “And Justin, Joss Whedon is overrated.” I’m mock outraged and we all laugh and life is good.

In the afternoon class, we’re doing basically the same thing, going around the room saying our names and what our undergrad was in and whatever. This time I’m near the end. Corey has already introduced himself before it gets to me. I say “I’m Justin and I have an anthropology degree and then I was inspired to go get a journalism degree by Transmetropolitan, the graphic novel by Warren Ellis. And if Corey,” I say, theatrically gesturing to his side of the room, “has a problem with Warren Ellis, we may have to step outside.” Everybody laughs. Someone asks, mock incredulously “Are we going to see a fight?” Everyone immediately puts their money on the big black man who’s been trained to kill people, and I’m mock-outraged and life is good.

In the class break I find Corey to talk comics (we agree that Neil Gaiman is a genius and that the way Whedon brought back Colossus might not have made complete sense) and another classmate tells me/us how freaked out our prof had looked as that exchange had happened, like he was going to have to break up a fight. So that was even more fun to know after the fact.

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stupid fuckin’ things

As you may have heard my bike was stolen. From the locker in the basement of my fucking building. The door was locked but the thief appears to have pulled the plywood door off the hinges, bypassing the lock all together. It was a good bike. I spent a pile of money on it however many years ago it was. Probably 10.

I’m not as mad about it as I feel I could be though. It’s just another thing to add to the list of why I made a horrible choice last year in buying a place of my own. It feels right and proper to be punished for my stupid fucking greed, for wanting to own a place to hold my books and cat. Remember how I didn’t like being congratulated for buying this place? Someday if I am ever able to sell it you can congratulate me then.

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i’ll need a bacta tank before i do this in real winter

If you pay attention to my Twitter feed, you’ll see I biked to work today. Last week Holly wrote a bit about biking on her blog. I commented and she commented back about me being nice about not rubbing Winnipeg-cold in her face. Allow me a moment of doing that now please. A winter storm warning continues for Winnipeg and the surrounding area today and I was all, “I said I’m biking this winter so I’m fucking well biking today.”

They do not call them good choices, these things I have made.

It’s only hovering around freezing, so the cold is not the problem. Getting to work, getting home, my waist up was toasty. Sweating from the effort a bit even. My legs were soaked through. It was worse coming home because there was more snow on the ground. I’d thought there wouldn’t be much accumulation when I left. Going to work at 4, the problem wasn’t the snow but the 50 gusting 70kmh headwind. When my weight was on my back tire because I’m fighting for every little bit of forward momentum the wind, which was just off from directly ahead, was blowing my front tire to the side, like I was sailing or something. It was hellish. I got to work and said “That is why I want a job I can walk to.”

Coming home, I had that wind at my back, which I needed because now there was maybe half an inch of snow on the sidewalk. I promised my coworkers and my mother I’d ride on the sidewalk, just in case I wiped out. The problem of course is that when you’re trailblazing through fresh snow, that’s when you wipe out. The whole way down Keewatin I was looking at the slightly snowy but mostly wet street from my wobbly slidey sidewalk. If I had been fighting the wind too I would have stopped and just cried. When i got the chance I took Logan and rode on the street where the cars had warmed things up so there was bare pavement, under all the puddles. But I had traction so hooray. And I was soaked within seconds. But it’s not that cold yet and the ride doesn’t take that long (only double m usual time today) so I wasn’t too worried about actual hypothermia. As I said, my torso was feeling fine. My gears were getting all gummed up with ice and I took it real easy the whole way. Which I wouldn’t have been able to do had I been facing that wind.

Anyway, it was a stupid thing to do. Tomorrow I’ll take the bus. Maybe for the rest of the winter. It felt good to do it once though. To have done it I guess. It was only about an hour of my day of horrible painful awfulness. It’s good to feel that once in a while. Under controlled circumstances like your own stupidity. I’m home and warm now.

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and grace too

On Tuesday I woke up knowing I had to be at work by 10am. From my bed I could see the sky and it was that low hanging kind of cloud. “Great,” I thought, “it must have rained all night. There will be puddles.” This was a concern because Tuesday was going to be my first time biking to work for reals. Puddles are a bit inconvenient especially when you’re riding old roads that are uneven enough to collect a lot of water (not like a nice freshly asphalted bikepath, say).

Then I got out of bed and saw it was still raining and I may have fallen to my knees gnashing my teeth. Why did this happen the first day I was going to ride my bike to work. It was all going to go so well, getting my legs and lungs all ready for hiking and shit in the forests and canyons of the Journey to the West. And I said “I guess I’ll take the bus.” I hung my head. Sad music played on the radio.

But! I realized what a slippery slope I was opening that can of worms on. If I just didn’t ride today because it was horribly wet, what happens the first day it’s windy? Or colder than I might like? What happens then? I’d then have a precedent for not biking and it would be much harder to drag my bike from the basement. No, I had to go on.

So I biked to work, quickly noticing I’ve never put fenders on my bike. So it didn’t take long to abandon myself to being soaked through. I had a change of clothes with me and by the end of my three hour shift everything but my feet had dried out so I could get all clad in my wet biking clothes to go home. I wonder if my runners will ever get dry.

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