susanstinson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
susanstinson) wrote2008-07-30 06:24 pm
susanstinson) wrote2008-07-30 06:24 pm
Entry tags:
Trike Chain
The shifting has been way off on the trike. It's been changing gears at random, giving me third when I want first. There's a clanging noise. And when I start pedaling at a stoplight, for instance, sometimes there's been almost no resistance at all, as if the chain was off, then, bang, it's suddenly really hard to pedal, almost like stubbing my foot on a wall. It's not always that bad, but I knew that there was a problem. Also, a storm this week, which blew down half a beautiful old willow tree next to our parking lot, also blew out three windows above the shelterd spot where I park my trike, and there's glass everywhere. I've picked some up, other folks have, too, but it's hard to get it all. So I've been carrying one of those little handpumps and a spare innertube, in case. Yesterday, I had an old towel along, too, to deal with grease if I had problems. Live and learn.
I set out in the morning to go write with Sally, which is one of my scarier rides because it involves crossing an entrance to (and, on the way home an exit from) Interstate 91. I used to go way out of my way to avoid that (one route involved having to push the trike up a steep, rocky little path way too narrow for it), but, these days, I just do it. Yesterday, though, I didn't get as far as King Street when things felt strange and I looked down to see the front chain looped around the right pedal. (Now that I think of it, this was right at Edwards Square, where Jonathan Edwards and company used to live.) I pulled it up onto the sideway and sat down next to it, trying to wipe all of the gunk of the sprockets and the chain with my towel, in case it was gunk that made it jump off. I tried to call Sally, too, but, while I could hear her, she couldn't hear me. Cell phone malfunction.
So, I was trying to pull the chain back on when a kind person -- a guy with tattoos and a shaved head who told me that he didn't mind getting his hands dirty because he was a roofer and it came with the territory -- came and helped me. He was really just lovely about it -- respectful and quick, told me that both of my chains were very loose, and he had to pull his truck into Edwards Square and cross the street to do it. He went out of his way, and he didn't make a big deal of it, and, while I would have gotten the chain on eventually, I appreciated his help.
I coasted home, called Sally, who came and got me, and we had our day. When I got home I had an errand I needed to do downtown, so I decided to try it on the trike. I wanted to see if I thought that I could ride it all of the way to Florence to the bike shop to get it fixed today. The chain came off again just as I got to downtown -- not far at all from my house. I pulled off to the side of the road in front of a restaurant called FitzWilly's, and started trying to get it back on. Before long, I heard a voice behind me, again a man with a shaved head, wearing a fancy black leather jacket, but what he was saying was, "Can I ask you to work on that somewhere else?"
"The chain came off," I said. "I can't go anywhere."
"Move it down the sidewalk," he said. "I'm worried that thing is going to roll into my $50,000 motorcycle." Sure enough, I was a few feet away from (and in no remote danger of touching) his flame-painted motorcycle, illegally parked. He had been sitting at the table in the window of the restaurant just to keep an eye on it, I'm thinking, while he enjoyed his burger and beer. He got a little ruder, told me to use my head, and I told him that he was being ridiculous, but -- awkwardly! it's heavy! didn't want to get the chain wrapped around the gears -- I moved the trike while he and his female companion watched and commented from the window. Not lovely.
That wasn't a good precedent, but I still decided to try to make it down the bike path to Florence to the bike shop this morning. There weren't any storms predicted. I printed out bus schedules for buses that I could leave the trike and walk to, if I had to, and I also thought that if I couldn't keep the chain on riding up the slight incline to Florence, I might be able to walk the trike there, or else coast home downhill. Still no working cell phone (tracphone said that figuring out whether or not to send me a new phone will take three to five days), but I brought water and motrin, the towel, a pear and also some latex gloves, so I wouldn't end up with my hands completely encased in gunk from the chain.
As it happened, the chain only came off once, before I got to the bike path. While I was working on it, someone from Pedal People, who I see all of the time on the path, pulled over to make sure that I had everything I needed to fix it. When I said I did, she wished me luck. Low key and considerate. I passed her later, hauling a huge load of cardboard in her bike trailer.
So, yeah, I made it to the bike shop. I took the bus home, took another one back, and the guy had tightened the chains, replaced the back one, and said that there was a pin in crooked in the transmission. He thought someone must have taken it off to get it messed up that way, but I don't think anyone had. Also my wires were kind of twisted around my handbars.
I cruised home, feeling like the world is my oyster.
I set out in the morning to go write with Sally, which is one of my scarier rides because it involves crossing an entrance to (and, on the way home an exit from) Interstate 91. I used to go way out of my way to avoid that (one route involved having to push the trike up a steep, rocky little path way too narrow for it), but, these days, I just do it. Yesterday, though, I didn't get as far as King Street when things felt strange and I looked down to see the front chain looped around the right pedal. (Now that I think of it, this was right at Edwards Square, where Jonathan Edwards and company used to live.) I pulled it up onto the sideway and sat down next to it, trying to wipe all of the gunk of the sprockets and the chain with my towel, in case it was gunk that made it jump off. I tried to call Sally, too, but, while I could hear her, she couldn't hear me. Cell phone malfunction.
So, I was trying to pull the chain back on when a kind person -- a guy with tattoos and a shaved head who told me that he didn't mind getting his hands dirty because he was a roofer and it came with the territory -- came and helped me. He was really just lovely about it -- respectful and quick, told me that both of my chains were very loose, and he had to pull his truck into Edwards Square and cross the street to do it. He went out of his way, and he didn't make a big deal of it, and, while I would have gotten the chain on eventually, I appreciated his help.
I coasted home, called Sally, who came and got me, and we had our day. When I got home I had an errand I needed to do downtown, so I decided to try it on the trike. I wanted to see if I thought that I could ride it all of the way to Florence to the bike shop to get it fixed today. The chain came off again just as I got to downtown -- not far at all from my house. I pulled off to the side of the road in front of a restaurant called FitzWilly's, and started trying to get it back on. Before long, I heard a voice behind me, again a man with a shaved head, wearing a fancy black leather jacket, but what he was saying was, "Can I ask you to work on that somewhere else?"
"The chain came off," I said. "I can't go anywhere."
"Move it down the sidewalk," he said. "I'm worried that thing is going to roll into my $50,000 motorcycle." Sure enough, I was a few feet away from (and in no remote danger of touching) his flame-painted motorcycle, illegally parked. He had been sitting at the table in the window of the restaurant just to keep an eye on it, I'm thinking, while he enjoyed his burger and beer. He got a little ruder, told me to use my head, and I told him that he was being ridiculous, but -- awkwardly! it's heavy! didn't want to get the chain wrapped around the gears -- I moved the trike while he and his female companion watched and commented from the window. Not lovely.
That wasn't a good precedent, but I still decided to try to make it down the bike path to Florence to the bike shop this morning. There weren't any storms predicted. I printed out bus schedules for buses that I could leave the trike and walk to, if I had to, and I also thought that if I couldn't keep the chain on riding up the slight incline to Florence, I might be able to walk the trike there, or else coast home downhill. Still no working cell phone (tracphone said that figuring out whether or not to send me a new phone will take three to five days), but I brought water and motrin, the towel, a pear and also some latex gloves, so I wouldn't end up with my hands completely encased in gunk from the chain.
As it happened, the chain only came off once, before I got to the bike path. While I was working on it, someone from Pedal People, who I see all of the time on the path, pulled over to make sure that I had everything I needed to fix it. When I said I did, she wished me luck. Low key and considerate. I passed her later, hauling a huge load of cardboard in her bike trailer.
So, yeah, I made it to the bike shop. I took the bus home, took another one back, and the guy had tightened the chains, replaced the back one, and said that there was a pin in crooked in the transmission. He thought someone must have taken it off to get it messed up that way, but I don't think anyone had. Also my wires were kind of twisted around my handbars.
I cruised home, feeling like the world is my oyster.