I have a friend whose youngest daughter just started riding her first training wheel bike. That is an exciting moment for any parent.

This friend wants to ride with her daughter. She has an old abandoned Specialized Rockhopper stowed away in a barn. I offered to try to bring it back from the dead.

When I first saw it the project seemed hopeless. The chain was completely rusted, and there were spots of rust on every unpainted nut or bolt or part. The rubber handlebar grips had turned to a sticky goo that stuck to my hand on contact. The bike was incredibly dirty. The tires were falling apart.

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But I decided to give it a shot. First I removed the tires and checked the wheels. They spun fairly smoothly and looked reasonably true. I took off the rusty chain. Then I got some rags and brushes and Simple Green and a garden hose and went to work.

Most of the grime yielded to my efforts, and from the ashes the Phoenix emerged looking almost like a bike again. I sprayed Tri Flo on every pivot point on the bike, hoping the shift levers and cables weren’t frozen in place.

I made a quick trip to Lodi Cyclery to get new tires, tubes, rim strips, bar grips and a chain. Back home I put on the new tires, installed the chain and put the rear wheel back on the bike, then checked the shifting. Incredibly the rear derailleur worked fine, at least for a recreational bike.

But the front shifting required more effort. At first it wouldn’t work at all. This old bike uses ‘rapid fire’ thumb shifters, and the front derailleur wasn’t moving. I sprayed everything with Tri Flo and let it soak in overnight.

The next afternoon I gave it another try. I removed the front derailleur cable and clicked the lever into each of its three positions. It pulled the cable as it was supposed to. Next I manually moved the front derailleur through its range of motion without the cable attached. It was very stiff, but after a bit of manipulation it loosed up and started to move more smoothly. I reattached the cable and voila, we have front shifting again! A small turn of the high limit screw and we are good to go.

Next I adjusted the brakes, tightened the headset, and took the Rockhopper for a test ride on Brumby Road. Everything was nice and smooth and quiet. The bike shifted fine and rode along quite nicely. Back from the dead!

Later that evening my friend brought her daughter to pick up the bike. Mom and child are both excited to be able to roll along together. And while I am no great mechanic it was fun to use what skills I have on a project with such a happy outcome. From abandoned in a barn to a place of honor in a garage, a Rockhopper Resurrection!

We are approaching the first anniversary of The Time of the Covid, and I’m beginning to suffer from vaccine envy. I know a lot of people over 65, and most of them have already had at least one dose. Stoker got her first dose and her second is scheduled for next Friday. My parents got both of theirs, and since they have friends in the same fortunate situation they are going to have a small get together of vaccinated people on Sunday. Something Stoker and I haven’t done in a year.

I don’t mind waiting my turn and I completely support the vaccine equity program promoted by our soon to be recalled governor. I’m always on board for social justice until it reaches into my pocketbook. My only concern is that I wish I could get a shot soon enough to travel to France in May.

In January 2020 Stoker went to Kenya on safari to kick off what was supposed to be a big travel year for us. 6 cycling weeks in France starting in early May. I was going to go back to France in August to ride in the Pyrenees. Stoker was going to go to South Dakota around the same time. Then in November we were going on a long cruise (28 days) from Lima to Buenos Aires, including a side trip to Machu Pichu. None of that happened.

Air France gave us a voucher good for future travel, which sits in my France folder, so far unused. I left all the money I paid 44 5 with them as a retainer for future travel. France Bike Rentals, owner of Modestine, didn’t give us a refund but credited the 900 euros toward future rentals. I had paid for rooms in a hotel in Montpellier and got vouchers that may or may not be honored if we ever get there. Our Malaucene landlady moved our booking to May 2021, which is starting to look a bit dubious too. The French border is closed to many nations, including the US. And the cafes are all closed anyway.

When the cruise was cancelled Regent Seven Seas told us we could get a 125% credit towards a future sailing. Or we could get our money back if we were so foolish to turn down this incredible offer, although they put it much more nicely. We took the money. Four months later there are still no sailings.

We postponed an entire year of planned travel expenses and consequently have an unexpected cash flow surplus. So one night Stoker said she wanted an endless pool. This is an above ground large tank with a pump to generate a current that you can swim against, a kind of aquatic treadmill.

She was shocked when I immediately said yes. I didn’t even express reservations or try to talk her out of it. I have some very nice cycling toys and she deserves it and we can afford it.

But like most projects, when it comes time to actually get it done, I have to get involved. We needed to see where the pool would fit in our yard, so I made a frame mock up out of PVC and duct tape. We quickly realized we would need a larger concrete area, so I had to find a concrete contractor. I built the forms and put in the rebar myself to save money and the concrete guy said I did it perfectly. Stoker was impressed and kind of amazed that I could do that.

I also had to meet with the electrician, since this pool needs more power and a separate service box. I saw him before we pored the concrete and he told me what kind of conduit and sweeping elbow I needed to put in prior to pouring. I’m going to dig about 15 feet of trench, 18 inches deep, from the edge of the concrete to the wall where the wire will emerge from the crawl space.

The slab was poured yesterday. The pool is supposed to come in June. Stoker and I are not alone among the stuck at home crowd. If people have money and can’t spend it on travel they look inward, and anything related to home improvement is in short supply. The guy selling us the pool said this is his busiest year and he literally has nothing to sell for immediate delivery.

The pool, as I said, is supposed to come in June. We will take delivery after we get back from France. Or perhaps this year’s travel will also be postponed. If so I wonder what is next on the Brumby Betterment agenda? Whatever Stoker comes up with it will mean work for me.

Riding in a group, or ‘peloton’ is fun. But it can be dangerous, especially if some of the riders are inattentive or do not follow group ride etiquette and protocols. That happened on Sunday.

We were riding south on Alpine Road between Live Oak and Eight Mile. I was in front, Margaret was on my wheel, and Marlin was third wheel. I could see them in my mirror, but Marlin is a big guy and I have no idea who was behind him or in what order. I was setting a nice pace but deliberately not going so hard as to drop anyone.

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There is a really horrendous pothole on that stretch of road. It is wide and deep and often in the shade of an oak tree, which makes it very hard to see. I know where it is, so as I approached it I called out “Pothole” and pointed down at the pavement on the right side of my bike. I also moved gently to the left to skirt the thing.

Now once the person if front does this, the riders behind him/her are supposed to follow suit so that the notice goes down the line. There were 9 or 10 of us in the group, and those behind Marlin could not possibly see my signal; he is a BIG guy.

Apparently that did not happen. The last two riders hit the hole dead center. The good news is that they are both experienced cyclists and kept control and did not crash. The bad news is that they got 4 flat tires. When you hit a hole that deep the tire bead separates from the rim and the inner tube, which is under pressure, fills the gap. When the bead snaps back the tube is pinched, hence the term ‘pinch flat’.

The two riders were a more than a mite irritated, understandably. I felt really bad even though I did what I was supposed to. In the post mortem, Marlin said he saw me point to the right and heard me, that he saw Margaret point to the right and slide to the left behind me, while he called out and pointed to the left as he moved to the right, which is perfectly acceptable. You can avoid the hazard on either side as long as you point it out. But somewhere after that the chain of communication had a weak link.

This post is not to accuse or assail anyone’s riding skills. It is just a reminder that if we are riding in a group we have a responsibility to the riders behind us to point out and warn them of trouble they cannot see. Sometimes potholes are hard to see, especially if they are in the shade, so riders might not always get a warning. But if you see something, point out something.

And if you see someone in front of you point out a hazard, do like the stage announcer said in Woodstock: Pass it on.

Some days you’ve got it, some days you’ve got most of it, and some days you haven’t got it at all. The French say ‘un jour sans’ for an off day, and Saturday that was me.

I started from home and rode to Linden to meet the Stockton Bike Club ride at Orlando’s. My plan was to do a metric century (62 miles) to start getting trained for the long rides I plan to do in France in May and June. There is little chance that trip is going to happen, but I try willingly to suspend disbelief.

The wind was already blowing at 8 am. but it was mostly behind me. It was out of the Northwest, which meant that we were going to have quite a bit of headwind and crosswind to deal with.

When we got to Escalon Belota Road I almost turned around. Going downhill to the Shelton Road intersection is normally a fast stretch of riding, but there was such a big headwind that I could barely do 14 mph. I couldn’t hold anyone’s wheel and my friends disappeared up the road. A big double wheeled pickup passed me going at least 70 mph and less that 3 feet away from me, which didn’t help my mood even if he didn’t manage to knock me off the road.

Along Shelton Road I got dropped again. When we reached Weimer Road and Hwy 26, my companions continued up Ospital Road into more of that miserable wind, but I decided I’d had enough. To get home I have to do 25 miles and only 7 of those are downwind.

But part of that downwind riding included the Shelton Road Climb Strava Segment. My Garmin is programmed to automatically inform me when it starts and stops. With such a big tail wind I thought I could probably do a pretty good time and rescue something from what was turning out to be a very uncomfortable ride.

So I hit the hill hard and between my 311 watts and the big tailwind, I managed to get 3rd overall. If ever a record needed as asterisk that one certainly did. Drafting behind a car or motorbike or e-bike to set a PR seems like cheating, but the tailwind is just part of the course so I don’t feel guilty. Well perhaps a little.

My friend Steve is a really fine fellow and a strong rider. He is excellent company and it is a pleasure to converse with him. We laugh a lot even when we are drinking iced tea. He is also one of the most intelligent and practical people I know, and he can install or fix almost anything. Stoker wishes I had a fraction of his DIY skills.

But his cycling fashion sense is abysmal.

For one thing, he wears a wide brimmed hat under his cycling helmet. He says it is for sun protection, but he slathers on the sunscreen too and I suspect the only thing the hat does is slow him down. This aerodynamic atrocity might be a good thing though; he is a strong rider and hard for me to keep up with.

But his signature style sin is socks. He does not wear tights or knickers, but he covers most of his leg below the knee with an incredible assortment of outrageous hosiery.

Recently he produced some pairs with a superhero motif, capes and all. The two on the right below are batman and superman. On a recent ride one of the batman capes got caught in his chain and was dislocated. If he had crashed I can see the headline: Cyclist brought down by The Caped Crusader’s Cape.

I tell you, sometimes it is a trial to ride behind him. If thine eye offend thee…

This is not a political blog. Once upon a time I thought mathematics wasn’t a political subject. But times change…and guilt must be expunged.

First a little herstory: In 1978 I completed my Bachelor of Science degree in mathematics from the University of California, Davis. I was quite proud of that accomplishment at the time. These days as I struggle with balancing the checkbook or doing a killer sudoku puzzle, I think the person who received that piece of paper must have been someone else.

Little did I realize that by choosing to study mathematics, I was contributing to ‘capitalist, imperialist and racist views’.

But according to the Oregon Department of Education, that is exactly what I was doing! Here is an excerpt:

The Oregon Department of Education (ODE) recently encouraged teachers to register for training that encourages “ethnomathematics” and argues, among other things, that White supremacy manifests itself in the focus on finding the right answer.

The concept of mathematics being purely objective is unequivocally false, and teaching it is even much less so,” the document for the “Equitable Math” toolkit reads. “Upholding the idea that there are always right and wrong answers perpetuate objectivity as well as fear of open conflict.”

It also encourages teachers to “center ethnomathematics,” which includes a variety of guidelines. One of them instructs educators to “identify and challenge the ways that math is used to uphold capitalist, imperialist, and racist views.

I now see how insensitive and bigoted I was, trying so hard to find the ‘right’ answers to math problems. It was racist of me to strive to prove theorems instead of recognizing that ‘logic’ is in the eye of the beholder.

Since I don’t want anyone to think I am a racist, imperialist, or a capitalist (which is probably the most offensive ‘ist’ of all these days), I hereby publicly renounce my mathematics degree. I also vow no longer to seek the right answer when balancing the checkbook or doing a sudoku. I hope these small steps contribute to the cause of ‘Equitable Math’.

I write a blog for E San Joaquin. Or I used too.

Back in December our print subscription to the local newspaper came up for renewal. The price was quite steep and we decided that on line access is enough. As you might imagine, my view of the reporting slant of the press is not always favorable, and I decided to have a little fun with the changes at the paper.

To my surprise, my blog was censored and removed. The Editor was nice enough to call me and tell me first. Then he sent me an e mail calling what I wrote ‘a rant’ and suggesting I get my own blog not affiliated with the paper.

I published a few more tame posts on E San Joaquin. I also wrote a couple of most excellent pieces that I decided not to publish because I was pretty sure they would be removed. So I finally decided to go out on my own. If any of my 10 readers (including Stoker, who has little choice) follow me I will be grateful. But if not at least I can write without concerning myself that the censors are looking over my shoulder.

Here is the post that was removed. Decide for yourself if it constitutes a ‘rant’.

Over the years The Record has changed its name, its owners and its format several times. The current iteration is USA Today. Every time I open my paper I feel like I’m drinking coffee in the lobby of a Holiday Inn Express.

Another change coming soon: the paper is going to hire a Social Justice Reporter. With a job title like that, I’m sure we can look for some completely objective reporting under her/his byline.

All these improvements do not come cheap. The cost of a print subscription has been going up almost as fast as my unsubsidized Covered California Health Insurance.

When I saw the most recent renewal rate, I started to think about how I read the paper these days. First I scan the headlines. “Trump bad, Biden good”. So much for political news. Then a feel good community story, or a somebody done an innocent person in the community wrong story. Community is such a colorful word, with such diverse meanings.

On to Covid: don’t do this, don’t go there, stay home. Doesn’t take long to get the gist of the content.

Then I read the first paragraph (sometimes only the first sentence) of all the editorials. More ‘Trump bad, Biden good’. On to Sports. With all the games cancelled and fans banished, and social justice messages in the NFL end zones and on the sidelines (a story idea for the new reporter) it just doesn’t excite me. The business section gets a quick glance in case there might be some useful personal finance tips there (almost never).

This all takes me about 2 to 5 minutes, depending on who is writing the editorials. Now it is on to the most important part of the paper: the crossword puzzle. I fold it up and put it aside for the best part of the day. The rest goes into the trash.

I’m not particularity good at crosswords. So it takes me some time to get through them, if I can at all. I usually pour Stoker and me a vodka after 5 pm, turn on the local news (vodka helps) and have at it.

Stoker has been using the electronic version of The Record for years. After I saw the latest price hike I went on line and found out that we could get 1 whole year of unlimited access, including a digital replication of the printed paper, for $25/year. That is less than what I was tipping our carrier every quarter! And I can print the crossword puzzle. So we are going digital.

I wish it were as easy to save money using an e-version of Covered California, but I’ll just have to tough it out until July. Medicare here I come!

If anyone ever asks me about my hobbies, I usually say “Cycling, Chess and Monogamy”. I’m really good at one of these, fair at another, and I’m a bad chess player.

But ‘bad’ is relative. I played in tournaments. I drew a game with a Life Master in Turlock many (too many) years ago. I finished in a three way tie for first in a B Section Tournament at UC Berkeley., ahead of 95 other players. My rating reached a peak of 1746. Former Record Columnist Mike Fitzgerald also played and he was rated well above that, which always irked me, just as his column did on numerous occasions. But I really miss him in the paper.

Now I play against my phone. There is a chess app that has 12 levels, and on Level 7 I kill it, but on Level 10 I win about 1 in 10 with a couple of draws thrown in.

High quality internet is relatively new to Brumby Road, but now we have a real in-home WiFi network and tablets to stream video, and I discovered there are a lot of YouTube Chess Channels. One of the most popular, and my favorite, is Agadmator’s Chess Channel. He picks a game and does commentary and analysis for anywhere between 10 and 30 minutes. He will often say things like ‘White is OK here” or “Black is Better” or “White is Winning”. He is referring to one of the two chess sides.

But apparently YouTube has some AI Censors, or else there are some hypersensitive morons checking content. Look what happened last summer:

I heard about this at the time, but someone at the The Daily Mail in the UK just discovered it and decided to write about it.

Given all the frantic talk about systemic racism and a cancel culture looking for anything to jump on, I’m surprised chess has gone mostly unscathed. I mean, White moves first. Always. Is that fair? Shouldn’t the EEOC get involved?

You will actually hear the words “White is Better’ from chess commentators. But if I have the White pieces you are more likely to hear “Black is totally winning. White should resign” after only a few of my less than stellar moves.

When I lived in DC there was a game room in Georgetown that I could walk to. I played a guy one time, and as we were setting up the pieces he informed me he was going to be “the Black World Chess Champion”. He lost. White privilege no doubt. I apologize…