they are NOT messing around!

Perhaps learning by pushing against boundaries is just a part of being human. As kids, we all fight against rules and we push limits set for us by parents, teachers, grandparents, etc., until we understand exactly where we stand in this big, confusing world. As older kids, it remains equally enticing to push against boundaries, to read a sign beginning with the word "NO" or containing the word "PROHIBITED," and then to go and do precisely the opposite. Just to see. How serious are those little signs? Does anyone actually care? Will anything ever happen to me if I don't follow that silly little sign?

Like I said, maybe it's just human.

I've always seen those signs posted on pedestrian malls that tell bicyclists to dismount and walk their bikes, but I guess I never really knew if anyone actually cared about them. Apparently they do. Either that, or I've just had a string of bad luck. Well, not that bad, really. Just enough to learn.

In Denver, pedaling down the bus lane of the 16th Street Mall, two cops called me over while I was stuck at a red light. They didn't give me a ticket, but they did write me a very official warning to let me know that, yes, they did in fact care about those dismount bicycle signs, and yes, they do actually write tickets that require the payment of punitive fees with actual money for not following this rule. Lesson learned.

In Boulder, after grabbing a quick bite to eat, I hopped back onto my bike, coasted probably 20 yards at most until getting back onto 14th. At the red light, a cop pulled up next to me, and told me that they regularly issue $50 penalties to people cycling on the mall. Even after arguing that I had only rolled a short way just to get onto the actual road, she told me, "20 yards, 50 bucks." Again, I lucked out with the warning, and I learned that some cops really do care about those dismount signs.

I don't know if this is really worth anything, but for what little it may be worth, I've definitely learned to avoid the pedestrian malls on my bike. There really are people – typically people with badges and the ability to write expensive tickets – who actually care about the dismount rules spelled out on those signs. In the long run, it's definitely easiest, fastest, and entirely pain-free to keep it simple and stick to the bike lanes.

Another One Bites the Dust

Well, it happened again. I broke my frame. That's makes two in the last few months. Granted, these weren't high end carbon frames, or some similarly expensive technology, just beater road frames. However, the lack of value the frames held didn't help offset the loss.

The former of these two fatalities, suffered its "coup de grace" upon impacting the front end of a Manhattan taxi cab. It happened one afternoon, while I was pushing the "red light window". I arrived at the intersection a bit too late, and got caught. The driver's side nose, of the front bumper, struck me just behind the right leg, slightly in front of the derailleur. There was a minor hold up while I picked myself up, and remounted my bike. The cabbie and I exchanged our usual scripts of accusatory expletives, and we were both on our way. No big deal, I thought.

What I didn't notice that day, were the two hair line cracks on my chainstays the cabbie left me with. I didn't become aware of them until about a week later, as I was riding the cobbles across Varick St. At first, I noticed a "bounce" to my bike, like an unfamiliar softness. Eventually, I began to sink, and my frame grew longer beneath me. I knew something was amiss.

Apparently, t

he tension of my chain acted as a fulcrum, that eventually pulled the chain stays apart.

The above photo was taken shortly after my bike entered "that great criterium in the sky".

The latter frame met its end in much the same way. However, this time, the death was more prolonged.

One day, while cruising down the top end of 7th avenue, I was somewhere in the mid 50's, about to time it through an intersection. Imagine a real life game of Frogger.

No one was going exceptionally fast, as the spirit and pleasantness of the day discouraged it. I was about to slip between two cabs, when all of a sudden, the one projected to be on my left side, slammed on his brakes, and I ran into the last 3 inches of his rear bumper. I went flying over the trunk, while my bike stayed put. I actually got up in time to see it fall over. I picked my bike up and gave it a once-over. Upon inspection there were no visible breaks or deep crimps. However, the impact of the crash had ever so slightly bent the head tube. The damage appeared minimal. Moreover, being a steel frame, I assumed it was fine and continued on, unaware of the cancer that now grew within my bike.

So, months later, today in fact, after tons of miles, working and commuting, the malignant tumor that was growing within, surfaced. This happened in the lamest of places, too. I had just clamped my ride down to a communal bike stand, in front of a bunch of bike nerds, with the intention of showing it off. There it was. The death rattle was heard by all. I was so embarrassed. I played it off as best I could, but I was horrified. How could I have not noticed this? It never made a sound until that day. But sure enough, it was curtains.

My frame near decapitation:

If you can't see it, its the obvious tear that runs along the top of the lug and across the body of the head tube. Over hundreds of miles, the slight imperfection in the head tube eventually developed into a serious weakness. One day, the stress became two much, and the frame was severed.

Currently, my bike is still in the "wake" stage of bike death.

Well, I guess these things just happen. If you ride a bike long enough, you come realize that it has a lifespan, and chances are, you will outride it. Whether or not you personified your bike in any way, at one time or another, it was a trusted friend that you depended on. Whether it was to make it to class or work on time, or just blow off some steam, it was there for you. Bikes have memories attached to them. Eventually, they carry sentimental value. To lose one, is enough to ruin your day. Especially when you have to take that bus ride of shame.

However, there is a secret guilty pleasure in losing a bike. You get to replace it.