Tips for the Handyman

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On Sunday, I wrote about the new and improved bicycle seat I received for my birthday.   It was a thoughtful gift.  I was eager to install it and say farewell to the “ice pick” style seat I have used these many years.

I went into the garage at first light this morning and studied the installation of my current seat.  It was a simple clamp operated by an Allen screw.  I retrieved the proper wrench and set to work.  After ten minutes, I set out on my first potentially comfortable ride in several decades.

I finished riding a few minutes ago and I want to pass along a few tips to others who might be considering a similar project.  Listen up, men.  (I want to write this while it is still fresh in my mind.)

Tip 1:             The pointy end of the new seat must point directly at the center of the handlebars.  A test ride of, say, 50 feet will help you detect even the smallest misalignment.  No, you cannot detect this small error with the naked eye, but other organs can.

Tip 2:             When properly installed, the pointy end of the seat angles slightly downward.  Under no circumstances should the average male rider trust his eyes to determine the proper angle.  I am just guessing here, but I suspect your personal architecture determines the minimum proper declination of the seat.  Unless you are a colossal fool, test this in your driveway before heading far from home.

Tip 3:             Finally, tighten the Allen screw to “red in the face” torque.  You might save yourself the embarrassment of having the seat tilt forward into a near vertical position, dumping you onto the frame member.  Ouch!  Conversely, you do not even want to imagine the seat spontaneously tilting backward to the vertical, either.  The consequences could be severe.

Tip 4:             Take the Allen wrench with you when you go for your first ride or two.

There you have it.  Follow these simple suggestions and your first ride on your new bicycle seat will be memorable for all the right reasons.  Overlook even one of them at your own peril.

I am keeping this short because I need to soak in a hot tub for a while.  Then, maybe an ice pack…

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The Green Snake

When I was a schoolboy, I read an article in a popular magazine entitled “Seeing the Green Snake.”  In those days, I was interested in hanging every kind of trophy on my wall, so the story was irresistible.  I dreamed of bagging one of these rare reptiles.  As I read, I learned that the term “seeing the green snake” was the Russian equivalent of our “seeing pink elephants.”  I felt grossly misled.  Apparently, some Russian men were over-imbibing Russian vodka and hallucinating about snakes.  After I saw a few Russian women, I felt a deep sense of sympathy for the men.  Then, there are the Russian men.  I never learned what the women drank, but I am convinced they are fully justified.  I wish all Russians a happy life with all members of the Russian opposite sex, whatever they may be.

That experience pretty much ended my interest in green snakes.  Later experiences ended my interest in pink elephants, too.  Finally, I arrived at a point in life, where I no longer desired blasting one of God’s creatures into eternity.  In fact, I now go to extremes in sparing animals of every sort, given my murderous beginning.

In the past few days, my luck and one possibly helpless animal’s life ran out.

I was on track for a near-record time on my morning bicycle ride.  As usual, sweat was running into my eyes and my visual acuity changed as I moved between full sun and heavy shade.  The heat is oppressive.  I think that is why snakes tend to slither onto the concrete trail in the heaviest shade.  They look exactly like twigs or branches from even a short distance.  As an aside, I have risked a grisly end, avoiding serpents lying in the shade appearing to be tree limbs.  Lesser snakes, twig caliber, are less threatening.

That brings us to my ride of just a few days ago.  As I said, I was making excellent time.  I rushed up a steep hill and across a small bridge, into a long stretch of intense sunlight.  My pupils must have been the size of microbes as I sped toward a patch of shade.  I have a trained eye, but the green snake was a few feet from my front tire when I recognized his/her peril and mine.

Like a news crawler in Times Square, my brain finally alerted me: “The two foot long green twig directly in front of your tire is a dangerous looking snake!”

I could do nothing.  Dodging left would put me over a 50-foot cliff.  On the right sturdy trunks would do to me what I did not want to do to the snake.  I had milliseconds to act.  That is the moment I began studying the snake in detail.  My faint hope was the cleats on my tires would miss the animal.  Failing that miracle, I hoped I was looking at a common garter snake.

In the expanded time that comes with emergencies, I noticed the snake was a darker green on its back than its sides.  The snake’s sides were a bright, light green.  They were almost chartreuse.  

“Wish I had a motorcycle that color,” I thought.

Using my expanded sense of time, I analyzed further.  The reptilian head looked wrong.  It had a small head, but shaped more like a constrictor or a mamba.

“This is just perfect,” I thought.  “I am about to run over and piss-off a pigmy Green Mamba or Burmese Python.  They may never find my body, just the bicycle and my garish suit.”

I pulled up on my handlebars, struggling to fly over the little package of death.

I had no luck.  I continued to the end of the trail and made a sad turn toward home.   I resolved to look for the little terror on the way back, hoping he would be gone, having slithered away to poison or crush someone else.

Alas, I found him coiled in a strange “S-shaped coil exactly where we first met.  He looked annoyed, but he was not moving.  I gave him a respectful berth as I passed, slowly.

The next day he was gone.  My guess is a crow, dog, or cat made a meal of him [or her]. 
I could only imagine the showy reptile had rejoined the Great Circle of Life.  [Cat poop?]

I am sorry, Ruth.  Next time, I will try to mail you a live specimen.

Sweatty and Ice Pick Ride Again

"Sweatty," the Biker

     I am publishing this at the risk of giving my younger readers (under age 50) nightmares, but I just couldn't resist.  Besides, it was all I had.


An annoyingly alert neighbor caught me sneaking home from a bike ride and trespassing across her lawn. The scene was apparently comical enough that she snapped my picture.  Upon receiving it, I had to admit it was amusing for a man having a near death experience.  I completed 7 miles in 32 minutes in the morning heat. The shade was a life saver.  Some retirement, eh?

"Sweatty" and his faithful steed, "Ice Pick."
Named for the shape of the seat.

While recovering, I updated my profile with a list of stuff Google thinks people might want to know about me.  (Google doesn't seem all that smart to me. Go Figure.) I did my best, but if you don't want to know this stuff, it is okay with me.

Nature Trail Revealed!

For several weeks, I have threatened to photograph the little nature trail that bisects my neighborhood. Since I first thought of it, the trail has seldom been above water. Half the circuit was dry this morning and I set out, camera around neck, to capture as much of the natural beauty as possible.

A pair of extravagant berry bushes mark the trailhead. I do not know their names. Fred and Ethyl, maybe? They are a welcoming sight year round. If you have an idea what they are, let me know.

Immediately beyond, the trail curves hard left to parallel the local creek. Recently, it has been a navigable waterway, but has subsided to being full of water. The water has been fifteen to twenty feet higher in recent weeks and observant readers might find traces of debris in the trees and shrubs in these photos. At the curve, the trail is about forty feet above the creek.

The trail continues along the flood plain, rising and falling as much as fifty feet. The upgrades test the intrepid cyclist’s heart and will. The downgrades provide breath-restoring relief and high-speed excitement. Local wildlife includes a snowy heron who has grown accustomed to my presence. The little bugger did not show this morning. Maybe he’s camera shy.

Autumn colors are only beginning to emerge.  The continuous rains of the last month have rejuvenated the plant life, leaving them reluctant to go to sleep for the winter.  Sumack is one of the most flamboyant autumn plants.  Even these are muted, but still impressive to my eye.  See below.  I'll check in on it again next week, weather permitting.


The air was cool, dry and on the move (15 mph) when I hit the trail.  It was bracing!   Hauling a camera is the perfect excuse to pedal at a leisurely pace, avoiding the unsightly gasping and sweating that usually accompanies these outings.  I may take the camera from now on!

About two miles along, I discovered a stand of trees I've never noticed before. Yes, that's hard to believe, but they seem to have appeared from nowhere.  Odder, they are growing right next to the site of the raging torrent and they are more than twenty feet tall.  Maybe they're some sort of alien mutant trees trying to blend in until they take over the planet. (I wish them all the luck in the world. They can have my part.)

At the halfway mark, I discovered the spillway is under water.  Still.  Since it is also the bridge to the rest of the trail, I was stopped.  Nature teaches patience, darn her anyway. Perhaps tomorrow...

I expect the colors will get better and the light will continue to gain that pale golden hue that accompanies autumn.  If the rains forebear, there are many beautiful images waiting for someone to notice them.  I would be pleased if it were me.

I will share what I find in future posts.  I hope you enjoy these views even half as much as I.  I can still smell the wild scented air and feel tthe cool breezes on my cheek even now.  What could be better than a morning in autumn?  I am one lucky guy.