The Fish

I'll be posting about my weekend fun in just a little bit, but first I want to devote a little space on the blog to The Fish. My bike and I have been together for several months now. We've been through a lot together, up and down mountains, through dry sandy washes and across wet, muddy creeks. We've participated in races and commuted to work together. We're comfortable going for short group rides or spending hours alone, just the two of us exploring the wide expanse of Arizona's wilderness. And when the day is through, he sleeps at the foot of my bed, happily dreaming of future adventures. We've logged several thousand miles together, and in that time we've developed an incredible mutual relationship. He provides thrilling rides and transportation, and I provide a home and loving care in the form of greased bearings and oiled chains. Yet, our relationship has not been without its share of arguments. And whether I like to admit it or not, our fights usually end in physical abuse: we both bear the proof in scars and scraped aluminum. I'm not usually one to air my dirty laundry, but I just needed to get this off of my chest, as Fish and I have had a rough couple of weeks.

Fish is a pretty easy going guy, but he does have his needs, and for the past few weeks, I have neglected a pretty important part of our relationship. At first, Fish was subtle about his needs. When I first got back from the ocean, Fish was so happy to have me back that he didn't say anything about upgrading components or my rusty skills, and we had a wonderful time getting to know each other again. But the honeymoon period could only last so long. On a ride in Papago a few weeks after the 24 HOP, Fish casually mentioned that he thought he needed a new back tire as it slipped in the loose gravel while riding up a steep incline. I said I'd think about it, got back to my riding, and completely forgot about the incident. Then a few weeks later, as we were coming around a curve up at Granite Mountain, we slid again, and Fish again told me that he thought the tread on the back tire was getting precariously low. I wholeheartedly agreed, and promised him that we'd pop into a bike shop during the next week. The week went by, and I got busy with other things, and still no new tire. One day while we were stopped at a traffic light, I looked back at his tire, and Fish started giving me attitude. "Yeah, see that rubber? There's nothing left, let's ditch work and head over to Domenic's..." The light turned green and the noise of the busy street drowned out Fish's request. Fish is strong bike though, and was not about to give up easily. Now, during every ride, his demands are incessant. With a skid around curves or a complete spin trying to go up hills, Fish complains loudly that all of the other bikes are concerned about him and that if I don't shape up and take care of his needs, he's going to ditch me.

Well... Fish is a man of his word, and he wasn't happy on Tuesday night. The pressure in my tires was low from practicing curb jumping, and I forgot to pump them back up to their Papago pressure. He wasn't beating around the bush to let me know that he was less than amused as we wobbled around the park for a few hours with Jack. I tried not to notice Fish's fiery temper, but he was not about to be ignored. Jack and I decided to explore a bit and rode up the back side of a small butte that we had never been up before, with me crunching up the degraded granite on my treadless tire. I was having a blast on the new found trail, but just as we gained speed coming up and around a bend, Fish saw his chance to get his revenge. Up ahead was a large metal trail marker, positioned directly in the middle of the line that I had chosen for us with a wide gravelly trail to the left and a slope off to the right. Right there, Fish peeled out, "I've had enough, I'm sick of your abuse, I NEED A NEW TIRE and I want out of this relationship, RIGHT NOW!!" And with that, Fish went flying off to the right, leaving me sailing into the sharp shrapnel to the left. The violence of his actions stunned me for a moment upon impact with the unforgiving ground. Sure, we've had spills before, endos even, but never anything of this magnitude. I got up slowly, looked sheepishly back at Jack who rode up behind me, and started painfully picking rocks out of my left knee, hand, and elbow. A small torrent of blood oozed out of the eruption in my leg as I attempted to wash out anything that was not part of my normal anatomy, leaving a sizable chunk of meat and skin behind in a pool of bloody water. It's one thing to get in a fight with your bike when you're by yourself, but pretty embarrassing when someone else witnesses it as well, so I sternly whispered to Fish to knock it off and told him that we'd talk about the incident later when we got home. I picked him up, readjusted his brakes, dusted him off a bit, and continued on the ride a whole lot more cautiously than before. After the ride, I headed out to Maloney's for some liquid therapy and some reassurance from friends that everything was going to be alright. Jack agreed that maybe I should pay more attention to Fish's needs and get him a new tire, or at least learn to tuck and roll in the event of another of his tantrums. Hannah was just happy that I finally wrecked. By the end of the night, I was feeling much better, and returned to the bike with a fresh promise to listen to his problems (squeaky brakes and unidentified clicking noises) and fix everything that was wrong in our relationship (including bald tires and shaky rock hopping skills). With visions of fresh, knobby rubber, he forgave me and we now look forward to many more long, healthy years together... once my knee heals, that is.