Friday, April 29, 2011

Symptom: Chain Rub

Cause: You've just torn your crank arm off!

Sounds weird, I know. Usually chain rub, that grating sound as your bike chain scrapes against something, is caused by the front derailleur being slightly out of position, and the chain rubbing on some part of the derailleur as it comes off the big chain ring near your pedal and crank assembly. So, when I hear chain rub, I look on the right side of my bike to see what's scraping what. This happened to me as I was coming off my last climb of the day, and it was loud and embarrassing. Also, chain rub gradually gets louder, as the derailleur slowly gets more and more out of position. A stretched out shift cable here, vibrations loosening the adjustment screws there, over time these things will get worse and so will the scraping sound. Not so, this morning. Sudden, loud, annoying.

I got off my bike and saw my chain was pushing on the derailleur, and not just slightly, but by a lot. Was my chain old and stretched out, so it was on the wrong cog? That's another usual suspect. I tested all the gears and the shifting, and the chain was landing on the right spot, but the front derailleur just wasn't happy about it. All these areas of the bike are on the right side. Never did I think to check the left side of the bike. Well, I figured I would just roll over to my bike shop and let them figure it out, so I called them just to let them know to expect me. I said, 20-25 minutes. Heh. not even close. 45 minutes. Why? My left crank arm fell off twice as I tried to baby my bike over to Incycle in Pasadena.

Oh, so that was why the chain ring was pushing up on the derailleur. With the left crank loose, and apparently no longer attached to the dowel, the right side of the pedal assembly had moved to the right, pressing up against the derailleur. That's not a good thing. I found that out as I pushed off from the side of the road after testing the shifting, and my left leg came down, and just pushed the left crank arm right off my bike. Clunk.

Thankfully, I always carry a multitool with all sorts of allen wrenches, so I reattached the left crank as best as I could, and set off to the bike shop. Every stoplight was my enemy, because starting from a dead stop and clicking back in gave the best chance for pushing the arm laterally away from the bike. So, of course, it happened one more time, after crossing an intersection, and my left crank arm was just dangling from my cleat. It's really easy to clip out of a pedal when you can kick the ground with it.  "Okay, multitool now goes in back pocket," I thought to myself, "then I won't have to dig it out of saddle bag again." Yes, I don't use definite articles in my own thoughts. They're my thoughts, I know what I'm referencing!

I made it to Incycle, and the mechanic immediately saw what was wrong and broken. Let's take a look at what I'm talking about here:

Nice brand name placement there, Shimano.

You see that silver, round connector? On a 2010 Shimano Ultegra crankset, that thing is black and plastic. And, evidently, doesn't like constant torque throughout the pedal stroke. Silly me for trying to maximize my effort. Incycle just replaced old and busted with the Durace version, which is nice and aluminum. My old Shimano Ultegra crank also used an aluminum connector, and lasted 19 and a half thousand miles. This black, plastic crap only lasted 3300 miles. According to the Incycle mechanic, my busted connector was the second one he had to replace this week. I think Shimano needs to go back to using aluminum. And now, I have an Ultegra-Durace hybrid crankset. Also, I can now say my pedal stroke is so over-torqued, I ripped a crank arm off my bike. Unfortunately, the mechanic said you don't have to be that strong to do it. Strong enough, I say!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Switch: On

When it comes to doing something physically strenuous, I feel like I have a switch in my head right behind my right eye that's like a dial with an arrow on it that points to ON and moves to OFF. There are gauge lines on it from easy to hard - "heh.", "meh.", "eh...", "geh!", "feh!". "Feh!" basically means, "Fuck this ride, fuck this bike, fuck this! I'm walking!" Since I picked up cycling, the dial has been pretty much taped to ON, but sometimes the dial wiggles, trying to get off the ON spot, when the terrain throws me a "geh!" reaction. I've had a couple of "feh!" reactions, but this was several years ago, after I had broken my hand, and I was just getting back into shape. There was this one spot in Griffith Park on the hill past the golf course, where I had to get off the bike, have myself a little puke, and then walk up to the top of the hill. I look at that spot nowadays and wonder just how much fitness I would have to lose to get back to that pathetic situation. And just last year, the dial ripped off the tape and threw me a "geh!" before settling into "eh..." for several minutes going up Starlight Crest to Angeles Crest Highway in La Canada. A twenty percent grade on a 39-23 gear ratio will do that, I guess.

This morning, I was worried about that switch in my head, because the goal was to climb Lida Street 3 times in my big ring, the 53. This is climbing month after all. I was worried, because I had peaked last week. Peaks in fitness really do happen, but most of the time, I only realize them after the fact. Last week, every single session on the bike was faster than my fastest time for the same course last year, so I was looking forward to what improvements I had made on my other climbing course for this week. Oh pride..., always setting you up for the fall. Every day felt bad, slow, and hurt. I checked my times from last year: my results were all middle of the pack and consistent too. 3 minutes slower, all week. By Thursday, I knew it: I was coming off of a peak, and it was not pretty. So that's why I was worried about Lida, and whether I could actually climb all three times in my big ring, pushing hard and slow, and trying to guess on which part of the hill I would give up and go to my spinning gears.

Well, that first climb sucked. I couldn't find a rhythm, each pedal stroke felt like my other leg wasn't helping at all, and my breathing wasn't synchronized with my effort. But no muscular pain, and no cursing in my head. Encouraging signs! The dial jiggled only once under the tape, and that was at the very bottom where there's this short steep part before the incline begins measuring out constant grudging pain. The second and third climbs felt even better, not faster, but better, and the awareness of the switch behind my right eye taped to ON disappeared. When I rolled over the top of Lida the third time on my way to Figueroa, I sat up, and as I reached for my water bottle, I said to myself, "heh."