Bike Repairs at An Iranian Gun Shop

Bike Day 2, 22 miles: Total 42 Miles

We got up at 5:30 and ate our oatmeal. It was clear, dry, and 55 degrees through the night. It was a great night for sleeping, and I went to bed at 7:30. Since I only went 20 miles the first day, I had no sore body parts and the butt felt good.

As planned we were at yesterday’s stopping point (today’s starting point) at 8 AM sharp. I was now on the secondary bike, the Raleigh Modified Mountain Bike I had bought in Seattle for $100 five years ago. I have ridden it more than the new and now flat tired Bianchi Strada. It’s a comfortable bike but has no pedal cleats so I ride it in sneakers. The Raleigh has its own cycle computer, but I soon found it must be out of adjustment as I went down a hill at 61 miles per hour. It felt fast, and I was frightened; and I was really frightened when I saw the 61 on the speedometer, even though I didn’t believe it. Later I measured a mile and the odometer said 1.8 miles, so it was way off calibration. I figured in my head I needed to take all readings times .55 to be accurate. So I actually went down the hill at about 33 MPH, fast enough for sure. Someone tell me if I’m correct. (A test to see if any one is actually reading this stuff!)

The first town we passed, Svenson, OR. had about 100 houses, but a nice gas station with Cappuccino. So, I pulled in, leaving the bike hanging out over the edge of the highway so the TB would see it as he went by. As I paid for my Cappuccino I could see him approaching, eyes glued on the road, and he zoomed on by at 45 MPH. This became our first test of the cell phone, which worked and so he waited on down the road. I pulled out and went about 0.3 miles when I realized I had left my gloves behind. So now I was riding west, not east, to fetch the gloves. When I caught TB he was fast asleep at the wheel at a pull off. He fed and watered me and I was on my way again. At Clatskanie, he had gone to the grocery and asked about a bike shop. He was directed to the gun shop across the street where the proprietor had previously owned a bike shop. So on my arrival in town the TB is setting in front of “Sporty’s Gun and Ammo Shop” excited to tell me that Sporty, an Iranian American, was anxious to look at my bike. So in to the gun and ammo shop, not a new experience for me, I go. Sporty is sporting a beanie and a big smile as I immediately look more like a cyclist than an NRA or John Birch society member. “I’ll be right out to look at the bike,” he says in good English. Soon out the door he comes, telling me he road a bike 80 mile once and will ride across country when he is at the stage of life I’m at. I think he meant age. Because of my excessive weight, he told me he had trouble with his passport in Afghanistan once and had to stay 30 extra days until the state department figured it out. And during that time he gained 30 pounds! I told him I’ve not been out of the country.

He expertly looked the bike over and said the tire was not out of round and the rim was true. He suspected the tube just was inflated too fast and not centered on the rim, but since I also had gear adjustment problems he suggested I take it to a bike shop across the river in Washington some 20 miles away. “They’re good, he said, especially the women manager.” He then said he used to have a bike shop in his same location, but “guns and ammo” were better selling. He also used to teach bike repair at the Junior College. Then he said something about his third wife, having previously said he had two wives. So I called him on the confusion, saying, “come on now, is it two or three wives?” And he said, “You know yourself, these white women just don’t last!” I can’t say as I do.

So we packed up and drove the 20 miles to Washington across the Lewis and Clark Bridge. The shop was gigantic and part of Bill’s Outdoor Store that looked every bit as big as an REI. I heard them page Bill Junior once.

The boys checked the bike out, remounted the tire (just as Sporty The Iranian had said), and adjusted the gears. It works great now as I tested in the parking lot. Using Sporty’s technique of leaving no information unstated and trying to get a cheap price I told them I was a retired doctor, had a rich wife, was riding across America, in desperate circumstances, had no where else to go, and was ignorant of bike repair. They said in that case it would be $10; but did I know if there was supposed to be sales tax in Florida? I said, “Yes, there is.” So they charged me $10.65.

We drove back across the Lewis and Clark Bridge to Oregon and Sporty’s place and I started out on the Strada this time. It zoomed along until the first major hill a 6% grade for two miles. So I did what any good hiker would do, I walked it and pushed the bike. Since I was walking I went over on the other side to face the traffic and TB zoomed by missing me again. But the cell phone saved us once more and he waited 5 miles ahead. It was bout 10 miles to the same campsite and we decided to end the day there. After he fed and watered me again, I was just pulling out when I say two more bikers coming up from the rear. They must have pedaled the entire hill I walked. Soon I was headed down the other side and going 30 mph. I was thinking, I’ll show them, but they kept closing and as I was at 33 mph they went by like a paddy car passing a hobo. They sure had the gear of Trans-AM riders, but I’ll probably never know for sure. When we got on the flats they were a quarter mile ahead and I went for a high gear and was actually gaining on them when I came to the road to our campsite. They are very lucky I didn’t have more time or I would have shown them something.

So day two ends and we are 42 miles into the 4200-mile trek. WE HAVE COMPLETED 1% OF OUR RIDE. Tires are fixed and bike is well tuned; we are now on our way.