Oh, My Baby's in the Shop . . .

There's something about gloomy skies and solo Sunday rides. Something that always seems to go wrong, that is. Usually, it's a flat. This time, it was worse.

Yesterday, I was supposed to have my second inline skating lesson . . . but threatening skies and incipient rain caused my instructor to cancel. I didn't find this out, of course, until after I'd showed up in Rock Creek Park (me and another class member), skates over my shoulder, bikes and hubby in the car, ready to ride through the park and into DC after the lesson.

So, what to do at 9:30 in the morning, when there's no skating lesson and it's still not warm enough to ride? Well, go to Caribou, of course, and wait for it to warm up! So, off we went, and spent a pleasant hour or so over coffee and books. I managed to finish Born on a Blue Day, by Daniel Tammet, an autobiography by a high-functioning autistic/Aspergers gentleman of how he perceives the world.

Only thing was . . . one hour later, it was no warmer, and there was a wicked breeze blowing (but no rain, thankfully). Relying on weather.com, I really had dressed for high 50s/low 60s, not low, windy, clammy and damp 50s. Ugh. Well, OK, we said to ourselves, let's go have lunch, and maybe it'll be warmer by the time we're done.

Off we went again, this time to Arlington and Ravi Kabob, one of the best little hole-in-the-wall Pakistani kabob joints you'll ever have the good fortune to stumble across. After chicken kabobs, rice, chickpeas, and naan, we went outside . . . into the same gloomy, cold day we'd just left. Still no rain, but raw.

We decided to go home. So much for Rock Creek Park, DC, and beyond. Another day.

Once we got back, I opted to do some inline skating practice. Remembering my terror at the small declines on the last parking lot I'd practiced on (stopping is a Very Important Skill I'm still working on mastering), I went to the nearby tennis courts. They have the advantage of being mostly flat, with a chain link fence for emergency stops . . . but they are a little too smooth. The heel brake takes longer to engage (and makes a horrible tooting sound, to boot).

While I was there, a tennis instructor showed up and informed me that I was not supposed to be using the courts for anything but tennis. He pointed out a sign, well above my short li'l head, that I'd failed to notice. But he did say he'd not need the court for about another half hour, so I kept up the practice, telling him that I just needed the stopping power of the court's chain link fence for another session or so. Really, I am going to get this braking thing down.

After I'd had my fill of skating, I trudged back home, hauled my bike out of the car and told Jeff I was going for a ride. I'd changed into UnderArmour, was feeling warmer, and wanted to shake the blues off my body. Off I went.

As I tooled down Route 28, my usual course, I noticed I was having trouble shifting the rear derailleur. I'd click the lever, but nothing would happen. I'd click it again, and the chain would (reluctantly) move. Huh. Not good. I continued down the road, turning onto Seneca, testing the lever several times more. By the time I got to my turnaround point, I figured I'd better take a look at the cables. Something was definitely not right.

And indeed it was not. I spent several minutes looking at the cable, and the insertion point into the brake calipers. I tried clicking the lever up, then down. Suddenly: CLICK! Oops. that didn't sound good. Sounds like something broke. Oh, yeah, something did break. Look, the cable housing came right out of the caliper! This cable's busted, for sure.

The problem with busting a rear derailleur cable? You're effectively in high gear, with no way of shifting out of it. Hills are a bitch, and even getting started is hard.

Time to call out the cavalry. I dialed Jeff at home. "Hey, I busted a cable. Can you come and get me? Oh, and can you see if Revolution Cycles is open?"

About 20 minutes later, Jeff showed up in the old RAV. Fortunately, I'd called at the end of the Mets game (they won). We loaded the bike and headed off to Revolution. I tried calling them, but T-Mobile's 411 could not find it. At. All. Oh, well . . . they will either be open, or not.

Yes! They were open: 'til 6 pm, both Saturday and Sunday. I wheeled my baby in, and signed up for front and rear cable replacement, chain replacement, and a full cleaning and tuneup. I was planning to do all of this anyway, soon; my bike's got 9,000+ miles on it and I need my baby to be in top shape for summer event riding.

She should be healed and ready for pick-up Wednesday evening. Yeah!

In the meantime, if the weather ever clears up (rain did put in an appearance, after all), I'll go out on my old Panasonic a couple of times. The old girl's probably feeling a bit neglected.