The Spare Change Fairy Waves Her Wand

Rocking fore and aft, that track stand is impressive there chief, but it’s not going to pay the bills.  You think of stop lights as a momentum sapping inconvenience, a speed bump in your average speed, but I treat stoplights like a lottery.  Too many times you spend your time at stoplights trying to look P.R.O. sitting on the top tube with your forearms on the tops of your bars as you stare off across the intersection like The Lion King on a cliff.  Sadly no one notices that you’re flexing your left quad in an attempt to impress the people in the car on your left.  Like a drag racer watching the sequence of lights on the starting tree, you keep an eye on the cross traffic light waiting for the yellow to jump on your clip-in.  You didn’t even notice the 71 cents scattered on the ground below you.

71 cents…that’s a pack of bonk saving Lance brand peanut butter crackers my friend.

“It’s six years of interest on our checking account!”  My wife exclaimed as she scooped up the scuffed quarters, nickels and penny.  Sadly, it’s true.  Our checking account makes a penny or two a month in interest.  We have a little bank in our laundry room for the spare change we find on rides.  It’s a Jelly Belly candy bank made to look like an old soda-pop machine.  About the size of small brick, it’s half full of roadside change and weighs nearly 2 pounds.  Clink.  Clink.  Clinkity clink.  I haven’t opened it up all summer, but no doubt we’ve found close to four or five bucks in change since April/ May.  We’re pretty close to a free inner tube at this point.

The other day, my buddy Scott found a crisp $1 dollar bill on his ride.  Paper sticks to summer’s hot pavement.  There are no toll roads in Cincinnati, but we find more money at non-descript intersections: Delta and Columbia Parkway, Erie and Murray.  Take a look around at the light wherever you ride.  Maybe drivers lean out the window to pay the vendor at Mt. Lookout Square for a copy of the Sunday morning Enquirer fat and loaded with coupons.  Maybe somebody really tipped the valet at the Precinct steakhouse with change.  Maybe a quarter was fumbled for a McDonalds drive thru Quarter Pounder.  The change bounced off the door panel and lodged itself in the crevice under the door.  Now and then you accidently close your door on a long jacket or dress.  Occasionally, you don’t see the Door Ajar light on your dash till you get to a long stop light.  You open the door, the change falls out, and the spare change fairy waves her wand at an observant cyclist.  Clink.

The Face of Jesus in Matt’s Saddle Bag

Look!  I think I see the face of Jesus.  Like the shroud of Turin, inside his saddle bag, the spare tube and Allen wrenches were wrapped in a tie-dye-esque aged rust stained cloth.  I unraveled the wrenches and held out the cloth.  Behold!  That might fetch a few bucks on eBay.  They’ve been in the seat bag a long time, not quite B.C. old, but maybe before Bieber.  25 miles from home, I was helping Matt from Smitty’s Cyclery in Cincinnati replace a broken shift cable.  Yes.  He carries a spare.

Wrapping your tube and tools are just one of the lessons I learned from Big Matt’s saddle bag.  A former racer on the track and on the road, I’m sure Matt’s no stranger to weight weenie tendencies.  Matt proved you can pack a lot and still pack light.  The bag was packed with the expertise of an Everest climber, the necessities of survival in a few cubic inches.  I’ve had a day to think about it, and there’s not a mechanical incident that would’ve had Matt calling for a ride home.  Inside Matt’s saddle bag: tube, mini-tool with chain breaker, select 4-5-6 Allen wrenches, patch kit, brake and shifter cable, a five spot, a zip tie, and a chain pin.  I wouldn’t doubt there were a spare cleat and/or bottle cage bolt in there somewhere.  He kept the mini pump in his jersey pocket.

The black thing is the free hub body.

Matt explained the zip tie was in case your free hub body dies.  The free hub body is the thing your cassette rides on.  Its ratcheting pawls allow you to coast and engage the gears.  When it dies, and they do occasionally, you’re left…coasting home.  To fix on the fly, you can zip-tie the cassette to the spokes and get yourself home in a fixed-gear sort of way.  A zip tie can also fix a broken bottle cage, keep a busted derailleur out of your spokes or can be traded to the locals for corn and beads.

Wrapping your spare tube and tools in cloth accomplishes two, three, maybe four things.  For one, it prevents you from being the annoying Mr. Jangly Bag on group rides.  Two, it keeps sharp edge tools from serrating your spare tube.  Three, I would hedge a bet that it keeps spare tubes from drying out and/or prevents the valve-tube junction from becoming oxidized.  Lastly, it never hurts to have a rag for sweaty hands or keeping gooey chain greased hands from messing up white bar tape.

The black thing is a zip tie.

While Matt worked to get the broken cable end out of his shifter, I reached over his bike and undid the fixing bolt on his Dura Ace rear derailleur.  Matt’s got many miles in his legs, no stranger to being 2 hours from home with a mechanical.  He’s a mechanic at Smitty’s Cyclery in Cincinnati.  Yet even he packs a spare derailleur cable and a spare brake cable in his seat bag.  I scratched my head.  His Land Shark bike was impeccably clean and well maintained.  Having worked at a shop myself, I take pride wrenching on my own bikes and used to have a relative comfort in thinking that my cables are new and all bolts are properly fixed.  I don’t need to bring a multi-tool or anything beyond a tube, cartridge, mini-pump and five-dollar bill.  There on a flat road, 2 hours from home, Matt snapped a cable, fixed it with a spare in the span of 5 minutes and left me questioning my minimalist logic.