Day 1

Prep Work

I have never seen lines that bad.  It reminded me of the bread lines I’d heard about in Moscow shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union.  The security line snaked through the entry way and down the sidewalk from the America West / Southwest terminal all the way to the International terminal a quarter mile away and it was six people deep.  This was complimented by the fact that America West only provided two electronic check-in kiosks inside the terminal.  One line after another after another.  I contemplated taking a picture of this moving human fiasco, but after seeing the gentleman in front of me in line get pulled out of it by TSA officials who started grilling him about “Why did you take a picture of the line, where are you from, what are you doing here, where are you going” I decided I didn’t need the hassle.  So meekly, I submitted my credit card to the check-in machine and get my boarding pass.  “NO SEATS AVAILBLE, PLEASE SEE GATE ATTENDANT”.  That can’t be good.  I had purchased the ticket and gotten an assigned seat a week ago and it’s still more than an hour before the flight.  Something must be screwy.  I made my way down the security line to wait patiently.

And wait… and wait… and wait.

Sure enough, having waited more than an hour in line and having progressed finally into a shaded area, an America West employee starts culling the herd for anyone whose flight leaves at 9:30 or earlier.  That’s me I say and get shuffled over to a different line to enter a priority security area.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get there soon enough to avoid being in line behind a girl who thought it would be a good idea to irradiate two of her dogs rather than take them out of her little plastic Hello-Kitty carrier and carry them through the metal detector.  I swear these people should be barred from flying.

I proffer up my shoes and bags to the x-ray and walk unmolested through the metal detector and then run to the gate.  Turns out the flight was more than 10% overbooked and I and 12 of my newest best friends are all screwed.  They can put us on standby or confirm us on a flight out the next day.  NEXT DAY??? Lady, it’s only 9:30AM and you can’t find me a seat for over 24 hours???  None of this pathetic waiting for me ma’am, I’ll take your pathetic excuses and $200 travel voucher and you can kiss my saddle sores.  Time to find a one way car rental.  So down to baggage claim I go.

The rental car counters in baggage claim are merely desks with former payphones shackled to them.  You pick up the handset and get to choose from two buttons: local reservations and international reservations.  No numberpad.  So it’s quite shocking that after picking up the phone for Alamo and hearing nothing but static, I went to the National phone and was prompted to enter 1 for English and 2 for Spanish.  For 10 minutes I listened to menus play back stating “We did not understand your response”.  That’s because my response was verbal, blue and unappreciated by those with small children around me.  Finally a human being answered, transferred me to another computer, got a human and finally got transferred to a human who made my reservation.  $165 for a one way compact car LAX to PHX.  This is gonna be the most expensive damn tire of my life.  Oh well, no choice really, let’s get this thing going!  While waiting on the bus to ride out to the rental car lot I reprogrammed the GPS to take me from LAX to PHX by road.  This isn’t a good way to start.  It’s already 11:30… an hour AFTER I meant to be in Phoenix already.

Finally transportation was secured and I was enroute… even the rusty elephants along the way were trumpeting their glee at seeing me finally getting underway.  And get underway I did too.  I was reminded of the previous week and how everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere.  No I know why… they must all have been bumped airline passengers.

So a quick 5 hour trip through the desert on a Chevy Cobalt (with no name), a few hundred more dead butterflies and boom, whaddaya know, I’m back in Phoenix… 6 hours later than I intended, but at least I’m there.  Time to hunt down Probity Cycle.  I navigate around just outside of downtown with my buddy Charlie providing mapping via cell phone… I-10 to 202-Loop through Tempe and on to Mesa.  Get off on Broadway and left on Alma School.  Boom there it is, sort of stuck in the back of a den of other bike and autobody shops.  Probity Cycle.  Finally… I’ll get the bike, pay the good man, and be off and down the road before you can say…

In the Shop

“Yeah, you must be George, pleased to meet ya!”

Shake hands.

“There’s some good news and some bad news”

I should have known.

Apparently, UPS never dropped the tire off.  So a quick jaunt off to CycleGear was in order.  I left the rental at Probity and George took me, and his dog “Muzzy” to CycleGear through various shorts cuts in his FourRunner.  Sure enough, the tire is in stock and they’ve got it ready for me.  I get George’s wholesale discount and I’m thinking “This ain’t so bad”.  We get back out to the car and toss the tire into the back with Muzzy and start heading back.  But first, George goes to Wendy’s to get a soda… and some chili… and some fries.  No worries… just a quick snack while working on the tire…

We get back to the shop and George immediately get’s to work… on the chili.  My bike languishes on the jack.  I don’t begrudge the man his food… when you’re hungry you gotta eat… but please, time is of the essence.   Oh well, eat away McDuff, I’ll go make some phone calls and let people know what my time frames are looking like.  The chili packed away and fries used to push the beans and meat into their appropriate holding pen, George quickly lubes his throat with soda and turns around to look at the rear tire.  Pulls the cap off of the axle nut and proclaims “That’s a big goddamn axle nut… I’ve never seen one that big”.  Neither have any of his tools as we soon discover that he doesn’t have a socket big enough to fit the 46mm beast that holds my rear wheel together.  I kick my own ass mentally for not having gone and gotten a socket myself over the previous week like I knew I should have.  George declares that he’s never let a nut kick his ass and he heads out on his little electric scooter to one of the custom cruiser shops to see if they have something.  Three trips it takes before he comes back with something big enough to do the nasty.

A pipe wrench.

One look at those gnarly teeth of hardened tool steel and I have visions of shaven ridges of axle nut all over the floor… but it is with poise and grace that George gingerly begins to finally loosen the axle nut; a little digging on the lands but nothing too severe.  I figure, this is probably a good time to actually go and buy that freakin’ socket.  I ask George for directions to Pep Boys or some such establishment and he gives me a map to AutoZone.  Get in, get out, get on with my life.  While I’m getting the socket, he’ll replace the tire and get it mounted and balanced.

AutoZone seems to have figured that sockets should be arranged by brand rather than size.  They only put the big ones on the bottom of the rack, because when they tried to put them at the top of the rack, the damn rack fell over.   So a hunting’ I will go looking for the appropriate tool.  No metric sockets to be had over 13mm.  This won’t be easy.  A quick call again to my buddy for clarification on what a reasonable SAE alternative would be results in 1 and 13/16ths. Well… none of those are to be found either.  So I gather up a 1 and 7/8ths and a ¾ to ½ inch converter and head on back where George has mounted and balanced using his brand new tire machine of which he is justifiably proud.  The socket does its job, the wheel is on and I think, TIME TO GO.  Ahhh… but WAIT.  While he’s been waiting George has finally drained the oil from the crankcase.  I now have a tire, but no oil.  The oil change I asked for four days ago is now going to be performed.  This can’t take long.  I mean, how long can it possibly take… Jiffy Lube changes oil in SUV’s in 15 minutes… my Trumpet should take about 5.  It’s already about 7PM now and I grasp dejectedly that even if I break the basic speed law, this day is shot to hell.  No ride for me.  Thank you America West.  Let’s just get this oil done and head over to my buddies and call it a day.

Mounted

We get back to his apartment and he turns in with what will prove to be a wicked Limoncello hangover and I start to plan out the next day.  I immediately discount the idea of heading straight home on Saturday out of principle.  I’m going to RIDE dammit.  If I leave early enough, I can probably still make Mesquite by Saturday night and Sunday will just be a ride home via lunch in Vegas with my honey.  Seems doable.  I get ready for bed on Friday having put 20 miles on the bike and prepared to ride like a man possessed the next morning.  I notice my lack of toothbrush and bemoan the taste that will be in mouth the next morning.  I’ll also have to get up fairly early to take the car back and get a move on.  Still… not TOO bad.  At least I have the bike.  Tomorrow has to be better.