Foul Play

My departure from the deep and unbearably hot South is rapidly approaching. This week I took the Serotta to the shop for an overhaul and some gear changes. I had planned to pick it up the next day and ride it this weekend, making sure there were no problems before commencing my 3,700 mile trek through the Free World. A good rule of thumb: never do anything mechanical to a bike and then load it up for a trip without a day or two of test riding. Inevitably something will not line up, or worse will fall off the bike (this usually happens when I work on it).  The right peddle broke into 2 pieces a week ago, but luckily I already had the replacement. The shop put on a 13-29 on the rear cog which should be adequate for the mountains out west.  I kept the chain to go with this cog set as they have previously worn together a bit. A mismatch in wear results in the chain slipping over gears when peddling hard. It was miracle I was able to find both parts and it works perfectly.

Then trouble arrived. First the guys at the bike shop discovered that the bottom bracket, the spindle that goes through the bottom of the frame, attaching to crank arms (which hold the pedals), was completely shot and half disintegrated. Parts had to be ordered, which precluded riding the bike this weekend. If that wasn't enough, then came the coup de grâce. Gabe, the part time shop guy and full time engineering student, with some keen powers of observation, noted a very precarious set of lesions on the inside top part of the front forks on both sides. The front forks attach the hub of the front wheel to the front part of the frame. If fragile, it would likely break on a down hill, when weight is transferred to the front of the machine. This breakdown means a face plant to the asphalt in a millisecond, possibly with the two broken ends of the fork going through the neck on the way down. While I'm no trauma doctor, that's got to hurt real bad.

Mind you this wearing was not a simple crack. These were deep grooves possibly caused by a hard or sharp object that had attached to the tire, then rotated up and became trapped by the front brakes next to the forks, thereby cutting into them as the revolving wheel acted as a power tool. But this sort of damage on both sides and equal? Hard to believe.

Another, some might say paranoid explanation, was that someone with access to the bike, removed the front wheel with its easy quick release and hack-sawed into the forks from the inside. I would not have been able to notice the alteration, unless I took off the front wheel and turned the bike upside down to inspect it for this very specific damage. This cutting would most likely not be a problem with a regular ride, however, when I'd be descending mountains, like those that populate the northwest United States for example, with my chest splayed over the handlebars for maximum aerodynamic benefit, greatly shifting weight to the front fork, then suddenly, BOOM, it fails!  That would be curtains for the rider, yours truly. No open casket at the funeral. (Though if the forks really were sticking through my neck, I can picture a short film black comedy, documenting the facial expressions of naive mourners viewing the casket at the wake)

Gabe with the crime scene evidence. Note the groove one inch from where the forks join.

I was stunned and somewhat alarmed by these suspicious circumstances. The evidence at hand appeared to suggest Foul Play. After foreplay, and a play at the the plate in baseball, foul play is my next favorite type of play.  But not when I'm the victim. We discussed it at the shop and decided it was prudent to notify the Bibb County District Attorney's office. They sent detectives there to investigate the gruesome details and then on to my house for a victim interview. They asked me some standard police questions such as "Who had access?"  "Who might have lingering jealousies of my riding ability?" "Who managed the business assets?" "Who knew how I like to attack a steep downhill at full speed rarely touching the brakes?" and most startling "Who would most enjoy seeing me dead - my face erased by road-rash with a bike fork through my neck?"

The detectives were surprised by the long list of suspects I provided, as well as a bit confused by my twisted logic for their individual motives. For instance, they found it unlikely that every one my business partners would benefit to the extant I claimed. Also, mowing the lawn at night with tractor headlights beaming into the neighbor's bedroom windows was, the investigators agreed, totally obnoxious, but didn't rise to the usual motive to commit a capital crime.

At my insistence the FBI was called to help.  Because of their federal national jurisdiction, I supplemented my initial list with a number of out of state suspects.  Although I had not seen some of them in years, I ingeniously suggested their absence would be a perfect cover. After going over my comprehensive and thoughtfully conceived list of the people the FBI should question, they asked if I needed to look at the white pages in the phone book to make sure I had not overlooked anyone. I was a bit disappointed they did not know the motives for these types of crimes are more likely for profit than passion. I would have suggested the yellow pages.

The investigation took a decisive turn when they asked to interview my wife, Charlotte. When I told them she was out of the country at her yearly painting trip, well away from the scene of the  "accident," as they were euphemistically labeling it, their eyebrows tickled their pathetic toupees.  "Out of the country?" they responded coolly, the plot was coming into focus.

To make a long story short, they have issued an arrest warrant in this case and Charlotte will likely be apprehended for questioning when she disembarks in NYC upon her return to the United States. Hopefully she will be able to explain what appears to be rather damning evidence. On one hand, I am ecstatic my death was prevented. Unfortunately though, things are not going well here; it turns out the FBI can be unpleasantly direct in their interview techniques and perhaps took a few of my quotes out of context. In any event, my business partners will now not talk to me and the neighbors are circulating various community petitions that have dampened many of my daily activities such as: my speed bag work outs, my night time mowing and chainsawing, and my precious time on the rollers with my "operatic accompaniments" to my rock and roll CDs

Nobody knows the Godfather Part I and II better than I do. It helps that I have seen them more than 10 times each. What a resource these movies have been for me throughout my life. It's time to reach in there and pull out yet another vignette/solution to this quandary. I've got it!  Time for young Michael to go to Sicily for awhile - as Clemenza said, "Time to take a vacation."

 I'll be leaving for my Ride Through the Free Word in two weeks - I'll be checking the bike forks daily.