Oh Deer

 Well, in actuality, it was two deer, but only one of them made it across route 116 intact. The other one, hit by the bus, however, was a type of zero after that. Yes, I have mixed feelings about making a somewhat crass quip about a living creature whose life was ended violently by a motorized vehicle. In fact, I should, maybe possibly do, feel more sorrow for the deer than for my bike which was riding the rack on the front of that bus and was primary contact with the animal.

I didn't see the impact. I just heard a bang at front of the bus, then saw my bike bouncing in the road out the side window. Drat. PVTA, in their instructions for proper loading of bikes on the bus racks, states they are not responsible for loss of a bike, and I didn't yet realize there were circumstances beyond my mounting technique, but the driver was quick to fill in that blank, and also, fortunately quick enough to have not veered into oncoming traffic to avoid the deer.

A deer died, likely quickly enough to experience no suffering, so maybe a bus is more humane than a shotgun, and yes, it is currently shotgun hunting season, so the deer are likely a bit, well, jumpy. My bike survived better, but not without significant injury. A not complete list: both wheels tacoed, front fender broken, handlebar bag mounts torn, headlight detatched and crushed, rear pannier shredded, various scrapes and bruises, and the stainless steel water bottle was squeezed. Also interesting, the front tire has a quarter inch hole at the folded section of rim, but I use old fashion tubes, so it's still inflated!

For years, even decades, I've espoused one great thing about bikes is how much can be horribly wrong with one and it can still serve its function of being faster than walking. Yesterday was a huge test of that. After locking my bike at my intended transfer stop, I took my first FRTA ride on a bus up to Greenfield, enjoyed a slightly curtailed visit to the town respecting my likely increased transit time home, then took the much faster return trip to a mile away from my bike for a net decrease in time even with the walk, and I even found a nifty balaclava in the Sugarloaf parking lot on my stroll!

A find from my wander round town

I was a late bloomer, 

so usually the shortest kid in class, 

not great for basketball.

But, at home in the woods,

there was no pavement,

so I had huge home field advantage

when friends tried to dribble

on crushed stone.

I knew Greenfield is my kind of place!

Yup, my bike was still locked in its place, with the added security of being unrideably undesirable. With five minutes before my connection's arrival, I detatched the front wheel, placed the bend on the curbing, and stood on it strategically. Being a mountain biker has its advantages, like experience with field repairs. Slightly less hideously wonky, the front wheel was a trustworthy interface for the bus bike rack to trasport the bike and me back to Amherst and then one more transfer that would deposit us just under four miles from home.

Post jumping deer, 

Pre my strategic jumping.

Plop, we landed on the side of route 116 again, although this time as planned at the bus stop nearest my house. The half mile walk through the apartment complex and by Aldrich Lake is shorter, pretty, and also a more private place with lots of rocks to effect more field repairs. I didn't have pliers, so my ability to straighten the brake rotor, which had a few bits of deer fur on it, was limited, so I loosened the caliper mounting bolts, allowing it to float past the wiggle.

Next, some more strategic jumping on the wheels on a rock, and both front and rear would just barely pass through the frame without hitting. Luckily, I've learned the adage that "close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." Well, lucky for me, but sorry you had to read it. Sort of. Through the frame, however, was not through the rear rim brakes, so off with the left pad, and I had a bike that could roll with only a once-per-revolution drag as the floating caliper worked its way around the wiggle. Whee!

Straighten the stem, and it seemed I had a bike that just might be bikeable, slowly. I'm aware the fork along with the rotor next to it received a severe sideways blow, so I rode a pace that I felt I could survive if my fork opted to become two pieces, which had the added benefit of control as both wheels wobbled back and forth. It was rideable, at least for a particular definition of sorta.

Was is faster than walking? Yes! In fact, as my route home took me past a trailhead that is a ten minute run from my house, I was even able to confirm it was right on par with running pace, although with less effort but a bit more concentration and nervousness. 

Now to continue with the other adventure: interfacing with the PVTA claims department. So far it took nine calls yesterday to finally leave a message with the right person. Yup, the PVTA supervisor at the accident site and phone customer service representative both gave the wrong extension. Transit is trying!