13 August 2026

An unironical inverse ordering of sundry broken things

My father always said, "If it's a problem that can be fixed with money, it's not really a problem." 

He was, for much of his life, a person of some means, however, so this was a fairly simple thing for him to be able to say. Nonetheless, I get it.  There are problems in this life that cannot be fixed, no matter how much money you have.  Real, heartbreaking, chronic, sometimes fatal problems.  I understand this difference all too well.

I, unlike my father, am not a person of means.  To that end, I, personally, have found that the compounding effects of encountering many broken things in a short span of time can be challenging, despite the fact that many of those things are, indeed, fully reconcilable assuming you're willing/able to spend of the appropriate amount of money to purchase a solution.  

Which is to say, most but not all of my recent problems have been of this type, the kind that can be fixed with money.

Below is a list of a few of the recent challenges I've faced, described in inverse order of the impact the broken thing had on my emotional and/or financial well-being, from least to greatest...



SIXTH
My Sturmey-Archer coaster brake cog


It's been said before (by me), that "riding around in the woods on a bike with a coaster brake is a real hoot!" And it most surely is.  If you've never done it, well heck, you should!  And if you do do it someday, well, here's a friendly high-five for ya, bro!  

Ride on!

I put the coaster-brake wheel back on my Monē SB2 Klunker around the first of July to get it ready for Cruizer Nation 2026.  But I think there's chance Cruizer Nation never happened this year.  In the week leading up to race-day there was a big fire south of town puking smoke all over the region, and also the woods were on stage 2 fire restrictions (no cars, no overnighting, no fires allowed (thus no post-race tailgating)), so I have a feeling that it possibly never got off the ground. That'd be the end of, what, a thirty-year tradition?  Too bad.  

Then there was the fact that the morning of the fourth of July (race day, natch) was the first day in something like nine or ten days when the smoke actually cleared.  So, rather than head up to see if the race was on at high-noon as per tradition, I went on a slower and much more satisfying ride with a couple of cool old friends instead.

Then, just for fun, I decided to leave the coaster brake wheel on the Monē for the balance of the month. Went on some really good rides and did some fun skidding.

Then, first week of August, while riding it up a nearby somewhat techy-blue and mashing over a minor curb-shaped rock step-up  (not a jump, a literal obstacle in the form of a step upwards) in the middle of the trail, the drive-train went "KAPOW" like I'd brute-force broken the chain.  I've done it before.  It was that exact same sound.

Upon inspection however, strangely enough, I found that the chain was still intact.  Did notice, though, that the spring-clip which usually retains the Sturmey-Archer cog on the Sturmey-Archer hub had popped off.  Wrastled with it for about 10 minutes, using a flat-blade screwdriver from my tool kit, and eventually wiggled it back in place. Bummer of it was, the drive-train still spun freely in both directions.  Frick.  

Sat down on a rock, drank a beer, then coasted it home using just the front (disc) brake.  Only had to ride the draisienne-of-shame briefly, just across the flatish section of Noria Street at the top of my neighborhood.

After I got it apart in the garage the problem quickly became apparent. I'd brute-force sheared the teeth (all 3! of them) off the cog.  Never done that before.

Anyway, this one's no biggie. I have lots of other bikes to ride in the meantime. so I'm not really suffering.

And, wholesale cost (one of the perks of working in a bike shop) for the replacement part from JBI.bike, $3.00 (tax and shipping included)!



FIFTH
My cracked tooth.

One of my molars (#19 if you must know) cracked painfully recently. Upon visiting with my dentist and his genial front office staff, I was disappointed to learn that my particular flavor of Delta Dental insurance, the one I get as an old-person through the state retirement system for old people, does not cover common old-people shit like root canals and crowns.  

Does-not-cover in this case means: "not-in-any-way, fuck you, pound sand old man."  Thanks USA health insurance system!

So, I'm about $3200 out-of-pocket as of right now recouping and repairing my broken molar.  But it's basically fixed at the moment.  Got a temporary crown in place.  I'll get the permanent one installed in a couple weeks. 

That'll likely cost more money, I know.

Three-thousand-plus dollars is not a crazy amount of money, I get that.  And every dollar I spent greatly eased my not insignificant physical pain.  My dad wasn't wrong.  Still, this was a massive expenditure for me.  

I put it on a credit card.  Didn't really have a choice.



FOURTH
My Specialized Fuse.

My good friend Ken, the guy who owns the bike shop where I work part-time, likes to remind me, "You have an amazing collection of old bikes that no one else wants." Possibly true, at least to the degree to which it is likely to be described at all in the majority opinion, once it's finally written. 

Jury's still out for now...
 
But, yeah, I've owned lots of bikes.  Still own several of them (Please don't ask me how many. I do not keep a talley of the number of bikes, tattoos, shoes, or friends I might possess at any given time). Most are rideable, including a few that are in the house on display along with the other works of art I am privileged to own. Many others are stored in the garage in a more prêt-à-porter state-of-being.  

And then there are the ones that hang as just-a-frame way up high on the south wall of the garage.

These are the broken remnants of bikes that ultimately didn't make it. The DNRs and the DOAs. 'Cause frames fail. Like everything else, fatigue and time and decay (entropy) eventually catch up with them, just like they do with us humans (see also: My cracked tooth above).

My most-recently-failed frame is my beloved OG 2017 Specialized Fuse 6Fattie hardtail, one of the most fun and capable bikes I've ever owned.  I put about 6500 miles on it over the years, but then it cracked on a weld at the top-tube/seat-tube junction on a ride the other day.  I was able to ride it home, gingerly, by staying out of the saddle pretty much the whole way down.

Specialized honored the lifetime warranty and I got a decent amount of shop credit in return.  Decided to buy a new Surly Sorceress frame and flip a bunch of the parts (bar, stem, fork, brakes, wheels, post, etc) off the Fuse on to it. Plus, there are a few pieces that I'm gonna need to buy, things that can't be transferred from the old bike to the new one... bottom bracket, headset, needs a new drive-train, stuff like that.

It's all in-process at the time of this writing...

And like I said (see also: My Sturmey-Archer coaster brake cog
above): I have lots of other bikes to ride in the meantime, so I'm not really suffering.  Gonna really miss that bike, though.  It was wonderfully shreddy.

Hoping to keep this project to under $500.00 out-of-pocket. I think that's realistic.  But however much it ends up being, it'll go on the credit card.  Don't really have a choice about that. Even us grizzled old single-speeders need at least one (or several) bike(s) with gears.

Regardless, I'll update ya when I've got the final number.



THIRD
My Fluance RT-80 turntable.

I love this Peanuts comic. In just one frame, it explains not only why I buy records, but also (by implication) why I enjoy playing them on my record player so much. Listening to music is a joyful salve to my sometimes broken spirit.

Noticed the other day that my vinyl-record player was spinning at about 31.2 rpms, instead of 33.3.  Fiddled with the pots (IYKYK) for a minute, to no avail.

Checked in with the good folks on the r/turntables forum on Reddit.  Based on the advice I got from them I bought and installed a new belt and power supply. 

Brought it right back to spec.

The new belt was $20.00 shipped from Fluance.  Got a new power supply for $15.00 on Amazon.  So effectively, NBD.

Except for the couple weeks where I couldn't listen to records after dinner in the evening, they were actually pretty hard to endure.



 SECOND
My very best-of-cats Cat.

"Our estimate includes what could be both the low- and high-end costs for her treatment," said the pretty young nurse just before she bundled my best feline friend into a fluffy faded bath towel to carry her off for her stay in the pet hospital's ICU. Urinary tract infection and liver failure.  She'd stopped eating about 24 hours prior. I'd read that this can often be a death knell for cats, so I rushed her in to see the doc ASAP.

Emotionally, I was wrecked.  Scared of this diagnosis, of course.  I dearly love this little cat.  But also renewed in my anger and sadness. How can it be that the woman I loved could have condemned me to endure such things alone?  These were our pets.  This little cat, those goofy dogs.  We brought them into our home.  We promised to care for them.  Together.  How could she so easily replace them; how could she so easily replace Us

It still doesn't make any sense to me.

Three weeks later, I'm happy to report my Cat is doing really well.  Eating, pooping, putting on weight, getting back, day-by-day, to being her regular tree-dwelling cat-self!  My best-cat.  My constant companion.  My dæmon.


About 48 hours in the vet hospital cost just under $3000.00, the full measure of the high-end estimate.  Follow-up appointments, prescription meds, and a special diet for liver-addled felines have added another $600.00.  So far...

I put it on a credit card.  Didn't really have a choice.  

Worth every penny.



FIRST
My stupid fucking still-broken heart.

Unironically, this one probably can't be fixed.


Don't know what else to say.

13 May 2026

The Settlement Of The Night Monster

[audio]

This post was originally written and published at rockchrysler.com in July 2013.

What follows is a true tale, or at least as true a tale as I am able to tell of it these days, so many years later, about a trip I took to the Galapagos Islands with my grandparents when I was 10 years old in 1977. It is a tale based, at least in terms of its sequence and style, on this poem which I wrote for Beckian Goldberg's ENG 200-something Introduction to Creative Writing poetry workshop as a sophomore at Arizona State University in 1987.

The photos below are also mine, taken by ten-year-old me with my prized Kodak Instamatic camera.


"Yes, the night monster will settle there and will find herself a resting place."
Isaiah 34:14b


Santa Fe Island, Galápagos
27 October 1977

It was a sharp knife, much sharper than most ten-year-old boys would tyically be allowed to possess.

And it was the right knife, too, its stainless three-inch-long blade and array of Swiss-army implements perfect for carrying confidently in one's front pocket all day long, especially on a grand, far-away excursion such as this.

The fish, lying on its side on the deck, a large trolling-hook pinned in its lower jaw, also gauged the sharpness of the boy's knife; its wide, unblinking eyes betrayed its awareness, as it gaped and gasped in desperate need of oxygen. It needed to die, wanted to now.

"Kill me," the fish told him.

20 April 2026

Let's work at the local bicycle shop!

This post was originally workshopped on my Instagram and in the Fifty+ Years Old forum at mtbr.com.



Old-man. Mouthbreather.
I never thought of myself as old. 

Until recently. 

The harsh reality of being me in this moment is that I’m at least 30, and in several cases 40 years older than everyone I work with at the bike shop (except for my good friend, Ken, who owns the place and has a couple years on me). Despite this constant reminder of my ever increasing age, it is, nonetheless, my privilege to toil alongside all of these amazing young people selling this thing (selling an experience, really) that we all passionately, even obsessively love. 

But this work, like all work, is hard work. "That's why they call it Work," my hard-working baby brother is fond of saying.  Retail at the sales-floor level, no matter what you're selling, is super tough and any amount of time spent working on the (concrete) floor during the summer season at Absolute Bikes Flagstaff is guaranteed to be a marathon endeavor. Not only is there a lot to know about each make and model of bike we sell, and an obtuse and thoroughly unintuitive point-of-sale system to master, there's also the simple fact that every customer who comes in through the front door brings with them a unique set of challenges due to their distinct personal peculiarities and predilictions.  

24 February 2026

Just about a bike: Surly Moonlander

Click any image to embiggen
This is my Surly Moonlander. 

It is a first generation Moonlander, which Surly debuted in 2011, and discontinued in 2016.  This bike should not be confused in any way with Surly's new freaky-deaky ground-up redesigned 2025 Moonlander; they are two completely different bikes.

Actually, technically, this bike is not really mine.  It's a loaner from a good friend who moved away. He asked me, while I was helping him load the last of his family's stuff into their moving-truck, if I would be willing to keep it in my garage, on stand-by, for him to ride whenever he came back to town to visit.

Like I said, he's a good friend, so of course I agreed. Especially after he told me it would be fine with him if I rode it around whenever I cared to. 

In the years that it's been housed here at my place, of course, I have.  Many, many times.

Meantime, my friend, well, I'm happy to say he has been back to visit several times. 

Nonetheless, despite his repeated visits, he's ridden the bike just once... So...

29 January 2026

Let's get a new tattoo!

It has long been said regarding semantics that “the word is not the thing,” the implication being that all language, both text and speech, can only attempt to represent ideas and feelings but cannot actually be the Real thoughts or sensations it describes.

In December 1996 I sat down to get my first tattoo, three small Hebrew letters (חֶסֶד = lovingkindness) on the ring finger of my left hand. It took the artist about five minutes to install it and cost me a grand total of $45, which I paid in cash.  I used the word, chesed (pronounced KHES-ed), as a framework for a part of my vows a few days later.  

And I meant it.  I know I was an imperfect partner at times.  But I really did try to live every implication of the word, as well as the indelibility of the deed, each day of my 28-year marriage.

17 January 2026

Selected posts now streaming!

** selected posts now streaming **
I was a volunteer reader for Sunsounds of Arizona for several years. It was a favorite amongst my many unpaid retired-guy "gig" jobs. I was proud to be tasked with reading the Arizona Capitol Times (a non-partisan, weekly newspaper covering state politics and government) for their visually challenged listeners on a weekly basis. Sadly, administrative shake-ups within the organization last year made it untenable for me to continue to provide audio content to them.

As a classroom teacher for 20 years, I read aloud to my students each day, commonly following lunch recess, as a way to decompress and refocus our brains after the midday outdoor activity time.

26 December 2025

Let's pretend that everything is fine.



If ever I had an ego, it ceased-to-be in 2025.

Or maybe what I'm actually talking about is self-esteem. 

Could I, in fact, be referring to my sense of self-worth?  

I don't know. Took my last psychology class half-a-lifetime ago, so I'm not really sure. Also, I haven't seen my therapist in a while. Thus, for today, I'm doing my own stunts when it comes to dredging the definitions and depths of these terms.

Holidays and bitter anniversaries have me feeling pretty shitty these days. Why? My wife left me.  A year ago.  Told me she didn't love me any more.  Moved out of our house 30 days later.  Walked away from me, our home, my side of her entire extended family, all of our pets, and every single one of our family photos... to say nothing of the many happy memories contained therein. 

Ghosted. 

All of it.

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. -- Ed Abbey

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