wrench- slang for “bicycle mechanic” in the cycling world.
The classic Forest Gump quote,“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get,” is the perfect two sentences to fall back onto when life starts happening. I’d say it kind of goes along with one of my own little mottos, about how nothing ever goes according to plan, but somehow, it always works out. It usually ends up way more interestingly than ever imagined, too.
Case and point: my 42-mile round-trip trek to Marshall Point Lighthouse, i.e. the Forest Gump Lighthouse. In the movie, Marshall Point Lighthouse was one of Forrest’s turnaround points on his non-ending run. Forest was traveling eastward and made it to the lighthouse, realized he couldn’t go any farther east without going off the cliff, so turned back around to continue his jaunt.
Anyway. I’d already cleaned and studied for half my day off. I decided it was time now to do something fun and outdoorsy. I had no plans, no commitments, and no ideas yet for what to do. Then, I noticed my bike shoes in the corner of my room, starting to gather dust. It was time for a bike ride.
With no distance in mind, I asked at Sidecountry Sports, our local bike shop, for a route that would be “simple but pretty.” The guys pointed me towards Tenant’s Harbor. As I was studying the map, I saw that Marshall Point Light was in that same direction. It was a bit farther than I’d originally considered, but time was on my side.
A paraphrase of my en route dialogue:
“Dang, they don’t make hills like this in Chesapeake...but this is so fun...ooolala, artist painting on the bridge.... eek, car...wish my Fat Frogs could see this...I wonder how Sprucehead Pizza’s pizza is...little general store to check out...rhubarb stand on the side of the road? wish I had brought a bag...cows!...Knox County Firehouse? we called them yesterday for that flare sighting....phew...and I have to go backwards?....”
Then:
“Pedal....pedal...pedal....tough hill this one....wooo!!! 34mph and not even in a draft line...keep on pedaling...is that the “Welcome to Port Clyde” sign? hell yeah! almost there...uh oh, why does my pedal feel loose?...pedal, pedal, pedal...my foot is sliding...not good...ugh.
The entire left crank arm came off of my bike, my attached foot dangling in mid-air with the pedal and crank arm hanging down. I wobbled off to the side of the road. I flipped by bike over, wearing only one shoe because I couldn’t click-out of the tight pedal without the resistance of the bike frame. I realized that the allen wrench required to reattach the arm was way larger than anything I carried in my saddle bag. BUMMER.
I took off my helmet and shades. For a good few minutes, I debated whether to call back to the station with a “biking MAYDAY” and request a pick up. It would be kind of a long drive for them. Also, I was going to hear about this one if they got wind. The on-duty crew already thought I was crazy for an attempt.
Instead, I called a friend. She had to take her dogs to the vet, so it would have to be a quick pick-up. No lighthouse for me, and I was only a mile away.
I managed to un-clip my shoe, put it back on, and began wheeling my bummed-out bike to safer ground. I figured the side of a rural highway wasn’t the best place to be. I was dejected, not about my bike (bikes are fixable), but because my journey was cut short,
As I was trudging along, I passed a driveway where two kids were riding around on their own bikes. Their dad called out to me and asked if I needed help. I held out my bike and detached crank and said, “yeah, actually, I kind of do! Do you have any tools to fix a bike?”
He said he probably did and went into his shed to search for them. In the mean time, my friend called to tell me, “Kerry! This has never happened to me before, but my truck broke down! The tow truck is on his way to pick me up. I’m so sorry.” What?! Now I really wanted my bike fixed.
The father came out of his shed, carrying an open pouch of tools, including a large set of allen wrenches. Hallelujah. We chatted a bit as we figured out which wrench would do the trick. He asked where I was coming from, and when I told him “Rockland,” his eyes didn’t grow wide and he didn’t give me that “crazy cyclist” shake of the head. I appreciated that.
Instead, he mentioned that he had been stationed in Rockland when he was in the service. I’d already noticed he was clean-shaven, and that his arms were strong and tattooed (an often true military stereotype, and I'm not bummed about it). Knowing the answer already, I asked if he was prior Coast Guard. He was, and he had likewise been stationed at Station Rockland, but in the late 90’s as a BM2 (Boatswain’s Mate 2nd Class).
I love how small the world is, especially in the military.
It was funny to hear that many of the same issues, and good things, that went on at Station Rockland in the 90's still happen today, just with different characters and different boats.
Ultimately, he’d made Rockland his twilight tour after reaching a few major crossroads. He’d enjoyed his career, but was happy with his decision to retire. Sweetly, he said that if he’d gone on to his next unit he wouldn’t have met his wife and had two kids, who were now standing next to us on their tiny bikes, curiously looking up at this stranger with her bike. It was funny to hear someone talk about the end of his Coast Guard career, especially with me being very much at the beginning of my own.
We managed to quick-fix my bike and the family sent me on my way. I rode that final mile to Marshall Point, which was well worth the long trek. It was a gorgeous destination and I enjoyed resting for a bit, sitting on the stoop steps and watching the waves crawl up the rocky slope. A kind, older lady ran to her car to get me a Clif Bar after asking me about my trip, then wished me well on the return. I made it back to the station just as twilight began to paint the sky.
I'm not kidding when I say I have an unusual tendency for misadventure; but, I wouldn’t laugh as much or have any good stories without the inevitable goofs.
Sometimes the bike breaks along the way; but sometimes, you make it to the lighthouse.
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