If you work in a bike shop, or have hung around one long enough, you surely have heard of JRA stories. They are thinly veiled ploys used to get a shop to warrantee a part that has suspiciously failed. They always start like this:
I was just riding along when...
…and finish with a seemingly innocent scenario that somehow results in the failure of a bike part.
I've used JRA stories myself. Back in the days when Gary Fisher was making bikes with 1 1/4" headsets, I purchased a headset adapter to reduce my headset size to 1 1/8" so I could install my first suspension fork. I must have pressed in the adapter slightly askew (because I used the wood block and hammer technique?) because after about a month of riding on my new fork I noticed a small crack in the frame by the headset.
I took the frame to Racer, who told me to call the company. I did, and before I knew what I was saying, I heard these words come out of my mouth:
"I was just riding along when I saw this little crack in my head tube."
I conveniently left out the part about the improperly installed headset adapter, and he conveniently agreed to warrantee my frame.
Not all JRA stories are fabrications. Nor do they all involve a broken bike part. Sometimes they involve a broken body part instead. Some of the best JRA stories don't involve anything being broken at all. They are about legendary crashes, embarrassing circumstances, epiphanies, chance encounters with celebrities, hard-earned life lessons, or maybe even about meeting your special someone.
My favorite JRA story is a real experience we had on our cross country ride. Mags and I were somewhere in Indiana, just riding along on our tandem bike when a couple in a brown minivan drove up alongside us. The woman in the passenger seat said that she and her husband had done a lot of traveling and they knew how simple pleasures could be so satisfying after a long day. She reached out and handed Mags a five dollar bill and told us to buy ourselves a Coke at our next rest stop.
Then her husband hit the gas and they drove off, leaving us thinking that the most satisfying pleasure of all is a simple act of kindness delivered at exactly the right time.
So what is your best JRA story? Here is your chance to tell the world. I don't care if it's a tall-tale or the honest-to-goodness truth; let's hear it. Embellishment is strongly encouraged.
In August of 2001 I moved to Phoenix, Arizona. Why I moved there is another JRA for another blog...
ReplyDeleteComing from the Intermountain West I had always lived around mountains and prided myself on being able to go up them on my bike. When I moved to Phoenix I realized that it is extemely flat except for a City Park (the largest in the United States) called, ironically "South Mountain" South Mountain is not all that bad, there is about 1,200 feet of relief from the vally floor to the top with one road and several trails that go to the top. Not much vertical, unless it is 110 degrees outside. The combination of the two put me into a little trouble more than once.
The first climb to the top I decided to take via the dirt. I knew portions of the trail would probably not be rideable but a little hike a bike never hurt anyone. I had just moved to Phoenix, it was September and about 100 degrees out. Thinking that I would enjoy cold water I packed my camelback with nothing but ice and started off toward the top. The trail proved to be about what I predicted however, my camelback seemed to work much better than predicted. Very little of the ice had melted by the time I reached the top and I could tell I was severely dehydrated. I found out that the top of South Mountan must be some sort of destination because there are several Native Americans selling "authentic" jewlery to the passers by, (note: the top of the mountain can be accessed by car from the north side)luckily they gave away water to me.... I was saved.
The second time I had decided to access the top via the road. There is a time trial to the top every spring so I decided to test out the coarse before the race. I had never been to the north side of the mountain so I got a map, planned my route, loaded up with water and headed off.
My planned route sucked. The main road that I took to get to the north entrance was very busy and I had no intention of going back the sameway. So I headed off on sidestreets and promptly got lost. Usually this is ok, except when it is 100 degrees. (If by now you are asking yourself why I always rode when it was 100 degrees out it is because it is ALWAYS 100 degrees in Phoenix....don't let anyone tell you otherwise).
By the time I found my way back to my neighborhood dehydration was setting in again. I had told my wife that I would be home by a certain time and I was cutting it close. As a cyclist this is always the case so I was pushing myself as hard as I could going around a corner and WHAM..I was out.
The next thing I knew I was being helped out of the gutter by a someone who had witnessed the horrific crash, or so they told me..
My chin was cut open and bleeding but I insisted that I was ok. The couple helping me insisted I was not and pointed out that my front wheel certainly was not. They loaded myself and my bike into the car and drove me the last five miles home.....
Then there was the cactus on Thanksgiving........man that is a great mountain....