Superstition
by Mike Ferrentino

By and large I don't consider myself a superstitious kind of guy. Not in the traditional sense. I owned a black cat most of my formative years and can't say that any of the bad things that befell me could be ascribed to its crosing in front of me -- a common enough occurence. I don't know what shoulder to throw salt over, or why. I can't remember whether a horseshoe should be nailed to the door with the open end facing up or down. Nor can I remember why it matters, or why someone would nail a horseshoe to a door in the first place. Why not a car tire? So far, my ignorance of traditional good luck / bad luck talismans and spirit wards has yet to kill me. I'm not saying it won't, just that it hasn't yet.

But when it comes to bike stuff, I adhere to a pantheon of beliefs and bahaviors; quirky acts that defy logic and if viewed from outside the context of my own head would appear pretty damn stupid. They began as mere suspicions. Hunches and ideas germinated with time and fear until one day they burst forth as full-fledged superstitions. Funny how 'suspicion' and 'superstition' look and sound similar. Like suspicion is some half-formed larval superstition. Coincidence? I think not.

Helmets, for example. I believe they should be worn until their appointed time of death. If you seldom hit your head on the ground, this could take a long time. Your helmet will become ugly and so foul smelling that even your dog won't go near it. Part of my reasoning is that my head is shaped a bit like one of Sigorney Weaver's acid-blooded house pets from Aliens, long and narrow, and it takes so much time and extra padding to get a helmet to fit that changing just for trifling things like fashion, or friends gagging in my draft, seems like more trouble that it's worth. That and the life expectancy of expanded polystyrene foam in a landfill lies somewhere between that of Bob Dole and radioactive waste.

Likewise shoes and cleats. In fact, the idea for this column came as I was Shoe-Gooing a two-year-old pair of Northwave Compacts back together. Shoes should be worn until they fall apart, or the sole breaks. These days that seems to take between one and two years for me, so it isn't as big a deal as helmets, which take ages to die. Cleats, especially Time cleats, should be changed only when they turn into unrecognizable little chunks of metal rusted into the sole of the shoe. Preferably they should never be changed until the shoe is replaced. I have no reason for either of these superstitions. If anything, this lack of reasoning increases the potency of the superstition.

I believe that if a bike develops a creak in either the cranks or bottom bracket, then its days are numbered from that point on. Even if the offending parts are replaced or de-creaked. Creaking coming from the center of the bike (that's right, the CENTER of the bike, like a great big black hole of a chakra), it might as well be the voice of God belting out "Last Call! Drink up and go home!" Once it happens, there's no stopping the inevitable trail of attrition a bike will embark upon. Again, I have no plausible basis for this belief.

I believe that purple anodized parts creak more than any other colored parts. Why? I don't know.

I believe in changing my inner tubes as a matter of principle, even if I haven't had a flat in six months. Patched tubes are a different story. They carry their stigmata like a spirit ward, so they can last indefinitely if patched before the six-month period elapses. But if six months goes by on a pair of unpunctured and unpatched tubes, watch out! (Remember, these are MY superstitions here. They don't have to make any sense and you don't have to believe in them, okay?)

I believe the only bolts that come loose on a ride are those for which I have no right-size wrench to tighten them. Subsequently I believe that if I carry enough tools to tighten and adjust everything on my bike, nothing will ever come loose on a ride. Hence the huge Deuter backpack filled with tools and food. The food gets eaten and replaced often. The tools have been gathering dust in their spacious compartment all summer long, happily rattling away on every rocky descent. There was one time when I swapped the old backpack for a newer one and I forgot this funky plastic two-part spoke-wrench thing that comes with Mavic's tubeless Crossmax UST wheels (and is the only way those wheels will ever get trued). Guess who twanged his wheel while flailing down a rock staircase? See how these things are?

I believe that riding everywhere with a large backpack will one day make me a better person. It should go without saying, but I'll say it again anyway: I have no plausible basis for this belief.

I believe that tires wear out faster if the person riding them makes motorcycle noises as part of his or her standard riding behavior. Honest. I know this one guy, never shuts up on rides, always going "braaap-braaaaah" every time there's a corner or a bump. Goes through a tire a month. You do the math.

I believe that once a handlebar grip has worked its way loose one time, then it has turned sour for good. Might as well throw the damn thing away before it hurts somebody. Once a grip is loose, it's a rogue and no amount of hairspray, acetone, alcohol, Fast-Track, or safety wire will make it behave again. That's why there are grips that now bolt to the handlebar. One too many riders had a run-in with a pair of rogue grips and decided it was time for a change.

There's plenty more where these beliefs come from. Like how I believe that riding aluminum bikes will make your hair fall out. Or how freeriding will make you impotent. Or how too much time spent in body armor will make you fat. Or how the number of stickers on your bike or car or both is directly proportionate to the number of dirisive nicknames your friends have for you but that you don't know about. These are all speculative, dwelling inthe realm of suspicion, and I'm kind of afraid of wading in there and spending the time to bring them back to the world in the fully mutated and horrible light of new superstitions. I've got enough to worry about as it is.