This week was Bike-Seat War Week. For five straight days I battled a stubborn, sliding seat as I cycled up and down the West Side of Manhattan on my way to and from rehearsal. If there's one thing you don't need on a long bike ride, it's a seat that won't sit still.
The battles commenced in the early morning and continued into the afternoons. There was me, on one end (the top), and the seat, on the other end (the bottom), and a binder bolt device I shall name "Drunken Flamingo Metal Band", encircling the seat's post to secure the seat height. Secure, my butt. Whereas the encircling device should have been on my side of the battle (aka holding seat in place), it seemed to be drunk, and continually let the seat go whichever way it very well pleased: down, left, right...backwards. Just like one of those croquet-stick flamingos from Alice in Wonderland - you think you've got it straightened out and ready to go, and the next minute you're floundering about like a clumsy fool and falling backwards off your bicycle while enemy seat escapes behind you and Drunken Flamingo Metal Band shrugs off its security duties. Goodbye seat, hello post.
Luckily, this specific battle occurred right in front of a group of sombrero-wearing senior citizens assembled for a wheelchair picnic, so who's to say which was the more surprising spectacle, me or the festive elders?
As it turns out, the week-long war cost me not only public humiliation, but also my private dignity. Doing some research on seat parts and solutions, I quickly realized I had been battling myself; the seat and binder bolt were just victims of poor riding technique. Apparently, according to seasoned bicycling experts, an upright bicycle does not even have a "seat" - those in-the-know refer to it as a "saddle" ("seat" is usually reserved for a recumbent bicycle). The idea behind a saddle (or rather, under it) is that it is designed to bear some, but not all, of your weight. The arms and legs bear the rest of the weight on an upright bicycle frame. An amateur can be quickly identified by overly-bent knees (saddle being too low) - a sign that the legs and arms have tired and, as the rider has settled back from exhaustion, the saddle has accompanied the recline...in a downward fashion. Suddenly, I'm riding with my knees in my chest, instead of gracefully extending the legs towards the rushing ground. From ballerina to clown in three pedals or less.
Additionally, the Drunken Flamingo Metal Band - or quick-release binder bolt as seasoned saddlers call it - was hammered into submission during each battle - sometimes three to four times a day - as I manically clamped the lever shut, adjusting the bolt a little tighter each time...essentially stripping the bolt of its vice-like power with each ensuing battle. No wonder it wanted to join up with the enemy forces - I was slowly torturing it.
Consequently, the seated battling left me with no other choice but to seek out a third-party piece treaty via the Christopher Street Bike Shop. Like Switzerland, only they speak Cycle.
Lessons learned, but at a price.
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