Noodles and tire pumps

Sometimes I hold off on writing, because I keep thinking that the story should follow a plot line or pathway to somewhere. Either she is getting better, (not likely with Alzheimer’s) or she is getting worse every day. But she’s not. 

Everyday is a new day, and events don’t follow the expected progression. Or regression. 

A month ago we thought she was near death. Then she came back. For a while she was sleeping most of the day, and losing lots of weight because she was too sleepy to eat. She couldn’t even open her mouth to let us feed her.

We decided to cut the daytime dose of Haldol to see if that would help. Also, because her left hand is swollen and hard, similar to arthritis, they put her on a Medrol pack. I might not have the spelling right, but it is a quick heavy dose of steroid to reduce inflammation.

She’s awake now. Yesterday when I was feeding her some noodles with spinach, carefully cut into little tiny pieces and put in her mouth on the end of the fork, she got impatient and reached around with her right hand and grabbed a handful of noodles and stuffed them in her mouth. 

I laughed and told her, “You go, girl! We’ll wash that hand and your face later.” She ate several strawberries and pineapple chunks for dessert, too.

This morning a thunderstorm came through, so I took her outside under the entrance, and we just sat and listened to the noise, marveled at the flashes of lightning, and enjoyed the cool breeze. 

Since my birthday is approaching, my son Wesley sent a gift card for Roma’s Italian Restaurant here in Durant. The card was enough for myself, daughter Darlene, and nephew Joe. We all gorged ourselves on great Italian food.

After the meal, Darlene had to pick up a prescription, so we drove to the drugstore, and then we drove toward her apartment. As we drove past Featherstone Assisted Living Home where we had just put Carolyn to bed an hour or so earlier, we saw an ambulance pull in the driveway with all the lights flashing.

Fearing the worst, I swung into the driveway and drove to the back door to check to see if Carolyn was OK. My heart sank, as her room was empty - the covers pulled back on the bed.

I swiftly went to the front where the ambulance was parked, and was relieved to see Carolyn sitting in her wheelchair, quietly crying. I went up and hugged her, told her who I was, (I always do that now) and reassured her it was going to be alright. The resident on the gurney going out the door has COPD and was having breathing difficulty.

I asked the aide on duty why Carolyn was not in bed, and they told me they found her out of bed crawling across the floor. There seems to be no happy medium between zonked out asleep all day and so restless and agitated she can’t stay in bed. 

She can’t stand, she can’t walk, she has severe difficulty talking, and one hand is useless, but she won’t stay down. At least with the changes to her room with the low bed, tumbling mats, etc. she is no longer hurting herself or risking broken bones. We only have to treat the sores and blisters on her knees and toes now and then.

I rode my mountain bike to Calera and back last week, about 12 miles total, and it would have been uneventful except I ran over a nail coming back into town and had a flat tire.

I always ride prepared when riding cross country, so I flipped the bike over, took out the back wheel and removed the tube from inside the tire. I inserted the new tube I was carrying and tried to pump it full of air with a small tire pump I keep attached to the frame above the pedals. However, the silly little rubber ring that is supposed to hold onto the tube kept slipping off, and I couldn’t get any air in the tire at all. It was leaking out faster than I was pumping it in.

Looking around, I found myself right in front of a auto body shop. Whoa! They got to have an air compressor. So I went in the open door and asked the young man sitting behind the front desk if they had any compressed air, and could I get some.

He laughed and said, “We sure do, and we’ve been watching you for ten minutes, wondering when you would give up and come in here!” He took me into the shop, handed me the air chuck, and we had the tire filled in seconds. He wouldn’t let me pay him, and we discussed where I had ridden that day, how long it took and my age. I think he was impressed.

The next day I drove down to Sherman, Texas, to the bicycle shop there and asked about a new tire pump. He didn’t have any hand pumps with a threaded connector, which I was holding out for, but he showed me a little device that looks like an asthma inhaler. You screw it on the tube, screw in a little CO2 cartridge and the tire inflates immediately, with no pumping. 

I bought it on the spot!

I also browsed over his collection of racing bikes, the ones with tall gears and skinny tires, and was amazed at the engineering improvements since I last looked at one. I had trouble even finding the shift levers. They are part of the brake calipers now. I am now considering buying one, especially since they cost half what I assumed they would cost.

Twelve years ago my Trek cost $1200. These Giant racing bikes are selling for $620. I’ve got a birthday coming up soon. I think I mentioned that before. I just might treat myself.

I got home and spent a couple of hours building a spreadsheet with the formulas for calculating my gear tooth ratios in all 24 gears, how far the bicycle travels with one turn of the pedals, and how fast I am moving at one pedal turn per second. The most important number was the top speed in gear 24, which turned out to be 17.7 miles per hour.

Yeah, I know. I’m a nerd. You bet!

So I need to find the ratios on the racing bike and see what the top speed is in the highest gear. My mountain bike has lots of low gears for climbing slopes, but this is pretty flat country. The racing bike has only 16 gears, but they are taller gears for going fast on the level. 

Inquiring minds want to know—how fast can I go?

I keep thinking about the Magnolia Days Bike Tour.

I couldda been a contender