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18 Bike Repair Bicycle parts had a limited life and it appeared ours had reached theirs. Both our chains needed replacing--Sharon's more so than mine--some of her rollers had worn completely through and fallen off. It didn't induce smooth action (sometimes Sharon's chain jammed), especially on an uphill shift, which didn't make pleasant commentary for my virgin ears. We saw a sports shop and went in to enquire about repairs. I was approached by an immaculately clean chap with a white shirt and smart sweater vest. We took the bike to a side door and he put it on the rack. I winced at the thought of that white shirt and our greasy bikes. He got a tool and was going to replace the link, but we indicated we wanted a new chain, chain rings, cluster and regreased bottom bracket. We might as well get it all over at once. He didn't have the parts, but gave us the name of a large repair shop, Olmo, in Celle thirty kilometers away. We arrived at twelve thirty. Olmo had closed at noon and wouldn't be open until three. We pushed our bikes to the deserted sea front and had lunch while discussing whether we should wait for them to reopen and see if they could do the repair. At three, we returned to the massive Olmo bike shop. They even made their own line of bikes. It took a long time to explain what we wanted--going through three people in the process. They didn't have a rear cluster with a thirty-two tooth: twenty eight was their largest. Then they couldn't find a thirty-six chainwheel. Sharon settled on a thirty-nine. When they went to put the chainwheel on it didn't fit the bolt holes. I saw the mechanic with Sharon's crank arm trying to match up a different chainwheel. The smallest chainwheel they had was twenty-six, whereas Sharon's old one was twenty four. She was losing a bit off each end of her lowest gear. That was okay in the flatlands, but wouldn't bode well once we got back into the mountains. When they brought the bike back it had a thirty-six chainwheel they had scrounged from somewhere. They greased the head set and bottom bracket. The mechanic, through the translator, said: "Some parts are bigger, some smaller." It only cost seventy-two bucks. I thought he made a mistake. That was an excellent price for all those parts and labour. He must have felt sorry for us, but we hightailed it out of there just the same, before he discovered his error. We camped at the top of a hill, inside the yard of a 1757 fort-castle with the inscription "Giacomo." The fort had rooms, stairs and terraces galore. There were even stairs leading to a dank underground passage. Luckily, we didn't have a flashlight and it was too dark for me to explore. The last thing I needed was to be deposited unceremoniously into the sea. Supper was spaghetti with the Lorenza's sparkling wine. Superb! |
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