by Radek Aster
This story is not really a description of my tour but a short story about a small event on my cross-country tour, in 1991. I found that not only is a cycle-computer not necessary, but can at times be frustrating. The computer in question was, by the way, an original Vetta, the ugly grey one with a red and a yellow button.
On a recent cross-country tour my computer came to a rather violent death on the backroads of Idaho. Long gone are the days when manufacturers actually expect their customers to use their products as advertised. I remember seeing a nice glossy ad where my computer was mounted on a loaded touring bike ridden by a smiling rider. One would expect therefore that such a computer could take the abuses of long distance touring - rain, heat, dirt, constant 20,000 G vibrations. Well, (...... is that guy finished yet .....) to make a long story short, my computer did not live up to these expectations. One day, after having logged 3,178 miles and being duly rewarded for my efforts by the four digits on my odometer, it suddenly went blank .... bye bye went my four digits. Obviously mere disappointment does not capture my emotions, but being an engineer and normally a rather calm and intelligent being, I figured that the reason was something as simple as corroded battery contacts. I cleaned them, re-tensioned them, replaced the batteries and reset the wheel size parameter, which by then I had forgotten and had to make a guess at.
No more than 30 miles later, the scene repeated itself. Again calmness prevailed and I merely reset the wheel size. Like a bad joke about an Irishmen, Englishmen and an American, my computer cleared itself three more times. At this point I was climbing a mountain pass in 102 degree heat with a vicious (actually it felt quite viscous) head wind and one more stimulus was enough to send me over the edge. I literally yelled at my computer warning it that if it ever did that again I would kill it for sure. Well, like a child becoming aware of its independance, it defiantly flickered at me and then went blank.
The world had erupted. The ribbon of road in front of me disappeared. All I saw was my computer, shattered, impaled on a sharp rock. Yes folks, a sad testament to loss of logic and self control. Somewhere in the sun-baked hills of western Idaho, among the shredded re-treads and broken glass bottles that litter the shoulders of our nations highways, lies a Vetta cycle-computer that did not live up to its name. Its only eye pierced and its memory of miles travelled erased. I am ashamed to have littered the road and to have lost my cool like that, but I will probably not replace that little piece of plastic encased silicon on future tours. I don't need anything mocking me by telling me I'm speeding along at 4 miles/hour.