The Heartrate of America
I have a fancy schmancy Vetta V100HR bike computer. I only bought this particular computer because it's wireless, and it was on sale for half price at REI so it seemed like a bargain. It came with three separate sensors, for speed/distance, cadence, and heartrate. The interface is so poorly designed and monstrously complicated that I have to refer to the manual for simple things like changing the time. I actually brought the manual on this trip. The irony is that I really only need the speedometer/odometer, and the cadence and heartrate sensors joined the landfill long ago. So I was amused when, during the climb up Washington Pass a week ago, the heartrate monitor began registering a pulse.
At the very top of Washington Pass was a tower tipped with a cluster of electronic monitoring equipment. I assumed that one or another of the devices was broadcasting on the computer's frequency. I saw this phenomenon repeated toward the top of each pass that followed, and occasionally in other locations. For the most part, it amused me to watch the rise and fall of heartrate of the land. It amused me until day 19.
On day 19 I was climbing a hill beyond Parma, Montana when the heartrate picked up. Only this time, the deviance spread like rot to the computer's speedometer/odometer functions. I watched my speed jump from 7 to 13mph, and then flutter between 10 and 20mph.
With tens of miles between food, water, and sleep, my odometer is a lifeline. I look to it for the hope I need to carry me through to the next oasis of services. Without it, I would be adrift in a sea of unknown bounds. When this happened near the end of my day, I nearly cried with frustration over the betrayal.
In hopes of placating the computer, I slowed, and I stopped. I cycled through its functions. I turned it off and on. I did the hokey pokey and I turned myself about. Anything to keep my precious miles. And eventually it calmed, returned to normalcy, and I went on.
As soon as I can find a decent replacement, I'm going to chuck the fucking heartrate of America into the next river I cross.
At the very top of Washington Pass was a tower tipped with a cluster of electronic monitoring equipment. I assumed that one or another of the devices was broadcasting on the computer's frequency. I saw this phenomenon repeated toward the top of each pass that followed, and occasionally in other locations. For the most part, it amused me to watch the rise and fall of heartrate of the land. It amused me until day 19.
On day 19 I was climbing a hill beyond Parma, Montana when the heartrate picked up. Only this time, the deviance spread like rot to the computer's speedometer/odometer functions. I watched my speed jump from 7 to 13mph, and then flutter between 10 and 20mph.
With tens of miles between food, water, and sleep, my odometer is a lifeline. I look to it for the hope I need to carry me through to the next oasis of services. Without it, I would be adrift in a sea of unknown bounds. When this happened near the end of my day, I nearly cried with frustration over the betrayal.
In hopes of placating the computer, I slowed, and I stopped. I cycled through its functions. I turned it off and on. I did the hokey pokey and I turned myself about. Anything to keep my precious miles. And eventually it calmed, returned to normalcy, and I went on.
As soon as I can find a decent replacement, I'm going to chuck the fucking heartrate of America into the next river I cross.
posted by Ivan at
11:23 PM
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