Yeah, I'm just gonna go ride a bike

Headstone at a local cemetery.

The weather apps seemed a bit bleak this week, but so far it has been reasonably warm and pleasant. Each day this week it has been a quick and easy decision. Guilt about not getting enough done around the house has been building, however, and the weather may not end up being the determining factor for the rest of the week.

Don't be jealous of my sweatshirt "kit." 

For today, however, the riding was splendid, and I took a rare spin down Granite Street to add a few miles. The hills are nicely spaced so momentum just pushes you up the next hill. Before and after the junkyards, it's a nicely wooded, quiet ride, and a right on Cliff Street spits you out across from the bike path parking lot.

The Pug is bullet proof, always a trusty ride.

Earlier in the week a brief cross-border raid into Millbury took me over or under three major highways for the day: I-290, I-90, and Route 146. It's nice to be able to make route adjustments on the fly. I wanted to go up Upland Street to get home with slightly less hassle than having to back under 290, but Upland is a mini-beast of a few long, kinda steep hills.

Rarely do I venture over the bridge.

A quick left onto Spofford Road cuts those hills in half. It's such a neat area over there; my iPhone ride-bys don't do the neighborhood justice. There are these huge vegetative areas that still haven't been developed, and they're just beautiful. It's surrounded by these big hills, so it reminds me if Central America or some mountainous land. Really cool.

Upland.

The true revelation, however, was after the ride when I whipped up some zucchini fritters. I envisioned a sort of burger, and it worked in that sense, but they would be just as good with some sauce on the side or maybe some caramelized onions. 

Fresh chives from the unkillable chive plant in the backyard.

Only looking at the picture do I now realize how huge that piece of salmon was.

And here's a gratuitous grilled salmon shot from the weekend. I would eat a salmon jumping out of the river, grizzly bear-style, if I could. It is my most beloved fish. It needs little to be spectacular, which is probably my biggest folly. I simply don't do too much to it. 

Wonderful stretch

Southbridge Street, tailwind.

Recent weeks have blessed me with good riding and good eating. Today, for example, the temperature soared into the 70s, reminding me about why I love spring so much. Riding in the winter has its own set of enjoyments and rewards, but there's nothing like simply lacing up the sneakers, throwing on the helmet, and hitting the road.

Grass and dandelions.

It's views like this all over the place as lush grass still waits for its first cut. Everything is just so lush and colorful this time of year. The trees and their various buds, flowers popping everywhere. The things you have the time to notice on a bike.

Pasta with vegetables and basil-garlic oil.

Recent months have revealed a bit of a food rut on my part. Not anything as desparate as losing my love for cooking, but just a general un-adventurousness, if that's a word (it's not). My wife shaking up her eating habits has in turn forced me to stretch a bit, and I've been inspired to work on little things like the basil/garlic oil I whipped up for this pasta dish. Pasta dishes like this fill my plate several days a week, but the quick, easy herb oil makes it interesting and new and fresh all over again.

Ball bearings, herded back into the headset.

New and fresh and all over again has been the wonderful experience so far with the Univega mixte. It's just about wrapped up, and it went back together nicely. Look for details in an upcoming post. Here I was repacking the headset bearings. They seemed in good shape if a little dirty, so I cleaned them the best I could with household kitchen cleaning being my chemical exposure limit. The bungee cord holding the fork on was a godsend, and while it took three days to pick up all the loose ball bearings that scurried all over the floor upon disassembly.

Riding in warm weather, learning the contours of a fascinating old bike, anticipating the new road bike some time soon, and enjoying time with the family. In such an uncertain, anxiety-ridden world, there is much to be happy about. The fundamentals are sound.

Stopping

I'll admit it--I like Strava. I like looking at a map of where I just went. I get jazzed when one of those little trophies pops up, although the other day the air partially went out of my balloon when I realized that my "second best time" going south to north on Mill Street was just that--I almost beat my own personal best. I was 67th or somewhere near there when stacked up against other cyclists.

I figure I'm pretty safe right now with my free-level membership, and I obviously don't take it too seriously. But I have noticed I have to tell myself every so often that it's not a race. I don't need to aim for a target speed or calorie burn or longest ride.

Today I rode down to the Blackstone River Bike Path, and it's as wonderful as it always is. The rains have swollen the mighty river, and as I approached, the thought crossed my mind that someone has probably Strava'd their time on the path, and I pedaled harder thinking I might rate. 

It was silly and harmless, but I had to tell myself to stop and get off the bike. It's beautiful, and it's not 20 degrees like it was in March. 

It's okay to stop. Stop and take a drink. A look. A bite to eat. It's like golf and rally racing--you're only competing with yourself. 

The long ride

The numbers don't lie. It's true--I averaged 0.0 miles per hour.

The big cycling goal this year is simply to just pile on the miles. Longer rides, more adventurous routes, perhaps a tour or charity ride or two seem like tangible targets. It has been two years; I am in shape, and feel perfectly capable of the distance.

The other morning, after fixing my sunglasses with a tiny little screw and my long thumbnail, I filled a water bottle, drank some water, and headed out on a ride.

Just over 31 miles later, I returned home. What a fantastic feeling it was, putting that much distance on the bike. My legs felt a little weak, and there was some soreness in my knees, but other than that I felt no different than if I had just completed an 8 or 9-mile jaunt.

Getting this nice long ride in gave me some good data. It told me that my bike must be at least a halfway decent fit for me, and is in great working order. I never had any leg numbness or extreme pain anywhere, and I wasn't even sore the next morning.

It told me that next time, I might want to pack a snack or two, even though it was still a relatively short ride in the whole scheme of things. Maybe just some granola or a banana.

It told me that mapping out a route in your head and actually riding it can be two different things, and that details matter.

Cutting through Webster Square and onto Mill Street, I made my way up Olean to the reservoirs. It's nice scenery and nice roads. It gets really hilly, though--the reservoirs have to collect that water from somewhere.

My mini-backpack is trespassing.

I did succumb in a few spots in Paxton and had to walk it a bit. I'd say I walked no farther than a bit less than a quarter mile the whole ride. That's what I was talking about with the planning. Perhaps next time a little recon in the car beforehand would go a long way.

The sun was out, although it was chilly for late April. But the big challenge was the wind. God that wind was horrible. Gears aren't only useful for hills; they are invaluable, I found out, for heading into brutal winds. I knew what I was getting into checking the weather forecast. It was a northwest wind, so I figured if I rode into it on my way out, I'd get the wind behind me on the back half of my ride.

It didn't quite work out like that. The wind was brutal the entire way to the reservoirs, but then it miraculously died out. Perhaps it was all the hills providing some sort of barrier, I don't know. But once I got to the hills, it was pretty much the hills that were tough, not the wind.

Well, the wind did contribute to me almost getting killed. Yeah, I'm not exaggerating. I almost got killed by a falling tree. I had just completed a disastrously long detour due to a wrong turn taken after a picturesque stop at Paxton center.

I have a thing for cemeteries, I guess. This is a really really old one.

What I was thinking I don't know, but I decided I knew where to take the turn for Route 56, a road I've driven down in a car dozens of times in my life.

Turns out I was very wrong, and I ended up in the wilds of Spencer until getting back to 56. As I coasted down a hill toward the intersection of Paxton Road in Leicester, I heard the unmistakable crack of a tree about to fall. A few loud cracks, increasing in frequency, just to my right. For a split second the thought crossed my mind to take a look and try to gauge where it was going to fall and get out of the way, but I instead decided just to pedal as fast as I could toward the intersection. I blew through the intersection, figuring my chances of surviving getting hit by a car were better than being crushed by a tree. As I got to the middle of the intersection I heard and felt the giant old tree fall to the ground.

Those limbs were huge, I swear!

I turned around and saw the wreckage in the road. the bulk of the trunk stayed in the woods, but some big limbs sat in pieces in the road, right where I had been. A couple pulled up, and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and said, "Boy you dodged a bullet there, eh?"


I agreed, composed myself, took a couple pictures, and headed on my way, knowing I had used up my free pass for the day.

The reward for this harrowing experience came at the top of yet another climb, seemingly toward some Star Wars--esque cloud city.

Oddly enough, this was one of the milder climbs I had to do that day

I've driven around here many times--I used to drive around here with the kids in the car when they were babies and it seemed they would only stop crying when in a moving car. But it's a whole new world on a bike. You think something is coming up, but it's far away. You didn't notice what a nice view a certain vantage point provided. You didn't notice that farm. Those sheep. That nice old house.

A landing plane would have really knocked this pic out of the park

Route 56 goes along the backside of the Worcester Regional Airport. It's just a nice place to be on a sunny day. My bike almost blew over after I leaned it against the fence. But this is really what the destination was when I mapped out the ride in my head. On this day, this is where I wanted to be. It took an extra 45 minutes or so because I was where I didn't want to be for a time. But no matter. Besides some apologizing for wildly underestimating the time I was gone from home, there was really no penalty. It made it better. And it produced that nice big number on my bike computer.

My reward? A simple roasted chicken, cooked according to legendary chef Thomas Keller's old recipe. It's not even a recipe, really. I did brine the chicken first, which he doesn't mention. But then I just threw it in the skillet and put it in a 450 degree oven for about an hour and 15 minutes. It's delicious every time.

My go-to chicken. Basically throw it in the oven. You won't be disappointed.

My city

In the course of following more bike blogs and advocate/activist groups, I've noticed there's a huge emphasis on whether a particular city or town is "bike friendly." 

I would break down the particular bike-friendliness of an area into two categories: culture and infrastructure. 

In Worcester, it's hard to say whether the infrastructure is quite there yet, or whether it's pretty decent considering what it's like in other cities. I dnt have a heck of a lot of perspective, but compared to, say, Cape Cod, Worcester falls behind. But jeez the Cape is amazing. You can basically get to wherever you want to go mostly using dedicated bike paths. That's never going to happen in Worcester. 

Worcester has it's end of the Blackstone, and there are random bike lanes here and there. Construction is supposed to start soon on an extension of the path up to Union Station, but that seems to be about it right now.

As far as riding a bike in the city goes, I find it easy and enjoyable. Take Mill Street, which I meandered down the other day. I was told recently that the wide shoulder was actually conceived as a bike lane. You wouldn't be able to tell, but there is one of those "bike route" signs. Bike lane or breakdown lane, it's very nice and long, and there's nice scenery to chew on. 

Even in the thick of city traffic, it's not too bad. Chandler Street is a nice climb and a chance to pay respect to the place where it all started, Chandler Bike (it was still Barney's then, but technically it still is). Just under two years ago the Pug rolled out of there all nice and not shiny. 

I think what I'm finding is that the infrastructure, quite simply, isn't as important as the culture. And right now, from where I pedal, that comes down to how drivers treat you. 

And one of the revelations of my adventures in cycling in and around the city is just how expectation and stereotype-defying 99 percent of motorists are when I'm on a bike. Sure there are some bad apples, as with all aspects of life. Nobody and no city is perfect, and besides being the recipient of the odd yell out the windshield or having someone make a big show of how they're gunning it by you the first chance they get, I find that most drivers most of the time just give me the room or time I need, and pass by when they feel it's safe. 

If anything, weirdly enough, some of my biggest peeves come not out of unfriendliness but of too much consideration. For example I don't like when people stop everything to let me turn. It makes me feel pressure to do so, even if I don't feel it's safe. And I also would rather a driver pass me closely, than leave some exaggerated wide berth around me. It makes me feel like I'm going to cause an accident. 

So I guess I'd say that in my experience--obviously everyone's opinion is shaped by their own personal experiences--Worcester is a pleasant place to ride a bike. 

Easter

A morning spent watching the kids revel in Easter greatness, it seemed a good afternoon to head out on a newer route I've been trying out lately. 

I pretty much ride alone so there is little frame of reference to how much climbing other cyclists do. But I feel like I do an inordinate amount of it. 

Maybe all cyclists feel that way. Partly because of time constraints, and partly because of a sort of ethos I seem to be ahdering to that says it's a bit silly to drive your bike somewhere so you can ride it (I think I'll realize this is ridiculous sometime soon), hills are just plain unavoidable in my little neck of the woods. 

Today took me out to Auburn for a nice 11-mile run around some water, because in Auburn it seems like there's a lake around every corner. I suppose that explains the hills, too, to a certain extent.

 

These are quiet little roads on any day, but it was nice to have such little traffic on the holiday ride. It's funny the things you notice on a bike. For instance, on a bike there's much more time to realize who is having an Easter gathering--cars packing up a driveway and spilling onto the street. There were a lot of people just sitting outside in their front yards today, which was nice to see. I didn't see another cyclist. I am sort of curious what the big bike thoroughfares around here are, because the typical cyclist I encounter is some guy going the wrong way on the sidewalk or pretty clearly getting to work the only way he can since his DUI. 

Maybe that will be my hill solution. Go where the spandex-clad cyclists are. Because for all the talk about challenging themselves with climbs, my guess is they know the long, flat routes that fill up their mileage logs. 

I am acutely affected by that sort of obsessive self-convicing behavior where I decide something is the way it is, and I put the blinders on. One thing I've convinced myself of is that I need cycling shorts, and I think history will judge that this is not one of those times I just talked myself into something. 

My mileage hasn't gotten extremely longer, despite my willingness to put more distance on my plate. Still, butt soreness is about the only complaint I can come up with, regardless of distance. I don't really get a sore back; my hands get a bit sore, but that's because I have unpadded, shellacked cotton handlebar tape and I don't wear padded gloves, so I know I'm sort of asking for it in that respect. My knees get a bit sore, but finely tuning my gear selection helps alleviate that. 

I really enjoy a nice hard saddle, and I think it's much better ot have a harder saddle than a soft squishy one. That's probably why I don't have a lot of back problems, even in light of my bike being a drop-bar converted 80s French mountain bike with slightly smaller geometry than I probably need. 

But I feel that just a little bit more padding would do wonders for my comfort on the bike. A cushier seat I think would be too much. Plus it seems cheaper to try a set of padded shorts before going for a nicer and/or cushier saddle. d

.  

Saturday afternoons

Vacations with my boys are always crazy, stressful, tiring, and fantastic. Three little men who continue to impress and amaze me. 

Of course time off for them means my carefully honed routine gets tossed aside in favor of playground trips, backyard frolic, long, made-to-order breakfasts, and just time spent together. Wonderful hours burned off as the weather gets warmer and the sun feels just so nice on the skin. 

How do I find the time to ride a bike? The best way to describe it is probably that my riding schedule is like a firehouse. My bike is like the turnout gear sitting by the fire truck, boots and uniform perfectly ready for when the radio crackles a call over the air. 

Planning for an elaborate day built around a bike ride is simply a superfluous luxury for me right now. If the time is right, I will simply guzzle down some water, grab my phone (Strava dork in traiining!), and bolt into the basement, where the Pug awaits. In just a few minutes I'm plunging down the street to start a ride.

Any hesitation, any contemplation, is a debit on the ride itself, so it is not considered. So today, with my wife about to rise for her day and me finishing up mine, I surveyed my tired boys, who were laying around watching television and poking at their tablets after a long day of playing outside, for the most part and to to their credit. 

I needed coffee for Easter Sunday--not a day when you want to add an extra trip. So there was my carefully curated ride log. Coffee. 

"I'm going for a quick bike ride." I announced. "I'll be back." 

Off I went, downtown on a beautiful afternoon. Starbucks for some beans (and those chocolate-covered graham crackers that are, I believe the best thing besides the coffee there). I always feel like Captain Bike Commuter when my rides have a purpose or a destination. I get to lock my bike, and I wonder what people think when they see it. Whatever they think, I hope it includes a happy thought about how much they liked riding a bike as a kid. 

I don't do it enough to have a system down pat, so I tend to fumble with things. I'll put my wallet back in the backpack when I'm going to need it to pay. I'll put my keys back in my bag when I get ready to go when I need them to unlock my bike. Stuff like that. 

The weather is getting really wonderful, and the environment is following suit. Not only is it getting warmer (although it was cooler than usual this week, but in a tolerable way), but everything is greening up nicely. The street sweeping is in full swing, which as a cyclist and driver I doubly appreciate, and I'm seeing more people riding, which is really nice. 

One of the teachers at my youngest's preschool was rejoicing at the weather the other day and talked about how it just lifts her mood. I agree wholeheartedly. I feel so much better now that it's nice out. I enjoyed riding through the winter (when I could--it was a nasty this year), but just a few weeks in, and spring has put much distance between me and those memories of staring out the window, wondering if the roads would be ok for a ride. 

Maybe, with this whole week off, I'll plan a nice long ride one of these days. Just take off for half a day and explore. Go somewhere and find a nice twisty route. Find some hills and a nice view and maybe some other riders to share the joy with. 

Down hills

One of the best things about biking that is also one of the most obvious is that included in all the hills we tackle is the built-in reward of going down the other side. 

The downhill of McKeon Road is one I always look forward to. Supposedly a plan is afoot to install sidewalks as part of a master-plan style reimagining of the area, which I hope doesn't narrow the road any. I think that's why I like it so much: it's big, fat shoulders. Call them breakdown lanes, call them shoulders. They are perfect for bike travel. In the summer you have to duck your head a bit to avoid a few low-hanging branches, but it's smooth and fast and long, every time. 

Out of the frying pan

Oy vey.

It's funny sometimes, the responses you give in the course of conversation. When I talk to myself (which is all the time), deep in thought, up in the woods, I always sound so articulate; every word is chosen carefully, every sentence declarative and deliberate. In my own mind, I'm up on the stage giving a TED talk on why I like salmon so much.

But when it comes time to drop that knowledge in polite conversation, there is, shall we say, some lost energy there. I don't think I'm unique in that sense; it's just funny.

I was thinking, for example, about talking with people about observations made now that I have been back on a bike for a few years now. Typically the person I'm talking with will ask where I ride, since I live in a busy part of the city. If I go left, I go into Auburn, which is a little more low-key. If I go right, I head downtown into the city. More lights, traffic, etc. But I usually caution them that it's not so bad; I rarely feel like I'm going to get killed while I'm in the city. Remarkably enough, on balance, I find other motorists to be quite patient most of the time.

At some point, though, my subconscious takes over and I usually blurt something out about all the trash. And that's not exclusive to the city. In my 2 years (in May) back on a bike, I can say that until you ride in the gutter (or near it), you don't realize just how much trash is in and around our streets. It's disgusting. As someone who was raised by parents who looked at littering as on par with swearing, hitting your sister, or quite possibly murder in the pantheon of awful things you could do in life, I detest littering, and litterers. Especially this day and age, when there are publicly available trash bins basically outside every convenience store, shopping center, gas station, fast food restaurant, and parking lot. It drives me nuts how much people litter, which is why I felt compelled to stop and photograph this freaking frying pan on the side of the road in Auburn the other day.

It's not that it was in a bad spot, or that I could have gotten a flat. It's just that someone saw a small wooded area, had a frying pan, said to themselves, "jeez, there's a huge commercial strip of businesses with myriad trash bins right up the street. But I guess I'll just toss this frying pan out right here."

Pick up after yourselves, people. Because I said so.

Willing spring into existence

After last winter, I declared my lower temperature limit for bearable biking was 20 degrees. But it has been such a long, cold winter that this week I crumpled that up and tossed it. The screenshot below was from this afternoon; this morning it was about 14 degrees when I put my winter gear on and hit the road.

Translation: cold

It wasn't so bad, and it was such a short ride that I was back inside by the time things got too numb. But the sun was out, and the benefits by far outweigh the challenges of riding in the cold. It's not wind-in-the-hair, soaking-in-the-rays-of-the-sun satisfying. It's more of a "Nice, I grounded it out and I feel 1000 times better, because I rode my bike." 

I got out four times this week; that's by no means "laying down base miles" like the guy at the bike shop told me last year, but even after just a few consecutive rides I feel like my body is getting back in the swing of things. I adjusted my saddle height up just a bit because I had been feeling a little cramped (my Pug, I think, is a tad on the small size for me). 

I am impressed at how my off-season maintenance paid off. Well, I should say off-season repairs. The wheels are rolling sweet after bearing replacement in the fall (prompted by that broken axle on Vernon Hill!), and cleaning the freewheel and the complete teardown/rebuild of the rear derailleur seems to have worked wonders on the drivetrain, which feels smooth and is almost completely silent. 

I look forward to the day (hopefully late spring/early summer) when I roll out of the bike shop on a shiny new road bike, but today I felt really connected and comfortable on the Pug. Anything I've ever read about Peugeots makes some mention of how well they go down the road; count me among the masses. It feels solid and it feels like it is always covering a lot of ground. It might not be fast, but it feels swift. I think I will realize and be able to take advantage of the benefits a road bike will offer me: light weight, modern construction and components, the low rolling resistance of skinny tires. 

The Peugeot will stay with me, that is assured. When I first made up my mind in that regard it was, I think, due to nostalgia and the emotional connection of the 80s relic getting me back on a bike. But the more (and more and more) I ride it, the more I think it stands on its own. It stands out as a hidden gem, a relic of the dawn of mountain biking, as imagined by a bunch of French guys who really, really knew their stuff when it came to building road bikes. It's a really nice bike, and I will continue to ride it. 

Back on the road

Greek salad pizza

But first, some food.

Greek salads have been a recent obsession. Over the past few years, as I have gone a different way with my eating habits, it has been interesting to see what has filled the gap left when I drifted away from other foods.

For example, I always enjoyed pasta occasionally. Now I eat it at least 3 or 4 times a week. I basically gave up candy, but I have zeroed in on high-cacao chocolate as one of my few indulgences.

Then we have Greek salads. When I first lost a lot of noticeable weight, questions always came about my secret forumla--what was the hidden trick that was melting off all this fat? I would rattle off all the foods I stopped eating, and all the foods I started eating. Sometimes I felt this weird need to state how much I didn't eat salads. I would say similar things about tofu.

Two years later, I eat Greek salads like they're going out of style, and I love myself some tofu, though not as regularly

Truth is, I wasn't the hugest feta fan in the past. But tastes change, and I now find the sort of tangy clumpiness of feta a textural and flavorful treat. I love tomatoes, olives, onions, peppers, and lettuce, so it turned out to be a sort of natural fit. I even started making my own Greek dressing--a little Dijon mustard, some sugar, salt, pepper, red wine vinegar, oil, oregano, and lemon (there are many variations).

Today for lunch I had a Greek salad pizza. I used the dressing as both the sauce and as a finishing drizzle. I used storebought pizza dough (so sue me), and added the lettuce at the end to preserve the crunch. I've never baked lettuce, but I would imagine it turns into a wet mess.

The best thing is the little bit of caramelization of the feta. Just takes a little bit of the edge off. Good stuff.

It's not June at sunset, but it will do

This weekend also marked the end of a dark month in the life of this bike rider. According to Strava (don't worry, I just have the basic free membership and I only risked my life once to get a medal on the Vernon Hill descent), before yesterday my last ride was Feb. 2. The temperature and road conditions finally agreed with my schedule and I headed out.

It's funny--I think the slightly warming temperatures creates a sort of neat uniformity in the snowbanks. They sort of peel back at this point. Dirty, compacted reminders of a brutally cold and snowy month. But the Earth is tilting in our favor these days, and the sun is getting higher in the sky. A predicted 3 to 6 inches tonight into tomorrow has faded into a dusting. Proof, I am convincing myself, that winter is losing its bite.

 I rode just 3.5 miles yesterday and today, but it felt great. That new shifter is working great, and the Pug feels strong and smooth. It's amazing how much "shape" you lose when you take just a month off from being on the bike. I look forward to building that endurance back up. I chose a nice flat route (as flat as possible, at least), and didn't push it. And it is still pretty cold. But it was just what I needed to elevate my mood.

Repairs

I've been very lucky since I returned to bicycles in 2012. Having read all the horror stories, I was prepared for battle, but the breakdowns, crashes, accidents, and other headaches just never came.

That lucky streak ended recently, but I suppose it was as gentle as possible.

First, just as I was starting a brief ride, I tried to shift into my lowest gear, so I pushed as far as I could on my thumb shifter. I'm not sure what happened next, but I think the pressure pulled the cable out of the cable clamp. I think I didn't realize this, so I just kept pushing the shifter forward. I ended up pulling the cable housing through the shifter.

Oops

Oops.

I was desperate enough for a ride that day that I kept on going, single-speed style. But just as I was returning, I hopped off my bike and realized I had a flat rear tire. A large chunk of beer bottle glass was firmly entrenched in the rubber.

Old shifter from an 80s Fuji. Perfect replacement.

Facing several days of single-digit temperatures, I decided to do a little maintenance. I figured I would fix the shifter and tire, and finally take apart my derailleur, with the hopes of giving it a good cleaning. I was pleasantly surprised at how easy everything came apart and went back together. I see much joking about old French build quality, but I have nothing but good things to say about 80s-vintage Sachs-Huret friction derailleurs.

Bits and pieces. 

I don't really like riding in bad weather, but riding in the winter means your bike picks up a lot of road gunk. No big deal; my bike isn't precious enough to keep indoors whenever it's slightly wet out. But it does mean that frequent scrubdowns are necessary; you can feel all that grit when you pedal. And I think I was probably the first person to ever get that deep into that derailleur.

All cleaned and ready to get dirty again. 

The only casualty was the small plastic cover that goes over the dropout bolt. It's just aesthetic, but I was a little irritated. Perhaps I'll come across another one of these days.