When I was in second or third grade, one of my teachers wrote on my report card “does not cope well with frustration.”  Boy, did she have me pegged. I don’t know what it is about me and the installation of bike baskets, but it always takes hours longer than seems right  to me. Two years ago when summer gas prices rocketed past “exorbitant” on their way to “obscene,” I bought myself a new bicycle.  A Raleigh Venture all-purpose “get around town with a bit of style” bicycle for those of us who don’t want to run road races, but need an alternative form of transportation:

 I love my bicycle, and count it as one of the most successful purchases I ever made.  It's a comfortable,  (relatively) low cost, long-lasting carbon foot-print reducing mode of transportation.  What's not to love about a way to see pleasant scenery, enjoy the fresh air and get more exercise at once? Well, perhaps not the dorky-looking bicycle helmet, but I wear it for safety, anyway. While I haven’t given up my car, my bicycle does represent my commitment to driving less.  There was just one problem with my new bicycle as a vehicle for making grocery runs: no convenient way to carry grocery bags and still be able to steer.

My first attempt to address this problem with a handlebar basket was inconclusive. In my attempts to put the bracket on tightly enough to hold the basket upright and steady, I managed to break two of those surprisingly expensive little items by tightening the bolts too much. I’m just talented, I guess. I was also obliged to buy a little bicycle wrench with various sized hexagonal heads; a tool I didn’t know I needed until I discovered I didn’t have one. My handy home screwdriver was a wholly inadequate substitute.  I CAN use my front basket, but it won’t remain upright if I put anything heavier than a roll of toilet paper in it, and it has an annoying rattle. Which somewhat defeats the whole purpose of a basket. So last week, I decided it was time to invest in a rear bike rack and a pair of proper  bicycle baskets so I would have no remaining excuses not to do my grocery shopping by bicycle in dry weather.

Thus, last Friday, fired by resolve and warm weather, I went to the store where I’d bought my bicycle and even asked the salesman what sort of rear rack I should buy to fit my bicycle. I asked, as I distrust blithe assurances that "one size fits all."   In my case, that almost always means “this standard-size object will fit every standard adult bicycle on Earth except for the one YOU bought (you chump).”  Ninety-eight dollars later, I came home fired by resolve and even read all the directions carefully step by step before installing the rear bike rack, or opening any of the little zip-locked plastic bags of easy-to-lose hardware. I was so proud of myself as I went out to my back patio, as usually, I’m an enthusiastic “jump in with both feet, then read the directions after the first attempt doesn’t work” type of do-it-yourselfer.

One thing I’ve learned through hard experience is, whenever I try to attach something to my bicycle, there’s almost always some piece of metal directly in the way either of where the tool needs to go, or where my hand needs to go in order to hold the new item steadily in place while I tighten the nuts and bolts in question. Which obliges me to hold both tool and hand in awkward, painful positions. I know also through hard experience that  the little bits of hardware that comes with new bicycle equipment have a way of repeatedly dropping to the ground while I attempt to fasten them on the bicycle.  Once they’re down there they promptly become invisible, forcing me to spend several minutes fuming and searching for them before I can get back to work on my project.  In worst case scenarios, they force me to make unwanted trips to the hardware store to replace that one critical nut or bolt that manages to roll far enough away and camouflage itself so completely that I never find it again.

            Rather to my surprise, the rack went on in about an hour, with only a few “#@!*!’s” and dropped screws or  tools. The rack was steady, and even positioned properly.  Un vrai miracle!  There must be value in reading those directions, after all.

            Inspired by my success and no doubt by overconfidence, I opened the first bicycle basket package, and was almost immediately brought low. This , despite the manufacturer's cheery slogan, “Don’t worry, the brand is Wald.”  It wasn’t for lack of reading the directions, either. The basket came with an instruction card and the obligatory little ziplock plastic bag full of hardware.  The directions seemed so clear, and straightforward!  I’ll have those baskets on in ten minutes, tops, I thought.  Now there’s a danger signal, if there ever was one.

   Step one: Release open latch on top of basket.

Step two: Open basket until basket bottom rests on bottom basket wire

Step three: With the latch side of the basket against the rack, place the two R shaped metal clasps  on the basket top wire with the flat side toward the rack then slide clamps down on to the top wire of the rack. Assemble the bolts and nuts.

Step four Using the U clamp, fasten side of basket to the rack near the bottom. Assemble bolt and nut. 

    Once I started, I discovered these  directions were guilty of certain sins of omission. And that the hardware provided in those fateful little bags was woefully, sadistically inadequate for the intended purpose.   Steps one and two of these instructions were fine;  the basket actually did open when unfolded, and the bottom actually DID come to rest on the bottom basket wire. Wald of Maysville Kentucky est 1905, the maker of these tortuous contraptions, was clearly lulling me into a false sense of security. The bastards.  All the fun ended when I turned my attention Step three, which should actually have been Steps three, four, five, six and seven.  

To correct the errors of omission, here is a more accurate idea of what those instructions shold have said:

Step Three:“Now that you are ready to attach your baskets to the rack on your bike, please grow a second pair of arms, until you resemble the Hindu god  Shiva the Destroyer. Please note, because the metal  grid of our wire baskets renders  it impossible for normal-sized adult hands to reach through or around to complete this task in any comfortable or practical position, the left hand of your new set of arms should be no larger than a monkey’s paw, but keep that opposable thumb—you’ll need it.”

 Step Four:

Why the second pair of hands? Read the directions, once again;

‘With the latch side of basket against the rack, place the two R shaped clamps on the basket top wire with the flat side of the clamp toward the rack, then slide clamps down onto the rack and assemble bolts and nuts.’

 We’ve got news for you, pal; your bike  basket isn’t going to just obligingly hover  in midair in the proper position while you fiddle with those clamps, nuts and bolts. I mean, do you think you’re Sir Isaac Newton or Galileo Galilei, or somebody? The laws of gravity still apply to you. If you let go of it, your basket will fall, it’s that simple.  But if you hold the basket in place, you’re not going to be able to do anything else with those clamps, nuts and bolts one-handed, are you? Now do you see why you need that second pair of arms?”

         Step Five: “Now take a look at that R shaped metal clamp, and note how the two holes at the bottom ends line up with each other so you can stick the bolt through them, and fasten it with the nut, thus affixing your basket to the rack securely.  Theoretically, anyway.  The metal of this clamp is very soft and bendable, which is good, because you’ll never get it to fit over the proper place on the bike rack without bending it.  The problem is, once you do bend it, you won’t be able to bend it back into any shape that will allow the bolt holes to line up properly. But go ahead, clamp ‘em on—we dare you.

        Step Six: “Observe the short, stubby tiny little bolts we've  provided, which are all of ½ inch long.  They’re  so small you can’t get a  proper grip on it with your clumsy adult fingers  as you attempt to push the first one  through both the bolt holes on the R clamps which no longer line up.  Notice also that this task obliges you to stand and bend over as if bowing, knowing your lower back is going to be killing you by morning. “The itty-bitty nut is even harder to hold  onto securely, especially since you’re trying to reach through and around the interstices of the basket wires to position it at the same time you’re trying to thread the bolt through both bolt holes.

        "Note that when—if!—you get the bolt through both clamp holes, there’s not enough free end of the bolt to fasten the nut onto it, is there? But say you do—how are you going to reach for that screwdriver to tighten it properly?  If you let go of bolt or nut—“ 

"#%&*$!!"

        "Wow, you just dropped both bolt and nut on the ground again for the 87th time, didn’t you? Your  hands getting a little  cramped, maybe?  Once again, you are trying to find a silver bolt and nut on gray concrete, and since you’ve wasted your  precious free  afternoon trying to do a task that's impossible with only two hands, inadequate hardware and tools, the light is now going, too. Oh, and smile! You’re on candid camera!  Back in our Kentucky boardroom, know that our CEO is watching your frustrated attempts to follow our impossible directions and laughing so hard at your furious swearing, he just about choked on his ham biscuit.”

        I did not last to attempting Step 7 and attempting to fasten the U clamp with yet another miniscule nut and bolt  last Friday.  Nuts and bolts were making me  well....nuts.  After that Nth time of dropping both bolt and nut on the ground, I gave up, stomped furiously indoors, washed my hands and cooked dinner. I didn’t really think the CEO of Wald was secretly watching me and laughing himself sick as I attempted to follow those instructions. But I did conclude the job was  designed to be impossible by one person with only two hands, that miserable hardware and the tools I had on hand. It was no job for a two armed mortal; it was a job for four-armed Shiva the Repairer of Bicycles with the resources of a well-stocked bicycle shop at his disposal.

But I was not  defeated for long, even if aching and sore. Having spent nearly $100.00, I was determined not to be brought low by tiny hardware.  I concluded that there had to be an equally secure, but easier way to fasten on those baskets so that they’d be useful.  So I Googled   Bicycle Baskets, and came upon some interesting product reviews from other deluded buyers of Wald’s infuriating products. 

I was vindicated; some reviews written by lying scum suckers claimed that they had put the baskets on “in minutes without any problems!” but I don’t believe that for a minute. Certain other buyers  detailed having exactly the same problems that  I had  had; others advised hanging the baskets farther to the rear of the bicycle so that one could ride the bike without kicking the baskets with ones heels while pedaling. And, sheer genius, several people advocated the use of electrical cable ties as alternative hardware  to the infuriating bendable little clamps and impossible screws. After a trip to the hardware store today, I fastened on that basket with the help of Duct tape (to hold the baskets in place) and black plastic cable ties.

Shiva the Destroyer has vanquished Wald of Maysville Kentucky!