tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64678583771064513842024-03-18T08:41:38.632-04:00Lovely Bicycle!for the romance of cyclingVelouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.comBlogger1545125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-14651869049413041832020-04-01T11:26:00.000-04:002020-04-01T11:26:39.019-04:00The Pancóg Cycle<br />
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<a href="https://www.pancogcycle.com/">pancogcycle.com</a></div>
Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-67323903721296943652018-01-09T08:16:00.001-05:002018-01-09T08:23:56.520-05:00Aptitude <img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="1444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg672cqboxtVpY6JR5CCWYQC7u9HaQ2HOfXh9Gcvbq_WHNr3aGEYd_FZSqtx_l9v0AZxbwtquRja2zDZi3naDIXzFWEYyDoMTHwiuy7ovlqhuGiZRxttkXT7ZC6-1UNDMOxDHVGfSJVPZA/s1600/AliceRed.jpg" /><br />
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I have been thinking a lot about aptitude.<br />
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It began last year, when I was asked to teach knitting to groups of community residents. Having worked as an academic instructor in a past life, I felt fairly comfortable taking on the task. I set a curriculum, with a plan to cover a series of basic skills within a specific time frame. I imagined beginning each session by demonstrating a new technique, which we would then all practice and master as a group.<br />
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What I soon discovered however, was that even in small groups, the ability to pick up these skills differed so dramatically from one person to the next it was impractical to hold the classes in the manner I had envisioned. What one person mastered intuitively before I’d finish explaining it, another would be unable to replicate even after repeated physical demonstrations. <br />
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After that, I altered the format of my teaching to be less class-like, and more like personalised sessions held in a group setting. I spent more time with each student individually, and accepted that everyone would learn on their own timeline - only marveling, now and again, at the difference in the rate at which this happened. All the students started from scratch. All were equally enthusiastic; all genuinely tried their best. And yet, by the end of the programme, some would whiz past my originally envisioned Basic Skills curriculum and become full fledged knitters, while others would still struggle with holding their tools correctly.<br />
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I was witnessing the phenomenon of aptitude. And it was only when confronted with it so directly, that it truly sunk in what a huge role it plays in any activity involving skill - including, of course, cycling.<br />
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In contrast to my aptitude for the fibre arts, it is fair to say that my aptitude for cycling is poor. Now in my 9th year of riding a bicycle as an adult, I am only starting to approach the level of handling skills that most cyclists I know attain within their first 6 months of riding. That is pretty poor indeed. And it's not as unusual as some might think.<br />
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On a regular basis, I receive correspondence from cyclists frustrated by their lack of 'progress.' They love cycling, but just aren't getting 'good' at it, no matter how hard they try. The folks at the bike shop look at them strangely, when they say how long they've been cycling yet ask for the saddle to be lowered. Their friends have moved on to do challenging rides without them. Will they ever improve? Should they just admit defeat and call it quits? Sadly, I suspect that many do.<br />
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As a cycling culture, we tend to classify cyclists on a scale ranging from Beginners to Experienced. The assumption there, is that what stands between a person having poor mastery of cycling skills and excellent mastery of cycling skills, are experience and practice. <br />
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In reality, that is often not the case. There exist dedicated cyclists with decades of experience, and poor cycling skills. Likewise, new cyclists can become proficient at these same skills within a very short time span. <br />
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That there is no allowance for aptitude in our narrative of cycling is problematic. <br />
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When the experiences of those who do not adhere to the practice = mastery formula are undermined or dismissed - be it in bike shops, on bicycling forums, in the comment sections of cycling blogs, or in casual conversation - a disservice is done not only to those people. A disservice is done to the concept of cycling in of itself - by smoothing away its nuanced contours, and simplifying it into something more rigid and bullish, less multifaceted and full of possibilities, than it really is.<br />
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Because if we think abut it... The very fact that those of us who aren't 'good' at cycling still love it, and want to do it, and are<i> </i>able to do it, is fascinating, and wonderful, and a testament to what an engaging, beautiful, versatile activity riding a bicycle is.<br />
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Oftentimes my poor aptitude for cycling has made me feel like an outsider in the very culture and industry I was writing about. It has not, however, deterred me from persisting with cycling, enjoying cycling, and sharing my experiences of cycling with others.<br />
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My hope is that over time we can find a way to reframe our narrative of cycling to be more reflective of, and sensitive to, the wide range of aptitudes that exist among us. And that all those who ride a bicycle - in any way at all - feel free to enjoy it on their own terms.<br />
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Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-3575584005940084552018-01-03T09:21:00.004-05:002018-01-03T10:30:48.672-05:00Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I would like to begin by stating that I am not a Monty Python fan. But no matter how hard I try to think of an alternative, this phrase describes most accurately my experiences over the past year, including the abrupt pause in this blog's publication.<br />
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Is a more thorough explanation than that required? After giving this question some genuine consideration, I do not think so. We are all adults here. We know that 'things' - private things - happen in life. And we also know that the worst things, the things that shake to the core and immobilise, have that effect precisely because they happen suddenly, without warning. We do not anticipate them; we have no planned response or coping strategy. We do not know how we will react.<br />
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The inability to write, or even look at, the cycling weblog that had been a part of my life for years prior, was part of my reaction.<br />
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What changed today, I do not know. But today I was able to open the browser, log in, clear the cobwebs, and write this. Whether there will be more, I honestly cannot say at this stage. I can only say what I would <i>like</i> to happen. And I would like to keep writing.<br />
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I would also like to share a very brief summary of my life over these past months:<br />
I am happily married and, for the most part, healthy.<br />
I have found work in the fibre and textile industry.<br />
I have moved away from digital photography and gone back to film.<br />
And I cycle pretty much every day.<br />
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All of these things bring me joy and have wondrous healing powers. And, if I do continue this blog, I hope that the new infusion of energy I feel from them will translate into my writing.<br />
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In the past I have often been asked, and have certainly wondered myself: To what extent was my cycling influenced by Lovely Bicycle? would I ride a bike as much, or at all for that matter, if I did not feel obliged to write about it, to take photos, to review products? I would have liked to think that of course I would still ride a bicycle even if there was no blog. But in truth, I did not know for certain, because from the very start the two were intertwined.<br />
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Despite having stopped writing about and photographing bicycles, my enthusiasm for cycling itself has not waned over the past 8 months. The bicycle remains my main means of transport. And I cycle for sport whenever weather and health permit. No matter what else goes on in my life, the bicycle is something I need every day. For better or worse, blog or no blog, we are enmeshed.<br />
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What I <i>have</i> lost, I realise, is any curiosity in products, equipment and cycling tech/spec talk. I am fairly certain now that this aspect of things was largely blog-driven. And I am not sure that I see a place for any of it, in any future version of this publication.<br />
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Since I last wrote in this space, I have gone through a life change and it is inevitable that things will be different. To any part of my former audience that is still here, and wishes to see where things will go - you are most welcome to keep me company.<br />
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And to all who see this: I genuinely thank you for reading Lovely Bicycle in all its various phases, over its 8 1/2 year lifespan. And I wish you a Happy 2018.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-57934446611864257992017-04-05T17:34:00.003-04:002017-04-05T17:34:37.855-04:00Vintage vs Modern Fit <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENrFOZTL08FFFLnHwd3U3iRF354NIsGPn9ZU0KrqaCQruDy7hgeP50u7_jRIBAcLw39t6pXKMb7e1wq2WNh8MTXK7RIisJ1-hxTaHT2gVquOJ4EQXiq-dxoQDMKlLErOvhSo0pZaFKv0/s1600/vintagemodernfit.jpg" /><br />
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A few times, when writing about a vintage bicycle's setup, I have mentioned that it has been configured for a 'modern fit.' Subsequently, I have been asked what that means. Seeing these two bicycles side by side in our yard the other day provided a convenient opportunity to explain. I will preface this by saying that, to experts on the topic - with whom I do not doubt my readership is replete with - my explanation will come across as overly simplified and merely grazing the surface of the subject at hand. But in the interest of those new to the topic and not technically-minded, a discussion needs to start somewhere. And so I'll start mine here.<br />
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The two bicycles in the above photo belong to the same rider. Both bicycles fit him. Moreover, despite their dissimilar-looking setups, they fit him <i>similarly</i> - meaning, he is stretched out in a similar way when astride each one. The bicycles achieve this differently: The one on the left stretches the rider out by means of a long top tube. The one on the right does it by means of low handlebars.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>If you sit down on a chair and have someone hold an apple just within your reach, this will start to make sense. If they lower the apple, you will have to lean over and reach for it. Now if instead of lowering the apple, they move it slightly further out, you will, likewise, have to lean over and reach for it.<br />
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There is a rudimentary geometrical explanation for what I am trying to describe here, but I am going to stay away from abstractions. If you do the reaching for an apple bit, you will start to see how a bicycle can be set up in a variety of ways to achieve similar upper body extension in order to reach the handlebars.<br />
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You will also start to see that, just because a bicycle has a metre of seatpost sticking out and a slammed stem, does not necessarily make it an 'aggressive' setup. In fact, depending on the rider's size, it can be quite upright. Similarly, a cyclist riding a bicycle with the saddle and handlebars level can be in a super-aggressive flat-back position.<br />
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So why are bicycles today sized down and set up with lots of saddle to handlebar drop, whereas bicycles in the Olden Times (roughly pre-1990) were sized larger, with the handlebars and saddle nearly level?<br />
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There are several overlapping explanations, and here is where we get to the more complicated stuff. The move to the modern drivetrain, with its integrated brake/shift levers, resulted in cyclists spending more time on the 'hoods' of their handlebars rather than in the drops. It therefore made sense to lower the entire handlebar setup. Some will argue that the rise in bottom bracket heights over the decades contributed also, as did the changing shape of the bicycle frame as tubing manufacturing practices evolved. <br />
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It also goes without saying that there is more to a bicyclist's position than reach alone, and the vintage vs modern setups - combined with a specific frame's geometry - will affect the overall balance and handling of the bike differently. All this is part of a quite multifaceted and sometimes heated discussion, which you can follow on many a bicycle forum.<br />
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But also... It cannot be denied, I think, that it's at least partly down to trends - which change for bicycling-related matters just as they do for other aspects of popular culture.<br />
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To the eye of today's sporting cyclist, the modern setup simply looks cool - fast, sleek, aggressive. The vintage setup looks quaint, heavy, relaxed.<br />
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But trend-based perceptions are not always in line with reality. And let's just say that quite a few of my friends of a Certain Age gently poke fun at the younger road cyclists for being far too upright on their bicycles compared to the 'correct' position. Of course the modern bikes, with their short top tubes and tall head tubes, are to blame.<br />
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What constitutes an 'aggressive' setup is subject to cultural/ peer/ marketing influence.<br />
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From a practical standpoint, the vintage vs modern fit preference matters, mainly because it determines the frame size we look for in a bicycle. For example, referring again to the photo in this post the bicycle on the left is a 57cm top tube frame, and the bicycle on the right is a 54cm. Put simply: for a vintage fit, you will need a larger frame ...and a polishing cloth for those pretty downtube shifters! <br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-46965394122855328782017-03-30T13:14:00.001-04:002017-03-31T10:55:01.026-04:00Sure, I Can Hold That Speed. So Why Was That Club Ride So Difficult??<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YwYzpWafXeLKEq18EevrwStJwEz3rYTY1KsgAH3AjYoR5Si-LGSOWIS3bIkD3M4WC8pYffW6XPZInXvcDvByno3Rt3NqTtZnqSQiKHEZD4CyuLSth1OQsgB_jFM73VHAPZThfPlcAQE/s1600/clubride.jpg" /><br />
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Having been away for a spell, I have lots of email questions built up in my inbox. Here is another one that seemed apt considering we are well on our way to spring. <br />
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It is around this time of year that cycling clubs begin their annual schedule of group rides. Depending on the club, these can include anything from paceline training rides to brevet-style social jaunts, endurance rides, and 3-speed meet ups (see also: <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2015/05/on-club-rides-and-finding-right-one-for.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">On Club Rides and Finding the Right One for You</span></a>). Some hybrid of the formal training ride and the social ride seems like the most common style on offer. Typically, these rides will be divided into several groups, based on ability, with corresponding average speeds posted as a guide (i.e. Beginners' Group: 12mph, Intermediate Group: 15mph; Advanced/Fast Group: 18mph+). This way, cyclists who are considering joining for the first time can decide which group best suits their abilities.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>It seems fairly straightforward. After all, most cyclists use computers nowadays, so we have a pretty good idea of what average speeds we are capable of doing. Join the group with the corresponding speed and it should be fine. However, what often happens (and I have experienced this myself!) is that the club ride feels far more difficult than expected, sometimes to the point that the first time out we just can’t hang on.<br />
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So… why? <br />
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A few readers have asked me this question over the years. And, having pondered the mysteries of this phenomenon myself after several rather humiliating club-ride initiations, here are some things I have noticed...<br />
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<b>The Novelty of a Steady Pace</b> <br />
First of all, we all have our individual patterns of energy highs and lows. When we ride alone, we are able to make the best use of them. We speed up when we feel an energy burst, slow and rest when we hit a dip. In the end it averages out. By contrast, the club ride tends to proceed at a <i>steady</i> pace. And this in itself takes some practice. Being unable to take advantage of our natural energy rhythms can feel absolutely exhausting.<br />
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<b>Rest Makes a Difference </b><br />
By the same token, when we ride alone, or casually with a couple of friends, we probably also tend to take breaks whenever we feel like it. Tired in the middle of a ride? No worries. We get off the bike, walk around, eat a snack, maybe snap a photo. On club rides, there are usually no breaks (unless it's a super long ride with a lunch stop). A 30 mile training ride usually means 30 miles without stopping - which is a lot more demanding than a 30 mile ride with rest breaks.<br />
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<b>What About Terrain?</b><br />
Considering that terrain plays a role in the average speed we are able to put out, it helps to have a look at the route the club ride will be doing. If the route has more elevation gain than the routes you typically ride, you may not be able to hold your 'usual' average speed.<br />
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<b>The Optimistic Self-Assessment </b><br />
Repeatedly psychological research shows that on the whole people tend to slightly overestimate their skills, abilities, favourable traits - even physical features such as height! - compared to what they actually are, despite the availability of correct data. It follows that we also tend to be overly optimistic about our average cycling speed - so that even when supplied with concrete evidence, such as cyclo-computer data, we might tend to cherry pick average speeds from our 'best' rides when deciding what speed we are capable of holding on a typical random day. Of course in the course of a club ride, held on a typical random day, the truth comes out!<br />
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...And is that a bad thing? Personally I think not, even if it does knock the ole self-esteem down a notch. After all, there is nothing quite like a few shattering club rides to turn one's aspirational average speed into their actual average speed!<br />
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On the other hand, structured, performance-oriented club rides really aren't for everyone. There is nothing wrong with going it alone or keeping it casual with a few close friends, sticking to one's natural energy rhythms, and taking plenty of breaks. It is useful to know there is a difference, is all.<br />
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I recall the first time I joined a club ride in Ireland. This particular ride was women's only, and it was funny, because the leaflet advertising it read something like 'This is a ladies' ride, <i>not</i> a beginner's ride!' I phoned the ride leader to clarify, and she said I should be comfortable holding 16-17mph. I was feeling good that summer. So I thought, well okay I can do that - especially in a group, where I'll be getting the benefit of drafting.<br />
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I lasted <i>maybe</i> two thirds of the ride. In fairness to this group, they didn't drop me; I peeled off voluntarily when we hit the meaty portion of a long climb and I just couldn't take the pace anymore. And as I hobble-pedaled defeatedly home in a stupor, I remember thinking 'Those girls must have gone faster just to mess with me!'<br />
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Later I looked over the ride stats on my computer. An average of 16.7mph (not counting my ride home), precisely as promised. They were, after all, ladies of their word.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-62859430581294071892017-03-28T11:12:00.003-04:002017-03-29T05:10:28.277-04:00Rough Ride <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioESrm9foIzF6oJioVf4_qwiufX42wb2L4E8Plcd97Abov1KUEgH03J_sBZk4bdk1EDFIzXU725kXPWoVA2Z_R9weJdqlWyk0qri0xy3NNbcJ0VztQrABhGQVWUEjeLH8yHURxN9wG5HM/s1600/rough1.jpg" /><br />
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I had known the remote mountain road would be battered after the winter. But I did not predict it being this stunningly bad. It was not a matter of having to watch out for potholes. The whole thing was a pothole. More of a ravine than a road. More of a riverbed. As I plummeted, bouncingly, down the mountainside, mud and water sprayed everywhere. Stones slingshot from under my tyres in all directions.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>It had been some time since I'd gone on a ride like this. Alone. Far. Wandering the back roads in search of a location the way to which I could only vaguely remember. Last time I had cycled this way, I did not recall there being quite so much climbing - which could only mean I was still pretty weak. My lower back was starting to ache. The wind was picking up and the mist growing heavier. If I didn't find the place in the next half hour, I would need to turn back, unless I wanted to do the return trip in the dark and fog (I did not).<br />
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As the headwind showered my face with gravely dust from the road, there was a question I was asking myself - or rather, trying <i>not</i> to ask, which amounts to a more pressing, repetitive asking. Was I enjoying this? And if not, why had I not waited? Another month, even another week, until I grew stronger and the weather improved, before taking on this trip. <br />
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But I hadn't waited. And now I was tired and slow, and needed to make a decision. My decision was to descend down a road which I knew was tricky, but would get me off the mountain before dark.<br />
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A quarter of the way down, 'tricky' was no longer the fitting word for the terrain I found myself on. 'Tricky' had given way to 'no longer qualifies as a road.' Well, no sense going back now.<br />
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It had been a while since I had last done this descent. But somehow my body retained the memory of the sequence of bends coming up. Rather amazingly, I sat through the bounce and jostle calmly, more surprised at the road condition than anything, as I steered away from the more gaping openings in the rough surface, and equally away from the cliff's edge. All the while I tried to take in - and enjoy - the glorious misty views.<br />
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At some point during this, I felt my front tyre dislodge a particularly large rock. As my bike bounced sideways before regaining its composure, I saw, from the corner of my eye, the rock flying. It must then have bounced off of something violently, as I then heard a loud clanking noise. Hoping it was not my derailleur, I tested my gears. Luckily, they seemed fine. And so I continued the hideous high-speed bounce down the ravaged lane with no further incident. Two hours later, I was home. And after washing the mud off my face, I fell promptly asleep.<br />
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It was not till the following week that I felt up to trying another adventure. I'd begun to feel better by then. And I also started to tell myself, that the earlier trip was not nearly as 'epic' as I'd made it out to be. The road had probably been fine, maybe a pothole or two. I had just been tired, is all, and my mind played tricks, exaggerating every tiny thing I encountered.<br />
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After breakfast that morning, I looked over my bike - checking it, as I do before any long ride. I am especially concerned about the wheels; having built them myself I still don't entirely trust them to stay intact. And indeed, this time around I noticed a spoke on my front wheel was loose. In fairness, this has happened to almost every set of wheels I've ridden in Ireland, including factory-built ones. Not a disaster: the spoke gets tightened; the wheel re-trued it need be, loctite applied and afterward all is well.<br />
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And so I did just that. And it was not until afterward that I noticed the ...<i>other</i> thing. When I saw it at first I had to force myself to stand up quickly and walk away - far away - from the bike, before I did anything stupid like fling it at the wall in anger. When I finally calmed down and looked at it again, I still had to take deep breaths.<br />
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Wow.<br />
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Wowwowwow.<br />
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So <i>that</i>'s what the rock had bounced off of.<br />
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I ran my fingers along the dented seat tube, again and again.<br />
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After a minute or two it finally sunk in that the dent was there, and would not disappear no matter how much I wanted it to. But whatever mix of emotions I felt initially, dissipated. With a clear head, I checked the frame for other signs of damage. There were none. I put on my shoes, got on the bike, and rode for a couple of hours. The weather was good. The bicycle felt wonderful as ever.<br />
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I would not be the first to use cycling as a metaphor for - you know - Life. And this one is so obvious, I almost can't help but chuckle at the sight of that dent. (Almost.)<br />
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We go through a rough time, convince ourselves all is fine, that it wasn't that bad really. But when trauma or damage occurs, it will surface afterward, sooner or later. Sooner or later we will notice and have to acknowledge it. And then?<br />
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Well, that is up to us, isn't it. Either way, I think noticing is important. <br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-62156547050235349182017-03-10T10:42:00.002-05:002017-03-10T10:51:56.919-05:00Basket Case: How Do You Secure Your Wicker? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's a sure sign that spring is on its way and the new bike-buying season has begun, when people start to email me about baskets! Specifically, over the past weeks I've had a few questions about the best method to attach a basket to an upright transport bicycle: Does the basket require a front rack? Some other form of support? Or are the buckle straps that often come with baskets sufficient to hold them up?<br />
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And as is often the case, my answer is: 'It depends!' Because really, so much in cycling is context-specific. Speaking broadly, a bicycle will always handle better when a front load is tightly secured and well-supported. And the more performance-oriented a bicycle is, the more important this becomes. So, for instance, on a touring bike on which you ride many miles over mountain passes, do quick winding descents on, lean into corners at speed, etc., absolutely: a front rack is ideal. But is it necessary for the bicycle you will be riding <5 miles to work and back? Allow me to make the bold suggestion, that probably not!<br />
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At the same time, I find that the leather (or similar) straps which come with many baskets are suboptimal. First, because no matter how tightly I pull them, the basket will slide side to side, as well as bounce over bumps or potholes. But also because the metal buckles tend to clank against the handlebars and this irritates me to no end!<br />
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So in leu of either the front rack or the straps method, I opt for the high-tech and lightweight solution of using cable ties (aka 'zip ties'). Two around the handlebars, and - crucially - one around the headtube, pulled tightly, does the job splendidly. The basket does not bounce or slide, and remains stable even when heavily laden.<br />
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Importantly, you want to use thick, industrial strength cable ties for this job, not whispy household-use ones! The latter will easily snap under a weight load; the former are practically unbreakable. You should be able to find them in a hardware shop, commonly in a choice of black or white - and, if you're lucky, sometimes even green.<br />
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While of course not as attractive as leather straps, the cable ties, once in place, are actually quite subtle. And if you long for a quainter look, you can always twine them!<br />
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The best feature of the ties, is the level of adjustment they allow. Just thread them anywhere through the basket's wicker or wiring, and pull as tightly as you like for a secure, stable fit. And if your container is made of more solid stuff (i.e. wine crate), you can cut, or drill, 4 holes.<br />
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It's a pretty effective way to avoid a front rack or other hardware. And on a bicycle used for unaggressive transport cycling, I find that it does the job nicely.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-80927184136591378622017-03-06T08:53:00.000-05:002017-03-07T06:06:55.185-05:00The Cyclist Rest<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9eN_FVM2HGOLZAHc56JzTDeWd85bkTSRURE1YmjMC8NJ3SRhN1t6SLvaPIuL-qUQJgt1j1un_Z_5m9VpwcSQLFf3nQZli0DeFH45GmyJgrc0n0XQwR7RRoT_tQmFe_PHTiIOtXJi78Hc/s1600/cyclistrest.jpg" /><br />
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Here is a local tidbit to brighten your Monday! Every time I post a picture of this pub on social media, it is greeted with such enthusiasm and so many questions, that after passing it again yesterday I vowed to finally write about it here. <br />
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The Cyclist Rest is a pub in the village of Fahan, Donegal. Now, some people have tried to find its address and then emailed me when this proved impossible, so allow me to explain: In much of rural Donegal there are no street addresses as such. No postal codes, no house numbers, often the roads don't even have names. So, say you wanted to mail something to the pub? Its official postal address would be simply 'The Cyclist Rest, Fahan, Co. Donegal, Ireland.' And if you wanted to find it physically, you'd need descriptive directions. Luckily, in this case it is pretty easy: From the start of the Inishowen Peninsula at Bridge End, head along the main road toward Buncrana (R238). After about 5 miles, coastal scenery will open up on your left. The pub will be across the road on the right.<br />
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I first discovered the Cyclist Rest when my husband and I were cycling home from the Gap of Mamore last summer. We were so out of it, we did not stop ...in fact we both assumed we had hallucinated it! It was only later that I looked up the name online out of curiosity and realised the pub was real. There was not much written about it though, which I thought odd - as surely something like this would be a well-known cyclo-tourist attraction?<br />
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In reality though, as I discovered on subsequent visits, the pub is pretty low key and does not have much to do with cycling. The owner, Róisín, was kind enough to explain:<br />
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The current owners took over the pub 10 years ago. It was the previous owner, over 4 decades earlier, who had named it The Cyclist Rest, and they simply kept the name. It was a name that, as I understand it, was once not uncommon in Ireland, though today it is pretty rare. As for the name's origin, it is rather straightforward! The pub is located along a rolling road, and it sits on a rise - so that no matter what direction you're coming from, you are climbing for a couple of miles steady by the time you reach it. Hence: time to have a rest and replenish one's strength with a pint. The name is also apt for anyone doing the popular Inishowen 100 circuit counter-clockwise - which would mean passing the pub on the final leg, after having climbed the Gap of Mamore <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/10/what-goes-up-must-come-down.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the 'difficult' way</span></a>.<br />
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But while decades ago this may have been the thing to do for cyclists, nowadays the stretch of road where the pub sits is quite busy and not entirely convenient to stop at. In fact, the pub's owner herself was gracious enough to recommend an alternative destination for my readers: The North Pole Bar (and B&B), outside of Buncrana, which is today a popular local cycling hub.<br />
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That said: Should you wish to visit the Cyclist Rest - if only to take the obligatory photo - they will be happy to have you. They even keep emergency biscuits and tea for cyclists who need rescue from the 'bonk.' And, of course, Guinness for strength.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-89119507560240816612017-03-03T11:24:00.002-05:002017-03-03T12:21:29.676-05:00The Reluctant Roadbike Commuter <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeHUJ_scGIVJJAyu5Dl3rYpwVjPzlhLEaKuqKxgrPKfhRG9aDArCZjS5a9AJTcrUq7u5u3ginIKCYd3fqYKVY6GsWm_Y156UWQ_zdov6xKmt95ZcOubG3ackL73Ny-f5gr-Af1tXmL-ZM/s1600/roadcom.jpg" /><br />
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When I moved to rural Ireland, lots of people said (or wrote) to me some equivalent of: Aha! There’s no way you will continue commuting on an upright step-through bike. Those distances, those hills, those wind speeds? A roadbike will be more efficient and faster. <br />
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And they weren’t wrong about those factors posing a challenge for plain-clothed transport cycling, as I had hitherto known it. However, I resisted the switch. Not out of principle. But because for transport, I genuinely feel more comfortable, more relaxed, more at ease, on an upright step-through bicycle - pedaling at moderate speeds, wearing my street clothes and shoes, arriving at my destination refreshed but not bedraggled.<br />
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And so, despite the challenges of my new environment, I never changed my ways. And three and a half years later I still mostly commute on upright step-throughs. There are, however, times when even I must concede this is not a suitable option. When my destination, for instance, lies over a mountain and time is of the essence. Or the wind is so strong, that an upright bike would mean traveling at walking speed. Or even when I want to get some exercise and do not have the time to cycle for transport and sport as separate activities.<br />
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On those occasions, I do use a roadbike to get around. And while it's not exactly ideal, I try to make the best of it. And as I rarely discuss this particular topic, today I thought I'd share my setup with you here.<br />
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Setting up a roadbike for commuting is not in itself a problem, even for a backpack-hater such as myself. As my freelance work involves mostly writing, taking photos, and meeting with people regarding both of those things, in simplest terms I need the bike to carry my laptop and camera. This can be easily achieved by attaching some cycling luggage. The easiest candidate in my stable is <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-elusive-finish.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Alice</span></a>, as she is permanently fitted with full mudguards and a front rack.<br />
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In commuter mode, I affix onto Alice a handlebar bag, a saddlebag, front and rear lights, and a stainless steel water bottle.<br />
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Not so much because of the bags, as because of what is in them, in this state Alice weights at least 30lb, yet remains a fast performance bike - ready to deliver me to and from my destination with minimal struggle.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI13xqN109dSCi9oBatU3csdj6N8A2jee5Ue0ZoOyeSbvVngvhEmGG4yTnqT2tFQtaPbM74wzqUxOctukG_NPcIv93dIWRnClVFyxYGGzBHge3G0jn3f-lkEUOC3wpq3Q1fjx3JvVXLxs/s1600/roadcom1.jpg" /><br />
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More complicated is figuring out what to wear for this style of commuting. If I'm planning on meeting with people, or on sitting indoors for any length of time, I cannot arrive in all-out cycling gear. I know there are cyclists who find this doable, and I am genuinely glad it works for them. But for me it's uncomfortable, both physically and mentally, to spend the day in roadcycling apparel. Equally uncomfortable is riding a roadbike in street clothes, especially when distance and hills are involved. In a leaned-over position, jackets and tops start to pull at the seams; waistbands dig into tummy fat. Overall, 'normal' clothing begins to feel too fluttery and bulky to me once a roadbike gets involved.<br />
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My compromise outfit aims for a happy medium. I wear padded shorts, with stretchy leggings over them. A base layer on top, with a long tunic over that. This tunic - a genius garment from Ibex - is a heavyweight jersey knit that nearly resembles a tweedy jacket-like thing, features a 2-way zipper, and is long and drapey enough to disguise the unsightly bulge of my padded shorts.<br />
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Naturally, all of this is wool. As are my socks, underwear, neck warmer, and inevitable hat. From some angles (sadly, not from the one photographed!), this outfit almost passes for presentable. Except of course for those clipless shoes...<br />
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Not to worry though, as I can bring my walking shoes, or boots, along in one of the bags (see also: <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2015/06/hysteria-and-cyclists-wardrobe.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Hysteria and the Cyclist's Wardrobe</span></a>). Today they are in the Berthoud handlebar bag (size Small). However, normally that space would be occupied by a massive camera and lens(es), so the shoes would go in the back.<br />
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For the rear I use a Dill Pickle saddlebag, size Large, made extra-wide for me on request to accommodate my 13" laptop inside a padded sleeve. This bag takes only a couple of minutes to attach/detach, and does not require a support rack. It can turn any bike into a laptop-toting commuter!<br />
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The interior can swallow a 13" laptop easily, and then some, with room for shoes to spare. I can even stuff some random food items in there in addition, if I feel like stopping by the shop on the way home. <br />
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The Lezyne lights I use these days (<a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/10/long-term-review-lezyne-power-drive-and.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">see review here</span></a>) are reassuringly bright and easy to share between bikes.<br />
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On Alice, which was previously fitted with a generator hub that has since been removed (needs servicing), I thought I would miss the lack of generator lighting and be quite annoyed to use these clip-on lights. However, in practice it has not been an issue. And miraculously, the headlight beam actually clears my handlebar bag.<br />
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In the winter, I will also wear the dreaded 'puffy jacket.' Although normally I am no lover of the aforementioned garment, it is a jacket that is both warm enough to accommodate the sort of extreme temperature dips we can get here in the course of the day, and compact enough to shove into an already-stuffed handlebar bag should its services not be required.</div>
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Overall, I stay comfortable, warm, dry. I have all the stuff I need for work. I look not great but <i>okay</i>. And even as I long for the step-through frame, the upright posture and the joys of a long tweed coat, I have to admit that the roadbike's speed and position are assets in difficult riding conditions.</div>
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I'm a reluctant roadbike commuter. But when push comes to shove, a grateful one. </div>
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Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-56752587152303572552017-02-26T12:11:00.001-05:002017-02-26T12:32:46.123-05:00On the Dating Scene <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0w3WstRT2k1zAZRuXu2XfXX0jtCy9jnc5PKPjtLkB3S3OrnZEiOGHnd99DJzaNI6VfcEHMAyS9GqsGnsb72hZlmPfkxCdP7dO3dc7r_KncJc83kL5PGXEy6T4RCidbA3bPWsifIBDKxg/s1600/sab3.jpg" /><br />
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It's a situation which some people enjoy quite a bit, but which I, frankly, hoped to <i>not</i> find myself in again. I mean, the stress of it. The awkwardness. The expense. The uncertainty about future compatibility. And of course, that question most of us dread to even ask... What if he, or she, is <i>French</i>?<br />
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That's right dear reader, I am back on the dating scene. This time around I am older, possibly wiser, and - most importantly - armed with calipers.<br />
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Where did we meet? Well, where else. On the internet. But it wasn't a random profile search that led me to him; in fact I wasn't even looking. We were sort of introduced, by a mutual friend.<br />
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This friend did not beat around the bush.<br />
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"Look here: I found a Sabliere. In your size. <i>You must buy it</i>." <br />
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"Oh good lord, why?"<br />
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"Because maybe then you'll believe that a bike from the 1960s can rival a modern racer in weight and performance."<br />
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"I already believe. I don't need another frame. I really, <i>really</i> don't need another fr..."<br />
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"Another frame?! This is not another frame, you philistine. <i>This</i> is a Sabliere!"<br />
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At this point, I should have slammed my laptop shut. Walked away. Taken a cold shower. Instead I clicked on the link.<br />
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The following week he arrived at my door. And yes... He was French.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu62VyzeLP6giyoOcCSUC2UyRzcxMWYqefYG_TvvFlpJSzwdqGx72TvvCWlWG1kTcqeHg3trC9opJ2dQp9TSIWSpIqMXybT6nqEN-4JcTKOJDCS1JDSTcF71V_vkxbOap_8l-4TumvKRk/s1600/sab4.jpg" /><br />
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Now, what, or who, is this Sabliere, you might ask? And chances are, ask you will. Because Charles Sablière of Lyon was one of the lesser-known <i>constructeurs </i>- custom builders of fine racing, randonneuring and cyclotouring bicycles - in the heyday of such machines in 20th century France. Nowadays, you are more likely to find a bicycle made by his son, Andre Sablière, who picked up the torch in the 1970s. As far as the father, Charles, it is slim pickings. You can find some information on the older Sablière's machines <a href="http://anciensveloslyonnais.weebly.com/sabliere-charles.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">here</span></a>, along with illustrations by Daniel Rebour, along with other scatterings of published words and images, mostly in French. The rest is, alas, word of mouth.<br />
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But while today the Sablière name is not as readily recognised as the names of Singer and Herse, it is nevertheless recognised in collector circles. Specifically he is known as an early adapter of fillet brazed construction, and for his exceptionally lightweight machines.<br />
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How light? Well, our mutual friend - the one who got us together - challenged me as follows: To fit the Sablière frameset with period-correct components of the sort the builder himself would have used, and see how the result compared to my 2012 Seven Axiom - or, a typical carbon fibre bike seen at club rides today, for that matter. He reckoned they would be similar.<br />
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"I want to believe," I replied. And wondered what the heck I had gotten myself into.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzi7i5wz6p-hCmZQeEGCIKmJlUZgIq1a8w_yciZfrIw_Cwhds3pmgjt9RlZ44OI_QOEfOFf2aRUcSd98jreGlabvqdLcT5fM-2BjT-7t1wtIXx2XKWSa7zGNveh22vTtqz23hpgBYmGIo/s1600/sab5.jpg" /><br />
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Of course, to fit the frameset with period-correct components, it must be known what the 'correct' period is. Which is where the dating comes into it.<br />
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So how does one date a bicycle, anyway? Well, you can't be too modest or shy when it comes to these things. Ideally, you'd inspect the bottom bracket. Look for a stamp indicating a serial number which can then be researched. Often the date itself will be part of that serial number, or stamped next to it.<br />
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In the absence of such an easy tell (which, alas, is the case with the frame in question) there are other visual clues. To my eye, the 700C frame - in its aesthetics alone - suggested the mid-1960s, and with this my friend agreed.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAkKldQy_JCReHqqVu14GjTtsQQtos_3x0n8XSlqo3_fJpcl_Lqr4XufuIzCIyt79L-dj-xQzRc4Q2waJaQhplgx0Hs07xHhWU5HT90abNybh8dBkYEYdVoMywiOPGh7pfuSpaRwn6Us/s1600/sab8.jpg" /><br />
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To confirm this, the measurements began - which for me, was pure torture, as I am hardly the most precise person in the world and seem to find it a challenge to even hold a ruler or a set of calipers straight. Still, after several tries I managed to get replicable measurements. The spacing between the rear and fork dropouts are consistent with 1960s manufacture. The inner diameter readings on the seat and head tubes, and the bottom bracket width, were all also consistent with a French frame of mid-late 1960s manufacture made using quality, thinwall tubing.<br />
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So we are going with the mid-late 1960s hypothesis. Now, getting the appropriate components will be another matter. The wheels are built (more on those later), but the rest is up in the air. And my oh my, I am not sure what I look forward to more: sourcing lightweight French components, or honing my downtube shifting skills! Perhaps I can barter hand-knit hats again for components <i>and</i> coaching sessions?<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9ywE8aFzQTqe0Drj-L1llKcWeJGEgo34HZtjCUaIK-w2LWy0gn1BexhTT1gOFqtzWcpK88AXz2sv3DZb88rH3qGcm_ELeVYnFWlRWRgtQdcDBjNZiPd6Ti5rISOnagvw7be0WPT2Hv4/s1600/sab6.jpg" /><br />
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That the frame has been identified by a reputable party as a genuine Sabliere makes it rare and interesting. Still, its lack of markings makes it difficult to prove both this, and its age, definitively - which is frustrating, but also exciting, as it infuses the project with some degree of mystery.<br />
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The 1570gr frameset is a beautiful shade of shimmery cerulean blue and, aside from the tidy fillet-brazing, has some other cool features. Notice, for instance, the flattening of the downtube toward the bottom bracket. Also quite sexy are the super-skinny fork blades. The fork crown and the wrap-around stays stand out, embrace-like, against the otherwise sparsely embellished frame.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge64FQpwXTKHyIfL9m7n387hvYxnaATRSTnna5QX2TBAYNqcIGE-3XfQJ1Z3vVj6Za7KMCMDXIjvN1qs6bw6HglTKe3VhWqCehzijaNSEvKi7SNhskkhFR_mhlWvkk6UVU5lmFWxum8V0/s1600/sab9.jpg" /><br />
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Overall, the frame has a look of minimalist chic about it. A nonchalant coolness. I imagine it smoking a skinny cigarette and shrugging its shoulders over a tiny cappuccino, as it throws me a glance - daring me to build it up and ride it, daring to compare it, without sparing its feelings, to the modern roadbikes I've ridden and praised over the past 5 years.<br />
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And that, dear readers, is where dating a bicycle lands you. Let this be a tale of caution.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-28753064709410104242017-02-23T11:19:00.002-05:002017-03-01T08:23:08.127-05:00I Sell Fluffy Things<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4TU02Wlfyumi2gOUY-N6npdH3UFkfxrVay_YUW6oCWxVD4gYppKVXuWHwJmeo6QrgupZCMQ2qKf7ovEsUPrntBXiZpR_oJmq8puv-ZoV6hXx1Eup-ndQbQY3WACKB-dF8SqWPRy7Rnf0/s1600/socksroadster.jpg" /><br />
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So, dear readers! I have been threatening to do this for - what - over a year now? And at last I am here to annoy you with an announcement of my little side project.<br />
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As you might have noticed, there is a new sponsor on the sidebar. And that sponsor is ...me! Well, the knitting version of me, now known as<span style="color: #a64d79;"> <a href="http://www.lbhandknits.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">LB Handknits</span></a></span>. I will leave you to guess what the LB stands for.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>It was nearly 7 years ago now, as longtime readers might recall, that I first began bartering hand-knitted hats for bicycle parts through this blog. That went rather well. So well, that it evolved into a knitting-for-hire side project which, through word of mouth, has grown slowly but steadily over the past few years.<br />
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Why knitting?<br />
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I love making stuff, not just writing about others making stuff. And while I'm fascinated by things bicycle-related, I am not good at physically working on bikes and never will be. Which is fine, and which is why I admire those who are. I am, however, rather good at knitting. I have been knitting since childhood. I am quick. I can envision a design, pick up two sticks and some wool, and - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BQz_oNQBvQj/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">woosh! - a garment materialises</span></a>. In our day and age that is a nice skill to have. And it gives me great pleasure to use that skill to create clothing, start to finish, that someone out there will wear the heck out of and enjoy.<br />
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If you'd like that someone to be you, you know where to click.<br />
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I have tried to keep my prices low, at least to start with. And by low I mean: covering the costs of materials, plus paying myself a not-quite-minimum hourly wage. And while I realise that some will find the resultant price tags unaffordable, I hope in any case you find them fair.<br />
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At the moment I have a small selection of ready-made socks and hats up <a href="http://www.lbhandknits.com/knits/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">in the shop</span></a>. All are unisex, all made by me with locally spun Donegal Tweed or Alpaca wool. The temperature-regulating, moisture-wicking properties of the stuff are well known to us cyclists, and my designs aim to maximise these features. Once the things up on the site are sold, they are gone, but others will appear from time to time. I also take custom orders.<br />
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For the knitters, there will be patterns added to the site very soon, as well as bits and bobs such as sock blockers and stitch markers down the line (I am working on some exciting collaborations!). Also watch for free tutorials on the LB Handknits blog (ever wanted to hand-knit a tweed jacket? <a href="http://www.lbhandknits.com/blog/knittingtweed1" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">I tried it!</span></a>), and new photos added to the <a href="http://www.lbhandknits.com/look/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Look Book</span></a> every week.<br />
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And with that, I end this announcement, which I thank you for enduring, as I also thank those who encouraged me to 'launch' the shop. In launches as such I do not believe, but it's up anyway! If you are looking for some fine handmade woolens for yourself or a loved one, do consider<span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span><a href="http://www.lbhandknits.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">LB Handknits</span></a> and pay me a visit there.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-65897885012373810312017-02-22T07:25:00.001-05:002017-02-22T09:10:50.109-05:00The Curious Case of the 3-Speed Hill Climb <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi601mF2PMrNbk36MPwLBnhST9wam-VyWnRRY42esR8_MxtH-k-U1_4pSkq7Sv3FohUhzgFMxqug7KTbNi9TEztuk6jDcGE8CZEatKk8OzED-wQI5Q6lRufSBmYuiPm-2vVZpqlpm2k7ts/s1600/bchillfarm2.jpg" /><br />
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For a good few years after I first began cycling, I was quite weak at climbing hills. For steep gradients in particular, I needed low gears, a lightweight bike. And by 'needed' I don't mean preferred; I mean that I would be walking otherwise.<br />
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Three years of living in Ireland changed that. I am not the strongest cyclist out there by far. But I've adapted to my surroundings. And my surroundings are hilly! If I'm riding long distance, I sill prefer to have (and use) low climbing gears. But when it comes to each hill on an individual basis, I no longer strictly speaking 'need' a super-low gear to scale most of the ones within commuting distance.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>As I look at the road that rises ahead, no longer do I wonder anxiously, 'Will I be able to make it, on <i>this</i> bike?' Instead I find it interesting to notice differences in how different bikes will behave. For bikes, not unlike cyclists, can certainly have different climbing styles! Some skip up like mountain goats. Others will float like helium filled balloons. Others still will feel like dead weights, requiring effortful dragging. But most interesting of all, is that almost living-breathing feeling of accordion-like flex that I experience on certain steel upright bicycles.<br />
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They are bikes which are neither too light, nor too heavy, for their type. And they are nearly always 3-speeds, of the 'sports roadster' variety.<br />
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For casual cycling in ordinary clothing I prefer to ride them in a low gear - because I don't want to sweat, and because an easier gear just makes for a better 'smell the flowers' experience. With the flimsy looking 3-speed shifter I switch to 1st at the slightest provocation. And truth be told, it kind of feels like I need to. Whereas a roadbike might crest the bumps of gently rolling roads unnoticeably, on the upright 3-speed I feel resistance even on mild inclines.<br />
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And if I am already in 1st on this gently rising road, it hardy seems a bike like that would manage up the 14% gradient mountain lane?<br />
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Yet when the harmless looking 3-speed is truly challenged, it flexes its muscles! I could not appreciate this until I had the strength to actually make it happen enough to feel it. But as the gradient steepens and I push down on the pedals harder, I can nearly feel the bike contract under my effort, and then tense and relax in sync with my pedal-pushes, thus heaving the pair of us uphill.<br />
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The sensation is like a wringing, a squeezing-out of 'performance,' drop by drop. And of course it is but my mind's translation of the raw sensations. What actually happens - to the metal, to my body - I do not entirely know. But that it is flex I'm feeling, I am pretty certain of. I am also fairly certain that this flex helps, rather than hinders, my climbing efforts. At least on these particular bikes.<br />
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Whereas the lightweight roadbike bestows performance upon me, the heavy upright 3-speed must be made to <i>yield</i> it. It yields it coyly and reluctantly, sometimes begrudgingly. But it does yield it inevitably. And as we crest that hill, we are friends again, ready to smell the flowers.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-48725179785947601862017-02-20T09:28:00.003-05:002017-02-21T06:59:47.360-05:00When They Were Good<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhtSq_2BhyYXOFWgELqeYZNUXA1SjRXqIAjXFJXQAIMnN9SZxEB4wfdHy5n7C2fG3KU3qvN8pRFbCAjohj7AUc28TFlRktctYcMnS2XcTIBQUU4DDU0fvduGlwUCYw32GLqHrjljP-zY/s1600/sugarCB6.jpg" /><br />
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A friend of mine owns a late 1980s Claud Butler roadbike. And whenever I have occasion to look at it, I experience a mix of feelings that, for the longest time, I could not quite place.<br />
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Once in a while the bike is extracted for show-and-tell. Neighbours gather round.<br />
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"Ah this one's from back in the day," one says, "when they were good." And he points to the lugs, the Reynolds 531 decal on the frame. Others nod understandingly. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzcnjIR_QCzU87TPR0Vle_4cNxL1D4_H2d79kfwlA0jrXRfnij8XSU8jK4u6QFxItMck71T-oNsFkZX3oWGuT3XcvK6TGiHEl4a1MCEnVK0PIFcRWRgnT5haUhRYN98wRPI4-rTh44G4/s1600/sugarCB1.jpg" /><br />
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To most present-day cyclists in Ireland and the UK, the Claud Butler brand means internet-bought budget bikes. But once, this name was associated with greatness.<br />
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And I realise the specimen in front of me somehow encompasses both ends of this spectrum: It is as if its look simultaneously tells the history of this renown make, and suggests the extent of its future decline.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtZNa-2q1vHlY6Jt8w_6XtAgsr9EozmjqcgP8I5kfANsW-9vO33ZhCncuHR_dR6ofJxdQ6MEtkDZkIFvDZyITwJZcdA05vhkVbKz7WFhFhTATwhBYS8p3q04my6kZfaZec5JK0g3ojxB0/s1600/sugarCB0.jpg" /><br />
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Described by cycling historians as <a href="http://www.classiclightweights.co.uk/claudbutler.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the 'king of lightweights,'</span></a> Claud Butler was one of the better-known British Lightweight manufacturers of the 1920s - 1950s. And one for whom, the 'lightweight' description holds true even by current standards.<br />
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I grew fascinated with this, when I noticed how little <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2015/04/aye-claudia-fast-times-with-early-claud.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">my own, original 1936 CB mixte</span></a>, weighs compared to similar bikes produced today. I then had a browse through old Claud Butler catalogues, and realised that for them this was pretty much standard practice. In fact, my befendered fat-tyred 26lb mixte was a monster compared to the sub-18lb racing bikes the catalogues offered at this time. To see such weights quoted in an era we tend to associate with 'outdated' equipment and 'heavy' materials was an eye opener.<br />
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But Claud Butler was revered for more than just their lightweight production. The proprietary lugwork, the finishing, the overall workmanship were amazing. In particular they were known for the quality of their fillet brazing and bilaminate (lug/fillet hybrid) construction. And, although this is seldom mentioned and little known, they were also among the first (if not the actual first) to develop the solid top tube/ split-stay style of mixte frame construction - the likes of which we still see today (i.e. the Rivendell Cheviot/ Betty Foy).<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKoaQWeiYJ1OL0gEsScjUksUOmGiY_MJWjuw6owTSmvRctsj7fBV9HA4KG_iMNjae_okVRIzPHFdZ9SS4BIQGuZMLOGzuEZxIF1IuTvIvHO7GJgkdXf3_cBVSXXTvcnXWGc3qDqu7NmM/s1600/sugarCB13.jpg" /><br />
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But all this, alas, was in Claud Butler's heyday, which ended by the time the 1950s arrived. As the British interest in cycling declined in favour of motorised and televised entertainment, so did the population's eagerness to purchase hand-crafted cycles.<br />
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For many bicycle manufacturers, the sharp drop-off in business at this time proved lethal. Claud Butler hung on for some time yet, and in 1958 was purchased by (another well known British Lightweight) Holdsworth, which extended their production by several decades. The Holdsworth-era Claud Butlers were bicycles of good quality. However, they lost the characteristics which made the original brand remarkable and unique, becoming instead a rebadged sub-brand of Holdsworth, and growing more generic in construction and appearance with each passing decade.<br />
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Finally, by 1987 Holdsworth too was in decline. And the rights to both brands were sold to the conglomerate Elswick-Hopper, which continues to own the Claud Butler name today.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFX6zjV_pBNrQPkTkiijARrbrWewLf1jHHZ0mL6L_bp72PhIXl-9pY2PLvLMb4WDL4oZ4Fm2-uUMMugg3CYZpxXlXWlo4Yymo57lhZ8FdPAld-Y4HBE78fqrBV0ZIo9YPEXRpv43I7yo/s1600/sugarCB7.jpg" /><br />
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My friend's late '80s Criterium has to be from the early years of these conglomerate-ownership days, twice removed from anything resembling original Claud Butler production.<br />
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Judging by the lack of a "handmade in England" decal (which I am sure would have been present were this the case), I am guessing it was factory-produced, in the Far East.<br />
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None of this, of course, makes this Claud Butler a 'bad' bicycle. But other things about it strike me as peculiar. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamJHUgEdznGt0adCX7NcHZVqI1Si6D-dGjDDjloodf2Mvax_nmiVLRWVsnQVMWk_w1q9xFGWGDmZ59HaCZJzTVAbDSJ0R4Dvjgfg7AoCSm5MJAWcu7kUQQzs_k_N1ZEiIyKDHk7yaE-w/s1600/sugarCB10.jpg" /><br />
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For one thing, despite the prominent decals touting the Reynolds 531 frame (although none on the fork), the bike feels remarkably heavy. Much heavier 'than it looks' and heavier than it 'should be;' I am guessing close to 30lb easy.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZAOSfG3n5I7_QRY-lJHrNoR5tUYzJ_p5LL71ZaSOeWf6pYbCGmDp7zjywBQC9yFr5i7bXgOhN_F9S66u1-2ujBcNd6wBSapxttKC0WY7JtvTsOjMMKNN3KTHhPHY0o0ykAd24MBQ9Uc/s1600/sugarCB12.jpg" /><br />
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The Shimano Exage compoments (comparable to today's Sora) no doubt partially account for this. And their choice by the manufacurer probably indicates that the handlebars, stem, wheels, and other parts, are of similar weight and quality.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQb7yxIYcPTf8u0f9Yf2DVBxh5ebYjjfloJk0CATYD7TGtS9m_z35krtN_iWTp6z9OlKX64zYp8NUvRm5mdXt0aMCo3Mia0BhRedLXtd2Fux__FNaUnwAtBG_2KZLdLpDrkxcVojikHC0/s1600/sugarCB8.jpg" /><br />
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The decision to combine heavy budget parts with a Reynolds 531 frame struck me as odd and mysterious at first. But after studying this bike on several occasions now, I think I get it.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULreTbP3RLE_yPHHb0Yc5ykhjt9gZlokQHGDA7mCEq1oRiWhWSlYwDLBSpDfk5sIvemQF4gdUayl8wprCknqOwRP_IvVMrf6uEEsU9u5M8uQZ3ULgy2bQ7Jr0AMXhaLtkcO4zNQ6YcPs/s1600/sugarCB2.jpg" /><br />
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It was a bike made to look and sound the part, in a superficial sort of way, without costing the part. It seems a similar mentality that produced the <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/05/rapide-transit.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Raleigh Rapide</span></a> I featured here last year - but taken a few steps further. <br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br />
</span> <span style="text-align: center;">The crisply outlined lugs, the sparkly metallic paint, the aggressive lines of the frame and fork (check out the rake on that!) - I imagine when this bike was brand new it all looked rather dreamy. Not to mention, the Reynolds 531 frame, which everyone knew was good! </span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwksrnggKNOFFPzDMpxirb4HB0ENT3_QtaGa2op-c1C0ZxPmw_R1G3kHy0NeyconZVBqEG14-hgakPaHgLkciuyH0DfAPuGYgzCUKBRFs1mlYW1d8DQoehulKh1AeGuK2J4KQZyVhKDI/s1600/sugarCB11.jpg" /><br />
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And to a fledgling cyclist, I can see how this made for an attractive package, with details such as the low-end components and the weight seeming far less important.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVm2cPWBx75wdVz7ae82JqqUuarBW-77C3OXv0yrDWAfI0CzPPRqNzzBpQ9UlXfimDl7YnVnUGzC2gsBcoOXRE1-vmKOC-xlm_ROmaqjSBc3f20Vfvakypm_JsEFUF19quYlH4N1rzLIo/s1600/sugarCB3.jpg" /><br />
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It is no surprise that several locals I know recall the Claud Butler Criterium, from this very era, as their first adult racing bike. To these folks, the bike, from back in the day, was 'good.' Good as in durable. Good as in tactile in a way a modern bike is not. Good as in bringing back memories of their first club rides and races, of old friendships.<br />
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But of course - the bikes' former owners will add, snapping out of their nostalgia - this good old bike was also heavy as heck! Naturally, because it was old. And made of steel. Which is why those who still cycle today will have of course long replaced it with aluminium bikes, and later still with carbon bikes weighing under 20lb.<br />
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I open my mouth to tell them, that an even older Claud Butler would have rivaled that weight. And sometimes I actually say it. But most of the time I do not. <br />
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Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-58782301067164884892017-02-15T15:08:00.000-05:002017-02-16T07:07:46.685-05:00Sticky, Squishy Love, Part II: Of Tubeless Tyres, Their Joys and Sorrows <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fDaUXaPY-Mdqjh0U1rF0wuEPaMkrmh6zuXN1Vt5-njie1DJ6OPlEZ0LAaOOwJAIDASPbT6eD8yuOGPpo2FJppDH9jzeDbpNtEuPx9-v-7bM1yxWbaywnngK2qZxCqMrC4mVl3f2hW8M/s1600/tubeless2.jpg" /><br />
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On the heels of a certain holiday which celebrates all things heart shaped, I thought it apt to post this second installment of 'Sticky, Squishy Love.' <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2017/01/sticky-squishy-love-part-i-some-notes.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">In Part I,</span></a> as you might recall, I shared some notes on my experience with tubular tyres. Allow me now to share my experience with tubeless setups.<br />
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By way of a basic introduction, the term ‘tubeless' refers to a clincher tyre and rim setup, which foregoes the use of an inner tube. Instead, the tyre is inflated directly. To the naked eye, a tubeless tyre and rim look identical to an ordinary clincher setup. However, it requires some modifications. Namely, the rim needs to be completely sealed to ensure no air leaks from any part of it. Also, a valve needs to be sourced, since the tube it would normally be integrated with is absent. Finally, a specially formulated sealant is pumped into the tyre prior to inflation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW3FQDLRv56PtFn2uU-b1l_4_9dXkD6vLGoakU3KLv4AwVm1d51VNHOp5SqY9ABjR3jk0pP5ml_cWy4R-8CG24Uwc77qD68klc6N-FGFlbyGZr_StAscF-C4aRR0MXUtJ-qSJR6enr-TM/s1600/alicedone12bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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In theory, a number of factors makes setting up one's bicycle with tubeless tyres attractive. The lack of an inner tube is said to make the tyre more compliant, thereby improving ride quality and reducing rolling resistance. It also saves weight. </div>
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But perhaps more importantly, tubeless setups are said to offer superior puncture resistance. The reasons given for this are two-fold: The absence of an inner tube removes the possibility of pinch flats. And furthermore, the sealant used in tubeless tyres is meant to be self-sealing in the event of a puncture, eliminating the need for repairing flats on the go (see, for instance, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOi4czjB1No" target="_blank">this video</a>, for an ideal version of how this is meant to work).</div>
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Unlike tubular tyres, giving tubeless a try requires less of a commitment, since it can always be converted back to an ordinary clincher setup simply by inserting a tube.<br />
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And speaking of: Although some rims and tyres are specifically labeled as tubeless-compatible, often even those not labeled as such can be run tubeless. The basic idea, is that the rim needs to be sealable, and the tyre needs to sit airtight. But there are no hard and fast rules and in the end it is really just trial and error. If you are curious whether a specific rim and tyre combination can be run tubeless prior to investing in a bunch of supplies (see next section), an online search will soon bring up accounts of others who have tried it. Although mind you, there is no guarantee. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob3Q9G8tFGJ3qm928I6Y0w9A0pMinDT2UioI0E1zEut4RKA0rgpwsLfUM1YZsIiwwgKE9CBYE031jP1dd6PkMAiUfhvrT6QzWw6jQv3TKipqOtxlmgBBRj_GwRLL_buHV0TO_MSyBbJ4/s1600/tubeless6.jpg" /></div>
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If running a tubeless setup for the first time, you will need the following items (in addition to the rims and tyres, of course):<br />
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. tubeless rim tape <br />
. 2 valves<br />
. valve core remover<br />
. sealant<br />
. an injector for delivering the sealant into the valves<br />
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The process itself is fairly straightforward:<br />
. Seal the rims with tubeless-specific rim tape, cutting small holes for the valves.<br />
. Insert valves into the vale holes in the rims.<br />
. Fit the tyres.<br />
. Remove the valve cores and pump sealant into the valves using the injector.<br />
. Rotate the wheels to ensure sealant is evenly spread.<br />
. Replace the valve cores and inflate the tyres.<br />
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Now, that last step - and tubeless enthusiasts tend to keep slyly mum in this regard! - is where people tend to run into trouble. Some rim and tyre combinations are very difficult, if not impossible to inflate using an ordinary track pump, and instead require the use of an air compressor which is able to deliver air in quick blasts.<br />
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They do make special tubeless floor pumps now, which store pressurised air in a separate chamber and are able to 'pop-inflate' the tyre. After reading their descriptions I am a little skeptical they have enough oomph, but will with-hold judgment until I get a chance to try one.<br />
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There are also conversion kits sold, where a thick rubbery layer of padding is placed over the rim to re-shape it for a more airtight fit with the tyre. But for anyone interested in weight savings this rather defeats the purpose. Plus it adds more complexity and cost to the process. And in the end, I am told, it still does not always work.<br />
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That is all to say... you may or may not be able to inflate a tubeless tyre without access to dedicated equipment!<br />
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My own forays into the tubeless world consist of the following two experiences:<br />
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<b>Spada rims (700C) + Schwalbe Pro1 Tyres (tubeless specific)</b><br />
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Over the summer, my husband acquired a set of tubeless-ready 700C road wheels by the Italian manufacturer Spada. Conveniently, they arrived already taped, and with a tubeless-specific version of Schwalbe Pro1 tyres. With the help of the internet, we figured out the other stuff we needed. Installation went smoothly, and we were even able to inflate the tyres with an ordinary floor pump. <br />
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Gary enjoyed the feel of the wheels and tyres very much, and after 'running' them for a month and a half on his modern roadbike, he decided to try them on his vintage Italian bike for comparison. The vintage racing frame has tight clearances in the rear triangle, so he had to deflate the rear tyre in order to squeeze it in. We then spent hours trying to re-inflate the tyre, with no success! Having stretched after some use, the tyre would not sit on the rim sufficiently tightly, to be inflatable with a floor pump. No matter how quickly we pumped, the air was not being delivered fast enough. The tyres sprayed white fluid everywhere but would not inflate, inspiring jokes of a nature not fit to be retold to a cultured audience such as yourselves.<br />
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At length, we admitted defeat. Gary took the wheel to work and got it inflated with an industrial air compressor. Despite the rims and tyres being tubeless-specific, that was the only way he was able to successfully re-inflate the tyre ...a method that would obviously be unavailable in the event of getting a flat mid-ride! (And I know air cartridges are an option ...but not so much for wider tyres, and not everyone likes this disposable solution). The discovery of this limitation pretty much ended his excitement about tubeless setups. However he continues to ride his Spada wheels (they are his only remaining clinchers) and has had zero flats so far.<br />
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<b>Pacenti PL23 rims (650B) + Pari-Moto Tyres </b><br />
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Several months later I decided to give tubeless a go myself - on <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-elusive-finish.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Alice, my DIY 650B bike</span></a> with the Pacenti wheels I had rebuilt. My reasons for this were in equal measure to reduce flats, to save weight, and to achieve an even nicer ride feel than the bike had already. There are no tubular options available for (non-disc brake) 650B wheels, so I thought I might as well give tubeless a try - especially since we still had all the supplies. <br />
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Now, as far as I understand, neither the Pacenti rims nor the Pari-Moto tyres I used are tubeless-specific <i>per se</i>. But I knew that others (most notably, Peter Weigle) had successfully run this combination tubeless, and that allegedly it worked.<br />
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It worked for me as well ...but only with the use of the afore-mentioned industrial air compressor. We were not able to inflate the tyres in the house with a standard floor pump. However, a quick blast from the compressor did the job, and with weekly air top-ups using the floor pump at home they are holding air without problems.<br />
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As for the ride feel, having experienced the same tyres with and without tubes, I have to admit it does make a difference. Run tubeless, the same tyres feel 'squishier' and make for a softer, pleasanter ride feel. I imagine on a bike that is harsh, they would reduce that harshness considerably. On a bike that already rides nicely, as mine did, getting rid of the tubes makes for absolute luxury. <br />
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After 4 months or so of pretty frequent cycling (it’s the bike I’ve put the most miles on over this winter), I’ve had no flats so far. Whether that’s luck, or the sealant doing its job, I cannot say for sure. However, when run with tubes, I had found these same tyres to be pretty fragile.<br />
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<b>In summary...</b><br />
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My impression is that tubeless tyres are an excellent idea in theory, but that in practice their usefulness is seriously limited by the fact that - more often than not - they require an air compressor to inflate successfully. I would also add that not knowing about this in advance can lead to lots of frustration at the user end, so the industry is not doing itself any favours by trying to downplay this drawback. <br />
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The availability of special pressurised air floor pumps is intriguing, and I do hope to test one in the near future. But once you start adding special pumps, and rim conversion kits and the like to the mix, the cost and awkwardness of the whole thing starts to rise pretty quickly. I suspect that in the future all of this will somehow be ironed out, and I look forward to that time. The idea in itself is appealing. And tubeless tyres eventually becoming the norm is, I think, inevitable.<br />
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As always, if you'd like to share your own experiences, you are very welcome to. Have you tried tubeless setups? Which rims and tyres? And was it love or hate?<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-52344239560103946362017-02-10T11:15:00.001-05:002017-02-20T12:52:15.434-05:00Yesterday's Champagne <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo9_hfLZMDHhpZyL1VlyEDcMCE6Aj4R0Q0f2gytMQ1e73y25CAe68NgXJqVMorWmqT2Z7x0tsdkzxR0E1-A3ONTS0bp8_oDDlMgY0blZtsYIaK0x9Pet1qJfidTgPusPEvL62IVYVAeKE/s1600/champagne2a.jpg" /><br />
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In college I had a friend who was known for one curious thing. Any time she would attempt to throw a party, some inexplicable calamity would halt the festivities. The causes were as varied as they were dramatic. A fall necessitating a trip to the ER. A flood in the building. The death of a relative. A cat giving birth in the basement. Food poisoning. Leaking carbon monoxide. A hurricane. Those of us close to her grew so used to this state of affairs, we did not even bother to show up for whatever event she'd invite us to. Instead, we would come on the following day, to help clean up and sip on stale champagne whilst listening to her recount what had happened. It was all a rather hilarious, pathetic mess. And truth be told, we enjoyed it more than the more 'successful' parties we had gone to.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>It occurred to me the other day, that this blog is more or less my version of the yesterday's champagne scenario. If I plan a schedule of reviews, you can rest assured that Things - perfectly legitimate things, mind you! - will happen to make that schedule go out the window. If I announce intention to take part in an organised event, some emergency will make that impossible. And if I run a give-away with a promise to announce the winners 'tomorrow,' my internet will get knocked out by a storm while I am simultaneously felled with a bad case of flu.<br />
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I console myself with the thought, that hey - no doubt my readers are well used to this by now!<br />
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A smooth and punctually running magazine with an editorial staff and deadlines and plans and stuff I am not. But what I lack in that department, I make up for - or at least so I hope - with a certain <i>je ne sais quoi</i> of a flavour you cannot get elsewhere. If you are a fan of that flavour, LB is for you and I thank you for putting up with me. If not, not. No offense meant or taken!<br />
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I was mulling this over last week when my husband snagged, on a certain online auction site, a pre-owned carbon frameset made by a large mainstream manufacturer. He had all along intended to try a carbon bike and compare it to his vintage Italian and modern steel steeds, so it was only a matter of time and now a frame in the right size and with the right characteristics presented itself. Knowing of my preference for small independent makers over the big names, the husband did ask for my 'blessing,' so to speak, before buying the frame. I told him (and meant it) to buy what he wanted. It was none of my business what brands of bicycles he owned. And besides, I was curious what he'd make of this industry benchmark make and model (let's call it an Expert Pavement, for argument's sake). The only thing was, I said, I hoped it would not offend him, but I would not feature this bike on Lovely Bicycle.<br />
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Oh, he said. Even if it's a used bike? But I think people would be interested.<br />
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He is probably right. And I have nothing against big brand bikes, even shiny new ones. But at some point I made a decision - and it's a decision that has only grown firmer over time - not to promote them. There are already many, <i>many</i> cycling publications in print and online which do - often reviewing updated versions of what are essentially the same bikes, every year, so it isn't as if those brands are suffering from lack of exposure. But moreover, Lovely Bicycle ultimately reflects this author's interests - which are in small, obscure manufacturers, in small-batch and handmade production, in custom projects, in various aspects of vintage bikes and parts, and in describing the cycling experience from that somewhat un-slick, overzealous viewpoint that many of us share but the bicycle industry seldom reflects. To add features - or even adverts - of mainstream brands would, I fear, have a bulldozing effect on the eclectic weirdness of all that other stuff which characterises the blog. <br />
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On the one hand, this decision has been 'financially suicidal' on my part. Big, mainstream manufacturers have much larger budgets than small makers. It is no big deal for them to send demo bicycles for review. They are also able to pay considerably more for advertising space. By declining their ads and instituting a policy where I feature only small and independent makers, I have put a rather tight cap on any potential revenue or work opportunities I can ever hope to get from Lovely Bicycle.<br />
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On the other hand, drawing these boundaries and keeping things low-key has afforded me a great deal of freedom in the running of this blog, with its hodge-podge subjectmatter and Calamity Jane hiatuses. I can take things in any direction I want, publish according to whatever schedule suits my circumstances.<br />
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There are reasons why most blogs, no matter how wonderful and popular, tend to be short-lived. Pressure - whether real or imagined - is one of them. I intend to avoid that fate and keep LB going for a while yet. And I guess the point I am ultimately trying to make, is that my mad, unpredictable, and at times, I am sure, frustrating management of this space, is also what makes it sustainable. <br />
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So thank you, again, for putting up with 'yesterday's champagne!'<br />
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Please check the comments of the <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.ie/2017/01/bookman-lights-eye-candy-you-can-see-in.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Bookman Curve post</span></a> for the give-away recipients. And stay tuned as regular programming resumes.<br />
<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-86742055355555167992017-01-31T13:25:00.003-05:002017-02-01T06:02:27.957-05:00Cycling With Your Legs <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2I5GPlHx1uZ3BEMlxjt52zq9GoXEk2v_H1jMvx_EGU2gIGFCeOl-ggEA4Q7QKKAMMGKNTt2y36wQzJ5018s7oD3gLiz9rHUhymk7LvbxlGGLqtIatPXxJ5KN-XKochmCqoll97oWUuHM/s1600/cyclinglegs.jpg" /><br />
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A few months ago I underwent some minor surgery in the abdominal area. In the aftermath I was on two weeks mandatory rest from bicycles entirely. Then two more weeks of riding upright bicycles only. After that, the cycling ban was lifted, albeit with a warning not to strain my pelvic or abdominal muscles.<br />
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"Well, that should be fine," I thought, "I mostly cycle with my legs after all." And for the first time in a month I set off on my roadbike.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Of course, 'cycling with my legs' was easier said than done! And very quickly I became aware of just how much I relied on muscles other than those in my legs when riding a roadbike. In particular, having to go easy on my abdominal and pelvic regions, felt - not inappropriately - as if the floor had dropped away beneath me, leaving a vague and murky hollowness.<br />
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When I tried to accelerate, it felt as if my legs had been disconnected from their primary power supply and were now expected to run in some weird and clearly inferior energy-save mode.<br />
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Climbing uphill felt like running on a dead battery whose smooth and fully-charged functioning I had previously taken for granted. Powerless. Drained.<br />
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In both of these scenarios, in fact I quickly realised I did not even know <i>how</i> to engage my legs without the use of these other, off-limits muscles.<br />
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The expectation to power the bike with my legs now seemed entirely unrealistic. They were motorised tools and I'd taken away the motor. Now what?<br />
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Fortunately, the body does adapt. Day after day my legs grew more 'self-sufficient' for lack of a better term. It was almost as if they developed their own backup mini-motors, upon realising that no help was forthcoming.<br />
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Then my bum and lower back came to the rescue. Even my arms and shoulders got in on the action, hardening from the effort of holding up my torso over the bars with limited abdominal help.<br />
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It all felt very strange indeed: first like running on empty; then like tapping into alternative sources of energy. But it sustained me through months of cycling, as follow-up procedures left my abs in a state of perpetual convalescence.<br />
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In the course of those months I wasn't exactly an invalid. I rode <a href="http://as follow-up procedures left my abs in a state of perpetual convalescence," target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">a century sportive</span></a>, and went on weekly hilly metric-century trips with my husband. I had a great time cycling with my legs! Still, I did not feel like myself on the bike. Most of all I missed that feeling of pulling at my core to propel myself upward. And the strangest thing is, I had not even been aware of that feeling until I lost access to it.<br />
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When we think of the bicycle, what immediately comes to mind is pedaling. And it's easy to forget there is so much more to it. Now, more than ever I appreciate what a marvelously full body experience cycling truly is.<br />
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Last week was the first time I got on the bike with my abs and pelvic core fully back in service. I went for a 25 mile spin and I did try to take it easy on those now out of practice muscles! Still, the next morning, my middle was so sore I nearly screamed when I sat up in bed. A week later, I am still feeling the growing pains. But they are pains I gladly welcome. And my legs are happy to have their motor back. <br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-77203639940852459322017-01-28T08:19:00.001-05:002017-02-01T05:42:58.679-05:00The Bookman Curve: Eye Candy You Can See In the Dark <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh93lLk_0Lh_KaWqZGNc3b-zi9Rh-uETIDKsDvTqb1RZ_Y4daTBlwFoKRL_JBEmsK-6tvHXNPn4D_khQefVaUF2PoQSz-QlmDEXg8H5Gt1DmyUXHVGk9jSNIJWe_Kv0iBkBXaq_J7daNs4/s1600/bookman1.jpg" /><br />
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Of all the fetishes one might develop for bicycles and their accoutrements, thankfully I never had a thing for lights. Living in the countryside these days, I mainly want my bicycle lights to be bright. If, at the same time they manage to be fairly lightweight, easy to recharge, visually inoffensive, and reasonably priced, I am happy enough to give them no further thought.<br />
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Unfortunately, the Swedish designers at <a href="https://bookman.se/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Bookman</span></a> seem intent to change this sane state of affairs. While I've always found their tiny LED concoctions visually compelling, their latest iteration of the Curve takes it one step too far. When I see these lights, I want to touch them, sniff them, eat them, decorate my body with them... And yes, I know this isn't a normal reaction! Or is it exactly the reaction they want?.. Well, we'll have to ask them. But their confectionary aesthetics aside, are these objects more than just eye candy? Read on and decide for yourself. Or better yet, take one and find out firsthand. Because the samples are free to a good home.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqm2YoitHHpTZFcLGJ4mdHmF7iv7tkcibDe-yJ-2klzscRtCb6GUnSPyj98BtbuEOTlYYdukuW9Jy9ah3AwlpQRyJsPy9HSZQhJFdzYErc6kbovFKnTAW3O8l1XP6yPBS32YrSdhyUUOw/s1600/bookman5.jpg" /><br />
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Now in its second generation of production, <a href="https://bookman.se/collections/bikelights/products/curve-front-light-v-2?variant=34539095175" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the Bookman Curve</span></a> is pretty much what the name suggests: a curved bicycle light. The overall design minimises the size of the unit itself, while maximizing the area of the glass - which is shaped so as to 'spill light over the sides' for 180° visibility coverage around the cyclist.<br />
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I've had an ongoing relationship with Bookman for some time now, and I have tested a few iteration of the original Bookman lights. Their products always impressed me with their durability and simple, fool-proof functionality. But the problem for me was, that the overall luminosity in these tiny beautiful units just wasn't enough for my use case scenario once I moved to the countryside. The Curve model began to change that. With its 80 lumen output, the Curve 1 was noticeably brighter than the manufacturer's previous offerings. And the peripheral light output produced by its design was indeed quite striking.<br />
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The new Curve 2 model takes it up another notch, with an output of 100 lumens. For the city and suburbs, that amount of illumination is actually quite respectable, and on par with much bulkier headlights. It is even beginning to approach acceptable range for the country roads. I still can't use it as my only light along the backroads on moonless nights (for reference, <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/10/long-term-review-lezyne-power-drive-and.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the headlight I normally use</span></a> puts out 900 lumens at its highest setting). But along the main roads, peppered with reflective 'cat eyes' and luminous road markings, it is sufficient.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5l7lwOtPO7-3l9y4Ls5JvJV7-hGx6wMTBIwhCmO2EJ9klCUWQhjvADqgMR8SdWAgBcJO9COhxSqOTQUXY97zKDdUejcLebT0bWR3OfrfNhRtTRuPqBsPjw955vWUzygSIt03VqthyHA/s1600/bookman7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5l7lwOtPO7-3l9y4Ls5JvJV7-hGx6wMTBIwhCmO2EJ9klCUWQhjvADqgMR8SdWAgBcJO9COhxSqOTQUXY97zKDdUejcLebT0bWR3OfrfNhRtTRuPqBsPjw955vWUzygSIt03VqthyHA/s1600/bookman7.jpg" /></a><br />
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This lumen output is particularly impressive, considering the tiny size, light weight, and no-fuss attachment method of these lights. You can fit both tail light and headlight in the palm of one hand, or stash both in your coat or cycling jersey pocket. On the handlebars, the headlight sits unobtrusively, and will fit no matter how cluttered your cockpit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRBnNjUWrnrBCupLfDRhDs3IwqrLhYUhqdkABnHd2fQXHebxGnBBPCarrqTFDF-28FUooTL3vHPgKIQCKOBi_3YlK49ux-UaMXKXIen4JDWqaKH53W0WqBu2gvNPtGD5o114MDjVpjvQ/s1600/bookman6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRBnNjUWrnrBCupLfDRhDs3IwqrLhYUhqdkABnHd2fQXHebxGnBBPCarrqTFDF-28FUooTL3vHPgKIQCKOBi_3YlK49ux-UaMXKXIen4JDWqaKH53W0WqBu2gvNPtGD5o114MDjVpjvQ/s1600/bookman6.jpg" /></a><br />
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The elastic silicone band is easy to open and close, but impossible to lose as the other end remains attached to the unit. It fits handlebars (or seat posts, for the tail light) from 22mm to 42 mm in diameter.<br />
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The on switch, integrated into the clasp, is large and obvious, and responds to the blunt push of even a heavily-gloved finger. Holding the button for just under a second turns the light on and off, and a quick click switches between 4 modes, including flash. The battery life indicator flashes here as well.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XaB81YsKBoKD4bnZhOW6nr9JDU020ttUkyJnP-pq6foeW7EPppna3pLPb8kjtf-d1oJH9NBrNqxGtG9G7OitOhEG4DU4OdKLU4oW-JdBnrAgalDN1oZD-esbwcymrppQRabplEF1Muw/s1600/bookman3.jpg" /><br />
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At its highest setting, the Curve 2 has a run time of two and a half hours, and can last up to 35 hours in flashing or power-save modes. It takes two hours to charge via USB, and a USB cable is included with the product.<br />
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And while the Curve might bring to mind colourful casein jewelry, unlike casein it is, thankfully, weatherproof - resistant to humidity, rain, hail and snow.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC890aLw6YVCfmwm4XfZBJ12NbdgBW0WnOIiSAqqGeZWFx402vreVtoSJXa3VOFHk2TbFtS17tnJvbMOFpQ8_m6g_VTQGoFPyB9_dSgfTW16h3xGfn3eV8uSESKII7B7T8WsiA-81Evgc/s1600/bookman2.jpg" /><br />
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While the <a href="https://bookman.se/collections/bikelights/products/curve-front-light-v-2?variant=34539095175" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Bookman Curve lights</span></a> are certainly bits of eye candy, to dismiss them as decor over function would be unjustified. The compact, durable, intuitive to use headlight puts out 100 lumens of light, provides 180° visibility coverage, and charges via USB, with a pice tag of €39.<br />
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Here in the booneys, I may have to wait a few more iterations for the Bookman engineers to figure out how to stuff yet more lumens into those tiny shells. But for city and suburb dwellers these beautiful, minimalist lights could be just the thing.<br />
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If you would like to get your hands on one of these darlings: I have one coral and blue Curve 2 headlight, and one light gray and yellow Curve 2 headlight, as shown. They have been gently tested, but will come in their original packaging with USB cord and whatever else is in there.<br />
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I am willing to post anywhere in the world, if you don't mind cheap and very slow postage. So entries from Mongolia and Paraguay are fine.<br />
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And for those interested in other products from this manufacturer: The fellows at Bookman have asked me to convey, that signing up for their newsletter (see: <a href="https://bookman.se/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">'subscribe' at the bottom of the page</span></a>) will result in a 10% discount on your first purchase. However, this is not necessary to enter the give-away.<br />
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Now, if you'd like one of the lights, <strike>please leave a comment by the end of the month (i.e. Tuesday 31st January) which includes some method of contacting you (OR send me an email with your contact information)</strike> {<i>entries now closed - thank you everyone!}</i> In the comment, please respond to the following:<br />
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Imagine you work in the purchasing department of a faux Scandi-chic shop. What name would you give a bicycle light to make it sound extra sexy-minimalist-Scandinavian? I ask, because to me the name "Curve" is disappointingly straightforward, for what a foreigner has come to expect from a Swedish product! Perhaps for their next design the manufacturer might think of something more romantically unpronounceable?<br />
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Two recipients will be chosen, one for each light.<br />
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And with anticipation of your replies, I wish you a very Happy Weekend!<br />
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Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-92031486131467696152017-01-25T09:42:00.000-05:002017-02-20T11:11:37.191-05:00Stranger In a Strange Land? Some Musings on Revisiting the Coaster Brake <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqXJNCi_9vKBEIhhKpbznKuVZDuPAL3DB3sze8tnyMfvNFUX3vlqTyUFgL5Ayj2RLPnrelMvcWVbrJfVdyP35iAJTaiebMSq0CPmuQyO3ALXakiZiPvcYUDR6VQGuXhljD3DTLvhgtzeE/s1600/dutch1.jpg" /><br />
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As mentioned earlier, I am in temporary guardianship of <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2017/01/gifts-that-make-you-go-broke.html"><span style="color: #a64d79;">a small lot of vintage bicycles, of various styles and stages of decrepitude</span></a>. While the majority of the bikes are English 3-speeds, hiding among them was this classic Dutch <i>omafiets</i>. Although it has clearly seen better days, the bike is actually not that old: judging by its parts and styling, I would estimate the late 1980s. And despite its dire condition, I was pleased to discover that it is perfectly ridable, if rattly and creaky. So I've been using it for local errands for these past couple of weeks, delighting in the novelty of its ultra-upright position, boat-like steering, and other bits of traditional Dutch-bikeyness.<br />
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Among these features is, of course, the coaster brake.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-LvW5u1KNZIC5teQXj7so59RdL51yXa_1rpdlJmbJ9ArnBPrvWjIoZfVvGpWhfnprjEysWd-dXRjGSc-fI4f-j8br2198Q0KOQsqg4tuDfifjB95rZFqQ-sAmeizgg2vdvNPLX_ZWMw/s1600/dutch2.jpg" /><br />
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When I first discovered transportation cycling, I quickly fell in love with the coaster brake - to the point of converting my old Raleigh DL-1 into a <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2010/07/coaster-roadster.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">'coaster roadster.'</span></a> The coaster brake allowed me to use leg strength to modulate speed, which was a welcome relief at the time, as my hand strength was non-existent due to nerve damage. It was also, overall, simply a more intuitive, pleasanter way of braking, which I found easier to integrate with the then-novel act of pedaling a bicycle in the city.<br />
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In <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2010/08/coaster-brakes-yay-or-nay.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">this early blog post</span></a> (keep in mind it is 6 1/2 years old!), I summarised my love of the coaster brake as follows:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
. I find that coaster brakes deliver softer (no sudden jolts), smoother, and more consistent stopping power in city traffic </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
. I like to have one hand free in traffic, so that I can signal while braking </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
. I find it easier to modulate coaster brakes at finer increments without losing momentum </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
. I have problems with the nerves in my hands, and find it painful to use hand-operated brake levers frequently (like in stop-and-go traffic) </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
. I find coaster brakes intuitive and stress-free to use: it makes sense to both accelerate and slow down with my feet</blockquote>
Reading through that post, the reasoning completely makes sense considering my circumstances at the time. But as circumstances change, so do preferences.<br />
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As years passed, I started riding longer distances. My routes grew hillier and my travel speed increased. At the same time, my hand strength improved, making hand-braking no longer problematic. Gradually, the once-essential coaster brake became suboptimal. And it has now, I realise, been years since I have ridden a bike equipped with one.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DuJvcM2MpdqdDq_mDaatAoww2bkrrbdYa-FUJvzCbEM8AmezC5GeAbY5E7nnPTauHR5fqUkAmaxXUzh1p7C9CGhPkTDLr7C-ywbxUOGSw6kv0nLO65pSUewvhYFRfPks-e4xMN7i2ko/s1600/hilly1a.jpg" /><br />
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The nearly 4 year interlude made the prospect of re-visiting the coaster brake all the more exciting - considering especially that the hilly rural landscape where I now live is not exactly the ideal environment for it.<br />
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Historically, coaster brakes have been unpopular in the British and Emerald isles. And while Sturmey Archer has always offered coaster brake hubs, they were mostly made for export. By contrast, in regions such as Holland, Denmark, Belgium, and the flatter parts of Germany and Austria, coaster brakes are by far the most common braking system on transport bicycles. In fact, when living in Vienna I was amused to discover that even the modern, hybrid-style bikes equipped with v-brakes front and rear, had coaster brakes <i>in addition </i>(so 3 brakes in total)! When I asked a bike shop owner why this was, he explained that the locals were so accustomed to braking by way of back-pedaling, it was dangerous to offer bicycles without this option.<br />
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This regional difference in braking preferences is usually explained in terms of hills and speed. While the coaster-brake's gentle modulation may be preferable on an urban bike path, its stopping power is insufficient when approaching a rural T-junction at the bottom of a long descent.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kXnCtfvu3oZDKTdKEWGiXb8PXXKoVBXEN7A2Or1UfGk_pAhvuO-2lyOgiipWQWO_Lxlod2uizC_Tyf8WyzBj99UnzeinuI1xyXhfXv0E8xUA2VSvWb1I3qNNfVWNWQPCnN2-i7mUW0M/s1600/dutch4.jpg" /><br />
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Of course, whenever I hear this argument, my immediate response is: But are rod brakes, found on English and Irish bikes well into the late 20h century, any better?!<br />
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But never mind such pesky details! What is a Dutch bike actually like to ride in hilly rural Ireland?<br />
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Well. On the main, it felt unexpectedly strange - as in 'foreign.' Even the neighbours noticed that it was different from the seemingly identical black step-through rust buckets I have pedaled past their houses in the past.<br />
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The main signifiers of this difference are, I suspect, the suared-off bend of the handlebars, the bolt-upright sitting position, and perhaps the fold-down kickstand. And although, in the grand scheme of things, these may seem like minor details, they do give the <i>omafiets</i> a distinct vibe that makes it stand out noticeably from its Roadster cousins. To my eye, it also looks like the typical Dutch bike has less fork rake and a steeper head tube angle than a typical English 3-speed, albeit I'm not sure it's the sort of thing that would stand out to others.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMCVC71IJoRLAkUDcV6mFAwt-sAw_ChNkWLw2mbKzs1lO-EDu5ACWHH_SBRtl89IbuxKZ6TAU7gun1RvlftW4n1Z-VXg-weep_g9WA8cIQLuU_L8HtKmjY_IRH-86jYyEqGYEV9ZUFkg/s1600/dutch3.jpg" /><br />
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As for the coaster brake... Okay, I must admit I hated it at first! But only for the half hour it took me to remember how to deal with it. There is a method for ensuring your starting pedal is 'in the right place' for pushing off each time you stop and start, and basically, it is this: When coming to a stop, you need to remember to always bring your starting pedal into position, so that it's already waiting for you there when you start again. This needs to become an automatic process, committed to body-memory, in order for the coaster brake not to drive you nuts. But once it does become an automatic part of stopping, using a coaster brake is easy.<br />
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In the course of a single trip to my local shop, I remembered everything I loved about the coaster brake. There really is something so gentle, smooth, and intuitive about braking with the pedals, especially when maneuvering around tight spaces at slow speeds. It works best with a very upright cycling position, and on flat terrain. But when the conditions are right for it, it is a treat that almost gives cycling the feel of a mesmerising slow-dance. It is exotic, and strange after a long absence. And not at all a bad way to carry home a heavy bag of vegetables.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-73830648134775002362017-01-23T10:13:00.001-05:002017-01-23T10:58:14.486-05:00Frustrations, Transformations, and Biological Limitations: On Watching My Husband Become a Cyclist Again <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3oe8ZpwqxOsmEJCAlKHut0F-vbeZDaMrkqZnmqpD8JW4CaT3WBS_VMoRGo3s1hJ_J09kMlg3shEvuOL8zVgugwcekUhlnOtyU3ciKRsOiC-hH4k6okX09bSLS-q79XUMED4fVGbcqBes/s1600/wateredge.jpg" /><br />
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I did know the entire time that it was only temporary. Like one of those stories, where a girl finds a weakened wolf cub, takes it in and nurses it to health as if it were a puppy, only to realise - once it gets better and starts doing scary wolf things - that it really is a wolf after all. I knew that it was only a matter of time until the tables would turn and I - with all my advice, encouragement, and energy - would be left in the dust, smarting with disappointment.<br />
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"But then so what?" I thought, and feigned a cool anticipation of this inevitable outcome.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Not long after I met Gary, I learned that he had been a cyclist some years earlier. He rode with a local club, whose members still remember him with uneasy admiration: quick, hard, relentless, in a rabid sort of way. I delighted in hearing the stories and seeing him through their eyes.<br />
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He did not experience cycling the way I did. He did not 'enjoy it' as such. He didn’t care for the views or the fresh air or the wind against his skin. He only felt compelled to pedal, and in so doing to push himself to the point of pain and beyond. Grace through suffering and all that. Did I understand?<br />
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I'd shrug, with a neutral expression. "You did it your way, I do it mine."<br />
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"But hey," he said. "That was then. I am older now. I look at things differently. I see you cycling with your camera and it makes me want to get on the bike again."<br />
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And eventually he did, for the first time in a decade. Predictably, it was a bit of a disaster. His idea of a casual friendly ride was, apparently, interval training. Too stunned to object, I went along with it... and after 10 miles nearly had to carry him home. We did not speak of this incident for months. <br />
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Other attempts to cycle together followed, with similar results, leaving him increasingly discouraged. Clearly, he’d expected to get on the bike and pick up roughly where he left off 10 years earlier. But at the age of 47 his body - despite being in otherwise good shape from running and weight training - was not cooperating. He couldn't do distances. He couldn’t do hills. He couldn’t do anywhere near the speeds he remembered doing. Oh, and everything about the bike felt uncomfortable; every body part hurt.<br />
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Finally I had the presence of mind to take control of the situation. Did he want to get back into cycling? I could help. But there would be an enforced speed limit. We would increase the distance gradually. And he'd listen to my advice on gearing, nutrition, and bike fit. <br />
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Somewhat to my surprise, he agreed readily, and put himself entirely in my hands. From then on, I was 'in charge' of cycling. I determined the routes, the distances. I suggested what to eat and when, how to dress for the weather. I advised on what adjustments to make to his bike setup based on the pains he was describing. I convinced him to try lower gearing and a different saddle. <br />
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After about a year of this, we were able to do 20-30 mile rides together at touring speed, without bonking or significant discomfort on his end. The progress was slow and frustrating. At times I could tell it was difficult for him to stick with it, such a blow it must have been to his image of himself as a cyclist. What kept him going was a difference in attitude: A new appreciation for the local landscape, as well as for the social aspects of cycling. We would pedal side by side and chat and enjoy the views of the beautiful countryside. It wasn't cycling as he remembered it. But it became a new pastime. There were highs and lows, and creative pain management, and a learning curve as far as food intake. But he stuck with it.<br />
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By the following year, it was clear that he had turned a corner. While still not back to his 'old self,' it was as if there was now a new solid base to his cycling. He continued to tweak his bicycle setup, no longer needing my advice at this point. With a tolerance for milage now built up, he also began to work on his speed ...and, in turn, on mine! Our relationship on the bike now became more reciprocal - with my helping him increase distances, and his helping me increase speed. By the end of our second full summer cycling together, we were able to cover 50 miles at a decent clip - both of us transformed with each other’s help. We went on lots of scenic and memorable rides that year and even successfully (well, sort of!) <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2015/07/tour-de-twilight-zone.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">tried our first overnight mini-tour</span></a>. It was the ideal balance, I thought at the time. <br />
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But of course, nothing stays the same. And this past summer was when things transformed dramatically. We had planned out a <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/08/touring-light-some-initial-thoughts.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">5 day tour through County Kerry</span></a>. It seems funny in retrospect, but at this stage Gary was still nervous about his ability to handle distances, especially on consecutive days. So we kept the daily distances at sub-50 miles, and designed the tour as a loop with several potential shortcuts back to the starting point, in case we had to cut it short. As the tour progressed, however, an interesting thing happened. With each day on the road, instead of growing tired Gary seemed to be gaining in strength, energy and confidence. By the final day of the tour I was, frankly, ready to wrap it up, while he could have easily kept going!<br />
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Upon our return home, he was a changed creature. He had no discomfort on the bike to speak of. No distance seemed too far. And his average speed, when he’d go out on his own, was back to what it was in 'the old days.' It had taken him 3 years to get back to his prior cycling shape. But get back to it he did, and then some.<br />
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It was actually quite amazing to fully grasp just how much stronger he now was on the bike than me. He could climb any incline in seemingly any gear combination. He could accelerate with such violently quick bursts, that just watching him gave me vertigo. Rides which I found so challenging as to leave me drained for days, were for him now effortless. Finally, our biology had caught up with us.<br />
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I was proud, to have helped him get there, in whatever small way. And I was also disappointed, for I fully expected at this point, for our cycling paths to diverge: For him to re-connect with the local fast crowd, and for me to do my own thing as I'd done before. I was sad about it. But I also encouraged it. I was no match for him. And I knew he liked fast, competitive roadcycling. I didn’t want to hold him back.<br />
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So he reconnected with the local men again and went out on a few rides. But it didn’t last: He no longer felt the competitive drive that had dominated his former cycling life. And he missed cycling with me.<br />
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So he stuck with me despite his transformation ...which, to be honest, is a circumstance I am not always sure I am happy about, since I now get the full 'benefit' of his energy and attention! There are times he tries to make me his project and pushes me beyond my comfort zone, and then beyond that still. It frustrates me - because it’s difficult. And even more so, because I know that no matter how hard I work I can never match his physiology; I will never become his equal on the bike.<br />
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But then there are times, when I climb a hill, almost effortlessly, or do a treacherous descent without fear, and I know that I would never have gotten to this point if left to my own devices. And this makes me happy, because it is not really about the hill, or the descent, or the speed, but about the freedom and independence that having this new strength grants me.<br />
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It's a reciprocal situation. And through it we've developed a way of cycling together that is like neither of our former styles, but a new one entirely. There are times we play games with speeds and distances and elevation gains and route shapes, and this is something that I genuinely have fun with even though I never would have liked it in the past. There are times we seek out mountain passes, explore new territories. And there are times we simply ride to the nearest cafe.<br />
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All in all, this is not an especially exciting story. But it's one I wanted to share, because I know that a good portion of my readers are older men - many of whom <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2012/08/second-life-on-cycling-and-aging.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">got back into cycling after a pretty long break</span></a>. Some are now well into their 'comeback,' others are only now getting back on the bike. It can be difficult to readjust expectations, to readjust our image of ourselves. But the thing to remember is... whether we take breaks or not, we are anyhow always changing.<br />
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Whatever our former history, our memories of prowess or lack thereof, there is always room to experience cycling in a new way, to integrate it into relationships, and to find in it new aspects of ourselves.<br />
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And with that said, Happy Trails!<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-22679761528098616402017-01-13T07:50:00.000-05:002017-01-13T07:54:09.705-05:00Slower In the Cold? Facts and Psychosomatics <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoeBd51_h8_QSkCuPliejvX92MtYMgVqoYDgsvEdk460GnN8TJqNGjf-P6VNh486CtWnAT37wS0ymFo32h_DudLXpaKqlK-LTW5Fxl7YFmR-fMoHfa-iNesIUONEQuUvFOnXURpY_OPlw/s1600/alice_pre.jpg" /><br />
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It seems like I've had a few conversations lately where cyclists have mentioned off-handedly the notion of being "slower" in the cold. Since I don't experience this phenomenon myself, my gut reaction is to question it, which, in turn is met with insistence that it's a well known fact, complete with Reasonable Explanations.<br />
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Here are some popular explanations I've heard:<br />
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<a name='more'></a>1. Cold air creates greater resistance and is more difficult to push through.<br />
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2. The cold affects tyre suppleness, increasing their rolling resistance.<br />
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3. The cold affects the performance of moving parts, making the bike less efficient.<br />
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4. The body loses energy in trying to keep warm, detracting from performance.<br />
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5. Road surface conditions degrade in winter, slowing down the bike.<br />
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6. (from people who mount mudguards and lights in winter only) The mudguards and lights create extra drag.<br />
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7. (from people who switch to a "winter bike") The bike itself is heavier and slower.<br />
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So firstly, let me make it clear that I do acknowledge the first 4 explanations have merit. But they have merit in true winter conditions, not in hovering-above-freezing, at worst, Ireland. In fact, typically the difference between summer and winter temps here is quite modest. I believe the average temperature in winter is around 8°C (47°F) and in summer around 17°C (65°F). And it isn't unheard of for those to reverse: An 8°C day in the middle of July is not out of the ordinary, and neither is a 17°C day in January. In short, cyclists in this comparatively mild climate shouldn't really be experiencing the sort of detrimental effects on their body's and equipment's performance that are associated with true cold.<br />
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Likewise, I believe the Road Conditions argument is exaggerated: The roads here are covered in farming debris, loose chipseal, and slippery oily residue year round, especially after it rains. Since it rains more often in winter, sure it gets a bit worse now and again - but it's not the sort of dramatic difference that should cause seasonal shifts in speed.<br />
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Finally, while the mudguards/ winter bike argument might make sense, it is one that applies to few cyclists these days - as most simply carry on riding their favourite roadbike year round, and choose to remain fenderless.<br />
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So why do cyclists report feeling slower in colder months, even in places with comparatively subtle seasonal changes? Is it cycling lore, absorbed from stories that take place in Continental winters, then internalised and expressed psychosomatically?<br />
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There is some element of that, I am sure. But I wonder also, whether our temperature sensitivity is reflective of the climate we're adapted to - so that a 3°C winter's day, for someone accustomed to a steady 8°C average, might actually be a shock to the system.<br />
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I remember dragging my husband out cycling one February morning. It was a couple of years ago, when he hadn't yet become the avid winter cyclist he is now. I remember the temperature was fairly mild, and yet he genuinely had trouble breathing - in the same manner I'd have trouble breathing back in Boston, once the temps dipped below freezing. It is true that our bodies - and minds - adapt to whatever conditions we are faced with.<br />
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Then again, I think the most reasonable explanation could be this:<br />
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With the shorter days, we tend to get out less in the winter. Consequently, our fitness decreases - so that when we do go out on the bike, we feel slower, temps and road conditions and draggy accoutrements notwithstanding.<br />
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What do you think? Do you notice a difference in your cycling performance in the colder months, and if so what do you attribute it to?<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-72929206410326287222017-01-10T08:09:00.004-05:002017-01-11T05:56:52.328-05:00Sticky, Squishy Love, Part I: Some Notes on Tubular Tyres <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4uxGmAYBzM6IdBCmVD-sn-KKqUGGqCNeipCXXlO0nZfhhDTwzDqOtXUT4vN9eYr2k2p8eNi0qjOoMFCuLkBhD5PIJK3V9w0kTDoxF-IXasNYlRCTqih5hHLfkgAJ4QtNd703oRVZ0HQ/s1600/tunular1.jpg" /><br />
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I had no preconceived notions of tubular tyres, until I <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2010/06/slightly-off-track.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">tried them, for the first time, 6 years ago</span></a>. A friend in Vienna lent me his track bike thus equipped. I had it for about two weeks and rode it for hours on end around the nearby park and countryside. I do not recall the brand or model of the 23mm tubulars. But the memory of their soft, squishy, very particular ride feel stayed with me for some time and I knew that some day, when the opportunity presented itself, I would have a set of tubular wheels for one of my own bikes.<br />
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The opportunity presented itself this summer, when a friend agreed to build me a set of lightweight "vintagey" wheels (this was the prequel to <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/12/planning-wheelbuild-hypothetical.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">my learning to do it myself</span></a>). He suggested using tubular rims for the build, and I readily agreed. On riding my bike with the new wheels, I was so ecstatic that my husband grew curious and wanted in on the action. So <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2016/11/wheelbuilding-for-health-and-recreation.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">we built him some tubulars too</span></a>. And he liked them so much, that he then built another set for his second bike. Long story short... 6 months later and with 3 sets of tubular wheels between us, we feel sufficiently committed to this setup to have now sold off most of our clincher wheels.<br />
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Why? Well, I can only speak for myself. And here are some notes on my experience.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWEUI36eBbzGy21SHqu8CZcdyve9UPHrvrS9PP_gP8Yqsx2HWXOVkXsDgeyyWUv_pBEjsQiGlMRs1e6o7E9234E8ZUm8XhmAWeJYTAWkyxJ30f-ZLZo2RoObOzFj5qT8hrK2bddksy8rA/s1600/tubular2.jpg" /><br />
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So firstly, what are tubular tyres exactly? Put simply, they are just what the name suggests: tyres in the shape of tubes (I'm great at explaining stuff, aren't I!).<br />
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While clincher tyres are essentially strips of rubber with curled edges, designed to tuck under the lip of a rim, tubulars are sewn and sealed closed, designed to be glued onto a rim bed.<br />
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Because of this inherent difference, tubular tyres do require tubular-specific rims, just as clincher tyres require clincher-specific rims. So once you choose to go with one rim type vs another, you are committed to a system.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmnV8ZT-2UetyP9UWzrWLRNVxEChTY-Ce8X8A4lmXe8xtsNVyZPVuB2h4yEgMsAXUgMNaVatpt2Hrn_7ZCZtV9KBHLacwznmPd_MoPkC1TdXbb6YQKWplxRHUkL7uHLszwrMSIFQ7I30/s1600/tubular4.jpg" /><br />
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Because they are essentially a tube and a tyre in one, tubular tyres do not require inner tubes. The valve is part of the tyre, and air is pumped into the tyre directly. <br />
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For many, this is what makes a tubular setup preferable to a clincher setup: The integrated inner tube and lack of bead reduces weight, and the closed design delivers superior suppleness. But I will come back to this later. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBwQS8hh8-gDBS1HDEP6j9vga584RdF_BEOBKukL4Lug-A08wiMkdsi0lj1rXEWTsceeFBmhzDAENO9B3f-nBEcKLrwt-GHg4fsgPhkD8Lu2fmMF6H9sDG8Lra7xWNaKtUFqhgYFey2RI/s1600/tubular5.jpg" /><br />
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Attaching tubular tyres to the rim requires a specially formulated adhesive, and a multi-step process that takes at least 24 hours from start to finish.<br />
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Perhaps understandably, this tends to intimidate those accustomed to clinchers. Gluing a tyre to a rim seems quaint, and questionable in its security. I had qualms about this too at first (OMG <i>glue</i>?!). However, I now feel confident that, if done correctly, the bond is rock-solid.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9-VX3RQEwe4nNVc809Z3HkYF6nsoD97o8pHhQwPQfW7qdZ0t5byTQn2aMM2z8f8fGbNZUWF8UCEdNBL1IYPvTf1GIhKWkobRWcsJmePaZbWXJt0pW2UMulmYx8_Lng9trtjlN-X5SNQ/s1600/tubular6.jpg" /><br />
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For those who downright hate the gluing idea, there is now tubular tape available instead. But personally, I agree with the argument that traditional liquid glue is best, as it doesn't detract from the tyre's natural flex. <br />
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The glue is available from a number of brands, and is sold in small tubes and larger jars. It is easiest to apply using a small tube, as you can just squeeze from the tube directly and do not need a brush. However, buying the larger jar makes sense if you plan to do more than 1 set of tyres in the near future. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvl7r0g7czGqyuZsEROpcC7tHsOBe2at2nHd7eUavYNnFLcFy34L3xFPuFUYsxxwLgD_lxlPR_Ce1S0PgnJ3QrnqlZTkJYIq8RjF6j6qsVlAQCcgSO3-i4OcDvxFuMqDwnI5nqaeRNsCU/s1600/tubular7.jpg" /><br />
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There are many variations on tubular gluing methods. But the basic principle is a 3 step process:<br />
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1. Coat rim and tyre's underbelly with tubular glue. <br />
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2. Fit tyre onto rim. Inflate to a high PSI.<br />
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3. Let "cure" for 24 hours before riding. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgTrclyc3LJXtYDOaICokz6n4Y-w5CnY4jC7_BIwyEXQPELOsYrvLaBm3MRhosqNP02N78u2LXIN9NdhJUY00UbXD7OJRG39kzHYNlXRtt5UaOUudo9jQaPMO5YZWCo4KqgM-sQzsid4/s1600/tubular9.jpg" /><br />
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In fairness, each step is a bit more elaborate than that. Ideally, you would stretch the tyre by mounting it onto the rim "dry" and inflating first. You would also inflate it and let it dry a bit after the first gluing, then deflate and add a bit more glue before finally fitting it onto the rim for realz. But you get the general idea: glue on both surfaces, then inflate and let sit. If the surfaces are coated well, the pressure and the drying time will result in a solid bond, so that the tyre will feel impossible to budge. And then, off you go cycling.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHmr636rJytEUztpeO2A-E8dyBIiQeSH2zXr9QpJF5ICtbJ20NpJD5HGYVlsp4Tu7EfswziYVCWhb6IcKI9cchV_rInrziZ1x1vZTiSm5Nl2dbMKCxkApyhg5-_B9xFO64IaN0k0_HF8/s1600/tubular3.jpg" /><br />
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As far as the cost of tubular tyres, there is a pretty wide range. You can buy expensive high end ones for as much as $100 a tyre (Dugast and FMB are considered the crème de la crème) , or budget ones for 1/10th of that price. And a tip if you want to get a good deal on a higher-end tubular tyre: I have noticed there tend to be quite a few pre-owned but unused ones sold on the secondhand market; so if you can tolerate eBay that can be a good option.<br />
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On our bikes we use the fairly high-end and puncture-resistant Schwalbe Pro1 and Vittoria Corsa tubulars, and keep some budget Vittoria Rallys as spares. <br />
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We have not had any punctures on any of our tubulars yet. But the idea is, to carry a lightly pre-glued spare, and then simply change out the tyre, inflate the spare and ride. The punctured tyre can be repaired at a later time. <br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZgMuLaCRVD4tVjuQCqPU3KudCh22HkiDw50XgiUeSgJkD7MVcowWiH5jKLMJ7GKRXWnyhC0b-MpyGCkcsKm2uOKrB1KNPbrSi7HTBFk5duockeePXy7bv9xbi1ErueZmwiTrmQfxBNeA/s1600/tubular10.jpg" /><br />
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With all that being said, I am aware that on paper the whole thing really does sound kind of complicated. Nevertheless, I prefer tubular tyres by a fairly wide margin. So here is a summary of why:<br />
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1. They are comfortable. So ridiculously comfortable. Contemporary clincher-advocates will say this is a myth, that modern clinchers have caught up and surpassed, and so on. In my experience this simply isn't so, and I say that having ridden some of the nicest modern clinchers. There is no comparison. The best way I can describe how a tubular tyre rides... It feels as if it has at least 30psi less pressure in it than it actually does. Or else as if your bike has suddenly become more flexible. The effect is simply amazing, and like nothing else I have felt before. <br />
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2. They are easy (for me) to mount. As I've mentioned before many times, I have trouble mounting, removing, and changing out tubes with clincher tyres. This is a hand strength/ nerve damage issue, and it brings me to tears, because basically I cannot change my own (clincher) tyre in a way that is even remotely efficient. In comparison, mounting or changing a tubular is a walk in the park. Glue may be messy, but wielding a paintbrush is much easier for me, physically, that tucking in a stiff bead core. Likewise, cracking the glue seal and pushing a tubular off the rim with my hands is easier than wrangling off a tight clincher using tyre levers.<br />
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3. Having had a pretty frightening experience with a rapid puncture on a clincher tyre on a 45mph descent, I am more comfortable with the potential outcomes of getting a flat on a tubular setup. I genuinely feel safer on tubulars. <br />
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4. While the need to "buy a new tyre" in the event of a flat is often cited as a deterrent, I am confident that I can repair a tubular myself if need be (I have seen it done, and for anyone with even basic sewing and crafting skills - it is not that big of a deal), so this is really not an issue. <br />
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5. I enjoy the tactile aspects of handling and working with the tubular tyres: from applying the glue, to tapping on its crème brûlée-like crust with my fingernails, to the satisfactory crunch of cracking that crust when removing the tyre. Maybe that's a little weird, but all these things make me feel more viscerally "connected" to the tyres, which is nice.<br />
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6. Finally, compared to clincher setups tubulars do save weight. It's not my top reason for preferring them, but it does make a difference.<br />
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Despite my rather awkward explanations, I hope that this has been interesting or at least a little helpful for those who've always wondered about tubular tyres. They have a reputation for being mysterious and complicated, and granted they are not for everyone. But after the last 6 months, I feel pretty certain they are right for me and am happy to have finally taken the plunge! <br />
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{Also: stay tuned for Part II... when I relate our trials and tribulations with tubeless setups.}<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-55718598475281890242017-01-06T08:20:00.002-05:002017-02-20T11:12:07.046-05:00Gifts That Make You Go Broke! <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFM23QMd7Y-rl_Nx-sSUKfHu-adznGvMa1_gF70SJJ6g5wpgqATDcD6jb5TYGiYur3QS6siYTvXrtimQRZHKp1fsk0DQMHLiDvO0oqwN6kXC_69tY2oSQz89pvkefkRsQ6YBFKsxP35cI/s1600/swampbikes1.jpg" /><br />
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Well, it's only early January and already this year is off to an interesting start. The other evening I had a visitor. A neighbour from down the road arrived in his van ...and dropped off half a dozen or so vintage bikes! Most of them were for me to photograph, and he'd be back to collect them later. But two of them I could keep, if I wanted them. Well then!..<br />
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Now, if you were to ask me which English 3-speeds are definite musts in my hypothetical dream vintage bike collection, I would say without hesitation that it's a tie between two: <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-handbadge.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the Rudge, with its "hand of Ulster" chainring</span></a>, and the <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2014/03/double-fork-blades-double-fun-trying.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">double-forkbladed Humber</span></a>. And wouldn't you know it?<br />
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<a name='more'></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6X6sazRfp3F3R3oSArIBQjeJE7XY4mjy0uqfl_C_NzuXunEt5FZ1xWtXGTqviMUNMPI-gTTigoF8Ad081vVBdoDInerZNtqCPc-OESJgHYvWuG29PTakV9Lt-Z5T5l3wd3YRQx7kVrfw/s1600/swampbikes12.jpg" /><br />
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That's right. I present to you, Exhibit A.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTsL4E6Z4sL62PybPOzq9OLsYyodjOnurcsDrX9SL2yQaoxWB2Es2dGrqIBFJLylRlymSVwXPgU0DoSJ5vGEIaBZj6Ph9dA8m7LujK9u9NPj7R6qe_EHrk0cOXgS1hHqgqZnO6iRa674/s1600/swampbikes10.jpg" /><br />
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And Exhibit B.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMzhMrusfny4bGT84FLCaGvNpSE84h0IaUYCUHJCKfdZN3qqER3X1IiwynlIstBLl3lK3d1b4XQ0uU_43XwLXN-rEWzw6n0lSCCeIk-w7RsT2VJlrcPsGbkZVnpj4RYPwZyepIYiWE84/s1600/swampbikes9.jpg" /><br />
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But of course there is a catch, and that catch is plain to see: Both bikes are in horrendous condition. The wheels were frozen so stiff, I could not even roll them along the ground and had to carry them to move them.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4w3j-TFwK5adGFZxpG5K8VRRpVEUHV5vicEViE6DB6joJa9QfjutTpgrwwseIN2T4jdJDm_SUn6cY7ZY6B8B4fPtEADwHETm2HAeKhu_ZyE_C_CM2YLRv0-M3urjJLRWbIxDp3XoTGJs/s1600/swampbikes8.jpg" /><br />
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The Humber is a step-though roadster, just about my size. It sports a full chaincase, rod brakes, dynamo lighting (powered by a rear generator hub <i>and</i> a battery pack?), 3-speed gearing, a fork lock, and the remains of a Terry saddle.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4sn_alayPwuNdL-1rnsqk8C971qtaZuR_XSiWxa6J4YGg6LxUdkD-zmnIKtOP4uNoAFJFlu-8U6CofFxJj0W5DoGd6DbaVwNANVtGbXwys9sXldf2q6aoingT27ilH7JG0nYd930wFTg/s1600/swampbike3.jpg" /><br />
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The Rudge looks a slightly newer and sportier model, with rim brakes, no chaincase, bottle-powered lighting, and what looks like a Brooks 73.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDXnNIWF78QAziVL7Tpv9D1xPt-pGxl2h7OAY0KCXjhBWuxsazDVLcqunfoGz0q_vjnlgepaGR_0ADTesS0MkCNTJQ2SsJvXPok_vajjHuKovM_d5cWyULuOUWqJr9jJRV2mmk0npsyRQ/s1600/swampbike7.jpg" /><br />
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In the early morning light I thought at first that the bicycles were green, but realised soon they were black - just covered with a layer of moss.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAiXd9MvGTiVhQrW37sj4HWS4MHz7caSaxDxAvwFSBb_bY1TT-OfEWM1T7CqlxduWGO7qnDvHWhoCw2epk42ccczfEW6A48WsgZ8eUV5chwu5yvr9acN5BWzORZR3QzuTKAlobPUx2ZI/s1600/swampbikes5.jpg" /><br />
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Or, more accurately, covered with a layer of bright orange rust, which in turn is covered with moss.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmV2vj4UTQRD-gCoDcV3H5hjMFciROmzZ0pJo2zg15ntSBV6tbuVF2CGMazNuen-LgY_09CBZRmqjURgGnlVciLpHHnXyRmod7q0wi6kI_n_DUc4SLWcSkWu9cKFSvHzKVNXxysLyL6-Y/s1600/swampbike4.jpg" /><br />
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And while you might, quite reasonably, assume these bikes were fished out from the swamp, in fact they were kept in a shed for the last 4 decades. And if this is what the Irish damp does to bikes kept in a shed, just imagine what happens to them outdoors! (See also: <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2014/06/meditations-on-early-ruin.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Meditations on Early Ruin</span></a>)<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPmhU5uGGG-U6r8-2vAaXOLbtmdAG7dPGa0-z7fHScRtWcsZR_kdpRSwTNuRd3ZjFO3xOu9DZrXGqPfbd33cE4UYFgHtjPiN1vSNdbFmXsTK2k3PTfLb5HQ3tvpv1ancxkhQxhz1lIpBc/s1600/swampbikes11.jpg" /><br />
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Overwhelmed by their overall look of decrepitude, my initial thought was, the machines were beyond rescue. But a scrape here and there revealed that the rust - on the frames at least - was mostly surface. And that the rims are actually in decent condition.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9UsbKvYLRl1CtBkVTfqYd4Cv10_76qhnXIwGv69MprO6DLEzF35Mux1JJQl-Go7_Xc7xE8Xohstnu8VytljVnxb1Yq2svBbRtz74NMxCz5EvRcJl2BkEm4hP9DyYTlqRFi8WDXxib14/s1600/swampbikes3.jpg" /><br />
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With a sigh, I acknowledged the nightmare scenario at hand: the bikes were not so bad as to be dismissed as unrestorable, but bad enough to need lots of work, and probably lots of replacement parts, if one <i>were</i> to take that on. I've received a "gift" designed to make me go broke!<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenYe1at7pKcmKdFrPvP-oPECyrSMsuyoPY2vjsDYTlsvfcgNh7rHHQwjmZAnvE4zwD7C_k81IOvMDVvNMk7vTsJL_8dClvvksr_0h3cgk6_ZgaOUTGnh4eo-ff_-jt1AQyvXj7I4pFbc/s1600/swampbikes2.jpg" /><br />
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Standing there, all pitiful and neon in their "swamp thang" colourings, I admit these bicycles pull at my heartstrings. Nevertheless, there is no danger of my taking on such a project any time soon. So I'll look around for anyone interested, and pass this "gift" on to them if they're keen. Until then, I suppose there's no harm in giving these moss-ridden beauties a home, and simply enjoying their presence. If you're local and eager for a super-fun restoration project, do give me a shout. And to all, a happy weekend!<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-63530191054573648942017-01-04T15:32:00.002-05:002017-01-04T15:55:02.022-05:00Retrospective Resolutions <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhx4e7JasvuZCPNvKOsYCvgc31gmA_uYPGdBQEl_FqZuTNKLIJHs6aZiGqdmqrQ6zpOUZnV-o61Cgs5l_s_TuHWaZdxfGnVywHT6VPd4klodHhyphenhypheni_mTB26sBwKWIqYwpyeEXV-zVR21A/s1600/bluedressbasket.jpg" /><br />
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Over the holidays I was doing a major house cleaning, which included sorting my clothing. In the process I discovered something unexpected. Most of my current wardrobe - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BO2N3ibAyQS/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">sweaters</span></a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BO1yBV1A1m6/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">dresses</span></a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BO12Jobgawc/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">skirts</span></a>, even <span style="color: #a64d79;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/7GNzqRD7mJ/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">socks</span></a> </span>and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BAt76O7D7tE/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">hats</span></a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BOzhpFFAOH1/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">gloves</span></a> - are of my own making. As a rather proficient knitter and a middling but brave sewer, I have always made bits and pieces by hand. But there is a difference between that, and being able to make <i>most</i> of the clothing I need myself. The latter had long been a dream. But some time in 2016 it became a reality. Is there such a thing as a retrospective New Year's resolution? If so, I achieved one of those last year. And to notice this was such an odd feeling - like the opposite of (the more usual) making a resolution and not keeping it. So perhaps keeping a resolution without making it is the way to go?<br />
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I mention knitting a lot here, which must confuse those who read this blog purely for cycling content. But in my mind, the two are inherently linked. Cycling for transport in this damp, cold and windy climate has influenced the direction of my designs, the choice of yarn I use, the technique I've developed, even the speed of my progress. Without cycling and the specific set of challenges it has posed over the past 3 years, I would not have reached my current level of skill, creativity and proficiency as a knitter. So... thank you, cycling, for this achievement.<br />
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The connection between the two things goes deeper though. Because 2016 was also the year I got my bike-tinkering mojo back, and with a vengeance. I have made no secret here of the fact, that I find it difficult working on bikes. In part due to physical strength limitations, in part due to nerve damage in my hands, even the most rudimentary repair and maintenance tasks have always been a challenge - making me feel helpless and inept. For someone who takes 30 minutes plus to change a flat, learning the skill of framebuilding was really an exercise in masochism. It involved so much sweat and tears and handholding, the experience did not make me feel empowered as I'd hoped; it made me feel terrible about myself - if anything, cementing my decision to limit my interest in design to the abstract, and leave the physical aspects of working on bikes to others.<br />
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Then, this year, <a href="http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/search/label/wheels" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">the Wheel Obsession</span></a> happened. I don't know why now, and not earlier or later. People have been trying for years to interest me in the role wheels play in the cycling experience, but it fell on deaf ears. I guess one has to be ready for that kind of thing, ready to process the information. And this year, I must have been finally ready. The result initially was an interest in rim shape, which progressed to an interest in tubular and tubeless setups, and finally in the wheelbuilding process. I had no intention to do the latter myself at fist. But once I tried it, I realised I was actually... good at it. Unlike most other bicycle-related tasks I've tried, not only did it present no physical challenges, but it was also, for me, quite intuitive. I can look at a lacing pattern and it makes sense to me; I don't need instructions. It is as if I can visualise the end result and then space out, letting my hands do the work, until I snap out of my daze and - oh look - it's done! In that sense it is much like knitting.<br />
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Unfortunately, unlike knitting you can't quite make a regular practice out of building wheels. There are only so many sets you need for yourself after all, and the parts are far too expensive to make them as gifts. But while I won't be building wheels on a regular basis, the very fact that I <i>can</i> has boosted my confidence in bicycle DIY tremendously. And this too, has felt like an unmade resolution kept.<br />
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What about you? Have you had a bicycle-related breakthrough, achievement or realisation "sneak up on you" over these past few years? Here's hoping for 2017!<br />
<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-78019199026762625762016-12-31T10:51:00.002-05:002017-01-01T06:03:11.557-05:00Old and New<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginA_r1aSx_c5V_47_9Vdr_dVt3HfXVv5-7mqdfVRwUzfiqv1OQu72RqgSCP8ZkFY-YBQIr1FTCopSM86NFgy1pGSMV-Z1wXKk5eGyNJMBUJ95FOmTrW9O3BZLqTDoi7JyO-wTmRZ6rpk/s1600/mamorethatched.jpg" /><br />
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Visiting the Gap of Mamore a couple of days ago, we intended to photograph the formidable pass in a way we had not had a chance to when transversing it on bicycles earlier this year. But before we reached the mountain road, we made a detour for a tiny hamlet by the beach at Tullagh Bay, having noticed something there that piqued our curiosity.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBsRet6N0JJMKHaNxiGS-zEHUsOTW1Cq0EqNjLEhvGDwB2DVHpxT-FAhl4gPZQ3PLuDcBZSfrWaVlIZ6nr3-v_4yjJQOJ6_p4WlIxb8ddAuoV8yHuE9mvtMYZz7VpGyukUJIK_ITlUB8/s1600/mamorethatched2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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On arrival there we saw that a cottage, which had formerly been a crumpling ruin, was being renovated. A man was up on a ladder, laying down the thatch. Of course I could not resist and meandered toward him carefully to watch. Minutes later, we were inside the cottage, being given a historical tour and a telling of its repairs. <br />
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Thatched cottages, once iconic of the Irish landscape, had all but disappeared from existence in the past several decades. Unvalued, these structures were abandoned or knocked down nonchalantly by the thousands in favour of contemporary housing. Only in the past few years has an interest in the preservation and restoration of vernacular architecture appeared. Not only for historical reasons, but because, increasingly, it emerges that these structures can be made remarkably energy efficient, breathable, weather-resistant, and eco-friendly, whilst using natural and locally sourced materials - from the stone, to the paint, to the thatch.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvKHzt2kbTm-3ETDS-2BmSpqEjjsJAXCQVfM8Ob6RCQfR8Js9fFr96BJgex_ZrifVDNl17b7DFRfr0fCWzuukxJJlyAwRgsdjscSCAkMbDdez82uTAHDOWRB78V2nk-vCN4vIqCS14HM/s1600/mamorethatched3.jpg" /><br />
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The roof, the thatcher explained, was actually flax - harvested from a local field, pleasantly soft to the touch and flexible in its unprocessed state. Excited, I told him I often use linen yarn for knitting but had never seen it in its raw form (the thatched cottages I know all use reeds). He then showed me how flax is turned into linen thread from the raw stalks. To my surprise, not much needs to be done to it. The inner stalk is removed and the outside is combed, until it becomes ever softer and more flexible, almost hair-like. You can get it to a rough, but never the less spinnable state by hand, if need be.<br />
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On the subject of spinning, it wasn't long before talk turned to the serpentine monster behind the cottage and the challenges of conquering it by bicycle.<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mwfCEYu8qTKfgzwxUzR3-lb75LyNsU_g45V9f4IVwFM6Ourbt9iigJUxK0DZ_8YgTwNgzjyk0zkNG-we0SMTaL61d0wYhOMFpKN9E_udYOGSE-R8PGQfgwEUo3UkKlQSTVb0R8oGBF8/s1600/mamoresweep.jpg" /><br />
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One of the steepest climbs in all of Ireland, the Mamore Gap sits in the northernmost corner of the island, on the Inishowen Peninsula in Donegal. When crossed from north to south, it is a 2 mile ascent with an <i>average</i> grade of 15%. I believe the maximum surpasses 30%, but my computer gets wonky at that point so I can't be exact.<br />
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For the first time, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BKNaHfJj9E3/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #c27ba0;">we crossed the Gap of Mamore</span></a> last September, as part of an 80 mile spin around the peninsula. My husband went up it in 34/32t, all in one go. I dismounted and walked a couple of stretches - most notably the nearly vertical section pictured. And in honesty, I don't think my gearing was at fault. My nerves gave out merely looking at the slope. Its pitch seemed so implausible, my courage failed me.<br />
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Many years ago now, the thatcher told us, there was a man who lived in the stone cottage. He owned a horse and cart, as well as a bicycle. He alternated riding them over the Mamore Gap, on his way to the town of Buncrana (and back!) every weekend. The bicycle was, of course, a black 3-speed roadster. High gearing, chaincase, the works. I gulped, despite only half-believing this story, reliving again my own trek up Mamore.<br />
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It was the first time I got off to walk on a climb in over 3 years. This had upset me at first. But later, it cheered me. There are still bits of the landscape - and in my own back yard, at that - that can reduce me to a sniveling novice. And isn't that wonderful?<br />
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There is familiarity to cycling, but also a never ending capacity for novelty. And it is this which I think keeps so many of us coming back to it - day after day and year after year.<br />
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With the very best New Year wishes, I thank you all for reading. </div>
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467858377106451384.post-45962137799444748432016-12-28T17:21:00.002-05:002016-12-29T05:43:50.922-05:00The (Murphy's) Law of Convergence <div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXvuzT4D699QCGWha-_TzcvwP3Fh-pGdVXVxKN59FpuG3fhwebCe8az5TyhLuLO5MlrPPxpEChuluvCPrOHB6U_Xe6jcOqr7rJ8gJKlAOIkakPpNtTm1khR1rc826rHj-lZi_9xnBn4A/s640/bunnycross.jpg" width="497" /></div>
Traffic patterns are an interesting thing. And interesting especially to observe on quiet country roads, where each encounter - rare as it is - stands out as an act of vehicular drama.<br />
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One curious phenomenon I've noticed, is what my friends and I have come to refer to as the Law of Convergence.<br />
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See if you've ever encountered something akin to the following:<br />
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It's a quiet day. I am cycling along a lovely, gently winding country road. I have not seen another vehicle for miles.<br />
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Along this empty road I pedal and pedal, till I finally notice something ahead: There is a delivery van pulled over on the side of the road in the opposite lane. The road has no shoulder, so the van takes up a good part of the actual traffic lane. Which affects me not at all, since it's the opposite side of the road. I keep riding.<br />
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Just then I spot something else up ahead. Another cyclist! I can just make out their figure in the distance, heading toward me in the opposite lane beyond where the van is parked.<br />
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As I squint at the cyclist to see whether I might recognise them, I then see yet another thing in the distance. It's just a dot on the horizon, in the opposite lane, beyond the parked van and beyond the approaching cyclist. An approaching car.<br />
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I can just about make out its shape, when I hear a faint sound behind me. I realise it's another car. Oh boy - we have gone from an empty road to a rural party in no time! <br />
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As I keep pedaling, the noise of the car behind me gets louder. The cyclist coming toward me grows more visible, as does the car behind the cyclist. And just as I am nearing that van on the side of the road in the opposite lane, it begins to dawn on me what's about to happen: We are all approaching that parked van at exactly the same time!<br />
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That is to say, the car behind me is going to catch up with me at the same moment as the car in the opposite lane is going to catch up with the cyclist pedaling toward me... the pairs of us will then intercept each other right in front of the parked van! <br />
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As I realise this, I try to take measures to avoid the bottleneck. I attempt to slow, so that the car behind me can pass me before we both reach the van at least. In fact it seems as if all four of us are now modulating our speeds to try to avoid all crossing paths at the same time. But it's almost as if these efforts only serve to enhance the inevitable. Here I am in front of the van now, face to face with the approaching cyclist, while the two cars have slowed to a crawl behind us, neither able to overtake. <br />
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In the end, we handle it all politely of course. Both cars stop completely, while me and the other cyclist proceed, crossing paths in front of the van. Then the car behind me lets the car in the opposite lane go first (they can't both fit with the van blocking part of the road). And finally, having passed the van, I am overtaken by the car that had followed behind me... after which the road remains empty again for miles. <br />
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Granted I am not great at explaining these types of scenarios. But I hope my highly technical drawing above was of help. <br />
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Now my question is this: How does it happen that 4 lone vehicles, traveling down an empty road, happen to cross paths not only at exactly the same time, but also in front of the only obstacle on an otherwise unobstructed swathe of land?! <br />
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I would dismiss it as a coincidence, except that it's happened on more that a few occasions. And I think the cause is a type of target fixation. With the presence of others being so rare on the empty road, all parties involved will naturally have a heightened awareness of each other, as well as of the stationary vehicle. Ironically, this awareness might unconsciously compel them to "gather" even as they try to avoid a bottleneck. <br />
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It's inherently a social instinct. And a rather endearing situation to find myself taking part in. We complain about congestion ...yet go out of our way to seek it out, when deprived of it entirely.<br />
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<br />Velouriahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00359329171411037482noreply@blogger.com29