Lovely Bicycle!

The 'Psychic Spouse' Fallacy

2012-01-28T12:49:00.000-05:00

Talking to people who cycle with their spouse, I consistently discover for how many couples this does not really work. Despite both partners being into cycling, they just can't ride with each other - to the point than they each go off with separate cycling clubs or riding partners. After nearly three years of cycling together, I have to say that the Co-Habitant and I are sort of in that category. We do ride together, and it can be nice. But we seem to have such different approaches and styles, that it can get overwhelming. When two people are compatible as romantic partners, how can it be difficult to ride together?

A fellow cyclist recently voiced a theory that I think may hit the mark. Romantic partners - and particularly those who have been together for a long time - tend to function on the assumption that their spouse is at least somewhat "psychic" when it comes to gauging their intentions and needs. This comes from living together long enough to understand each other without having to explicitly spell everything out. And it then gets falsely transferred to cycling. Whereas with a stranger, we would never assume that they can anticipate a maneuver which we do not signal, or will experience energy bursts at the same time as us, or will know which way to go at an intersection if the route is new to them, with a spouse we sometimes do erroneously assume exactly that, without even realising it. The spouse is sort of like an extension of ourselves, and therefore is expected to "just know" these things... But of course they can't possibly know things like when you intend to turn left, or stop for water, or whether you prefer to weave through traffic vs wait it out, or whether you feel up to climbing that next hill. Is it possible to treat your spouse as you would a stranger when you ride together, without assumptions about them intuitively understanding you? I don't know, but it's an interesting idea. At least it might help to keep in mind that your spouse is not actually psychic.

Bikes, Balance, and Riding No Hands

2012-01-27T14:27:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday something monumentally cool happened: I rode no hands for the first time. (Before anyone points out that the picture shows one hand on the bars - this is not captured in the picture!) I was alone with no one to witness my no-hands magnificence but the drivers passing me on the quiet side street. I had both hands off, and not just hovering above the bars, but properly off - dangling at my sides as I sat back on the saddle. I rode that way for an entire block, then put my hands back on the bars when it was time to turn. Then I took them off again and rode that way for another couple of blocks. I would have kept practicing, but it was freezing.

I was riding the Paper Bicycle, coming home from skating, and somehow the bike seemed to whisper to me "You can take your hands off the bars now, do it..." - so I did. I was absolutely amazed that I could do it, and that it felt relatively safe and intuitive. The front wheel just kept going unwaveringly straight as I pedaled. But having tried the same maneuver on a couple of other bikes (both upright and road), it didn't work and the front end seemed way too unstable with my hands off the handlebars. So this appears to be bike-specific for me. I am wondering what it is that makes some bikes easier to ride no hands than others. If I practice long enough on the Paper Bicycle, will I eventually feel comfortable riding a "normal bike" no hands as well, or is the skill unlikely to transfer? I will try not to get too excited, but this is making me feel like maybe I am not an entirely hopeless case!

The Starship Has Landed

2012-01-26T15:55:00.000-05:00

As some might recall, I've had a Paper Bicycle on loan since November - but haven't been riding it for transportation because it lacked a rear rack. Not only did it lack one, but the unique frame construction made it challenging to install one aftermarket. Clearly a bicycle as distinct as this called for a custom solution. Turns out the manufacturer had been developing a special rack all along, it just wasn't quite ready. He asked me to hold off on the review so that he could send me the latest prototype. And sure enough, shortly after the holidays it arrived: Behold the Paper Bicycle "Starship" rack!

Trying to picture a suitable rack for this bicycle, my imagination was failing me. While I appreciate the unique and contemporary design, I do not understand it sufficiently - either visually or structurally - to conjure up a rack that would integrate flawlessly with the rest of the bike. What form would it take? How would it connect? How could it be made strong enough to support a great deal of weight (after all, this bike is all about utility), but minimalist enough so that it would not overwhelm the frame itself? Seeing the prototype answered all of these questions. The "Starship" rack adds utility without undermining the bike's unique design, and it does so by literally plugging into the frame's integrated chaincase.

To install the rack, its tubing is simply inserted into the ever so slightly thicker chaincase tubing, using hammer to really push it in there. The expander screw on the righthand side is then loosened to further secure the connection. The installation is impressively solid, resulting in a rack that looks seamlessly integrated with the frame. Total installation time was maybe 5 minutes.

While not secured to the fender or any other part of the bike, this does not seem necessary, as there is no side-to-side play. The rack is solid, and, according to the manufacturer, can support the weight of a person. My requirements are more modest: I just want it to support my panniers and occasionally some packages.

The rack's tubing is very thick and does not in fact support standard pannier quick-release attachment hooks, such as those by Ortlieb, Jand, Basil, and R&K. It will however support the Po Campo system very nicely, and of course the double-panniers that hang over the rack's platform, as well as any pannier that attaches via straps and not quick-release hooks. I do not think that the rack's tubing choice can or should be altered, as the thick tubing is what gives it strength. But the bike's owner will have to choose their pannier system accordingly. The Paper Bicycle has long chainstays, and the rack's stays move it back even further, so that there is no chance of heel strike.

As far as strapping packages onto the rack, attaching bungee cords can be a bit tricky - and not all bungee hooks will fit securely around the tubing. In the final production iteration of this rack, a special tab for bungee hook attachment would be helpful.

The Starship rack is not a lightweight rack - a couple of pounds for sure. This makes the bicycle noticeably heavier to lift, but so far I have not felt any effect on handling or speed. Riding the bike for 10 miles around town in the freezing cold and wind this morning, it felt just as zippy and effortless to pedal as I remember it being pre-rack. I will ride the Paper Bicycle some more (hopefully it will snow again, as I've been trying to test it in the snow) and should have a review soon. In the meantime, what do you think of the rack?

How I Tried to Go Skating

2012-01-25T03:30:00.000-05:00

As part of my commute I often take a shortcut through the back of Harvard Yard, and some time around early December a mysterious construction site appeared there. At first I was annoyed to have to go around it. But as the construction took shape, it began to look suspiciously like... Could it be? Oh my goodness yes, a skating rink! One afternoon last week the construction fence was suddenly gone and the rink open. Just like that!

I could hardly pedal fast enough to get close and read the bright crimson sign. And guess what? It is free to skate there, and $5 to rent skates. Technically I still own a pair of skates circa 1995, though sadly I have not been able to find them since we moved to Boston. I can picture these skates vividly in my mind: They were white with jet-black heels and shiny blades, utterly beautiful, and they cost $29.99 at Olympia Sports. "I will buy them for you, if you really think you can do it this time," my mother said. And I nodded vigorously. Oh how I wanted those skates!

Perhaps now is a good time to explain that the intensity of my love for skating is matched only by my utter lack of ability. Born to a set of parents who skated proficiently since childhood and believed it to be the most natural thing in the world, I stunned them with my clumsiness and lack of coordination.

I remember my first time on the ice: It was a crisp winter evening not long before my 4th birthday, and a huge skating rink was set up in the park under garlands of lights. My mother - a slender, elegant beauty in a tailored overcoat - glided across the ice effortlessly with a serene smile on her face... as she dragged her little piggy of a daughter along, who flailed and stumbled and continued to be dragged to the sounds of Tchaikovsky blasting from the park's loudspeaker system. "Don't worry, you'll get it!" my mother would say as she glanced down at me occasionally. But mostly she lost herself in the music and glided, dragging me across the ice regardless of whether I was upright or not.

Attempts to get me to skate continued through that and a couple of subsequent winters, but my skills showed little sign of improvement. The "don't worry, you'll get it!" gave way to "but you're not even trying!" until finally my mother gave up. But my yearning for the ice remained, and every winter I sighed as I watched the figure skaters on television. As a teenager I asked for a pair of skates for my birthday and began to visit a local rink on my own - skating in a slow and duck-like manner close to the guard rail. I was remarkably bad, but somehow I still enjoyed it. I took these skates with me to college, grad school, and beyond, visiting local rinks for more of the same. And now I can continue here!

Yesterday I knew that I would finally have an hour gap in my day, and I made sure to withdraw some cash. I was ready to rent skates and I cycled to Harvard Yard full of anticipation.

But of course I should have known that it would not be so easy! Just days after the snow storm, the temperature had shot up to nearly 50°F by mid-day and when I arrived the rink was closed "due to weather." So, I have yet to go skating. But at least I tried. And I'll try again as soon as the temperature drops and my schedule allows.

Cycling past the rink last week, I did notice the skates they were using and was a little disappointed that they were a sort of brownish-beige. I want some white ones like I had before, and am thinking that maybe I should get a new pair of my own. Third time could be a charm, and I might actually learn how to skate... though I'm not holding my breath!

The Catharsis of Seasonal Change

2012-01-24T04:18:00.000-05:00

"It's over. Step away from the roadbike" I said to myself as gently as possible while watching the snow from the window. I was going to publish this over the weekend and title the post "The End." But then I decided that was far too dramatic, and that when titles like this come to mind the prudent thing to do is take a couple of days off from the blog. It's snow for goodness sake, not the end of the world. In fact, it is quite beautiful. And in retrospect I see that it has been cathartic - a resolution to a state of uncertainty.

After a productive and well-organised December I naïvely expected to keep going at the same rate in the new year. But January started out slow and difficult, and only grew more so as the weeks wore on. After the holidays there was suddenly a pile of work due all at once, which is a situation I never handle well. And the move to the new art studio proved more effortful to organise than I anticipated (How did I accumulate so many jars of congealed ...stuff? why do I never throw anything away? and why did I need such enormous canvases, and so many of them??). In the midst of this we had a special occasion to celebrate, and some financial decisions to make. My immune system kept faltering. I felt as if I were moving in slow motion while everything else spun around me faster and faster.

It took me a while to connect this unsettled, disorganised state of mind to a decrease in cycling. Soon after the holidays the roads had turned icy, so I hadn't been riding as much as during the previous month. Of course! I was coming down from a long endorphin high, and not in the midst of an existential crisis. What made it worse, was that since it hadn't started snowing yet, I kept thinking that I could/should be cycling. I kept waiting for the idyl of December to return, not willing to put my bike on the trainer just yet, stuck in limbo.

With the snow's arrival, the limbo finally ended and things became more clear-cut: "Right then. Bike on the trainer and you are done for the season. Now stop checking the weather obsessively, ride indoors while watching all the movies you've been meaning to catch up on, and get on with your life!" (Is it a bad sign when the snow speaks to you? No, no, don't answer that...)

This might sound strange coming from someone with a daily blog about bicycles, but I tend to downplay the importance of cycling in my "real" life, particularly roadcycling. It is my anti-athletic, anti-"jock" bias - a holdover from my teenage days as the angsty weird arty girl, for whom jocks were the enemy. Not very open-minded of me to carry that over, but at least I admit it. Cycling, important? Oh no, it means nothing to me compared to things like art and (real, not bloggery) writing. Oh this little blog? It's just some light-hearted stress relief. Hours a day in the saddle? It's just physical activity; it means nothing. But of course it can't possibly mean nothing. I need to admit to myself that cycling is important to me and that it integrates with the rest of my life whether I want to acknowledge it or not. Likewise, when I drastically decrease my time on the bike it will impact other aspects of my life. It will affect my mood, creativity and productivity. I was going through withdrawal, plain and simple.

The human mind is a funny thing, and once I became aware of all this, I felt better. Swiftly, we got me all moved into the new studio - thanks to the Co-Habitant's formidable lifting prowess and a magnificent zipcar pick-up truck. I even got a workout from carrying stuff up and down 3 flights of stairs, as the freight elevator in the building is not operational over the weekend. My calves are still hurting today from all that stair-climbing and it feels kind of nice. Maybe I should do this for fun in addition to walking and riding on the trainer, and all together that might keep me in shape till spring. Of course I could also cycle inside the studio (as demonstrated by the lovely bikeyface). Indoor mini-velodrome à la Interbike 2011?

As I write this, the heaps of snow are already half-gone and temperatures are mild again. It is possible that the roads will clear up completely and we will have a continuation of our mild winter. But I am going to take a break from roadcycling anyhow, because all the back-and-forth and the increasing concerns about icy roads on descents are making me way too neurotic and it's time to stop. Of course, transportation cycling continues as usual. Seasonal change is good, winter is beautiful, and finally I feel that the year is off to a good start. Now, could somebody please tell me what those purple berries are?..

Snow Bike SOS!

2012-01-23T04:23:00.000-05:00

This morning I received an email from a reader - Elise - who left her bike locked up outside a restaurant overnight, to find it covered in snow the next morning. Upon trying to retrieve the bicycle, she discovered that "all the parts were snow-encrusted" and wasn't sure it was safe to ride, so she left it where it was and took the bus to work. Of course it then snowed again, and the bike's condition only got worse. Elise is wondering how to retrieve her bike after it's been in the snow in freezing temperatures for what has now been 2 days.

While I don't know what condition Elise's bike is in, I can share what has happened to me in the past as a result of leaving a bike out in the snow for too long, and hope that something here might be applicable:

"frozen" wheels: Once I found that my bike did not want to roll after being left locked up outside in the snow. The front wheel would not budge, and at first I thought something was seriously wrong. On closer inspection, it turned out there was some frozen snow stuck between the fender and the tire. I cleared it out and "unfroze" the wheel.

clogged brake calipers: Riding a bike with caliper brakes in winter, I quickly learned that getting clogged up with snow eliminates their stoping power. And since snow does seem to love settling down on brake calipers and then solidifying, it is essential to clear it out of there. Wheel rims can also get iced over and may need to be wiped down.

icy pedals: A few times my pedals have gotten icy, to the point of making it difficult to ride the bike without my feet slipping off. When this happens I scrape them with the textured sole of my boot to break up the sleek surface, or try to rub some dirt on them.

"sluggish" drivetrain: In freezing temperatures, it can sometimes feel that my drivetrain is slower, or not as smooth as usual. My understanding is that this is due to whatever lubricants are used on the drivetrain getting gooey from the prolonged cold. It is still okay to ride your bike like that as far as I know, but it might feel a little weird.

Each of these things has at some point made me panic and feel that a bike was "unridable" after being left out in the snow, but they all proved to be resolvable.

Granted, other issues may not be as easy to deal with. I've heard stories of frozen U-locks being impossible to open, and of leather saddles snapping in half if ridden when frozen. And perhaps the most common problem of all is frozen derailleurs, which I have no experience with since I do not ride derailleur-geared bikes in the winter.

Whether it's about components on the bike getting iced over, or the owner feeling that conditions are not safe enough to ride home, bikes get left in the snow - which all too often turns into full on abandonment. Any tips for avoiding this would be much-appreciated. How do you deal with a snow-encrusted bike?

Van Nicholas: 'Dutch Bike' Redefined

2012-01-20T15:43:00.001-05:00

Over the winter holidays I hosted a rather unusual guest from overseas - a titanium Dutch bike. Van Nicholas is a small Netherlands-based manufacturer of titanium road, touring, mountain and cyclocross bicycles. A reader suggested I try a Van Nicholas after I reported enjoying other Ti bikes, and thanks to him a test ride was soon arranged. What made Van Nicholas particularly noteworthy, I was told, is that one of their models - the Amazon - made for a uniquely comfortable transportation bicycle, combining aspects of the workhorse utility bikes Holland is known for with the special properties of titanium. Add to that a couple of fancy features afforded by modern technology (a 14-speed Rohloff hub and a belt drive), and the Van Nicholas Amazon seemed very interesting indeed.

Based on my understanding of the sizing, I asked for a 54cm bike. The bikes are customizable, and so I also asked for it to be fitted with swept back handlebars, a leather saddle and flat pedals. The American distributor (EU Cycling Imports) sent the demo model to the Ride Studio Cafe in Lexington MA, and they put the bicycle together for me. I took it home to test ride and brought it back two weeks later, after which the bike was returned to the distributor. It should be noted that the Ride Studio Cafe carries a certain local brand of titanium bicycles, which is technically a competitor of Van Nicholas. But this did not seem to bother anyone and the RSC displayed the Van Nicholas right on the sales floor along with the Seven bikes for customers to admire. It was a treat to see two different titanium brands side by side.

Van Nicholas came into existence 12 years ago and was founded as a brand in 2006. The frames are designed in Numansdorp, Netherlands, built in the Far East (I was not told which country), then finished, assembled and tested back in the Netherlands. The titanium tubing differs in thickness and composition based on the frame model and size. The Amazon is made with stout tubing, designed for touring and for supporting heavy loads. The frame is unpainted, with a brushed matte finish. The headbadge is chemically etched into the frame. Components that come standard with the build are high quality. The stem, seatpost and seat collar are also titanium, branded with Van Nicholas insignia.

The tiny titanium bell is pretty impressive. I forgot to ask whether they sell some of these Ti parts separately, because I certainly would not mind a titanium seatpost and bell.

The many braze-ons for cable routing keep the cables very neat, which is a good thing because there are lots of them thanks to the Rohloff hub. There are also braze-ons for racks, water bottle cage bosses, and everything else one would expect from a touring frame.

The fork that comes with the bike is carbon fiber, labeled "VNT Elements" - a house brand I think. There are cantilever/v-brake bosses on it, which sort of horrifies me even though I know this is not uncommon nowadays (but how does the carbon fork withstand the force of the mighty v-brake?..).

Special dropouts that can be split apart for the belt drive and also accommodate the massive Rohloff hub, with a built-in mount for the "belt keeper" that prevents the belt from slipping in snowy and muddy conditions.

Brooks Swallow saddle with titanium rails, FSA Metropolis handlebars, Rohloff twist shifter and Brooks leather washer grips. The brown leather accessories warmed up the titanium frame and I found the combination appealing. The handlebars are a modern take on the classic upside down North Roads and this added a touch of an almost vintage look to the whole thing.

When I first saw the bike, more than anything I was overwhelmed by all its bells and whistles. A titanium frame, a carbon fork with canti mounts, a Rohloff hub and a belt drive all on the same bike? It was a lot to wrap my head around. I am glad that at this point I'd ridden several other titanium bikes, and also another bike with a belt drive - so that at least all of these elements were not simultaneously new to me.

The Rohloff hub was the one feature I had not tried before. On first impression I immediately disliked it, because it made the bicycle ridiculously rear-heavy. On a lightweight titanium frame this was especially noticeable: I'd pick up the bike by the top tube, and the rear wheel would pull it backward like a ball and chain. I am not a fan of multi-geared hubs, and anything beyond a 3-speed I usually find annoyingly inefficient. I could already anticipate the same happening with the Rohloff: At such a monstrous weight, surely the 14 speeds with the alleged 526% gear range were a gimmick that in practice would not live up to the numbers' promise.

Taking the bike on its maiden test ride, I headed straight for the hills of Lexington MA to test this hypothesis. And my hypothesis proved to be incorrect. I approached a long, unpleasant hill and was able to climb it at a leisurely pace by utilizing the 3rd and 2nd gears. I did not feel the bike's rear-heaviness whilst in motion and spun without getting out of breath or even especially exerting myself. If I lived in a seriously hilly area, I could travel to work like this in ordinary clothing without getting sweaty. Later I rode the bike to my art studio, which is also on top of a steep hill, and in 4th gear I did not feel this hill at all. The Rohloff hub is heavy and that has its drawbacks, but I found the range of gearing it provided to be very satisfactory and on par with my derailleur-geared bikes. I am wondering now to what extent the performance of the hub in this case had to do with its interaction with the titanium frame. On a heavier frame, would it still get me up the same hills? This question remains open, so please keep in mind that my experience with the Rohloff so far is limited to this specific bike.

The Rohloff shifter took some getting used to, because if you are accustomed to standard twist shifters this one functions in reverse: For a lower gear you twist toward you and for a higher gear you twist away from you. I did not manage to get used to this during my two weeks with the bike and would occasionally shift in the opposite direction than I meant to. I was very glad however that I did not have to constantly switch gears just to ride at the pace I wanted to in the city. The 9th gear was my standard gear, and unless I ventured into hilly terrain I pretty much stayed in it. The bicycle responded very well to my pedaling efforts both uphill and on flats.

It's been explained to me how Rohloff hubs work, and apparently it is like having an internal derailleur with a double crankset. So if I understand this correctly, there is a gear at which point the mechanism automatically switches not just between the internal rear cogs, but also from one internal chainring to another. A couple of owners of older model Rohloff hubs tell me that whatever gear this happens on can be problematic - either sticking or misfiring when one attempts to switch in or out of it. I tried to figure out which gear this was, and judging by the extra grunting/clicking I was hearing, it appeared to be the 6th gear - a gear I only used when going uphill. I made a point to switch in and out of it a few times and did not experience any problems in the course of my test rides. In general, neither the Rohloff hub nor the Gates belt drive gave me any trouble over the 55 miles I spent riding this bike through the hilly countryside and stop-and-go city traffic. The drivetrain was very quiet and sort of faded into the background.

While the Amazon comes with braze-ons for racks, the demo model was sent to me without any and initially I fitted the bike with a medium sized saddle bag. There were also no provisions for dynamo lighting, and I used my own battery lights.

Later we installed a Freeload rack on the bike, so that I could transport packages and my laptop pannier. Aside from one ride done for the sole purpose of testing the bike on hills and over longer distances, I mostly rode the Van Nicholas for transportation, since that was the context in which I was testing it. Its proportions work well for this purpose. The long (456mm) chainstays allow for optimal pannier clearance; the relaxed head tube angle and long top tube prevent toe overlap with the front wheel. I wore my chunkiest winter boots to test ride the bike and there was not even a chance of toe overlap, which was great.

The handlebars, despite being somewhat swept back, are set very low and you can see that my position on the bike is rather aggressively leaned over. Ideally I would prefer handlebars that are not necessarily higher but more swept back. In other ways the bicycle fit me very well and at 5'7" I was happy with the 54cm frame size. The handling felt familiar and predictable. Not like a classic Dutch bike exactly, but like something I've ridden in the past. Maybe like a Ti version of my Rivendell, were it set up as an upright bike. For transportation cycling I like this type of handling very much.

But my favourite part of the Van Nicholas ride quality was how it felt over rough roads. If you look at the lower righthand corner of the picture above, you will notice there is a ditch in my line of travel. Unfortunately, many roads in the area where we live look like this, and often I end up riding right over those ditches and potholes, because to avoid them would be to zig-zag incessantly. The Van Nicholas was fine with this type of road surface, despite being fitted with tires only 32mm wide (the frame's maximum tire clearance is 2.35", so it is possible to fit much wider tires). I could ride through a ditch like the one you see here and feel only a distant echo without the bone-shaking feeling. As I've written before, I've noticed this same detached "echo" feeling with several titanium bikes so far, so I don't think it would be out of line to speculate that the titanium plays a role here.

On a critical note, the v-brakes were insanely strong and difficult to modulate. I was not brave enough to demonstrate this, but here the Co-Habitant shows what happens when squeezing the front brake with moderate force. We would have to mess with the brake to adjust it in a way that would prevent this, but decided to leave it alone and instead I simply used the rear brake only.

Test riding the bike briefly, the Co-Habitant also noted that he was unable to comfortably ride it hands-free (I would not know, as I do not normally ride hands-free anyhow). The frame was a couple of sizes too small for him, but I doubt this played a role. It could be that the weight of the Rohloff hub and the saddlebag made the front end too light for hands-off riding.

Me, I was very pleased with the handling and the ride quality of the Van Nicholas Amazon and would have been tempted to covet it for my own if it were not for the diamond frame. Try as I might, I am just not comfortable riding diamond frames for transportation in my everyday clothing. Yes I can do it, but I prefer not to. My long coat or skirt inevitably get caught on something as I swing my leg over to mount or dismount the bike, and I am too clumsy to handle this on a regular basis. So despite the great ride quality, the amazingly versatile Rohloffhub gearing, and the silent and maintenance-free belt drive, I ultimately feel more comfortable on my own bike. I should note that Van Nicholas does make a ladies version of the Amazon, but I find the MTB step-through frame design unbearably ugly. Looks are not everything, but the welded titanium and the carbon fork already stretch the limits of my open-mindedness and I am only human. If they managed to make a more attractive step-through or mixte option however (like this please!), I would be in trouble and would desire this bicycle very badly. Offering a dynamo lighting package would also be a huge plus on a bicycle like this - whether it is used for touring or transportation.

The Van Nicholas Amazon is a unique bicycle in that it is durable enough for year-round, all-weather transportation and comfortable on bad roads, while also being sufficiently light and versatile to handle serious hill grades over long distances. Something like this cannot be achieved without the Rohloff hub and the lightweight Ti frame, which makes its high cost inevitable. But for those who can afford it and for whom the diamond frame is not an issue, the Amazon is worth looking into.

Van Nicholas bicycles are available with both stock and custom options, and the full specs, geometry and other details of the Amazon are available here. More of my pictures can be viewed here. Many thanks to Van Nicholas and EU Cycling Imports for the opportunity to try this bicycle.

I've Been Out Walking

2012-01-19T13:14:00.005-05:00

Before I started cycling, I used to walk a lot - and I mean a lot. It's a habit I picked up during childhood and carried all through adulthood, no matter where I lived and no matter the season. Whether wandering through industrial neighbourhoods, rambling through the woods, or strolling down endless beach roads - it didn't matter, as long as I walked. I walked fast and I could walk for hours. I exhausted friends who innocently asked to join me on my excursions, after which they no longer believed me when I'd say that something was "just a short walk from here." I horrified dinner party hostesses when they - upon seeing I had not arrived in a car - asked if I'd taken a taxi, by replying "Oh no, I just walked." "But you live an hour from here and you're wearing heels!" "Yes..."

Fast forward to a couple of days ago. With some snow and ice on the roads, I had not been on the roadbike for a few days and was feeling stir crazy. I decided to take a nice walk. It was 20°F out, so I donned my new unpadded bib tights (I am determined to get all the milage I can out of those!), some layers, and set off. This was the first time I'd attempted a real walk since maybe November, but it did not even cross my mind that it would be in any way challenging. I mean, I've always walked. Walking is what I do! Plus I've been cycling like crazy so I was in good shape.

Now I used to hear about this sort of thing from cyclists, but thought it was nonsense until it happened to me. Too much cycling can make you unlearn how to walk? You have got to be kidding me. But I kid you not. After a pathetic half hour of brisk walking my feet and legs were aching, and I could feel some weird muscles around my knees straining as I tried to take my usual long strides. Like these muscles had gotten all scrunched up now from making pedaling motions instead of walking motions. I turned back, and then for some reason decided to run the last few blocks home. Within seconds there were shooting pains in my ankles and I arrived at my door practically an invalid. Unbelievable.

From now on, I am going to make it a point to walk several times a week. The very idea that something I think of as a lifelong ability and a physical strength of mine could atrophy so quickly is astonishing. I will get my walking groove back this winter and will try not to lose it again. Cycling isn't everything.

New Old Moser: a 400 Mile Assessment

2012-01-18T16:03:00.004-05:00

Having now ridden Moser 2.0 for about 400 miles, I think it is time for a report. For those who do not feel like reading about the bike's entire history, this is a lugged steel racing frame circa 1978 fitted with nice Campagnolo components circa 1999. The Columbus "tretubi" frame is 52x53cm, with an 11cm stem, handlebars 1cm below saddle level (I would like to set them lower, but the stem won't go down any further), 700Cx23mm tires, and 175mm cranks. Gearing is 52/39t in the front and 12-16t (9-speed) in the rear. The complete bike weighs 22lb without the waterbottle. I have been riding it since the end of November, and the individual rides have ranged from 30 to 60 miles. Mostly these have been group and club types of rides, and mostly with riders stronger and faster than me.

I know that people are interested in whether building up an older steel racing frame is feasible for "serious" roadcycling, and based on my experience with the Moser I do not see why not. As far as weight, 22lb is not bad at all for a complete bike - I have picked up new bikes with aluminum frames and carbon forks and they felt heavier. If I want to shave even more weight off, it could be done with some strategic component upgrades, but honestly I did not feel that the weight was an issue for someone at my level of ability.

As far as speed, I was able to ride with strong cyclists the likes of which I did not think I'd be good enough to ride with, at what they call a social pace (15-18mph on average, depending on the ride), while also feeling some reserve. At no point did I feel "if only I had a faster bike!" while riding the Moser.

When climbing, the bike itself feels "eager" to ascend, and the only limitations I felt were my own and also the high gearing. I would need to get lower gearing in the long run, no question. But the bike itself was fine climbing. When I ran out of gears, I would simply "heave" us uphill. Sadly my legs no longer fit into my jeans as a result of this practice, but we can't have it all.

The ride quality on bad roads has no harshness to it despite the 23mm tires, I am very happy with this aspect. The frame's tubing feels wonderful and just right; perfect amount of flex and all that.

At slow speeds (and I mean very slow - like less than 10mph, when stalling in traffic) the Moser is a little twitchy (compared to my fond memories of the Seven at least, which remained stable even at a crawl), but I do not mind and can still easily control the bike.

The one and only inherent aspect of the handling that is a problem - and the more I ride, the more I realise it is a problem - is descending. I do not entirely understand what is going on and why. But basically at high speeds, the bike is extremely resistant to turning and this was rather scary to discover. At first I thought that I just needed to get used to being on a racy bike again, and that I was holding myself back because I was nervous. But nope, something odd is definitely happening with the high speed turns - not just 90° turns, but even following the curvature of a winding road on a descent. I cannot make the same turns that I know I had no trouble making on the Seven over the summer. So while the bike is capable of great speed, this handling issue ultimately makes me slower, since I hold myself back on descents when I do not feel in full control of the bike. I've been trying to understand what is causing this, and what I can do to counteract it, but my instincts are failing me. Naturally I try to take wider turns, but it isn't always possible, and I am just never at a point where I can let myself go on descents.

Exacerbating the descent problem is that I am not entirely happy with the braking power. I did not have a brakeset that would fit this bike, so I bought some Campagnolo Veloce calipers. While I realise that Veloce is not top of the line, I still expected it to be fully functional. I guess with my weak hands, not so much. We have adjusted the brakes this way and that, but coming to a complete stop (like at a stoplight or traffic light at the bottom of a hill) after a high speed descent is problematic.

There are other issues that have surfaced in the course of riding the bike. For instance, there are only braze-ons for one bottle cage, and during longer rides I needed more water. I could get a second bolt-on bottle cage, but it seems a shame to do that to this frame. As mentioned before, there is also quite a bit of rust on the frame that is not visible in pictures (like along the underside of the top tube). It might make sense to get the frame stripped, the rust cleaned up, a second set bottle cage bosses brazed on, and then the frame repainted.

In addition, the rear wheel does not want to stay put in the chromed horizontal dropouts unless the skewer is tightened with a death grip. When initially the skewer was closed with reasonable force, it became misaligned and jammed against the chainstays the first time I rode the bike. It is now tightened as tighteningly as can be and this has not happened since. But it means that I cannot remove the wheels on my own despite them being quick-release; I am not strong enough to budge the skewers.

On top of the too-high gearing, the pedal strike from the 175mm cranks, and the too-tall stem, all in all that adds up to a lot of stuff I would have to replace on the bike (the crankset, the cassette, the brakes, and the stem at least) even without the re-paint and second bottle cage question. I would be willing to make this investment for sure if I was 100% comfortable with the bicycle's handling, but this problem with descents now has me concerned.

And that is where I am right now with my assessment of the bike. More than anything, this experiment has convinced me that I do very much need a fast road bike. Despite the issues mentioned here, I just wanted to ride-ride-ride it all the time, even in the winter. No time to ride? I found the time. Too cold? I got over it. Too early in the morning? Nonsense, the Moser beckons. Tamer, more sensible bikes are wonderful, but for whatever reason they do not have the same effect on me as this bicycle does and as the Seven did over the summer. I want a bicycle that is fast enough for club and paceline rides, comfortable over bad roads, and handles well for a ballance-challenged person like me. Is the Moser it? I love it and I hoped so, but I honestly don't know at this stage. Holding back on descents is a problem; I need to feel in full control of the bike if I am going to improve, not to mention for reasons of safety.

National Character

2012-01-17T13:26:00.002-05:00

While many countries are rich in bicycle heritage, some have particularly strong associations with distinct styles of bikes: the Netherlands with the omafiets and the bakfiets, France with the mixte, porteur and randonneur, England with the roadster and the elaborately lugged "lightweight," Italy with the Frascona curve and the racing bike, the US with the cruiser and the mountain bike. Far from arbitrary, these connections can be revealing about the history and the cultural values of the country where each design developed, and this aspect is always interesting for me.

Some connections are obvious, while others more subtle. Why for instance, did some countries (England, Holland) favour the loop frame design for step-through bicycles, while the swan frame is the dominant design in others (Sweden, Austria)? Did it have to do with women's fashions at the time these bicycles were developed? What accounts for the development of low trail vs mid/high-trail geometry and the tradition to carry luggage on the front vs on the rear? There is nothing I can think of that is country-specific that would explain this. And what about the early preference of derailleurs to internally geared hubs in France, even on city bicycles? Things like this are constantly going through my mind when I look at different bicycles and think about their history.

When it comes to building bicycles today, the national characteristics of a particular design continue to play a role, while also meshing with other traditions. European manufacturers have used American mountain bikes for inspiration. American builders and manufacturers have used Dutch bikes and French porteurs for inspiration. The end product inevitably reflects an interesting mix of historical traditions and cultural values.

As I was working on, then riding, and then writing about the Randonneur over the past 8 months, I keep thinking how interesting it was that this old French design is now thriving (relatively speaking of course) in the US, with fairly minor modifications from the original. I suppose it makes sense: There is lots of land here, lots of places to travel, and Americans value speed - hence the growing popularity of randonneuring. Add to that the custom bicycle boom, and suddenly American framebuilders - for whom only three years ago "clearance for wide tires" meant 28mm - are building 650Bx40mm bikes with elaborate custom racks and cantilever brake bosses - an entirely normal feature now thanks to the popularity of cyclocross. Since American culture is a mish-mash of other traditions, it seems only natural that US builders are inspired by French, or Italian, or Dutch bikes. But what about a country with a very distinct tradition of its own? Can you see a low trail randonneuring bicycle made by an English builder, or is that too strange? I've been discussing a possible project with Mercian Cycles, and if it works it could be interesting in that respect. The national character of bicycles is increasingly fluid and playful, and some traditions are kept alive through other countries' takes on them.

Did Not Wearing a Helmet Save Gene Hackman's Life?

2012-01-16T15:03:00.001-05:00

film still via the gothamist

As some may know, 81-year-old actor Gene Hackman was hit by a truck while riding his bicycle in Florida last week. As the media has made a point to note again and again and again, Mr. Hackman was not wearing a helmet during the incident. It is now known that Mr. Hackman has survived the collision.

So... Does this mean that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life?

Don't answer that, I know what you are going to say: My God, of course not. That would be absurd. What an insane conclusion. Right? Well, don't worry, I agree. Of course the fact that a helmetless cyclist survived a collision does not mean that this favourable outcome resulted from them not having worn a helmet. An accurate way to describe the situation is that the two facts coincided: He was not wearing a helmet, and he survived the collision. As everyone who has studies the scientific method or statistic knows, correlation does not imply causation.

I am glad we are on the same page now about the absurdity of implying that Gene Hackman's lack of helmet saved his life. Because if you agree about this, then surely you will see the double-standard of finding it entirely logical when helmeted cyclists who survive collisions report that wearing a helmet saved their life. It is a powerful emotional argument, but logically, statistically, and scientifically, it is erroneous for the same reasons it would be erroneous to say that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life. If a cyclist wears a helmet and they emerge from a collision alive, that implies correlation, not causation.

Bicycle helmets have some protective properties under some conditions, but these properties are limited and do not extend to colliding with moving motor vehicles. Bicycle helmets also have some drawbacks, including their ability to cause rotational injuries. After reading lots and lots and lots of studies (the studies themselves, and not the media's digested, distorted, misquoted and sensetionalised versions of the studies), I believe that the evidence pertaining to bicycle helmet effectiveness is mixed and inconclusive. And this is talking about effectiveness itself, without even delving to the larger, social implications of the helmet debate. We are all scared of getting hurt while riding our bikes, and we would all like there to be a magic device or talisman that makes cycling safe. But it is erroneous and even dangerous to over-attribute protective qualities to the bicycle helmet. Personal accounts of surviving collisions are tremendously affecting, both for the person recounting their experience and for the listener or reader. And I by no means wish to undermine these accounts. But it is also important to recognise that as human beings, we are "wired" to be more susceptible to affecting narratives. Things that are not in fact logical make sense to us under emotionally charged conditions, and "a helmet saved my life" is a textbook example of that.

Be angry at me if you must for the title of this post and the things I write here. But also try to understand my point. Accepting emotional, subjective beliefs as evidence does not actually contribute to safety. It only contributes to a false sense of security, to hysteria, to witch hunts, and to the media now making it a point to state whether a cyclist hit by a motor vehicle was wearing a helmet or not, thus normalising the "blame the victim" mentality in reports of cyclist deaths and injuries. How did we let this happen? That is something we ought to think about very carefully.

Rapha Women's Line, Take 2

2012-01-15T14:24:00.000-05:00

Over the summer I wrote about being underwhelmed with Rapha's women's line, but recently circumstances have encouraged me to give them another chance. And by circumstances I mean their 50% off winter sale, which coincided with the sudden demise of some of my current winter cycling clothes. Long story short, I now own several pieces of Rapha gear, two of which I will review here: the women's winter bib tights and long sleeve jersey. After my previous Rapha post, some felt that I intentionally used low quality pictures to exaggerate my criticism of the clothing. So this time I used a proper camera and did my best to show the clothing in a flattering light, freezing my butt of on a 20° day in the process. While I usually wait longer before reviewing a product, these are winter-specific and it is probably more useful to write about them now than once winter is over. Please keep in mind that the comments here are based on a very brief period of ownership.

Rapha Women's Winter Tights

I decided to take a chance on the Rapha winter bib tights, because several women I know wear them and have good things to say about them. As you can see, these "tights" are pretty much a full-body jumpsuit. In my view that somewhat justifies the price of the garment, as the amount of warmth and coverage it provides is akin to what you would get from both tights and a vest. The fleece-lined tights are warm and windproof, designed for winter temperatures. At the time of this review, I have worn them on only one 30 mile ride so far in 25°F. My understanding (based on how others wear them) is that one dons these over a base layer and under a long sleeve jersey. For the purpose of demonstration I will show them here without a jersey on top.

I am a US size 4 and got the winter tights in Small. They are a very close fit, but also super-stretchy and don't constrict my movements at all, so I guess I am happy with the size. Multi-panel construction allows for a tailored look. The sizing seems designed for lean women with big thighs and a moderate bosom. If you are larger than a size B on top, consider going up a size or the torso might feel constricting. If you have very slim legs, consider going down a size or the tights might be loose. If you have a big bosom and slim legs... well, then you might be out of luck.

As far as quality, the tights seem to be well constructed, with no loose stitches or sloppiness. I won't really know until I wear them for at least a season though. The aesthetics are elegant, with the contrast piping and panels. Mesh panels in the shoulders and back aid temperature regulations and reduce tugging when in the drops.

The bottom is reinforced to prevent wear from contact with the saddle. There is a roomy pocket at waist-level in the rear that I could frankly do without (it adds some bulk under the top layer of fabric), but some might find useful. I could also do without the word "wheelsucker" embroidered on the right butt cheek. But I guess no one I ride with will ever see that, so I needn't worry.

A distinct feature of these tights is the large reflective strip on the back of the left calf (as another reviewer points out, the placement on the left is curious given that the manufacturer is English, but it works for American roads). I was riding with another woman who was wearing these, and the reflective strip made her very visible from a distance as she pedaled. The mesh stir-ups are another nice feature, as they keep the tights from riding up and exposing skin at the ankles while also being soft and stretchy enough to eliminate tugging.

The front unzips to just above the belly-button. On a scale of 1 being easy to put on and take off and 10 being difficult, I would rate these as a 7. I would not want to be trying to pee in the woods in the dead of winter while wearing these bibs with several layers over them. The type of cycling I do is unlikely to call for that, but winter-peeing enthusiasts beware. What bothers me more, is that I find it quite difficult to smooth out my base layer inside the bibs - the zipper opening does not allow for enough reach. As a result, there is inevitably some unsightly bunching around my hips inside the bibs.

And finally there is the lack of a chamois. The tights are unpadded and meant to be worn over padded cycling shorts. The idea is that this way, you don't have to wash the entire massive jumpsuit every time you wear it and therefore it is a great feature. I can sort of see that, and I also appreciate that without the tell-tale pad these bibs can double as a cross-country skiing jumpsuit. But there is one thing that confuses me: Isn't the whole point of bibs to solve the problem of cycling shorts cutting into your abdomen? If so, it seems to me that the Rapha bibs rather fail at that aspect of things. Also, some might simply find it too bulky and constricting to wear fleece-lined compression tights over shorts. You may want to consider this aspect carefully before buying.

Summary: The Rapha women's winter tights are really more like a multi-sport full body jumpsuit. They are warm, easy to move in, attractive, and increase the cyclist's visibility on the road. On the downside, they are time consuming to put on and take off, while the lack of a chamois and the need to wear them over cycling shorts negates the waist-band eliminating benefits of bib tights and adds bulk. Given how warm these are, I am willing to deal with their limitations. But ultimately my opinion of their value will depend on quality. I really hope these last longer than a season! I would also suggest that Rapha consider offering a padded version for those who would prefer to carefully wash the chamois to having to wear them over cycling shorts.

Rapha Women's Long-Sleeve Jersey

I got the women's long sleeve jersey to wear as a midlayer underneath my winter cycling jacket. Again the purchase was motivated by positive feedback from a couple of other women who own this garment. There are several choices for colour schemes, and after agonising over the "fig" vs the "blue," I decided on the latter. It is a pleasant slate blue colour that transitions from gray to seafoamish depending on how the light hits it. I have worn this jersey on a handful of rides so far.

The size Small is spot-on for my US size 4 frame (worn over a sportsbra, long sleeve baselayer, and bib tights). As with other Rapha women's items, if you have much in the way of bosom you may need to go up a size. The jersey has a full zip and drawcords to tighten and loosen the hem.

This is actually a nice feature, because on some of my current jerseys the hem is too loose and on others it rides up. It is hard to get that part right for women, because of the curvature of the hips - everyone's is different. There are three deep pockets in the rear, with an inner compartment for a small pump and a zippered compartment for credit card and cash.

As with other Rapha jerseys, there is a high collar and a tab to prevent the zipper from digging into your neck. I like the colour-matched zipper and stitching; there is not too much going on in this jersey.

The white armband that screams Rapha is a feature I could do without very happily, though I understand that this is too much to ask. But I will say that, similarly to brands like Chrome, in a way Rapha has gotten itself into a corner with the strong visual branding. At this point there are people who would enjoy the functionality and quality of some of the garments, but are simply too embarrassed to wear Rapha because of what the branding has come to represent (roadie couture, backlit films of exquisite suffering, etc.). Maybe something to consider.

The fabric is "Sportwool" - 52% merino wool and 48% polyester. The surface of the fabric is smooth and shiny, almost shimmery in the sunlight. It does not look or feel particularly wool-like to me, so if you are seeking the tactile qualities of wool be aware. While I am not sure that I'd be able to wear this against bare skin (I am sensitive to polyester), over a merino baselayer it is fine. Most importantly, I find this jersey to be surprisingly warm, and the best insulating mid-layer I have tried so far. Prior to getting it, I was wearing a heavy Icebreaker turtleneck over my baselayer and it was neither as warm nor as breathable. A little disappointing, because I prefer 100% wool, but I have to admit that the Rapha jersey does the job. Worn underneath a windproof shell, this setup has kept me comfortable on rides in temperatures in the 20s.

Summary: This is a wool-blend cold weather jersey with a number of useful features. While YMMV, it seems to work extremely well for me as a winter midlayer. The fit may be tricky for curvy bodies, and the tell-tale Rapha armband is sure to cause some eye-rolling, but ultimately this is an effective garment that to me was worth the sale price.

Having examined Rapha's new additions to the women's line for 2011-2012 at a local retailer (the Ride Studio Cafe in Lexington, MA), they generally strike me as more flattering and more aesthetically pleasing than the items I commented upon in my previous post. I would love to see Rapha make a couple of jerseys in 100% merino, especially for the summer, a better fitting wind jacket in a more inspiring colour scheme for the warmer season, and arm warmers that are size-matched to their short sleeve jerseys. I would also love for Rapha to tone down some of the strong visual branding. I hope the Rapha women's line continues to expand. The more options for female cyclists, the better.

Cycling Destinations

2012-01-13T14:11:00.001-05:00

image via chris531

For the past several years, I've had a dream cycling destination that I fantasise about incessantly: the Dark Hedges in the North of Ireland. Oh the Dark Hedges! What are they? Well technically, they are just a short stretch of country road near the coast of Couny Antrim. The road is lined with ancient beach trees, and these trees have grown so crooked and twisted that the overhanging branches have intertwined to form a magnificent canopy. Overgrown with moss, the whole thing has an enchanted, mystical look to it. I fell in love with this unseen piece of landscape the first time I saw a photograph of it, immediately imagining myself under the canopy as sunlight streamed through black branches and everything turned hundreds of shades of green. What happens next? I'm not sure, but something magical. Maybe if one is there at just the right time of day, the trees will talk to you, or the faeries will come out. And if you're there at the wrong time of day, you'll be turned into a tree yourself. With a name like Dark Hedges, an element of danger is to be expected.

As I got into cycling, it was only natural that I began to imagine visiting the Dark Hedges by bicycle. I have family in Ireland, and by this time last year I had developed a grandiose plan that involved visiting them, then taking a train north, disembarking once the "scenic parts" began, and cycling along the coast for hundreds of miles - through rolling green hills overlooking treacherous cliffs, and past the Giant's Causeway - until finally, exhausted and covered in road dust, I would arrive at the Dark Hedges and triumphantly cycle through them as their beauty and magic penetrated every fiber of my being.

I know. Some dream of crossing the Pyrenees and I dream of cycling through a cluster of hedges. Well, it's my fantasy!

While I had hoped my pilgrimage to the Dark Hedges would take place last year, obviously that did not happen. The more I began to look into it practically, the more confused I became as to how to arrange it. There was the question of getting my bike over there - which is so expensive and unpleasant, that at first I thought I'd be better off renting or borrowing a bicycle in Ireland. But on closer examination, it turned out that finding a roadbike to rent would actually be quite difficult, and cycling for hundreds of miles on an upright hybrid was not what I had in mind. And while I have friends there who are willing to lend me a bike, they live in the opposite direction from where I'd be heading, so the logistics would not work out. But the final blow that made me postpone planning this trip came when a couple of local acquaintances expressed skepticism about the idea, telling me that the drivers were awful and that all the good cycling was on the west, not the east coast. Hmm. Of course "awful" should be taken with a grain of salt, as they'd never cycled on the roads in the US and their basis for comparison is limited. Still, all of this taken together made me put the brakes on the idea until I could get a better sense of how to plan a trip like this.

Which brings me to a larger point: How does one go about planning a cycling trip to a place they've never been? There are many beautiful locations that are touted as cycling destinations, but the truth is that we do not really know how comfortable we will be with the terrain and road sharing culture until we are there. Having recently read about two cycling couples' experiences in New Zealand has further highlighted this problem. Local randonneurs Pamela and John "Blayley" picked up and moved to New Zealand in 2002, believing (after a great deal of research) that it would be a cyclist's paradise. What they discovered in practice however, was rather different and they ended up moving back to the US just 2 years later. More recently, Russ Roca and Laura Crawford of The Path Less Pedaled embarked on a tour of New Zealand - billed as "The Kiwi Chronicles," documented by the Bicycle Times, and meant to promote new Zealand as a cycling friendly destination. It was therefore a surprise to everyone when several days ago they experienced a road rage incident involving physical violence while cycling single file. The incident has sparked a media frenzy, challenging the portrayal of New Zealand as friendly or safe for bicyclists.

I have a number of acquaintances and colleagues who have gone on trips to their dream cycling destinations, and the feedback has been pretty mixed. Those who go to France and Italy seem to have better experiences overall. This may simply be because those routes are so well traveled that it is possible to do more thorough research and have a better idea of what to expect, and it may also be because both countries have a well developed cycling cultures. While to me, Ireland seems like the perfect place to cycle - with its rolling hills, beautiful scenery and rural roads - I have found comparatively few personal narratives allowing me to gauge what the particular route I am interested in would be like for someone of my skill level, and so I remain conflicted. What is your dream cycling destination, and how would you approach planning a trip to one?

Sport vs Transport: a Polarisation

2012-01-12T13:25:00.000-05:00

When I write about topics such as cycling clothing, fixed gear, bike handling skills, etc., someone will inevitably chime in to point out that these things are not necessary for "everyday" cycling. This is rather ironic given that my blog started precisely because I felt such things were not necessary for everyday cycling. It is also ironic, because I still very much agree. This here above is a transportation bicycle. It is my "everyday bike" - that is, the bicycle I ride to get around. In a skirt and blouse. In a 3/4 length overcoat. In office shoes. With my laptop bag strapped to the rear rack. It is the exact same type of bicycle I rode for transportation when I first started this blog. My preferences in this regard have not changed over time; they have only solidified.

Now this here is a roadbike. This type of bicycle is designed for sport, and it is meant to go fast over long distances. I love riding this thing. I ride is as fast as I can, because that's the point - to get an intense workout and to see how well I can do. As with other athletic activities (jogging, aerobics, skiing), it is more comfortable and also customary to wear special clothing for roadcycling. That is why on my roadbike I wear padded shorts, a cycling jersey, padded gloves and dorky sunglasses. Sometimes even a helmet. Over time, I have come to enjoy the sport of roadcycling more and more, and while I am not very good at it yet, I hope that some day I might be. I've recently joined a local club. Maybe in a couple of years I can even race. But all of this has as little to do with me as a transportational cyclist, as a newfound interest in running would have with my being a pedestrian.

It is an unfortunate fact that in some countries today, including the US, cycling for sport and cycling for transportation are often confounded. It is also true that when some people get into road cycling, athletic sensibilities end up colouring their view of what transportation cycling should be like as well: They grow impatient with the slower speed of upright bikes, and find it strange to wear everyday clothes on a bicycle at all. For these reasons, I do understand why it makes some nervous when roadcycling topics appear on this blog. Will I eventually be lost to this mentality? I have good reason to believe that no. I am not willing to change the way I dress in order to accommodate the bike, and I cannot ride a roadbike comfortably in my regular clothing. There have been situations where I've ridden diamond frame bikes with drop bars for transportation out of necessity, and I can certainly do it. But inevitably I am miserable, and I long for my upright step-through bike.

Aside from the clothing issue, I just feel safer and more relaxed cycling through traffic in an upright position. And since I control my speed in an urban environment anyhow, my upright bike is more than good enough for me in that respect. Step-through frames have the additional advantage in that they are easy to hop on and off, especially with packages on the rear rack. No matter how nicely a bicycle handles, unless it has a step-through frame I ultimately find it impractical for me in an everyday context. I have very clear ideas at this point of what works for me as a transportation bicycle, and being involved in roadcycling has only made me appreciate the differences between sport and transport more. I have no desire to blend the two activities. When I ride a roadbike, I basically look like this and I am not bothered by that in the least. Speed over style, to be sure. But for getting around in everyday life, I want to retain my identity, and I want to feel comfortable in every way.

To me, thinking of roadcycling and transportation cycling as two radically different things just seems like common sense. In Europe I know many people who race for sport, but get around town on a traditional upright bicycle, and this is considered entirely normal. Why even Henry of Workcycles used to race, and still enjoys riding his track bike on the velodrome on a regular basis. Perhaps some day this dichotomy will be better understood in the US as well. Some do believe that road and transportational cycling can overlap, or at least inform each other, and I am not threatened by that point of view. Also, sometimes it's just fun or funny to combine the two: There are, after all, cargo bike races, Brompton races, and no doubt someone out there has held an omafiets race. Steven Fleming of cycle-space wrote a post on how racing for sport and riding a cargo bike for transportation figure into his identity, which I certainly found interesting. Me, I simply see the road vs transportation cycling dichotomy as the 2-wheeled version of walking vs jogging. The more I cycle for transportation, and the more involved I get in roadcycling as a sport, the more I appreciate them as two distinct and separate realms.

Why Fixed Gear?

2012-01-11T13:09:00.010-05:00

I have been riding fixed gear bicycles for about a year and a half now, and enjoy it so much that it is hard to talk about without getting embarrassed. Here in the Boston area, fixed gear is associated with a distinct cultural attitude and fashion sense, and I do not fit the mold. Seeing me on a bicycle with a fixed drivetrain often seems to surprise people, and I've been told on more than one occasion that I "don't seem like the type." While I suspect this is mostly used as a conversation starter by men, it still succeeds in making me self-conscious. What is it about fixed gear that I like so much and why do I "need" this type of bicycle?

I first tried a fixed gear bike in June 2010. I was staying in Vienna and pining over the nearby velodrome's summer closure, and a friend offered to teach me to ride a track bike so that I could ride around the velodrome building (this seemed very funny at the time - around the velodrome, get it?). I was afraid to try it at first, but as soon as I got on the bike I didn't want to get off it. It felt so natural and intuitive. My friend ended up leaving the bicycle with me for the duration of my stay in Vienna and I rode it in the park after work every chance I got. Cycling slowly due to the lack of brakes, I must have looked like an idiot, but didn't care. I discovered that on fixed gear, my bicycle handling skills somehow improved. I could make tighter turns, cycle through narrow spaces, control my speed better, and just be more in control. It felt as if I suddenly gained a better understanding of how a bicycle worked. The custom Italian track bike made for a now-retired racer felt unexpectedly comfortable, save for the curvature of the handlebars. I could ride this thing for hours with a silly smile on my face. It became clear during those rides that I needed a fixed gear bike of my own once I returned to the US. A friend of a friend sold me a good road frame for fixed gear conversion, and I mailed it to myself in Boston before leaving Vienna.

Waiting for the road frame to arrive (it took over 3 weeks!) I couldn't stop talking about my experience with fixed gear, and just for the heck of it one weekend the Co-Habitant and I converted the Motobecane mixte I then owned to a single speed with a fixed/free flip-flop hub. Doing this was easy and inexpensive. We picked up a budget wheelset, modified the existing crankset, shortened the chain and that was pretty much that. I rode this bicycle around the city and out to the countryside, and it was great fun. But I mostly thought of it as a novelty. On an upright bike, I preferred a freewheel. This bicycle was a great hit around the neighbourhood though, especially when I fitted it with some colourful dressguards. The woman who later bought it planned to use it as a freewheel single speed, but liked the idea of having the fixed option by flipping the wheel.

Finally the vintage road frame I'd bought in Vienna arrived in the mail, and we quickly put it together. You might recognise this as the previous incarnation of the Moser I now ride as a geared roadbike. The tires here look huge, but they are 28mm Panaracer Paselas - the frame had just enough clearance for them if I did not use a rear brake. I rode this bike a lot, and particularly enjoyed it once it began to get cold. There was something about cold and dreary days on a fixed gear that was just magic. But while I loved riding the Moser, it became apparent over time that the frame was not really suitable for fixed gear conversion due to its very low bottom bracket. As my speed on the bike increased I started to get pedal strike when cornering on bumpy or uneven roads, and did not feel that this was safe. Last winter I began to look for another frame, which did not prove to be very easy given my criteria (lugged steel, horizontal dropouts, high bottom bracket, small size, and no toe overlap). I considered getting a frame from Royal H., but could not afford it. I considered the new SimpleOne from Rivendell, but learned that they would not be making one in my size. And that is how I came to be in possession of a Mercian.

By the time I ordered this bicycle from Mercian, I had a good idea of what I wanted in a fixed gear. I did not want a track bike, but a comfortable and somewhat relaxed roadbike that just happened to have a fixed gear drivetrain. I wanted to fit it with 28mm-32mm tires for road and occasional trails. I wanted it to have tame handling without feeling sluggish. All of this was done. When I began to ride this bicycle after we put it together, it was just the feeling I wanted. It is comfortable, intuitive, has no toe overlap or pedal strike, and I can ride it for quite a long time without getting tired.

So why fixed gear and what do I like about it so much? If I have to pin it down, there are two distinct elements of this type of bike that I enjoy. First, I simply find it soothing and pleasant. The motions my legs make on a fixed gear feel different - more circular and rhythmical. In that sense it is really not about speed at all, but about being able to ride with smooth and regular pedal strokes and enjoying the state of mind this puts me in. I find this to be very relaxing when I am stressed out. Even just riding in circles around the neighbourhood, the magical sensation of the drivetrain never fails to calm me down and clear my head.

Second, I feel that riding a fixed gear roadbike helps me with technique. My movements feel more elegant and precise, and I can sense that I am developing a more intuitive sense of balance. I play games where I try to keep the bike going at all costs - slowing down to a crawl before a traffic light rather than stop as I wait for it to turn green. I also like to see how fast I can accelerate under different circumstances, and play "sprinting" games until I get out of breath. This is much more interesting to do on a fixed gear than on a freewheel bike, because once you get the drivetrain going it feels as if it "helps" you. All this may sound silly, but somehow I feel that things like this really help. Fixed gear bikes feel playful and very safe, which encourages me to try all this stuff that I would not normally try. Slowly but surely, I can tell that it improves my geared roadcycling skills - including the somewhat "duh" realisation that if I continuously pedal and feather the brakes instead of coasting, then I will feel more in control of my geared roadbike as well.

But all this talk of technique is probably beside the point. When it comes down to it, we do things that we enjoy and fixed gear is for me simply one of those things. I can't imagine not owning a bike like this. I begin to get fixed gear cravings if I don't ride one for more than a week. Luckily, that should not be a problem.

The Randonneur Experiment: a Review

2012-01-09T18:24:00.023-05:00

Throughout the Spring and Summer of 2011, I collaborated with Royal H. Cycles to create a classic low-trail 650B randonneuring bicycle, then test rode it for 220 miles before it was delivered to the new owner. The project was inspired by Jan Heine, whose championing of this type of bicycle made some of us rabid with curiosity. This review has been long in the works. In parallel I've been preparing an article about the same bike for the Bicycle Quarterly, and needed to make sure that its content did not overlap too much with this write-up. Now that the BQ article is finally finished, I feel that the project is complete and would like to reflect upon it here.

If this is the first you are reading about this bike, then you may want to start here before proceeding:

. Making Sense of Rivendell's vs Bicycle Quarterly's Philosophies
. A Beautiful Experiment
. Lovely Bicycle x Royal H Randonneur
. 650B Rivendell Sam Hillborne and Randonneur Compared

The posts above describe how the idea for the bike came about, as well as its construction and features, so I will not cover the same ground again here. At some point in the near future I will also write more about the project itself - what it was like to work together with a framebuilder and what I learned in the process. But here I will describe my impressions of the bicycle itself - particularly the aspects that were novel to me. Of course being involved in the bicycle's design, it would be somewhat absurd to either praise or critique its aesthetics and such. The point of this experiment was to form an impression of how this type of bicycle handles, and that is what I will focus on here.

The Low Trail Mystique

To briefly summarise, the Randonneur is a lugged steel low-trail bicycle with 650Bx42mm tires, fenders, dynamo lighting, front and rear racks, and a handlebar bag - made in the style of the 20th century French constructeurs. "Low-trail" refers to the front-end geometry of a bicycle and it differs from the typical mid/high trail geometry of most roadbikes today. Among classic and vintage bicycle enthusiasts, there is definitely a mystique surrounding the low trail randonneur, and dramatic descriptions of its handling abound - made all the more dramatic, I suspect, by the fact that this type of bicycle is fairly rare and few have actually ridden it. Certainly that was one of the factors that made me want to try it. The other factor was that Jan Heine's description of the bicycle suggested a combination of speed, responsiveness, comfort, and all-terrain capability that I found attractive.

The biggest surprise about the Randonneur once I began to ride it, was how "normal" it felt. Based on all of the things I had heard and read about low-trail handling by the time the bike was ready, I expected to be blown away by a radically different handling, which I would either love or hate. Instead, the bike felt... like a bike! When I mentioned this earlier, some interpreted it as my implying that I was disappointed with the Randonneur. However that is not what I meant to express at all. I simply meant that I did not find low trail handling to be "difficult" or unusual. While the Randonneur did have some interesting handling characteristics, it felt intuitive to ride and I think that my experience of this is important to communicate. It seems to me that the mystique surrounding low-trail geometry needlessly intimidates people.

So what did feel different about the low trail handling, even if I found it within the range of normal? Mainly, it was the way the bicycle behaved on turns. At slow speeds I found that I had to be slightly more active when turning than on other road bikes I'd ridden, to pay more attention to the act of turning if that makes sense. Interestingly, this made tight turns easier as opposed to more difficult: I felt as if I were more in control of the turn. I also noticed that on high speed descents along winding roads it was easier to keep my line of travel along the road's curvature; the Randonneur did not "resist" turning at high speeds as I sometimes feel typical roadbikes do. That said, all of this was rather subtle - at no point did this difference alarm or shock me. I would notice the unique behavior on turns and think "Oh neat, so it wants to do this and not that" - as opposed to feeling as if there was anything wrong. It's a different feeling is all, and I rather liked it.

Another outcome of low trail (though this is not about handling per se) is that it allows even small bicycles with fat tires and fenders to avoid toe overlap without the need for an overly long top tube. For me this is a huge deal, because I strongly dislike toe overlap and I ride small bikes. The fact that low-trail geometry automatically eliminates it as a concern is very appealing.

While yet another aspect of the low trail design is said to be its superior ability to handle a front load, in this respect my experience is unhelpful. I rode the bicycle with and without the medium Berthoud handlebar bag pictured here, and did not notice a significant difference. It felt fine with the bag. It felt fine without. Perhaps this lack of a difference is the point - meaning, you can add a full handlebar bag and the handling remains the same. However, some believe that a low-trail bike is meant to be ridden with a loaded bag at all times and will feel unstable without it. This I did not experience.

Best of Both Worlds?

The Bicycle Quarterly's descriptions of randonneuring bicycles suggest that they are essentially fully equipped, comfortable racers - thus offering the best aspects of touring bikes and racing bikes combined.

For me, the speed of the Randonneur was not quite on par with that of a racing bike (namely, the Seven Axiom I'd tried over the summer). However, the Randonneur was faster than my Sam Hillborne. It was also faster than various vintage roadbikes I've tried.

The weight of the complete bicycle (including bottle cages, MKS Touring pedals and handlebar bag) was around 26lb (for comparison, my Sam Hillborne is 31lb with a similar setup), which is fairly light given all the stuff it is outfitted with, but not racing bike territory. The standard diameter tubing made it easier for me to carry the bike (my hand could close around the top tube, whereas with oversized tubing it cannot), which was much appreciated.

As far as comfort, the Randonneur was the feather bed of bicycles. While I have no complaints at all about the comfort of my Rivendell, the Randonneur felt even better, as well as less fatiguing at the end of a ride. In part this may be due to the flexible, standard diameter tubing. Of course given this lightweight and flexible tubing, bicycles like the Randonneur are not suitable for carrying as much weight as touring bikes.

Notes on Components

I won't go over all of the components this bicycle is fitted with, but would like to highlight the ones that were new to me or made an impression.

As mentioned earlier, I loved the Grand Bois Maes handlebars with their flat ramps and parallel drops. I am addicted to Campagnolo ergo levers at this point, and the Veloce model here (also on my Rivendell) is an economical option that works perfectly well for me. I prefer the Schmidt SON dynamo hub on this bicycle to the Shimano hub on my own bike, and the Edelux headlight is the nicest dynamo light I have tried thus far. The Grand Bois Hetre tires I love so much - both on the Randonneur and on my Rivendell - that I cannot imagine not owning a bike fitted with them. I was impressed with the Nitto lugged stem, truly a work of art. The Berthoud handlebar bag intimidated me somewhat with its beautiful styling, but the multiple sizes it comes in might make it a more convenient alternative to the enormous Ostrich handlebar bag I have on my own bike.

In the process of riding this bike I also discovered that I prefer the men's Berthoud touring saddle to the women's. I never wear skirts on roadbikes anyhow, and the longer nose and slightly narrower saddle feels even better here than the shorter, wider version on my own bike.

I am not certain what I think of cantilever brakes - not just on this bicycle, but in general. On fast descents, both the Randonneur and my own canti Rivendell are rather effortful for me to stop. These brakes are supposed to be very powerful and are the classic brakes to use with this style of bicycle, so I am not sure what the alternatives are. That said, almost everyone I know loves cantis, so I might just be an anomaly (I do have very weak hands).

If I were speccing out this bicycle from scratch today, the one change I would make would be to go with the new Rene Herse crankset (which was not yet available last summer). This would be a more aesthetically appropriate (albeit much pricier) option than the Sugino Alpina crankset we used, and its gearing versatility would have allowed us to use a short-cage rear derailleur for an overall more classic look to the drivetrain. None of this however would change the bike's functionality.

I was quite happy with how the Randonneur worked as a whole, including components and accessories. Nothing rattled loose or malfunctioned in the course of my test rides, which included road and gravel.

Verdict

Based on my experience with the Randonneur, my impression is that this type of bicycle combines some of the best features of road-racing bikes and all-terrain touring bikes, but does not replace either. If I owned this bicycle, I would still want a pure road-racing bike in addition. And for those interested in fully loaded touring, the Randonneur would not be the right choice for carrying that much weight. But for self-supported long distance events, endurance events, recreational and nature rides, and anything involving off-road trails and mixed terrain I believe this would be just the ticket - both for competitive cycling and for pleasure. The standard diameter tubing, wide 650B tires, fast and responsive handling, fenders, lights and moderate luggage make it an option worth considering for those who feel that touring bikes are overbuilt for them, while road/racing bikes are unsuitable for real-world conditions. In my view, the low trail geometry is not nearly as quirky as some suggest, and has the additional benefit of avoiding the dreaded toe overlap.

A question I've been asked a number of times now over email, is whether I plan to get a bicycle like this made for myself and whether I would recommend it to others. The first part of this question is tough to answer, because if I did get a bicycle like this then it would replace my Rivendell - I neither need nor can afford to own two 650B road-to-trail bikes! So I just don't know yet whether I want to go through that upheaval. That said, I do think that a bicycle like the Randonneur is extremely appropriate for my style of riding, for all the reasons described in this review. If I did decide to replace my Rivendell with a lighter and faster bike with the same wide tires and handlebar bag, something like this would be it. As for recommending it to others, I don't even dare go there. We are all so different, and only you can decide whether a bicycle like this is suitable for your needs.

Afterthoughts...

An important aside here, is that when designing a bicycle like this, geometry and tubing choice are crucial. If you decide to have a classic low-trail randonneuring frame built, be sure the builder fully understands your request. It is popular now to refer to all bicycles fitted with fenders, racks, and tires wider than 23mm as "rando bikes," but the bicycle I describe here is a very particular animal and the builder needs to understand that - unless of course you can supply them with the full geometry and specifications. There is now also a number of ready-made randonneuring frames (though none of them fully lugged, as far as I understand) that may be suitable for those reluctant to go custom, including the Box Dog Pelican and the Rawland RSogn.

The length of this review makes me realise just how much information I have stored up about this bicycle. Stay tuned for the write-up about the project itself - including commentary on the framebuilder's work, detailed descriptions of the geometry and all that. And for those interested in the Bicycle Quarterly article (which will contain different content still), look for the Spring 2012 issue.

My sincere thanks to everyone involved in this project: Bryan of Royal H. Cycles, Jim A. of Harris Cyclery, and Jim P. the bicycle's owner - as well as to Jan of the Bicycle Quarterly for the inspiration and advice. More pictures here and here!

On Bicycle Pricing and Its Discontents

2012-01-08T08:29:00.022-05:00

At the moment there is an engaging dialogue going on about the cost of bicycles, which I believe many readers here will find informative: Last week Jan Heine of the Bicycle Quarterly published a post entitled Why Buy an Expensive Bicycle, in which he argues in favour of custom-built bicycles costing 5 times as much as mid-tier production bikes. In response, Kent Peterson of Kent's Bike Blog explained why he prefers inexpensive bicycles, presenting an almost diametrically opposite viewpoint. Together, I think these two posts and the reader comments that follow make for some truly thought-provoking reading, and I invite you to check them out.

Having read both posts, I find that my own opinion on this matter does not fit into the dichotomy of the debate. But I will try to explain it in my own way, without framing it as an "expensive vs inexpensive" issue.

Put simply, for me it is about the bicycle and, more importantly, about the cyclist's experience - not about the price. Bicycles are made for riding, and in order to ride them (and be inspired to ride more) the cyclist's experience must be positive. Not everyone is mechanically inclined and able to fix even minor issues when things start to go wrong. Not everyone's body can withstand poor (or even mediocre) ride quality. Finally, not everyone is inspired by a bicycle that is so crudely made and generic-looking as to be utterly without character. Now, we can criticise people for their lack of mechanical skills, their sensitivity to discomfort and their preoccupation with aesthetics. Or we can accept these traits and turn our attention to the bicycle itself - defining a "good" bicycle as one that will inspire people to ride. And by "people" I mean people as they are, with all their flaws and biased preferences and love of pretty things and mechanical ineptitudes.

Based on the huge amount of feedback I receive from readers who are either would-be cyclists or fledgling cyclists, I believe there are three characteristics a bicycle must have in order to attract those who are not already committed to cycling: (1) it has to work properly without a lot of fussing, (2) it has to feel comfy, and (3) it has to look nice. And it makes sense that a person of average financial means who desires to ride a bicycle, will naturally strive for the least expensive option that satisfies all three of these criteria.

And therein lies the first glitch. Based, again, on the feedback I get from readers, it is quite challenging to find a bicycle nowadays that both satisfies all three of the criteria listed above, and costs what most first-time buyers consider to be a reasonable amount. When I quote the $500 figure as a first-time buyer's typical budget, I am by no means making fun of this figure or disparaging persons with such a budget. On the contrary, this was my budget as well when I first began shopping around for a transportation bike. Unfortunately, $500 or thereabouts is considered "low end" by the bicycle industry today. Sad as it is, if you walk into a bicycle store right now, $500 will afford you only the lowest quality bikes available. The salesperson may even tell you, holding back a laugh, that with such a budget shopping for a new bike will be difficult. It is what they told me in 2009.

Now let's get back to this fictional person who, on the one hand, wants a nice bike, but on the other hand is discovering how tough it is to find a bicycle that satisfies their requirements on a modest budget. At this stage they have a choice between two main options: (a) compromise on one or more of their criteria, or (b) increase their budget. Many choose the former option, which, granted, seems very reasonable. However, I kid you not that I now receive perhaps half a dozen emails a week from persons who are unhappy with their bikes and are not enjoying cycling as a result of a budget-driven compromise. The biggest complaint is that of frequent failures. The cyclist is not experienced enough to deal with them, and moreover does not want to deal with them. They also do not have time to constantly take the bike to the shop. The second biggest complaint is that of severe discomfort and poor ride quality. With all these problems, the bicycle does not get ridden very often and the cyclist begins to lose faith in cycling all together.

So you see, it is not the price I have a problem with. It is this outcome. By no means do I believe expensive bicycles to be better simply by virtue of costing more; that would be absurd. When a $500 bicycle becomes available that I believe to be reasonably well made, comfortable and attractive enough to make new cyclists happy, I gladly herald it here and post lots of sexy pictures. Unfortunately, I find few bicycles in this price range to be of good quality, and I refuse, absolutely refuse to promote manufacturers who churn out overpriced bike-shaped toys by giving them exposure here based on their "low" prices alone. If a person cannot afford a well-made new bike, I recommend buying used or vintage.

Now that I've finished that rant, the next question might be: So what is my idea of a high-quality new bike and what would it cost? Unfortunately, I have no definitive answers for you. Unlike Jan Heine, I do not believe that a $5,000+ custom bicycle is necessarily the solution. Customers are not always experienced and informed enough to truly know what they want, and builders make mistakes all the time. Also, the custom process takes forever and by far not everyone is willing to wait a year or more for a bike. Moreover, I agree with Kent that beyond a certain price point the anxiety over potential theft and damage may diminish a bicycle's utility.

The truth is that what constitutes a quality bicycle and a good value often depends on the person. It depends on their needs. It depends on their standards. It depends on the kind of riding they do, on their body's sensitivity, on their terrain, even on their climate. It depends on their level of mechanical skill. It is impossible to profess "the answer" that will be applicable to everyone.

In conclusion, my view is that it's not about pricing; we are way too focused on pricing. If you are serious about cycling, determine the criteria you are looking for first: What kind of bicycle makes you want to ride? Because that is what ultimately it is all about. Then find a way to buy that kind of bicycle, without compromising on those criteria. For some this may be doable at $500, for others it could be $5000, and most of us will fall somewhere in between. It does not matter to me how much a bicycle costs, as long as the owner loves it and wants to ride it all the time.

Wear and Tear

2012-01-07T19:16:00.004-05:00

I've been spending a lot of time road cycling lately, and suddenly it seems like all of my gear is falling apart at the same time: Socks are pilling to the point where they no longer look decent. Gloves are developing holes in the fingers. Baselayers are growing threadbare under the arms. A piece of the zipper broke off on my cold weather cycling jacket. And my thermal winter tights are fraying everywhere. The damage to the last two garments is particularly frustrating, because these are "big ticket" items that I was hoping would last for some time. While the jacket is a year and a half old that's still not a terribly long life span. And the tights I've only started wearing this October. It doesn't seem right for things to be wearing out at this rate. Aside from the financial aspect, I am simply too exhausted to start the search for the right gear from scratch. When it comes to cycling clothing, finding the fit and functionality that work can be a nightmare. I don't want to look for new stuff; I want the "old" stuff to last.

Are my expectations unrealistic? I would love to hear from roadcyclists what the typical life expectancy of their clothing is - jerseys, shorts, jackets, etc. If you cycle, say, 5,000 miles a year, what kind of wear and tear do you consider normal?

Side by Side

2012-01-06T11:59:00.018-05:00

My last ride of 2011 was with the delightful Bekka of Bikeyface, who is slowly but surely getting drawn into roadcycling (eeexcellent). We've been practicing our "epic" faces, as you can see.

We had some things to talk about, so we decided to "go for coffee" - a 20 mile ride to the Ride Studio Cafe and back.

Once there, we nearly took the rack down with 60lb of collective bike poundage, but never mind!

The weird thing about riding with Bekka, is that her bicycle - a Surly Cross-Check - is the same make and model as the Co-Habitant's bike - only about half the size and built up very differently. The smaller sized Cross-Check frames have sloping top tubes and different seat tube angles (75° on the 42cm frame vs 72° on the 62mm frame), so altogether her bicycle registers as sort of the same bike as his, but not really. Freaky. And it also goes to show that when reading bicycle reviews and test ride reports, it's worth paying attention to the size of the bike described - this factor can make a difference. But despite the blatant differences in frames, both Bekka and the Co-Habitant are quite happy with theirs, so it seems fair to conclude that the Cross-Check is a crowdpleaser.

With Bekka on the Surly and me on the Rivendell, we were pretty well matched for speed, which was nice. It was a quiet morning just before New Year and we were able to ride side by side some of the time. I used to be vehemently against cycling side by side on the road - especially in the city - because I felt that this distracted me from paying attention to traffic. Now I am less vehement about it, simply because I've ridden with people who cycle side by side as a matter of course and have learned to adapt. Still, I seldom have a good feeling about it. While in Massachusetts it is legal to ride two abreast, one could argue that doing so is not always practicable, and therefore not in good faith. It has also been known to provoke driver aggression. The local cyclists I've been riding with are split on this one, with some groups prohibiting riding two abreast and others insisting on it, so I am getting some rather mixed messages. I'd like to decide on a policy and stick with it without being influenced by the people I am riding with, but haven't made up my mind yet.

Switching from "lone wolf" cycling to riding with others has caused a rather dramatic upheaval in my little world. I had tried the social cycling thing before and did not enjoy it, but somehow this time around it clicked. Suddenly I have a full "dance card" of cycling events every week, and in the winter at that. Not that I am complaining! But this is definitely a new era, and I am curious what the future will bring.

Being in Nature

2012-01-05T07:42:00.009-05:00

Walking into an outdoor clothing and gear retailer today, we invariably see an expanse of merchandise that is stylised to portray outdoor pursuits as highly technical activities. Fabrics of unnatural textures emitting an otherworldly sheen, colour schemes that don't exist in nature, motifs based on jarring geometric forms, aggressive logo placements - the overall feel is decidedly inorganic. And perhaps that is the key to why I find the aesthetics of today's outdoor industry so disturbing: How can clothing and gear designed for an intimate relationship with our natural surroundings be made in a way that is so at odds with them?

As a teenager in the 1990s I noticed that it disconcerted me to go hiking and see other hikers decked out in this high-tech gear. Watching them move through the landscape, they seemed to be invading nature, not striving to be a part of it. I found myself wondering how long those garments would take to decompose once discarded after a season or two, and what effect their decomposition would have on the beautiful scenery. It particularly disturbed me that outdoor enthusiasts did not seem to be aware of this contradiction. Carrying food and drinks in a myriad of plastic containers, they tramped through meadows and forests clad in aggressively styled garments made of artificial fabrics - an alien presence in their own world.

No doubt as a direct reaction to this I found myself drawn to natural fabrics and materials in everything from clothing, to furniture, to the everyday products I used, and also drawn to aesthetics that harmonised with my surroundings. And early on I felt that content and form went hand in hand here: When a particular aesthetic style becomes popular, it informs what is socially valued. And this has a huge overall impact on what kind of things get made and on how they get made. The aggressive, sporty, techie look has grown absolutely ubiquitous in outdoor gear - so much so that wool outdoor clothing manufacturers looking to become mainstream have taken to imitating the look of artificial fabrics in order to visually convince that their product is equally functional. The fact that what makes wool functional is its natural properties is laughably lost when this tactic is employed.

But recently the outdoor industry has experienced a small but noticeable backlash against the high-tech, and this includes the realm of bicycles and bicycle-related products. The growing public awareness of fringe brands such as Rivendell Bicycle Works and Archival Clothing have made both consumers and manufacturers rethink the aesthetics of an outdoor lifestyle. Some interpret this phenomenon as nostalgia-driven, and some see it as a form of consumer elitism. But I believe there is at least some element here of a rising collective desire for products that are more harmonious with our natural surroundings. Reverting to traditional looks, fabrics and manufacturing processes is simply the byproduct when things are made in this manner. The return of the steel bicycle with the waxed canvas bag is not so much about "re-enactment" as it is about rethinking ways of being in nature.

Grippy and Wooly

2012-01-04T03:13:00.014-05:00

Even once I had the rest of my winter attire figured out, the article of clothing that gave me the most trouble was gloves. I've probably gone through half a dozen pairs since I began cycling, and nothing worked quite the way I wanted it to. The big puffy gloves made it difficult to move my fingers and interfered with shifting and braking, even if the design was supposedly cycling-specific. Also, I do photography work outdoors in the winter, and operating a camera with those is out of the question. Thermally-lined leather gloves can be just as warm while allowing for more mobility, but the leather gets stretched out and worn when used repeatedly on a bike. Wool gloves are hit and miss as far as warmth and some can be quite slippery on the handlebars. My salvation finally came in the form of these charcoal gray wool gloves by DeFeet which I bought on a whim at a local bike shop. They may not look like much, but I love them.

The DeFeet Duraglove is very densely knit, and warmer than any other thin wool gloves I've worn thus far. Once the temperature drops into the low 20s and I spend more than an hour outside I do begin to feel a chill in the finger tips, but above that they keep my hands perfectly warm (for comparison, I have a pair of stretchy-fleecy cross-country ski gloves rated for 20s temps that in reality give out in the low 30s). Aside from the warmth, the DeFeet gloves are form-fitting and stretchy, making it easy to operate both city bike and roadbike levers. And I can press all of my camera controls without removing them. They are not beautiful, but not horrendous looking either. They cost under $20. And the underside is covered with these silicone grippy things that ensure a firm hold on handlebars and camera equipment.

The Co-Habitant is also pleased with his Ibex Knitty Gritty gloves that are similarly designed. He has a pair of both the full fingered and the fingerless versions and he uses both, depending on the temperature, for cycling and photography. The wool on these is softer and a bit chunkier than the wool of the DeFeet gloves, but the idea is the same: stretchy wool for ease of movement, with silicone grips on the underside for a firm hold. The grippy bits here are in the form of little Ibex logos, which I find very cute.

Unfortunately the Ibex Knitty-Gritty gloves do not work for me, because even the smallest size is too big for my hands (beware, these run large), so I cannot compare them to my DeFeet gloves directly. The prices are about the same. To my eye the Ibex gloves are more attractive, but of course this says nothing about performance. The cuff on the Ibex is a tad longer, but on both gloves the length is sufficient.The softer Ibex wool is nice, but I am suspicious that the looser knit might translate into less warmth. Also, I have noticed a bit of pilling on the Co-Habitant's full-fingered gloves after a season's use, whereas the wool on my DeFeet gloves seems less prone to this.

Sadly, I did experience wear and tear with my DeFeet gloves: After 300+ miles of use on the bike, I wore a hole in the tip of the right index finger. While this is apparently a common problem to have with wool gloves, in my case I have to underscore that (1) I'd been wearing these on a roadbike and constantly pressing the ergo lever with my right hand, and (2) I have long fingernails, which no doubt contributed to this. Had I used them solely for transportation cycling on an upright bike, they probably would have been fine. In any case, I've now mended the hole (there is a special way to do this without destroying the articulated fingertip) and will see how long that lasts. If need be, I am willing to keep mending them and to buy a new pair every now and again, because as far as functionality and warmth go these gloves really work for me. I love the dense stretchy wool and the grippy underside; the versatility this style affords has made it my favourite winter cycling glove thus far.

The Starter Bike

2012-01-03T12:31:00.017-05:00

Judging by my own experience and by those reported by other fledgling transportation cyclists, the phenomenon of the Starter Bike is fairly common. The Starter Bike gets acquired when the cyclist is just starting out, and is then replaced - usually between a couple of months and a year later - by a different bicycle that suits the rider better.

Starter bikes can fall into a number of categories. Some start with an old bike that a friend or family member gives them, then buys a nicer one after figuring out what kind they actually want (or after the one they've been given falls apart). Others will buy a second-hand bicycle and will later upgrade in the same manner.

Then there is the "budget bike." New cyclists are often reluctant to spend too much money on a new bike, and $500 seems to be a typical budget for those just starting out. So they will purchase a new bike in this price range, but will soon be dissatisfied with the quality. They will then replace it with a higher quality make and model later.

Some bicycles end up replaced because they are the wrong kind of bike for the cyclist. A novice might love the idea of the Dutch Omafiets, but will discover that they just can't ride it in their hilly town. Alternatively, a beginner may start out commuting on a roadbike based on a bike shop's recommendation, but will find it uncomfortable.

Even among seemingly similar bicycles there are differences in handling that may not be apparent at the time of purchase. A perfectly good bicycle of brand X is often sold and replaced with an equally good (and visually similar!) bicycle of Brand Y after just several months of ownership, because the latter better suits the cyclist's ride quality preferences.

All in all, I would say the majority of American transportation cyclists I've spoken to who have been at it for as little as a year, are not riding the same bike now as they did when they first started. And to me this is kind of interesting. Does it mean that novice cyclists would benefit from educating themselves better before making the initial purchase? At one point I thought so, but I no longer do. There are plenty of stories showing that you could be extremely well informed and still buy a bike that is ultimately not right for you.

Another conclusion that is tempting to draw, is that since chances are your first bike will be replaced within a year anyway, buy a cheap one while you hone your preferences. But one thing to consider here is that a low quality bike can discourage cycling entirely. Typical scenario: things start to rattle or go wrong with the bike, and a novice just stops riding. Or, the bike feels extremely uncomfortable or inefficient, and the cyclist decides that this is characteristic of bikes in general. A higher quality bike, even if it is not right for the person in the long run, is more likely to inspire a lasting interest in cycling.

Finally, there is the simple fact that our preferences change over time. Sometimes this has to do with experience. There are bicycles that feel great to a beginner, because they are exceptionally stable and easy to control for those who have not been on a bike in a while. But as the cyclist grows more confident and picks up bike handling skills, the same bicycle can begin to feel limiting due to a lack in speed or maneuverability. But changing preferences need not be a matter of skill - sometimes cyclists just feel like a change from what they were initially attracted to. It seems that with transportation bicycles, there is really no way to know where on the spectrum you will settle. The Starter Bike phenomenon may just be part of the course.

Overthinking the Pink

2012-01-02T04:02:00.012-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I got the inexplicable urge to redo the handlebars on my Rivendell with pink bar tape. I don't know. One day I was looking at the bike and suddenly felt that the earthtone and twine thing was getting kind of oppressive. The bike wanted to break free. With the streets growing more dreary with each passing day, a burst of colour was sure to break up the monotony. And that it certainly has: Now I feel as if I am riding a bike made of watermelon, or an enormous piece of tourmaline. It's nice and cheerful.

Of course, unlike other cheerful colours, pink is somewhat charged with meaning because of its associations with stereotyped femininity. So I was not entirely surprised to receive an email from a reader eager to discuss my new handlebar tape. She was disappointed that, while my choice in bicycle colours and accessories had hitherto been "the antithesis of girly," now here I was reinforcing the industry stereotype of women wanting pink on their bikes.

Heavy stuff. And as usual I find myself disagreeing and agreeing all at the same time. On the one hand, there is Elly Blue's post about "reclaiming pink." There is also the fact that originally, pink was considered to be a colour for boys. Finally, there is the Maglia Rosa of the Giro d'Italia - shouldn't that association trump the girly one?

On the other hand, I've heard too many women express frustration at the fact that the bicycle industry slaps pink colour schemes and floral motifs on everything that is designed for female cyclists ("shrink it and pink it") - from bike frames, to panniers, to cycling jerseys. I too find this annoying. But having thought about it for a couple of years, I suspect the real frustration here is that women-specific bicycles and products are oftentimes worse in quality than those designed for men. So the pink and flowery stuff, in combination with the inferior quality, is seen as a slap in the face: "Our marketing team believes you care about pretty colours and flowers more than you do about substance, so that is what we are selling you."

Ultimately, I think that pink is a more versatile colour than we give it credit for, particularly in the context of cycling. It is really all about presentation. I will probably not keep the pink bar tape on this bike in the long run, simply because it overshadows the elaborate lugwork that really deserves the starring role here. But for now I quite like it, stereotyped or not.

What comes to mind when you think of pink bicycles or bike related products - Giro or girly? or something else entirely?

Things Change and Stay the Same

2011-12-31T12:00:00.011-05:00

image from the tentacles of the magnificent octopus

With 2012 upon us, I would like to wish everyone a happy, healthy, safe, exciting and all around fulfilling New Year, full of cycling and all the other things you enjoy.

I've been trying to think of "resolutions" for next year pertaining to this blog, and in the process I am realising that I don't have any. This may not sound very exciting, but more than anything I would like for things to remain as they are: to ride bikes, learn more about bicycle design, overthink everything as usual, make mistakes in the process, and write about it all without getting overly self-conscious about how silly I might sound. This year I was upset and surprised when two of my favourite bicycle blogs were discontinued. But I also understand why it happened, and I can easily see how the same could happen here. For that reason I feel that it is especially important to keep things low key and not overextend myself. This is something I will try to bear in mind throughout 2012.

Other than this, I am quite happy to keep it open-ended. I have been cycling for transportation more or less daily since the start of this blog, and over time I've become increasingly interested in roadcycling. Within these two realms there are so many possibilities for exploration, that I feel as if I've barely scratched the surface. My interest in bicycle design continues, and it's been fascinating to learn about materials and methods of construction other than the lugged steel I love. There's just... so much to it all! As new people get swept up into this obsession every day, there are also those who've been at it for decades - no less enthusiastic now than they were in the beginning. I hope that will be me in future.

I've had some requests for a New Year's cocktail like last year, and so I offer you the following:

The Slideways:

. real pomegranate juice

. dry champagne or white sparkling wine

. gin (of course)

. small lime

. sprig of mint

. ice

In a cocktail shaker, combine ice, 1 shot of pomegranate juice, 1 shot of gin, 2 shots of champagne, and a generous squeeze of lime. Keep a tall champagne glass in the freezer to give it that frosted look. Strap the cocktail shaker to a rear rack of a fixed gear bicycle, then pedal forward and backward, rapidly changing direction. Unstrap the shaker. Remove champagne glass from freezer and pour in the contents immediately. Garnish with mint. Recline on your bicycle, side-saddle, while drinking and listening to this. Repeat as necessary.

A hat tip to Andy Arthur for his adorable illustration of my clumsy bike handling skills, and my sincere thanks to everyone I've crossed paths with via this blog in 2011 - be it virtually or in person. A Happy New Year to all!

Of Cycling and Cheeseburgers

2011-12-30T12:05:00.009-05:00

Before I started cycling I was a vegetarian/ pescetarian for many years. It began by accident: I was on a research trip in Moscow in 1999 and got food poisoning after eating a meat dish at a restaurant. It was pretty bad, though to be fair I can't even be sure it was due to the meat. Could have been the salad or an unwashed fork, who knows. Still, for a while afterward I felt sick whenever I looked at or smelled meat, so I stopped eating it. Eventually the effect wore off, but the vegetarian habit remained. I did not crave meat products, and I felt healthier not eating them. Attempts to coax me back into carnivorism were unsuccessful. I could watch others eat meat and even cook meat for guests without being tempted in the least. I was pretty sure this was a permanent lifestyle change.

It was a couple of years ago that for the first time I found myself "tasting" little morsels of the Co-Habitant's food (invariably meat dishes) when we ate together. I did not want any, mind you, I just felt like a little taste. I also began to notice that these cravings coincided with bike rides. Interesting. No doubt what I was really craving was salt and protein - not necessarily meat. So I ate more salt and protein as I struggled with this unfamiliar new attraction to meatballs and burgers and barbecued ribs. And steak. And paper thin slices of prosciutto. And spicy chicken wings. And hot dogs... One day, after an especially strenuous bike ride we went out to dinner and I just couldn't take it anymore. The smell of meat that had once made me respond with disgust, then indifference, now filled me with longing. I ordered lamb instead of my usual falafel. I still remember how those fragrant, lightly charred bits looked upon my plate. And so ended over a decade of vegetarianism.

I am bewildered by my current love affair with meat. Content for so long to live off lentils, walnuts, vegetable omelets and occasional salmon, I now fantasise about full Irish breakfast, black pudding included. The more I cycle, the worse it gets. The Co-Habitant thinks it's hilarious, but I am rather ashamed. I think vegetarianism is ultimately the healthier diet, and I feel sorry for the little animals. The tasty little animals.... See?! This is terrible. I know there are many vegetarian and even vegan cyclists out there. And they are probably very disappointed to be reading this. But I have to tell it like it is. After riding my bike, I dream of cheeseburgers.

Emotional Landscapes

2011-12-29T11:22:00.010-05:00

Two days after struggling through a hill training ride last week, I found myself on the bike again - doing what ended up being a 52 mile ride counting my trip there and back. 50 miles seems to be the magic number at the moment: shorter than that and I am left feeling regretful; longer than that and I become more aware of the difference between myself and the stronger riders I am with. Interestingly, I have not gone on a proper ride on my own for over a month: I've met so many cyclists to ride with lately, that I am always with someone. Among the benefits of this is discovering local roads that I've never ridden before - and noticing what an enormous role landscape plays in how subjectively easy or difficult a ride feels.

Riding with the Ride Studio Cafe women last week, we did a loop that on the map appeared near-identical to a route I usually do alone, only along the back roads. The landscape, bathed in the ethereal late-December light, was so stunning that I did not notice the miles or the hills. Where were we? These hardly looked like the tired suburbs I had become so familiar with. Here moss-covered trees grew out of green bogs under cerulean skies. Sleepy farms peaked out coyly from the mist. The remains of frost on dried grass turned meadows into expanses of delicate lace. The sun shone through black, leafless branches, casting high-contrast shadows upon the road. We rode under canopies of fragrant pine trees, which then opened up to reveal enchanted vistas. Climbing one particular hill, I felt such a surge of emotion from the surrounding beauty, that I could not help but go faster. The desire to reach the top and see what more awaited there, made the bike feel weightless.

Roadcycling for me is not about suffering. It is about this emotional connection. Somehow the feel of being on the bike, the sensation of speed, and even the pain in my legs become associated with the reward of seeing an affecting landscape. Once it forms, the association is difficult to break, and it makes cycling addictive - apparently not just for me. Some of my riding partners are experienced racers and randonneurs, and when I listen to them describe rides I notice that they rarely speak of difficulty or pain. Words such as "epic" and "sufferfest" are simply not in their vocabulary. It's not because they don't feel pain and exhaustion, but because they do not consider these sensations to be the point. It's about fulfillment through a visceral connection with one's surroundings. The rest is not important.

A Gadgety Show and Tell

2011-12-28T02:21:00.010-05:00

Every so often I am asked what kind of electronics (laptop, camera, phone) I use and would recommend to other cyclists. I've been evading the question, because I really do not think my choice in these things is meaningful; it is mostly a matter of preference. But for whatever reason this holiday season I've received a record number of emails asking this question, so maybe it's time to share. I am not comfortable making recommendations, so I will simply describe what I use and why I like it. You can decide for yourself whether it could work for you - or share your own system.

My current laptop is a 13" MacBook Air circa 2009. I have used Apple computers since the mid-1990s and have always preferred MacOS to Windows, so I cannot comment on what it is like to switch platforms or on whether you should. You either like Apple or you don't. But there are certain things I enjoy about my laptop that I guess you could say are cycling-specific. As the name implies, it is exceptionally slim and light (under 3lb), which allows it to fit into almost any pannier or basket, and to be transported without affecting a bicycle's handling or weight distribution. The metal casing (unlike the plastic casing on many other laptops) is extremely durable. It also has a solid state drive instead of a regular hard drive, which makes it less sensitive to road vibrations. I carry my laptop whenever I cycle for transportation, so for me all of these feature are quite useful. I ride over horrible potholes every day. And I've dropped my bike a couple of times on the pannier side with my laptop inside. Heck, I've dropped the MacBook Air onto a tile floor and down a flight of hardwood stairs (two separate incidents), and the only damage it suffered was cosmetic. Overall I am quite pleased and consider it to be clumsy cyclist-proof.

Transitioning to cameras, it gets kind of complicated. Cyclists like to take pictures on the go, but my cameras are not really optimised for that. I do a great deal of film photography and own a number of medium format and 35mm film cameras. I assume you do not want to hear about those, since they have nothing to do with bikes. The digital camera with which I take most of the "nice looking" pictures on this blog is a Nikon D90 (left), which I use for commercial photography with a variety of lenses. But I would not buy it just for the sake of "bike photos" if I were not already a photographer. It is large, and you won't really get the nice photos out of it anyhow unless you know how to use it. For simpler bike pictures on the go, I've been using a Panasonic Lumix 3 (right) - a really neat compact camera that has full manual mode, a Leica lens, and a variety of cool features. It is the nicest and most capable point and shoot camera I've ever used. It is by far not the smallest of what's available out there. But I just couldn't bear to sacrifice image quality and manual controls for the sake of being able to take quick snapshots.

And finally there is this. I am in equal measure embarrassed and excited about the fact that I now own an iPhone. Somewhat of a technophobe, prior to this I've had the same mobile phone since... oh I don't know, 2005? It was a simple flip-phone and it was perfectly capable of making phone calls and sending text messages. By the end it was so worn out that parts of it had started falling off and pixels on the screen began dying. When I finally admitted it was time for an upgrade, I decided to go with the iPhone 4S mainly because other cyclists reported finding it invaluable. After using it for just over a month I have to agree. One reasons I find it useful specifically for cycling, is all the excellent map and GPS applications. As long as the phone is charged and I have reception (which is everywhere around these parts), I can easily get directions anywhere I need to go. There are also all sorts of tool applications that can be useful for bicycle stuff, such as the level tool ap and the angle finder ap. As you might imagine, we have been measuring frame angles on bikes like mad.

Yet another reason I like the new phone, is the integrated camera. It is quick and intuitive to use on the go, and the image quality is surprising. Even the most hastily taken snaps are easily beautified with the myriad of available filter applications. I know that some are opposed to the "faux vintage" filters of aps such as Instagram, but I have nothing against using them for casual shots. Applying a digital filter that lends a stylised look to your pictures is really no different than using a cheap film camera with limited settings. But I digress... Suffice to say, I am enjoying the iPhone 4S camera and finding it more useful than my Lumix point and shoot. Since the camera is part of the phone, it means one less gadget to carry around. Pictures I would not otherwise have taken now get taken. Truthfully I do not even need a point and shoot anymore, and the iPhone alone is sufficient to supplement the DSLR.

So there you have it. I guess I am not much of a gadget enthusiast, since this is pretty much it. For me, these items work well in conjunction with cycling, but of course to each their own. Any insights to share about the laptop, camera, phone or other gadget you feel would be especially suitable for a cyclist?

Reaching for Water

2011-12-27T01:04:00.005-05:00

Spending lots of time on the roadbike has improved my speed and endurance more than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately, my bike handling skills are lagging so far behind that the gap is becoming almost comical.

What's causing some frustration at the moment, is that I can't drink water on the bike while in motion. Other cyclists will nonchalantly remove their water bottle from the cage without reducing speed, drink while continuing to cycle as if this were the most natural thing in the world, then replace the bottle in the cage and keep going as if it never happened. For me this maneuver is impossible to execute; I need to stop the bike in order to drink.

Prior to now this was never a problem. For the most part I cycled alone, and if I needed a drink I simply stopped the bike any time I felt like it. And the paceline rides I went on were only 20 miles, plus our stops at intersections were sufficient to sneak a quick guzzle. But now that I am going on longer rides and with groups of people, I am finding it more difficult to manage my water intake. I need to learn to drink without stopping the bike!

It's just so sad, because I've been practicing the water thing since summer, but progressing at a snail's pace. I can now grab the bottle with my left hand, but the bike jerks wildly when I attempt to yank it out of the cage. And if I do pull it out, what on earth will I do with it? Should I need to turn or stop the bike suddenly, will I be able to do it with one hand holding a bottle? Panic! Panic! Swerve! Panic! Yes, I am really that neurotic.

It doesn't help matters that I am extremely resistant to being taught. "No, really! If I could do it, so can you. Look, I'll teach you." Yeah... Suffice to say, I've never met a well-meaning cyclist whom I couldn't frustrate with my inability to learn technique. So, for now I'm stuck drinking water at stops and gazing in awe at those who can drink while cycling. Maybe some day I will read this post and laugh. Till then, I can only resume my snail's progress.

Roads to Nowhere

2011-12-26T13:18:00.003-05:00

Walking around on Christmas day, the streets are almost completely abandoned. This offers a rare opportunity to observe during daylight hours how things are laid out. I cycle past this particular intersection several times a week, but always approaching from the other direction, and it is usually very crowded. So I've never fully processed its design from the opposite direction until now. And the design is really something. I don't know how well my pictures demonstrate this, but there is a bike lane running against traffic that guides cyclist directly onto a brick island at the intersection.

Once the bike lane reaches the island, there is no entry point. But the markings invite cyclists to hop a 4-5" curb, at an angle. Some of you are probably thinking "Well okay, I can take that at speed on the right bike." But wait, not so fast.

There is a bicycle stop sign just before the intersection, so you really don't have that much room to accelerate. In addition, remember that this bike lane is against car traffic, so you also need to watch the blind turn as you make your way toward that 5" curb. I am no expert, but this might be worthy of some sort of "cycling infrastructure fail" award. And it certainly explains why I see confused, flailing cyclists approach the intersection from this direction whenever I cycle through here.

Lately I've been reading Brown Girl in the Lane's delightful rants about Vehicular Cycling advocates. She considers these fellows to be the "spawn of Satan" because they are against cycling infrastructure. Of course, their reasoning is that they are against it precisely because the sort of thing pictured here is what cities will do to cyclists when designing said infrastructure. Carving out a middle-ground position in this debate is tricky and I am not going to try right now. I only wonder whether there is a way to put a system in place whereby those who design cycling infrastructure (1) are required to consult with experts who are actual cyclists, and (2) have some accountability over the type of layout they create. We should not have to choose between harmful infrastructure and no infrastructure at all.

Calm and Bright

2011-12-24T10:05:00.004-05:00

Looking back at this month, I cannot believe that I've managed to squeeze in 300 miles of cycling into the first three weeks of December. The weather has been so lovely. The people I've met have been so encouraging. My bike has been so much fun. The bicyclists around these parts are in a great mood: It feels as if we've been given the gift of a second cycling season in the middle of winter. Commuters and roadcyclists alike are out in full force, smiling and waving to each other (seriously, more on this later). Infected by the holiday cheer, the city has even painted bike lanes on one of the most horrible, unpleasant bridges across the Charles River.

That said, I am taking a break from manic cycling for the holidays and looking forward to a calm week at home - eating, drinking, spending time with loved ones, listening to David Bowie, getting ready to move into my new painting studio, and just being quiet. The last time I felt like I needed time off the bike, it was kind of a negative "I am sick of being on the bike!" feeling that almost had me worried. This time it's a positive feeling. I am not sick of the bike at all and I am feeling very optimistic. But I am learning to seek balance and to take a break before the point where I overdo it - an art that is difficult to master!

Enjoy your holidays - be they on the bike or off. As always, thank you so much for reading. Here's to our third winter together!

Titanium for Transportation?

2011-12-23T17:16:00.015-05:00

Over the weekend I am test riding a titanium bicycle from the Dutch manufacturer Van Nicholas that was enthusiastically recommended by a reader. I will be posting a review in the future, but for now I have some general thoughts on titanium bicycles as transportation.

I've been thinking about this more and more after test riding several Seven transportation bicycles over the past few months, including this belt drive cafe racer. While their idea of how a transportation bicycle should be set up is not quite the same as mine, I have to say the ride quality was divine. I could go over all the roots and bumps I wanted and feel nothing.

This is the same sensation (or lack thereof) I had reported after many miles on the Seven racing bike I had on loan over the summer: Riding it with 23mm tires over bumps and potholes, I would feel only an "echo" of going over them, as if it were happening to someone else. At the time I was careful not to attribute this sensation to titanium per se, because I had no experience with other titanium bicycles. But it did make me curious to go out and try some others. This wasn't easy, because titanium bicycles are not exactly common. Still, I managed to briefly ride an older Merlin with 28mm tires. While the ride was completely different from the titanium Sevens, I did experience the same "otherwordly" sensation over bumpy surfaces. Around the same time I also briefly tried a steel and a carbon fiber Seven, and they did not feel like the titanium Sevens.

Another encounter with titanium took place when I test rode a Brompton over the course of several days. I had heard that bicycles with small wheels tend to have a harsh ride quality, but the Brompton felt just fine. The Co-Habitant pointed out that this could be because the model I'd borrowed was fitted with a titanium fork and rear triangle. "Nonsense," I said, "It can't possibly make a big difference!" But when I returned the Brompton I made it a point to try the all-steel version immediately afterward. Darn, I could feel a difference. The model with the titanium fork and rear tringle had a softer ride quality over bumps. I say "darn," because I was biased toward not wanting to feel a difference: that was one factor that prevented me from actually buying a Brompton, as the titanium model is considerably more expensive.

And now there is the Van Nicholas. This is a touring/commuter model that rides not unlike a titanium version of a Rivendell. At the same time, it has the "echo-like" quality I've noticed in the other titanium bicycles I've tried, and in combination with the 32mm Schwalbe Marathon Supremes I just do not feel the road. It's as if the bike rides on balloon tires, but without the heavy sensation these tires sometimes have.

Having tried about half a dozen titanium or partially titanium bicycles at this point, I can say that I do feel a common aspect in their ride quality independent of manufacturer and geometry - namely the manner in which they dampen road vibration. This alone would make titanium a good candidate for a transportation bicycle, simply because it makes for a comfortable ride without the need for super-wide tires. In addition, titanium does not rust and does not require paint. The frame should be absolutely fine in the winter and in the rain with virtually no need for maintenance. Any scratches can simply be buffed off the surface. Combined with an internally geared hub, which would further reduce the need for maintenance, this type of bike could, in theory, be indestructible - lasting for decades with minimal maintenance. And of course the light weight of titanium does not hurt. The downside? Well-made titanium bikes tend to be painfully expensive - if only because they are typically handmade by small builders.

One framebuilder in the Netherlands has been making titanium Oma-fietsen(!), which I find completely intriguing and would love to try some day. In the meantime, the only other woman-secific titanium frame I have seen is the ladies' version of the Van Nicholas Amazon, but I don't find the design appealing. I wonder whether there would be demand for elegant titanium loop frames in the US, where weight and hill climbing ability tend to be particularly important. While I am generally not attracted to welded frames, the ride quality and other features of titanium have drawn me into becoming increasingly interested in this material and its applications. What do you think? Does titanium appeal to you and would you consider it for a transportation bicycle if it were more readily available?

On the Symbolism of Cargo Bikes

2011-12-22T19:27:00.008-05:00

Lately I have been spotting more and more cargo bikes and trikes "in the wild" in the Boston Metro area. Bakfiets, Christiania, Nihola, Xtracycle, Yuba Mundo, Gazelle, all sorts of neat models. Interestingly, almost none of them could have been purchased locally, because no local bike shops carry them. This seems to be based on the bizarre notion held by local bike stores and importers/distributors, that Boston would not make a good market for cargo bikes. I have personally heard this rhetoric many times from various members of the bicycle industry: Cargo bikes in Boston? Oh no, there is no market. Terrible place for cycling. Awful drivers, dense car traffic, narrow streets with no room for bike lanes, rude people. It's a good place for fixies and such, but cargo bikes? No way.

But clearly there is a lag between how Boston is perceived by the bicycle industry and what is actually happening here - especially in the lively suburbs (more like boroughs) of Cambridge and Somerville. Beacon Street - a main road that acts as a border between the two - features parade-like processions of cyclists during morning and evening rush hour of almost Copenhagenesque proportions. Women in skirts, men in smart blazers, child seats strapped to rear racks, baskets on the handlebars, enormous panniers, and even - that's right - cargo bikes.

No market for them, eh? I must have seen half a dozen over the past week alone. And since local shops won't sell them, the cargo-bike-starved population of Boston is forced to travel to Portland ME or NYC to shop for them, or else order online, or else attempt to get them direct from the distributor with lots of behind the scenes begging. Odd really.

At this point you might be wondering why I care. In fact, why do I have reviews of cargo bikes here at all (see my test ride reports of the Bakfiets, Larry vs Harry Bullitt, Christiania and the Maderna Cycle Truck)? I don't have children and I don't really have enough stuff to transport on a regular basis to need a dedicated cargo bike. So why the interest?

I think cargo bikes are important in that they indicate how far a city has come in embracing and normalising transportational cycling. They equate cycling with safety and comfort, as opposed to danger and athletic skill. The mere sight of cargo bikes suggests:

"Look, people here must feel comfortable carting around their children by bike!"

"Look, there are people here who even replace their trucks with bikes!"

"Look, it must be okay here for bicycles to take up lots of room on the road!"

And of course when people see signs that something is okay to do because it looks like others do it, they are more likely to consider doing it themselves. So even if they do not need or want a cargo bike per se, they may be more likely to look into cycling with their children, cycling with baggage, cycling on the road, and other aspects of transportational cycling because these ideas are suggested by the mere existence of cargo bikes.

I suppose a simpler way of saying what I am trying to say might be that cargo bikes are symbolic of a strong, healthy "bike culture." Going with this premise, I am pleased that more of them are popping up in Boston and wish the industry would take note. What about your city?

Hill Training: My Epic Semi-Fail

2011-12-21T17:16:00.019-05:00

Over the summer, one of our local bicycle clubs runs what's officially known as the (In)famous Wednesday Night Hill Ride: a loop "encompassing the gnarliest hills in the Boston Metro area." Of course the route does not belong to them and lots of local cyclists who want to cram some serious hills into a relatively short ride use it to train on their own time, particularly racers and randonneurs. Back in July Somervillain began riding this route with a small group as practice for the D2R2 and invited me to join. At the time the very notion was laughable. Me, on the Infamous Hill Route? The women's paceline rides were hilly enough for me, and those were described by the same bicycle club as "mostly flat" (ha!).

But definitions of "hills" are subjective. Fast forward a few months, and mine too had changed. Having gone on a handful of rides with some strong local cyclists, I even developed a new fondness for hills and no longer outright hated them. So when Somervillain suggested the two of us try the Hill Route before the snow arrived, it suddenly seemed like a great idea. What can I say? I am human, I got cocky.

Things started off innocently enough. My level of excitement was almost festive. Finally, I was going to do "real" hills, like the "real" roadies. I managed to get organised and dragged myself out of the house to meet Somervillain at an ungodly morning hour. The temperature was blessedly mild in the high 30s. The sun arose picturesquely over the local Dunkin Donuts parking lot as we convened in front of it on our trusty steeds: he on his '80s Trek racing bike, I on my Moser. It was going to be a great ride! A nice 30 mile ride with some hills in the middle. As we took off, I had a smile on my face (hint: it did not last).

Let me tell you about the Hill Training Route. The part with the proper hills is a 12 mile loop and the elevation profile looks like this. But no technical description or chart can communicate the subjective experience of this ride. The build-up was uninspiring, as we cycled along some ugly main roads with fast suburban traffic. After about 10 miles of that, we turned onto a narrow residential street and began the first climb up a small mountain. The climb began suddenly, and, being out of sight from the main road, there were no visual cues that allowed me to psychologically prepare for it. We turned the corner, and bang! - the very turn itself was already the beginning of a steep, twisty hill. The narrow road wound around the mountain instead of going directly up it, so there was no way to see what was around the bend. Would it get steeper or let up a bit? And how much longer to the top? Not knowing this drained my self-confidence and increased my anxiety tenfold. In addition, there were potholes the size of craters, and I had to zig-zag gingerly around them as I climbed.

My bicycle is geared fairly high (52x39t in the front and 12-26t in the rear), but still I did not expect to max out my gears quite so early on. Click-click-click! Click! And I was done. From that point onward there was no spinning, only pushing, and I still had most of the hill ahead of me. So I pushed on the pedals and heaved myself forward in jolts.

Promptly, my body began to rebel. A pain shot up straight to my right temple, so intense that it clouded my vision. I had a strong urge to throw up. My leg muscles felt as if someone was injecting them with acid. Somervillain was way up ahead of me and around the next bend. I felt intense shame at being so hopelessly terrible at this, even after all the rides I've done to build up to it. I did not see how I could possibly keep going at this rate, and only a stupid, primitive sense of pride kept me pushing. Thoughts such as "Do not stop the bike!" and "Like hell you're going to walk!" were the only things circulating in my otherwise empty mind.

At the top I felt nothing. No elation, no sense of accomplishment. Maybe some anger at my naivite ("You needed to do this, did you? Racers describe this ride as "infamous" and you decided this meant it was suitable for you?"), but otherwise nothing. I drank water and looked around blankly for Somervillain. Somehow I'd managed to lose him. Could he have taken a different side street to descend? I cycled around the maze of streets along the side of the mountain, climbing some smaller hills for no reason other than to keep warm. I was now shaking violently. Then it occurred to me that we both had phones. I phoned, he picked up immediately, we realised what had happened to separate us and agreed to meet back at the base of the hill. It was pretty apparent to me that I could not continue the ride, and he could hear it in my voice as well. I cycled down to meet him with my head hung low and my face a deep crimson.

I am not entirely sure how we ended up repeating the climb (yes, you read that correctly). I think it may have started out as a suggestion in jest. But long story short, we climbed the same hill again. Oddly it went easier the second time around, despite my utter sense of depletion. Maybe knowing what to expect made it easier. Once again I maxed out my gears and pushed myself up in jolts the whole way, but with a clearer sense of when to expect an end to the hellish ordeal. In the last stretch, my breaths were coming out in audible heaves: Hee! Haw! Not unlike the sound of a tortured donkey. And then again it was over. At the top we stopped in a parking lot behind a small, shabby water tower. I tried to eat a piece of an energy bar, but nearly threw it up. I did drink more water and kept that down. My hands were trembling. We agreed that we were done for now: descend carefully, then back to Somerville. Two difficult climbs was not so bad given my lack of experience.

Cycling home, we transitioned to the Minuteman Trail and enjoyed the glorious sunshine. We chatted casually about this and that and began to contemplate where would be the best place to stop for coffee.

And then I opened my mouth and said: "You know what? I am not tired anymore. This always happens, I begin to feel more energetic at the end of a ride."

And he said: "Oh yeah? Do you feel like going back and doing the last climb of the route then? We have time before I need to be at work."

And I said... Well, what could I say. I couldn't exactly back out of it at that point! So we rode to Arlington Heights for the last climb.

This climb was very different and I am so glad I did it. It was a big, open road that went straight up instead of winding, and I could see exactly how far it was to the top. It was a steep climb of about a mile and again I maxed out my gears fairly early on, but somehow it was just a more rewarding experience. This road had nice scenery and a more pleasant atmosphere; I just felt better riding there despite the same horrible pain in my legs and the same shortness of breath. Seeing that I had about a mile of this ahead of me, I somehow "settled into" the climb and relaxed. The entire time I was thinking "Oh my God, am I actually... enjoying this?" Somervillain was way ahead of me of course, so I had no illusions about my speed. When he stopped at the top and turned around to check how I was doing, I gave a thumbs up and smiled.

Upon reaching the top, I was delighted by the sight of a beautiful stone water tower surrounded by a small park. I had never been here before, and it's always nice to discover a new scenic spot. Suddenly, everything began to seem okay, even funny. It wasn't so bad. I really should have done the middle two climbs of the route instead of bailing so early on. To make me feel better, Somervillain pointed out that we'd really done more like 3 out of 4 climbs, since we did the first one twice. Plus we'd cycled 30 miles over all. Let's call it a modified route. After taking some pictures, we descended down a monstrous hill with a view of the Boston skyline, climbed another short but steep hill, and then cycled home for real with a quick coffee before parting ways.

On my way home I stopped by the Co-Habitant's office to say hello. He laughed and said I was incoherent, clearly still coming down from a post-cycling high ("and then... and then... there was a TOWER! And I almost gave up, but... tower!")

Sigh. I guess I should be grateful that even in my 30s I can enjoy the little things. I am pretty terrible at this roadcycling stuff, especially hills. But God, I love it anyway. We'll be doing this ride again. And thank you, Somervillain!

The Virtues of Versatility

2011-12-20T06:27:00.004-05:00

For a couple of months now I've been riding only one bicycle for transportation instead of switching between several, and I've got to say that I like it. Not only that, but I am realising that strictly speaking, the others I own are not really necessary, as this one is sufficiently versatile to do everything I need. I've never felt this way toward another transport bicycle before, which is why I've always had multiples: at the very least one IGH bike for local errands and winter cycling, and a lighter, derailleur-geared bike for long distance trips with hills. But now that division of labor is no longer neeeded.

The bicycle I am riding is a modified Bella Ciao Donna that I finally have all to myself again after it served as a guinea pig for a project I was working on. It is not perfect at everything. My other transport bike is a vintage Gazelle and it's a cushier, more luxurious ride with greater carrying capacity. I also have a Royal H mixte that is faster, lighter weight, easier uphill, and equipped with better lighting. But the Gazelle cannot be ridden long distances efficiently. And the mixte cannot be ridden in the winter, plus the frame can be a pain to mount and dismount in some outfits. Neither of the two would work as an "only bike." But the Bella Ciao can handle long distances, does a decent job of tackling hills, is suitable for winter, and accommodates any outfit. The 3-speed drivetrain keeps things simple. The powdercoat and chaincase keep it maintenance-free. The handling has a distinctly vintage feel that is not for everyone, but works well for me. Sure I've wished for more cush over potholes, more cargo capacity and more gears while riding this bike. But I can count on one hand the number of times that has happened over the past two months.

Versatility is not an exciting characteristic, because it implies compromise. "Jack of all trades, master of none" sort of thing. But I guess for transportation cycling I am finding that the jack of all trades is winning me over - at least for the time being. More than anything, I think the trick is finding that sweet spot of a bike - what one person considers versatile may not be sufficiently versatile for another. But if you do find one that does it for you, it can be such a relief! Getting around on the same bike regardless of destination has simplified my life considerably, giving me a new appreciation for versatility.

Scaring Away the Cold with a Balaclava

2011-12-19T00:55:00.013-05:00

Of all the winter cycling accessories out there, none can match the formidable powers of the balaclava. I daresay few garments will make a "cycle chic" photographer withdraw his camera faster. And what other article of clothing is capable of striking fear into bank tellers? As universally unflattering as it is terrifying, the balaclava is not an item one would purchase casually. You've got to get to the point where you really, really need it. For me that point came one December morning. As I pedaled my roadbike against a brutal headwind with temperatures in the 30s, I felt ready to give the dreaded balaclava a try. The one you see here is from Ibex, sent to me for review.

Broadly speaking, a balaclava is a garment that covers the entire head and neck in order to protect the wearer from the cold, exposing only small parts of the face. The Ibex balaclava has an opening for the eyes and nose, but covers the mouth completely. It is form-fitting, closely hugging the contours of the back of the skull, browbone and cheekbones. It is made in the USA of soft and lightweight merino wool (18.5 micron) with flat seams, one size fits all.

My interest in a balaclava is specific to roadcycling. Going at speeds of over 20mph in a leaned-forward position, my face takes the brunt of the harsh winter wind and this can feel extremely uncomfortable. The close fit of the Ibex balaclava is an advantage here: the opening is so tight that it feels almost elasticised; wind does not enter through it while cycling at high speeds. The thin fabric and close fit also make it comfortable to wear under a road helmet when I don one for organised rides: There is no bunching up or slippage. I would say that Ibex's take on the balaclava is designed for athletic activities, such as skiing and winter cycling, rather than for casual wear. Everything stays in its place, and the technical merino fabric forms a tightly woven layer of protection against the wind that feels feather-light and pleasant against the skin.

The inevitable downside of such a precise and form-fitting design, is that there is no versatility in how this garment can be worn. While in some balaclavas the lower portion can be stretched down to expose the mouth or pulled up to cover everything but the eyes, this is not possible with the Ibex version. In order to expose my mouth, I have to stretch the opening forcefully and as soon as I let go my mouth is again covered. Likewise, covering the nose would not be possible. For me that is probably a good thing, because covering my nose with fabric in the past felt constricting and uncomfortable. Even having my mouth covered feels somewhat restrictive and will take some getting used to.

Like most balaclavas, this one is profoundly unflattering - particularly to a face like mine, that becomes all nose and eyebrows once the other features are hidden. So if you're going to rock this, you basically have to not give a straw about how you look for the time being. Also, consider that drivers will be seeing less of your facial features and hair, which, in theory, could interfere with them fully processing you as a real, vulnerable human.

I am not sure yet whether I will be keeping the Ibex balaclava. Current retail price is $30, and I consider that a good deal for a US-made 100% merino product. As a roadcycling-specific garment I think it works well, but the sensation of having my mouth covered might just be out of my comfort zone. Have you worn a balaclava for cycling in the winter? Your thoughts, experiences, and recommendations appreciated.

Seatpost Setback and Related Matters

2011-12-18T00:26:00.008-05:00

A couple of days ago I replaced the seatpost on my Rivendell Sam Hillborne with one that has zero setback, and the change has been interesting. Before I go any further, I will warn you that this is a continuation of the long top tube post. So if that one gave you a headache, please stop reading now and save your sanity! Or, continue at your own risk.

For those new to the concept of setback, seatposts come with different amounts of it. One of the things the setback does is move the saddle clamp back, thus altering a bike's effective seat tube angle. Say your bicycle frame has a 74° seat tube, and you buy a seatpost with 2cm of setback. Unless you counteract the setback by moving the saddle forward along the rails, your bicycle's effective seat tube angle will be 2° slacker, making it more like 72°. And you can make it slacker still by pushing the saddle further backward. By contrast, a seatpost that goes straight up with no setback leaves your frame's natural seat tube angle unaltered. Seat tubes today tend to be steep, so it is rare that anybody wants to make them steeper still. But with a zero-setback seatpost, it is possible to make the effective angle a bit steeper by pushing the saddle forward on the rails.

The other factor influenced by a seatpost's setback is the reach from saddle to handlebars. The more setback a seatpost has, the further the saddle moves away from the handlebars. Here it is worth noting that bicycle fit experts typically warn against messing with seatpost setback and saddle positioning in order to alter reach. Instead it is advised that one's saddle position preference should be fixed in relation to the bottom bracket. At least that is my understanding.

Getting back to my bike, it has a 52cm seat tube and a 57.5cm top tube - the latter being unusually long given the former. Additionally, it has a 71.5° seat tube angle, which is atypically slack. In previous posts I explained that when I ride this bicycle, I feel as if my body is not sufficiently forward. The long top tube will not allow me to fit the bike with a stem longer than 7cm, and the slack seat tube puts me further back still.

Originally the bike was built up with a seatpost with generous setback, making the effective seat tube angle even slacker than its natural 71.5°. Eventually I replaced it with a seatpost that had only minimal setback, but even that did not feel as if I were sufficiently forward. I was reluctant to go with a zero-setback seatpost, because everyone I spoke to acted horrified by the idea. "Zero setback? What are you trying to do, turn it into a racing bike?" However, after the "long top tube" post I came to the conclusion that a zero setback seatpost is the most obvious solution. Far from making the bike "racy," it would simply continue the frame's already slack seat tube angle without slackening it further. Or, I could move the saddle a tiny bit forward and make the effective seat tube angle a rather normal 73° (as it is on my other two bicycles with drop bars). So, that is exactly what I did.

The welcome side-effect of the new saddle position is that the long top tube problem seems to be resolved. My reach has been reduced considerably and I can get a longer stem if I want. But even with the current stem I already feel myself positioned significantly more forward on the bike than before. The subjective sensation of this is greater than I would have predicted: I feel more in control over the steering, and I feel that the bicycle is distinctly faster to accelerate and to start from a stop. Although visually the saddle comes across as being too far forward now, its relationship to the bottom bracket is actually quite normal for a roadbike (off-the-shelf road frames in my size typically have 74-75° seat tube angles). I need to take the bicycle on a longer ride before I can say more, but I think this setup may be just the thing.

It's been exactly two years since I received the Sam Hillborne frame as a holiday gift, and this bicycle has given me over 2,000 happy miles. I've changed a lot as a cyclist over this time and the Sam's frame is quirkier than I initially realised. But I am going to try and make it work for me - hopefully learning a thing or two in the process.

This and That

2011-12-17T00:09:00.006-05:00

You can get with this

or you can get with that

Sometimes I wear a helmet

sometimes I wear a hat

Sometimes I work from home
with my lovely assistants

Sometimes I go on rides
in the cold wearing mittens

Sometimes I ride with others
sometimes I ride alone

Taking wacky pictures
with my camera phone

meeting nice people

eating hot soup

climbing hills along the
Concord-Lexington loop

Now let's all get cozy
with a warm cup of java

Or how about a crazy
wool balaclava?

Enjoy your weekend
and the beauty outside

No matter what you're into
it's time for a ride!

What's Your Urban Speed Limit?

2011-12-16T07:59:00.003-05:00

When I ride through parts of town with chaotic car and pedestrian traffic, I find that I need to limit my speed in order for my reaction time to be adequate. I told this to another cyclist one time and he laughed: "But the speed limit is 20mph here! You can do 20 and still be fine." But I don't believe that's accurate. Maybe a car can do 20 and be fine, but their braking system works differently. A driver is unlikely to flip their vehicle over if they brake suddenly at 20mph, but a cyclist is quite likely to either go over the handlebars or be unable to come to a complete stop quickly enough.

Some hold the theory that instead of braking, the urban cyclist should be quick to accelerate so that they can go around swerving cars and leaping pedestrians. But that isn't always possible. Earlier this week during the holiday shopping rush, I found myself in a situation where I was basically trapped between several moving objects simultaneously and had no choice but to slam the brakes: Two car doors in a row swung open ahead to my right while, at the exact same time, a pedestrian jumped into my line of travel (which was out of the door zone). I could not swerve right because of the car doors, I could not swerve left because of the moving cars in the travel lane, and I could not continue straight because of the pedestrian. Within milliseconds, I had to come to a complete stop.

Over time I have determined that my self-imposed "speed limit" when cycling through areas where such situations are possible needs to be 12mph at most. Any faster than that, and I cannot guarantee that I can come to an immediate stop safely. Do you have an urban speed limit?

Why Carry Tools I Can't Use?

2011-12-15T13:21:00.013-05:00

In a recent post I wrote that, when roadcycling, I've come to prefer carrying just the bare minimum that fits in my jersey pockets instead of a full-fledged saddlebag or handlebar bag - as the latter I inevitably tend to overpack, ending up with a 30lb+ bike before I know it. However, I neglected to mention an object that is so small and unobtrusive that I basically think of it as part of the bike and forget it is even there: my saddle wedge tool pack.

Mine is the small waterproof "Pak" by Fizik. It was put together by the Ride Studio Cafe and included with the Seven I had on loan last summer. When I returned the bike, I bought the bag from them and now use it on my own roadbike. A mere 5"x2.5"x2.5" it fits snugly underneath a narrow road saddle. It contains a set amount of objects and won't fit anything else, so there is no danger of overpacking it and weighing the bike down.

Inside the tiny bag is a folding allen tool, a spare inner tube, 2 tire irons and an air cartridge - just enough to take care of one flat tire and any mechanical problem that can be fixed with a 1.5mm-6mm hex wrench.

Of course, it helps to be able to use those tools. If you've been reading this blog for some time, you know that I am unable to do most of my own repairs. I know how to do them, but have nerve damage in my hands and lack the hand strength and fine motor control to physically do them. I can't open the quick releases on most wheelsets, it takes me a good half hour to get a tire seated on a rim even in the best case scenario, and turning an allen key with sufficient force is out of the question. Keeping in mind these limitations, I always check my bike thoroughly before leaving the house, use tires with puncture protection, know where the nearest bike shops are, and have cash and a phone in my jersey in case I get stranded in the middle of nowhere and need to call a taxi (for the record, the number of times that has happened so far has been zero).

So why carry tools if I can't use them? Because that way, others can help. When cycling alone, it would not be the end of the world to take a taxi home if my bike breaks down. But when cycling with another person, my mechanical malfunction can ruin their day as well. Last week I met up with another cyclist for a ride, and en route I noticed with horror that my front brake caliper had gotten misaligned, so that the left brake pad was rubbing the rim. I was unable to fix it myself, but I had the allen tool in my saddle wedge and my riding partner (who was not carrying her own tools that day) fixed it in 2 minutes. Having that tool pack made all the difference between doing the ride vs both of us having to go home.

I am of the school of thought that cyclists should not be shamed for being unable to do their own repairs. Not everyone can. But having a tiny tool pack permanently attached to my roadbike can at least make it possible for a more mechanically inclined cyclist to help me out, should the situation call for it.

Have you had mechanical malfunctions while out on your roadbike, and were you carrying any tools? If yes, were they helpful?

The Bobbin Birdie Lands in America!

2011-12-14T13:26:00.015-05:00

It was back in September at Interbike that I first saw Bobbin bicycles in person and learned that they would soon be available in the USA. Excited by these news, I talked to the distributor and they've now sent a demo model to Harris Cyclery, inviting my feedback. This week I finally had a chance to ride and photograph the bicycle.

Bobbin Bicycles started out as a traditional bike shop in London (humbly advertised as "the most beautiful bicycle shop in Britain"), then developed a house brand of its own, eventually evolving into a full fledged bike manufacturer offering a range of models and accessories. I have followed these developments with interest, and it isn't difficult to see why the brand appeals to me: In their own words, "Bobbin reinvents romantic notions of traditional upright bicycles and makes them relevant to modern life." They are also quite budget-conscious, aiming to be affordable for the student and young professional. Oh and the loop frame models are lugged. I was very much looking forward to trying a Bobbin.

The model I received is the Birdie, in red. It's a lugged steel 3-speed with 26" wheels, rim brakes, fenders, a partially enclosed chain, a kickstand, and a rear rack. While Bobbin does offer bicycles equipped with a fully enclosed chaincase and hub brakes, the Birdie is presented as a more paired down, "jaunty" model. The frame is described as a combination of hi-ten and cro-moly tubing, made in Taiwan. The weight is 37lb as shown. The paint is liquid coat, applied via a multi-stage dipping and curing process that includes rust-proofing.

To my relief and delight, the Birdie frame is indeed fully lugged.

Head tube lugs.

Seat cluster.

Bottom bracket.

Loop to seat tube connection.

Fork crown. Bobbin are not trying to reinvent the wheel with this bicycle: It is basically a remake of a vintage 3-speed circa the 1950s-70s, made somewhat lighter with the help of modern tubing and components.

The classically-shaped rear rack is nicely integrated with the rest of the bicycle, painted body colour. The rack's tubing is not oversized and will accommodate a variety of modern pannier systems.

There are tiny plastic mudflaps on the front and rear fenders.

The partial chaincase encloses the chainring and the upper portion of the chain.

The rubber-footed kickstand is sufficiently sturdy.

The handlebars are a contemporary version of North Roads, set up with classic city brake levers, a Sturmey Archer 3-speed shifter, and not at all unattractive pleather(?) grips.

The sprung padded vinyl saddle matches the grips in colour.

A Sturmey Archer 3-speed (non-coasterbrake) hub powers the gearing.

This bicycle photographs extremely well, with the glossy red paint and the classic lines lending a "glamour shot" vibe to the images. In person it comes across as more subdued. My first impressions were of its relatively light weight and subjective "smallishness." The 26" wheels, thin frame tubing and bright paintjob made it look almost like a children's bike and I felt as if I were handling a toy, which was actually kind of fun. But the size (19" frame) felt like a good fit.

I tested for toe overlap and was glad to discover that there was no chance of it. Then I rode the Birdie for about 5 miles on mildly hilly suburban roads with car traffic. This has become my standard distance and terrain for test riding upright city bicycles, and I think it is representative of how such bikes tend to be ridden in real-life circumstances in the US.

Riding the Bobbin Birdie, I found the manufacturer's term "jaunty" to be apt. This is not a sluggish bike; it feels light and zippy. It accelerates and retains momentum nicely. Mild hills were not a problem. The gearing felt just right: not too high and not too low. The bike felt stable and tame enough for a beginner; not twitchy at all. Compared to a Dutch bike, the ride quality was on the harsh side, but I say the same about most city bikes that aren't fitted with balloon tires.

Speaking of tires, I do not care for the ones on the Birdie. I have no good explanation for this, other than that they felt a bit "cheap" and narrower than the described 35mm. Replacing them with nicer tires should be easy enough. I have a feeling that a pair of Schwalbe Delta Cruisers would improve the ride quality as well.

Overall, the Birde was a fun and very "normal" ride; nothing about the bike's handling frustrated me or struck me as being off. Speaking more generally, I think for the price ($650 retail at the moment), this is a good deal. For all those who have been pining for an affordable fully lugged bicycle, here it is. It looks to be decently made, uses solid components, handles well, has no toe overlap, includes a sizeable rear rack, and is not bad looking to boot. The absence of integrated lighting should be noted. And the rim brakes could be a concern if you live in an area where it snows in winter and plan to ride the bike year-round. But as far as the basic character of the bike and its ability to transport the cyclist's belongings, the Bobbin Birdie works for me.

Bobbin's full line of city bicycles will soon be available in shops across the US and Canada, and those interested should check with the distributor for stock lists. If you are local to the Boston area, the specific bicycle pictured here is available for test rides at Harris Cyclery in West Newton, MA. I plan to ride it at least once again - when it starts snowing - and will post an update on how it handles in winter conditions. If you happen to already own a Bobbin, please do share your impressions.

Bells Are Ringing, Car Doors Flinging... Holiday Time in the City

2011-12-13T10:30:00.014-05:00

Just as I start to think of myself as a seasoned transportation cyclist, something happens to throw me off my game. Yesterday I had one of the most stressful rides ever. It was a 10 mile route out to the suburbs that passed through several town centers. Despite it being the middle of a work day, traffic was unbelievable and I kept trying to figure out what was going on. Then it hit me (almost literally - as two car doors swung open simultaneously directly in front of me and a pedestrian jumped into my out-of-the-doorzone line of travel at the exact same moment): It's holiday shopping time and people are on their lunch breaks.

Don't get me wrong: I am glad to see so many shoppers patronising establishments in their local town centers instead of going to the mall or shopping online. I've heard campaigns on the radio promoting local holiday shopping, and I am certain that I am seeing more of this trend now than in previous years. The lively community feeling seems to be returning to places where it had been absent for years; it's fantastic. But assuming that most of the holiday shoppers are indeed local (why else would they visit tiny stores selling things like bespoke stationery, knitting yarn, baby clothing, and jewelry crafted by women who teach at the local arts center?) it is ironic that they choose to drive. Parking alone must eat up a good portion of their lunch hour, which probably explains why they run in and out of the shops like mad, swing open their car doors without looking, then shout in irritation at cyclists like me merely for being there and almost getting killed by them. They would probably be happier if they walked, as would the rest of us. I know that some town centers have considered banning parking or car traffic during peak shopping times, but there is resistance from business owners - who believe this will deprive them of customers.

Anyhow, I write this not so much to complain, as to warn those who are new to cycling during the holiday rush: Be careful out there and take alternative routes if possible. After almost getting doored for the nth time, finally switching to a trail for the last portion of my return trip was a welcome relief. Peace and quiet and dirt and gravel and no swinging car doors: I'll have that on the rocks, please. And I'll walk or ride to do my holiday shopping.

How Do You Choose a Winter Bike?

2011-12-12T00:08:00.017-05:00

With the snow bound to arrive any week now, I am hearing local cyclists talk about "winter bikes" again. Before my first winter of cycling, the very notion surprised me. You're supposed to ride a different bike in the winter than you do during the rest of the year? why?? But then I understood that not everyone's transportation bicycle is a "tank" that is already winter-proof. Some bikes are more suitable for winter conditions than others. And while there is no one bicycle that is universally considered to be the ideal winter bike, there are certain characteristics most cyclists would probably agree are beneficial for winter commuting in snowy climates:

Stability: One reason the number of cyclists decreases so dramatically in the winter, is that cycling on ice and snow is scary. On the right bike, it is much less so. A winter bicycle should handle well on slippery, snowy, muddy and plow-ravaged winter roads. City bicycles and mountain bikes tend to do best in this respect. Those who commute on aggressive bikes during the warmer months may prefer a more relaxed and more upright bike for winter, with wider tires. If there is a great deal of snow where you live, studded tires could be a good idea, or at least knobby tires. Tame, predictable handling becomes much more important than speed in the winter months. Stepover is another factor to consider. A slippery road surface can make it easier to lose one's balance when mounting and dismounting a bike, and even those who normally ride diamond frames might prefer their winter bike to have a step-though frame or a sloping top tube.

Reliability: Related to the above, it is important that the bicycle's crucial functions - in particular, braking power and shifting ability - are not compromised by winter conditions. Rim brakes and derailleur gears can function poorly (or not at all) if clogged with snow or frozen over, which is why many prefer for their winter commuter to have enclosed hub brakes and hub (or single speed) gearing.

Durability: Understandably, cyclists may not want to expose their nice bikes to freezing temperatures and road salt, for fear that doing so might damage the frame and components. This is why some recommend getting a "beater bike" for the winter. Personally I am uncomfortable with this advice, because a beater bike is unlikely to be reliable (see above). The approach I prefer is to get a bike that is not vulnerable to the elements in the first place. A tough paintjob, stainless and aluminum components where possible, hub gears and a chaincase should get your bike through the winter relatively unscathed with little maintenance.

Visibility: Not only does it get dark much earlier in the winter months, but snowfall can further decrease visibility - making good lighting more crucial than ever.

Presentability: Just because it's winter, does not mean that we are no longer expected to look presentable at work. With road conditions messier than ever, it is important that a winter bicycle be equipped with features that protect the cyclist's clothing: full fenders, and ideally a chaincase or chainguard.

Taken together, these features suggest a number of candidates that could work especially well as winter bikes. If buying new, fully equipped classic city bikes are worth looking into: They already offer hub gears, hub brakes, a full chaincase, a resilient powdercoated frame, stable handling, generous fenders and reasonably wide tires. Recently I wrote about city bikes with mountain bike heritage, which might be particularly appropriate due to their super-stable handling. For those who prefer to put a bike together from scratch, frames with horizontal dropouts (suitable for hub and single speed conversion) and clearances for reasonably wide tires are now easily available from a number of manufacturers: Soma, Surly, Rawland, Rivendell, Salsa and Velo Orange are just a few that come to mind. For extreme conditions there are even all-terrain models that will fit monstrously wide tires, such as the Surly Pugsley and Moonlander, and the Salsa Mukluk. If you prefer to refurbish a used bicycle, an old mountain bike converted to a single speed and fitted with some upright handlebars could work nicely. Same with a vintage 3-speed, fitted with a modern wheelset with hub brakes.

It goes without saying that not everything mentioned here will be applicable to every cyclist who reads this. The kind of winter bike that is ideal for you will depend on everything from the harshness of your winters, to the character of your route, to your bike handling skills, to your bike storage situation, to the amount of time you are willing to devote to bike maintenance, and to the type of clothing you wear when cycling for transportation. Your current bike may already be a winter bike, either as is or with minor modifications. Or you may need to get an additional bike specifically for winter cycling. My own preference gravitates toward classic city bicycles, and those I've owned have made great winter bikes. But I've been increasingly curious to try a mountain bike with knobby tires and see how that compares. If you have anything to add, that would be most welcome and appreciated. What is your idea of a winter bike?

Quiet Winter Mornings

2011-12-10T10:00:00.005-05:00

Riding a comfy fixed gear roadbike on a crisp December day, I realise that I know few better ways to achieve the feeling of all being right with the world. Something about the rhythmic motion of my legs and that perfect "wheels go round and round" sensation of fixed gear, just seems to make my body happy. I don't ride very fast and Mercy Anne is an even-tempered bike; a bike that does not demand I push myself but is happy to adjust to my mood.

I have been trying to get into the habit of riding earlier in the morning. There is almost no traffic getting out of town, and for a little while I enjoy the illusion that the streets belong to me. The sun shines weakly at first. The frost on the grass casts a bluish tint over the landscape. It is freezing and I can see my breath in front of me. I try to keep my mouth closed as I breathe. My eyes are tearing up and I remind myself to wear sunglasses next time. I wear two layers of medium-weight technical wool and a windproof jacket, finally having "gotten" how to dress for winter after 2 years. Still, brrr!

And then, almost all at once, it feels as if nature turns up the thermostat. Is it me, having gotten warmed up, or has it actually grown warmer? I look and suddenly there is no more frost on the grass. Probably a bit of both. The sun has risen higher now, and shines a warm yellow. It is almost 9 in the morning. Time to head home .

Too Local? Not to Worry!

2011-12-09T00:04:00.016-05:00

Today I made the decision to do something new and exciting: to rent an art studio close to home. My current studio situation is kind of disjointed. I have a small painting studio in our apartment, and the Co-Habitant and I share a photography studio outside of Boston. Neither has been working out very well. I have a difficult time painting at home, often feeling stir-crazy and unable to focus. And the photo studio, while a great space in theory, takes so long to get to that we do not go there as much as we envisioned. Some restructuring is in order if we want to be more productive.

When I began to look for studio space, I was hoping for a moderate bicycle commute. A manageable distance would be key to maintaining a daily practice - especially in the winter when it gets unpleasant to cycle in the snow in traffic. Good studio spaces are pretty scarce around these parts, but I didn't want to settle for something so far away that I'd end up never going there. I looked around and didn't find much. Then suddenly a great space turned up a 10 minute ride from my house. That's almost too local!

But while the studio is close by, it is in a neighbourhood I do not normally venture to - separated from my neighbourhood by a great big hill. In fact, the entire trip is basically the hill: Both going there and coming back, the first portion of the ride I spent climbing and panting, taking care not to weave in front of moving cars. The second portion I spent descending - careful not to go too fast, as cars appeared out of nowhere. Oh boy. This is what awaits me every day, twice or more a day, in high traffic and on an upright city bike! Laden with a heavy pannier, my 3-speed climbed faithfully, maintaining a consistent line of travel. I did it, but I didn't like it. Hopefully I will get really strong in a couple of months without breaking my knees first. Of course I could also just walk; it's close enough... but what would be the fun in that?

Long Top Tubes and Drop Bars

2011-12-08T00:03:00.007-05:00

I was reading the Rivendell blog today, where Grant Petersen revealed a "mystery bike" that has been in the works for some time. It looks like this. And aside from the obvious oddities, it is endowed with an unusually long top tube for its size: a 62.5cm top tube on a 54.3cm frame. Apropos this geometry, Rivendell notes that the bicycle is "basically a flat-to-rolling land bike that, by virtue of it’s superlong top tube ...locks you into a sweeepyback bar." In other words, it would be difficult to set this bike up with drop bars due to the excessively long reach that would create.

This got me thinking again about my own Rivendell bicycle: a Sam Hillborne that is a 52cm frame with a 57.5cm top tube. That is also an unusually long top tube, given the frame size. Aside from the standover, the 52cm frame fits like a much larger one - possibly too large for someone of my stature to set up as a roadbike.

When I first got the bike, I could not ride with drop bars and so we did everything possible to ease me into it. The bike was built up with an extremely short stem (5cm) and the bars were set up considerably above saddle level. I rode it that way at first, gradually lowering the bars until finally they were level with the saddle. That felt fine for a while, and then came a time when I was ready for a longer stem (the 5cm was always meant to be temporary). The typical stem length for a roadbike is 9-11cm, but I soon understood that this range was out of the question given the long top tube - I would have to be lying down over the bike in order to reach the bars. So we replaced the 5cm stem with what we thought was an 8cm, but was actually a 7cm - and even that feels like a stretch. Now I find myself in bike fit purgatory: From the standpoint of how the bicycle handles, I feel as if I am not forward enough and would like a longer stem. But from the standpoint of reach, even the current stem is too long (and I have already shoved the saddle forward and replaced the seatpost with one that has as little setback as possible).

According to Rivendell's sizing guidelines I belong on a 52cm frame, if not larger. However, it seems to me now that these guidelines are optimised for setting the bicycle up with upright handlebars (even though they do not explicitly say that). Otherwise I do not know how to interpret the sizing.

Long top tubes are good for eliminating toe overlap. They are also ideal for fitting a bike with swept back handlebars, so that the bars don't hit your knees. But if you plan to set up a bicycle with drop bars at or below saddle level and use a standard length stem, a long top tube could be problematic - unless you have a long torso. If you own a Rivendell and have it set up as a roadbike, I would be interested in your take on this.

Single Speed Versatility?

2011-12-07T11:19:00.006-05:00

I've been test riding the Paper Bicycle for the past month, and as I've mentioned before it is a single speed. The gearing is pretty low: 38x17t, with 26x2.5" tires (about 60 gear inches). The bicycle is upright and it weighs around 37lb. Reading these specs, it would appear that the manufacturer geared the bike low to compensate for its weight and upright positioning, enabling the urban cyclist to handle hilly areas. In turn, it stands to reason that the bike cannot go very fast, assuming that one does not want to spin like mad while commuting: a sedate urban bike, where the single speed aims to make the uphill portion of the ride easy and assumes you will coast downhill.

However, my experience of actually riding the bike contradicts this. While the gearing is low enough to handle reasonable uphill stretches, I can also pedal downhill much of the time, and on flats I can pick up quite a bit of speed. Based on what I understand about single speed gearing, that seems implausible, and yet that's how it is.

This is not the first time I've noticed that the single speed drivetrains on some bikes can feel more "versatile" than multi-speed hubs on other bicycles I have ridden, in the sense that a single gear on Bike A can feel acceptable over a broader range of terrain than an entire 7-8 gear range on Bike B. The first time I felt this was when switching between the multi-speed Pashley and the single speed Motobecane mixte conversion, both of which I owned in 2009-2010. The Motobecane was easier uphill and faster downhill, whereas the Pashley's gears would max out in both directions. At the time I attributed this to the city bike vs roadish bike difference, but I have since experienced the same effect on bikes that were more comparable. For instance, when I test rode the Breezer Uptown, I arrived on the Paper Bicycle, then rode the 8-speed Breezer over the same terrain. I had to switch between the high and low gears of the Breezer's 8-speed range constantly in order to make the bike "move" as comfortably as the Paper Bicycle moved in its single gear. It was a poignant contrast, given that the weight and upright positioning of the two bikes are comparable. Others have reported similar experiences - discovering a single speed that was able to cover their commute as well as a multi-speed bike, but without the hassle of constantly switching gears. A single speed Abici has proven sufficient for Trisha of Let's Go Ride a Bike in Nashville, more so than her other, geared city bike.

Increasingly, there is a trend to put 7-8 speed hubs on city bikes. Some beginner cyclists I've spoken to won't even consider 3-speed hubs, let alone single speeds. They do not have exceptionally long or hilly commutes, but after test riding a couple of bikes they feel that multiple gears are necessary. It makes me wonder whether there is something about the way many new bikes are designed, that they simply do not respond well to the rider's pedaling effort and need all those gears to compensate. Is single speed versatility the flip side of the coin to hub inefficiency, or is it all about the frame design? I am far from having an answer, but this seems worth investigating. A single speed bike is easier to maintain and put together, and it is less expensive. If it's possible to design one that can handle mildly hilly terrain, why bother with multi-speed hubs and gear shifters?

The Face Behind Bikeyface

2011-12-06T11:32:00.018-05:00

It's not every day that one meets a cartoon character, let alone a bicycling cartoon character. And so imagine my delight upon learning that I live just minutes from one. Allow me to introduce: Bikeyface!

A sure cure for self-seriousness, Bikeyface is a weekly comic strip that offers a parallel universe where all the weird stuff we imagine but don't say out loud materialises in cartoon form. Rich in visual detail, manic undertones, and good old fashioned perversity, Bikeyface has charmed the bicycle blogging universe with unexpected gems like "Office Shower Politics", "Men in Skirts" and "Winter Beard."

The heroine of Bikeyface describes herself as a "common commuter" type - who wears "non-spandex" clothing, "inappropriate cycling footwear," a hounstooth patterned helmet, and a "bikey smile" as she pedals around greater Boston on her bike, Marlene Dietrich.

Occasionally she will don a cycling-themed accessory, such as this gear pendant (okay, so they're the wrong type of gears)...

...or a beard/muschachio balaclava, to compensate for her lack of facial hair on chilly winter commutes.

But who is Bikeyface really, the woman behind the cartoon and the knitted facial hair?

Well, all right: She is Bekka. She is a painter with a non-painterly dayjob, to which she commutes by bike. She lives in Somerville, MA. Before that she lived in LA and rode her bike there. And she is from New England originally.

The bike she currently rides is a tiny Surly Cross-Check in her favourite colour, which she got last summer and loves. It is called "Marlene Dietrich" because it is sultry and feminine, yet with a tomboyish edge. Of course. Other bikes she has owned have included an Electra Amsterdam and a couple of hybrids, but Marlene is the preferred ride - used for both commuting and long distance recreational cycling.

Of all the people I've met so far via the cycling blog connection, meeting Bekka has been my biggest "the worlds collide" type of experience. Besides living walking distance from one another, we discovered that we have some uncanny non-bikey things in common and spend more time talking about those than we do about cycling. It sometimes feels as if we are interacting as two different sets of people: the real us, with our bikey alter egos hovering in the background. We've talked a little about identity - how we both come across differently on our blogs than we do in person, and how people react to that difference when they meet us. Whereas Bikeyface is a perky, mischievous and boisterous character, in person Bekka is subtle and analytical, and rather difficult to characterise. Visually, she is striking: A soft and delicate face with enormous, unusually shaped blue eyes - the type of face that belongs in a 1930s French film and not so much in a 21st century bike cartoon. I would certainly like to paint her some time, as herself.

In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy Bikeyface and invite you to do the same. The strip normally comes out every Wednesday morning and is certain to brighten up your day.

Falling for Fillets

2011-12-04T22:11:00.013-05:00

This morning I ran into Nao Tomii - a Boston area sculptor, bicycle component manufacturer, and recently launched framebuilder. I was excited to see that the roadbike he had been building for himself was now finished: There he was, riding it... in a matching outfit!

Tomii frames are fillet-brazed - a process I've been intrigued by after watching Ian Sutton building Icarus frames in the same workshop occupied by Bryan of Royal H. Cycles. Nao learned fillet brazing from Ian and began making his own frames this year.

Fillet brazing (pronounced kind of like "fill-it") is a lugless method of joining steel tubes together using a heated filler material. The construction, as far as I understand, has the strength of lugged steel. The look is absolutely unique: seamless and "liquidy." Whereas lugs create interruptions at the joints and welds create visible seams, fillets give the impression of one tube flowing into another. There is no beginning or end to the joint and the effect is mesmerising.

It almost looks as if the frame is sculpted, which makes it easy to understand how this particular method would appeal to a sculptor.

To my eye, the streamlined look of the joints lends itself especially well to road/racing bikes - reinforcing the idea that they are light, unencumbered, fast. And on this particular bicycle, this is further reinforced by the "airy" colour.

Lilac-gray and white -

- with strategically placed powder-blue accents (an excellent paint job by Circle A).

The "lighter than air" effect is a clever way to suggest racy qualities without resorting to a traditionally aggressive colour scheme, like bright red. I love it and would like something similar should I ever have a road/racing frame built from scratch, or an old frame repainted.

The pewter headbadge, handmade by Nao, adds just a bit of flourish as the finishing touch to an otherwise minimalist frame. Sigh, I love it. This bicycle is just so perfectly elegant and tasteful.

Nao's frame is what I would consider my size, very similar to my Moser. I rode it in the parking lot very briefly, but would need to lower the saddle a tad and attach my own pedals in order to try it properly. The bike does not have toe overlap, proving once more that this can indeed be achieved with small frames. I look forward to seeing more of Nao's thoughtful and beautiful work in the future. If you'd like to inquire about a frame, his email address is posted here.

What is your take on fillet-brazing? anyone a fan, or own a fillet-brazed bicycle? A labor-intensive process that - when done well - delivers a flawless finish, it is the choice of some of the best custom builders.

Just When I Thought I Was Out...

2011-12-03T02:01:00.016-05:00

I had come to terms with my road cycling days being over for the season. The New England Bicycle Club women's rides ended with the summer. I no longer had a fast roadbike in my possession. The days grew short, reducing precious daylight hours. And it snowed in October. I was content fitting in a quick fixed gear ride here and there. Soon winter would start in earnest and take that away from me as well. And I was okay with that, I thought; I was ready.

But boy, was I lying to myself. Putting together the Moser this late in the Fall, I planned to take it on a couple of test rides, then put it on the trainer. But the bike's dynamite handling snapped me out of my "waiting for winter" stupor and made me want to ride, ride, ride. Somehow I found the time despite the limited daylight, and still I wanted more.

I knew that the Ride Studio Cafe had recently started offering a weekly Women's Ride, which they planned to continue for as long as the weather permitted. Their mixed gender rides have a reputation for being tougher than described, so I never worked up the courage to join those over the summer. Would the women's rides be more accessible? I was nervous, but ultimately felt that I had no choice: my bike was demanding to go. Can't argue with a bike.

I arrived early to have some coffee and take a break from riding to the ride itself. A few minutes later another woman walked in. Gosh, she looked familiar. We said hello and she introduced herself as Pamela. I realised that she was Pamela Blalock - a rather famous New England cyclist, who has done Paris-Brest-Paris and cycled up Mt. Washington multiple times. Suddenly I had doubts that I belonged on this ride. But I tried to keep calm, curiosity overcoming my fear of riding with serious cyclists.

It helped that I already knew the ride leader, Patria (shown here as Wonderwoman on Halloween). A strong cyclist with a road racing background, she also has a talent for putting people at ease - handy when dealing with neurotics like me. Two other women arrived, making it five of us in total. Shrugging off the morning chill, we set off on a very similar route to the one I had gotten accustomed to on the NEBC paceline rides. The ride itself however, was entirely different.

For one thing, it was not a paceline ride but more of a social ride. We rode in pairs or clusters and talked the entire time, as opposed to cycling in a tight single-file procession while listening to the leader's instructions. I am unaccustomed to (and fearful of!) this more social kind of group ride, but got used to it fairly quickly. I noticed that I am a lot more comfortable riding side by side with another cyclist in close proximity than I used to be. Our abilities were all over the spectrum, which kept the pace of the ride manageable. Each of our bikes was different as well: steel, titanium, aluminum and carbon fiber were all represented, as were different type of shifter setups.

The funny thing is that I don't have much of a memory of the ride itself, since all of it was spent in conversation. The miles rolled by quickly and the weather was ridiculously gorgeous for the first day of December. In the end I wanted more, which is always a good note on which to end an activity. I am now debating whether to attempt the RSC mixed gender ride, or to leave well enough alone and stick to the women's rides.

I have an annoying tendency to get overexcited about things that I enjoy doing, and I know I am setting myself up for a terrific let-down if I get all roadcycling-crazy again and then bang, it starts snowing. But gosh, I can't help it - I want to ride!

How Much to Carry on a Ride?

2011-12-02T12:45:00.005-05:00

When riding for sport or recreation, I've noticed that the amount of stuff I feel that I "need" to bring along is not only subjective, but dictated by my bike's setup. When my bicycle is set up with a handlebar or saddlebag, that bag inevitably ends up filled with things I am convinced I need. What if it rains? Let me just stuff a jacket in there. And a sweater in case I misjudge the temperature. What if I get hungry? Pack some food just in case. Why not stop to take pictures? In goes the DSLR camera. And maybe a book in case I stop for coffee. By the time I am done, the bag is bulging with all the things I "need" for the ride.

And yet when riding a roadbike without any kind of bag attached, I somehow manage to make do with my jersey pockets: Keys, phone, money. Done. Leave. Ride. Even when the morning starts out cold and I end up removing layers of clothing toward the end, I can usually just stuff them in one of the pockets (that's a wool long sleeve tee sticking out of the left one and a pair of gloves in the center). I can keep surprisingly large food items in there as well - riding with a banana or an apple in a jersey pocket has not been a problem.

There is a point of view among cyclists that a bulky saddlebag or handlebar bag on anything shorter than a daylong ride is an affectation and an unnecessary handicap. There is also the opposite point of view - that riding without a fully packed bag is akin to being unprepared and irresponsible. I can sort of relate to both ways of looking at it, depending on the mood I am in. A year ago, I felt "safer" with a bag even if I did not need it, but now I prefer to carry as little as possible. If I want to focus on the cycling, I take only what fits in my jersey pockets. If I am using my bike to explore photographic locations then a bag is a must, but I try my best not to overpack it.

How much do you carry with you on a ride and has this changed with your riding style?

Discussing Our Bodies in Mixed Company

2011-12-01T00:10:00.004-05:00

image via kaputniq

Yesterday I came across a series of delightfully entertaining illustrations by kaputniq, modeled after a Victorian instruction manual for lady cyclists. "Women Wheelers! Don't say 'Feel my muscle,'" warns one. "Don't ask 'Do you like my bloomers?'" admonishes another. While things have changed since Victorian times, in some ways maybe not so much. When I wrote a post on female saddle discomfort some time ago, I received comments and emails from male readers indicating that they were made uncomfortable by the topic. To a lesser extent, the same happened when I brought up the subject of bras in a recent post, and likewise whenever I mention my leg muscles or (heaven forbid) butt in the context of cycling.

During the time I have spent around those who ride bikes, I have observed that male cyclists are not shy about discussing their bodies - be it in real life (conversations that take place in bike shops and at various cyclist gatherings) or on the internet (discussions in forums and blog comments). Thanks to this, I know all about their "taint" and their infertility worries, and how they have to move stuff out of the way when dismounting a bike with a tall top tube, and so on. No big deal. It's a good thing that men feel free to share such things.

However, female cyclists are unlikely to discuss their bodies in a similar manner, except in the vaguest of terms. Until very recently there was virtually no public internet dialogue about female-specific bicycle discomfort, and I rarely hear any such talk out loud. I don't think I'd be out of line in saying that it is still considered inappropriate in our society for women to be "immodest" - which is how discussing our bodies in mixed company is perceived. If a female mentions her toned legs, let alone her private parts, even in the context of cycling it can easily be interpreted as flirtatious or sexually provocative - whereas if a man does the same it is interpreted as merely clinical.

Despite the double standard, it is clear that female cyclists want to discuss these topics - and to do so using concrete terminology instead of polite abstractions. There is a growing feeling that information is unavailable to us because of our own embarrassment to share that information with each other, supplemented by a palpable male discomfort (or excitement - which is more intimidating?) when we do share it. While I am not the right candidate to spearhead a revolution in this regard, I am relieved to see that there is one underway. From the frank discussion of yeast infections on bikeskirt, to Elly Blue's article on menstruation in Grist, to an entire compilation of female writings about their bodies and cycling coming out in zine format (Our Bodies, Our bikes - order your copy here) it's as if a floodgate has opened, so to speak - mixed company be damned. Let's hope the trend continues. It should not be any less socially acceptable for female cyclists to discuss their bodies than it is for male cyclists.

Moser 2.0 - a Vintage Racing Bike with Modern Components

2011-11-29T15:56:00.013-05:00

I have been riding my "new" Francesco Moser for a couple of weeks now and wanted to share my impressions. This is the same frame that I rode last year as a fixed gear conversion, then sold, then bought back and rebuilt as a geared roabike with modern components. Since the summer, I have been vigorously shopping around for a road/racing bike for 2012. The Moser resurrection is an experiment to determine whether it is feasible to refurbish a vintage steel racing frame for this purpose without putting myself at a disadvantage in comparison to cyclists riding modern bikes.

The Italian frame was built in 1978 and raced in Austria throughout the 1980s. Through an interesting coincidence, I happen to know who the framebuilder was, but that is another story. The frame is lugged steel and allegedly Columbus tubing. Whether "tretubi" or something nicer I do not know; there are no decals. The lugs are pointy with elegant cutouts. Chromed fork crown, dropouts and seat stay caps. I have not been able to find this exact model in a Moser catalogue; something is always different. As I understand it, Moser frames were handmade in small batches and the framebuilders would sometimes get creative with individual frames. This could be one of those.

The current incarnation of the bicycle includes an older Campagnolo Vento wheelset. Retired by the previous owner, the wheels have got quite a few miles on them, but are in good shape.

Campagnolo Record 9-speed drivertrain and shifters, circa 1999.

The crankset is 52/39t with 175mm crankarms. Not ideal in the long run, but at least it will allow me to try the bike. MKS Stream pedals and Power Grips as usual.

From my spare parts, the bike is fitted with an 11cm Nitto Technomic Delux stem and 42cm Nitto Noodle handlebars. White Fizik tape. Cateye computer with a cadence reader. Just to be silly, I finished the handlebar tape with thin strips of multi-coloured electrical tape, to match the "champion" bands on the frame.

I bought a set of Campagnolo Veloce brake calipers and used the 700Cx23mm Michelin Krylion tires that I had on another bike earlier.

The saddle is a new generation Selle Anatomica Titanico (with cro-moly rails), on loan from the manufacturer. I will be comparing my impressions of this model to those of the previous version.

The bicycle is a 52cm frame with a 53cm top tube (closer to 52.5cm). Right now it is set up with an 11cm stem, handlebars 1cm below the saddle, and the saddle positioned to emulate the seat tube angle with no setback. The positioning feels great, but would probably feel even better with the handlebars a bit lower and the stem a bit shorter (the current stem cannot be lowered, because there is no more space inside the headtube). The weight of the bike as shown here is 21lb.

One reason I decided to get this frame back instead of looking for a different one, is that I remembered it having no toe overlap. Later I began to doubt myself, as several framebuilders told me that it might be impossible to make a road/racing frame this compact with no TCO. However, now the Moser is back and I was right: no toe overlap, as in none/zilch/zero/not-even-close. How did they do it? I will try to bring this bike to a framebuilder with one of those magic machines that can measure frames precisely; hopefully that will provide some answers.

So, riding Moser 2.0 so far... I think I got exceptionally lucky with how well this frame suits me. I did not fully understand or appreciate what it was until now. With the long stem, the geared drivetrain, and the lightweight modern components, the bike feels as if it has been unshackled and allowed to soar. The small size feels just right, the forward positioning is exciting, and the lack of toe overlap eliminates my main source of anxiety with small frames. The bicycle feels lighter and easier to propel forward than other steel roadbikes I've tried, including modern ones. Judging by the numbers on the computer, my speed when cycling on my own is more or less identical to what it was when I was riding the Seven Axiom over the summer. I have not had a chance to go on a group ride yet, but will report on that once it happens. Acceleration feels effortless - that same "slingshot" feeling that, once experienced on a fast bike is hard to give up. The ride quality over bumps is better than I could have hoped for.

It is impossible to make a direct comparison between the Moser and the Seven, because the latter was two sizes too big for me. But for someone of my ability, the bikes feel as if they are in the same ballpark, or at least from the same planet. The revamped Moser is the first roadbike I've tried aside from the Seven that I can see myself riding and being satisfied with.

On a critical note, Moser 2.0 is a bit squirrely starting from a stop and at very slow speeds. My bike handling skills are good enough at this point to not consider that a problem, but I wouldn't have felt comfortable riding it set up this way last year. Also, the bottom bracket is so low that with the 175mm cranks there is pedal strike unless I am very careful to keep the inside pedal raised on turns. Can't decide whether this means that replacing the cranks is a priority (trade, anyone?), or whether it is an opportunity to improve my technique.

Aside from this, there is the question of whether it is a good idea to ride a well used, retired racing frame with well-used, retired 10-year-old components and wheels if I mean to ride strenuously and possibly competitively. While the Moser frame is photogenic from a distance, it is in rough shape: scrapes on the tubes, missing paint, rust on the chrome. There is also a slight bulge at the rear of the headtube that, as I understand it, happened during the manufacturing process (the frame has been checked for integrity and shows no structural problems). If I decide that I like the bike and don't need a new one, it might still be wise to replace the components with less worn ones and have the frame repainted. Or start from scratch and get a framebuilder to replicate the geometry and tubing. It's hard to say, and for now I am just excited by how great Moser 2.0 feels compared to almost every single new bike I have considered buying so far.

Knowing that some readers are interested in the outcome of this experiment, I want to note that I don't think it's as simple as buying any old vintage racing frame and putting modern components on it. But I do think I got lucky and ended up with something pretty cool that I would like to investigate further - with a big Thank You to all those who pushed me in this direction.

Temperature Regulation and Underlayers

2011-11-28T12:40:00.005-05:00

From a reader's email, quoted with permission:

...not sure how to put this delicately, but when I ride my bike in the cold I inevitably end up with a sweaty bra. Even if I am not exerting myself, the bra is soaking wet by the time I get to work and The Girls are not happy spending an entire morning waiting for it to dry. I've taken to stuffing paper towels in there, but was hoping you could share a better solution. How do you deal with this? Don't tell me you only wear wool bras?

Now approaching my third winter of cycling, one of the most valuable lessons I've learned is how to dress for the cold weather. Merely piling on layers can lead to overheating, then freezing underneath the sweat-soaked clothing when stopped at red lights. This is where choice of fabric becomes important. Wool and silk not only keep me warm, but regulate my body temperature - meaning that I sweat less underneath all those layers of warmth than I do wearing cotton or synthetic fabrics. And compared to technical synthetics, wool and silk do not retain body odor.

When choosing temperature-regulating fabrics, the key to the whole system working for me is to start from the inside out. If I am wearing a wool sweater with a cotton long-sleeve tee underneath, that cotton is going to be drenched in sweat; it's better to wear a wool baselayer and a non-wool garment on top of that. Similarly, underwear matters a great deal, since it is the first thing to contact the skin. Cotton or polyester underwear will end up soaked in sweat, causing discomfort even if every single other article of clothing I am wearing is wool.

So yes: In response to the reader's question, I only wear bras made out of fabric that regulates my body temperature effectively, which for me means wool or silk. Wool is the more durable and somewhat more effective option. But wool bras tend to be plain and sporty looking, and not everyone likes that. Also, women with larger chests often report that these bras do not offer sufficient support. If you prefer a look and feel that is more lingiree than sportsbra, real silk bras are available with everything from decorative lace to underwire support and nylon stretch. After having tried a number of manufacturers, I have settled on Ibex for wool underwear, and on Winter Silks for some fairly inexpensive silk bras. I also like to wear Icebreaker leggings instead of stockings once it gets cold, and always Smartwool socks. There are other excellent options out there. But as long as it's wool or silk, there should be no need to stuff your bra with paper towels before cycling to work.

Iva Jean Rain Cape: Ethereal, Wearable

2011-11-27T12:31:00.009-05:00

When asked to review the Iva Jean Rain Cape, I immediately recalled the remarkably successful photos of this item I had seen in the lookbook several months earlier. I'd been mesmerised by the stunning model and bicycle, by the perfect combination of my favourite colours, by the foggy, milky, electric feel of the whole thing. But a staged photoshoot is one thing; the article of clothing itself could be quite another. What we have here is essentially a silver hooded cape, to be worn on a bicycle. The skeptic in me was thinking that few of us can pull off a garment like that without looking like we are headed to a sci-fi convention.

When the Iva Jean cape arrived, I was relieved to find it quite wearable. The colour is a metalic slate gray, in no danger of being confused with an aluminum foil alien costume. The fabric is fluid and drapey, not stiff. And it is mostly noiseless (no swooshing).

The cape is made in Seattle out of a water-repellent, breathable nylon-polyester blend fabric with reflective piping. It is one size only and hits mid-thigh. I don't want to repeat manufacturer specs, so please read the complete list of features here.

Close-up of the hood, visor, rear vent and reflective piping.

The hood is roomy and can be loosened and tightened using a system of drawcords.

Rear view.

Stand-up collar inside the hood. The zipper extends half way down and makes the cape easy to put on and take off.

The arm openings have velcro closure, as does the large front pocket. There is also a system of drawcords and thumb loops on the bottom for keeping the arms inside the cape.

Full rear view.

In use on the bike. Speaking generally, I must admit that I am not a "bicycle cape person." When I look down and see a tent draped over my legs, it abstracts the pedaling experience for me. That said, this cape is so lightweight, that this effect is diminished. What I like about it particularly is the breathability, the flattering shape, and the ease of movement it affords off the bike. With capes I can sometimes feel as if I am getting tangled in them, but this one has such an airy feel to it, that I could hardly tell I had it on.

One thing to keep in mind is that this is a cape, not a poncho. It is intended for casual use, such as commuting. As you can see in the pictures, the forearms are somewhat exposed when I am holding the handlebars, because I am fairly leaned forward on this particular bike. The more upright your position on the bicycle, the less this will be an issue. [Edited to add: The manufacturer explains that it is possible to cover the handlebars with the cape like so. However, when I attempted this my arms felt constricted and I was not able to use it comfortably in this manner.]

Having worn the cape in the rain a couple of times, the coverage was sufficient and there were no problems with the waterproofing. As far as temperature regulation, the cape functions as a light shell and you can layer underneath it. The vents provide good ventilation on warmer days. The front can be zipped all the way up to cover the neck up to the chin on days when you wish for a scarf.

I found the system of drawcords a little complicated, but I think this is a matter of preference and others will appreciate them, as they basically allow you to reshape the garment in a variety of ways. The one point of criticism I have, is what to me looks like some subtle bunching up of fabric around the seams (you can see it in pictures like this one). It could be just an unavoidable characteristic of the fabric used, but I am detail-oriented and my eyes keep being drawn to this.

The Iva Jean Rain Cape is available for sale online, and the retail price is $240. If you would like my review sample, please leave a comment with your email address by Monday, November 28th, 11:59pm Pacific time and I will choose a recipient at random. Continental US entries only please. In my opinion this cape will fit women up to size 10 US.

Enjoy the rest of your Thansgiving weekend!

'Lovely' Touring Bike, Given Away!

2011-11-26T13:13:00.009-05:00

In case you did not catch the update on the original post and the subsequent twitter announcement, I selected the recipient for the Lovely Touring Bike give-away a couple of weeks ago. This give away has proven to be an especially difficult one, and I wanted to make sure the bike and the new owner were a good match before making the announcement here. Happily, it seems that they are.

It was a year ago now that I spontaneously bought a beat up Shogun touring bike, because the geometry looked promising and I liked the colour. As I didn't need another vintage roadbike, I decided to turn it into a Lovely Bicycle project. It occurred to me that if refurbished with new components, it could make the perfect "starter" bike for a woman who does not otherwise feel confident on a roadbike. What makes the bike good for this purpose, is that it has fairly relaxed angles, stable handling, a comfortable feel over bumps, and no toe overlap. The combination of these characteristics is not easy to find, particularly with smaller sized frames. Upon a reader's suggestion I decided to try and solicit sponsors for refurbishing the bike and then give it away. There were glitches along the way with component choices and sponsorship commitments, and the project took longer than anticipated. But once finished, the bicycle came out wonderfully:

In the end, there were two main industry sponsors for this project: Velo Orange donated a headset, crankset, fenders, leather handlebar tape, and touring saddle - components that were specifically requested by me. Harris Cyclery assembled the bicycle and contributed spare parts. A number of readers (Justine, G.E., Neighbourtease, Spindizzy, Cedar, Somervillain) made crucial contributions to the build, including components, accessories and monetary donations, and I too made personal contributions. The total worth of the bicycle as shown is around $1,000 and most of the components are described in detail here and here. Granted, it is a large sum to spend on a vintage frame. But no equivalent bicycle exists today at that price point.

Because of the unique nature of this project, it was extremely important to me to give this bike to a person who I felt really understood what they'd be getting, and best stood to benefit from this bike's combination of characteristics. A lot of thought went into the component choices, with the goal of maximising comfort and minimising the aspects that normally make people uncomfortable and nervous when riding roadbikes. This was not meant for a roadcyclist who was simply unhappy with their current bike, but specifically for someone who had trouble handling roadbikes in the first place. No effort was made to make this bike "fast" by roadcycling standards, which pretty much made it unsuitable for anyone interested in that aspect of cycling. The way I saw it, the "lovely touring bike" would give the new owner an opportunity to travel long distances at their own pace, on a bicycle that was lighter, faster and better at handling hills than an upright city bike, with multiple hand positions afforded by the dropbars but without the intimidating "racy" qualities of typical roadbikes.

The give-away entry requirement was to submit a ride report, which would be included in a Lovely Bicycle compilation some time in the future. My criteria for selecting the recipient were that (1) they were the right height for the bicycle's 52cm frame size, (2) they submitted their own entry, and (3) what they wanted in a roadbike was compatible with what this bicycle could give them. I was somewhat overwhelmed to receive over 70 entries from around the country: I'd thought that the limitations of the sizing alone would yield a fairly small circle of applicants. But as I read through the entries, I was even more surprised how few of them seemed relevant to this particular bicycle. This is an issue I experienced with previous give-aways as well, but this time it was more acute than ever. The majority of the entries gave no explanation for why they wanted this particular bike, other than that it would be nice to win one. Others entered on behalf of their wives or girlfriends. Others still interpreted this bicycle as a more comfortable alternative to their modern racing bike. In the end, I received a grand total of four entries that I felt were truly relevant, and interestingly, two of them were local.

When I picked a name from the 4 finalists at random, I selected someone who was not only local, but had her own bicycle blog and was not a stranger to me... which made me worried that selecting her would be biased. So I nixed my selection, went back to the entries and re-read them, considering each entrant's circumstances more carefully... and kept coming back to the local blogger as the obvious choice. She had a fear of bicycles with drop bars after an accident some time ago, but really wanted to give them another try. She had been looking for a bicycle exactly like the one I was giving away, but not having much luck. She had an appreciation for vintage steel frames and knew what to expect from them. She was interested in comfort over speed. She was the ideal height for the bike. Finally, being local she could try the bike first and determine whether she would be able to ride it. And that is exactly what we did.

In short, please meet "cycler," the bicycle's new owner and the author of Biking in Heels. You may recognise her as the owner of "Gilbert" - a customised Raleigh Lady's Sports, which is her daily transportation bicycle. After much, much deliberation, I concluded that since nothing in this give-away indicated that local readers and other bloggers were ineligible to participate, it would be biased not to give the bicycle to cycler at this point, given how right they were for each other. After she tried the bike, this was confirmed; they are a perfect match and I wish them many happy rides together.

The "Lovely Touring Bike Give-Away" was an experiment that I enjoyed, but also found more difficult than any other give-away I have done so far. For a number of logistical reasons, repeating it is probably not feasible - though I suppose never say never.

There is also the huge collection of ride reports I've received from readers! Some submitted ride reports despite not entering the give-away, and I have over 100 total. I am thinking of making a compilation over the winter, and making it available in some sort of (free) e-zine format. One option I am considering is choosing a handful of my favourite ride reports and publishing them in full. Another option would be to play more of an editiorial role and publish excerpts from many reports according to themes. My thinking is not entirely clear on this yet, but it could be interesting. Or it could take forever. Suggestions?

With sincere thanks once again to all of my readers, to all of the "Lovely Touring Bike Give-Away" entrants, to the donors, and to the project sponsors Velo Orange and Harris Cyclery, wishing you all a wonderful weekend and happy cycling.

10 Cycling Blogs I am Thankful For

2011-11-24T13:54:00.004-05:00

Just as you all do, I like reading cycling blogs. I need my fix with morning coffee, and a pick-me-up now and again throughout the day. Other's cycling blogs inspire me and keep me going with my own; without them Lovely Bicycle would probably not exist. For that and more, I tip my hat to them this Thanksgiving and invite you to pay them a visit. In reverse alphabetical order:

Ride Blog

Entertaining ride reports from the most mundane trips on the local cycling paths to a grand tour of Western Ireland. I love snarkypup's narrative voice and savour reading her posts.

Portlandize

To me, Dave of Portlandize is the voice of reason when it comes to North American transportation cycling. He says many of the things I'd like to say, only calmer, more eloquently and more succinctly.

Midlife Cycling
Justine of the 4 Mercians is a unique blogger in too many ways to list. Her personal narratives combine analyses of life, academia and cycling in a way that always teaches me something new.

Let's Go Ride a Bike
LGRAB was one of the first cycling blogs I discovered before starting my own, and I continue to read with interest. Undoubtedly "the" blog for women looking to start cycling for transportation.

Endless Velo Love
G. E. offers an unpretentious, friendly perspective of a bicycle enthusiast who started as a novice and is happy to share her learning experiences.

EcoVelo
Alan's thorough reviews, technical analyses and inspiring photography made me a fan from the start and keep me coming back for a daily dose of bicycle goodness.

Copenhagenize
For years, Mikael Coleville-Andersen has stayed true to his goal of promoting cycling infrastructure in cities around the world. I don't always agree with him, but he never fails to provide food for thought.

Biking in Heels
A local-to-me blog, cycler's thoughts on cycling and bicycles in the greater Boston area are both familiar and different from mine, and always compelling.

Bikeyface
Another Boston blog and fairly new on the scene, this weekly cartoon is hilarious, profound, and not always safe for work. Beards one week, pubic hair the next? Thank you, bikeyface!

BikeSnobNYC
A cozy blanket of artisanal sarcasm, Bike Snob is a classic. No matter how dismal life gets, the meandering posts and bikesnobian logic reassure me that all will be okay in the end.

What bicycle blogs are you reading these days? Feel free to share, and enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend!

On Holidays and Travel

2011-11-23T14:10:00.003-05:00

With all the talk about skyrocketing costs of airplane tickets for Thanksgiving, many people I know have decided to stay home this year and keep it low key. But rather than being upset about it, they seem relieved: A casual Thanksgiving with the immediate family instead of a full-on family reunion and hours spent in airports? The very idea seems to be an instant de-stresser.

The decision to live far away from friends and family - combined with the expectation that we still ought to be close and get together as frequently as possible - creates an uncomfortable predicament. Though many are reluctant to admit it even to themselves, getting together with loved ones for the holidays often brings more stress than joy, fanning the flames of family conflicts and fostering new resentments. And when it's over? Well, so is the long weekend, and back to work you go.

But people are not built to function like this - moving from one set of stressors to another, with no sense of relief. A holiday is meant to be a break, a time to relax. Airports and airplanes are not relaxing to most people. Neither are hours spent driving. Despite our society's quest for an ever-better quality of life, it seems that we've unwittingly designed our lives to maximise stress.

Why bring this up on a blog about bicycles? Because the travel-induced stress of the holidays strikes me as the same type of problem as the stress of commuting long distances to work in a car or via public transportation. There is a great deal of new research coming out about the effects of travel and transportation choices on physical health, mental health, familial and social relationships, and overall quality of life. In retrospect, all of the findings are common sense - which only highlights the fact that society as a whole has been moving away from common sense notions of well-being. For those of us who are trying to get back to those notions, the bicycle has been a great help - not only in the immediate sense, but also in the sense of helping us realise all of this at the most basic and visceral level.

Motobecane Grand Touring, Town & Country Edition

2011-11-22T16:35:00.013-05:00

The Co-Habitant has been riding his Motobecane redux creation for the past month, and as far as what he was looking for it is a mission accomplished: The bike is nice enough to enjoy riding, but not so nice that he is unwilling to leave it locked up in the city.

This project started out as a game of sorts, where the idea was to build up a complete bike using only parts we already had.

The frame is a Motobecane Grand Touring that an acquaintance gave the Co-Habitant a year ago. Made of Vitus 888 tubing, it is nicer than the Super Mirage model of his former roadbike. Being a touring frame, it is also somewhat more relaxed, so it made sense to build it up as a transportation bicycle.

Many of the components were moved over from the other Motobecane frame.

Others had been acquired in the past, waiting for the right project. It was particularly nice to finally have occasion to use these original Belleri handlebars. Surprisingly, they fit bar-end shifters. The combination looks eccentric, but it's convenient. The stem could be longer, but this one was already filed down to accommodate the French sizing, and we did not want to ruin another one.

Fizik handlebar tape, in brown. The only exception to the "must already own it" rule, I bought this in Vienna (the brown and honey colours are not sold int he US). "City" brake levers from Velo Orange - these are very convincingly "vintagey."

The least vintagey part of the bike is the Sugino Alpina crankset. We figure that the out of place crankset and bar-ends lend a sense of humor to a bike that may otherwise have come across as too perfectly French. This way it feels more approachable.

Speaking of approachable, initially we were not sure whether this vintage Brooks Colt I'd acquired some time ago could ever be made ridable, as it had a nasty ridge along the center. I'd tried the "blocking" (water soaking) method, but the ridge persisted. However, the Co-Habitant managed to flattened it after a couple of rides on the water-softened leather and reports that it is now quite comfortable.

He mounted a Spanniga Pixeo tail light on the rear fender, and uses a removable CayEye headlight on the handlebars.

In the future there might be a rear rack in this bicycle's future, but for now it sports a roomy (but rather inconvenient to open and close) Minnehaha saddlebag.

I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying the existance of this bicycle: Finally we can go out and leave our bikes locked up in the city for hours, without the Co-Habitant constantly worrying about his. It is by no means a "beater," but it is sufficiently unprecious for him to relax about its fate.

An additional benefit of having built up this bike, is that it showed us how different two models from the same manufacturer and vintage could be. This Grand Touring frame is exactly the same size as his former Super Mirage, but the front wheel on this bike is considerably "further out" - probably a combination of a more relaxed headtube angle and more fork rake. Unfortunately, he no longer has the other frame to compare exact measurements or to photograph them side-by-side. And while he expected for a bike with Vitus 888 tubing to feel nicer than a hi-ten bike, the difference between the two (with the same wheelset and tires) still managed to surprise him. The ride is considerably cushier and the bicycle is much lighter in weight (26lb with the build shown, not including the saddlebag). Having ridden this bike myself and enjoyed it a lot more than any other '70s-80s Motobecane bike I'd tried earlier, I am now curious to try the mixte version. A number of readers have written me about being disappointed with the ride quality of the vintage French bikes that one typically finds for sale in the US, so this might be a good model to look for. More pictures of this bicycle here, for anyone interested.

Why Cyclists Ignore Bike Racks

2011-11-21T10:14:00.009-05:00

Although there are plenty of complaints about the lack of bicycle parking here, my impression is that the greater Boston area is better than many places in this respect. There are bicycle racks all over shopping districts, outside post offices, libraries and prominent places of business, next to transit stations, throughout college campuses. But I notice that cyclists do not always choose to use the racks, preferring to lock their bicycles to alternative structures instead. There will sometimes be a rack that is almost entirely empty, and nearby there will be some bicycles locked to trees and sign poles.

The other day I saw a group of cyclists locking up their bikes outside a cafe - each one of them ignoring the racks and going for random other structures. I commented about it, and we had an interesting conversation. Here are some of the reasons they gave for not using the racks provided:

. Transportation bicycles with big tires, fenders and headlights don't fit some types of racks.

. The "tethering post" types of racks that are installed along sidewalks are often placed too closely to the road, and careless drivers can damage bicycles with their cars when parallel parking.

. These racks can also stand too closely to pedestrian lines of travel, and people bump into the parked bicycles when walking past them, sometimes knocking them over.

. Others lock their bicycles too closely to yours, scuffing or scratching it, or even knocking it over in the process.

. Bicycle racks attract thieves, since that is where they look for bicycles and where it is easy to get multiple bicycles at a time.

Some of these points reflect my own experiences. There are racks I cannot use, because my bike won't fit except locked to the very edge (a spot that is usually already taken by another bike with the same problem). And while this has not happened to me, I have seen cars hit bicycles locked to those individual racks they place along the edge of sidewalks. Pedestrians brushing against my bike and others' bikes scuffing it is less of a concern, because I don't baby my transportation bikes. And I had not given much thought to the possibility that bike racks could attract thieves.

While not all of these issues are solvable, they are worth addressing when installing bicycle racks. It's a shame when resources are spent to create racks that cyclists find unusable.

How I Got My Moser Back...

2011-11-20T12:06:00.015-05:00

So I bought my Francesco Moser frame back from the person I sold it to, and built it up as a geared racing bike with modern components... despite having sworn off vintage roadbikes earlier. Yeah, I know. Allow me to provide some context:

I got this 1978 Moser racing frame in Vienna two summers ago, mailed it to myself in the US and built it up as a fixed gear. It rode nicely, but wasn't really suitable for fixed gear conversion with its low bottom bracket and resulting tendency toward pedal strike. Once I got my fixed gear-specific Mercian, I moved the components over and decided to sell the Moser. Building it up as a geared roadbike was not feasible: I would have had to spend a fortune on new wheels and components only to put them on an old steel frame, with no guarantee that I'd like the end result. It seemed wiser to buy a roadbike that I could test ride beforehand.

For what it's worth, I still believe that it is not financially practical for a "civilian" (i.e. a person who is neither a wrenching enthusiast with spare modern groupsets lying around, nor someone with bike industry connections), to take on a project like this. However, I have not really been a "civilian" for some time: I am interested in bikes not only for personal use, but also for the sake of learning and writing about them on Lovely Bicycle. And I do at this point have industry connections, as well as readers who are interested in making specific projects happen. All of these factors played a role here.

One of my readers offered to donate some of his used modern Campagnolo components and his old racing wheels if I were willing to experiment with a vintage racing frame. Around the same time, the person who bought the Moser from me built it up (with modern Shimano parts) and discovered that the bike felt too small for him. Luckily, I'd sold the frame locally. I saw this as a cue to buy it back.

The second-hand components I received were a 9-speed Campagnolo Record drivertrain and levers circa (I believe) 1999 and a Campagnolo Vento wheelset of similar vintage. I already had the headset, stem, handlebars, tires and seatpost among my own spare parts. I bought a new bottom bracket, brake calipers, cable housing and bar tape at Harris Cyclery and they built up the bike for me.

The Moser is now finished, and I've ridden it - but not as extensively as I'd like before writing about it. I am also waiting to put some finishing touches on the bike before I take pictures. Not sure what I will do with this bicycle in the long run. The frame is 33 years old and was raced for years by the original owner. The drivetrain and wheelset are around 10 years old and well-used. Even if my impressions of the reborn bike are positive, I have concerns about frame/component failure and will need to think about that aspect more carefully. But it is certainly informative to compare this bicycle's handling to the modern roadbikes I have been trying over this past summer and fall. Let's just say I am surprised.

I am glad to have the Moser back; in a number of ways it is an even more unique bicycle than I thought. I hope to share my impressions in the coming week and fingers crossed that it doesn't start snowing in the meantime. Stay tuned, and a huge thank you to everyone who's helped me with this project!