Posts
This week I rode my first century (that is, 100 miles, not km) since I was a boy. North from Empire (MI) to Leland, around Lake Leelanau, south to Interlochen, then back to Empire. This was done on my new Rivendell Rambouillet (I got the floor model for a good price, since they've put the Rambouillet to sleep for a while), with a Brooks B.17 saddle. (See my most recent post, below. I seem to be vacillating between the saddles of true believers--tensioned leather--and those of apostates--foam- and gel-filled. I must say, it was mostly comfortable, until the last 20 miles or so. That's not a bad ratio: 80:20, comfortable:uncomfortable.
More gear:
Shoes: New Balance running shoes. (No toe clips.)
Shorts: Well, I used biking shorts, although I should have just gone with baggy shorts. I developed some powerful saddle rash.
Bag: I know I should use a Carradice Nelson Longflap, but they cost $140 and they hang off the saddle and flop around (unless you use a rack). So I used a seatpost rack with a large rack trunk (both cheapies). Worked great! Perhaps not stylish, but inexpensive and effective.
The route was gorgeous, but it had very few towns. I had a hankering for a milkshake, but I never got one. My favorite pizza/sub shop in Interlochen was closed, so I ate lunch at Wendy's. Ick.
I had several Pepsis. Tasted good, but eventually made me sick. I had only four miles to go, but I had to lie down on the gravel beside the road to keep from vomiting. Next time, more water, more orange juice, less Pepsi.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Handlebars, Saddles, and Gurus
In a previous post I told the woeful tale of a Moustache Bar Experiment gone horribly wrong. Much as I wanted to like the Moustache Bar, I couldn't. I put my old drop bar back on. And that's where the last post left off.
But I still had the moustache bar in the garage, and I still liked the idea.
So I put it back on, new cables (again) and all. But this time, I jacked it up probably 5 cm above the saddle, and made the "drops" nearly level. And this time I liked it. It got me upright enough when I wanted to be upright, and by holding on to the hoods way out front I could get fairly aero.
But then I needed to deal with the saddle.
The handlebars and the saddle are a team, you see. They need to fit each other. Upright bar needs a different saddle than a seriously head-down bar. At least, that's what they said.
And because I have adopted several gurus as my own, notably Grant Peterson and Sheldon Brown, I try to do what they say, and they both said "Brooks B. 17". So I got a Brooks B.17. Beautiful. Natural. Leather. And after about 1000 miles, I can honestly say . . . uncomfortable.
It seems to me that the problem with leather that is stretched between support bars (rather than stretched over foam) is that it softens and molds to your behind in just the way you (or at least I) don't want it to: Namely, your sit bones, the things that need to be supported, sink in to the depression they create in the nice soft leather, while the plumbing, the nice soft plumbing that can't create its own depression, increasingly rides a ridge that's left behind in the hard leather.
I have a 30-year-old Ideale saddle, ridden many thousands of miles, that demonstrates my point. Low at the bun bones, high--very high!--in the middle. That's one uncomfortable ride now.
As a result, my beautiful B. 17 has been getting more and more uncomfortable. That's not how it's supposed to work. I suppose I could soak it in Neat's Foot Oil, cook it in the oven, and beat the ridge with a baseball bat, but somehow that seems wrong.
So, following my guru's advice, I bought a Brooks saddle with springs, a very very lovely B. 67. Alas! After only three rides and 100 miles, I knew this wasn't going to work either.
So I did the unthinkable: I pulled out the original Avocet touring saddle that came on my Trek 25 years ago, the one that has the nice hard foam bun bumps under a stretched-tight leather cover. And lo and behold! It has been comfortable! Sure it's narrowish, but as long as my bun bones are supported and my plumbing is out of the way, what do I care? In fact (and now I sound like an equipment jock), the narrow hard seat really does make peddling easier and more efficient, especially when compared with the sprung saddle. And it's more comfortable! Even in the 90˚ heat (which I rode in today just to prove to myself that it's not just comfortable on cool days). Even (don't tell) wearing ordinary (albeit boxer-length) underwear. I rode 30 miles yesterday and 17 miles today. Nice.
And suddenly, the moustache bar works better because I can sit back on the saddle without wincing. I know, I know: when I sit up and back, I should have a nice sprung leather saddle. That's what everyone says. But that's not how it's working for me.
This must just be a problem with my behind. The many many testimonials listed on Rivendell, Wallingford, Peter White, Harris Cyclery, indicate that most people just love their Brooks saddles. And I'd like to love my Brooks (and Ideale) saddles and have contempt for my foam ass hatchet. But I can't.
So gurus don't always know best. Or, put better, gurus don't always know what's best for me. I'm still riding without toe clips or cleats (as instructed by my guru Grant) and I like it. I'm still wearing baggy shorts (per Grant, again). I love my fenders and my 24 teeth granny chainwheel. I only rely on my front brake (as per Sheldon). And yes, Nitto stems and bars truly are beautiful. I'm mostly a convert.
But they can have my Brooks saddles.
But I still had the moustache bar in the garage, and I still liked the idea.
So I put it back on, new cables (again) and all. But this time, I jacked it up probably 5 cm above the saddle, and made the "drops" nearly level. And this time I liked it. It got me upright enough when I wanted to be upright, and by holding on to the hoods way out front I could get fairly aero.
But then I needed to deal with the saddle.
The handlebars and the saddle are a team, you see. They need to fit each other. Upright bar needs a different saddle than a seriously head-down bar. At least, that's what they said.
And because I have adopted several gurus as my own, notably Grant Peterson and Sheldon Brown, I try to do what they say, and they both said "Brooks B. 17". So I got a Brooks B.17. Beautiful. Natural. Leather. And after about 1000 miles, I can honestly say . . . uncomfortable.
It seems to me that the problem with leather that is stretched between support bars (rather than stretched over foam) is that it softens and molds to your behind in just the way you (or at least I) don't want it to: Namely, your sit bones, the things that need to be supported, sink in to the depression they create in the nice soft leather, while the plumbing, the nice soft plumbing that can't create its own depression, increasingly rides a ridge that's left behind in the hard leather.
I have a 30-year-old Ideale saddle, ridden many thousands of miles, that demonstrates my point. Low at the bun bones, high--very high!--in the middle. That's one uncomfortable ride now.
As a result, my beautiful B. 17 has been getting more and more uncomfortable. That's not how it's supposed to work. I suppose I could soak it in Neat's Foot Oil, cook it in the oven, and beat the ridge with a baseball bat, but somehow that seems wrong.
So, following my guru's advice, I bought a Brooks saddle with springs, a very very lovely B. 67. Alas! After only three rides and 100 miles, I knew this wasn't going to work either.
So I did the unthinkable: I pulled out the original Avocet touring saddle that came on my Trek 25 years ago, the one that has the nice hard foam bun bumps under a stretched-tight leather cover. And lo and behold! It has been comfortable! Sure it's narrowish, but as long as my bun bones are supported and my plumbing is out of the way, what do I care? In fact (and now I sound like an equipment jock), the narrow hard seat really does make peddling easier and more efficient, especially when compared with the sprung saddle. And it's more comfortable! Even in the 90˚ heat (which I rode in today just to prove to myself that it's not just comfortable on cool days). Even (don't tell) wearing ordinary (albeit boxer-length) underwear. I rode 30 miles yesterday and 17 miles today. Nice.
And suddenly, the moustache bar works better because I can sit back on the saddle without wincing. I know, I know: when I sit up and back, I should have a nice sprung leather saddle. That's what everyone says. But that's not how it's working for me.
This must just be a problem with my behind. The many many testimonials listed on Rivendell, Wallingford, Peter White, Harris Cyclery, indicate that most people just love their Brooks saddles. And I'd like to love my Brooks (and Ideale) saddles and have contempt for my foam ass hatchet. But I can't.
So gurus don't always know best. Or, put better, gurus don't always know what's best for me. I'm still riding without toe clips or cleats (as instructed by my guru Grant) and I like it. I'm still wearing baggy shorts (per Grant, again). I love my fenders and my 24 teeth granny chainwheel. I only rely on my front brake (as per Sheldon). And yes, Nitto stems and bars truly are beautiful. I'm mostly a convert.
But they can have my Brooks saddles.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Moustache Bar
It seemed like a great idea, that curvy Nitto-made handlebar that Rivendell sells as the "Moustache Bar". It was upright, it offered lots of hand positions including a leaning-forward aero position, and it was nice and wide for better control. So I tried it.
Installing it on my jacked-up stem of my too-small Trek 620 was no small endeavor, since the bar-end shifters were raised beyond the scope of their cable housing (and cables, for that matter). So I needed new cables and housings. And, of course, since buying one thing always requires buying three more things, I needed to get something to cut the housing. A Dremel with a cutting disk works like a charm, and it costs about as much as a good cable cutter. So I bought one. (Actually, once I had the Dremel, I was able to trim my fender stays, which had been sticking out ridiculously. So it was a sensible purchase.)
True to Rivendell's promise, the Nitto bar was a beauty, with a perfect satiny finish. Naturally, I managed to mangle it as I worked it into the Nitto Technomic stem. It seems the moustache bar has a wide mounting section, which increases its diameter. So the stem, which had been tightened on my regular diameter bar, was too small for the new Nitto. Once I realized this, the bar was already half in the stem; by then it was too late to get it in or out without (a) expanding the opening on the stem with a lever of some kind, or (b) tearing the hell out of the bar. I chose (b). I nearly cried when I saw the carnage.
So anyway, first impressions were good. Fun bar to ride short distances with. Easy to get at the brakes, lots of control, quite upright.
When I took it out for longer rides, problems became apparent.
First, it's not possible to get low on it. Forward, yes. Low, no. When I'm riding into the wind, I like to bend over my bar so that my weight is still centered, not flatten out with all my weight on my arms. (I realize that flat and forward is the way Lance would do it. I'm not Lance.) With a nice high drop bar, I can ride aerodynamically on the drops all day and not suffer.
Second, it's not possible to get upright enough with it. With a nice high drop bar, holding onto the cross bar sits me up enough that I can rest my neck and shoulders. Not possible with the moustache.
Finally, I didn't really like the super-wide grip when holding the moustache bar near the ends. I felt like I was forming a parachute-like wind catcher. It also made my bad shoulder hurt.
So I reversed the process, taking the moustache off and putting my old 41 cm drop bar back on. I was able to reuse the bar tape, so all was not lost.
As a mountain bike bar, the moustache would be fantastic. As a road bar, it doesn't offer enough levels for my comfort. (If I start using this bike as a commuting bike, I'll put the it back on.)
I'm done buying bars for now. But I'd love to try a 46 cm Nitto Noodle drop bar. Maybe on my new Rivendell.
Much later: Since writing this post, I have moved the moustache bar to my winter bike, a tricked-out early-90s Trek mountain bike. On that bike, which I use for commuting 10 miles/day in snow, ice, and slush, the moustache bar is perfect. Lots of control, comfortable position for 30 minutes; much better than the typical straight-across mountain bar. I almost always hold on to the bars at the curves, where the brakes are easily accessible. I'll occasionally pull back to the bar ends, but not often.
Installing it on my jacked-up stem of my too-small Trek 620 was no small endeavor, since the bar-end shifters were raised beyond the scope of their cable housing (and cables, for that matter). So I needed new cables and housings. And, of course, since buying one thing always requires buying three more things, I needed to get something to cut the housing. A Dremel with a cutting disk works like a charm, and it costs about as much as a good cable cutter. So I bought one. (Actually, once I had the Dremel, I was able to trim my fender stays, which had been sticking out ridiculously. So it was a sensible purchase.)
True to Rivendell's promise, the Nitto bar was a beauty, with a perfect satiny finish. Naturally, I managed to mangle it as I worked it into the Nitto Technomic stem. It seems the moustache bar has a wide mounting section, which increases its diameter. So the stem, which had been tightened on my regular diameter bar, was too small for the new Nitto. Once I realized this, the bar was already half in the stem; by then it was too late to get it in or out without (a) expanding the opening on the stem with a lever of some kind, or (b) tearing the hell out of the bar. I chose (b). I nearly cried when I saw the carnage.
So anyway, first impressions were good. Fun bar to ride short distances with. Easy to get at the brakes, lots of control, quite upright.
When I took it out for longer rides, problems became apparent.
First, it's not possible to get low on it. Forward, yes. Low, no. When I'm riding into the wind, I like to bend over my bar so that my weight is still centered, not flatten out with all my weight on my arms. (I realize that flat and forward is the way Lance would do it. I'm not Lance.) With a nice high drop bar, I can ride aerodynamically on the drops all day and not suffer.
Second, it's not possible to get upright enough with it. With a nice high drop bar, holding onto the cross bar sits me up enough that I can rest my neck and shoulders. Not possible with the moustache.
Finally, I didn't really like the super-wide grip when holding the moustache bar near the ends. I felt like I was forming a parachute-like wind catcher. It also made my bad shoulder hurt.
So I reversed the process, taking the moustache off and putting my old 41 cm drop bar back on. I was able to reuse the bar tape, so all was not lost.
As a mountain bike bar, the moustache would be fantastic. As a road bar, it doesn't offer enough levels for my comfort. (If I start using this bike as a commuting bike, I'll put the it back on.)
I'm done buying bars for now. But I'd love to try a 46 cm Nitto Noodle drop bar. Maybe on my new Rivendell.
Much later: Since writing this post, I have moved the moustache bar to my winter bike, a tricked-out early-90s Trek mountain bike. On that bike, which I use for commuting 10 miles/day in snow, ice, and slush, the moustache bar is perfect. Lots of control, comfortable position for 30 minutes; much better than the typical straight-across mountain bar. I almost always hold on to the bars at the curves, where the brakes are easily accessible. I'll occasionally pull back to the bar ends, but not often.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Bike Lanes
OK, this one's obvious; but if it's so obvious, why doesn't anyone do anything about it?
If reducing gasoline consumption is our goal, we should encourage bike riding. Duh.
So why is it that when the county road commission repaves and widens roads here in mid-Michigan, they don't automatically add bike lanes? How hard would it be to make the auto lanes and shoulders a little narrower?
As it is now, I bike five miles to work on sidewalks. Good idea? I think not. Pedestrians hate me (OK, and I hate them, but I try to be polite--which reminds me: to ding my bell or not? I feel like a boor when I ding it, telling them to get the hell out of my way, but I get yelled at when I don't ding it).
I have broken spokes going over curbs or rough curb cuts. OK, I was racing with a young pup who was fully geared-out and riding with traffic in the busy city streets. I was trying to prove that a middle-aged codger in penny loafers could keep up, even riding on the sidewalk. I did, but I broke spokes in the process. When I pulled up next to him at a red light, he said, "Dude. Pretty good, especially in those pants." I'm not sure why he thought pants made a difference, but I accepted the compliment.
When it gets snowy, the sidewalks are the last thing to be cleared, if they're ever cleared. Drivers pay no attention to who's on the sidewalk; I have been cut off many times, even by drivers who just passed me and couldn't possibly not have seen me. In fact, one time a driver waited for me to pass before pulling out of a driveway, drove past me, then turned right in front of me into the next driveway. I ended up flat on my back, having gone over my handlebars. That's when I got a bike with upright bars so I could reach the brakes faster.
Really, it's like urban mountain biking with extra hazards, which is sort of fun, but only for the adventuresome. It's pretty hard for me to recommend to colleagues that they commute by bike, knowing that they'll need to jump curbs and dodge ditzoid drivers.
But bike lanes! Now that would be inviting. No curbs, no sidewalks. I suspect bicycle commuting would increase many-fold. And it makes a community seem so much more friendly, hip, and welcoming. I can't believe that it costs much more.
So here I live in the semi-country (a township suburb of Lansing), and there's no way for me to get anywhere without riding down a busy two-lane road that not only has no shoulder but CURBS. (Why does it need curbs?) So when I'm in the road, all traffic must go at my pace because I can't even pull over onto the shoulder. Drivers aren't crazy about that.
So Ingham County Road Commission, you don't need to tear all the roads up and install bike lanes immediately. But whenever you repave one, would you at least consider it?
And how about bike paths? I can always dream.
If reducing gasoline consumption is our goal, we should encourage bike riding. Duh.
So why is it that when the county road commission repaves and widens roads here in mid-Michigan, they don't automatically add bike lanes? How hard would it be to make the auto lanes and shoulders a little narrower?
As it is now, I bike five miles to work on sidewalks. Good idea? I think not. Pedestrians hate me (OK, and I hate them, but I try to be polite--which reminds me: to ding my bell or not? I feel like a boor when I ding it, telling them to get the hell out of my way, but I get yelled at when I don't ding it).
I have broken spokes going over curbs or rough curb cuts. OK, I was racing with a young pup who was fully geared-out and riding with traffic in the busy city streets. I was trying to prove that a middle-aged codger in penny loafers could keep up, even riding on the sidewalk. I did, but I broke spokes in the process. When I pulled up next to him at a red light, he said, "Dude. Pretty good, especially in those pants." I'm not sure why he thought pants made a difference, but I accepted the compliment.
When it gets snowy, the sidewalks are the last thing to be cleared, if they're ever cleared. Drivers pay no attention to who's on the sidewalk; I have been cut off many times, even by drivers who just passed me and couldn't possibly not have seen me. In fact, one time a driver waited for me to pass before pulling out of a driveway, drove past me, then turned right in front of me into the next driveway. I ended up flat on my back, having gone over my handlebars. That's when I got a bike with upright bars so I could reach the brakes faster.
Really, it's like urban mountain biking with extra hazards, which is sort of fun, but only for the adventuresome. It's pretty hard for me to recommend to colleagues that they commute by bike, knowing that they'll need to jump curbs and dodge ditzoid drivers.
But bike lanes! Now that would be inviting. No curbs, no sidewalks. I suspect bicycle commuting would increase many-fold. And it makes a community seem so much more friendly, hip, and welcoming. I can't believe that it costs much more.
So here I live in the semi-country (a township suburb of Lansing), and there's no way for me to get anywhere without riding down a busy two-lane road that not only has no shoulder but CURBS. (Why does it need curbs?) So when I'm in the road, all traffic must go at my pace because I can't even pull over onto the shoulder. Drivers aren't crazy about that.
So Ingham County Road Commission, you don't need to tear all the roads up and install bike lanes immediately. But whenever you repave one, would you at least consider it?
And how about bike paths? I can always dream.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Journey to Rivendell
No, not to the home of Elrond Halfelven. I refer instead to a spiritual journey, a holy pilgrimage to Rivendell Bicycle Works. It went like this:
My Trek 620's handlebars were too low. Always had been. I raised them as far as they would go, then I experimented with clamp-on aero bars sticking straight up. Bizarre, but not uncomfortable. But just odd enough that it didn't seem right. And shifting! Getting from full upright on the aero bars all the way down to the downtube shifters was either a multi-step process of walking my way down the bars, or just very frightening as I rode with one hand way up high as I groped around with the other one for the shifter.
So I thought bar-end shifters would be just the ticket. I got me a pair of Shimanos on ebay and went to install them, only to discover that my Trek did not have brazed-on bosses for the shifters on the down tube, which was necessary to fasten the bar-end shifters' cable stops. What to do?
Thanks to the magic of the internet, when I entered "clamp-on cable stops" I was taken to Rivendell's web site, and there they were: clamp on cable stops, to be used to retrofit a bike to bar-end shifters. (Rivendell was the only place that had them.) Turns out, Elrond . . . er, Grant Peterson is a big believer in bar-end shifters. He's an even bigger believer in high handlebars. (Not chopper bars, not "hybrid" bars, mind you, and certainly not clamp-on aero bars sticking straight up; just high enough drop bars.) Furthermore, he's a big believer in fenders. But of course! Who isn't? Other than everybody. And Grant believes in riding without toeclips. That one was tougher for me to accept, but on my way to becoming a true disciple, I gave it a try. Liked it. And he believes in riding in more normal clothes and shoes. Sandals, even. Tried it, liked it. And baskets. Like 'em.
So one thing led to another: After the bar-end shifters, I had to try a nice long Nitto stem. (Which still didn't quite do the job. So I went to Harris Cyclery and got a stem raiser--an abomination, surely, but effective.) After the Nitto stem, I needed to try some better pedals for my sneakers. Then fenders. Then a Brooks B. 17 saddle. Then some MUSA biking shorts. Then a fabric reflector to put in my wheel. Then a set of moustache handlebars. And a set of Albatross bars for my commuting bike. And MUSA long pants. I guess I'm just getting one of everything. I haven't bought any beeswax yet, but I will.
All of this, of course, is simply a stopgap for the ultimate solution: A Rivendell bike of my own. Luckily, they're so expensive that I haven't been really tempted. (Not "too expensive", mind you, as in "unfairly priced". No. Just too expensive for an impulse purchase, thank God.)
But really, the problem has not been solved: The stem raiser + stem sticks up about 10 inches above the headset (very odd), and the stem extension inevitably loosens, so eventually the handlebars no longer turn the bike. Not ideal. I really do need a bigger bike. A bigger . . . Rivendell A Homer Hilsen!
Oh, and my Trek has 27" wheels, so I am stuck with 27 x 1-1/4" tires, which is fine for paved roads, but not ideal on the sandy dirt roads and gravel rail-trails I sometimes find myself on. Because of the cantilever brakes, retrofitting it to 700c wheels is not a no-brainer.
So it would be nice to have a large enough bike, one that can take 700c tires, in all their various widths.
In any case, the Rivendell catalog is my new favorite reading. Part retail document, part bicycle manifesto, part religious tract (the religion of Biking By Grant), it warrants careful study.
Plus, I need to decide between the cloth and cork handlebar tape for my m-bars. And there's that beautiful one-speed Quickbeam. . . .
My Trek 620's handlebars were too low. Always had been. I raised them as far as they would go, then I experimented with clamp-on aero bars sticking straight up. Bizarre, but not uncomfortable. But just odd enough that it didn't seem right. And shifting! Getting from full upright on the aero bars all the way down to the downtube shifters was either a multi-step process of walking my way down the bars, or just very frightening as I rode with one hand way up high as I groped around with the other one for the shifter.
So I thought bar-end shifters would be just the ticket. I got me a pair of Shimanos on ebay and went to install them, only to discover that my Trek did not have brazed-on bosses for the shifters on the down tube, which was necessary to fasten the bar-end shifters' cable stops. What to do?
Thanks to the magic of the internet, when I entered "clamp-on cable stops" I was taken to Rivendell's web site, and there they were: clamp on cable stops, to be used to retrofit a bike to bar-end shifters. (Rivendell was the only place that had them.) Turns out, Elrond . . . er, Grant Peterson is a big believer in bar-end shifters. He's an even bigger believer in high handlebars. (Not chopper bars, not "hybrid" bars, mind you, and certainly not clamp-on aero bars sticking straight up; just high enough drop bars.) Furthermore, he's a big believer in fenders. But of course! Who isn't? Other than everybody. And Grant believes in riding without toeclips. That one was tougher for me to accept, but on my way to becoming a true disciple, I gave it a try. Liked it. And he believes in riding in more normal clothes and shoes. Sandals, even. Tried it, liked it. And baskets. Like 'em.
So one thing led to another: After the bar-end shifters, I had to try a nice long Nitto stem. (Which still didn't quite do the job. So I went to Harris Cyclery and got a stem raiser--an abomination, surely, but effective.) After the Nitto stem, I needed to try some better pedals for my sneakers. Then fenders. Then a Brooks B. 17 saddle. Then some MUSA biking shorts. Then a fabric reflector to put in my wheel. Then a set of moustache handlebars. And a set of Albatross bars for my commuting bike. And MUSA long pants. I guess I'm just getting one of everything. I haven't bought any beeswax yet, but I will.
All of this, of course, is simply a stopgap for the ultimate solution: A Rivendell bike of my own. Luckily, they're so expensive that I haven't been really tempted. (Not "too expensive", mind you, as in "unfairly priced". No. Just too expensive for an impulse purchase, thank God.)
But really, the problem has not been solved: The stem raiser + stem sticks up about 10 inches above the headset (very odd), and the stem extension inevitably loosens, so eventually the handlebars no longer turn the bike. Not ideal. I really do need a bigger bike. A bigger . . . Rivendell A Homer Hilsen!
Oh, and my Trek has 27" wheels, so I am stuck with 27 x 1-1/4" tires, which is fine for paved roads, but not ideal on the sandy dirt roads and gravel rail-trails I sometimes find myself on. Because of the cantilever brakes, retrofitting it to 700c wheels is not a no-brainer.
So it would be nice to have a large enough bike, one that can take 700c tires, in all their various widths.
In any case, the Rivendell catalog is my new favorite reading. Part retail document, part bicycle manifesto, part religious tract (the religion of Biking By Grant), it warrants careful study.
Plus, I need to decide between the cloth and cork handlebar tape for my m-bars. And there's that beautiful one-speed Quickbeam. . . .
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Gear, Part 1
So there I was having a certain in-office surgical procedure, and the doctor starts talking bikes, I suppose to take my mind off the snip-snipping that was going on. (This is a true story.) He asked me if I bike. Yes, I said (wishing he would concentrate on his work). So then he starts talking about gear ratios and how far the bike travels with each pedal revolution with each gear ratio. And I felt inadequate. I couldn't talk the bike talk. I just liked to ride the things and tinker with them.
And so forgive me dear reader if you find my musings on bike gear less than fully informed. I don't know how to calculate gear ratios. I'm not even completely sure how many teeth my sprockets have. (How many sprockets my teeth have?) I'm not even completely sure how many gears my freewheel has. (I do know the difference between a freewheel and a cassette, but not without some research.) I have only just recently learned the difference between 27", 700c, 650b, and 26" wheels, and I now know that 32mm tires are more or less equivalent to 27 x 1 1/4" tires.
But it seems to me that some things are worth knowing (wheel size and tire width, for example, because I need to replace tires periodically), while other things are not worth knowing. What do I care what the gear ratio is? Is that even the correct term? I know that I like to ride on the largest chainwheel and the third largest freewheel gear. On modest slopes I shift to the middle chainwheel and fourth largest freewheel gear. On steeper slopes, I move to the third freewheel gear. Steep downhills: the hardest combination. Steep uphills: the easiest combination. And those are the gears I use mostly. I guess I only need a five-speed. Maybe I only need a one-speed. As far as I can tell, that would make me supremely hip.
But do I care what the actual numbers are? I don't.
And, of course, those who know about gear ratios also are careful to wear yellow biking jerseys and clip-in pedals, while I have been going the other direction. I just replaced my clip-in pedals (which caused several painful and/or embarrassing crashes and spills) with plain old "rat-trap" style pedals, which I have been using without toe clips (to try to solve knee pain), and I have been wearing baggy shorts and t-shirts. Soft-soled tennis shoes, too. I rode 50 miles in this set-up on Saturday, and had a lovely time. Didn't tip over once, never felt that I wasn't transferring power efficiently to the pedals, didn't feel the least bit un-aerodynamic.
So the question is, what's point of biking, and all that gear, and those beautiful Nitto stems and handlebars? Is it recreation? Is it exercise? Is it art? I don't know the answer, quite, because I've been obsessing about my bikes as much as the next guy. I don't think it's just the equipment (even the baggy retro equipment that I have been favoring.) I really do like riding the things. I commute on one every day, I take long weekend rides.
If it's the exercise, I can get plenty of exercise by taking two-hour, six-mile walks. No gear to worry about there. Except shoes. And backpack. And raincoat. And hat. (Actually, being bald, I own a lot of hats.) And sunglasses. (I own a lot of those, too.) I gave my wife a hydration pack for her birthday a few years ago, like the ones they used on Dune under their desert robes. She looked at me like I was insane. I can't quite bring myself to use it, and she certainly doesn't use it, so it sits in a rubber, protruding-tube heap in the closet.
I have a basket on the back of my bike. (Not the pair of baskets that hang down, but a single basket--a metal shopping basket, actually--strapped to my rear rack.) It's fantastically handy, but supremely stupid looking. So I ride with it on for a while, and then take it off because it looks too dorky. But then I miss it, so I put it back on. And really, who cares whether I have a basket on my bike?
Maybe if I wear a yellow jersey no one will notice.
And so forgive me dear reader if you find my musings on bike gear less than fully informed. I don't know how to calculate gear ratios. I'm not even completely sure how many teeth my sprockets have. (How many sprockets my teeth have?) I'm not even completely sure how many gears my freewheel has. (I do know the difference between a freewheel and a cassette, but not without some research.) I have only just recently learned the difference between 27", 700c, 650b, and 26" wheels, and I now know that 32mm tires are more or less equivalent to 27 x 1 1/4" tires.
But it seems to me that some things are worth knowing (wheel size and tire width, for example, because I need to replace tires periodically), while other things are not worth knowing. What do I care what the gear ratio is? Is that even the correct term? I know that I like to ride on the largest chainwheel and the third largest freewheel gear. On modest slopes I shift to the middle chainwheel and fourth largest freewheel gear. On steeper slopes, I move to the third freewheel gear. Steep downhills: the hardest combination. Steep uphills: the easiest combination. And those are the gears I use mostly. I guess I only need a five-speed. Maybe I only need a one-speed. As far as I can tell, that would make me supremely hip.
But do I care what the actual numbers are? I don't.
And, of course, those who know about gear ratios also are careful to wear yellow biking jerseys and clip-in pedals, while I have been going the other direction. I just replaced my clip-in pedals (which caused several painful and/or embarrassing crashes and spills) with plain old "rat-trap" style pedals, which I have been using without toe clips (to try to solve knee pain), and I have been wearing baggy shorts and t-shirts. Soft-soled tennis shoes, too. I rode 50 miles in this set-up on Saturday, and had a lovely time. Didn't tip over once, never felt that I wasn't transferring power efficiently to the pedals, didn't feel the least bit un-aerodynamic.
So the question is, what's point of biking, and all that gear, and those beautiful Nitto stems and handlebars? Is it recreation? Is it exercise? Is it art? I don't know the answer, quite, because I've been obsessing about my bikes as much as the next guy. I don't think it's just the equipment (even the baggy retro equipment that I have been favoring.) I really do like riding the things. I commute on one every day, I take long weekend rides.
If it's the exercise, I can get plenty of exercise by taking two-hour, six-mile walks. No gear to worry about there. Except shoes. And backpack. And raincoat. And hat. (Actually, being bald, I own a lot of hats.) And sunglasses. (I own a lot of those, too.) I gave my wife a hydration pack for her birthday a few years ago, like the ones they used on Dune under their desert robes. She looked at me like I was insane. I can't quite bring myself to use it, and she certainly doesn't use it, so it sits in a rubber, protruding-tube heap in the closet.
I have a basket on the back of my bike. (Not the pair of baskets that hang down, but a single basket--a metal shopping basket, actually--strapped to my rear rack.) It's fantastically handy, but supremely stupid looking. So I ride with it on for a while, and then take it off because it looks too dorky. But then I miss it, so I put it back on. And really, who cares whether I have a basket on my bike?
Maybe if I wear a yellow jersey no one will notice.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Sickness--My Bikes
My first bike was a Schwinn Typhoon. Black. Two speeds, coaster breaks, rear baskets.
My second bike was a Schwinn Suburban. Green. Ten Speeds. Upright handle bars. I was thirteen.
My third bike was a patched together Gitane Interclub frame with miscellaneous wheels and cranks and a headset that didn't fit the fork or frame so it rattled. I was sixteen. I rode that bike from Seattle to San Diego in 1976 when I was seventeen. (What were my parents thinking?) I still have that bike in my garage.
My fourth bike was a Trek 620. Reynolds 531 lugged steel frame, braze-on mounts for everything, nice touring bike. I got that one when I was 24, which is now 24 years ago. It's still my primary road bike, but I've been tinkering, and that tinkering has led me to Rivendell Bicycle Works. (More later.)
My fifth bike was a cheapo Fuji hybrid purchased online from Performance Bike. It arrived pretty crushed up, but once I trued the wheels, pulled the derailer out of the spokes, and got used to the bent cranks, it has been a pretty good commuting bike. It gets me the five miles to and from, and who'd want to steal it? Once I added the Nitto Stem and Albatross handlebars (with cork grips)--yes, from Rivendell Bikes--it became really quite a pleasure to ride, in its crippled sort of way. It's covered with reflective tape and has a big basket lashed to the back rack--very convenient.
My sixth bike was a Trek Mountain bike bought from the university surplus store, which I use for riding on sandy dirt roads in northern Michigan. Except I don't much. I think I'll give that bike to my son.
My seventh bike . . . Well, stay tuned.
My second bike was a Schwinn Suburban. Green. Ten Speeds. Upright handle bars. I was thirteen.
My third bike was a patched together Gitane Interclub frame with miscellaneous wheels and cranks and a headset that didn't fit the fork or frame so it rattled. I was sixteen. I rode that bike from Seattle to San Diego in 1976 when I was seventeen. (What were my parents thinking?) I still have that bike in my garage.
My fourth bike was a Trek 620. Reynolds 531 lugged steel frame, braze-on mounts for everything, nice touring bike. I got that one when I was 24, which is now 24 years ago. It's still my primary road bike, but I've been tinkering, and that tinkering has led me to Rivendell Bicycle Works. (More later.)
My fifth bike was a cheapo Fuji hybrid purchased online from Performance Bike. It arrived pretty crushed up, but once I trued the wheels, pulled the derailer out of the spokes, and got used to the bent cranks, it has been a pretty good commuting bike. It gets me the five miles to and from, and who'd want to steal it? Once I added the Nitto Stem and Albatross handlebars (with cork grips)--yes, from Rivendell Bikes--it became really quite a pleasure to ride, in its crippled sort of way. It's covered with reflective tape and has a big basket lashed to the back rack--very convenient.
My sixth bike was a Trek Mountain bike bought from the university surplus store, which I use for riding on sandy dirt roads in northern Michigan. Except I don't much. I think I'll give that bike to my son.
My seventh bike . . . Well, stay tuned.
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