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. . . .

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.

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.