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Just try riding your bike on unplowed public sidewalks after a snowstorm. At the rate we're going, the "It's My Money You Can't Have It Not Even To Provide Police And Fire Protection And Certainly Not To Plow Sidewalks" folks will vote down all taxes that make civic life manageable, including money for plowing the sidewalks along stretches of road that have no residences or businesses to take care of it.
Today (Sunday) was the first big snowfall of the newly impoverished township services snow season. Will I have plowed sidewalks for my commute tomorrow? We'll see. Maybe I should bring my own shovel. Or put a plow on my bike.
Greed and selfishness for a worse life.
Update: The sidewalks were partly plowed at 8:00. Not too bad.
Update #2: After a February snowstorm, the sidewalks still aren't plowed after two days.
Update #3: It took more than a week for all the sidewalks to get plowed. During that time I was forced to ride in Grand River Avenue, since there was no other alternative. I guess snowplowing is one of those luxuries that we need to live without in tight budgetary times, like fire and police protection. Wouldn't want to raise taxes to pay for those. Now if someone would just require grocery stores to give me my groceries and gas stations to give me gas, and the power company to give me electricity, I could keep all my money! I think it's safe to say that Ralph Nickleby would have been a Republican. (Look it up.)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
Studded Tires
I've toyed with the idea ever since I started winter commuting three years ago: studded snow tires. But they're expensive, and I was fairly satisfied with my solution of using super-knobbies that are deflated to about 40 lbs for better grip. Seemed to work pretty well: No falls last winter; only one fall the winter before.
But what fun are bikes if you can't tinker and buy things for them? So I got a set of Innova (I think) studded tires from Bike Tires Direct (I think that's where I got them). Not super expensive.
They're fine. Clickety-clickety on the pavement. So far no studs have fallen out. But do they prevent me from falling? I think they will only prevent slips on glare ice (which is a good thing, for the few times I ride on glare ice). In snow, however, where the studs don't hit pavement, I'm afraid they're useless. In fact, they're probably worse than my super-knobbies, which chew up the snow and grab hold.
I'll leave them on for a while; but I think I'll probably end up putting the knobbies back on and riding carefully on ice.
Update: Big snow this week on top of slush. As a result, the roads and sidewalks are VERY icy (underneath a layer of hardpack). Perfect conditions, hypothetically, for the studded tires. Do they work? I didn't fall, so they didn't not work. Maybe they are the best I can do in admittedly difficult conditions. As long as I ride as cautiously as I would without them, perhaps they're worth having.
But what fun are bikes if you can't tinker and buy things for them? So I got a set of Innova (I think) studded tires from Bike Tires Direct (I think that's where I got them). Not super expensive.
They're fine. Clickety-clickety on the pavement. So far no studs have fallen out. But do they prevent me from falling? I think they will only prevent slips on glare ice (which is a good thing, for the few times I ride on glare ice). In snow, however, where the studs don't hit pavement, I'm afraid they're useless. In fact, they're probably worse than my super-knobbies, which chew up the snow and grab hold.
I'll leave them on for a while; but I think I'll probably end up putting the knobbies back on and riding carefully on ice.
Update: Big snow this week on top of slush. As a result, the roads and sidewalks are VERY icy (underneath a layer of hardpack). Perfect conditions, hypothetically, for the studded tires. Do they work? I didn't fall, so they didn't not work. Maybe they are the best I can do in admittedly difficult conditions. As long as I ride as cautiously as I would without them, perhaps they're worth having.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Morons
One evening this week I swapped roles and became a pedestrian on the route I usually bike-commute on, the sidewalk along Grand River Avenue between Okemos and East Lansing. I did the walk after dark, so I experienced all sorts of idiotic night-biking behavior.
There was the moron barreling along with no lights, no reflectors, at top speed. He had to slam on his brakes when I stepped in his path.
There was the moron . . . well, he wasn't exactly a moron . . . well, OK, he was almost a moron: He was roaring along in the heavy 45 mph two lanes no shoulder rush-hour traffic (remember, in the dark) as if he were one of them. You know: Same rules, same rights. He had magnificent lighting--multiple taillights, good bright headlight, reflectors galore--but, let's face it, he was asking to die. He will die honorably, doing the right thing, striking a blow for the cause of bicyclist equality, but dead is dead. Not a moron, but insane.
Then there were the two morons riding on the sidewalk (where, I'm sorry to say, considering how dangerous Grand River Avenue is, they belonged), with good headlights and other safety gear, but they were riding SIDE BY SIDE. On the sidewalk. In the dark. They forced me, the humble pedestrian, onto the grass.
People! When you must ride on the sidewalk in the dark, remember: Pedestrians have no lights; pedestrians are the rightful inhabitants of the sidewalk--you are an interloper; maybe, just maybe, it's a good idea to slow down a little; and (DUH!) use lights.
There was the moron barreling along with no lights, no reflectors, at top speed. He had to slam on his brakes when I stepped in his path.
There was the moron . . . well, he wasn't exactly a moron . . . well, OK, he was almost a moron: He was roaring along in the heavy 45 mph two lanes no shoulder rush-hour traffic (remember, in the dark) as if he were one of them. You know: Same rules, same rights. He had magnificent lighting--multiple taillights, good bright headlight, reflectors galore--but, let's face it, he was asking to die. He will die honorably, doing the right thing, striking a blow for the cause of bicyclist equality, but dead is dead. Not a moron, but insane.
Then there were the two morons riding on the sidewalk (where, I'm sorry to say, considering how dangerous Grand River Avenue is, they belonged), with good headlights and other safety gear, but they were riding SIDE BY SIDE. On the sidewalk. In the dark. They forced me, the humble pedestrian, onto the grass.
People! When you must ride on the sidewalk in the dark, remember: Pedestrians have no lights; pedestrians are the rightful inhabitants of the sidewalk--you are an interloper; maybe, just maybe, it's a good idea to slow down a little; and (DUH!) use lights.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Final Tour of 2010
This is a belated posting about a two-day ride I took at the end of August. The purpose of the ride was to explore the possibility of multi-100-mile-day short tours, perhaps five days each, that would take me across the country in 8 years.
This final big ride of the season took me from Empire to Okemos. I didn’t pretend that it was a quality camping or bike-touring experience. No campfires. No cowboy coffee. No. I set off from Empire at 7:30 and worked my way down very very familiar roads, roads I have driven hundreds of times, riding riding riding.
It’s amazing how that changes your sense of time and distance. You’d think it would be frustrating, covering in two hours what the car can cover in 20 minutes, but somehow it’s not. It doesn’t actually feel longer, in the sense that you hold in your head this idea of how long it’s going to take, and then you let it tick down. Twenty minutes in a car feels like a long time. Two hours on a bike feels like a long time. Maybe it’s the inactivity of riding in a car vs. the activity of riding the bike. Or maybe just the opposite: the constant pushpushpushpush of your legs on the pedals is mesmerizing, perhaps. Or maybe the trance state you enter while driving has a faster clock, so it doesn’t feel shorter than two hours of biking. I don’t know.
But it was a nice day for a ride. Quite strong tail wind, nice cool temperature. The Betsie Valley Trail leading into Thompsonville was quite nice. M-115 was fine until Mesick, then horrible and terrifying. I got off it and rambled at right angles on lovely hilly roads to Cadillac. M-115 between Cadillac and Clare has a six-foot shoulder, so it felt like a bike path (but one with semis driving right next to it).
I arrived in Clare, bought a Little Caesar’s large pepperoni pizza for $6. I ate three slices outside the store, then loaded the rest into a zip-lock bag to take to my campsite, which was 5 miles east of town. I was going to stealth camp, but the campground (Herrick Park) was exactly on my route. I needed to detour no more than 1/4 mile. The downside was that it cost $25, and I had no buddy to share the cost with. The upside was that it was almost completely deserted. There were no other campers in sight. I went to bed as soon as it was dark (9:00) and got up at 5:00.
Since I was equipped for night riding, I packed up and set off at 6:00, riding east, so I watched the sky lighten and turn orange before the sun came up. Pretty. Mrs TomTom told me that there was a variety store in Coleman, 7 miles away. Sure enough, there it was. (You can count on Mrs. TomTom.) Did they have delicious pastries? Hot breakfast sandwiches? No. Bad coffee and Little Debbie was my breakfast. Then ride ride ride. One McDonald’s stop in Ithaca, otherwise, not many stops.
This second day felt fine, except my butt boils starting acting up. You don’t want to know more. But this would be a problem if I were doing more than two 100-mile days, or a 400 km “brevet”. I still don’t know how people do that, ride 240 miles in one shot. They start at 4:00 in the morning and ride until midnight. How do they do that?
In any case, I arrived in Okemos at about 3:00. The mileage for the first day was 110 miles, for the second it was 95. That counts as two 100-mile days. Could I have done three more? Maybe.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Princeton Tec Head Lamp
My morning commutes are always in the dark this year. I have been experimenting with lights, using everything from a dynamo-driven Lumotec halogen, to an old Specialized battery-powered halogen, to a battery-powered Cateye LED, all of which were mounted on or slightly below the handlebars. The Lumotec was the best, then the halogen Specialized (although I need to recharge the batteries every day). But none was perfect.
At the advice of Grant at Rivendell, I bought (from Rivendell) the Princeton Tec EOS bike light, which can be mounted on the handlebars, but also has a head strap. Wow. This is a bright light. It lights up the entire lane, side to side, and it makes reflective signs (and the reflectors on unlit bikes) flash brightly. Having the beam turn when I turn my head is superior to having it fixed in place. LED, so the batteries will last a long time. Made in the USA. Goes with my Princeton Tec flashing rear light, which is also fantastic.
UPDATE: OK, I guess it was too good to be true. Although the light is wonderfully bright, the fine print says that the "regulated burn time" is one hour on the brightest setting. To define: regulated burn time is when the light is constantly bright without dimming. How much will it dim after one hour? We'll see. They say its total burn time on high is 113 hours, but again the fine print: That's 113 hours until it's as bright as a moonlit night, which hardly counts. Maybe I'll explore the medium setting, which is at full brightness for 10 hours. They also warn that rechargeable batteries aren't as bright. Sigh.
Update update: I have now run the light at full power for two and a half hours on a single set of energizer alkalines. It's dimmer, but not significantly so. It's very usable still. Perhaps it will last three hours of usable light on a set of batteries. If so, I'd consider that a success. If I need to charge the batteries once a week, with extra juice for when I forget, that's ok.
Update update update: I have been using the light all fall (two months, so far), and I'm very pleased with it. I charge the batteries once a week (even though they still have plenty of juice) and then run them for three or four hours between charges. Very bright, good wide pattern. It's much safer than a handlebar mounted light because it shows reflectors on oncoming bikes, joggers' clothing, street signs, and parked cars (due to the angle of the light) MUCH more than a low light does.
Updatex4: I finally wore the batteries out in a week: 2x on Sunday, 2x on Monday, 1x on Wednesday, 2x on Thursday, for a total of about three hours. It had almost no juice this morning. These are just sort of ordinary NiMH rechargeable batteries. Good to know.
The final update? This morning was cold (9˚). The roads and sidewalks were very rutty from a recent snowfall and subsequent incomplete plowing. I discovered a new, horrible problem with my EOS headlamp: In extreme cold, the metal on the hinge (including the plastic-lined locknut) contracts so much that the light flops around. It won't stay pointing forward. So just as I go over a rut, just as I need to the light the most as I'm hitting an ice mound, it flops down and gives me a perfect view of my hands. I have tightened the nut, but it doesn't stay tight. I think I can solve this with . . . gray tape? A paper clip? Dental floss? One of the standard fixes for things. But this problem makes this light (drum roll) A PIECE OF JUNK, at least in very cold weather. Too bad. Great light when it points forward. Useless when it points straight down.
At the advice of Grant at Rivendell, I bought (from Rivendell) the Princeton Tec EOS bike light, which can be mounted on the handlebars, but also has a head strap. Wow. This is a bright light. It lights up the entire lane, side to side, and it makes reflective signs (and the reflectors on unlit bikes) flash brightly. Having the beam turn when I turn my head is superior to having it fixed in place. LED, so the batteries will last a long time. Made in the USA. Goes with my Princeton Tec flashing rear light, which is also fantastic.
UPDATE: OK, I guess it was too good to be true. Although the light is wonderfully bright, the fine print says that the "regulated burn time" is one hour on the brightest setting. To define: regulated burn time is when the light is constantly bright without dimming. How much will it dim after one hour? We'll see. They say its total burn time on high is 113 hours, but again the fine print: That's 113 hours until it's as bright as a moonlit night, which hardly counts. Maybe I'll explore the medium setting, which is at full brightness for 10 hours. They also warn that rechargeable batteries aren't as bright. Sigh.
Update update: I have now run the light at full power for two and a half hours on a single set of energizer alkalines. It's dimmer, but not significantly so. It's very usable still. Perhaps it will last three hours of usable light on a set of batteries. If so, I'd consider that a success. If I need to charge the batteries once a week, with extra juice for when I forget, that's ok.
Update update update: I have been using the light all fall (two months, so far), and I'm very pleased with it. I charge the batteries once a week (even though they still have plenty of juice) and then run them for three or four hours between charges. Very bright, good wide pattern. It's much safer than a handlebar mounted light because it shows reflectors on oncoming bikes, joggers' clothing, street signs, and parked cars (due to the angle of the light) MUCH more than a low light does.
Updatex4: I finally wore the batteries out in a week: 2x on Sunday, 2x on Monday, 1x on Wednesday, 2x on Thursday, for a total of about three hours. It had almost no juice this morning. These are just sort of ordinary NiMH rechargeable batteries. Good to know.
The final update? This morning was cold (9˚). The roads and sidewalks were very rutty from a recent snowfall and subsequent incomplete plowing. I discovered a new, horrible problem with my EOS headlamp: In extreme cold, the metal on the hinge (including the plastic-lined locknut) contracts so much that the light flops around. It won't stay pointing forward. So just as I go over a rut, just as I need to the light the most as I'm hitting an ice mound, it flops down and gives me a perfect view of my hands. I have tightened the nut, but it doesn't stay tight. I think I can solve this with . . . gray tape? A paper clip? Dental floss? One of the standard fixes for things. But this problem makes this light (drum roll) A PIECE OF JUNK, at least in very cold weather. Too bad. Great light when it points forward. Useless when it points straight down.
Friday, August 27, 2010
GPS on Tour
For the last two bike tours (small, two- to four-day affairs), I have carried along a cheap TomTom gps unit. On previous trips, there were several occasions when, despite detailed local maps, we didn't know where we were, either because we took a wrong turn, or because the map was not detailed enough. (This happens fairly often in towns and cities.) So I thought, Wouldn't it be nice to have a gps unit to consult at times of uncertainty?
Obviously, there's no way to keep a normal portable gps unit turned on all the time, even if I wanted to. The battery would last about an hour. But as a supplement to maps, and to help find stores and restaurants, it might be nice to be able to turn it on and have a look.
The verdict? I have found it useful. Not a substitue for county maps, but useful. I keep in in my handlebar bag. It takes about a minute to power up and find the satellite, so I don't consult it often. But several times on our Door County trip, I gave it a quick look to tell us which road would take us out of town in the right direction, and it did successfully predict several restaurants and gas stations. Unfortunately, one very unfortunate time, I did not allow it to find the satellite before I consulted about restaurants, and it used the previous coordinates. I didn't notice because I was looking at the list of restaurants, which does not show the map, and I wasn't familiar with the streets that the restaurants were located on. So we went in pursuit of a much needed breakfast stop that wasn't there. Whoops. If I had waited patiently for it to find its satellite, the problem wouldn't have happened.
I suppose the ultimate solution is to use the new Nokia adapter that allows a bike generator to charge electronic devices (supposedly arriving in the U.S. soon). With a generator hub providing steady charge, a gps unit could be mounted on the handlebars and the nice lady could narrate every turn.
Nice, or not? Not, I fear. It won't replace a good map. (But it would be very handy for keeping electronic doodads charged on a long tour.)
Obviously, there's no way to keep a normal portable gps unit turned on all the time, even if I wanted to. The battery would last about an hour. But as a supplement to maps, and to help find stores and restaurants, it might be nice to be able to turn it on and have a look.
The verdict? I have found it useful. Not a substitue for county maps, but useful. I keep in in my handlebar bag. It takes about a minute to power up and find the satellite, so I don't consult it often. But several times on our Door County trip, I gave it a quick look to tell us which road would take us out of town in the right direction, and it did successfully predict several restaurants and gas stations. Unfortunately, one very unfortunate time, I did not allow it to find the satellite before I consulted about restaurants, and it used the previous coordinates. I didn't notice because I was looking at the list of restaurants, which does not show the map, and I wasn't familiar with the streets that the restaurants were located on. So we went in pursuit of a much needed breakfast stop that wasn't there. Whoops. If I had waited patiently for it to find its satellite, the problem wouldn't have happened.
I suppose the ultimate solution is to use the new Nokia adapter that allows a bike generator to charge electronic devices (supposedly arriving in the U.S. soon). With a generator hub providing steady charge, a gps unit could be mounted on the handlebars and the nice lady could narrate every turn.
Nice, or not? Not, I fear. It won't replace a good map. (But it would be very handy for keeping electronic doodads charged on a long tour.)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Summer 2010 Mini-Tour
Jon and I continued the recent tradition of small bike tours this summer, riding out Door County, WI, and back, for a total of about 240 miles in four days. We have been doing such rides for . . . hm . . . I'm reluctant to say . . . 35 years (although we had a 20-year hiatus while our kids grew up).
The gear: The usual Trek 620 (1984 vintage, although the only original parts are the frame, cranks/bb, seatpost, front derailer, and rear rack) with trekking bars. I liked the rear basket with the Rivendell "shopsack" so much, I bought a small basket and small shopsack for the front. The front bag held my clothes, the rear bag held my tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, stove/pots, poncho/tarp, rain jacket, towel, miscellaneous loose stuff. In order to make room for the front bag, I attached the handlebar bag to the handlebars with the bracket that came with it (it's a Nashbar bag), modified with a stiff metal rod under the stem to keep it from drooping. In that bag I carried personal and small stuff (phone, camera, wallet, spf, head lamp, bug spray, granola bars, gps unit). Tools lived in a seat bag. My fold-up stool was strapped on top of the rear bag. (Both bags had cargo nets, fantastically useful on the road for holding odds and ends like hats and flipflops and drying towels.)
The whole set-up was a little front- and top-heavy, but it was also completely stiff (much less lateral swaying than regular panniers), which was a pretty good tradeoff. The bike handled fine. The advantage of the bags-in-baskets arrangement was that I could pop the front bag out of the basket and take it into my tent (where it served as a lovely pillow when covered with my fleece pants), and I could get at the contents of the back basket without fooling around with flaps and deep panniers. Very convenient.
This year, I rode the slow ferry from Ludington to Manitowoc, arriving at 11:30 pm. Jon drove up from Milwaukee, having worked a full day (and frantically tried to get his new Surly LHT ready). He met me when I rolled off the ferry.
We decided to take our chances on camping this first night. Jon had called the ferry office, and they assured him we could camp near the docks with no problem. This proved to be correct: There was ample grass, benches, even, and a nice wall to hide us from the road, in case the gendarmerie happened by (and cared that we were there). When we arrived, a freighter was unloading nearby; it left in the middle of the night. This was not a scenic wilderness experience, but it was actually quite nice, and it perfectly met our needs.
Up early the next morning, with a good bit of puttering by Jon to make his rig road-ready. Breakfast at the Two Rivers McDonalds after a warm-up ride along the coastal bike trail. This first day proved to be a long one: by the time we arrived at Potowatomi State Park, we had ridden 72 miles. Although it was our first and longest day, it was not our hardest one. In fact, it was pleasant. (The general flatness helped.)
The gear: The usual Trek 620 (1984 vintage, although the only original parts are the frame, cranks/bb, seatpost, front derailer, and rear rack) with trekking bars. I liked the rear basket with the Rivendell "shopsack" so much, I bought a small basket and small shopsack for the front. The front bag held my clothes, the rear bag held my tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, stove/pots, poncho/tarp, rain jacket, towel, miscellaneous loose stuff. In order to make room for the front bag, I attached the handlebar bag to the handlebars with the bracket that came with it (it's a Nashbar bag), modified with a stiff metal rod under the stem to keep it from drooping. In that bag I carried personal and small stuff (phone, camera, wallet, spf, head lamp, bug spray, granola bars, gps unit). Tools lived in a seat bag. My fold-up stool was strapped on top of the rear bag. (Both bags had cargo nets, fantastically useful on the road for holding odds and ends like hats and flipflops and drying towels.)
The whole set-up was a little front- and top-heavy, but it was also completely stiff (much less lateral swaying than regular panniers), which was a pretty good tradeoff. The bike handled fine. The advantage of the bags-in-baskets arrangement was that I could pop the front bag out of the basket and take it into my tent (where it served as a lovely pillow when covered with my fleece pants), and I could get at the contents of the back basket without fooling around with flaps and deep panniers. Very convenient.
This year, I rode the slow ferry from Ludington to Manitowoc, arriving at 11:30 pm. Jon drove up from Milwaukee, having worked a full day (and frantically tried to get his new Surly LHT ready). He met me when I rolled off the ferry.
Up early the next morning, with a good bit of puttering by Jon to make his rig road-ready. Breakfast at the Two Rivers McDonalds after a warm-up ride along the coastal bike trail. This first day proved to be a long one: by the time we arrived at Potowatomi State Park, we had ridden 72 miles. Although it was our first and longest day, it was not our hardest one. In fact, it was pleasant. (The general flatness helped.)
As usual, it was good to be back on the road. We had a nice tail wind, which never hurts, and the temperature was pleasantly warm but not really hot. After our intrepid breakfast (I had cinnaminis and coffee), we set off northwest. Unfortunately, I hadn't really studied the map, so I didn't notice that we should have been going northEAST. By the time we reached Mishicot I had seen the error of our ways. Alas, we needed to start angling back east, losing our nicely won westerliness. Following lovely Wisconsin farm roads, we went north and slightly east, never really hitting any towns as we went.
Finally, by mid-afternoon, we were ready for a break; juice, snacks, and a nice sit-down. But there weren't towns, not between us and Sturgeon Bay. Such route selection is a bad idea. Always have towns to go through. Go out of your way to have towns to go through. We nearly detoured back to Casco at one point (my TomTom, whom we affectionately called "Mrs. TomTom"--actually, Jon called her something like Svetlana--told us that there was a gas station two miles out of our way). We were tempted, but two miles out the way is a long way. Instead, we jumped on the Ahnapee State Trail and booked it for Algoma.
This was an acceptable trail. Not heavily used, so it was more of a two-track than a full-width trail, but it was in rideable condition. When it looked like the trail might miss the retail section of Algoma, we abandoned it for SR 54. Busy, narrow shoulder, but it took us to Algoma, where we reveled and delighted and gorged at McDonald's.
Gawd. Two McDonald's in one day? Sure. Large drinks were $1, all-you-can-drink, and I drank a lot. I also had a mini-flurry, and I bought a bag of peanuts in the shell at the adjoining convenience store. I didn't really need a whole pound of peanuts, but we enjoyed them as we made a terrible mess.
For some reason, even though we had gone 50 miles and the afternoon was getting on, we didn't feel discouraged. First day naivete, perhaps. We set off again up highway 42 (the first of many encounters with highway 42), a lovely stretch that we stayed with until Maplewood, at which point we rejoined the Ahnapee State Trail.
Between Maplewood and Sturgeon Bay the trail is very nice, probably because lots of people from Sturgeon Bay use it. It's wide and hard, with nice benches every few miles. We made very good time, arriving in Sturgeon by dinner time.
We decided that cooking was silly on one of these trips. It's not like we're hiking in the wilderness, where you have to boil water to reconstitute your freeze-dried kibble or else starve. No. If one plans carefully, one can be near restaurants at or near dinnertime, at least in civilized parts of the country. And the little extra you spend on restaurant food is more than made up for in convenience and expeditiousness. I'll leave the expedition cooking to the kids. Old farts like us can let someone else make our dinner.
So we had a perfectly acceptable meal in an Italian restaurant in downtown Sturgeon. Not great, but good enough.
Our final goal for the day was Potawatomi State Park, northwest of town. The signs indicated that we needed to take a busy highway to get there, but Mrs. TomTom said that there was a coast road. We started down her coast road, but signs warning of a dead-end stopped us. I suspected that this was a ruse, a dead-end for cars only, but we didn't dare risk it, so we took the busy highway. (The next morning, we accidentally took the coast road: Sure enough, a barrier keeps cars out, but not bikes.)
The state park was fine. Very state parky. On past trips, I have been happy to stay in crowded campgrounds as long as they have showers (and as long as I have ear plugs). But I am starting to get a little sick of crowded campgrounds. The showers are nice, and Jon and I enjoy a good campfire at the end of the day (we each have little folding seats to use by the fire), but I'm starting to get tired of it. My favorite campsite this trip was the first night, on the grass by the ferry dock. Quiet, private. I am going to explore stealth camping on future trips, at least on solo outings.
When we awoke on day 2, it was pouring rain. We have been lucky on our trips, really going all the way back to when we were kids. On our West Coast trip, we had no rain in four weeks. In all our subsequent trips we've had very little rain. (We avoided it two years ago by staying in a motel on the one really stormy night.) But this rain was the real deal. It came down steadily all morning as we were packing up, and for several hours as we rode.
I have been in denial all these years about my tent (Alps Mountaineering Comet I): I knew it leaked, but I didn't want to deal with it. This rain made me want to deal with it. I had puddles in all four corners of the tent. Luckily, my air mattress keeps me high enough off the tent floor (and my mummy-style sleeping bag is very tight, so it doesn't hang over), so nothing got wet. Still . . . if it were to rain for multiple nights, the tent would be pretty unpleasant. (I sealed the seams when I got home. I think the problem is solved.)
I hadn't really made good rain preparations. I accidentally had the right gear, but it wasn't perfect. My Rivendell shopsacks are quite waterproof, and I had draped a poncho over the bike the night before, so none of my belongings were wet. With a large garbage bag across the top of the shopsack (held in place by the cargo net) as I rode, the bags were very dry. But I didn't have rain procedures for my handlebar bag, so all my maps and papers got soaked. (I have now added zip-lock bags to my gear, large enough to hold the map case. And I'll just automatically store not-in-use maps and papers in a ziplock bag.) The handlebar bag itself was dry, so my wallet, camera, phone, etc, didn't get wet.
The other innovation that I could have tried was to use my large poncho as a tarp: using the stretchy clothesline as a ridge line as at one end, the poncho could be draped over and secured to create a canopy for the tent and/or the bike and/or my little chair (if I didn't have a picnic table). That way, even if it were pouring rain when I was setting up camp, I could create a shelter to help prevent rain getting into the tent as I was pitching it, and while getting in and out.
On that rainy day 2, then, we set off up the newly discovered coast road. It was warm enough that my cheap Nashbar rain jacket was enough protection; I just wore shorts and let my legs get wet. We rode across the bridge and entered Door County proper. For breakfast, we stopped at a nice little restaurant in the middle of town. I ordered pancakes.
We rode for a few hours in the rain, but by the time we reached Egg Harbor, the sun was coming out. We stopped for juice and a sit-down, and hung up our wet gear to dry a little. Egg Harbor is an unpleasant little tourist hole. I have always thought so. I was glad to leave and head up into the peninsula's beautiful interior.
Once you get away from the west coast and Highway 42, Door County is gorgeous and peaceful. (The west coast is gorgeous, but it's hardly peaceful, since that's where the tourists congregate in a vast multitude.) But the beautiful rolling farmland and largely empty roads in the interior make for lovely biking. The one exception was Old Stage Rd, which is the major north-south thoroughfare for locals trying to avoid the crowds of Sister Bay, so traffic is fairly steady, and everyone drives fast, since they're not sight-seeing.
We avoided Fish Creek, Ephraim, and Sister Bay on the way up, so the next town we hit after Egg Harbor was Ellison Bay. I was happy to discover that Ellison Bay is still fairly quiet, as it was when Cindy and I summered there 25 years ago. Give me the tip of the peninsula any day. Because we had a ferry to catch, we soldiered on, arriving at the Northport Ferry dock (which is still not shown correctly on the state highway map) at about 6:00. We were going to eat in Gill's Rock, but nothing seemed appropriate, so we decided to take our chances on Washington Island. Good choice.
The ferry was easy and fun, with beautiful views down the rugged west coast of the peninsula. Washington Island was a biker's paradise, with flat, empty roads. At the main intersection, we found The Albatross hamburger stand. We both had Albie Burgers (but no milkshakes—what were we thinking?). The Albatross is clearly a beloved island tradition, which we were happy to experience.
The campground (Washington Island Camping Retreat) on Washington Island was fine. Not crowded, even on a Saturday night, nicely wooded, acceptable showers. The little camp store sold things like batteries, which our headlamps needed, and drinks, which we needed. They even had free coffee in the morning. Once we got the wet firewood burning (which took a while), we had a roaring blaze.
We decided that cooking was silly on one of these trips. It's not like we're hiking in the wilderness, where you have to boil water to reconstitute your freeze-dried kibble or else starve. No. If one plans carefully, one can be near restaurants at or near dinnertime, at least in civilized parts of the country. And the little extra you spend on restaurant food is more than made up for in convenience and expeditiousness. I'll leave the expedition cooking to the kids. Old farts like us can let someone else make our dinner.
So we had a perfectly acceptable meal in an Italian restaurant in downtown Sturgeon. Not great, but good enough.
Our final goal for the day was Potawatomi State Park, northwest of town. The signs indicated that we needed to take a busy highway to get there, but Mrs. TomTom said that there was a coast road. We started down her coast road, but signs warning of a dead-end stopped us. I suspected that this was a ruse, a dead-end for cars only, but we didn't dare risk it, so we took the busy highway. (The next morning, we accidentally took the coast road: Sure enough, a barrier keeps cars out, but not bikes.)
The state park was fine. Very state parky. On past trips, I have been happy to stay in crowded campgrounds as long as they have showers (and as long as I have ear plugs). But I am starting to get a little sick of crowded campgrounds. The showers are nice, and Jon and I enjoy a good campfire at the end of the day (we each have little folding seats to use by the fire), but I'm starting to get tired of it. My favorite campsite this trip was the first night, on the grass by the ferry dock. Quiet, private. I am going to explore stealth camping on future trips, at least on solo outings.
When we awoke on day 2, it was pouring rain. We have been lucky on our trips, really going all the way back to when we were kids. On our West Coast trip, we had no rain in four weeks. In all our subsequent trips we've had very little rain. (We avoided it two years ago by staying in a motel on the one really stormy night.) But this rain was the real deal. It came down steadily all morning as we were packing up, and for several hours as we rode.
I have been in denial all these years about my tent (Alps Mountaineering Comet I): I knew it leaked, but I didn't want to deal with it. This rain made me want to deal with it. I had puddles in all four corners of the tent. Luckily, my air mattress keeps me high enough off the tent floor (and my mummy-style sleeping bag is very tight, so it doesn't hang over), so nothing got wet. Still . . . if it were to rain for multiple nights, the tent would be pretty unpleasant. (I sealed the seams when I got home. I think the problem is solved.)
I hadn't really made good rain preparations. I accidentally had the right gear, but it wasn't perfect. My Rivendell shopsacks are quite waterproof, and I had draped a poncho over the bike the night before, so none of my belongings were wet. With a large garbage bag across the top of the shopsack (held in place by the cargo net) as I rode, the bags were very dry. But I didn't have rain procedures for my handlebar bag, so all my maps and papers got soaked. (I have now added zip-lock bags to my gear, large enough to hold the map case. And I'll just automatically store not-in-use maps and papers in a ziplock bag.) The handlebar bag itself was dry, so my wallet, camera, phone, etc, didn't get wet.
The other innovation that I could have tried was to use my large poncho as a tarp: using the stretchy clothesline as a ridge line as at one end, the poncho could be draped over and secured to create a canopy for the tent and/or the bike and/or my little chair (if I didn't have a picnic table). That way, even if it were pouring rain when I was setting up camp, I could create a shelter to help prevent rain getting into the tent as I was pitching it, and while getting in and out.
On that rainy day 2, then, we set off up the newly discovered coast road. It was warm enough that my cheap Nashbar rain jacket was enough protection; I just wore shorts and let my legs get wet. We rode across the bridge and entered Door County proper. For breakfast, we stopped at a nice little restaurant in the middle of town. I ordered pancakes.
We rode for a few hours in the rain, but by the time we reached Egg Harbor, the sun was coming out. We stopped for juice and a sit-down, and hung up our wet gear to dry a little. Egg Harbor is an unpleasant little tourist hole. I have always thought so. I was glad to leave and head up into the peninsula's beautiful interior.
Once you get away from the west coast and Highway 42, Door County is gorgeous and peaceful. (The west coast is gorgeous, but it's hardly peaceful, since that's where the tourists congregate in a vast multitude.) But the beautiful rolling farmland and largely empty roads in the interior make for lovely biking. The one exception was Old Stage Rd, which is the major north-south thoroughfare for locals trying to avoid the crowds of Sister Bay, so traffic is fairly steady, and everyone drives fast, since they're not sight-seeing.We avoided Fish Creek, Ephraim, and Sister Bay on the way up, so the next town we hit after Egg Harbor was Ellison Bay. I was happy to discover that Ellison Bay is still fairly quiet, as it was when Cindy and I summered there 25 years ago. Give me the tip of the peninsula any day. Because we had a ferry to catch, we soldiered on, arriving at the Northport Ferry dock (which is still not shown correctly on the state highway map) at about 6:00. We were going to eat in Gill's Rock, but nothing seemed appropriate, so we decided to take our chances on Washington Island. Good choice.
The ferry was easy and fun, with beautiful views down the rugged west coast of the peninsula. Washington Island was a biker's paradise, with flat, empty roads. At the main intersection, we found The Albatross hamburger stand. We both had Albie Burgers (but no milkshakes—what were we thinking?). The Albatross is clearly a beloved island tradition, which we were happy to experience.
The campground (Washington Island Camping Retreat) on Washington Island was fine. Not crowded, even on a Saturday night, nicely wooded, acceptable showers. The little camp store sold things like batteries, which our headlamps needed, and drinks, which we needed. They even had free coffee in the morning. Once we got the wet firewood burning (which took a while), we had a roaring blaze.
The next morning, we needed to hurry to catch the 7:45 ferry so we wouldn't be stranded on the island waiting for the next one, unable to start our long day to Algoma. It was five miles, all flat, but we only had 20 minutes. By my math, that meant we needed to average 15 mph. So I set us a brisk pace. I confess that I panicked when it looked like we might not make it, so I raced ahead to employ delaying tactics, if necessary. It proved not necessary. The ferry wasn't close to being on time, and there was no problem slipping the bikes on. There was a long line for cars on that early ferry, but not bikes.
We rode for eight miles, as we like to do before breakfast, and found a nice coffee shop in Ellison Bay, where we had coffee and pastries. Tasty. The hill out of Ellison Bay was the first whopper of the day, the hill out of Sister Bay was the second. The hills are another reason to avoid Highway 42 in DC. The west side is hilly, the east side is flat. So we turned onto Highway 57 in Sister Bay, and rode down the east side, through Bailey's Harbor and Jacksonport. 
We decided to stay on the main roads this day, since it seemed like we had a longer day than usual (which proved to be not true). Mostly, this was fine. Highway 57 is very nice all the way to Jacksonport. Quite pretty, really, with a nice shoulder and moderate traffic. When it leaves the coast, however, it becomes less nice. Traffic gets heavier and moves much faster. And because it's less sheltered (more fields, fewer trees), a south wind makes a difference, as we discovered. We labored away on this stretch until Valmy, where we discovered a convenience store that was selling brats, complete with onions and saurkraut. How could we say no to that? Actually, Jon rode by, perhaps thinking that I wouldn't want to stop. Foolishness! I brought him back to his senses. It was a good thing we did, too, because it was the last food we'd get until Algoma.
After our brats, we turned inland, or at least away from Highway 57. Suddenly, the life of the biker was good again, crossing beautiful Door County fields on empty roads. We crossed 57, still glad to be off it, and took the back way into the outskirts of Sturgeon Bay.
Here we faced a dilemma, one created mostly by our lack of attention to map details. We wanted to cross the Sturgeon Bay Ship Canal at the new bridge on 57, but we couldn't tell if bikes were allowed. We hemmed, we hawed, with studied the map (not very carefully), then decided to take a chance, and set off down the four-lane highway that led to the bridge. Turns out that not only are bikes allowed, there's a separate bike path, right across the bridge. (It's shown on the map, which we missed.)
We had been hoping to find a McDonald's (which, with its free wifi--good for ipod touches--and $1 all-you-can-drinks, is a biker's very good friend), but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, we found plenty of nuthin. So we headed down Highway U toward the coast and Algoma hoping to find a gas station or at least a place to fill our water bottles.
This proved to be a long slog. At one point, we found a park and collapsed. Well, Jon collapsed on a picnic table. I roamed around looking for cellphone reception. We then dragged our sorry asses back onto the bikes and continued the slog for Algoma, never finding a gas station or store. When we turned south the wind was still blowing pretty hard, so I tucked Jon into my wind shadow and bulled my way through. Not pleasant, but we made it.
Dinner at a sports bar. Bad BBQ beef. But dinner, which was good. The campground was just south of the downtown, so we didn't have far to go (luckily). Not much of a campground. Soggy, with yet more soggy firewood. This batch took hours to catch. We fussed and huffed and puffed and rearranged and added paper and relit and said prayers to the fire gods. Finally the wood had dried out enough to burn, which then made the fire hot enough to dry out and burn subsequent pieces. We sat in our little folding chairs and enjoyed the blaze. I went over to the Piggly Wiggly and bought potato and macaroni salads and salted peanuts in the shell (way too much of everything, it turned out).
The next day, our last, we needed to cover 40 miles by 12:00 so that I could catch the 1:00 ferry. Easy! Except it wasn't so easy, thanks to the wind and the lack of places to buy food. We figured we'd ride 10 miles to Kewaunee and get something there. Sure enough, there were several restaurants. But I, loving McDonald's as I do, consulted Mrs TomTom who told me (I thought) that there was a McD's just south of the town. Actually, she said it was four miles south, which, when I thought about it later, made no sense. So we wheezed our way up the giant Keewaunee hill and headed out of town. But all we could see for miles and miles were corn fields. No McD's. No chance of McD's. Just 25 miles to Two Rivers. On empty stomachs. Into the wind. No coffee.
So we turned around and rode the several miles back into town, down the huge hill. (I hoped that it would disappear as we ate; it didn't.) Lovely breakfast at the restaurant where we should have eaten in the first place. I had pancakes.
And then we set off across the barren wasteland, into the stiff headwind. Very stiff. It was coming at us over the starboard quarter, so drafting was hard, particularly for Jon, who didn't have a mirror, since it required the drafter to ride over to the left, in the traffic lane. Not being able to see the cars and trucks coming at you as you were riding in their lane was a problem.
We labored along like this for a while. But as I looked at my watch and my odometer and my speedometer, it seemed like there might be a chance that I might not make it. So with Jon's blessing, I left the team and set off on my own. I felt bad doing it, not knowing if an arctic storm might bury Jon and the dogs in five feet of snow, but it seemed necessary. I just had more legs for bulling through the wind. I put my head down and churned along at 13 mph. Jon became a tiny speck and eventually disappeared in my mirror.
Turns out it wasn't necessary. I waited for Jon in Two Rivers (at the McD's, of course), and even after a nice drink at McD's and more slogging into the wind between Two Rivers and Manitowoc, Jon made it to the ferry in time. I had already arrived, but even if I had stuck with Jon, as a good teammate would have done, as a compassionate person would have done, as a patient person would have done, even then, I would have been on time.
To his credit, Jon was cheerful about the whole affair. Didn't call me names. Didn't accuse me of abandoning him (which I did, after all). Didn't say that I had ruined it for him. No. He seemed glad to have caught up in time. We said our goodbyes, I wheeled my bike onto the ferry, and away I went.
Monday, June 14, 2010
First Century of 2010
I know there are people out there who take part in 200-, 300-, 400-, 750- mile brevets, and who average 100-mile days riding across the country, but I think 100 miles is pretty far. So I'm pleased with myself when I have a pleasant and successful 100-mile day.
For the first century of the season, I rode around the Leelanau peninsula: Empire to Glen Arbor to Leland to Northport to the tippy-tip lighthouse to Lake Leelanau to Cedar to Maple City and back to Empire. (It was probably slightly less than 100 miles; I think my odometer/speedometer runs long/fast.)
The weather was good, starting out cool and cloudy but eventually becoming warm and sunny. There was no wind to speak of, and traffic was light.
I stopped after 27 miles for a raspberry white chocolate scone and Stone House Bakery in Leland, where I sat down by the harbor watching the boats and boaters while I snacked and sipped my coffee (brought in a small metal insulated flask). I then went another 22 miles before stopping at Leelanau State Park at the tip of the peninsula for a cheese sandwich, granola bars, and the rest of my coffee. The next stop was 25 miles later, along the side of the road on my portable stool, having another cheese sandwich and a granola bar. The final stop was at the county park outside Maple city, marshaling my energy for the biggest climb of the ride at the south end of Glen Lake.
Although I only used it once, I was glad to have my folding stool, dorky though it seems. I was feeling whipped at mile 77, and there weren't parks anywhere near. Having the stool to sit on as I leaned up against a sign was better than sitting on the ground. The stool fits in a water bottle cage, weighs very little, and takes seconds to open and close. What's not to like (other than looking dorky)?
I carried everything in my Velo Orange handlebar and seat bags, which is the new bag configuration on the Rambouillet. Worked well. Contrary to Velo Orange's expectations, I actually attach the handlebar bag to the handlebars, rather than resting it on a front rack. I didn't like the floppiness of the bag on the rack, and it was too far below the handlebars to be useful. Instead, I rigged up a bag holder for the handlebars from a 1/4" steel rod (similar to Velo Oranges "rackaleur" but lots cheaper and uglier). With mini-bungies connecting the bag to the handlebars just below the brake levers, the bag is completely secure--no swaying, no wobbling. And I like having it up high, right where I can get at it while I ride. I can flip the top open, grab an apple, and keep riding. Also, the map is easier to read when it is at handlebar level.
I never liked the seat post rack, but I liked how it rode.
For the first century of the season, I rode around the Leelanau peninsula: Empire to Glen Arbor to Leland to Northport to the tippy-tip lighthouse to Lake Leelanau to Cedar to Maple City and back to Empire. (It was probably slightly less than 100 miles; I think my odometer/speedometer runs long/fast.)
The weather was good, starting out cool and cloudy but eventually becoming warm and sunny. There was no wind to speak of, and traffic was light.
I stopped after 27 miles for a raspberry white chocolate scone and Stone House Bakery in Leland, where I sat down by the harbor watching the boats and boaters while I snacked and sipped my coffee (brought in a small metal insulated flask). I then went another 22 miles before stopping at Leelanau State Park at the tip of the peninsula for a cheese sandwich, granola bars, and the rest of my coffee. The next stop was 25 miles later, along the side of the road on my portable stool, having another cheese sandwich and a granola bar. The final stop was at the county park outside Maple city, marshaling my energy for the biggest climb of the ride at the south end of Glen Lake.
Although I only used it once, I was glad to have my folding stool, dorky though it seems. I was feeling whipped at mile 77, and there weren't parks anywhere near. Having the stool to sit on as I leaned up against a sign was better than sitting on the ground. The stool fits in a water bottle cage, weighs very little, and takes seconds to open and close. What's not to like (other than looking dorky)?
I carried everything in my Velo Orange handlebar and seat bags, which is the new bag configuration on the Rambouillet. Worked well. Contrary to Velo Orange's expectations, I actually attach the handlebar bag to the handlebars, rather than resting it on a front rack. I didn't like the floppiness of the bag on the rack, and it was too far below the handlebars to be useful. Instead, I rigged up a bag holder for the handlebars from a 1/4" steel rod (similar to Velo Oranges "rackaleur" but lots cheaper and uglier). With mini-bungies connecting the bag to the handlebars just below the brake levers, the bag is completely secure--no swaying, no wobbling. And I like having it up high, right where I can get at it while I ride. I can flip the top open, grab an apple, and keep riding. Also, the map is easier to read when it is at handlebar level.
I never liked the seat post rack, but I liked how it rode.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Erie Canalway Trail, Buffalo to Newark, NY
For her first bike tour, my wife Cindy chose for us the western segment of the Erie Canal trail, which runs (mostly) continuously from Buffalo to Newark along the historic Erie Canal. I was nervous. I told her all the things that could go wrong: it could rain; it could be cold; it could be windy; her butt could hurt. She was determined to do it anyway. I told her that this was not necessary to save our marriage. I was perfectly happy taking vacations that she likes; there was no need for her to make sacrifices on my behalf. She insisted.
So we did it. And it did rain, and it was cold, and it was windy, and her butt did hurt. But our marriage survived. In fact, we spent our 25th anniversary bucking a cold 15 mph headwind as we rode 49 miles, the longest day of the trip and nary a discouraging word passed between us. Several discouraged ones, it's true. But she didn't blame me. In fact, she says she had a good time.
So here's the report. First, the summary of the trip. Total miles: 35 + 49 + 41 + 40 = 165. Trip dates: May 10-May 13, 2010. High temperature: mid-50s. Low temperature: mid-30s. Sunshine? Not much. Rain? You betcha. Trail surface: mostly rock dust, which was fine. Overnight accommodations: inns and motels. Bikes: I rode my trusty 1984 Trek 620 (of which only the frame is original) with trekking bars and 38mm tires; Cindy rode a cheapie Trek girls bike, which worked fine. I carried most of the luggage in a rear bag, small front panniers, and a handlebar bag. Cindy had a small handlebar bag and a small rack trunk. Clothes: Because it was so cold, I wore MUSA (Rivendell) long pants the whole time. (They were perfect: lightweight, windproof, just warm enough.) On top, a Melanzana long-sleeved ultra-lightweight polartec base layer shirt and a windbreaker; sometimes a fleece vest under the windbreaker. I almost never wore biking gloves, opting instead for generic brown cotton work gloves to keep my hands warm. On my feet I had retro New Balance running shoes, size 11 EEEE, with a lightly ridged sole to grip my "rat trap" pedals. (No clips or cleats or any of that silliness.) Under my helmet I wore a bandana, which I usually wear to sop up sweat, but on this trip it was to keep warm. On top of everything was a Dickies hi-viz vest. I was glad to have it on the busy roads.
We drove our van to Buffalo on Sunday and dropped off our bikes at the downtown Holiday Inn (quite nice). We then went to the Buffalo airport and rented a Mazda 6 and drove both vehicles to Seneca Falls (which is actually south of the canalway), where we left the van in the carriage house of Barrister's Inn, where we would spend our last night. We then drove back to Buffalo and checked in to the Holiday Inn. Dinner at Bocci Club Pizza. The next morning, I returned the rental car to the downtown Hertz office (two blocks from the Holiday Inn), and away we went.
Day 1. Monday, May 10. Buffalo to Lockport.
I was glad we started in Buffalo, even though it probably would have been more pleasant to start at the beginning of the actual canal in Tonawanda, just north of Buffalo. But it was interesting to ride Buffalo's urban bike paths along the Niagara River (and the freeway). We didn't pick up any glass in our tires, despite many opportunities. The route was scenic but industrial, mostly right along the river, and mostly on a paved path (with occasional forays onto city sidewalks). We saw a few people fishing, but that was the extent of the wildlife.
In Tonawanda the canal proper begins, and the path (and its surrounding environment) becomes much more gentrified. The paved stretch through Tonawanda and North Tonawanda are quite nice. There were a few on road segments, but mostly it was paved multi-use trail. We saw quite a few walkers and bikers on this stretch.
The nice paved trail ends between Tonawanda and Lockport, and we were routed onto roads for the last 10 miles. The shoulders were wide, but the traffic was quite heavy. This was the least pleasant road riding of the trip. We got lost at one point because the route guide suggested we were looking for a road called East Canal, when in fact we needed to turn left on New Rd first. And the route markers that someone had painted on the trail, which seemed to be for the canalway trail, pointed the wrong way, right instead of left. This was the only time the route blazes were wrong, but it was a bad time. So we had a little side trip up the wrong road, until we realized we were off our maps. Bummer. Time to retrace a few miles.
Although this was our shortest day, we were pretty tired by the time we found our adorable retro-motel in Lockport, the Lockport Inn and Suites (formerly the Lockport Motel, which is how I'll always think of it). This motel is straight out of the 60s: a true two-story motor court that wraps around a nice little swimming pool and office building. The decor seemed largely unchanged from the 60s as well. But rather than feeling run-down and pathetic, the motel was spotlessly clean and lovely. Carpet in the bathroom? No problem. They even offer free movies, which you select from a notebook that lists hundreds of titles. Highly recommended.
Day 2. Tuesday, May 11. Lockport to Adam's Basin.
This was our long, windy, cold day. Every inch of it was on the canal trail (except at the beginning, getting from our motel to downtown Lockport. This segment of the canal is just a big ditch with a tow path next to it. There's little vegetation or scenery, other than nice farms rolling off on either side. We wished from some vegetation to block the wind, but mostly we didn't get it. The wind blew 15 mph straight out of the east, picking up speed over the water. Sometimes gusts slowed Cindy down to 5 mph. We averaged about 8.2 mph for the day. Cindy is not an experienced enough biker to feel comfortable drafting. So although I tried to block as much wind as possible, it probably didn't do much good. There were times I nearly suggested walking our bikes. It wouldn't have been much slower. Still, Cindy soldiered on, never complaining.
We had a nice diner breakfast in Gasport (which was not much of a town), and a lovely bowl of soup in a coffee shop in Albion. The towns got cuter and cuter as we went west, perhaps reflecting the influence of Rochester. Albion was quite adorable.
Somehow we labored on, always looking over our shoulders to see if we would be adding rain to the otherwise perfect mix of cold and wind. We knew the rain was coming, but it wasn't predicted before 5:00. We reached Brockport, a SUNY college town, ahead of the rain. Indeed, when we arrived at the Adam's Basin Inn at 4:30, the rain was not there yet, except for a few preliminary drops.
The Adam's Basin Inn (in Adam's Basin, a town in name only) was lovely. It was built at the time of the original canal in the 1820s, and for 100 years it served as a canal-side inn and tavern. Indeed, the original bar from the tavern is still in the inn's lounge, as is the original registration desk for the inn. The inn is elegantly and comfortably furnished and immaculately maintained, with a gorgeous yard and gardens. The inn-keepers happily offered to shuttle us to Spencerport, an actual town two miles away with actual restaurants, where we had tasty Texas-style BBQ. By then, the rain had started. It continued all night.
Day 3. Wed, May 12. Adam's Basin to Palmyra.
The canalway trail gets prettier east of Brockport. The canal itself feels more like a river and less like an artificial ditch, and there's thicker vegetation. The trail feels more pastoral and less rural-industrial. Even in the rain. And rain it did this day. The temperature was in the low-40s when we left, and the rain was a fine mist. At first, we couldn't decide whether it was misting enough to warrant actual rain gear, so we started out with non-waterproof windbreakers on the outside. We were soon soaked. And cold. So Cindy put on her rain coat and pants (non-breathable waterproof), which kept her warm, at least. Of course, it also completely soaked her from the trapped perspiration vapor, but that's a different problem that we addressed later.
Despite the mist, the ride was pleasant. The stone dust path was a little sticky, but it didn't slow us down too much. We were on stone dust for 12 miles until we hit the outskirts of Rochester. At that point, the trail got really interesting. It wound and weaved up and down through the southern outskirts of Rochester, under and over freeways and train tracks, next to oil tanks, through parks, beside the University of Rochester campus. Very interesting. The trail becomes a normal multi-use trail rather than a converted towpath, and it is clearly multi-used.
By the time we reached Pittsford, we were ready for a break. A warm break. Cindy was chilly all over, and my hands and feet were freezing. Pittsford has an adorable little frou-frou business section down by the waterfront, but we chose to venture into town (also frou-frou), where we found a Starbucks. Perfect. We took over a corner table and tried to get warm. We sat there quite a while nursing our drinks, figuring out who would wear which piece of warm clothing. By then the rain had stopped (it was still cold), but all of Cindy's clothes were soaked. In the end, Cindy wore my black sweatshirt, my windbreaker, my wool undershirt, her cotton long-sleeved shirt; I wore my Melanzana long-sleeved base layer shirt, a polartec vest, and Cindy's slightly wet windbreaker. I wished I had mittens and shoe covers.
On the way out of Pittsford, our day was made complete by a flat tire. My front tire picked up a thorn and slowly got saggier and saggier. Not a big deal, since I had two spare tubes and a patch kit, and, in fact, it seemed only fitting that we should get at least one flat tire. It was important for Cindy to experience as many tribulations of bike touring as possible, so that she could form a fair picture of what it was like. Twenty minutes later we were on our way again.
The trail continued to be lovely, nice enough to seek out and bike or walk on as a day hike. Very nice for through-riding. There was one section that took us through a seedy mobile home park, but even that was interesting, as long as we didn't need to stay there.
The day ended in Palmyra, birthplace of Mormonism. We didn't visit Hill Cumorah or any of the historic sites. Instead, we pulled in to the Liberty Inn, locked our bikes in the carriage house, took showers, and walked into town for Chinese at Happiness Garden. Not great, but perfect. Just what I needed. The inn was fine, the innkeepers were nice. By the end of the day, the sun had come out. A miracle, indeed.
Day 4. Thursday, May 13. Palmyra to Seneca Falls.
On this final day we completed this, the longest stretch of continuous canalway trail, in Newark, then left the canal and headed south. The final stretch of trail was lovely, a pleasant path through the woods along a river. And the sun was finally out! It was still chilly, but we weren't complaining.
I had been worried about this final day, because we would be riding nearly 30 miles on roads, something Cindy had little experience with nor desire to do. But it had to be. The trail ends in Newark, and we still needed to get to Lyons and beyond. The official route guide would have had us ride on state route 31, which is an official NY bicycle route. But it's a very busy road. Instead, the nice man in the Newark Chamber of Commerce building pointed us toward the old Newark-Lyons road, which was great. Little traffic, over a few rolling hills.
In Lyons, we faced the real choice for the day: continue along the canalway route (on SR 31), or strike off on our own? Odd though this seems, I voted for staying on the official route. We didn't have official county maps (even though the route guide showed local roads, I didn't completely trust it), and I hated the idea of venturing down a road (over not insignificant hills) only to discover a bridge out, or a road that didn't exist. Cindy, however, insisted that we should strike off into the unknown. She said she'd take the blame if we got lost.
So we picked a south-heading road and left the safety of the official route. There were, indeed, hills, significant ones. But Cindy, inexperienced as she was, a hater of all hills, she claimed, did fine. Enjoyed it. Found it easier than expected. I don't think she believed me when I told her that she was going up and down real hills. I think it seemed too easy. And that was on a cheap Trek that doesn't have a super easy granny gear (as my touring bike does).
This last part of the last day, over beautiful upstate New York farm roads, turned out to be some of Cindy's favorite riding. She discovered that it's peaceful riding on empty rural roads, and there's lots to see--more than on a trail. Even the hills are worth dealing with when the ride is so nice. She may become a real biker, yet.
We rolled in to Seneca falls at 2:00 pm, our earliest arrival, even though we went 40 miles over rolling hills. Just goes to show. We found our car in the carriage house of Barrister's Inn (a gorgeous B and B) and went for a drive to kill time. We had never seen the Finger Lakes region, so it was a nice chance for some high-speed (relatively) sight-seeing. Fancy dinner in a Seneca Falls restaurant ("Divine" I think was the name--very good), and the trip was over. Just like that. The next day we drove down to Philadelphia to pick up our son at college.
So what did we learn on this trip? We learned that my wife's an incredibly good sport, that she does not hate biking as much as I thought, that perhaps there's more biking in our future. In fact, I spent the trip convincing her that it would be even more fun on a tandem, specifically a recumbent tandem. By the end she was convinced; we could have gone out and bought one then and there. But when I looked at the prices of recumbent tandems, my enthusiasm waned a bit. To spend $5,000 for a one-trip-a-year bike seems like a lot. I'd like to think we'd take many short trips a year on a tandem, but I know that we're too busy for that.
I learned that baskets and bags work as well as panniers, perhaps better. (When I got home I ordered a small basket and small Riv shopsack for the front rack.) I learned that breathable rainwear may be worth it. (Although my cheapie Nashbar plastic rain coat has enough vents that I didn't get soaked in it, so maybe it can be done with non-breathable. The pants are the problem: there's no way to vent the tops of your legs, where the real heat is generated. Perhaps a pair of breathable rain pants would be in order.)
I learned that, for a trip involving an inexperienced biker, planning on 40 miles per day is smart; inevitably, 40 turns into 42 or 45. I learned that starting with a short day is smart. (Cindy was whipped after the first day, but never so tired after that.) I learned that there aren't a lot of grocery stores along the western Erie Canal.
Will there be future trips? I think so. Next year, when we go to pick up our son, we are planning on riding a chunk of the Great Allegheny Passage trail. Looks nice.
So we did it. And it did rain, and it was cold, and it was windy, and her butt did hurt. But our marriage survived. In fact, we spent our 25th anniversary bucking a cold 15 mph headwind as we rode 49 miles, the longest day of the trip and nary a discouraging word passed between us. Several discouraged ones, it's true. But she didn't blame me. In fact, she says she had a good time.
So here's the report. First, the summary of the trip. Total miles: 35 + 49 + 41 + 40 = 165. Trip dates: May 10-May 13, 2010. High temperature: mid-50s. Low temperature: mid-30s. Sunshine? Not much. Rain? You betcha. Trail surface: mostly rock dust, which was fine. Overnight accommodations: inns and motels. Bikes: I rode my trusty 1984 Trek 620 (of which only the frame is original) with trekking bars and 38mm tires; Cindy rode a cheapie Trek girls bike, which worked fine. I carried most of the luggage in a rear bag, small front panniers, and a handlebar bag. Cindy had a small handlebar bag and a small rack trunk. Clothes: Because it was so cold, I wore MUSA (Rivendell) long pants the whole time. (They were perfect: lightweight, windproof, just warm enough.) On top, a Melanzana long-sleeved ultra-lightweight polartec base layer shirt and a windbreaker; sometimes a fleece vest under the windbreaker. I almost never wore biking gloves, opting instead for generic brown cotton work gloves to keep my hands warm. On my feet I had retro New Balance running shoes, size 11 EEEE, with a lightly ridged sole to grip my "rat trap" pedals. (No clips or cleats or any of that silliness.) Under my helmet I wore a bandana, which I usually wear to sop up sweat, but on this trip it was to keep warm. On top of everything was a Dickies hi-viz vest. I was glad to have it on the busy roads.
Day 1. Monday, May 10. Buffalo to Lockport.
The nice paved trail ends between Tonawanda and Lockport, and we were routed onto roads for the last 10 miles. The shoulders were wide, but the traffic was quite heavy. This was the least pleasant road riding of the trip. We got lost at one point because the route guide suggested we were looking for a road called East Canal, when in fact we needed to turn left on New Rd first. And the route markers that someone had painted on the trail, which seemed to be for the canalway trail, pointed the wrong way, right instead of left. This was the only time the route blazes were wrong, but it was a bad time. So we had a little side trip up the wrong road, until we realized we were off our maps. Bummer. Time to retrace a few miles.
Although this was our shortest day, we were pretty tired by the time we found our adorable retro-motel in Lockport, the Lockport Inn and Suites (formerly the Lockport Motel, which is how I'll always think of it). This motel is straight out of the 60s: a true two-story motor court that wraps around a nice little swimming pool and office building. The decor seemed largely unchanged from the 60s as well. But rather than feeling run-down and pathetic, the motel was spotlessly clean and lovely. Carpet in the bathroom? No problem. They even offer free movies, which you select from a notebook that lists hundreds of titles. Highly recommended.
This was our long, windy, cold day. Every inch of it was on the canal trail (except at the beginning, getting from our motel to downtown Lockport. This segment of the canal is just a big ditch with a tow path next to it. There's little vegetation or scenery, other than nice farms rolling off on either side. We wished from some vegetation to block the wind, but mostly we didn't get it. The wind blew 15 mph straight out of the east, picking up speed over the water. Sometimes gusts slowed Cindy down to 5 mph. We averaged about 8.2 mph for the day. Cindy is not an experienced enough biker to feel comfortable drafting. So although I tried to block as much wind as possible, it probably didn't do much good. There were times I nearly suggested walking our bikes. It wouldn't have been much slower. Still, Cindy soldiered on, never complaining.
We had a nice diner breakfast in Gasport (which was not much of a town), and a lovely bowl of soup in a coffee shop in Albion. The towns got cuter and cuter as we went west, perhaps reflecting the influence of Rochester. Albion was quite adorable.
The Adam's Basin Inn (in Adam's Basin, a town in name only) was lovely. It was built at the time of the original canal in the 1820s, and for 100 years it served as a canal-side inn and tavern. Indeed, the original bar from the tavern is still in the inn's lounge, as is the original registration desk for the inn. The inn is elegantly and comfortably furnished and immaculately maintained, with a gorgeous yard and gardens. The inn-keepers happily offered to shuttle us to Spencerport, an actual town two miles away with actual restaurants, where we had tasty Texas-style BBQ. By then, the rain had started. It continued all night.
The canalway trail gets prettier east of Brockport. The canal itself feels more like a river and less like an artificial ditch, and there's thicker vegetation. The trail feels more pastoral and less rural-industrial. Even in the rain. And rain it did this day. The temperature was in the low-40s when we left, and the rain was a fine mist. At first, we couldn't decide whether it was misting enough to warrant actual rain gear, so we started out with non-waterproof windbreakers on the outside. We were soon soaked. And cold. So Cindy put on her rain coat and pants (non-breathable waterproof), which kept her warm, at least. Of course, it also completely soaked her from the trapped perspiration vapor, but that's a different problem that we addressed later.
Despite the mist, the ride was pleasant. The stone dust path was a little sticky, but it didn't slow us down too much. We were on stone dust for 12 miles until we hit the outskirts of Rochester. At that point, the trail got really interesting. It wound and weaved up and down through the southern outskirts of Rochester, under and over freeways and train tracks, next to oil tanks, through parks, beside the University of Rochester campus. Very interesting. The trail becomes a normal multi-use trail rather than a converted towpath, and it is clearly multi-used.
On the way out of Pittsford, our day was made complete by a flat tire. My front tire picked up a thorn and slowly got saggier and saggier. Not a big deal, since I had two spare tubes and a patch kit, and, in fact, it seemed only fitting that we should get at least one flat tire. It was important for Cindy to experience as many tribulations of bike touring as possible, so that she could form a fair picture of what it was like. Twenty minutes later we were on our way again.
The trail continued to be lovely, nice enough to seek out and bike or walk on as a day hike. Very nice for through-riding. There was one section that took us through a seedy mobile home park, but even that was interesting, as long as we didn't need to stay there.
The day ended in Palmyra, birthplace of Mormonism. We didn't visit Hill Cumorah or any of the historic sites. Instead, we pulled in to the Liberty Inn, locked our bikes in the carriage house, took showers, and walked into town for Chinese at Happiness Garden. Not great, but perfect. Just what I needed. The inn was fine, the innkeepers were nice. By the end of the day, the sun had come out. A miracle, indeed.
On this final day we completed this, the longest stretch of continuous canalway trail, in Newark, then left the canal and headed south. The final stretch of trail was lovely, a pleasant path through the woods along a river. And the sun was finally out! It was still chilly, but we weren't complaining.
In Lyons, we faced the real choice for the day: continue along the canalway route (on SR 31), or strike off on our own? Odd though this seems, I voted for staying on the official route. We didn't have official county maps (even though the route guide showed local roads, I didn't completely trust it), and I hated the idea of venturing down a road (over not insignificant hills) only to discover a bridge out, or a road that didn't exist. Cindy, however, insisted that we should strike off into the unknown. She said she'd take the blame if we got lost.
So we picked a south-heading road and left the safety of the official route. There were, indeed, hills, significant ones. But Cindy, inexperienced as she was, a hater of all hills, she claimed, did fine. Enjoyed it. Found it easier than expected. I don't think she believed me when I told her that she was going up and down real hills. I think it seemed too easy. And that was on a cheap Trek that doesn't have a super easy granny gear (as my touring bike does).
This last part of the last day, over beautiful upstate New York farm roads, turned out to be some of Cindy's favorite riding. She discovered that it's peaceful riding on empty rural roads, and there's lots to see--more than on a trail. Even the hills are worth dealing with when the ride is so nice. She may become a real biker, yet.
We rolled in to Seneca falls at 2:00 pm, our earliest arrival, even though we went 40 miles over rolling hills. Just goes to show. We found our car in the carriage house of Barrister's Inn (a gorgeous B and B) and went for a drive to kill time. We had never seen the Finger Lakes region, so it was a nice chance for some high-speed (relatively) sight-seeing. Fancy dinner in a Seneca Falls restaurant ("Divine" I think was the name--very good), and the trip was over. Just like that. The next day we drove down to Philadelphia to pick up our son at college.
So what did we learn on this trip? We learned that my wife's an incredibly good sport, that she does not hate biking as much as I thought, that perhaps there's more biking in our future. In fact, I spent the trip convincing her that it would be even more fun on a tandem, specifically a recumbent tandem. By the end she was convinced; we could have gone out and bought one then and there. But when I looked at the prices of recumbent tandems, my enthusiasm waned a bit. To spend $5,000 for a one-trip-a-year bike seems like a lot. I'd like to think we'd take many short trips a year on a tandem, but I know that we're too busy for that.
I learned that baskets and bags work as well as panniers, perhaps better. (When I got home I ordered a small basket and small Riv shopsack for the front rack.) I learned that breathable rainwear may be worth it. (Although my cheapie Nashbar plastic rain coat has enough vents that I didn't get soaked in it, so maybe it can be done with non-breathable. The pants are the problem: there's no way to vent the tops of your legs, where the real heat is generated. Perhaps a pair of breathable rain pants would be in order.)
I learned that, for a trip involving an inexperienced biker, planning on 40 miles per day is smart; inevitably, 40 turns into 42 or 45. I learned that starting with a short day is smart. (Cindy was whipped after the first day, but never so tired after that.) I learned that there aren't a lot of grocery stores along the western Erie Canal.
Will there be future trips? I think so. Next year, when we go to pick up our son, we are planning on riding a chunk of the Great Allegheny Passage trail. Looks nice.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Carrying Loads
My wife and I just finished riding the western half of the Erie Canalway Trail. The trip was fun despite Mother Nature's best efforts. (More later.)
For now, I'll just muse a bit about carrying loads on bike trips. I have done it all: huge back panniers, huge low-rider front panniers, combinations of medium panniers, front and back. But I am concluding that it's not so much the height of the load (low-rider vs. high-rider) as the rigidity. On this trip, I carried almost all our clothes in a Rivendell Sackville ShopSack, which was in a large Wald basket. (See photo above.) This was a very nice arrangement. The basket holds the load completely rigid, no swaying, and the load stays right up behind me, close to my own center of gravity. As a result, the bike was very stable, with very little shimmy compared with the shimmy I experienced when the bike was loaded with large front or back panniers.
This arrangement was perfect for staying at inns. We'd park our bikes in the garage, pop the bag out of the basket, and go to our room. No panniers to detach and wrastle (or empty). The Shopsack is a beautifully made (in the USA) bag, a bargain at $45. It's quite huge. At more than 2000 cu. in., it's the size of many large pannier sets.
I'm thinking of getting a medium shopsack and basket to put on the front, so that I can get rid of the stupid front panniers shown in the photo. Quite frankly, I don't care if baskets and duffels look outlandish. To me, they are beauty exemplified.
This arrangement was perfect for staying at inns. We'd park our bikes in the garage, pop the bag out of the basket, and go to our room. No panniers to detach and wrastle (or empty). The Shopsack is a beautifully made (in the USA) bag, a bargain at $45. It's quite huge. At more than 2000 cu. in., it's the size of many large pannier sets.
I'm thinking of getting a medium shopsack and basket to put on the front, so that I can get rid of the stupid front panniers shown in the photo. Quite frankly, I don't care if baskets and duffels look outlandish. To me, they are beauty exemplified.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Fat Burning Zone
Nice ride this evening. The temperature was--get this--80˚ on April 2. No, I haven't moved to Alabama. This is still Michigan.
So I was in my überunmodish hi-viz yellow t-shirt and Riv biking shorts (and, of course, New Balance walking shoes joined only informally to the pedals). On the Rambouillet.
But I got to thinking about Grant Petersen's latest post about fat-burning heart rate vs. muscle-burning heart rate (always go below 70% of your maximum heart rate to burn fat rather than muscle), and I thought I'd give it a try: never go above, say, 115 bpm. It was very pleasant. Very slow, but pleasant, and well in keeping with my resolve to go slow. But then I got to thinking: This is nuts. There's no way toddling along at 14 mph burns more fat than blasting along at 18 mph. It's impossible. Calories are calories, and 18 mph burns more.
Maybe it's just an April Fool's joke. But I reread the post, and it's not that funny. Perhaps if he had said that it's better to lie on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune than ride a bike, then it would be obvious. But this was no obvious joke.
So I looked it up here and there. Most confirm the obvious: When you're working harder, your heart is beating faster, and you're burning more calories. No one suggests that those calories are coming from muscles rather than fat, as Grant suggests. Burning more calories is burning more calories. Otherwise, walkers would be fitter than marathon runners.
This isn't going to inspire me to try to average 18 mph all the time, but it might cause me to reset the odometer so that I can track average speed, in general, as a point of reference. When I'm riding 100 miles, I don't want to average more than 15 mph. When I'm riding 20 miles, as I did today, I should average about 16 mph. And when I'm out for a quick little 15 miler, 18 mph is not unreasonable. (I'm old, so 18 mph is pretty fast.)
So I was in my überunmodish hi-viz yellow t-shirt and Riv biking shorts (and, of course, New Balance walking shoes joined only informally to the pedals). On the Rambouillet.
But I got to thinking about Grant Petersen's latest post about fat-burning heart rate vs. muscle-burning heart rate (always go below 70% of your maximum heart rate to burn fat rather than muscle), and I thought I'd give it a try: never go above, say, 115 bpm. It was very pleasant. Very slow, but pleasant, and well in keeping with my resolve to go slow. But then I got to thinking: This is nuts. There's no way toddling along at 14 mph burns more fat than blasting along at 18 mph. It's impossible. Calories are calories, and 18 mph burns more.
Maybe it's just an April Fool's joke. But I reread the post, and it's not that funny. Perhaps if he had said that it's better to lie on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune than ride a bike, then it would be obvious. But this was no obvious joke.
So I looked it up here and there. Most confirm the obvious: When you're working harder, your heart is beating faster, and you're burning more calories. No one suggests that those calories are coming from muscles rather than fat, as Grant suggests. Burning more calories is burning more calories. Otherwise, walkers would be fitter than marathon runners.
This isn't going to inspire me to try to average 18 mph all the time, but it might cause me to reset the odometer so that I can track average speed, in general, as a point of reference. When I'm riding 100 miles, I don't want to average more than 15 mph. When I'm riding 20 miles, as I did today, I should average about 16 mph. And when I'm out for a quick little 15 miler, 18 mph is not unreasonable. (I'm old, so 18 mph is pretty fast.)
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Spring Is Here Again
The good thing about biking all winter is that when spring finally comes, I don't feel like my muscles have atrophied and I need to start all over. I went for a 25-miler on Saturday, and it felt as good as it does in mid-summer. Better, perhaps. Here's why:
With the new biking season, I hereby resolve to go slower. Sit up straighter, ride slower. Enjoy the ride. I don't wear any of the racing doodads that other bikers wear, I don't fasten my feet to my pedals in order to make myself fly like the wind, I don't care that my fenders and slightly fat (32mm) tires add extra weight. Why should I feel the need to ride fast? In fact, I'm tempted to get rid of my odometer/speedometer. Why should I care how far I go? Perhaps just riding, say, 90 or 120 minutes should be enough. Or to a destination, regardless of how far it is, exactly.
So on my ride Saturday, the first of the year for the Rambouillet, I took my time. I never pushed so hard that my knees could feel it. I didn't strain. And the Ram is so easy to ride, I still went pretty fast. But I didn't really care.
Furthermore, at the end of last season I decided I should be Riv- Velo-Orange chic and put on a Nitto front rack and a nice front bag, instead of the clamp on seat post rack and rack trunk that I had been using. But when I tried it, I didn't like it. It flops around. It affects the steering. I like the clamp on seatpost rack and trunk. I can't feel it, even when loaded, it doesn't flop around, it holds a ton. There's no convenient map holder; that's a downside. But otherwise, it's nice. Ugly maybe, but nice.
By the way: I heard the first frogs of the season last week.
With the new biking season, I hereby resolve to go slower. Sit up straighter, ride slower. Enjoy the ride. I don't wear any of the racing doodads that other bikers wear, I don't fasten my feet to my pedals in order to make myself fly like the wind, I don't care that my fenders and slightly fat (32mm) tires add extra weight. Why should I feel the need to ride fast? In fact, I'm tempted to get rid of my odometer/speedometer. Why should I care how far I go? Perhaps just riding, say, 90 or 120 minutes should be enough. Or to a destination, regardless of how far it is, exactly.
So on my ride Saturday, the first of the year for the Rambouillet, I took my time. I never pushed so hard that my knees could feel it. I didn't strain. And the Ram is so easy to ride, I still went pretty fast. But I didn't really care.
Furthermore, at the end of last season I decided I should be Riv- Velo-Orange chic and put on a Nitto front rack and a nice front bag, instead of the clamp on seat post rack and rack trunk that I had been using. But when I tried it, I didn't like it. It flops around. It affects the steering. I like the clamp on seatpost rack and trunk. I can't feel it, even when loaded, it doesn't flop around, it holds a ton. There's no convenient map holder; that's a downside. But otherwise, it's nice. Ugly maybe, but nice.
By the way: I heard the first frogs of the season last week.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Control And Release
And here I thought I was the only smart biker in the world. Turns out there's a term for the kind of defensive riding I do on narrow roads: "Control and release". At least that's what John Schubert calls it in the latest issue of Adventure Cyclist. Here's what it means: When you are in a narrow lane that does not have room for a bike and a car without the car crossing the center line, the bike should actually move farther out into the lane when opposing traffic (or blind turns or hills) approach, thus completely preventing the car from attempting to slip by you in your lane (which forces either the oncoming car or the bike off the road). When traffic and/or visibility improves, the bike moves back to its normal position in the lane (more or less in the right tire track) and the car passes.
Although this may seem assholey, in fact it's for everyone's good because THERE'S NO WAY FOR A BIKE AND A CAR TO FIT SAFELY IN MOST LANES. (The only alternative would be for the bike to ride on the shoulder to let the car pass; I've done it on particularly busy roads, but it's ridiculous.)
I have been doing this for years, particularly on M-22 south of Empire, which is absurdly narrow with a sand shoulder, and Hamilton Rd. in Okemos, which has curbs and an occasionally impassible sidewalk (due to snow and ice).
A decent video describing lane controlling and general bike etiquette in traffic is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rU4nKKq02BU&feature=player_embedded. Interestingly, they advocate using an extended right arm to signal right turns, rather than the anachronistic upraised left hand. That makes sense. However, when they point out that bikes must use lights at night, they conveniently overlook the fact that there are no bike turn signals. So, again, bikes don't follow the same rules. They showed a biker riding at night with headlight and taillight, very nice, but then the rider did a token hand turn signal which was obviously invisible to the drivers behind him. A car driver would get a ticket for that. Furthermore, the riders in the video are constantly looking over their shoulders to check for traffic (that's safe?) because they don't have mirrors. Can cars and motorcycles drive without mirrors? I think not.
Obviously the recommendations for biking in traffic are fine, but still, as I argued in a previous post, when all is said and done, bikes don't have the same rules as motor vehicles, and they certainly don't have the same rights–I'd be arrested riding down Grand River Avenue in one of the traffic lanes at rush hour. And let's not forget the little problem I have at traffic lights that have car sensors: unless a car comes along, the light will never turn green for a bike.
So "control and release" is good riding practice, but it illustrates the inherent difference between cars and bikes in traffic. If we really had the same rights, we would always ride down the middle (or even left side) of the lane. But that would get us arrested.
Although this may seem assholey, in fact it's for everyone's good because THERE'S NO WAY FOR A BIKE AND A CAR TO FIT SAFELY IN MOST LANES. (The only alternative would be for the bike to ride on the shoulder to let the car pass; I've done it on particularly busy roads, but it's ridiculous.)
I have been doing this for years, particularly on M-22 south of Empire, which is absurdly narrow with a sand shoulder, and Hamilton Rd. in Okemos, which has curbs and an occasionally impassible sidewalk (due to snow and ice).
A decent video describing lane controlling and general bike etiquette in traffic is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rU4nKKq02BU&feature=player_embedded. Interestingly, they advocate using an extended right arm to signal right turns, rather than the anachronistic upraised left hand. That makes sense. However, when they point out that bikes must use lights at night, they conveniently overlook the fact that there are no bike turn signals. So, again, bikes don't follow the same rules. They showed a biker riding at night with headlight and taillight, very nice, but then the rider did a token hand turn signal which was obviously invisible to the drivers behind him. A car driver would get a ticket for that. Furthermore, the riders in the video are constantly looking over their shoulders to check for traffic (that's safe?) because they don't have mirrors. Can cars and motorcycles drive without mirrors? I think not.
Obviously the recommendations for biking in traffic are fine, but still, as I argued in a previous post, when all is said and done, bikes don't have the same rules as motor vehicles, and they certainly don't have the same rights–I'd be arrested riding down Grand River Avenue in one of the traffic lanes at rush hour. And let's not forget the little problem I have at traffic lights that have car sensors: unless a car comes along, the light will never turn green for a bike.
So "control and release" is good riding practice, but it illustrates the inherent difference between cars and bikes in traffic. If we really had the same rights, we would always ride down the middle (or even left side) of the lane. But that would get us arrested.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
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More On Lights
As I was riding to work this week (even colder: 9˚) the bulb on my Specialized Vegas headlight burned out. Not a big problem, as I had the Cateye el300 in reserve for just such an occasion, but it do present me with a dilemna: What to do about the Specialized light? It hasn't been made or sold in years and years, and you can't just go down to Ace Hardware for a 4V, .6A xenon bulb. (At least, I don't think you can.) A search on the web did turn up a source for replacement bulbs: http://www.reflectalite.com/, located in England. Pleasantly low-tech web site listing model numbers, descriptions, prices, and shipping costs, which you use to calculate total cost by hand. Arrange money transfer through PayPal, mention model number, etc, and cross your fingers (at least that's what I did). Shortly after I sent payment, I received email confirmation that my bulb was in the mail. At little over $9, which is a lot cheaper than replacing the light would have been.
I have been using the Cateye in the meantime. It works, in that it casts some light ahead of me, but not really. Better than nothing, but not much better. I'm going to experiment with mounting it at the fork crown, to see if I can make the light spot a little longer. Unfortunately, it really needs to be a little wider, and I can't figure out a way to do that. Perhaps a six-foot pole off to the right of the bike.
Update: I take back some of the bad things I said about the Cateye EL 300. Turns out the batteries that came with it were low on juice. (They pooped out on my ride home last night, after only a few hours of burn time.) When I replaced them with nice new Energizers, the light was actually quite nice. Not a lot dimmer than the halogen. (I'll use rechargables when the Energizers give out; I bought the disposables at a convenience store on the way home.)
I have been using the Cateye in the meantime. It works, in that it casts some light ahead of me, but not really. Better than nothing, but not much better. I'm going to experiment with mounting it at the fork crown, to see if I can make the light spot a little longer. Unfortunately, it really needs to be a little wider, and I can't figure out a way to do that. Perhaps a six-foot pole off to the right of the bike.
Update: I take back some of the bad things I said about the Cateye EL 300. Turns out the batteries that came with it were low on juice. (They pooped out on my ride home last night, after only a few hours of burn time.) When I replaced them with nice new Energizers, the light was actually quite nice. Not a lot dimmer than the halogen. (I'll use rechargables when the Energizers give out; I bought the disposables at a convenience store on the way home.)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
COLD!
Lovely ride to work this morning. I left at about 6:20, so the traffic wasn't bad, but it was cold. Thermometer read 15˚ and the wind was blowing 20 mph, directly into my face. If you believe in wind chill (I don't really--that is, I believe in it, but it's a silly number; we don't report wind chill in the summer, do we?), anyway, if you believe in reporting the wind chill, it would have been -2˚F.
But it was a perfectly nice ride. Why? Layers, my dear, layers. Medium-weight turtleneck, medium-weight cotton sweater (I know I know wool would have been better), windbreaker on top; lined nylon pants over my regular pants on the bottom; insulated boots with wool socks on my feet; and, finally, on my head: thin polartec cap, thin wool neck gaiter pulled up over my nose and cheeks, and clear ski goggles. Not a square centimeter of skin was exposed, so I didn't get cold.
(By the way, despite my general acceptance of the premise that wool is always better, the polartec/merino face mask that I sometimes use really is better than the all-wool one because it wicks the moisture from my breath to the outside of the mask, keeping the mask dry where it touches my face. Even though the wool mask still provides some warmth when it is soaking wet, the dry polartec mask is nicer. I have started to wear it more than the wool one on really cold days.)
My battery-powered halogen front light (an old Specialized model that they don't make any more) and Princeton Tec "Swerve" rear light (very bright and visible from all angles), along with my flashing Reelights, made the ride in the dark perfectly ordinary.
(I have been experimenting with front lights on the slush mobile. I've considering getting a dynamo light, but I go through so much snow in the winter that a dynamo has a hard time gripping the tire, even with a wire roller, I suspect.) I tried a Cateye EL300 (LED), but it's just not bright enough for everyday use. So I'll keep using my Specialized halogen light, which needs freshly charged batteries every morning, reserving the Cateye for those times when I forget to recharge the batteries.)
But it was a perfectly nice ride. Why? Layers, my dear, layers. Medium-weight turtleneck, medium-weight cotton sweater (I know I know wool would have been better), windbreaker on top; lined nylon pants over my regular pants on the bottom; insulated boots with wool socks on my feet; and, finally, on my head: thin polartec cap, thin wool neck gaiter pulled up over my nose and cheeks, and clear ski goggles. Not a square centimeter of skin was exposed, so I didn't get cold.
(By the way, despite my general acceptance of the premise that wool is always better, the polartec/merino face mask that I sometimes use really is better than the all-wool one because it wicks the moisture from my breath to the outside of the mask, keeping the mask dry where it touches my face. Even though the wool mask still provides some warmth when it is soaking wet, the dry polartec mask is nicer. I have started to wear it more than the wool one on really cold days.)
My battery-powered halogen front light (an old Specialized model that they don't make any more) and Princeton Tec "Swerve" rear light (very bright and visible from all angles), along with my flashing Reelights, made the ride in the dark perfectly ordinary.
(I have been experimenting with front lights on the slush mobile. I've considering getting a dynamo light, but I go through so much snow in the winter that a dynamo has a hard time gripping the tire, even with a wire roller, I suspect.) I tried a Cateye EL300 (LED), but it's just not bright enough for everyday use. So I'll keep using my Specialized halogen light, which needs freshly charged batteries every morning, reserving the Cateye for those times when I forget to recharge the batteries.)
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Bike Fetish?
I normally sneer at people (usually men) who are into frou-frouing up their bikes, but I have to say these fenders are pretty gorgeous. They'd look good on the Rambouillet.
http://www.velo-orange.com/vo45hapofe.html
http://www.velo-orange.com/vo45hapofe.html
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Free Pedaling
I think Grant at Rivendell goes a little overboard about some things, but I'm right there with him on the subject of not fastening feet to pedals.
I'm nearing the end of the my second 5000-mile year with loose feet, and I like it better than ever. Mostly I don't think about it. My pedaling is smooth and circular, my knees never hurt, I never feel like I'm losing significant power. I only miss being attached to the pedals at stop lights (when I can adjust the pedals for a quick start) and on fast descents when I forget I'm in an easy gear. Otherwise, I am happy as a clam with my wide MKS Touring pedals, which I have on both the touring Trek and the Rivendell. (I had the sportier short MKS pedals on the Rivendell, but they weren't wide enough for my boats.)
In the winter, of course, I wear big old rubber boots over my penny loafers, or rubber-bottomed insulated boots. No way to use clips there. In summer, a nice pair of retro New Balance running shoes with smooth soles work beautifully.
I wonder if biking fatalities due to car collisions are caused, in part, by the biker being fastened to the bike? Rather than being thrown clear, perhaps the biker tumbles with the bike on top of him, which causes fatal twisting and trauma. I've never heard anyone propose that, but there's a certain logic to it. Click-in pedals are easy to get out of if you're ready for it, but perhaps a sudden unforeseen impact by a car happens too fast to pull out.
This wouldn't be a problem with toe clips and straps, which let go nearly automatically (unless the straps are pulled absurdly tight). But these days, click-in pedals are all the rage. Perhaps it's just me being a clod (I fell multiple times during my click-in pedal experiment), but I can imagine even experienced cyclists being locked in to their pedals during a fall. And I can imagine that being in a pas de deux into the undergrowth with a 25 lb bike could be very bad for your health.
I'm nearing the end of the my second 5000-mile year with loose feet, and I like it better than ever. Mostly I don't think about it. My pedaling is smooth and circular, my knees never hurt, I never feel like I'm losing significant power. I only miss being attached to the pedals at stop lights (when I can adjust the pedals for a quick start) and on fast descents when I forget I'm in an easy gear. Otherwise, I am happy as a clam with my wide MKS Touring pedals, which I have on both the touring Trek and the Rivendell. (I had the sportier short MKS pedals on the Rivendell, but they weren't wide enough for my boats.)
In the winter, of course, I wear big old rubber boots over my penny loafers, or rubber-bottomed insulated boots. No way to use clips there. In summer, a nice pair of retro New Balance running shoes with smooth soles work beautifully.
I wonder if biking fatalities due to car collisions are caused, in part, by the biker being fastened to the bike? Rather than being thrown clear, perhaps the biker tumbles with the bike on top of him, which causes fatal twisting and trauma. I've never heard anyone propose that, but there's a certain logic to it. Click-in pedals are easy to get out of if you're ready for it, but perhaps a sudden unforeseen impact by a car happens too fast to pull out.
This wouldn't be a problem with toe clips and straps, which let go nearly automatically (unless the straps are pulled absurdly tight). But these days, click-in pedals are all the rage. Perhaps it's just me being a clod (I fell multiple times during my click-in pedal experiment), but I can imagine even experienced cyclists being locked in to their pedals during a fall. And I can imagine that being in a pas de deux into the undergrowth with a 25 lb bike could be very bad for your health.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Why Do I Care What You Wear?
I don't really care.
OK. I care. But only because I feel like your wearing a garish spandex race suit with matching top and bottom is somehow a criticism of my baggy shorts (with cotton boxers), neon-yellow polyester t-shirt with stylish breast pocket for my pencil holder (actually, I don't really have a pencil holder in the breast pocket—clip-on sunglasses, yes, pencil holder, no), and New Balance running shoes with white tube socks.
But really, you don't care what I wear, do you? You just think I'm an outsider, a non-biker who happens to be on a bike. Since I'm not in the approved uniform (and now even my helmet is non-standard round), you don't give me a second thought.
See? I'm the one with the problem! I think it's spandex envy. When I think of joining local rides, I don't do it, not just because I'm an anti-social jerk but also because I'm afraid someone will offer advice about how much better my biking would be in spandex and click-in pedals. (Like the bike store guy who, when I was buying toe straps to use for lashing things to my bike, recommended that I try click-in pedals because . . . well, he didn't really say why. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't even use toe clips any more.)
I don't want to argue, and I don't even want to convert the world. I have now ridden well over 10,000 miles in baggy shorts, unattached to my pedals, and I like it. But I guess I have an image problem.
When I wore the uniform, I felt pretty cool in tight biking shorts and jersey and shoes that go CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK because of the cleats when I walked in them. My knees hurt, it's true, and the shorts had no pockets and weren't supposed to be worn with undies (and why is that a good idea for most of us?). But I felt like a member of the biking fraternity. I suppose that's much of the appeal for hobby bikers. Suit up and go for a Saturday morning ride, the longer the better so you can brag about it.
Oh well. My problem not yours.
OK. I care. But only because I feel like your wearing a garish spandex race suit with matching top and bottom is somehow a criticism of my baggy shorts (with cotton boxers), neon-yellow polyester t-shirt with stylish breast pocket for my pencil holder (actually, I don't really have a pencil holder in the breast pocket—clip-on sunglasses, yes, pencil holder, no), and New Balance running shoes with white tube socks.
But really, you don't care what I wear, do you? You just think I'm an outsider, a non-biker who happens to be on a bike. Since I'm not in the approved uniform (and now even my helmet is non-standard round), you don't give me a second thought.
See? I'm the one with the problem! I think it's spandex envy. When I think of joining local rides, I don't do it, not just because I'm an anti-social jerk but also because I'm afraid someone will offer advice about how much better my biking would be in spandex and click-in pedals. (Like the bike store guy who, when I was buying toe straps to use for lashing things to my bike, recommended that I try click-in pedals because . . . well, he didn't really say why. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't even use toe clips any more.)
I don't want to argue, and I don't even want to convert the world. I have now ridden well over 10,000 miles in baggy shorts, unattached to my pedals, and I like it. But I guess I have an image problem.
When I wore the uniform, I felt pretty cool in tight biking shorts and jersey and shoes that go CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK because of the cleats when I walked in them. My knees hurt, it's true, and the shorts had no pockets and weren't supposed to be worn with undies (and why is that a good idea for most of us?). But I felt like a member of the biking fraternity. I suppose that's much of the appeal for hobby bikers. Suit up and go for a Saturday morning ride, the longer the better so you can brag about it.
Oh well. My problem not yours.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
In The Bleak Mid-Winter
Winter is REALLY here. Eight inches of snow on the ground; temperature in the teens. I have been on break this week, so I haven't officially been commuting, but I have been biking here and there. So far, so good.
I have to say, there's something lovable about the slush mobile. It's a big old honking tank of a bike with big black fenders, fat knobby tires, moustache bars, old-fashioned generator light, brakes that only sort of work, bent crank. But it gets me through the snow in fine form; it's even fun to ride.
To make it a clean sweep, I put the plastic-topped Avocet women's touring saddle on the slush mobile. (All my bikes now have Avocet Touring II women's saddles). It's perfect! No need for the extra saddle pad when riding in work clothes any more. It is wide where it needs to be, cushy where it needs to be.
I bought a new helmet (above). I wanted a helmet without the bizarre aero baffles and fins on the back. I don't care about vents on my commuting helmet, and I want the back of the helmet to be round. The only time I fell last winter (on ice), my head whapped down on the back. Luckily, my silly aero helmet padded the fall, but I can imagine the swoops and fins causing the helmet to be knocked askew, and my head to be knocked silly.
This lovely helmet is shaped like a helmet should be shaped: like a helmet. It's comfy, my goggles go around the outside, and it was only $16 from Nashbar.
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