Day 6: Slumberland Motel to St. Ignace

By a stroke of dumb luck, we picked the one night of torrential downpours to stay in a motel. It was still raining when we departed, but we at least got to start the day dry. (The rain gave up after several hours, and it eventually turned nice.)

This day had the most beautiful scenery of the whole trip. I'm not sure why we didn't stop to appreciate it more. US-2 runs right along the coast for quite a while as you near St. Ignace--absolutely perfect sand beaches that go on forever. But we just kept grinding past them, even though we had a reservation at the St. Ignace KOA, so we really didn't need to hurry. Maybe because it was still a bit chilly, we didn't feel like swimming or strolling the beach. Or maybe we had slipped into grind-out-the-miles mode. In any case, the beach would have a been a much nicer place to spend time than the mud-hole KOA that awaited us.

In defense of the St. Ignace KOA, it seems like a perfectly nice campground. But for our visit, it held two bad surprises: standing water in every tent site (and slurpy mud on the roads), and a full house of cig-smoking, tattooed monster truck and muscle car aficionados. It seems St Ignace hosts a big car show every year at this time. The town fills up with lovingly preserved and demuffled muscle cars from throughout history, and their jacked-up demuffled pickup truck cousins, all driven by tire screeching engine revving morons. It was like a mating call: all muscle cars must rev their engines and peel their tires in exactly the same way when entering the highway. All night long, we heard the same roaring sound of cars calling to each other.

One woman complained to the camp proprietor that they were thinking of not coming back next year, since the police were actually trying to prevent drag racing on the main highway. The nerve. No appreciation for historical reenactments, for verisimilitude.

As I do post-tour research, I find that the state park right on the water in St Ignace has 255 sites and doesn't take reservations. We might have been able to get a site there. Of course, it was Saturday night of the car show of the weekend before the 4th of July. Probably not.

[Author's note, years later: Michigan State Parks have an unwritten policy of never turning bike tourists away. They will always find an empty patch of ground for you to pitch a tent on. I wish we had known that.]

With my ear plugs I slept fine, so what did I care? We were long gone before the hung-over car buffs staggered out of their tents.

Fat? Lose Five Pounds The Easy Way!

Jon and I both lost five pounds on this trip. My son was impressed that I had lost five pounds in only ten days, until I pointed out that it involved at least six hours of exercise every day. Try that at the health club.

Day 5: Escanaba to Blaney Park

The day started well. This was our first day on US-2, the main east-west route across the southern upper penninsula. We would be following it for two days, 140 miles or so.

The first bit, from Escanaba to Gladstone and on to Rapid River, made us feel like supermen. It goes northeast, along Little Bay De Noc. The wind was on our starboard quarter, and we just flew along. This was going to be an easy day.

But when US-2 turned eastward, we knew we were in trouble. First, we lost the water. The scenery could have been central Indiana. Worse, we lost the tail wind. In fact, we gained a head wind. So for the next 40 miles, we humped along US-2, looking forward to Manistique and a return to the water.

But once we reached Manistique, we realized we didn't have a good plan for ending the day. We had gone 52 miles, but if we stopped in Manistique we would be hopelessly behind schedule. Jon would never reach the ferry by Wednesday, in time to return to work on Thursday. But ahead of us stretched plenty of nothing. No real towns, no campgrounds near the road, for another 30 miles.

We had a long, leisurely lunch/dinner at Arby's (I had TWO jamocha shakes!), trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, our casual old-man circumnambulation of Lake Michigan was turning into the normal, frantic, grind out the miles kind of bike tour we swore we'd avoid. We're too old for that.

I take much of the blame for the bad planning. I had casually said, "And on day 5 we need to get to Lake Whosis campground . . . it's a pretty long day." I'll say. 90 miles.

What we should have done is limited ourselves to 50 (hypothetical) miles every day, with the assumption that 50 miles would turn into 60 miles by the time we were done taking wrong turns and getting back to the road from the campground and going to the store. We also should have built in one blank catch-up day, either to be used catching up lost miles, or just staying put in one particularly nice spot for an extra night. But if we had done these things, our trip would have lasted two full weeks.

Anyway, after our Arby's lunch/dinner, we decided to set off and see what happened. Perhaps we'd just camp along the road or in a rest area. Perhaps we'd actually get to the campground. In actuality, we got to the Slumberland Motel after 20-some miles. It was a shining oasis along US-2. We decided that one night in a motel wouldn't kill us, especially not at $45/night. And it had a restaurant for breakfast, which sounded good to us. We were far enough along that we would be able to make St Ignace the next day, which would keep us on schedule (although the schedule itself was still seriously flawed). Next.

Day 4: Marinette to Escanaba

We entered into Michigan on Day 4 (Thursday), destination Escanaba, riding on M-35. This was probably the longest stretch of unpleasant road--unpleasant because the shoulder was relatively narrow and the traffic was relatively heavy, with many trucks. The view was nice, though, as the road runs along Green Bay the whole way.

The big event for Day 4 was Jon's broken spoke. He had warned me that he was having spoke problems before we left, including a rather alarming incident in which a spoke broke as he was changing a tire. That's really really not supposed to happen in a healthy wheel. I chose to hope for the best. Alas! The wheel really wasn't healthy, and a spoke broke for no obvious reason.

So there we were along M-35, trying to save the trip. We first tried one of Jon's spare spokes, but I was too stupid to force the spoke through the other spokes; I chickened out when it become necessary to bend the spoke into a pretzel. So then I pulled out my secret weapon: a Fiberfix kevlar (except they're not allowed to call it "Kevlar", so they have to call it "aramid fiber"--so let's call it Kevlar-like) emergency spoke. I had never used one, but I carried two, just in case. These are really slick deals. You don't even need to take the wheel off. Just attach the threaded end to the spoke nipple, and thread the braided cord through the hub hole, attaching it to the clamp at the nipple. Then screw the clamp assembly into the nipple, twisting the fiber spoke as you go. It becomes twangy tight and functions exactly like a spoke.

But here's a word of warning: It's really really easy to tighten. Indeed, it's easy to overtighten, and it's easy to figure that because it's just string, it needs to be REALLY tight to substitute for a metal spoke. Big wrongness. I broke the first Fiberfix by overtightening it. On the next try, I got it a little tight, and then started truing the wheel, pulling the wobble back to the middle. It helps to have a little wheel-truing experience (and a spoke wrench), so that you can adjust the spokes around the Fiberfix.

With the second attempt, the wheel was more true than it had been before the spoke broke. Probably stronger, since I eased the tension on the some of the neighboring spokes, which were seriously overtight. The repair easily got Jon to Escanaba. It suspect it might have finished the trip, except I was worried about the other spokes.

So in Escanaba, we went to Mr. Bike bike shop. Seemed like a nice place. Friendly people, lots of Treks. We decided that the safe bet would be a new wheel. I told Jon that it would probably cost $100. So when Mr. Bike said he could sell Jon one for $50, GREAT!

Note to self: Trust your first guess. Wheels don't cost $50. The spokes alone, even cheap ones, would cost about $20. The rim, even a cheap one, another $20. The hub, even a cheap one, another $20. We're already up to $60. There's no way a wheel will cost $50.

And, indeed, Mr. Bike's $50 wheel turned into a $150 one when it came time to fork over the dough. He swapped a wheel off an existing bike. So he needed to take its tire off. Charged Jon for it. Then he needed to put Jon's tire on. Charged Jon for it. Then he replaced the useless spoke protector. Charged Jon for it. And, of course, since he needed to have Trek ship up another wheel to replace the one he swapped off, he charged Jon for shipping. He probably charged for the air to inflate the tire, too. Jon should have charged Mr. Bike for the old hub and rim, which he let them keep.

Now, Mr. Bike had a right to make money off the deal, and we were grateful that they were there in our supreme time of need. But come on: $50 for a wheel? I suppose he wasn't intentionally lying to us. He knew we wouldn't go somewhere else. But did he really think a wheel would cost $50?

Oh well. A potentially catastrophic day turned out well, if a bit expensive. That night we camped in yet another city campground, this one in the middle of the UP State Fairgrounds in the heart of Escanaba. There was a hot-air balloon show going on, so the fairgrounds felt festive. Good showers. Total mileage for the day: About 60.
Next:

Green Bay Wildlife

This is a picture of a bald eagle, one of two that were flying around the De Pere fairgrounds, virtually in the middle of the Green Bay metropolitan area. Why were they there? No idea.

Days 1-3: Milwaukee to Marinette, WI

I started my part of the trip on a Sunday afternoon when I caught the fast ferry from Muskegon to Milwaukee. I was a little worried about how I was going to secure my loaded bike on board, but the ferry has hooks that swing out from the bulkheads and hold the top tube secure. Very easy and stable.

Jon met me at the Milwaukee ferry dock, and the ride began with the 11.7 miles to his house in Wauwatosa. I had fears of crashing or equipment failing on this first tiny leg of the trip, which would have been a bad omen indeed. But all went well. Jon's 16 year old son announced, "Here come a couple of losers" when we rode up. Maybe so, but we had made it 11.7 miles.

The trip began for real the next day. Again, I was hoping to avoid the aggravation and humiliation of crashing or breaking down two miles from home on the first day. We waddled out of town on bike paths and city streets, eventually finding our way onto county roads.

We spent the first night in the Long Lake campground of Kettle Moraine State Forest. Nice enough. It had a shower, lots of mosquitos, and a raccoon that was smarter than we were. When it finished eating our trail mix, I actually heard it belch.

The first day was OK. We took our time (too much, probably), didn't have a lot of hills or traffic, and made it to a campground with time left in the day. Dinner of leftover chicken that Jon had carried in his insulated bag.



The next day was hillier and longer. Again riding on county and local roads (especially Irish Rd, which took us many miles), we rode through various small Wisconsin communities that I had never heard of, buying orange juice at BP stations the whole way. (Half the gas stations in the midwest are BPs, it seems.)

Eventually, we found ourselves on the Fox Valley Trail, a converted rail bed. Very nice hard pack. Clay-like more than gravel-like. We ended up riding about 25 miles on that trail, all the way into De Pere (just south of Green Bay).

That night was the first of several spent in campgrounds located in the middle of towns and cities. In De Pere it was the county fairground campground, right on the Fox River. Very nice, even though it was just a big grass space with picnic tables, water spigots, and electric boxes. It had a shower and, across the street, a (you guessed it) BP station. Lots of traffic noise, but with my ear plugs for sleeping I heard not a thing.

The next day, our third full day, we spent a good deal of time trying to get out of Green Bay. After winding around on city streets on the northwest side of town, we made it onto the county road along the coast. By the end of the day, we had made our way halfway up Green Bay (the body of water) to Marinette, where we stayed in a town park campground. Also quite nice, except for the locals shooting fireworks at us. The worst ride of the day was to the grocery store along US 41. Not worth the beans and franks we bought there.

This night was our last in Wisconsin.
Next:

Trip Equipment

I was vacillating before the trip whether to go with my dream, namely baskets on the front and back to carry all my gear, or knuckle under to stodgy tradition and use panniers. Stodge won, partly. I pulled off the front basket and installed the low-rider front rack and panniers, the quite large panniers which probably held more than the basket would have, anyway. I already owned the rack and bags, so it didn't require an extra purchase, which would have been unacceptable, considering all the other crap I bought for the trip.

First (for those who care about such things), the bike: I bought this Trek 620 in 1984. At the time, it was Trek's second-best touring bike, the best being the near-legendary 720, with its super-long wheel base. It has 531 double-butted tubing (lugged, of course) with quite-long chainstays, Huret derailers (which work fine, despite all the trash talk you read about them) . . . I can't remember what else was standard. Obviously, much of the bike is not original equipment. I retrofitted the wheels to 700C (Shimano 105 hubs, Velocity Synergy rims with asymmetrical rear rim), added Nitto Albatross bars (really nice for touring when set up with interrupter brake levers and taped forward curves), MKS touring pedals (no straps or clips), full fenders, Busch and Mueller light system, and a Brooks B.17 saddle. (Perhaps I'll discuss my saddle sores, perhaps not.) The gearing is particularly nice for touring. The small chainring is 24 teeth, and the large rear sprocket is 32 teeth--truly a LOW gear. I could ride up cliffs with this gear.

I added a front top rack fastened to the brake studs on the fork and the fork hole (for the "handlebar" bag), and also a low-rider pannier rack. The rear rack came with with the bike.

At first glance, the set-up seemed good. The front panniers held my sleeping bag and air mattress, miscellaneous personal items (towel, rain gear), cooking gear, and food (not much). The rear basket held my clothes in stuff sacks, my rack trunk turned sideways for loose items (tools, maps, toiletries) and things I wanted close to hand (plastic bags, spare parts), and my tent. Really, it all seemed quite wonderfully distributed.

But here's the problem: It wasn't stable. The front of the bike shimmied disconcertingly. I never thought I was going to crash as a result, and I didn't hesitate to go fast, but I held on tight. I think if I had carefully weighed and balanced the loads in the panniers I could have solved the shimmy, but it was easier just to keep going and hold on tight.

I think the front basket would have been better. For my next overnight trip, I'm going back to the front basket. I don't care that it looks dorky. I AM dorky, so my bike should be, too.

The back basket, with the heaviest load located right behind me but piled high, was great--it was so stable I didn't even know it was there. Much more stable than rear panniers.

In terms of gear, I had just about the right amount. I brought one pan too many, which I pitched at the Dreamland Motel, and I wished I had brought flip flops, a second cargo net, and padded biking shorts (although I don't think they would have helped my saddle sores--they never have in the past--but a change under my behind would have been nice).

The three-season down bag (with a supplemental sheet for warm weather--it was a fitted sheet because it's smaller and fits better inside a sleeping bag, and the elastic corners didn't bother me) was fine. Several nights I pulled the sleeping bag up around me and zipped it all the way up. Lovely.

The cat food can stove worked beautifully, as long as it wasn't windy. I made several dandy pots of cowboy coffee (recipe in a future post), and I even made good spaghetti sauce on it. Wind makes the stove unusable, I'm afraid. Still, for a trip like this that didn't depend on cooking every night, it was fine. And stoves don't get much smaller than a small can with holes punched in the sides. (More about it later, too.)

Jon brought a water bag, which was worth the extra bulk and weight. For future solo overnighters, I'll need to devise a way to store quantities of water. Perhaps a crushed gallon milk jug. They actually have multiple crushes and re-inflations in them before they crack, and they weigh almost nothing.

The spare tire was a life saver, as was the kevlar emergency spoke. The bike shop owner in Escanaba had never heard of such emergency spokes. I swear by them now. I need to get another one for my other bike. Because you don't even need to take the wheel off to install it, you can be back on the road in about 10 minutes after a broken spoke (once you learn how to use it. I actually had two emergency spokes and broke one as I was rigging it up the first time. More about emergency spokes in the future, too.)

The table cloth proved an unnecessary luxury. The coffee thermos was nice, but we probably could have lived without it, too. I brought an insulated bag (designed for soda cans), but I only used it to keep the cowboy coffee pot warm as the grounds settled. (This it did wonderfully, but it was more bulk than I needed. I'll look for a lighter alternative.)

My gear's total weight was between 35-40 pounds. I think I could get it down to 35 easily, maybe even a little less, and still have plenty of gear for a long trip.

Trip Report, The First

We did it! A couple of nearly-50s rode nearly 700 miles, our first big trip together since 1976. That's pretty good. Over the course of the next few (many) entries, I'll detail the trip. For now, just the snapshot.

Overall, the trip was a complete success, if there can be such a thing on a 10-day bike trip. I suppose finishing makes it successful. Or finishing and remaining friends. With no broken bones. Or rabies. (I hope. There's a raccoon story from early in the trip. Stay tuned.) Maybe it's having the fun-to-not-fun ratio be greater than 1.

The trip went from Milwaukee to Muskegon, MI, over the top of Lake Michigan. (Actually, it went from Muskegon to Muskegon, including a crossing of the lake by ferry, but we didn't actually ride it.)

We camped every night but one, we cooked some of our meals, but mostly ate at BP stations. (At least, that's how it seemed.) Our short day was 56 miles; our long day was 82 miles.

The weather was very nice: a few hot-ish days, a few headwind days, a little rain, but mostly sunny and cool with favorable winds.

We had a normal amount of equipment failure: Jon's back wheel started breaking spokes and needed to be replaced. The tire on my back wheel suffered sidewall failure (and would have burst if I hadn't caught it) and needed to be replaced with the spare I carried.

We had a few accidents. Actually, one real accident (I picked up a large stick in my front wheel, which caused my wheel to stop turning, with predictable results) and one near accident (Jon was nearly plowed into by an SUV soccer mom on a cell phone).

We had lots of nice flat riding near the lake, and several monster hills away from the lake, the worst of which was a steep two miles long.

We rode on county roads and state highways, busy and deserted, and bike trails, paved and not paved.

We stayed in campgrounds located in town parks and county fairgrounds, public state parks, and private campgrounds. Our favorites were the campgrounds in the middle of towns.

We met interesting people and saw places we had never seen before, or saw familiar places in a new way.

I'm glad I did it. I don't think I'll be taking another such long trip anytime soon, but it did open up possibilities for short trips of one or two nights, which I might have been reluctant to do by myself. Now, there's enough about the bike touring experience that I like that it might be fun to do it in short installments, pending that ultimate trip . . . around the world. More later.

Fat? Forget Exercise

Trust me: The secret to losing weight is eating less. You can bike relatively hard for two hours every day and not lose an ounce if you compensate for the extra exertion by eating more. I am the living proof of it.

I see people laboring by on their 30-minute jogs, thinking they're going to lose weight as a result.

They aren't.

Hey, people: You want to lose weight? Eat less. And I don't mean diet. I mean EAT LESS ALWAYS. Don't eat lunch, or at least not more than an apple. Don't take a large portion at dinner, and certainly don't take seconds. Do have a little Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heathbar Crunch every night--BUT NOT THE WHOLE PINT, YOU KNUCKLEHEAD!

And forget the once a day, 30-minute jog. It'll just wreck your knees. Walk more, eat less, jog not at all. You'll be thinner, healthier, and happier.

Now if I could practice what I preach. Actually, I do, right up until evening, when I start snacking, and then I snack all night. And I mean all night. I don't sleep. All I do is snack, dusk to dawn. Cases of Fritos. Dozens of Krispy Kremes. Gallons of ice cream.

At least that's how it seems.

Riding Suits

I wonder if people who wear matching biking outfits (stretchy tops and bottoms with bright colors and a snappy tour-de-france look) also wear matching baseball uniforms (say, pretend NY Yankees outfits) when they play softball. Everybody wears the biking suits, so no one notices how silly they look.

Baskets, Again

Although I took several rides with the front baskets fully loaded (tent, sleeping bag, air mattress), and it wasn't too bad, I decided to put the front racks and panniers on. I already own them, the bike is designed to take front racks, the panniers are huge, and it will probably will handle better with the center of gravity near the axle. Plus, the front top rack was jury rigged a bit to support the weight of the baskets, and that seems like a bad idea. And I found that I never used the front basket in daily life. I'll still use the rear basket for the trip (although with the huge front panniers, there's not much to put in it).

The Tour Approaches

The planning proceeds for our Lake Michigan circumnavigation (or partial circumnavigation, since we'll be skipping the lake south of Muskegon and Milwaukee, also known as Chicago. I have ferry reservations for June 22, and away we go!

I have yet to load everything onto my bike and give it a test ride. I am still hoping to use baskets . . . insane perhaps, but I like the idea. I rode home today with two gallons of milk in my front basket, for a total weight of 16 pounds (which is more than I propose to carry, and it was 16 sloshy pounds). It was odd, but not impossible. Not even unpleasant, really. The turning was very slow, but very stable. Would it have felt much better with the load down eight inches? I don't know. It would have been forward a few inches, also, which I think is at least as bad as being high.

Given a choice, I would rather have a load that has a high but narrow center of gravity than one that has a low but wide (far forward and backward) one. I never liked the whippiness of rear panniers. I don't know about front ones because I never used them.

Well, I'll just need to load the bike up and take it for a spin to see how I like it. Perhaps I can then try it with low front panniers, too. Or not.

Bike Lanes

Boy, did John Schubert get it wrong in his recent editorial column in Adventure Cyclist Magazine. He argued, in essence, that bike lanes are dangerous because they put bicyclists in motorists' blind spots at intersections. He advocates pulling out into traffic at intersections to avoid being turned into. (In itself not a bad idea.)

But the underlying implication of his article was that bike lanes are bad for biking and bike commuting. I suppose his point was that ultimately bikes are legitimate vehicular traffic, too, with all the rights vested in vehicular traffic by the highway gods.

Hey! Give me one of them dangerous bike lanes ANY DAY! Bikes are not cars and they have no place in the traffic lanes of, say, Grand River Avenue (the only road I can ride on to get to work). Don't get me wrong: I do have a right to ride on Grand River Avenue (curbs, four lanes, heavy traffic moving 50 mph), but I'd be insane to exercise it.

Without bike lanes, I ride on the sidewalk. How safe does John Schubert think that is? Yikes. Talk about being invisible to turning cars. With bike lanes, I ride on the side of Grand River Avenue, no one honks, no one gives me the finger. At intersections, I'M CAREFUL. And that's the simple solution to John Schubert's perceived hazard. Be careful at intersections. Use a mirror and look to see if a car is about to cut you off. Don't trust green lights. Etc.

But please, give me bike lanes!

Wait. Hold the phone. Here's a wrinkle. In winter, when I'm riding on snow and ice, I like being on sidewalks, away from cars. That way, when I fall, it's not under the wheels of an SUV. (My worst fall this winter saw me go down on ice and then slide on my stomach in the direction of Dodge Durango's undercarriage. Luckily, the Durango was still creeping at a light, and I wasn't going fast when I fell.)

Before I started commuting all winter, I thought bike lanes were the solution because they get plowed with the rest of the road, whereas sidewalks only get sort of plowed and shoveled. But now I realize that it's much better to ride through several inches of snow, or glare ice, or icy ruts on a sidewalk, away from traffic, than to ride next to traffic on a plowed but still slippery road. So I probably wouldn't use bike lanes in winter anyway. But they're nice in spring summer fall.

Bikes For Congo

As I was working on resurrecting the Fuji from scrap parts, I was watching Bill Moyers on PBS. He was doing a show about food aid for Congo. It seems that the best way to transport tons of relief food into the inner parts of the country is by bicycle. There aren't enough trucks, they aren't reliable, and there are lots of people with bicycles willing to ride the food aid (seven TONS of it on 70 bicycles--hm, is that possible? That's 200 lbs per bike. Perhaps making multiple trips?)

Anyway, they use bicycles to deliver humanitarian aid. So there I was with a wreck of a bike, patching it together so that it could be ridden again, and I thought, there should be a way to get other junker bicycles to countries like Congo, where they are needed.

Every large university in the country has hundreds of abandoned bikes, many of which they almost give away. It doesn't take that much to get those bikes rideable. They might not have 27 gears and the wheels might be a little out of true, but really, a single speed with working brakes and a sturdy frame would be put to good use in a place where they're needed.

I should start a "Bikes for Peace and Prosperity" foundation. Encourage bike riding in the U.S. to reduce our insane use of oil, and get bikes to countries like the Congo. Probably not going to happen. Still, it's a pretty good idea. Maybe when I'm fired from my job.

In any case, when I'm feeling like a nut case for obsessing about bikes and bike riding, a story like the Congo one reminds me that there's something fundamentally right about bike riding. Although most of us ride for light recreation or exercise, and so never completely grasp it, being able to propel ourselves at 15 mph, even carrying a 50 lb load, really is a marvel.

The Fuji Lives!

I was feeling grumpy this evening. Didn't want to do anything but nap or watch my email, hoping someone would send me something. (Constantly hitting "Check Mail". Sad.)

But then I remembered that my son needs a bike to ride, so I dragged out the Fuji frame and my old Trek wheels (27"), checked to make sure the 27" wheels would fit the frame that originally had 700c wheels (they did), and I got to work.

I had removed all the old cables, the rear derailer, and all the brake levers and shifters when I decommissioned the Fuji. But I still had the old handlebars from the slush mobile, complete with brake levers, shifters, and cables. I also still had the derailer (a late addition Shimano 105, put on when the original one--hardly a Shimano--broke off).

So I put the derailer on, reconnected the chain (after several tries in which it got routed wrong—damn! I wish I were more careful!), fished out pieces of cable housing that fit the job, ran the cables and got it working. (I had to jury rig a bit, but not too much.)

I was impressed with how bad the old wheels and freewheel are. The freewheel wouldn't even turn, and the wheels are not exactly silent. I guess it was time to replace them when I did.

But it seems to be put together. I need to take it for its maiden voyage and load it up with reflectors, since my son will occasionally ride it at night (without a light, of course). He's 16, so I can't expect him to be too careful. Perhaps I'll get a blinky light for the seat post. Maybe he'd humor me by turning it on when he rides at night.

So even though my wife thought I was nuts for not throwing out the Fuji, I knew better. Old bikes never die. They just get put back together with scrap parts.

Today I (ugh!) Drove

Forgot to set my alarm this morning. Normally not a big deal, since most days I have some buffer time built in to my schedule—I usually get to my office several hours before I teach. But on Fridays, I teach at 8:00 am. My inner alarm went off at 7:15. It's a 30-minute ride. It took me 10 minutes to do the math, and by then it was too late: I'd never make it by bike.

I have ridden in such wretched conditions this winter that I no longer look for excuses not to ride. It was raining this morning, but that never entered into the debate. Rain? Big deal. Put on the rain gear, hop on the slush mobile, and away! But I couldn't defy the laws of physics and make time stand still. I had to drive. I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have enjoyed the ride. Even in the rain.

Frogs

Here's a small, but not insignificant, benefit of commuting by bike:

Today I heard the first spring peepers of the season. I was surprised to hear them. It's been a hard winter, with no real spring weather so far. We had a measurable snow fall just a few days ago, and the temperature still goes down into the low 20s at night.

Still, there they were, somewhere in the marsh: tiny little chirping frogs proclaiming the spring that must surely be on its way.

In my car I never would have heard them. I'd still be thinking winter will never end.

Smelly Sunscreen

Why, I asks, do they put fragrance in sunscreen? Who could think that's a good idea? Smear it on your face, under your nose, and smell flowery stink the rest of the day. Wonderful.

Poll

While I'm taking polls, there's a real poll (well, sort of real) at the bottom of the page (way down there). Go take it. Let me know you're out there. Free tickets to Cedar Point.

The Urban Biker

I'm taking a poll here: Who thinks I should invite our friend Chris (well, my friend; Jon's brother-in-law) to contribute to the blog? Chris would add the unique perspective of the New York City biker, and not a neoprene clad carbon frame ride the palisades on Saturday. No no, Chris rides his vintage Raleigh with its cottered cranks (ick!) to and from his studio and downtown. (He lives on the upper west side.) Right in the street, down the avenues, dodging car doors, lunatic taxis, and out of control bike messengers. He's even gotten a ticket for riding on the sidewalk. Used to ride a girl's bike, until it got stolen.

Fatties

Why is it that there are so many fattish people in pictures of hobby bikers and touring bikers? Perhaps because we think that exercise is a substitute for eating less, which it isn't. Biking isn't even that much exercise, unless you average 35 mph or so.

I've certainly fallen into that trap: I ride 40 miles then stuff my face because I figure I've burned off more calories than I'm consuming. There's a reason I didn't lose any weight last summer, despite riding 200 miles per week. I told myself it was because I was gaining so many nice dense muscles. Wrong, said my doctor.

As usual, I was eating too much. Gotta stop that. Note to Jon: We're eating nothing but celery on our bike trip this summer.

Guest Blog by Jon

Well, this is the aforementioned Jon again. I see Bruce has been talking about me. That's OK. I crave fame.

Took my bike out yesterday and rode for the first time in two months. It had been warm the day before, so I expected warmth again. But this is Wisconsin, and it was probably about 20 degrees, with a sharp little wind. I made it to work, felt good, then came out at midnight to ride home -- and it was sleeting. This is Wisconsin, as I say. Damn the luck. I had my wind pants and raincoat, so I got home without much injury, except to my humor.

I had put little generator light on the bike, but the @#$#@! thing only flickered weakly. The sidewalls of my tire are smooth and I think the little generator top didn't turn very well. So today I'll tinker with it. You know, for me, riding in bad weather is one thing, but when the friggin' equipment doesn't work, that really pisses me off.

See you again!

My Safety Experiment

So I took the Trek out for a 20-mile night ride on Saturday. With my nice lights and reflectors, I felt pretty safe. But I tried one extra thing that could revolutionize safe riding in traffic:

I bought a driveway marker, a large red reflector on a thin fiberglass pole, and fastened it to my back basket. But to enhance safety, I had the reflector stick out straight to the left three feet, or about six inches beyond my handlebars. (I trimmed it so that the rod didn't stick out to the right.)

Here's my thinking. Cars think that they and you can fit in a lane if there's oncoming traffic. But if there's something sticking out into "their" space, they'll be skittish about trying to squeeze by. Also, because it looks so bizarre, they'll attend extra well as they go by. Also, because the rider is clearly a dork and a weirdo, they don't trust him not to do something wacky like swerve far to the left. So it's three psychological safety phenomena in one. Finally, for night riding it must be helpful to have a large round reflector sticking far out to one side (in addition to a taillight in the normal place). That should get drivers' attention.

Cars did seem to be passing me nice and wide, or waiting to pass with oncoming traffic or blind curves.

The problem is, it's just SO dorky. What price safety? Perhaps on tour I'll use it, when I'm already looking odd.

Helmets

Here's one that I never thought I'd agree with:

Perhaps the need for bike helmets is bogus. (You'll never convince me that there's no need for motorcycle helmets, so don't bother trying.)

I've been reading various articles on bicycle helmets, and several things caught my attention.

1. After crashes involving head impacts, when bike helmets are inspected, often (almost always?) the foam in the helmet is not compressed, even though that's how helmets are supposed to protect heads. That means that the skull was compressed, instead. And children's skulls are softer, and thus more compressible, than adult ones. That's not to say that I wouldn't prefer to slam my head into a hard piece of foam rather than a hard piece of concrete. There's incompressible and incompressible.

2. The statistics for head injuries by bicyclists are no worse than those for pedestrians. So why don't we wear helmets while we walk? (And mirrors: I've often been tempted to hook my mirror to my cap visor when I walk. My wife won't let me.)

And then I started thinking about all the falls I've had in 40 years of biking. In all that time, with easily a dozen falls in which I ended up sprawled on the ground, I have never once, not a single time, hit my head, whether it was in a helmet or not. That includes all the times I've gone over my handlebars or wiped out on ice. The only time my helmet has suffered an impact was when the car stopped in it after I fell. (The helmet was tied to my panniers.)

And, of course, there's the issue of the goofy aero helmets that don't protect the back of the head. Why is that desirable? And the issue of people who wear their helmets incorrectly (which is, like, everybody).

Am I going to stop wearing a helmet? I guess not, although, really, when you're riding a fully loaded touring bike going 12 mph, what are the chances of a head injury? But I am going to stop worrying about my 16 year old son who doesn't wear one.

Anybody There?

Jon, are you out there? If so, send me an email.

Anybody else out there? If so, make a donation to The Central Asia Institute in my name (Bruce).

Getting Old

I've been visiting randonneuring sites, reading narratives by participants in the extreme events (you know: 10,000K in 24 hours), and feeling old. Some of their exploits are truly heroic.

Now that I'm old, I've slowed down and lowered my sights. I take it easy, enjoy the scenery, smell the flowers, never race. Now, if I'm going more than 200 miles in a day, I try not to average more than 25 mph, in part by using my 52/17 granny gear even when I don't really feel like babying myself.

Here in Michigan, we have lots of hills that are 10 miles (or more!) of 40% or so grade. Used to be, I'd stay in my 60/11 cruising gear and just power up. No more. Of course, on the downhills, I still hate to use my brakes, so I sometimes get going 70-80 mph. Don't tell my wife! ; )

Gone are the days when I could average 35 mph over a 350 mile stretch. No more racing (good naturedly, of course) with my pals, when we'd go 50 mph for 10 miles before collapsing with a chuckle and some good natured ribbing for the loser. (Of course, that was at the end of a long 500 mile day. When we were just doing sprints on a Saturday, we'd have some serious velocity.)

At the beginning of one of our big rides, I used to have for breakfast two pounds bacon, three dozen eggs, one coffee cake, and then I'd have something really awful: four kippered herring on a waffle. . . .

Now, I need to watch my waistline and try to keep my blood pressure from creeping above 80 over 30.

Growing old is hell.

Do I Need Therapy?

I won't quote all parties involved in the conversation at the dinner table last night, but the basic core of the discussion was that perhaps my obsession with bikes is a bit . . . unhealthy. No threats of divorce, no pleas to "get help", no tears, but still, the question of my aberrant bikeophilia was raised.

I labored mightily to find equivalent obsessive behavior in my wife, but it was a losing battle. She gently pointed out that two out of three of my sentences have the word "bike" in them, all day long, dawn to dusk. I spend an inordinate amount of time tinkering with my bikes. Now that Jon and I are planning a trip, I get to spend even more time studying maps, figuring out optimal routes. And let's not even mention all the online orders for bike stuff I place. (I just got a new stem from Rivendell; it really helps the slush mobile. More later.)

My argument was that lots of people have hobbies. My wife kept getting back to the 2-out-of-3 statistic. It's not a mere hobby if you can't stop talking about it. EVER. I believe the clinical term is "addiction". Maybe that's reserved for substance abuse. No, you can be a sex addict, too. I suppose over-eating can be a kind of addiction.

OK. It's an addiction. My name is Bruce and I'm a bikeaholic.

But is that so bad? I wake up in the morning, stumble out of bed, and think, well, what do I have to look forward to today? The answer ALWAYS is bikes. I can have a miserable day ahead of me at work, too much to do, too many unpleasant people to deal with, but I know I can always escape to my "special bike place." I can be fretting about my own mortality, conjuring up psychosomatic illnesses (I've had some doozies), worrying about my kids, but I know that I can calm myself by visiting rivbike.com, or installing a new basket on my bike, or spending a few minutes poring over a map.

Escapism? Sure. But the beauty of it is that I love riding bikes. So I may be obsessive, but I'm also healthy. And it's probably unhealthy--mentally--to want to ride 30 miles a day in summer, but it's got to be healthy, physically. (My wife thinks it's unhealthy to the point of insane to want to ride from Lansing to Empire--240 miles or so--in 24 hours. I say it's my Paris-Brest-Paris equivalent, give or take a few hundred miles. I have good lights. I figure traffic will be light at 3:00 am, so I can ride on more direct roads. I'll do a few more centuries first, in preparation.)

But all you need to do is roam the internet a bit, read some bike discussion boards, visit the web sites of randonneuring groups, to realize that there are lots of us nuts out there, some even nuttier--much much nuttier--than I am. Although I obsess about bikes, I don't get into online arguments about which derailer is better, nor do I irrationally take the reflectors off my pedals to save weight (at least, not since I was 16), nor do I have the desire to own every bike ever made. (Well, I may have the desire, but I'm able to resist the urge.)

And talk about unhealthy obsessions: How about all those summers I spent looking at the sky, looking at the trees, wondering when the wind would be perfect for windsurfing? Do I go now? Or wait? How long? What happens if the wind is perfect now and I don't go? How will I live with myself for making the wrong decision? Now, I get up, I schedule the day's ride, and go about my business. (I windsurf, too, but I don't obsess quite so much about it.)

But still, why the bike thing? What is it about a beautiful bike that turns me on so? Why does the thought of spending the day sweating away in the hot sun to go exactly nowhere (in the end) excite me?

The fact that bikes can make me so happy just means that I'm an unhappy person, I guess.

Hybrid Shmybrid

The White Pine Trail (now the "Fred Meijer White Pine Trail") literature describes it as being perfect for "hybrid" bikes.

What do they mean by that? Simply that tires should be at least 35mm? Surely it doesn't matter what kind of handlebars you have. On a converted rail bed, it doesn't even matter what gears you have, since it's all flat.

So why not just say "35mm or wider tires"? Why the "hybrid" label (which makes people with non-"hybrids" feel like they can't ride it)? Because we love labels, and because we deal in extremes. "Road" bikes have teeny tiny skinny little 21mm tires, and "mountain" bikes have big fat knobby 50mm tires. Therefore, a bike with 35mm tires must be called something else. Hence the term "hybrid". OK, a hybrid has 700c wheels. (Unless it has 650B wheels, which most--other than Rivendell's--don't.)

It makes "hybrids" seem like oddball bikes, not quite this and not quite that, unable to make up their minds what they're good for. Bikes for amateurs.

But if you hang out around Grant Peterson (or his site or catalogs) long enough, you realize that a bike that can only take 21 or 23mm tires is ridiculous. A decent, useful bike should be able to take 35mm tires, as all hybrids do.

But doesn't hybrid also mean not-quite-straight handlebars? Well, sure, but any bike can have any handlebars, so that's a largely meaningless distinction. A bike is a frame and components. The components are completely interchangeable. (Well, mostly interchangeable, depending on how the frame is set up and what braze-ons it has.)

What else does hybrid mean? Maybe a slightly longer frame, or maybe not. It's never discussed as a feature (even though longer frames are more comfortable to ride). Probably nice low gears, but all bikes should have nice low gears. That's swap-outable, too.

It should be easy to turn any bike into a "hybrid" by putting on 35 or 37mm tires and upright handlebars, perhaps a 24 tooth small chain wheel. Put on 28mm tires and drop bars, and it becomes a "road" bike. Of course, there's no reason not to have drop bars on a hybrid. (Or, to be complete, upright bars on a "road" bike.)

But I get annoyed by labels. Either your frame will take 35mm tires or it won't. Either it has beefy tubes, or it doesn't. Either it has long chain stays, or it doesn't. Either it's big enough (allowing sanely high handlebars), or it isn't. Seems like those are the differences, the unchangeables, in a bike. Everything else is details.

OK, OK. Overall frame geometry differs, but that's not necessarily a hybrid vs. road thing. The package of components on a "hybrid" is usually pretty useful. So the idea is right: a bike that is comfortable to ride and usable under a variety of conditions. I have trouble with that being considered the exception, a "hybrid" of two "real" bikes that are, in fact, of only limited usefulness.

Enough. No one cared in the first place. But my next bike is going to be a mixte (low top bar) with Albatross (swept back upright) bars and 37mm tires. Hybrid? Hoo-boy, you betcha.

More About Sidewalks

Fairly unpleasant ride in the cold rain today. Not miserable, just unpleasant. Actually, more uncomfortable than unpleasant.

The thing about riding on sidewalks is that it's fun. It's like being a kid again, going on "bike rides". When I was ten or so, my parents said I could ride anywhere within an area of about four square miles: Stadium Blvd (on the west) to Liberty St (on the north) to Main St (on the east) to Stadium Blvd (which curved around to the south). We'd pack a lunch and set out, exploring every neighborhood, every street, every parking lot, every park, riding the whole time on the sidewalks. Those bike rides are among my fondest childhood memories. With whom did I ride? I don't quite remember. There are several possibilities. Not Jon.

Anyway, riding on the sidewalk is fun. It's like trail riding. Add a little snow and ice, and it's downright exciting. Road riding is more proper, more vehicular, but it's a little more boring.

When I first started commuting by bike (ten years ago?), riding on the sidewalk was what made me want to do it every day. It didn't feel like work (mostly).

I took an alternate route for part of today's ride, one that took me on the (wide) shoulder of a very busy two-lane highway. It was not fun. The road was smoother, and I was able to keep up a nice steady pedal cadence, but it felt a little hectic and, well, dangerous.

I rode the sidwalk home.

Jon vs. The Law

In the last post I accused Jon of conscientiously obeying traffic laws. Perhaps he does, now that he's pushing 50. But I remember a time in southern California when he not only flouted traffic laws, but boasted about it to the police.

We were on the last day of our West Coast ride, riding from Newport Beach to San Diego. A long day, but doable after a month on the road. In fact, we were without our packs because of a little interruption that involved Jon being sliced open and taken to the hospital. My parents came and got us and our packs, but left our bikes locked up at the hospital. So on this last day, we were driven back to the hospital for our bikes, and we set off.

Parenthetically, I still remember how much harder the bikes were to ride without their packs. I think we expected to be able to average 25 mph, so we rode fast fast fast, much faster than we would have tried to do with 50 lbs of panniers on the back. As a result, we burned out fairly early on the ride.

Also parenthetically, that day involved riding across Camp Pendleton Marine Corps base. That was an interesting experience.

Anyway, there we were, humming along south of L.A. when we got to a red light that we didn't like. So we ran it. Blatantly, willfully, defiantly.

When the police car pulled us over, we had this conversation:

"Where you boys coming from?"
"Seattle." Did he believe us? Without packs? But we must have looked pretty road seasoned by then, so perhaps he did buy it.
"Did you run red lights the whole way?"
And this is where Jon's charm and honesty shone through: "Yes, when there was no one coming."

I could have killed him.

Sometimes honesty is the best policy. The answer seemed to stump the policeman. He was briefly silent, and finally said, "Well, you'd better not do it around here any more."

And away we went.

Sidewalks?

Here's an interesting question, one that I think Jon and I have argued about:

Is it OK for me to ride on the sidewalk on my way to work? The only convenient route is a four-lane state highway with heavy car traffic going 45 mph. Curbs? You betcha! No shoulder, no way. Because of a river that winds its way to campus, there are few roads to choose from that cross the river and head west. Basically, it's M-43 or another four-lane road with curbs and no shoulder.

I see that in Wisconsin (or at least Milwaukee), it's ILLEGAL for adults to ride on the sidewalk. So I would just boldly ride out into traffic and smile at the honks. Yikes.

It is true that riding on the sidewalk is dangerous due to cars cutting you off, and in winter the sidewalks are sometimes nearly impassible. But still. Compete with cars going 45? At night? Even with lots of lights?

I'd be perfectly willing to obey all traffic laws and stop at all traffic signals if I thought I would be accepted on M-43, but I know I wouldn't be. Would I? I should convene a traffic forum just to find out if I would be run off the road, cursed at, threatened, or otherwise made unhappy.

I don't know if Jon and I have argued about this. He lives in Wisconsin and probably very conscientiously follows the traffic laws. I don't disagree that I "should" ride in the street, and if there were a state law that required it (and if cars knew about it), I'd be happy to. I'd be even happier if the idiot county road commission would put in bike lanes when they do a major resurfacing, which they did about ten years ago. (But no bike lanes.)

For now, I'm going to ride on the sidewalk.

From The Give Me A Break Dept.

While visiting a bike discussion group somewhere, I ran across a thread dealing with the Huret Alvit derailer (to use Sheldon Brown's spelling), in which it was universally agreed that it's a piece of junk and of course it should be replaced. One poster went so far as to say that the Huret Alvit shifted so badly that it caused him to give up biking for ten years. Gosh.

The discussion was of interest to me because my Trek 620 has an Alvit rear derailer. Guess what? It works fine, friction shifting and all. It never occurred to me that one derailer was so much better than another that anyone would bother to notice. I've used Simplexes, I've used Shimanos, I've used the Alvit. They work fine. I mean, if the chain moves from gear to gear, it works. If it doesn't, it doesn't. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing in between working and not working. So maybe I need to tweak the shifters a little more. So maybe the chain takes a little longer to get from one gear to another. Big deal.

When I'm riding in the Tour de France, I'm sure I'll care, as I'm powering up les Pyrénées, that I can't shift as quickly from my 3-tooth cog to my 4-tooth cog; but for powering up les Hills de Michigan, I don't care.

Guest Blog by Jon

Well, this is the aforementioned Jon, debuting on Bruce's blog. I started riding with Bruce in high school, did the West Coast with him, and many long crazy rides across southern Michigan. You'll find me less of a bike theorist than Bruce, less into innovation and bike experimentation, and, perhaps, less hardy.

Where I'm at bikewise: I've been riding steadily all these years, mostly the 5.5 miles to work and back, even occasionally into the winter, but when the roads get bad, my gumption generally declines and I settle into a winter torpor that has me driving to work and just trying to get by. I had a bad bout of sciatica about two years a year ago, spent a month on the floor, saw many a doctor, and finally got some relief with physical therapy. The woman I worked with said I should get a bike with shocks and a more upright profile than my old Trek roadbike. I resisted this, my image of myself as a biker defined by a sleek, z-shaped riding posture, even if I never would be Lance Armstrong. I tried the old bike, raised the handlebars, even added an extra stem segment, but felt a suspicious little crick in the back that I didn't like. So finally I went and found a Trek hybrid, I think it's a 7300, in a big, 25 inch frame (I'm 6-2, longlegged), that I could live with, and I've been riding it and enjoying ever since.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO FAST, this is the thing I tell myself.

So I bought the bike on March 23 last year, put almost 3,200 miles on it since then, aiming for 4,000 by the 1-year anniversary. But we've had 80 inches of snow, temperatures steady in the single digits, and a couple of miserable rides home -- my chain froze a couple times, I felt nearly nauseous with cold a few times, and of course I fell hard more than once -- made it clear to me that 4,000 is out of reach.

Still, I had some transcendent rides in December and January. I work 4 to midnight, and there's nothing like coming home through the Menomonee River Valley on Canal Street, nobody out but me, fog pooling in the river cut, the world utterly different, a planet like Venus. One night wrapped in thoughts I came upon a place I didn't recognize -- big iron beams curving out of a gray soupy sky like 8-story mantis legs. I was frightened and had to stop and think. It was the stadium, its roof looming high, the lower portion barely visible. I rode through the parking lot and a different route home, grateful for such a moment.

For the time being, I'm content riding an exerbike, with my real bike in the basement, where I happily fuss with the lights and attachments. Every sunny day, every inch of snowmelt brings me closer, though, calling me back to the streets.

Today's Ride, February 26

Pretty nice snowy ride today on the slush mobile. Two or three inches of snow had fallen (and continued to fall), but the sidewalks (on which I mostly ride) hadn't been crudded up with plow excrement, and there weren't even too many footprints. Not at all unpleasant.

Even when the car went through the pothole and drenched me with muddy, salty, black water, well, it was just part of the winter biking experience. Not my first choice of things to have happen, but it didn't kill me or even make me particularly uncomfortable.

The goggles make riding in the cold and snow possible. (So, for example, the waterfall covered my goggles but not my eyes.) Get some.

And I maintain, I strongly maintain, that it's worth tinkering with a commuting bike, even an old beater of a slush mobile, to make it more fun to ride, because fun is what it's all about. Commuting by car may be comfortable, but it's not fun. Commuting by bike may be uncomfortable, but it's fun. I prefer that.

The Technomic stem is just too long (forward sticking). My back has started to hurt from all the leaning over. Time to get a shorter stem, I guess.

Loaded Touring: An Experiment

This doesn't exactly count as tilting at windmills, but it certainly defies conventional wisdom. I am thinking of carrying everything in front and rear baskets on our little tour this summer. Actually, front panniers, front basket on a rack, and rear basket on a rack. No rear panniers, and way more of the weight on the front than on the back.

Here's my thinking:

Traditional rear panniers are a catastrophe. They are MUCH too far back, putting almost all the extra weight at or behind the rear axle. The tubing is thinner back there, and all the weight that far back shifts the horizontal center of gravity over the rear wheel. As a result, the bike becomes whippy and unstable, and the rear tire and wheel wear out much faster than the front. (And let's not even talk about broken spokes. What a sickening sound: ping ping ping!) Panniers can't be pulled farther forward because they would interfere with pedaling.

So my solution for the back is that I'll pile things in my big basket as close to me, the rider, as I can, making the pile as high and forward as possible. This keeps the horizontal center of gravity near the center of the bike. But what about the vertical center of gravity? As long is the load is close to me, (and as long as I'm not wearing it in a backpack), it shouldn't matter. After all, people who weigh 50 pounds more than me bike successfully. Their center of gravity must be about what my piled up pack and I would have. Of course, there is the small problem of getting on the bike. I'll just climb over the piled up gear. Or get lowered by a crane.

But the more radical thought, which I get from CETMAracks.com (makers of burly front racks on which they say you can carry medium-size appliances), is that almost all the load should be carried by the front wheel. It's a stronger wheel because of the symmetrical spoke tension and rim that's centered on the axle, the tubing on the fork is stronger than that of the chainstay and seatstay, and the horizontal center of gravity is closer to the center of the bike.

The conventional wisdom is that you don't want to overload the front because it will interfere with steering, but really, how much steering do you do with a fully loaded touring bike? Basically, you go straight. Steering is done as much by shifting weight as by turning the front wheel. And as long as the load is not wobbly, why does it have to hang down nearly to the road, as with the most extreme front panniers? Again, as long as the load is close to the rider and reasonably low (I wouldn't want to carry it in a raised front-end loader shovel, for example), keeping the horizontal center of gravity close to the center of the bike, I don't think the vertical center of gravity matters that much. (Grant Peterson rants about that point.)

Front panniers are nice, but they're not very big. So I'm going to try mounting a nice big Wald basket on my front rack and piling it high with gear. I love the idea of just throwing stuff into a basket, rather than cramming it into unknown nooks and crannies of panniers.

On previous tours, I have used rear panniers and front handlebar bag. The panniers were LOADED. (In addition to our--too much--gear, we used to carry large glass jars of peanut butter, large loaves of bread, large bags of cookies, and anything else we picked up at the grocery store.) It was whippy and a bit odd, sometimes (and Jon's rear wheel tacoed on him at one point, proving my point about panniers), but we managed for thousands of miles. (And that on a couple of Gitane Interclubs, hardly touring bikes.) So it's not like there's one and only one way of doing this.

It will be an interesting experiment. I'll load it up and take it on some proof-of-concept rides this spring and report back.

Sheldon Brown Memorial Service

From the Harris Cyclery site:

"For those pedaling to the memorial service, there will be a designated bicycle parking area. A police detail will be on hand, but please bring your lock."

I like the idea of thousands of bikers descending on Sheldon Brown's memorial service. I hope it happens.

Slush Mobile Update

I don't like straight-across mountain bikey handlebars. They make my elbows hurt, and my hands get bored in that single position.

Since I had a set of moustache bars lying around (and lots of spare cables and housing), I just needed to get a new set of shifters and then I could put the m-bars on the slush mobile. How about this for a deal: Thumb shifters for $.99 at Nashbar. Falcons. Not Campy, but they work.

Now, with the stem raiser, the Nitto Technomic stem, and the m-bars, the bike is a lot more interesting. I need a shorter (that is, less stick-forwardy) stem to bring the bars closer to me, then they'll be perfect. But since I really don't want to put much money into this bike, I may hold off on the new stem.

The ride today was almost spring-like. Only residual ice patches on the roads and sidewalks, and it was warm enough that I didn't need most of my winter warm gear.

Luckily, in case I have been lulled into thinking spring is here, there's a winter storm watch for the next several days. That's more like it.

Since I'm now riding the slush mobile in winter conditions, I felt free to put the new 700c wheels (made by Rich at Rivendell) on the Trek 620. I was able to make the canti brakes (which had been set for 27" wheels) hit the rims, so I didn't need to swap in the old Mafac Racer brakes I have lying around (although I kind of wanted to). I haven't taken it for its maiden voyage yet.

One Last Windmill

OK. I'll be done with conventional wisdom soon. But this one has been bugging me for 25 years. I know I'm not going to convince many (any) people, but I know I'm right. Here goes:

Two bike riders on a road with no shoulder should always ride two-abreast.

How about that for a crazy idea? Here's why:

A car and a bike do not fit safely in a single, shoulderless lane. (This is assuming that the bike stays far enough from the edge of the road and the car stays far enough from the bike.) In order to pass a bike safely on such a road, a car MUST cross over the center line into the oncoming lane.

That's where problems arise. Cars often (always?) think they can squeeze by when there's oncoming traffic. Although technically true, they do it either by (a) scaring the bike rider to death, or (b) forcing the bike off the road.

The one serious fall I had while biking came as a result of my effort to hug the edge of the road to allow a car to pass. I slipped off the road, my wheels caught on the raised pavement, and I fell back into the road. The car stopped in my helmet (see below).

With two bikes riding in a line, the problem is even worse because the car has a longer distance to cover before returning safely to its lane.

I suspect that everyone would agree that cars should give bikes plenty of room when passing, and bikes should ride far enough from the edge of the pavement to avoid falling off. I think they would concede that this means that passing cars must cross the center line.

For me, then, the logical next step is to make it IMPOSSIBLE for a car to try to squeeze by. This means that the single rider should ride near the middle of the lane, and two riders should ride side by side.

Go ahead. Give it a try. Let me know how badly you were beaten up by the irate driver.

More on Conventional Wisdom

Two stories having to do with gear and conventional wisdom. (See the previous post.)

I went to buy toe straps (to lash a basket to a rear rack) in my local bike shop (where they are really nice and helpful, so I don't mean this as a criticism). Just as an idle observation, the guy selling me the toe straps said, "You ought to try step-in pedals."

And once while riding my Trek with its 32mm tires, I was turning onto (gasp!) a dirt road, when a young fellow out riding with his lady said, in horror, "You're not taking that bike on THAT road, are you?"

People just accept the conventional wisdom. Everyone knows that click-in pedals are better, and everyone knows that you need a MOUNTAIN BIKE for dirt roads. But, really, I like my pedals, I've ridden thousands of miles on them (wearing tennies). And my "road bike" was just great on that dirt road (and many others).

I, Fool

At the risk of coming across as a born-again Rivendellite, let me confess my bike sins both ancient and relatively recent.

When I was a lad lusting after a real bike, I tried to save weight on my J.C. Penny bike by taking off the wheel and pedal reflectors. I have been known to take off wheel reflectors since then, too. Now what's the sense of that? It's because I thought that the few ounces they weighed might "make a difference." To what? My Tour de France time? And did I think those reflectors weren't useful for, say, being seen by cars? Apparently not. I knew I couldn't be killed.

This, then, is my first bike sin: thinking that weight (at least on the ounce level) makes a difference.

My next sin? When I rode down the west coast at age 17, I carried my helmet on top of my panniers. The one time I fell, the car that was following me came to a stop with one wheel in the helmet that was tied to the panniers. Enough said. I'm mostly over that sin.

On that same trip I convinced my buddies that skinny tires (back then that meant 27 x 1 1/8) were just the ticket to make us go FAST FAST FAST. Those tires wore out in (and I kid not) five days. Right down to the casings. We must have had 20 flat tires a day before we replaced them with big beefy Hutchisons.

So forgive me the sin of thinking skinny tires are good. I now ride 50mm tires on the slush mobile, 35mm Pacelas on the touring Trek, and 28mm Pacelas on my Rambouillet. (A bit thinner than I should have, but I want my bikes to feel different.)

Most of my biking life I have fastened my feet to the pedals, mostly with toe clips and straps. I was sure it made a difference. I finally gave in about five years ago and got click-in shoes and pedals. Now I would win the Tour de France for sure! Except I fell several times (scraping myself up quite badly) when I couldn't get out, and my knee started hurting (and not just from lacerations). So I took the plunge and followed Grant Peterson's advice and disconnected myself. I got nice wide pedals, no straps, no clips, no nothing. Not cool, perhaps, but nice. My knees don't hurt, I'm no longer in danger of hurting/killing myself by falling while inextricably fastened to my bike, I don't notice myself exerting myself any harder, my pinky toes no longer fall asleep, and I can wear any shoes. Nice!

My next sin involves bicycle shorts. I wore them for many years. Again, I was sure it made a difference. EVERYONE wears biking shorts. They must be right. Right? Who needs pockets? Who needs underwear? Who doesn't want to look like they're in the Tour de France? They're so AERODYNAMIC!

But last summer I rode about two thirds of the time with thin-seam athletic shorts (or Rivendell baggies). I experimented with different kinds of underwear. I can't say that I prefer one thing over another (except I like having pockets and not looking like a freak). But I know that biking shorts aren't the be-all and end-all of bike fashion and comfort.

I have never succumbed to the temptation to wear bike jerseys. T shirts have always worked pretty well. Last summer I wore a super-light Melanzana long sleeve shirt to protect my arms from the sun. It was quite nice. I wish it had pockets.

Now, I suppose I can be forgiven these sins, since everyone commits them. (Well, nearly everyone, or at least nearly every "serious" biker.) And it's conventional wisdom, not to be questioned: Of course you fasten yourself to your pedals (even though studies show that NO ONE pulls up on the pedal, except in very short hill climbs); of course you get the titanium frame seat because those 4 oz. will make a difference, even if you're not in the Tour de France; of course you take those dorky reflectors out of your wheels--they're dorky!

I'm not sure why all bikers, even cool ones, wear helmets these days. But of course everyone has a helmet that has a swoopy back end that makes you more aerodynamic for your Tour de France time trials, even though it makes no sense to have a helmet that has a bunch of points sticking out the back which can hook on things and pull your helmet off. Why aren't helmets (other than the Bell Citi and Metro) ROUND in back? Wouldn't it be safer?

But I digress from my sins. It is not for me to expiate the sins of the biking world. I can only atone for my own. (I didn't even mention the sin of having a "bike computer" which causes me to strive for ever-higher average speeds on my rides.)

I'm slowly coming to my senses, conquering my fear of non-conformity. I'm a little embarrassed to ride up to a group of bikers in their Starship Enterprise jerseys and their Robo-Cop-worthy high-tech equipment, but why should I be? I'm just having a little bike ride. I'm not racing. I'm not in a bike pageant. (Well, my Rambouillet is one of the most beautiful bikes on the road, so I'd probably win a bike pageant.) I don't care what all the gear-heads in the world think!

Sigh.

My Slush-Mobile

I finally got too worried about wrecking the steel frame of my Trek 620 by riding in snow, slush, and salt all winter. Plus, its 32mm tires are a little skinny for the icy, crusty, rutty conditions.

Being a good collector of bikes, both useful and useless, I happened to have in the garage an old Trek 830 "mountain bike" that I picked up at the university surplus store. Big fat steel frame (not lugged, of course), 26" wheels with wide rims, straight across handlebars, knobby 50mm tires. The frame is seriously too small for me, so I had the seat post jacked way up (but the handle bars still way down).

The low handle bars, super knobby tires, and lack of fenders and rack made this a less than ideal commuting bike. But those were all problems that could be solved relatively easily and inexpensively. I bought some Wald steel fenders (fat, black, shiny, and only $29) and some semi-slick tires with knobs on the outside, and I raised the handlebars with my stem extension (replacing some of the cable housing that was now too short). I also added a rack that I had lying around, strapped a basket onto the rack, and voila! Slush mobile winter commuter bike.

The bike's maiden voyage was yesterday. The sidewalks were completely covered with ice ridges and many of the roads were covered with ice slicks. The fat tires (inflated to 38 lbs) handled the ridges and ruts nicely, and they gripped pretty well even on the ice slicks. Most important, it was fun to ride. I wouldn't want to ride it in Paris-Brest-Paris, but for the daily 5-mile commute it's pretty fun.

This morning, I rode a sidewalk that was covered with ice chunks thrown up by the snow plows (in addition to the usual icy ruts). It was work but fun. It felt like off-road riding.

Winter Biking and Sheldon Brown

I rode to work today in the worst snowstorm of the winter. On my way in (pushing the bike part of the way because the crusty, chopped up snow kept tripping me up), I wondered why I was doing it. Surely, not riding while 8" of snow is falling would have been justifiable.

But when I finally got home (and glad I was to arrive), I learned that Sheldon Brown had died. That made my snowy commute seem more like a tribute to Sheldon and less like total looniness. Or maybe it was both. Sheldon's love for biking (and obvious love for life) has been my inspiration for a while. The pictures of Sheldon's bikes propped up in a snow drift suggest that he would have understood the need to try the ride today, just to see if it could be done. And even when I was wrestling to keep the bike upright and moving forward, it was a little fun. Tiring, but fun. I was dripping wet from snow and sweat when I arrived home, but very very satisfied.

So long, Sheldon. Thanks for helping to make biking fun.

Winter Biking

As I pulled in to my driveway on my bike the other day, my neighbor, who was out shoveling snow, commented, "You're insane."

I suppose I looked it. My biked was caked with snow--wheels, chain, brakes, derailers--and snow was flying out the front of my fender in a steady spray. I was bundled in wind pants, insulated boots, parka, wool gaiter pulled up over my mouth and nose, ski goggles, helmet (with mirror), snowmobile gloves, and I was slipping and sliding through four inches of snow that was making cars slide around and go off the road.

I have long resisted riding in any kind of snow or ice. I usually stop riding to work in January and start again in late March, when the sidewalks are wet only. And even that can be treacherous. One time in April I was barreling along on a cold morning when I went through a puddle that had a thin (I thought) skin of ice on it. My front wheel sank through the ice and stopped, caught by the ice. I went flying over the handlebars, landing flat on my back in the street. It broke my mirror. So much for playing it safe.

This year, deep in my mid-life crisis, I decided to try my luck biking in snow. Why be comfortable? I asked myself. Why not live on the edge? Sky dive? Solo hike across Africa? Buy a trip to the space station? Well, no. But maybe bike in snow.

I let the air out of my 32mm Schwalbe tires, so that they are at about 42 lbs, I shifted way down to a low gear so I couldn't go too fast (making the inevitable falls less fatal), and I taught myself to turn VERY SLOWLY. Turning is when you fall.

Much to my surprise, it's fun. I love skiing and driving in snow. Winter biking has the thrills of downhill skiing (moguls, loose snow, constant danger of falling and getting hurt), winter driving (slipping and sliding, fishtailing, inability to stop), and, I suppose, bob-sledding. It's quiet (no sound from tires on pavement), and riding so slow is kind of relaxing (when it's not scary). And OMG do I feel virtuous! Like, Mr. Super Green Man.

One of the secrets is to regulate temperature correctly. Heavy winter coats: bad. Layers: good. I find that when I wear a thin turtleneck, a light sweater, a fleece vest, and an anorak wind breaker, I'm good down to about 20. Below 20, I need either a parka instead of the anorak, or a fleece hoodie instead of the vest. (I recommend Melanzana fleece outerwear. Way nice.)

The ski goggles are essential. They don't fog, so they can be worn with a scarf, balaclava, or face mask, and they keep out eyeball numbing cold and blinding snow. Light wind pants over my regular pants are perfect for keeping my legs warm, and either insulated boots or rubbers over my regular shoes (with two pairs of socks, one of them wool) keep my feet warm. Being too hot is almost worse than being too cold; this combination of layers works well.

As I was riding home the other day next to the cars that were just creeping along, I really was glad I wasn't in one of them. What was not to like?

I worry that all the snow and road salt will wreck my steel frame, so I have taken to rinsing it off with hot water when I get home. The wheels I'm not worried about, since I have a new pair of 700c's that I'll put on in warmer weather. These 27-inchers can be my winter wheels. I have another set of Schwalbe tires for when these wear out (if they ever do, which they may not because they're Schwalbes). Schwalbes are good because they have a generator strip that gives my Busch and Müller dynamo a good grip, even in snow. I plan on using these wheels for many winters. Really really nice German tires. The generator and lights are nice in winter, when daylight comes late and leaves early. Lights in a snowstorm are nice, too.

Today (a Saturday) I rode to the health club (four miles), soaked in the whirlpool, shaved, and rode home. I didn't need to exercise there, since I had gotten plenty as I slipped and slid my way to the club, and I'd get plenty more on my slip-slide home, so I contented myself with saving a few pennies on the club's shaving cream and hot water. It was well worth it.

More Handlebars

It's been a while. Since I'm the only one who reads this: Sorry, me.

The Rambouillet has continued to be a lovely bike. I haven't changed anything on it yet. I decided to ride it 1000 miles before thinking about making any changes. It's been significantly more than that, and still I leave it as it is.

One change I haven't made is adding fenders. I'm a big believer in fenders, and I think that a bike without fenders is a little naked. But I haven't been able to bring myself to put fenders on the Rambouillet. It's just so beautiful, I hate to cover up the lovely wheels. The nasty seat-post rack and black Nashbar rack trunk aren't beautiful, but I need a bag. I suppose a beautiful Carradice seat bag would be better, but they're expensive.

So I don't ride the Rambouillet in the rain. Or snow. That's OK. I can ride the Trek in wet weather. Once my junker Fuji fell apart--the broken rear axle was the last straw--I started commuting on the Trek. The moustache bars were pretty nice, but I continued not to love them.

Since I had a set of Albatross upright bars available after I dismantled the junker Fuji, I decided to give them a try on the Trek. They have lovely cork handgrips with bar-end shifters, and I wrapped cloth tape up around the bend in front, which gives a quite nice weight-forward head-down-ish position. I may even put interrupter brake levers on the front curve, so that I have two positions to brake from.

One nice thing about the Albatross bars is that they are high enough with just a Nitto Periscopa stem. I don't need to use the extra stem extension that I had been using with the other bars. I never liked that thing.

I've ridden it all winter, so far, even through several inches of snow and over ice. The really cold weather didn't arrive until this weekend, so I have yet to contend with single-digit temperatures. That may be a deal breaker. I find if I let the air out of my 32mm Schwalbe tires (down to 42 lbs), they grip the ice and snow pretty well. I don't really notice a big difference in rolling. I'm too cold, probably. The extra unrollability just makes me work harder, keeping me warm.

The other thing that keeps me warm is my new generator (Bausch and Müller 6, which has the most resistance of B and M generators). the extra resistance isn't a big problem, and I love the B and M halogen lights, which I run even when it's just a little dusky.

The big question (well, it's not that big a question, in the grand scheme) is whether the Albatross bars will work for touring. My friend Jon and I are planning a little Lake Michigan circumlocution this summer, and the Trek is (theoretically) designed for touring. It has slightly beefy Reynolds 531 tubing (actually, the down tube is quite beefy) and a nice long wheelbase. I have a set of 700c wheels (built by Rich at Rivendell) that I'll put on, so I don't have to worry about the odd and bizarre Maillard "helicomatic" hub (with its teeny little bearings that have broken in half), and I'll be able to use nice 35mm or even 37mm tires.

I think it would be lovely to tour with silly upright handle bars. They'll go along with the silly rear basket I plan on carrying everything in. Maybe I'll add a silly front basket, as well.

Jon is my bike touring buddy from way way back. He and I rode down the west coast (Seattle to San Diego, including--idiotically--the Olympic Penninsula with its logging trucks) when we were 17. (I'm glad my 17 year old hasn't asked for permission to do such a crazy thing.) My longest one-day ride to date came when Jon and I rode from Douglas, MI (on Lake Michigan) to Ann Arbor, nearly all the way across the state on a hot hot June day. About 160 miles.) When we were 16. It took us about 14 hours, as I recall. Insane.

And now here we are, 33 years later, planning on doing it again. We've only ridden together once since then, about 25 years ago. I don't think we'll have many 160 mile days. Or even 100 miles, which we did several times on the west coast trip. (One of those long days involved going over the coastal mountain range at least once. Ah, youth.)

We're both old and stiff, so we need nice high handle bars. I figure, I'm old, so I may as well have real granny bars, baskets, the works. If I had the money, I'd buy a Rivendell Willbury, a low-top-tube mixte. Then I'd even have a granny bike. A beautiful one.

We'll see how the tour goes. I'll document it here, in case I want to read about it on the web. Pictures, even, maybe.

Follow up: The Albatross bars were fine on tour. I had cork grips on them, and I wrapped the curves with tape to give me a more forward position. I also put interrupter brake levers on the curves--a bit unconventional, but it worked pretty well. (The cable routing was bizarre, but not hopeless.) I put the moustache bars on my snow bike (an old Trek mountain bike with 2" tires and giant Wald fenders). They are wonderful for that purpose. Much better than straight bars.

Leelanau Century (and saddles)

This week I rode my first century (that is, 100 miles, not km) since I was a boy. North from Empire (MI) to Leland, around Lake Leelanau, south to Interlochen, then back to Empire. This was done on my new Rivendell Rambouillet (I got the floor model for a good price, since they've put the Rambouillet to sleep for a while), with a Brooks B.17 saddle. (See my most recent post, below. I seem to be vacillating between the saddles of true believers--tensioned leather--and those of apostates--foam- and gel-filled. I must say, it was mostly comfortable, until the last 20 miles or so. That's not a bad ratio: 80:20, comfortable:uncomfortable.

More gear:
Shoes: New Balance running shoes. (No toe clips.)
Shorts: Well, I used biking shorts, although I should have just gone with baggy shorts. I developed some powerful saddle rash.
Bag: I know I should use a Carradice Nelson Longflap, but they cost $140 and they hang off the saddle and flop around (unless you use a rack). So I used a seatpost rack with a large rack trunk (both cheapies). Worked great! Perhaps not stylish, but inexpensive and effective.

The route was gorgeous, but it had very few towns. I had a hankering for a milkshake, but I never got one. My favorite pizza/sub shop in Interlochen was closed, so I ate lunch at Wendy's. Ick.

I had several Pepsis. Tasted good, but eventually made me sick. I had only four miles to go, but I had to lie down on the gravel beside the road to keep from vomiting. Next time, more water, more orange juice, less Pepsi.

Handlebars, Saddles, and Gurus

In a previous post I told the woeful tale of a Moustache Bar Experiment gone horribly wrong. Much as I wanted to like the Moustache Bar, I couldn't. I put my old drop bar back on. And that's where the last post left off.

But I still had the moustache bar in the garage, and I still liked the idea.

So I put it back on, new cables (again) and all. But this time, I jacked it up probably 5 cm above the saddle, and made the "drops" nearly level. And this time I liked it. It got me upright enough when I wanted to be upright, and by holding on to the hoods way out front I could get fairly aero.

But then I needed to deal with the saddle.

The handlebars and the saddle are a team, you see. They need to fit each other. Upright bar needs a different saddle than a seriously head-down bar. At least, that's what they said.

And because I have adopted several gurus as my own, notably Grant Peterson and Sheldon Brown, I try to do what they say, and they both said "Brooks B. 17". So I got a Brooks B.17. Beautiful. Natural. Leather. And after about 1000 miles, I can honestly say . . . uncomfortable.

It seems to me that the problem with leather that is stretched between support bars (rather than stretched over foam) is that it softens and molds to your behind in just the way you (or at least I) don't want it to: Namely, your sit bones, the things that need to be supported, sink in to the depression they create in the nice soft leather, while the plumbing, the nice soft plumbing that can't create its own depression, increasingly rides a ridge that's left behind in the hard leather.

I have a 30-year-old Ideale saddle, ridden many thousands of miles, that demonstrates my point. Low at the bun bones, high--very high!--in the middle. That's one uncomfortable ride now.

As a result, my beautiful B. 17 has been getting more and more uncomfortable. That's not how it's supposed to work. I suppose I could soak it in Neat's Foot Oil, cook it in the oven, and beat the ridge with a baseball bat, but somehow that seems wrong.

So, following my guru's advice, I bought a Brooks saddle with springs, a very very lovely B. 67. Alas! After only three rides and 100 miles, I knew this wasn't going to work either.

So I did the unthinkable: I pulled out the original Avocet touring saddle that came on my Trek 25 years ago, the one that has the nice hard foam bun bumps under a stretched-tight leather cover. And lo and behold! It has been comfortable! Sure it's narrowish, but as long as my bun bones are supported and my plumbing is out of the way, what do I care? In fact (and now I sound like an equipment jock), the narrow hard seat really does make peddling easier and more efficient, especially when compared with the sprung saddle. And it's more comfortable! Even in the 90˚ heat (which I rode in today just to prove to myself that it's not just comfortable on cool days). Even (don't tell) wearing ordinary (albeit boxer-length) underwear. I rode 30 miles yesterday and 17 miles today. Nice.

And suddenly, the moustache bar works better because I can sit back on the saddle without wincing. I know, I know: when I sit up and back, I should have a nice sprung leather saddle. That's what everyone says. But that's not how it's working for me.

This must just be a problem with my behind. The many many testimonials listed on Rivendell, Wallingford, Peter White, Harris Cyclery, indicate that most people just love their Brooks saddles. And I'd like to love my Brooks (and Ideale) saddles and have contempt for my foam ass hatchet. But I can't.

So gurus don't always know best. Or, put better, gurus don't always know what's best for me. I'm still riding without toe clips or cleats (as instructed by my guru Grant) and I like it. I'm still wearing baggy shorts (per Grant, again). I love my fenders and my 24 teeth granny chainwheel. I only rely on my front brake (as per Sheldon). And yes, Nitto stems and bars truly are beautiful. I'm mostly a convert.

But they can have my Brooks saddles.

Moustache Bar

It seemed like a great idea, that curvy Nitto-made handlebar that Rivendell sells as the "Moustache Bar". It was upright, it offered lots of hand positions including a leaning-forward aero position, and it was nice and wide for better control. So I tried it.

Installing it on my jacked-up stem of my too-small Trek 620 was no small endeavor, since the bar-end shifters were raised beyond the scope of their cable housing (and cables, for that matter). So I needed new cables and housings. And, of course, since buying one thing always requires buying three more things, I needed to get something to cut the housing. A Dremel with a cutting disk works like a charm, and it costs about as much as a good cable cutter. So I bought one. (Actually, once I had the Dremel, I was able to trim my fender stays, which had been sticking out ridiculously. So it was a sensible purchase.)

True to Rivendell's promise, the Nitto bar was a beauty, with a perfect satiny finish. Naturally, I managed to mangle it as I worked it into the Nitto Technomic stem. It seems the moustache bar has a wide mounting section, which increases its diameter. So the stem, which had been tightened on my regular diameter bar, was too small for the new Nitto. Once I realized this, the bar was already half in the stem; by then it was too late to get it in or out without (a) expanding the opening on the stem with a lever of some kind, or (b) tearing the hell out of the bar. I chose (b). I nearly cried when I saw the carnage.

So anyway, first impressions were good. Fun bar to ride short distances with. Easy to get at the brakes, lots of control, quite upright.

When I took it out for longer rides, problems became apparent.

First, it's not possible to get low on it. Forward, yes. Low, no. When I'm riding into the wind, I like to bend over my bar so that my weight is still centered, not flatten out with all my weight on my arms. (I realize that flat and forward is the way Lance would do it. I'm not Lance.) With a nice high drop bar, I can ride aerodynamically on the drops all day and not suffer.

Second, it's not possible to get upright enough with it. With a nice high drop bar, holding onto the cross bar sits me up enough that I can rest my neck and shoulders. Not possible with the moustache.

Finally, I didn't really like the super-wide grip when holding the moustache bar near the ends. I felt like I was forming a parachute-like wind catcher. It also made my bad shoulder hurt.

So I reversed the process, taking the moustache off and putting my old 41 cm drop bar back on. I was able to reuse the bar tape, so all was not lost.

As a mountain bike bar, the moustache would be fantastic. As a road bar, it doesn't offer enough levels for my comfort. (If I start using this bike as a commuting bike, I'll put the it back on.)

I'm done buying bars for now. But I'd love to try a 46 cm Nitto Noodle drop bar. Maybe on my new Rivendell.

Much later: Since writing this post, I have moved the moustache bar to my winter bike, a tricked-out early-90s Trek mountain bike. On that bike, which I use for commuting 10 miles/day in snow, ice, and slush, the moustache bar is perfect. Lots of control, comfortable position for 30 minutes; much better than the typical straight-across mountain bar. I almost always hold on to the bars at the curves, where the brakes are easily accessible. I'll occasionally pull back to the bar ends, but not often.

Bike Lanes

OK, this one's obvious; but if it's so obvious, why doesn't anyone do anything about it?

If reducing gasoline consumption is our goal, we should encourage bike riding. Duh.

So why is it that when the county road commission repaves and widens roads here in mid-Michigan, they don't automatically add bike lanes? How hard would it be to make the auto lanes and shoulders a little narrower?

As it is now, I bike five miles to work on sidewalks. Good idea? I think not. Pedestrians hate me (OK, and I hate them, but I try to be polite--which reminds me: to ding my bell or not? I feel like a boor when I ding it, telling them to get the hell out of my way, but I get yelled at when I don't ding it).

I have broken spokes going over curbs or rough curb cuts. OK, I was racing with a young pup who was fully geared-out and riding with traffic in the busy city streets. I was trying to prove that a middle-aged codger in penny loafers could keep up, even riding on the sidewalk. I did, but I broke spokes in the process. When I pulled up next to him at a red light, he said, "Dude. Pretty good, especially in those pants." I'm not sure why he thought pants made a difference, but I accepted the compliment.

When it gets snowy, the sidewalks are the last thing to be cleared, if they're ever cleared. Drivers pay no attention to who's on the sidewalk; I have been cut off many times, even by drivers who just passed me and couldn't possibly not have seen me. In fact, one time a driver waited for me to pass before pulling out of a driveway, drove past me, then turned right in front of me into the next driveway. I ended up flat on my back, having gone over my handlebars. That's when I got a bike with upright bars so I could reach the brakes faster.

Really, it's like urban mountain biking with extra hazards, which is sort of fun, but only for the adventuresome. It's pretty hard for me to recommend to colleagues that they commute by bike, knowing that they'll need to jump curbs and dodge ditzoid drivers.

But bike lanes! Now that would be inviting. No curbs, no sidewalks. I suspect bicycle commuting would increase many-fold. And it makes a community seem so much more friendly, hip, and welcoming. I can't believe that it costs much more.

So here I live in the semi-country (a township suburb of Lansing), and there's no way for me to get anywhere without riding down a busy two-lane road that not only has no shoulder but CURBS. (Why does it need curbs?) So when I'm in the road, all traffic must go at my pace because I can't even pull over onto the shoulder. Drivers aren't crazy about that.

So Ingham County Road Commission, you don't need to tear all the roads up and install bike lanes immediately. But whenever you repave one, would you at least consider it?

And how about bike paths? I can always dream.