Erie Canalway Trail, Buffalo to Newark, NY

For her first bike tour, my wife Cindy chose for us the western segment of the Erie Canal trail, which runs (mostly) continuously from Buffalo to Newark along the historic Erie Canal. I was nervous. I told her all the things that could go wrong: it could rain; it could be cold; it could be windy; her butt could hurt. She was determined to do it anyway. I told her that this was not necessary to save our marriage. I was perfectly happy taking vacations that she likes; there was no need for her to make sacrifices on my behalf. She insisted.

So we did it. And it did rain, and it was cold, and it was windy, and her butt did hurt. But our marriage survived. In fact, we spent our 25th anniversary bucking a cold 15 mph headwind as we rode 49 miles, the longest day of the trip and nary a discouraging word passed between us.  Several discouraged ones, it's true. But she didn't blame me. In fact, she says she had a good time.

So here's the report. First, the summary of the trip. Total miles: 35 + 49 + 41 + 40 = 165. Trip dates: May 10-May 13, 2010. High temperature: mid-50s. Low temperature: mid-30s. Sunshine? Not much. Rain? You betcha. Trail surface: mostly rock dust, which was fine. Overnight accommodations: inns and motels. Bikes: I rode my trusty 1984 Trek 620 (of which only the frame is original) with trekking bars and 38mm tires; Cindy rode a cheapie Trek girls bike, which worked fine. I carried most of the luggage in a rear bag, small front panniers, and a handlebar bag. Cindy had a small handlebar bag and a small rack trunk. Clothes: Because it was so cold, I wore MUSA (Rivendell) long pants the whole time. (They were perfect: lightweight, windproof, just warm enough.) On top, a Melanzana long-sleeved ultra-lightweight polartec base layer shirt and a windbreaker; sometimes a fleece vest under the windbreaker. I almost never wore biking gloves, opting instead for generic brown cotton work gloves to keep my hands warm. On my feet I had retro New Balance running shoes, size 11 EEEE, with a lightly ridged sole to grip my "rat trap" pedals. (No clips or cleats or any of that silliness.) Under my helmet I wore a bandana, which I usually wear to sop up sweat, but on this trip it was to keep warm. On top of everything was a Dickies hi-viz vest. I was glad to have it on the busy roads.

We drove our van to Buffalo on Sunday and dropped off our bikes at the downtown Holiday Inn (quite nice). We then went to the Buffalo airport and rented a Mazda 6 and drove both vehicles to Seneca Falls (which is actually south of the canalway), where we left the van in the carriage house of Barrister's Inn, where we would spend our last night. We then drove back to Buffalo and checked in to the Holiday Inn. Dinner at Bocci Club Pizza. The next morning, I returned the rental car to the downtown Hertz office (two blocks from the Holiday Inn), and away we went.

Day 1. Monday, May 10. Buffalo to Lockport.

I was glad we started in Buffalo, even though it probably would have been more pleasant to start at the beginning of the actual canal in Tonawanda, just north of Buffalo. But it was interesting to ride Buffalo's urban bike paths along the Niagara River (and the freeway). We didn't pick up any glass in our tires, despite many opportunities. The route was scenic but industrial, mostly right along the river, and mostly on a paved path (with occasional forays onto city sidewalks). We saw a few people fishing, but that was the extent of the wildlife.

In Tonawanda the canal proper begins, and the path (and its surrounding environment) becomes much more gentrified. The paved stretch through Tonawanda and North Tonawanda are quite nice. There were a few on road segments, but mostly it was paved multi-use trail. We saw quite a few walkers and bikers on this stretch.

The nice paved trail ends between Tonawanda and Lockport, and we were routed onto roads for the last 10 miles. The shoulders were wide, but the traffic was quite heavy. This was the least pleasant road riding of the trip. We got lost at one point because the route guide suggested we were looking for a road called East Canal, when in fact we needed to turn left on New Rd first. And the route markers that someone had painted on the trail, which seemed to be for the canalway trail, pointed the wrong way, right instead of left. This was the only time the route blazes were wrong, but it was a bad time. So we had a little side trip up the wrong road, until we realized we were off our maps. Bummer. Time to retrace a few miles.

Although this was our shortest day, we were pretty tired by the time we found our adorable retro-motel in Lockport, the Lockport Inn and Suites (formerly the Lockport Motel, which is how I'll always think of it). This motel is straight out of the 60s: a true two-story motor court that wraps around a nice little swimming pool and office building. The decor seemed largely unchanged from the 60s as well. But rather than feeling run-down and pathetic, the motel was spotlessly clean and lovely. Carpet in the bathroom? No problem. They even offer free movies, which you select from a notebook that lists hundreds of titles. Highly recommended.

Day 2. Tuesday, May 11. Lockport to Adam's Basin.
This was our long, windy, cold day. Every inch of it was on the canal trail (except at the beginning, getting from our motel to downtown Lockport. This segment of the canal is just a big ditch with a tow path next to it. There's little vegetation or scenery, other than nice farms rolling off on either side. We wished from some vegetation to block the wind, but mostly we didn't get it. The wind blew 15 mph straight out of the east, picking up speed over the water. Sometimes gusts slowed Cindy down to 5 mph. We averaged about 8.2 mph for the day. Cindy is not an experienced enough biker to feel comfortable drafting. So although I tried to block as much wind as possible, it probably didn't do much good. There were times I nearly suggested walking our bikes. It wouldn't have been much slower. Still, Cindy soldiered on, never complaining.

We had a nice diner breakfast in Gasport (which was not much of a town), and a lovely bowl of soup in a coffee shop in Albion. The towns got cuter and cuter as we went west, perhaps reflecting the influence of Rochester. Albion was quite adorable.

Somehow we labored on, always looking over our shoulders to see if we would be adding rain to the otherwise perfect mix of cold and wind. We knew the rain was coming, but it wasn't predicted before 5:00. We reached Brockport, a SUNY college town, ahead of the rain. Indeed, when we arrived at the Adam's Basin Inn at 4:30, the rain was not there yet, except for a few preliminary drops.

The Adam's Basin Inn (in Adam's Basin, a town in name only) was lovely. It was built at the time of the original canal in the 1820s, and for 100 years it served as a canal-side inn and tavern. Indeed, the original bar from the tavern is still in the inn's lounge, as is the original registration desk for the inn. The inn is elegantly and comfortably furnished and immaculately maintained, with a gorgeous yard and gardens. The inn-keepers happily offered to shuttle us to Spencerport, an actual town two miles away with actual restaurants, where we had tasty Texas-style BBQ. By then, the rain had started. It continued all night.

Day 3. Wed, May 12. Adam's Basin to Palmyra.
The canalway trail gets prettier east of Brockport. The canal itself feels more like a river and less like an artificial ditch, and there's thicker vegetation. The trail feels more pastoral and less rural-industrial. Even in the rain. And rain it did this day. The temperature was in the low-40s when we left, and the rain was a fine mist. At first, we couldn't decide whether it was misting enough to warrant actual rain gear, so we started out with non-waterproof windbreakers on the outside. We were soon soaked. And cold. So Cindy put on her rain coat and pants (non-breathable waterproof), which kept her warm, at least. Of course, it also completely soaked her from the trapped perspiration vapor, but that's a different problem that we addressed later.

Despite the mist, the ride was pleasant. The stone dust path was a little sticky, but it didn't slow us down too much. We were on stone dust for 12 miles  until we hit the outskirts of Rochester. At that point, the trail got really interesting. It wound and weaved up and down through the southern outskirts of Rochester, under and over freeways and train tracks, next to oil tanks, through parks, beside the University of Rochester campus. Very interesting. The trail becomes a normal multi-use trail rather than a converted towpath, and it is clearly multi-used.

By the time we reached Pittsford, we were ready for a break. A warm break. Cindy was chilly all over, and my hands and feet were freezing. Pittsford has an adorable little frou-frou business section down by the waterfront, but we chose to venture into town (also frou-frou), where we found a Starbucks. Perfect. We took over a corner table and tried to get warm. We sat there quite a while nursing our drinks, figuring out who would wear which piece of warm clothing. By then the rain had stopped (it was still cold), but all of Cindy's clothes were soaked. In the end, Cindy wore my black sweatshirt, my windbreaker, my wool undershirt, her cotton long-sleeved shirt; I wore my Melanzana long-sleeved base layer shirt, a polartec vest, and Cindy's slightly wet windbreaker. I wished I had mittens and shoe covers.

On the way out of Pittsford, our day was made complete by a flat tire. My front tire picked up a thorn and slowly got saggier and saggier. Not a big deal, since I had two spare tubes and a patch kit, and, in fact, it seemed only fitting that we should get at least one flat tire. It was important for Cindy to experience as many tribulations of bike touring as possible, so that she could form a fair picture of what it was like. Twenty minutes later we were on our way again.

The trail continued to be lovely, nice enough to seek out and bike or walk on as a day hike. Very nice for through-riding. There was one section that took us through a seedy mobile home park, but even that was interesting, as long as we didn't need to stay there.

The day ended in Palmyra, birthplace of Mormonism. We didn't visit Hill Cumorah or any of the historic sites. Instead, we pulled in to the Liberty Inn, locked our bikes in the carriage house, took showers, and walked into town for Chinese at Happiness Garden. Not great, but perfect. Just what I needed. The inn was fine, the innkeepers were nice. By the end of the day, the sun had come out. A miracle, indeed.

 Day 4. Thursday, May 13. Palmyra to Seneca Falls.
On this final day we completed this, the longest stretch of continuous canalway trail, in Newark, then left the canal and headed south. The final stretch of trail was lovely, a pleasant path through the woods  along a river. And the sun was finally out! It was still chilly, but we weren't complaining.

I had been worried about this final day, because we would be riding nearly 30 miles on roads, something Cindy had little experience with nor desire to do. But it had to be. The trail ends in Newark, and we still needed to get to Lyons and beyond. The official route guide would have had us ride on state route 31, which is an official NY bicycle route. But it's a very busy road. Instead, the nice man in the Newark Chamber of Commerce building pointed us toward the old Newark-Lyons road, which was great. Little traffic, over a few rolling hills.

In Lyons, we faced the real choice for the day: continue along the canalway route (on SR 31), or strike off on our own? Odd though this seems, I voted for staying on the official route. We didn't have official county maps (even though the route guide showed local roads, I didn't completely trust it), and I hated the idea of venturing down a road (over not insignificant hills) only to discover a bridge out, or a road that didn't exist. Cindy, however, insisted that we should strike off into the unknown. She said she'd take the blame if we got lost.

So we picked a south-heading road and left the safety of the official route. There were, indeed, hills, significant ones. But Cindy, inexperienced as she was, a hater of all hills, she claimed, did fine. Enjoyed it. Found it easier than expected. I don't think she believed me when I told her that she was going up and down real hills. I think it seemed too easy. And that was on a cheap Trek that doesn't have a super easy granny gear (as my touring bike does).

This last part of the last day, over beautiful upstate New York farm roads, turned out to be some of Cindy's favorite riding. She discovered that it's peaceful riding on empty rural roads, and there's lots to see--more than on a trail. Even the hills are worth dealing with when the ride is so nice. She may become a real biker, yet.

We rolled in to Seneca falls at 2:00 pm, our earliest arrival, even though we went 40 miles over rolling hills. Just goes to show. We found our car in the carriage house of Barrister's Inn (a gorgeous B and B) and went for a drive to kill time. We had never seen the Finger Lakes region, so it was a nice chance for some high-speed (relatively) sight-seeing. Fancy dinner in a Seneca Falls restaurant ("Divine" I think was the name--very good), and the trip was over. Just like that. The next day we drove down to Philadelphia to pick up our son at college.

So what did we learn on this trip? We learned that my wife's an incredibly good sport, that she does not hate biking as much as I thought, that perhaps there's more biking in our future. In fact, I spent the trip convincing her that it would be even more fun on a tandem, specifically a recumbent tandem. By the end she was convinced; we could have gone out and bought one then and there. But when I looked at the prices of recumbent tandems, my enthusiasm waned a bit. To spend $5,000 for a one-trip-a-year bike seems like a lot. I'd like to think we'd take many short trips a year on a tandem, but I know that we're too busy for that.

I learned that baskets and bags work as well as panniers, perhaps better. (When I got home I ordered a small basket and small Riv shopsack for the front rack.) I learned that breathable rainwear may be worth it. (Although my cheapie Nashbar plastic rain coat has enough vents that I didn't get soaked in it, so maybe it can be done with non-breathable. The pants are the problem: there's no way to vent the tops of your legs, where the real heat is generated. Perhaps a pair of breathable rain pants would be in order.)

I learned that, for a trip involving an inexperienced biker, planning on 40 miles per day is smart; inevitably, 40 turns into 42 or 45. I learned that starting with a short day is smart. (Cindy was whipped after the first day, but never so tired after that.) I learned that there aren't a lot of grocery stores along the western Erie Canal.

 Will there be future trips? I think so. Next year, when we go to pick up our son, we are planning on riding a chunk of the Great Allegheny Passage trail. Looks nice.

Carrying Loads

My wife and I just finished riding the western half of the Erie Canalway Trail. The trip was fun despite Mother Nature's best efforts. (More later.)

For now, I'll just muse a bit about carrying loads on bike trips. I have done it all: huge back panniers, huge low-rider front panniers, combinations of medium panniers, front and back. But I am concluding that it's not so much the height of the load (low-rider vs. high-rider) as the rigidity. On this trip, I carried almost all our clothes in a Rivendell Sackville ShopSack, which was in a large Wald basket. (See photo above.) This was a very nice arrangement. The basket holds the load completely rigid, no swaying, and the load stays right up behind me, close to my own center of gravity. As a result, the bike was very stable, with very little shimmy compared with the shimmy I experienced when the bike was loaded with large front or back panniers.

This arrangement was perfect for staying at inns. We'd park our bikes in the garage, pop the bag out of the basket, and go to our room. No panniers to detach and wrastle (or empty). The Shopsack is a beautifully made (in the USA) bag,  a bargain at $45. It's quite huge. At more than 2000 cu. in., it's the size of many large pannier sets.

I'm thinking of getting a medium shopsack and basket to put on the front, so that I can get rid of the stupid front panniers shown in the photo. Quite frankly, I don't care if baskets and duffels look outlandish. To me, they are beauty exemplified.

Fat Burning Zone

Nice ride this evening. The temperature was--get this--80˚ on April 2. No, I haven't moved to Alabama. This is still Michigan.

So I was in my überunmodish hi-viz yellow t-shirt and Riv biking shorts (and, of course, New Balance walking shoes joined only informally to the pedals). On the Rambouillet.

But I got to thinking about Grant Petersen's latest post about fat-burning heart rate vs. muscle-burning heart rate (always go below 70% of your maximum heart rate to burn fat rather than muscle), and I thought I'd give it a try: never go above, say, 115 bpm. It was very pleasant. Very slow, but pleasant, and well in keeping with my resolve to go slow. But then I got to thinking: This is nuts. There's no way toddling along at 14 mph burns more fat than blasting along at 18 mph. It's impossible. Calories are calories, and 18 mph burns more.

Maybe it's just an April Fool's joke. But I reread the post, and it's not that funny. Perhaps if he had said that it's better to lie on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune than ride a bike, then it would be obvious. But this was no obvious joke.

So I looked it up here and there. Most confirm the obvious: When you're working harder, your heart is beating faster, and you're burning more calories. No one suggests that those calories are coming from muscles rather than fat, as Grant suggests. Burning more calories is burning more calories. Otherwise, walkers would be fitter than marathon runners.

This isn't going to inspire me to try to average 18 mph all the time, but it might cause me to reset the odometer so that I can track average speed, in general, as a point of reference. When I'm riding 100 miles, I don't want to average more than 15 mph. When I'm riding 20 miles, as I did today, I should average about 16 mph. And when I'm out for a quick little 15 miler, 18 mph is not unreasonable. (I'm old, so 18 mph is pretty fast.)

Spring Is Here Again

The good thing about biking all winter is that when spring finally comes, I don't feel like my muscles have atrophied and I need to start all over. I went for a 25-miler on Saturday, and it felt as good as it does in mid-summer. Better, perhaps. Here's why:

With the new biking season, I hereby resolve to go slower. Sit up straighter, ride slower. Enjoy the ride. I don't wear any of the racing doodads that other bikers wear, I don't fasten my feet to my pedals in order to make myself fly like the wind, I don't care that my fenders and slightly fat (32mm) tires add extra weight. Why should I feel the need to ride fast? In fact, I'm tempted to get rid of my odometer/speedometer. Why should I care how far I go? Perhaps just riding, say, 90 or 120 minutes should be enough. Or to a destination, regardless of how far it is, exactly.

So on my ride Saturday, the first of the year for the Rambouillet, I took my time. I never pushed so hard that my knees could feel it. I didn't strain. And the Ram is so easy to ride, I still went pretty fast. But I didn't really care.

Furthermore, at the end of last season I decided I should be Riv- Velo-Orange chic and put on a Nitto front rack and a nice front bag, instead of the clamp on seat post rack and rack trunk that I had been using. But when I tried it, I didn't like it. It flops around. It affects the steering. I like the clamp on seatpost rack and trunk. I can't feel it, even when loaded, it doesn't flop around, it holds a ton. There's no convenient map holder; that's a downside. But otherwise, it's nice. Ugly maybe, but nice.

By the way: I heard the first frogs of the season last week.

Control And Release

And here I thought I was the only smart biker in the world. Turns out there's a term for the kind of defensive riding I do on narrow roads: "Control and release". At least that's what John Schubert calls it in the latest issue of Adventure Cyclist. Here's what it means: When you are in a narrow lane that does not have room for a bike and a car without the car crossing the center line, the bike should actually move farther out into the lane when opposing traffic (or blind turns or hills) approach, thus completely preventing the car from attempting to slip by you in your lane (which forces either the oncoming car or the bike off the road). When traffic and/or visibility improves, the bike moves back to its normal position in the lane (more or less in the right tire track) and the car passes.

Although this may seem assholey, in fact it's for everyone's good because THERE'S NO WAY FOR A BIKE AND A CAR TO FIT SAFELY IN MOST LANES. (The only alternative would be for the bike to ride on the shoulder to let the car pass; I've done it on particularly busy roads, but it's ridiculous.)

I have been doing this for years, particularly on M-22 south of Empire, which is absurdly narrow with a sand shoulder, and Hamilton Rd. in Okemos, which has curbs and an occasionally impassible sidewalk (due to snow and ice).

A decent video describing lane controlling and general bike etiquette in traffic is here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rU4nKKq02BU&feature=player_embedded. Interestingly, they advocate using an extended right arm to signal right turns, rather than the anachronistic upraised left hand. That makes sense. However, when they point out that bikes must use lights at night, they conveniently overlook the fact that there are no bike turn signals. So, again, bikes don't follow the same rules. They showed a biker riding at night with headlight and taillight, very nice, but then the rider did a token hand turn signal which was obviously invisible to the drivers behind him. A car driver would get a ticket for that. Furthermore, the riders in the video are constantly looking over their shoulders to check for traffic (that's safe?) because they don't have mirrors. Can cars and motorcycles drive without mirrors? I think not.

Obviously the recommendations for biking in traffic are fine, but still, as I argued in a previous post, when all is said and done, bikes don't have the same rules as motor vehicles, and they certainly don't have the same rights–I'd be arrested riding down Grand River Avenue in one of the traffic lanes at rush hour. And let's not forget the little problem I have at traffic lights that have car sensors: unless a car comes along, the light will never turn green for a bike.

So "control and release" is good riding practice, but it illustrates the inherent difference between cars and bikes in traffic. If we really had the same rights, we would always ride down the middle (or even left side) of the lane. But that would get us arrested.

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More On Lights

As I was riding to work this week (even colder: 9˚) the bulb on my Specialized Vegas headlight burned out. Not a big problem, as I had the Cateye el300 in reserve for just such an occasion, but it do present me with a dilemna: What to do about the Specialized light? It hasn't been made or sold in years and years, and you can't just go down to Ace Hardware for a 4V, .6A xenon bulb. (At least, I don't think you can.) A search on the web did turn up a source for replacement bulbs: http://www.reflectalite.com/, located in England. Pleasantly low-tech web site listing model numbers, descriptions, prices, and shipping costs, which you use to calculate total cost by hand. Arrange money transfer through PayPal, mention model number, etc, and cross your fingers (at least that's what I did). Shortly after I sent payment, I received email confirmation that my bulb was in the mail. At little over $9, which is a lot cheaper than replacing the light would have been.

I have been using the Cateye in the meantime. It works, in that it casts some light ahead of me, but not really. Better than nothing, but not much better. I'm going to experiment with mounting it at the fork crown, to see if I can make the light spot a little longer. Unfortunately, it really needs to be a little wider, and I can't figure out a way to do that. Perhaps a six-foot pole off to the right of the bike.

Update: I take back some of the bad things I said about the Cateye EL 300. Turns out the batteries that came with it were low on juice. (They pooped out on my ride home last night, after only a few hours of burn time.) When I replaced them with nice new Energizers, the light was actually quite nice. Not a lot dimmer than the halogen. (I'll use rechargables when the Energizers give out; I bought the disposables at a convenience store on the way home.)

COLD!

Lovely ride to work this morning. I left at about 6:20, so the traffic wasn't bad, but it was cold. Thermometer read 15˚ and the wind was blowing 20 mph, directly into my face. If you believe in wind chill (I don't really--that is, I believe in it, but it's a silly number; we don't report wind chill in the summer, do we?), anyway, if you believe in reporting the wind chill, it would have been -2˚F.

But it was a perfectly nice ride. Why? Layers, my dear, layers. Medium-weight turtleneck, medium-weight cotton sweater (I know I know wool would have been better), windbreaker on top; lined nylon pants over my regular pants on the bottom; insulated boots with wool socks on my feet; and, finally, on my head: thin polartec cap, thin wool neck gaiter pulled up over my nose and cheeks, and clear ski goggles. Not a square centimeter of skin was exposed, so I didn't get cold.

(By the way, despite my general acceptance of the premise that wool is always better, the polartec/merino face mask that I sometimes use really is better than the all-wool one because it wicks the moisture from my breath to the outside of the mask, keeping the mask dry where it touches my face. Even though the wool mask still provides some warmth when it is soaking wet, the dry polartec mask is nicer. I have started to wear it more than the wool one on really cold days.)

My battery-powered halogen front light (an old Specialized model that they don't make any more) and Princeton Tec "Swerve" rear light (very bright and visible from all angles), along with my flashing Reelights, made the ride in the dark perfectly ordinary.

(I have been experimenting with front lights on the slush mobile. I've considering getting a dynamo light, but I go through so much snow in the winter that a dynamo has a hard time gripping the tire, even with a wire roller, I suspect.) I tried a Cateye EL300 (LED), but it's just not bright enough for everyday use. So I'll keep using my Specialized halogen light, which needs freshly charged batteries every morning, reserving the Cateye for those times when I forget to recharge the batteries.)

Bike Fetish?

I normally sneer at people (usually men) who are into frou-frouing up their bikes, but I have to say these fenders are pretty gorgeous. They'd look good on the Rambouillet. 
http://www.velo-orange.com/vo45hapofe.html

Free Pedaling

I think Grant at Rivendell goes a little overboard about some things, but I'm right there with him on the subject of not fastening feet to pedals.

I'm nearing the end of the my second 5000-mile year with loose feet, and I like it better than ever. Mostly I don't think about it. My pedaling is smooth and circular, my knees never hurt, I never feel like I'm losing significant power. I only miss being attached to the pedals at stop lights (when I can adjust the pedals for a quick start) and on fast descents when I forget I'm in an easy gear. Otherwise, I am happy as a clam with my wide MKS Touring pedals, which I have on both the touring Trek and the Rivendell. (I had the sportier short MKS pedals on the Rivendell, but they weren't wide enough for my boats.)

In the winter, of course, I wear big old rubber boots over my penny loafers, or rubber-bottomed insulated boots. No way to use clips there. In summer, a nice pair of retro New Balance running shoes with smooth soles work beautifully.

I wonder if biking fatalities due to car collisions are caused, in part, by the biker being fastened to the bike? Rather than being thrown clear, perhaps the biker tumbles with the bike on top of him, which causes fatal twisting and trauma. I've never heard anyone propose that, but there's a certain logic to it. Click-in pedals are easy to get out of if you're ready for it, but perhaps a sudden unforeseen impact by a car happens too fast to pull out.

This wouldn't be a problem with toe clips and straps, which let go nearly automatically (unless the straps are pulled absurdly tight). But these days, click-in pedals are all the rage. Perhaps it's just me being a clod (I fell multiple times during my click-in pedal experiment), but I can imagine even experienced cyclists being locked in to their pedals during a fall. And I can imagine that being in a pas de deux into the undergrowth with a 25 lb bike could be very bad for your health.

Why Do I Care What You Wear?

I don't really care.

OK. I care. But only because I feel like your wearing a garish spandex race suit with matching top and bottom is somehow a criticism of my baggy shorts (with cotton boxers), neon-yellow polyester t-shirt with stylish breast pocket for my pencil holder (actually, I don't really have a pencil holder in the breast pocket—clip-on sunglasses, yes, pencil holder, no), and New Balance running shoes with white tube socks.

But really, you don't care what I wear, do you? You just think I'm an outsider, a non-biker who happens to be on a bike. Since I'm not in the approved uniform (and now even my helmet is non-standard round), you don't give me a second thought.

See? I'm the one with the problem! I think it's spandex envy. When I think of joining local rides, I don't do it, not just because I'm an anti-social jerk but also because I'm afraid someone will offer advice about how much better my biking would be in spandex and click-in pedals. (Like the bike store guy who, when I was buying toe straps to use for lashing things to my bike, recommended that I try click-in pedals because . . . well, he didn't really say why. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't even use toe clips any more.)

I don't want to argue, and I don't even want to convert the world. I have now ridden well over 10,000 miles in baggy shorts, unattached to my pedals, and I like it. But I guess I have an image problem.

When I wore the uniform, I felt pretty cool in tight biking shorts and jersey and shoes that go CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK because of the cleats when I walked in them. My knees hurt, it's true, and the shorts had no pockets and weren't supposed to be worn with undies (and why is that a good idea for most of us?). But I felt like a member of the biking fraternity. I suppose that's much of the appeal for hobby bikers. Suit up and go for a Saturday morning ride, the longer the better so you can brag about it.

Oh well. My problem not yours.

In The Bleak Mid-Winter

Winter is REALLY here. Eight inches of snow on the ground; temperature in the teens. I have been on break this week, so I haven't officially been commuting, but I have been biking here and there. So far, so good.

I have to say, there's something lovable about the slush mobile. It's a big old honking tank of a bike with big black fenders, fat knobby tires, moustache bars, old-fashioned generator light, brakes that only sort of work, bent crank. But it gets me through the snow in fine form; it's even fun to ride.

To make it a clean sweep, I put the plastic-topped Avocet women's touring saddle on the slush mobile. (All my bikes now have Avocet Touring II women's saddles). It's perfect! No need for the extra saddle pad when riding in work clothes any more. It is wide where it needs to be, cushy where it needs to be.

I bought a new helmet (above). I wanted a helmet without the bizarre aero baffles and fins on the back. I don't care about vents on my commuting helmet, and I want the back of the helmet to be round. The only time I fell last winter (on ice), my head whapped down on the back. Luckily, my silly aero helmet padded the fall, but I can imagine the swoops and fins causing the helmet to be knocked askew, and my head to be knocked silly.

This lovely helmet is shaped like a helmet should be shaped: like a helmet. It's comfy, my goggles go around the outside, and it was only $16 from Nashbar.

First Winter Ride

Winter is really here. Snow, cold, and wind are the current conditions. After slushy snow yesterday, the temperature plunged to 10˚ and the wind picked up to 25 mph. Yikes.

Luckily, the township shoveled the sidewalk along my route--a major traffic artery--before the slush turned to ice.

I suppose Ayn Rand Republicans would argue that government, even township or county government, shouldn't be in the sidewalk shoveling business. Heck, they shouldn't be in the sidewalk-owning business. All sidewalks should be owned and maintained by private business. If there's a profit in shoveling it, they will. Otherwise, it shouldn't be shoveled. If there's no profit in having a sidewalk, they won't have one. Or they'll charge a toll. Or a maintenance fee. At least that's what I assume people who don't believe in taxes would argue. Why should their taxes go toward shoveling a sidewalk they never walk on?

Obviously, I'm grateful that anti-tax Republicans haven't managed to bankrupt the township so much that they can't shovel this stretch of sidewalk (the only possible route that I can take). I suppose it's only a matter of time. . . .

Winter is Here, Mostly

I rode the touring Trek to a rehearsal on Thursday evening, and when I came out, it was covered with snow. That was a surprise. Even the roads were covered (with 1/2" or so). Luckily, my B&M generator still gripped the generator strip in the snow.

On Wednesday night, there was enough water on the roads to make the normal roller on the generator slip. I needed a wire roller, which I don't have. Still, for those considering a bottle generator: It works great with a tire that has a generator strip, such as Schwalbe, Kenda, etc, even when slightly wet. Not so great with Paselas; the slightest wetness makes it slip. When set right, the generator is quiet and not very draggy. When set wrong, the generator is noisy and draggy, and the roller gets chewed up in about five minutes.

So far, there hasn't been enough snow on the roads to warrant bringing out the slush mobile. Although the slush mobile is fairly fun to ride, it's not as nice as the Trek, which I'll ride until there's significant snow and ice on roads and sidewalk. (The slush mobile is better on ice because of its nice soft 2" tires, which grip better.)

Here We Go Again

It's a sickness. With winter approaching, thus ending the season for the touring/commuting Trek (and beginning the season for the slush mobile), my thoughts turn to tinkering over the long winter.

Although I have been pretty happy with the high, oddly angled drop bars, they are very narrow (39 cm or so), which is not ideal for commuting. Starting from a red light or stop sign (which I don't stop for anyway, but sometimes I slow down) is awkward when on the tops (where the interrupter brake levers are), and I don't want to do the racer thing and grab the drops.

So I've been thinking maybe a set of trekking ("butterfly") bars, set nice and high. I couldn't get aero-low, but maybe I could get aero-forward. Well. I ordered one (or is it a set?), and maybe I'll get around to installing it/them.

The best solution probably would have been a 46 cm Nitto Noodle, but it costs three times more. And I would have wanted to put on aero brake levers instead of the old Mafac ones with the cables curved too sharply on their way to the interrupter levers. Tinkering isn't fun when you spend a lot of money on it.

Update:
The new bars are on, and I like them pretty well, especially for urban riding. The bike feels much more stable with the wider bars (much less noticeable shimmy), and the forward position (with the brake levers) is comfortable enough to ride all the time, which is good for sidewalks and bike paths. And, most important of all, they are quite fun. Butt-ugly, but fun.

Winter Is Coming

Today was the first day of winter temperatures (about 25˚). Since temperature dictates what I wear, I pulled out the winter gear: lined nylon wind pants over my regular pants, medium weight sweater over a long-sleeved (but lightweight) turtleneck, single-layer windbreaker, light polartec hat, wool neck gaiter, goggles (yes, I was wearing goggles in November--remember, winter temperatures, winter gear), medium heavy gloves (it would need to be closer to 20˚ for mittens), and (new this year) Tingley rubber overshoes over my dress shoes. (These overshoes are pretty nice, if dorky: 10" high, reasonably lightweight, totally wind and water proof, and inexpensive when you buy them here. They add lots of warmth. I got them for around $20, which is significantly cheaper than official biking shoe covers.)

Perhaps I was overdressed, but I was comfortable. That combination of turtleneck, sweater, and windbreaker is warm down to single digits. I probably should have worn a lightweight button-up longsleeve shirt.

I'm still riding the commuting/touring Trek, in all its dorked out glory. The Reelights are nice to have in the morning dusk. The B&M dynamo lights are nice to have at night. I'm getting Reelights for the slushmobile, too. They're a superior product.

I'm impressed with the Kenda Kwik Roller Holiday (stupid name) tires (38mm). They give a nice ride, and they're wearing beautifully, even after a summer of loaded touring and a fall of loaded commuting. So far, 2000 miles, no flats.

The Third Century

No, not the years 200-299. I mean my third 100-mile ride of the season.

This one was particularly lovely. My wife, who has been living in northern Michigan this fall as she works on writing projects, was in Holland (MI) giving a workshop. Because I had left a car up north when I went to drive my parents down to Ann Arbor, I saw this as an opportunity to recover my car and get in a nice bike ride.

So on Friday I set out. Perfect weather! Temperature around 70, sun and clouds, and--get this--a 10 mph tail wind. An east wind, just when I needed it!

I rode from Okemos to Holt on Waverly Rd, then across on Holt Rd. to Dimondale, then across on Vermontville Rd to (guess!) Vermontville, continuing on to Hastings, where I stopped for my lunch of cheese and crackers (and a purchased orange juice). Then on from Hastings through non-towns basically to Holland, for a total of 99 miles. OK, I know that's not really 100. Close enough.

The Rambouillet was magnificent. The new Avocet Women's Touring II saddle was fabulous. The new hi-viz reflective vest protected me.

But I kept getting flat tires. There must be some tiny little pokey thing creating a tiny hole that slowly drains the tire. I had to inflate it every ten miles. Not a huge problem, but annoying.

My cheap Nashbar frame pump worked beautifully. Much better than my old Zefal. (Sorry.) I may buy another Nashbar pump for my touring bike.

Etiquette

To the young gal in the full spandex, click-in pedals bike costume who passed me the other day:

I know I looked sort of dorky on my commuting bike with the rear basket, wearing baggy shorts and tennis shoes, but you might have handled the transaction with a little more, I don't know, friendliness. First, when you pass someone, say hello, or at least acknowledge the passee's existence. But your taciturnity would have been forgivable if you had been going, on average, faster than me. In fact, when you passed me you must have been laboring mightily, because you immediately slowed down to a speed that was slower than my average speed. (I was out for a little exercise, so I was averaging 18 mph.)

So what should I have done? I don't like to pass, so I slowed down to your speed for a while. Luckily, just as I was getting ready to pass, you went straight where I turned. Problem solved. But if we had continued in the same direction I would have passed you and humiliated you: me, a middle-aged fart in extremely low-tech gear on what looks like an antique jalopy blowing past a decked-out young racer girl on a space-age bike.

And what would I have said? Well, since we missed our chance to say hello when you passed me, I probably would have said, "Sorry."

Same Rights, Same Rules? I Don't Think So

I was given a scolding today by a police officer for running a stop sign. I smiled and assured him that I would stop at all stop signs from now on.

Boy was that a lie. Neither I, nor any other bike rider, present, past, or future, have ever, nor will ever, come to a complete stop at a stop sign. I mean a COMPLETE stop, one where you either need to balance to counter gravity, or put a foot down.

So do I have to? I say no. I say that those who argue that bikes have the same rights as cars and should follow the same rules as cars are deluding themselves. Bikes clearly don't have the same rights, nor are they expected to follow most rules. Examples?

When was the last time you saw a bike with brake lights and turn signals? When was the last time you saw a car or motorcycle without them? When was the last time you saw a car parking on the sidewalk or driving on the shoulder? Have you ever tried to ride in the middle of the lane of a busy four-lane highway? That's what cars and motorcycles get to do. Have you ever seen a car driving on the sidewalk? That's what I have to do when I commute to work because I can't ride in the lane of said four-lane highway. Have you ever seen a bike parking in the middle of a parking place in a busy parking lot? Of course not: It would be moved up to the sidewalk where bikes "belong". Can a bike rider get a ticket for DUI (or RUI)? Good luck with that.

And let's not forget traffic lights with sensors. How often have I pulled up to the light and waited and waited and waited until a car came along for it to change because my bike won't trigger it? The only way I could continue would be to run the red light, if there were no cars.

Some argue that bikes should use hand signals that were invented for cars before turn signals. (You know, left hand out means left turn; left hand up means right turn; left hand down means stop.) But this is pretty idiotic. If I'm going fast and need to stop, I'm supposed to take one hand off the handle bar to signal it? Or, even worse, going fast through a turn, I'm suppose to do it one-handed? And why is it a good idea to signal a right turn with my left hand? I can understand it for cars (you'd need a pretty long right arm to reach out the passenger side window), but for bikes it's idiotic. And what to we do at night?

In fact, bikes have more of the rights and regulations of pedestrians or skate boarders, who don't need to stop for stop signs or have brake lights or turn signals.

So as I was riding along on the wide shoulder of the state highway, passing the cars stopped at the stop sign (did the policeman want me to stop behind the last car in line? or was it ok for me to pass the line of cars, as long as I stopped at the stop sign?), then running the stop sign to go all the way across the road to the wide shoulder of the road I was turning onto, I was behaving more like a pedestrian than a vehicle. I shouldn't have had to stop at the stop sign, as long I could cross safely.

Until I have the right to ride in the middle of the lane of all busy highways (not hugging the shoulder trying to stay out of the way of traffic), I don't think I should need to follow the laws of motor vehicles, particularly not when I'm being asked to follow them selectively.

2009 Century #2 and Leather Saddles (again)

The confusing title means that I did another 100-mile ride last week, this time from Empire (MI) to Traverse City, out the Old Mission Peninsula, and back. I am working up to the two 100-mile days that would be necessary to ride from Empire to Lansing in two days. I think I could do it. (Obviously, I would need to take the shortest route, M-115, between here and Clare. Although M-115 is fantastically busy, I'd ride it on a week day, and the second half, between Cadillac and Clare, is almost entirely brand new, with very wide shoulders.)

The Old Mission century was very nice. I left at 7:30 and returned at 4:00, so about eight and a half hours. Not too bad for an old guy. The route is fantastically hilly, cutting across the north-south glacial moraines the run up the peninsula. I tried to take nice back roads, but I took a wrong turn outside of Traverse City, and so I found myself on Cedar Run Rd, which is unpleasantly busy and narrow.

The peninsula itself is glorious riding. The coastal roads are flat and beautiful, with little traffic (particularly on the east side). The middle is hilly, but not too hilly, and very beautiful. I'd recommend the peninsula loop to anyone.

And now to rehash the saddle question: All stylish, retro, country-bike, randoneurish, Grant/Sheldon/Velo-Orange-Guy followers know that leather saddles are the final word in comfort. Gotta be. Everyone says so. Everyone who wants to fight the forces of racing and their wannabes knows it. I know it. Really.

I strayed from the straight and narrow and leather. I put on Avocet touring saddles, stretched leather (or even vinyl) over (GASP!) padding. I rode a little mini-tour with such a saddle. I was very comfy the whole way, but I know it was wrong. (But at least the saddle on my touring bike has a leather cover. That makes it a little OK.)

So to try to redeem myself, to make my heroic stand against the forces of padding and plastic, I laced up one of my B17s (to make it less saggy) and put it back on the Rivendell. How did it feel? Well . . . OK, I guess. Sort of comfortable. Virtuous, though, definitely virtuous. And cool (not temperature cool--totally with-it and hip cool). I decided that I would ride it on my century.

How was it? OK. Not horrible. But here's the deal. I found myself wiggling almost constantly, from the very first mile to the last. That must use energy, all that strategic placement and replacement to minimize the uncomfortable hot spots.

Finally, as I rolled in to town after 100 miles, I was forced to admit that it's just not very comfortable. There are too many hot spots where my butt bones contact the unyielding leather and form welts on my tender skin.

I put the plastic Avocet WII touring saddle back on, and voila! no more wiggles. I can plant my fat ass on the saddle and ride 25 miles with nary a twitch.

So here's the new measure of comfort, dear readers: The W Factor. (W for wiggle.) It's a simple ratio: The W factor = the number of pedal revolutions per butt wiggle. (Significant, true position-shifting wiggles, not just micro-wiggles.) I found on my long ride last week that my W factor was approaching 1. That is, I squirmed and adjusted every single time the pedal went around. No matter how loyal to my gurus I am, I'm forced to conclude that a saddle with a W factor of 1 is an uncomfortable saddle. Even in the middle of the fourth day of my mini-tour this summer, my Avocet padded touring saddle was nowhere near a W of 1. (Understand that these touring saddles are hard: the padding is a perfect combination of yield and firmness. No squishy raspberry butt saddles here.)

And for short 25-mile rides, my plastic Touring WII saddle has a W of several thousand. That's a comfortable saddle.

On the first century of the season back in April I rode the Avocet, and I recall that its comfort was a non-issue. That is, I didn't think about it, which tells me that it was fine.

So I'll leave my B17s on the shelf and keep riding my woman's padded touring saddles. Not cool, perhaps, but comfy.

Mini-Tour Details

In the previous post I introduced the mini-tour that Jon and I took over four days in late June. Let me tell some of the details.

Jon drove to Okemos (Lansing area) from Ann Arbor, where he had been visiting parents. I drove down from Empire, where I had been working in our store. We converged in Okemos on Friday evening, just as it began to storm. (Good timing that we weren't already on the road.)

We muddled around a bit getting gear rigged up (actually, I muddled, since I hadn't had time to assemble the final trip kit), and got to bed late. I was glad that wives and kids weren't around to watch, because we were a couple of kids again, showing each other neat rigging solutions, admiring each other's bikes.

After the late night, we got a late start, 10:30 or so. We had been intending to stay at Ionia Recreation Area on this first night, but we found out that the campground (at least the campground for humans) was full. The campground for horses was nice and empty, but the State of Michigan prefers to keep sites empty to maintain its equine purity, even when there were bikers waving money and begging to be allowed to camp in the horse campground. "The horse lobby is strong," it was explained to us. We explained that we were "riders" of a sort, but that didn't cut it. No Ionia for us.

So we had a longer than expected day ahead of us, 10 miles farther down the road to the Double RR Resort in Belding. If we had been smart, we would have cut across to Ionia and thence northward to the campground. We weren't smart, so we went all the way up to St Johns and thence across to Fowler. But this involved riding on M-21 (or on a converted "rail-trail", really just a muddy two-track), so we jumped off as soon as we could. North from Fowler to Hubbardston, with its nice dam-falls, and then zig-zagging westward to M-66, finally jumping on to M-44, which took us to Belding. By then, we were pretty tired. Jon was crashing big time, but I think it was mostly a blood sugar bonk rather than true fatigue.

After burgers and chilidogs in Belding, we revived enough to head south to Double RR (or Quadruple R) Resort. A private campground, to be sure, with sites packed close together and full of loud young partiers, but we were glad to find it. There were no standing puddles, there were hot showers, and we got the bikers' rate of $20. With my earplugs, I slept like a baby. We had gone 74 miles this first day: way too much.

We fell right back into our biking routine as soon as we started on the first day, or at least once we got off my home turf. Stopping at every town for orange juice, etc, drafting one mile at a time into the strong head wind, setting up camp, taking showers, hitting the sack in a businesslike way. It was a pleasure to be touring again.

The second day started a little earlier, 8:30 or so. We retraced our steps back to the Belding Burger King, where we had BK breakfast stuff. Not good, but not bad. The coffee was OK. Then we headed off, mostly following the Adventure Cycling North Lakes route. As we found throughout the trip, riding back roads is a joy, worth the effort of finding them. Even worth riding on dirt occasionally, which is inevitable if you're following county maps that don't distinguish between barely paved and not paved roads.

So we rode up Lincoln Lake Rd (which was one of the busier and narrower back roads we took) until it was closed at M-57. We started to follow the detour, but I rebelled. I had a feeling that the detour would take us many miles out of our way, so I insisted we head north into the great unknown. I led us into several dead ends, including a return to the closed road that was (surprise!) still closed. So I lost us a few miles. Once we got onto Podunk Rd (really: Podunk Rd), all was well.

North of Lincoln Lake, we got back on the Adventure Cycling route, which led us through Coral (odd little nothing of a town with a convenience store run by a sourpuss), then west, across the Fred Meijer White Pine Trail Linear State Park (last year's route), past a high school where there was some sort of baseball game going on that we both sort of wanted to stop for, but I didn't dare, not after the late finish of the previous day. So on we went.

We had a couple of jaunts on busy roads, then finally Pear Rd to Hardy Dam, a nice back road with a steep hill. Jon ended up walking up that hill, not because he was giving up and calling it quits (I'm ashamed to say that I feared this), but rather because his chain had broken. Only that? I fixed it in a snap with my emergency chain link. Be prepared, I and the Boy Scouts say.

We bought spaghetti fixings at a covenience store in Hardy Dam, then found our way to Sandy Beach County Park. Ohmygawd what a nice little park, right on the "Hardy Dam Pond". Really just a big field with campsites, but we had our section to ourselves. The shower building was new, the showers were hot, the spaghetti was delicious. We even bought firewood. Early to bed. Miles: 54.

Heavy dew in the morning. We were up early (6:30) and on the road by 7:30. I was a little nervous about the route, because I didn't want to follow the Adventure Cycling route all the way, since it diverted way to the east for some reason. So I recommended that we set off on our own on the back roads, even if it meant dirt ones. In particularly, there was one connecting road south of Idlewild that made a perfect route, avoiding major highways but staying headed in the right direction. But I was sure it was dirt. Five miles of dirt. We decided to go for it.

Walnut Rd was, in fact, dirt, but it was lovely dirt. Smooth, wide, flat. No traffic. One of the nicer roads on the trip. If that was what Adventure Cycling was avoiding, they don't get it. Give me a shorter route on dirt roads than one that winds all over creation simply for the sake of paved roads.

We found our way through Idlewild (startled to discover an apparently mostly black community in the middle of Whiteland), then headed out onto M-37 (briefly) before returning to back roads. Eventually, we arrived at Sand Lake Campground, in Manistee National Forest, a typical national forest campground (woodsy, wide spaces) with one exception: showers! I don't think I've ever been in a national forest campground that had showers. Lovely.

We were going to buy the fixings for making dinner. In fact, we had the cart full of the fixings when we looked at each other and realized that this was probably going to cost more than simply buying dinner at Granny's Cafe next door. So we put everything back and went next door. I had a burger, Jon had meatloaf, which he raved over. Miles this day: 65.

This is one of the new conclusions this trip has brought me to: Unless you're eating Rahmen noodles or canned beef stew, it's usually more expensive to buy ingredients and cook than it is to go to a cheap restaurant. Often, buying and cooking requires you to (a) carry leftovers with you the next day, or (b) throw the leftovers out, since it's hard to buy (economically) enough for only two. We ended up throwing out part of the spaghetti on night 2, which, considering how cheap spaghetti is, wasn't a big problem. But on the spaghetti night we spent $10, and on the restaurant nights we spent about $12-14 and had nothing left over. So from now on I will carry less cooking gear and supplies, and I will assume that cooking will only be simple reheating of canned goods or basic things like spaghetti. Of course I will include the necessary gear for cowboy coffee. (I forgot coffee this trip, so on those mornings when I was up way before Jon, I couldn't make cowboy coffee.)

The fourth day we got an even earlier start even though we didn't have more than 60 miles to ride. It promised to be a hot day, so it was good to get going. Breakfast at Granny's (OK, that slowed us down, but it was worth it), then north on lovely flat back roads through Brethren and Kaleva and the outskirts of Thompsonville. Finally, Honor, a turtle sundae, and two big hills later, we rolled in to Empire. It was still early, 2:00 or so. But it was warming up. (The next day was in the 90s, so we timed it right.) Miles: 60.

Here's what worked particularly well: flip-flops for around camp; buying a bag of ice for icewater at every campground, even though we didn't have a cooler; 38mm tires; ultra lightweight sleeping bag; ear plugs (of course); catfood can stove; odd high handlebars with the extra brake levers (although the super long stem caused a significant, slightly scary shimmy, which can probably be minimized by reducing or eliminating the front load); cotton boxer shorts; no toe clips or straps; Universal maps of Michigan regions; both people having the same maps (on day 2 we didn't, and it caused some tension as I led us astray); fenders for the dirt roads; emergency chain link; Melanzana ultra-lightweight Polartec long-sleeve shirt, which, when soaked in water, made for delightful airconditioning on the hot days; old-fashioned Avocet woman's touring saddle; orange juice at every stop, with an apple or a handful of nuts and raisins, but otherwise relatively little eating during the day; Big Agnes full-length air mattress (comfy comfy).

Mini-Tour, 2009

Jon and I continued the bike touring tradition last week with a tiny
little four-day trip from the Lansing area to the Sleeping Bear Dunes
area, a total of 250 miles. It was the longest trip I could safely
take without making my wife mad at me. (It was probably appropriate to take a shorter trip this summer, anyway, after last summer's fairly long one.)

This one was a good trip. I was a little surprised at how glad I was
to be on the road again. Jon and I have been doing this for a long
time (35 years or so), and it is like putting on a comfortable pair of
shoes to tour with him. Although we are both cantankerous curmudgeons, we have a completely easy rapport with each other on the road.

Perhaps it's because space and time stretch out and slow down that I
find bike tours to be complete escapes from daily life. That puts it a
little strongly; it's not like I need to escape from my daily life.
But a bike tour is a welcome pause in life (or Life, in the large
sense), a chance to reflect and see the world in a different way.
Everything boils down to essentials: How many miles to the next town? How long is the next hill? Where are we going to camp tonight? Is my equipment sound? How hot is it going to be today?

Not very profound questions unless you're riding a bike 65 miles a
day, and then they are the most important questions in the world.
Jon and I talk about many things on these trips, but the bulk of our conversation is about bikes and bike touring. Boring? Probably to our wives and kids, but not to us in the middle of a trip.

Speaking of More Equipment

While I'm on the subject of equipment, two more items:

1. The high drop handlebars on the touring bike are still nice. The thumb shifters mounted right next to the brake levers are really nice, better than bar-ends. I like the way the bars are turned way up to give a flat top and ramp. It's a little odd to have the brakes so far down the curves, but with the supplemental levers on top it works fine.

2. The jury is still out on the Avocet WII touring saddle. It's quite comfortable, and the leather top is nice, but it's not quite as comfortable as the plastic topped version I have on the Rivendell. We'll see what it's like after four 60-mile days.

Finally, I figured out why the Panaracer Pasela tire failed last summer. (It developed a sidewall bulge during our Lake Michigan circumnavigation.) It recently came to me that while I was on a ride last spring, I hit chunk of concrete that gave me a flat tire. At the time, when I examined the tire, I could find no damage, so I kept riding it. But the impact must have damaged the sidewall, which led to the bulge after eight days of loaded riding. So I regret implying that the Pasela was at fault.

Touring Season

This is not worth boasting about, but Jon and I are going on another little tour this month. Rather than a long slog around Lake Michigan, like last summer, we're just going to ride a few hundred miles up Michigan's fourth metacarpal, from the Lansing area to the Sleeping Bear Dunes area. We have allowed ample time, and there are ample campgrounds along the route, so it shouldn't be such a race for time to catch a ferry.

No ferries are involved, in fact, and we have allotted more than enough time. Theoretically we could do it in three days, but we're going to take four really easy days. Probably.

Just for something to do, I have been obsessing about bike and equipment configuration, but really, it doesn't matter for four days if I forget a few things or if the bike isn't loaded exactly right.

I'm going with rear panniers, tent strapped on the back rack between the panniers, sleeping bag on the back right behind the seat. Tool bag hanging from the seat. Small front panniers with a rack trunk on the front rack instead of a handlebar bag. (I'll have pictures.)

And speaking of equipment, I destroyed the old Huret Alvit derailer this week. I put on a nine-speed set of sprockets, the largest being 34 teeth. I was riding on the middle chainwheel and the big rear sprocket, and the chain angle apparently bent the derailer so much that it seized up. My pedaled attempts to free it tore it in half, basically.

Oh well. I had a Shimano 105 on a shelf, so I swapped it in. I assume it will work better than the Alvit ever did. (Although dispite all the trash talk in bike groups about the Alvit, I never had a problem with it. The Alvit was the derailer that caused one discussion group commenter to give up all biking for 10 years, which I thought was hilarious.)

Bike Dandies

I have been amused and a little disgusted by the debate taking place
on the Velo Orange Blog this week concerning, among other things,
fork shape and logos.

It's a special kind of man to fuss incessantly about what his bike
looks like. Most recently, someone has been grumping about the
presence of logos (and we're talking pale, barely noticeable etched
logos on handlebars), saying he prefers it when he can polish the
logos off his bike components. What kind of anal fussbudget is
willing to spend time polishing a logo off a pair of handlebars?
What, exactly is the point? Is he creating a work of art? Is he going
to hang it in a gallery?

The Velo-Orange guy (who is doing very nice things for artisanal bike
goods) is very concerned about the bend of the forks on the new bikes
his company is developing. That's legitimate; they're his creation,
and he should make them as nice as he wants, particularly if they
sell better when they're beautiful. OK, I'm good with fork bend, so
far. But for the bike dandies in the peanut gallery to start weighing
in is pathetic. What do they care what the fork bend looks like? All
they're doing is buying a bike to ride (supposedly, although I have
my doubts).

I'm about to put a second basket on my touring Trek. It looks silly,
and it makes the bike a bit heavier, but it's really handy. I picked
up packages at the post office today, and I was just barely able to
get them to fit under the cargo net in the back basket. A front basket
would have been nice. But it certainly wouldn't draw too many
admiring looks from the dandies who drool over bikes in Flickr.

And the fork! It's rusty and it doesn't match the frame! The bike
must be unrideable!

Actually, it rides fine. I couldn't ride for five miles no-handed
(OK, it's a bit shimmy-ish--I can hardly ride 100 feet no-handed),
but it works well for commuting and touring.

Enough.

On The First (And Probably Only) Century of the Season

Now that I have finished my mid-April 100 mile day, I can look back on the recent "companions wanted" posting in Adventure Cycling magazine, in which someone was looking for a companion on a trans-am ride, and laugh. He didn't have a lot of touring experience, he said, but he figured he could average 100 miles a day.

Ouch. I hope he doesn't have a job he needs to be back at after 40 days. Even though brevet riders go 180 or even 240 (how?) miles in one pop, let me just say that for this reasonably fit regular biker, 100 miles is a long way. The first 80 miles were OK. The last 20 were pretty bad. Not awful, but pretty bad.

I averaged 15.2 mph, which is pretty good. There were a few stretches of hilly country and headwind.

The good news is the equipment worked well. The Avocet plastic woman's touring saddle was quite comfortable the whole time. No bad butt boils. The handlebars were high enough and close enough. The fact that they were untaped was not a problem. In fact, I liked it. And, of course, the absences of click-in or toe-clipped pedals was not a problem. On the contrary; being able to move my feet around on the pedal is good for my knees, methinks.

I know I'll forget how unpleasant the final 20 miles were, and I'll probably want to do it again. It was fun covering a lot of ground today, from the Lansing area down to Stockbridge, over to Unadilla, down to Chelsea, over to Waterloo, up to Munith, down to Pleasant Lake, and finally up Meridian Rd to my home turf. Very pretty rides through the Pinkney and Waterloo recreation areas.

I only got honked at once (by a rich pig in a BMW, of course) and given the finger once (by a redneck in a Corvette). Mostly, the traffic was well behaved.

I didn't wear my penny loafers, but I bet they would have been more comfortable than the New Balance running shoes. Not horrible, but not great.

Aside from very sore buns, I am fully recovered, two hours after ending the ride.

Biking Penny Loafers

I have discovered the perfect biking shoe. I recently had my Rockport penny loafers resoled with nice rubbery Rockport soles, and to my delight I discovered that these newly renovated shoes are quite lovely for biking. The sole is stiffish but not too stiff; the rubbery sole grips the pedals nicely; the loafer design keeps my feet loose and comfy. And they're stylish.

I don't suppose I'd have the nerve to do real non-commuting biking in them. (They'd be hilarious as touring shoes; maybe I'd wear a bow tie, too.) But for commuting, they're lovely.

Hand Made Tires?

Velo Orange has started selling hand-made tires. At $65 each, these must be special tires.

So, why would someone spend $130 on a pair of tires just because they're hand made? I guess that's the answer. Just because they're hand made, they must be better. Anything for our precious bikes.

They say they roll so much smoother. Right. I'm sorry, but if these people actually rode their bikes, they'd stop noticing the smoother rolling after about five miles.

My $15 Kendas continue to satisfy me.

Toe Clips

For two years now, I have ridden without toe clips (or step-in pedals). I rode on a 700 mile loaded tour without toe clips last summer. It was fine.

At the time I gave them up, I was having knee pain. I have had none since. Cause and effect? Maybe.

In any case, I've had two strapless, unclipped years (six thousand miles, or so). My one complaint is that sometimes my foot slips on the pedal. Not a big deal, but for the sake of tinkering I decided to put the old strapless (plastic) toe clips on the commuting Trek. I figured, strapless clips, ugly though they may be, are a compromise. They keep the feet from sloshing around, but they don't lock them into any set position.

So here's what I've noticed in the week of semi-clipped in riding: It's ok. I think my pedal stroke is smoother, and I can pedal in a lower gear without fear of my feet flying off. Perhaps if I can remember to do that, I can avoid knee pain. There's no way that toe clips give a lot of power from pulling up on the up stroke. But the smoother spinning may make a difference. And it's nice to be able to adjust the pedals when stopped at a light.

So I'll leave them on for now. I may take them off later, particularly if my knees start hurting again.

UPDATE:
I was not liking the "toe clips" today, so I rode without them. I liked it better. My feet, legs, and knees are more relaxed, and I don't think the spinning is any worse. The only thing I don't like is not being able to adjust the pedals while standing at a stop light. Not a big problem. So I guess I'll take the "toe clips" off.

I do this once a season. Deep in my psyche is the conviction that a bike needs toe clips. I grew up with that idea. I've tried to convince many biking novices about the necessity of toe clips. So I put the clips (or the Power Grips) on, ride for a while, then get over it. They just aren't necessary.

Rainy Riding

I went to the opera tonight (a university production). Even though
the forecast was for rain, I went by bike (carrying the appropriate
rain gear).

Sure enough, at 11:00 I emerged from the opera to be greeted by cold, steady rain. Suit up! I cried.

Now, I frequently ride in the rain. Since I'm committed to commuting
by bike, and considering that I rode through snow and over ice all
winter, rain does not pose much of a challenge. But it's nice to stay
dry. And at night, it's nice to have my sidewall generator work. Both
have not always been true.

Here's what has always worked: My cheapie cheapie Nashbar plastic
raincoat (about $15). Pure, 100%, waterproof, unbreathable plastic.
But with the vents all down the sides, open waist, and (my
innovation) the elastic removed from the wrists to allow air flow up
the sleeves, the condensation inside is not bad. I was basically dry
tonight after riding five miles in steady rain. Sure, the velcro in
the front started to tear out a while back, but gray tape fixed that.

Here's what has never worked: Coated nylon rain pants. I have tried
several brands, and they all leave me wet. The current ones (J and G)
are pretty good, but I'm still wet when I arrive. Condensation?
Maybe. I have recently taken to rolling them up a little so that I
can leave the bottoms loose (rather than fastening the velcro straps
that seal the legs off). That seems to help a little. I was only a
little wet tonight.

Here's what is gradually getting better as I work on it: The
"waterproof" shoe covers from Campmor. The coated nylon may be
waterproof, but the seams certainly weren't. So I've been applying
seam sealer, and they're drier. One more coat should do it.

And what do I do about the helmet vents? Buy an expensive helmet
bonnet? Nope. A little gray tape works wonders. With the vents taped
shut, the helmet is warmer and totally waterproof. (Obviously, I
don't wear it for recreational biking in the summer.)

Now for the sidewall generator. For years I had the B and M generator
set high on the Panaracer Pasela, right on the edge of the tread.
(Paselas don't have a generator strip.) As soon as the tire got wet,
the generator skipped, so much that it was pretty much useless in the
rain. But with my new cheapie Kendas, which have a generator strip,
the generator gripped the tire the whole way home, almost never
skipping. Problem solved! I don't need to buy the wire roller.

To my colleagues who watched me head out into the rain, I must have
looked insane. It was 40 degrees, dark, raining, windy. But you know, once you commit yourself to it, and have adequate gear (I was thankful for
my gloves and hat), it's not so bad. My face got wet and a little
chilly, but not too bad. The rest of me was warm and relatively dry.
I wouldn't have been happy after 20 miles, probably. But I was fine
for five miles. And it was such a pleasure to have all the gear
working right. And, of course, it helps to have a bike that is fun to
ride. That's the real secret.

Misc

A blog that no one reads is also known as a "diary". I'm a modern Samuel Pepys. This will be a "primary source" for future historians researching biking in the early twenty-first century.

Hah.

A the risk of making my bike an utterly outrageous collection of bolted on doo-dads, I have ordered a set of Reelights, the battery-less blinkies that use induction created by magnets on the spokes passing a fixed magnet to light LED front and back lights.

I already have generator lights on the bike, so this will be a second set of lights. Probably ridiculous. But I like the idea of having always-on blinkies, day and night. I can't run the generator all the time. Tires would wear out faster, and the increased drag and steady (if soft) whirring would drive me crazy. So I'm going to put these Reelights on as the always on lights.

Although it's a new toy, so important for maintaining my good humor, I also like to think it's a good idea to have blinkies on during the day. Bike riders do get hit by cars; the more we can do to get their attention has to help. I'm not willing to install safety flags or giant warning triangles. (But perhaps I should.) But I'm going to try this.

More Tinkering

Not that anyone cares . . . This is like putting notes in a bottle
and throwing them into the sea.

Anyway. Not that anyone cares, but I decided I didn't like the bent
fork on the touring Trek. Even though I rode it 1700 miles last
summer with only minor (ok, fairly major) shimmying and instability,
and my feet hit the fender whenever I turned the wheel, and the lower
water bottle didn't fit in the holder any more, and the steering was
indexed (that is, it had a noticeable preference for straight ahead,
with a significant resistance to being turned off center). Hm. In
retrospect, those were pretty good reasons.
So I took the old fork off, which involved disassembling the front
end of the bike, taking off fenders, racks, lights, speedometers. I
had the old fork from the Gitane (which was itself a replacement, I
suspect for a curb-induced bending), so I put it on. Then all the
gear had to be put back on. Because the original Trek brakes were
cantis, I used the old Mafac Racers from the Gitane. They are
actually much better with fenders, and they do a dandy job of
stopping the bike, even with 35 year old pads. I should replace them.

I solved several niggling issues while I was at it. I fastened the
front rack lower, attached it directly to the front axle, and moved
the connection points closer to the front of the rack. I also moved
the front light down low, onto one of the rack stays. This gives a
better light pattern, and also prevents the front light from being
blocked when things are piled on the front rack (or in the front
basket, which isn't installed yet). (This problem has never occurred,
but it could have.) And the new-old fork has much more clearance for
fenders, so I was able to restore the front fender to one-piece and
mount it directly. A little metallic duct tape on the underside (and
brackets on the upper side) closed up the seam where I cut the fender
to fit over the fatter 35mm tires, with the old fork.

The big test came in how it rides. I'm happy to report that it's a
big improvement. The bike feels much more stable. Cornering is now
smooth, not jerky and scary.

Does anyone care? Will anyone read this?

No. And no.

Crank Talk

And I don't mean cranky talk. I was reading a discussion about what
people like and don't like about various cranks. That's right:
cranks. The things the pedals are fastened to. Now I have some
opinions about cranks (such as, I don't like cottered ones), but
mostly, I just want my cranks to connect the pedals with the chain,
spin freely, and not break. I'm not too worried about Q factor. I
don't care how shiny they are. I don't care how light they are. And I
don't care whether the crank arm swoops or goes straight.

People who do care aren't artistic bike savants. They're--ahem--
pathetic. Get a life!

I have my pathetic attitudes about other things. Perhaps the fact that
I don't care about cranks makes me pathetic. But seriously. Who cares
how lustrous a bike's cranks are? Do we polish our bikes every time
we take them out on a sunny Saturday? Maybe so.

Maybe that was cranky talk, after all.

The Touring Trek, Revealed

My 0 readers have been clamoring to see the latest incarnation of the touring Trek. All right. Your wait is over.

But first, to review the changes:

1. Extra long stem AND extra long stem raiser added.
2. Drop handlebars that are way above the level of the seat. Tilted abnormally far, so the drops point almost down. The brake levers are abnormally far around the curve, which leaves a single hand position on the drops, from which the brakes are easily accessible. The drops are high enough that they are completely comfortable for long stretches (but still low).
3. Thumb shifters put on the inside of the drops, just behind the brakes, which makes them completely accessible from the ramps. One advantage of this configuration is that they work in parallel: Up is easier for both, down is harder. They are also accessible from the drops. I got these for $.99 from Nashbar.
4. Interrupter brake levers on the tops.
5. Women's Avocet Touring saddle with a nice leather top. Wide and comfy for my fat ass. I got it for $10 on eBay.
6. Kenda 700x38 tires. They ride fine.

Here it is:

More on Rims and Tires

Well, maybe it isn't the rims. Maybe it was the tires. But a set of
Pasela 32s, 35s, AND Schwalbe Marathon 37s? They're all super loose;
the wire bead tires don't stay on the rims at all.

But now I put on these Kenda folding 38s, and they fit perfectly.
Will they be junk tires? I don't know. At $14 each, I'm willing to
take my chances.

But what's the deal with the other tires? Are the Kendas (and the
rims) extra small? Are all the other tires extra large? None of those
options seems very likely.

I'm happy to be able to try 38s on the touring bike. They fit under the fenders and within the stays and forks. They even have a generator strip! I like to have the touring Trek be different from the Rambouillet, tire-wise. I have a set of Pasela 32s that I'll put on the Rambouillet, so both bikes will be upgrading to fatter tires. The 32s, after all, are the same as the 1 1/4s that were the standard size on clincher tires for years and years. They should be nice on the Rambouillet.

Velocity Synergy Rim Problems

When I had Rich at Rivendell build me a set of 700C wheels for my touring Trek, he used Velocity Synergy Rims, with the asymmetrical rear holes to minimize tension disparities. Supposedly really nice rims.

But here's the problem: Most 700C tires don't fit. The first tires I installed were Panaracer Pasela folding 700x35, and although they seemed loose, they worked. But when I went to put on a set of Schwalbe Marathon 700x37 wire beads, they were so much too huge that they nearly fell off on their own. There was no way to get them to stay on the rims. Thinking it might be a bad pair of tires (what are the chances of that?), I tried some Panaracer Pasela non-folding 700x32s. Same problem. It really looks like the rims are simply the wrong size.

The photo above shows a distinct gap between the tire and the top edge of the rim flange. I am easily sticking a tire iron all the way through. I could install the tire with my elbows, or with my hands tied behind my back, just using my lips. I could take the tire off using only my left pinky. There's no way that tire can hold an inner tube under pressure. The tube just squirts out--explosively.

When I contacted Grant at Rivendell, he said he had never heard of this problem, thinking (I'm sure) that I just don't know how to install tires. But I'm 50, and I have installed probably hundreds of tires over 35 years of bike tinkering. I know how. And these don't fit. Not that he was unhelpful. I just think he couldn't imagine that I was sane. (Although he was nice about it.)

That was a lot to pay for wheels that don't take most tires. They're only just barely useful.

If Rivendell were closer, I'd take the wheel in for them to try mounting the tires. Or if I had another set of wheels, I'd send one to Rivendell. But they're in California, I'm in Michigan, and I need these wheels. At least the folding Panaracers fit.

Supposedly, Paselas are good tires, but I had one fail last summer. I was within a whisker of a disasterous blowout on tour (carrying 35 lbs) when the sidewall developed an unhealthy bulge.

As an experiment, I've ordered some Kenda folding 700x38s. I know, I know, Kendas are junk. But that Panaracer last summer was junk, too, so you never know. I'll report back how (if) the Kendas work.

Remember The New Crankset?

Really, the Shimano crankset that I got for $15 on eBay worked pretty well until I fell on ice and bent the drive side crank arm. This is getting ridiculous.

In case you think helmets don't help (see my post previously), I was glad to have one as my head slammed into the very hard ice. And who says you can't ride with a bent crank?

Sigh.

But the commute must go on. It's only February, but at least we had some nice warm weather that melted the bulk of the January buildup. Now I have to watch for black ice on sidewalks from refrozen snow melt.

I decided that not having functioning front brakes was a bad idea, so I took a V-brake off a bike carcass and put it on the slush mobile. Works better, I think. We'll see when I ride to work tomorrow.

We're supposed to get three inches of snow tomorrow, so winter is still here.

And rain.

But really, I don't even mind riding in 35˚ rain. With the right protective gear (or even marginally tolerable protective gear, which is what I seem to have) it's ok. Beats driving.