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.

Back In The Saddle Again . . . Again

The eBay crankset seems to work well. Cheap Shimano triple, but it's certainly good enough for the slush mobile. I put the old pedals from my Trek on it, since I was sure the original slush mobile pedals would be the next to break.

The commute today was fine. The new knobby rear tire gripped well, and it didn't have the wobble of its predecessor. We'll see what happens when the cold hard snow softens up again, letting me sink in and wallow.

But for now, it's nice to be commuting by bike again.

Still January . . . hard to believe. There's been quite constant snow on the ground since mid-November. I haven't seen the driveway in weeks.

Back In The Saddle . . . Briefly

I'm a brute. Hard on equipment. So is the weather.

I returned to winter commuting this week. It was awful. Almost
impossible riding on the sidewalks, what with two inches of packed
down snow that was just soft enough to sink into, but not packed
enough to allow a purchase. And cut up by footprints, which throw the steering off. Still, it was biking, better than driving.

Until the chain broke. I was standing up on the pedals, laboring
through the deep, cut-up crap, when the gear went to infinite
easiness. There was the chain behind me. I walked the remaining 2.5
miles to work. At home, I swapped in a spare chain that I had lying
around. The next day the snow was still awful, but I made it to work
and back.

But today, on my way out for a little errand, trying out the new rear
tire I put on, standing (again) to get through more crap, and snap!
the crank broke. Right through the drive-side crank arm. Perhaps the
freezy coldness and excessive saltiness weakened it. Who knows?

So I'm without a slush mobile again, and it's still January. I don't
want to pull out the touring and nice-weather commuting Trek. I've
seen what these conditions do to a bike.

I ordered an equivalent used crank on eBay for $15.

I tried to replace the bottom bracket, now that I have the cranks
off, but I just managed to break the plastic lock ring on the old BB,
which is totally fused in place. I can't loosen the non-drive side,
either. I'm going to try to get an 8MM bolt to hold the bracket
cartridge remover in place, and a long length of pipe for increased
leverage. But I'm not hopeful. I may just leave the grinding BB the
way it is.

Discouraging. Bikes aren't meant to be ridden in these conditions,
I'm afraid.

What a January!

In the middle of a record snowy January, I took last week off from
riding to work. I was sick at the beginning of the week, and the
temperature went down to -10 at the end of the week. Ordinarily, I
would have given it a go at 10 below, but I had my wife's car with a
parking permit at my disposal (she was out of town), and I needed to
get to my office by 6:30 a.m., so I drove. I don't regret it. I rode
the route yesterday, and it was miserable. New snow on top of cut up
old snow. I had to walk the bike a few times.

It should be better next week.

Why Bike?

My bike-related thought (which consumes much of my total thought) breaks down approximately as follows:

Longing or nostalgic thoughts about biking and touring: 60%
Planning thoughts about future biking and touring: 30%
Epistemological thoughts about my bike obsession: 10%

I shall reflect for a moment on the third category. The first two categories are self-explanatory to any biker, and even, perhaps, to non-bikers such as my wife. It's an obsession, so I obsess. It's easy to guess what I obsess about. But why do I do it? What is it about this child's toy do I find so fascinating?

Aside from the obvious gear-head love of shiny machines, be they cars, motorcycles, guns, boats, sailboards, bicycles, etc, the bicycle can also be seen as a vehicle of escape. Escape from the house, neighborhood, or town, escape from real work, escape from worry. Mostly, though, it's an escape from death. Well, not exactly an escape from death. An escape from thoughts of mortality. An attempted solution of the mid-life crisis, the realization that Dammit I'm going to die and I'm halfway there already.

Somehow, knowing that I'm halfway there makes me want to do something to shake up the status quo. I'm not the type to get a girlfriend or a sports car (classic solutions to the mid-life crisis), so instead I opt for the other classic solution: extreme behavior. Although sky-diving looks appealing, I'm probably not going to do it--too expensive and complicated. Same with hang gliding (which really looks fun). So I bike, both longish distances for recreation, and as a means of commuting, even in the snow and slush.

Does it help? Do I escape my midlife crisis by riding away from it?

Maybe. A little. I do find it comforting when I get in a panic about things to go to my biking "special place" and think about rides that have been and will be, and equipment that I might put on my bike. I try not to spend too wildly on bike doo-dads but I do love to browse the beautiful stuff at Rivendell, Velo Orange, etc.

Not a totally rational justification, but there you have it. Of course, I was obsessed with bikes when I was 15, too, so this isn't new. I doubt that I was having a mid-life crisis then. Maybe I find it comforting to be as obsessed with something now as I was then. I won't grow up.

Winter Again!

Winter has hit mid-Michigan early this year. Obviously not as a
result of global warming, but perhaps it's as a result of global
climate change. Or maybe it's just the weather cycle doing its thing.
I can remember winters in Michigan when I was kid that seemed more
severe than we've had in the last 20 years.

In any case, the snow and ice make it necessary for me to pull out
the slushmobile for my daily commute. But that's OK. I'd never want
to ride it across the country, but for riding five miles through snow
and slush, over slick ice and crusty ice ridges, it's pretty fun. I
put a big Wald basket on the back, so it can carry a big load. I
added a brake enhancer to make the road lever work better with the
canti-brakes. I added an old retro generator and light that I had
lying around for a little supplemental "hey! here I am!" lighting. I
have been riding to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6:00 am, and
home on Wednesdays at 9:00 pm, so I've needed the lights (which also
include a battery powered halogen front light and two LED blinkies on
the back).

The huge Wald fenders do a great job keeping the snow and slush off
me, and because they are quite high above the tires, snow and slush
doesn't collect very much under the fenders or in the brakes.

By the end of last winter I was pretty tired of riding over ice ruts
and through cut up snowplow detritus, but so far it's OK.

The Seat Experiment Continues

Not only does my Avocet Touring I woman's saddle still provide good
comfort, I splurged and bought another one on ebay (for $10). This
one has a leather cover, which should be nice on my touring bike.

Bike Fetishists

I suppose I'm guilty of it myself, but I like to think that my affliction is not as severe as it could be. Although I obsess endlessly about my bikes, I'm not Felix Unger about it. My beautiful Rambouillet has a big black ugly seatpost rack on it (because it only cost $25) and a Nashbar rack trunk (about $20) instead of a more appropriate Nitto rack ($100) and Carradice seat bag ($140). After all, I just want to ride the bike and carry stuff. The seat post rack is really ugly, but I figure it's really functional, since it keeps the load's center of gravity close to the middle of the bike. (I never carry a very heavy load, so questions of whippiness and bounciness don't really apply. As far as I can tell, it doesn't whip and it doesn't bounce.)

I care what the bike looks like, sure. I think the blue Rambouillet is the most beautiful of Rivendell's bikes (other than the red Glorius). I would have had trouble buying the green Rambouillet. OK. I admit it. And don't ask what I think of the butterscotch Saluki. Ick.

But really, although I care what the bike looks like, I don't care so much that I'm willing to put hundreds of dollars into racks and bags and handlebar tape and hammered aluminum fenders that are no more functional than gear that costs a tiny fraction of the fancy stuff.

Go to any bike forum, in which pictures are posted (and why should such a thing even exist? Pictures of bikes?) and read the comments. "Well, it's nice enough, I guess, but I would have gone with the brushed aluminum brakes." Excuse me? The color of the brakes makes a difference? Isn't this a thing to be ridden, not put on display?

I guess it's the equivalent of fussing over cars, going to the A and W, popping the hood, and comparing notes with your friends.

It seems like most of the fetishists are men. What's the matter with us? Is it because we don't have 100 pairs of shoes and dozens of purses? We need something else to throw our money at? And do these guys who seem to spend endless hours looking at and commenting on other people's bikes actually ride the things? I suppose they must. But still, you have to wonder whether someone who cares so much about his authentic $150 French-style handlebar bag would be willing to get it all dusty and faded by the sun by actually riding on a real road in the real outdoors. And all that gunk on the hubs, sprockets, and chain that riding creates!

I mostly resist the fetishistic urges, but it isn't easy. If I didn't have to answer to my wife, I would have joined in the fetish spending. Carradice! Nitto! Brooks! Phil Wood! Instead, I buy little things that I don't need, here and there. A set of Falcon shifters ($1 at Nashbar). A saddle on eBay ($10). Maybe an occasional Nitto stem ($40).

But really, we're all pathetic.

More Comfort!

I went and did it: I finally started making the Rambouillet mine by taking part of it apart and reconfiguring it. I have been reluctant to do it because it's so beautiful and so authentically Rivendell. But my neck hurt. I needed a shorter (and taller) stem.

So I cut the hemp wrapping, cracked the shellac on the handlebar tape, unwound the tape, removed the brake levers and shifter on one side, and pulled the bar and stem. The original was a Nitto Technomic Deluxe. Very nice. The replacement was a Nitto Technomic (also very nice, if perhaps slightly less nice), which is taller and about 20 mm shorter (i.e. the bars are closer to the rider). When I had it reassembled, I didn't rewrap the bars because I didn't know if I'd need to try yet another stem.

So I rode 100 miles with the bars (Nitto Noodle) unwrapped, and I decided I sort of like the bars au naturel. They look nice with the silvery fenders, and they feel nice and smooth. Let's face it: cloth handlebar tape, even cushy cork tape, doesn't do much to cushion one's hands. That's what high bars and gel gloves are for.

So I still haven't rewrapped the bars. It's just that they're so beautiful and smooth. I should post a picture for my 0 readers to admire.

In addition, in my quest for comfort, I put the woman's Avocet Touring back on, this time sloped slightly toward the back. This is a cheap seat with a plastic cover that I bought on eBay for $10. I like my Avocet men's touring saddle (with a leather cover), but it's just a smidge narrow for my fat ass. So I thought that maybe a woman's saddle with a flared back end and slightly short nose would be comfortable. Nice hard foam padding beneath the cover, so it doesn't cause raspberry butt.

And lo and behold: High handlebars, woman's saddle sloped slightly back so that I can rock back on my buns a bit, very comfortable. Even after 30 miles I don't find myself continually wiggling around to find a comfortable perch. Nice.

Like anybody cares.

Late September Ride

Man, what a beautiful day. Temperature in the 70s, light north wind.

I had to drive my mother's car down to Chelsea (44 miles away), and I decided to take a little detour on my ride home. So I rode to Dexter (along with dozens of other bikers), then along Huron River Drive to North Territorial Rd, then to Dexter-Pinkney Rd, MacGregor Rd, to Fox Point on Portage Lake, where my family used to own a cottage.

Coffee from my thermos while looking out over my boyhood haunts, then continued the ride around the lake and across on Pleasant Lake Rd, Doyle Rd, Morton Rd, to Stockbridge ,where I had a milkshake and an orange juice. Then continuing on Catholic Church Rd (so named because of the . . . catholic church), Meridian Rd, Jolly Rd, Dobie Rd, Hatch Rd, and home. A total of 64 miles.

It was lovely, but I have to say, I developed serious shoulder/neck pain. I'm afraid I'm going to need to put on a taller/shorter stem. I have resisted fussing with the Rambouillet (other than swapping seats on and off), but I'm afraid this is a fuss that I'm going to need to make. I have a Nitto Technomic stem lying around, so I won't need to buy anything. But I hate replacing stems, because you need to disassemble the handle bar--tape, shifters, brake levers--in order to get the bar out of the stem.

Well, I can use the opportunity to put on cork tape, I guess, so it won't be a total waste. The current tape (shellacked cloth) is getting pretty grimy.

I rode the Avocet Touring I saddle today. Not too bad, really. I've been riding an Avocet women's Touring saddle recently, which I like pretty well, except for the vinyl cover. The Touring I has a leather cover, which is more pleasant.

I was also wearing wool undies and nylon shorts from Rivendell. Pretty nice.

Stealth Camping

Ken Kifer got it (mostly) right when he argued in favor of stealth camping (not his term) rather than staying in formal campgrounds while on a bike tour. (He was motivated to a large extent by a strong anti-social streak, so one must take his views with a certain skepticism.)

He advocated camping off the road wherever was convenient, thus avoiding the pitfall of having too many miles to reach a camping destination. I have applied the term stealth camping (borrowed from other sources), because this style of camping requires one to be out of sight (and, to use a bad pun, out of site). Whaddaya think this is, Europe? You think you can just camp anywhere along the road. Hah! Socialist.

Here in the US of A, camping along the road is frowned upon. (Actually, it mostly never occurs to us, it's just so obviously wrong, so there's not much frowning.) According to Ken Kifer (and other advocates of the practice), it's quite easy to find a spot along the road that is hidden by vegetation, with enough room for a small tent. (And if you have a camping hammock, all the better!) When you're ready to stop at the end of the day, you keep your eyes open for a good spot, and when you find it, you stop. It requires a little planning, food- and water-wise, and it involves roughing it, personal hygiene-wise.

But the advantage is that you can stop when you're ready. We should have done this outside of Manistique. But we weren't in that mindset, and it would have been a terrible night to experiment with it. (Thunderstorms and torrential rain.) Still, one of the things we were dreading about the campground we were shooting for (90 miles away) was the two-mile ride down the dirt road just to get to it. Most nice campgrounds are not right on the main highway, and even a few miles is a long way at the end of the day.

But you know, in reading Ken Kifer's trip journal of the trip to New England and Canada, the whole trip sounds horrible, particularly the effort to find places to pitch his tent. One night he slept out in the open next to a freeway. Nice.

Maybe the compromise position is to be ready to stealth camp when necessary (that Manistique day, for example), but to have campgrounds in sight as much as possible. Ken Kifer may have thought a shower is a luxury, but really, after a long day, it may be well worth the cost of the campground to take a nice hot shower. That was always the highlight of the evening for me, when we stayed in campgrounds that had showers.

Well, just an idea. I have stealth camped before. (In fact, Jon and I have done it.) Mostly, it was OK. With a camping hammock, it would be much easier, because it would not require flat ground or a clearing of any kind.

Next trip, maybe.

Further reflections: I have learned since posting this that it is officially permitted to camp anywhere on National Forest land (private property included) unless otherwise posted. So that day east of Manistique should not have been a problem at all; we could have picked any open space and set up our tents. Unless the sheriff doesn't know this law.

Cowboy Coffee

I wasn't too worried about food on our semi-circumnavigation of Lake Michigan. I could be fairly content eating convenience store sandwiches for ten days.

But I was worried about coffee. Convenience store coffee is OK now and then, better (just barely) than nothing, but it is nice to have a cup of real (strong) coffee either first thing in the morning or after a long day's ride.

I fretted about this. I am committed to traveling light, and bringing a French-press pot did not seem very light.

But then I stumbled on the concept of "cowboy coffee." (I wish I could remember where in metaverse I found it. Googling "cowboy coffee" will turn it up.) Cowboy coffee is simply coffee made in a pot without filters.

The basic principle of cowboy coffee is that coffee grounds settle if given enough time. The challenge is giving the grounds enough time to settle without letting the coffee get cold. (You can't keep heating it, because the convection currents keep the grounds stirred up.)

I used more water and coffee than normal, to give a little room for sludge at the bottom of the pot. I used six heaping tablespoons for about 1.5 quarts of water (maybe, although I didn't measure carefully--I just filled my pot). This made enough for two large cups of coffee and a little extra to put in Jon's thermos.

Bring the water to a boil (using a catfood can stove, preferably), dump in the coffee, stir it in to be sure the coffee isn't just floating, and then (here's the secret) put the whole pot into some kind of insulator. I used an insulated lunch bag, but since the trip I have fashioned a foam sleeve that should work nearly as well while taking up almost no room. (Traditional cowboys just sink their pot in the sand.)

Then, let the coffee sit. Five minutes? Ten minutes? I don't know. Enough time for the grounds to settle.

Carefully pour the coffee off the top, and voila! Quite good cowboy coffee.

Day 10, The Last: Morley to Muskegon

Note to self: If you need to buy a handgun, Muskegon seems to be the place to go. The approach to Muskegon featured many billboards advertising breathlessly "500 Handguns to Choose From!" And those were just the hardware stores. Anywhere else, these would have been ironic ads for gun control. In Muskegon, they were serious attempts to get more handguns into the community.

And a charming community it is.

We left Morley at 6:30, a record for us. Took the FMWPT and roads to Cedar Springs, where we turned west a final time on M-46. This was a fairly miserable way to end the trip. The road was narrow, busy, and boring. We were just humping out miles. As we got closer to Muskegon, the traffic got heavier and heavier, particularly the truck traffic. Entering a dismal city that seems in love with handguns on a miserable stretch of road was not the best way to end the trip. Still, the pull of the final goal is always good to get you through some bad riding.

The end was a race with a thunderstorm. It got blacker and blacker up ahead. We toiled along, thoroughly beaten down by Muskegon. I wasn't sure we were going to make it. I kept saying, "C'mon c'mon c'mon hurry hurry hurry!" But we made it with time to spare (well, 30 minutes), before the heavens opened and the wrath of the gods flashed down. As we were eating our victory meal in the Subway across from the ferry, the power went out.

And that was it. Trip over. I left Jon at the Lake Express Ferry terminal and headed home.

Day 9: Lake City to Morley

One of the reasons we had left the coast in Charlevoix was to ride on the Fred Meijer White Pine Trail (FMWPT, a "linear state park"!), which stretches 91 miles from Cadillac to Grand Rapids. A converted rail bed, the trail is mostly crushed rock, with a few paved stretches. We thought it would be interesting to ride most of the trail on Day 9.

It was interesting, but not always pleasant.

We hit the FMWPT in downtown Cadillac near its northern terminus. There had been recent storms, so there were trees down across the trail for the first 15 miles or so. We actually had to lift our bikes (fully loaded, remember) over several of them.

The first stretch of trail is pleasant. It winds through the northern woods, and it has a nice firm crushed rock surface. The advantage of a rail-trail is that trains don't like hills, so the trail is almost completely flat. Also, the trees and bushes on either side of the trail provide cover from the wind.

But about 20 miles from Cadillac, the trail deteriorates significantly, becoming a two-track with weeds growing between the tracks. Now, I'm a big supporter of rail corridor acquisition by states, and rail-to-trail initiatives, but I have to say that much of this trail seems to be almost never used. Around cities like Cadillac, Reed City, Big Rapids, yes. But in the stretches more than ten miles from cities we felt like trail blazers. Perhaps when Fred Meijer's big bucks are used to pave the whole trail it will be used more in the remote stretches, but I doubt it. I just don't think there are many bikers interested in riding from, say, Tustin to LeRoy, or Big Rapids to Stanwood. I think we're kidding ourselves if we think those stretches of the trail will ever be used. (At least in summer: I suspect the trail gets heavy use by snowmobiles along its entire length.)

Obviously, some stretches get moderate to heavy use. From Cadillac to Tustin seemed to be used quite a lot. The 12-mile paved stretch leading in to Big Rapids was heavily used, as was the paved stretch between Sand Lake and Grand Rapids.

But the bit south of Big Rapids? It may as well have been the old Santa Fe trail. The weeds were waist high. Clearly, no one uses this stretch of trail. We finally gave up on it and took to the roads. But we had been spoiled by the flat trail, so the hills on the roads were not welcome. We returned to the trail as soon as we could.

The final stretch of the day, leading in to Morley, was odd: There were horse hoofprints in the center of the trail (despite the posted prohibition against horses), and the edges were perfectly smooth. We learned that this stretch of trail is used (illegally) as a road by Amish buggies. Funny. It made for nice riding.

All told, we rode about 60 miles of the FMWPT this day. I'll bet not many people have done that.

In Morley, we found the Mecosta Pines Campground, a tidy little private campground that gave us the "bikers' rate" of $5 each. Good deal. Dinner at a funny little cafe in "town".

We were poised for our final push to the ferry. About 60 miles, which we needed to accomplish by 4:00 PM.

Day 8: Charlevoix to Lake City

This was the day we had been dreading. When it became clear to us that we had too many miles and too few days, we decided that we would need to do one big day of 90+ miles in order to stay on schedule. For some reason, Day 8 was chosen, even though we should have known that it would have the biggest hills of the trip.

This day had it all: monumental hills, including a two-mile whopper out of the Torch Lake basin, uncertainty about which roads to take (we didn't quite get lost, but I felt at times that we were riding in circles), mechanical failure (my Panaracer Pasela rear tire developed a near-catastrophic bulge in its sidewall--I was a few miles from a blowout, which would have been, uh, unpleasant on one of the big descents). It also had a stiff tailwind (thank goodness) and an absolutely lovely stretch of state highway (M-66) at the end of the day.

We thrashed around the Torch Lake area all morning, huffing up several pretty good hills, finally getting to Torch Lake's eastern shore with its flat (and quite lovely) riding. We were feeling encouraged by this flat riding, thinking that maybe we were done with the worst of the hills, when the two-mile beast hit. It just went on and on. Every time we thought we were near the top, another sign appeared warning of a curving (i.e. climbing) road.

We were really demoralized at the top of this hill. It was mid-afternoon and we still had about 55 miles to go. We didn't have many more hills in us.

At this point, we gave up any pretense of seeing the scenery. We needed to cover miles on straight, flat roads, which meant state highways. So we reluctantly jumped on to M-72, the main road from I-75 in the center of the state to Traverse City, the largest city in the northwest.

But like US-2, M-72 had a good shoulder the whole way to Kalkaska, which came sooner than I expected. That doesn't happen very often.

After a large lunch at McDonald's in Kalkaska, we set off on another state highway, M-66. We had abandoned our goal of Mitchell State Park in Cadillac, which would have been 50 more miles (for a total of more than 100 miles for the day). Instead, we spotted on the map a city park in Lake City, just 30 miles away. (I say "just" 30 miles ironically, since 30 miles on a bike is an eternity.) But the road was straight and wide, the traffic was light, the scenery was quite lovely, and the tailwind was divine. This was actually a very nice bit of riding.

Lake City was cute, the campground was just the kind we like: in the middle of town, very basic sites, but with a nice shower. Jon's parents drove over from Frankfort (an hour and a half) and brought us dinner. Afterward, I walked to Dairy Queen and had a turtle sundae AND a milkshake. When you ride 80 miles, you can indulge yourself.

Day 7: St Ignace to Charlevoix

We (I) were (was) overjoyed to leave Mudville with its slumbering drunken muscle-car lovers. I tried to rev my engine and squeal my tires as we left, but it didn't quite have the desired effect.

Being responsible for route selection and research, I had carefully figured out how to get across the Straights of Mackinac: All sources (including the Adventure Cycling route guide) told me that we needed to take a ferry to Mackinac Island, then another to Mackinaw City. Complicated and expensive, but necessary. Jon, not respecting my expert opinion, not trusting me to be thorough in my research, had the nerve to ask around anyway. I assured him it would do no good; he was wasting his time and insulting me in the process.

Of course, just like my wife tells me all the time, it usually pays to ask. What's the easiest way to get a bike across the straights? Just go to the Bridge Authority offices, pay $2, and get a ride in a Bridge Authority maintenance truck. Gosh. We didn't even need to explain ourselves. As soon as we peeked in at the cashier's window the nice lady said, "That'll be $2 each. A maintenance truck will be along soon."

To celebrate our saved time and money, we had a nice sit-down breakfast in Mackinaw City when we arrived.

This day had some of the nicest scenery of the trip. The road out toward Wilderness State Park looks exactly as it looked when I was a child camping there with my family 40 years ago. The roads south from there, past Bliss (the town) and toward Harbor Springs, went through lovely rolling meadows. This would be a nice place for day rides. (In my touring scenario #2 below, one could stay in a nice hotel or B&B in Cross Village, and take 75-mile rides from there.)

Near Harbor Springs, we jumped on the Little Traverse Wheelway, a paved multi-use trail that runs (almost continously) from Harbor Springs to Charlevoix. Although there were some spots where the "wheelway" looked suspiciously like city sidewalks or US-31 shoulder, it was mostly a very nice route. The bit before Charlevoix was particularly nice, running right along the lake with occasional lakeside rest areas.

For some reason, we were pretty whipped by the time we rolled in to Charlevoix. It hadn't been a terribly long day, although we had had some good (bad) hills and a headwind between Petosky and Charlevoix. We picked up dinner fixings in Charlevoix and headed out to Fisherman's Island State Park. Again, the last few miles of the day, into a stiff headwind, competing with trucks on a busy state highway, were the worst.

Fisherman's Island was lovely. Nearly empty, it was a classic Michigan State Park. Large spaces, nicely shaded by white pines, right on Lake Michigan. Because it's a rustic campground (no showers, no electric, no flush toilets), there were no RVs or casual "campers". Although we missed showers, we liked this campground. As usual, some animal or other ate our food in the night. The moral is, when you're bike camping you really need to hang your food even if you're not in bear country.

New Concepts in Bike Touring

As has become clear in my entries for days 5 and 6, there was a serious flaw in planning for this trip. I take most of the blame, both in the specifics of leaving too few days for too many miles, and in the subscribed-to philosophy of the tour and bike touring, in general. (Jon probably can share in some of the blame for both of these, but I won't insist.)

First, as I mentioned before, I should have started with 50-mile days, assuming that each would expand to 60 or 70 miles. And we should have allowed one catch-up or layover day.

But an even more fundamental problem was the tendency to make the tour's purpose a journey from point A to point B, in which success was defined by the completion of the journey. In this case, we decided it would be a nice accomplishment to ride around the northern half of Lake Michigan. Simple, easy to describe, easy to define.

But with this definition of success--finishing the journey from point A to point B--we did not allow ourselves any escape hatches. Anything less than a timely arrival in Muskegon would have been a failure. (Remember: I speak for myself here, but I suspect Jon would at least be sympathetic to this view.) So in Manistique and St. Ignace, as we were pondering the apparently impossible distances yet to go, we never considered the possibility of bailing out, even though we had a good bail-out option.

My family owns a summer place in Empire, just west of Traverse City. It would have been 150 miles short of our goal, but we easily could have detoured there, picked up a car and finished the journey to the Muskegon ferry the fast way.

Here's how the trip might have unfolded: We would have stopped in Manistique on Day 5. On Day 6 we might have stopped in a stunningly beautiful state forest campground right on the beach just east of Brevort. On Day 7 we might have stayed at my favorite campground in the whole world, Wilderness State Park, just west of Mackinaw City. On Day 8 we would have had a relatively easy ride to Fisherman's Island State Park (where we stayed after the actual Day 7). On Day 9 we would have had a longish ride to Empire, but no longer than many of our other days. On Day 10 I would have driven Jon to the ferry.

The advantage of this schedule is that it would have spared us the grinding out of miles necessary to reach the ferry by bike, and it would have allowed us to really enjoy some of the most beautiful spots in the country.

As my posts for days 7-10 will show, I had a good time even on the grind-out-the-miles days, so I don't want to convey the idea that it wasn't fun. But it was partly fun because we accomplished a daunting (at times nearly overwhelming) task. We slept well every night because we nearly killed ourselves. It might have been nice to be a bit less daunted and near death.

In any case, I propose that all future bike trips have a bail-out option, one that will represent merely course correction rather than failure. On this trip, keeping the Empire option open would have been the logical bail out.

Another way to do it would be to leave a car in a central spot, then head out as if along the spoke of a wheel; the actual tour would be around the rim, with the option of following a spoke back to the center if necessary. For example, a nice tour would be around the tip of Michigan's lower peninsula. One could leave a car in, say, Grayling, head straight east to Lake Huron, then proceed up the Lake Huron coast, down the Lake Michigan coast, and straight across the state back to Grayling. At any time, however, it would be possible to head back to Grayling from any point on the coast if the schedule wasn't working out.

Another possible "tour", if covering X miles was the goal, would be to stay in a nice central location, and take 60- or 70-mile loop rides out from that central location. It's easy to go 35 miles out one route, and then 35 miles back on another route that's just a few miles away from the first, so you're not literally retracing your steps. I could imagine doing this in, say, the Adirondacks or Rockies, or perhaps central New York or along the Erie Canal, or the Oregon coast. Find a really nice campground (or B&B if wives are along) to serve as the home base, and take off from there. If one were feeling ambitious, it could be a week of centuries (if you know what I mean). That would be pretty good: 500 miles in 5 days.

In any case, the desire to get from point A to point B by bike (west coast to east coast, Seattle to San Diego, Fairbanks to Tierra del Fuego) just to say you did it is, I'm sorry to say since I'm guilty of it, a bit juvenile. It makes for good cocktail party boasts ("Yes, I've ridden from Seattle to San Diego and around Lake Michigan--cough cough most of it cough cough the northern half"), but it doesn't necessarily make for the best trip.

Just some thoughts. Let's continue the trip, shall we?

Biking on US-2

One of my biggest worries before the trip was riding on US-2 in the UP. It's the only east-west road across the bottom of the UP, and so it is a main corridor for trucking traffic. It could have been deadly.

Instead, it turned out that US-2 has a huge paved shoulder all the way from Escanaba to St. Ignace (except for one large hill 5 miles away from St. Ignace, and the actual approach to town that has a very not-helpful "bike path" sidewalk along the road, in which all the crossing driveways do not have a true curb cut). So although it was hectic with all those trucks roaring by, it did not feel particularly dangerous.

Except for the detour around the Cut River bridge, which was a nightmare. All traffic was rerouted onto newly paved local roads that were the size of driveways. No shoulder, winding road, one lane in each direction, for about five miles. So there we were, expected to share the road with semis and gas trucks. Actually, it's probably more accurate to say that we were expected NOT to share the road--indeed, not to be on the detour at all, although I don't know what they would have preferred we do. There was so much traffic in both directions, it was nearly impossible for the traffic behind us to pass. Every once in a while I just pulled off the road to let them by. If we had done that for everyone, however, we never would have made any progress.

I think if we had known how bad it was going to be, we might have figured out a way to hit that detour at 6 am, or ride under water, or something. It did not help to generate a calm and relaxed feeling for the day's ride.

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.