Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Believe it or not, that is a former car parking spot not far from The Cycle World Headquarters that has been staked out as dedicated, protected, on-street bicycle parking. Not only that, there are several of these bad boys in front of local businesses on a strip that already features dedicated bike lanes. It ain't the Netherlands, but I'm down. Heck, I parked there (that's the ol' Rockhopper at the hitching post) even though I was going to the store next door that had its own bike rack. Don't want to give the anti-bike crowd any "that was a waste of space no one uses" ammunition.
It's just further proof that this sign in front of local snarky t-shirt purveyor Raygun is oh-so-true:
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
It was a "thing" back in the 90s amongst the MTB set (at least where I was from) to adorn one's bike with some kind of little trinket/figurine. Usually known as a "mojo", these decorations were part good luck charm, part bike personalization, and usually all silly. The most extreme example was pro downhiller Missy "The Missle" Giove, known for (among other things) wearing the body of her dead pet piranha around her neck during races.
Being far less EXTREME (dude!) than Ms. Missle, I never took the concept to the point of wearing dead pets. However, even now, the bikes in my garage each have a little extra personality added on in the form of a mojo. First up, Dear Spouse's single bike:
Nothing beats a basket for sheer mojo-attachment possibilities. She could have an entire army of Muppets up there, but chooses just one, her personal Spirit Muppet, Super Grover, positioned front and center where he can offer his trademark "Hello, everybody!" greeting to all he encounters. (For the safety enforcers, note that he even wears a helmet.)
My daily driver/commute beast Cannondale (a.k.a. The Red Sled) has a less risk-averse passenger:
That radical dude is Domo, which I honestly know nothing about, but Wikipedia tells me he's the mascot of Japan's public broadcast TV station. Who knew? I just found him amusing, and the curve of my rear rack strut seemed like an ideal skateboard ramp.
Last but certainly not least, the mojo I'm most proud of rides along on the tandem:
Obviously, a two-seat bike needs a his-and-hers mojo. When the two-seater in question is green, named Frank, and was brought to life thanks to parts from several other tandems, that mojo pretty much chooses itself. Plus, the captain of said two-seater has a few nice scars from his aftermarket femur. (And yes, I did intentionally choose zip-ties to match each figure, because I have a problem.)
Which brings me to the CRUCIAL point of the mojo: If you have a problem with zip-ties, a mojo may not be for you. I'm convinced that artful zip-tying is the basis of all good mojo installation. So if your bike needs a personal touch and you don't mind tying one on, give a mojo a try! (And if you have a good one, send it my way. Maybe I'll feature it as a traveling exhibit in my mini mojo museum.)
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Tuned up a bike for a friend today, and was amused to see this:
(Yes, I cleaned the schmutz off the chain and cogs, just not before taking the photo.)
After a hard tandem ride this morning, I'm feeling a little too lazy to get up and dig through my paper-based bike knowledge collection (yes, I know, I'm on the Internet, but I'm even too lazy to open a new browser tab... it was a long ride), but I'm not so sure Shimano can prove that they made "the original bike components." They sure tried on this Tourney-equipped hybrid, though... the rear derailleur mounting bolt also featured the same boast. Who brags on a rear derailleur mounting bolt?
In Shimano's defense, the Tourney derailleurs paired with their Revo twist-shifters tuned up with ease and performed quite nicely. I even like the concept of the MegaRange freewheel shown above (and I'm in good company, since the late, great Sheldon Brown liked them too)... a fairly tight cluster on gears 2-6, with a big pie-plate-sized bailout 34-toother in position 1. Granted, it takes some derailleur engineering shenanigans to make that shift from the corncob to the pie plate, but nobody does derailleur engineering shenanigans as well as Shimano. The Tourney (with some pretty gigantic pulleys) ate up the big shift like nobody's business. Plus, now that these new 1x11 setups with 42-tooth big cogs (and, sheesh, 1x12 with a 50) are all the rage, no one would look askance if you showed up to a ride with this measly little 34.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
When last we left your intrepid narrator, he was waffling on the horns of a dilemma (and apparently mixing metaphors). A new-old Cannondale had found its way to The Cycle's Home for Wayward Vintage Mountain Bikes, and I was trying to decide if it would inherit the go-sorta-faster parts kit of my Rockhopper (relegating the Rocky to second-bike status) or if it would become the second bike in its own right. To put it in vaguely Shakespearean terms, the question was, "To beater, or not to beater."
Given my inherent laziness, the thought of coordinating a full cross-bike parts swap in the meat of the season lacked appeal, so I decided to leave well enough alone on the Rockhopper and finish off the Cannondale in an Ultimate City Bike build. Thus, I give you...
I know the non-drive-side photo is gauche even by my amateur (and amateurish) bike photography standards, but I wanted to capture the 18-year-old Jandd pannier stuffed with groceries, and if I'm running a single pannier, I like to put it on the traffic side to be a visual nuisance.
Before I delve into the yawn-inducing details, I should note that this build owes a debt of inspiration to my blog-pal bikelovejones. It dawned on me that I've admired her beautiful, utilitarian (Grant Petersen would probably coin some annoying portmanteau like "beautilitarian") city bikes for years, but never tried one for myself. Now that I have one in my garage, I totally get it.
This was a remarkably low-key resto-mod for me, incorporating a lot of reduce/reuse/recycle and barter. I kept the stock 3x7/thumbshifter drivetrain intact, trading the beat-up pedals for an old pair of BMX platforms from the stash. The Planet Bike Cascadia fenders came from the Rockhopper, which now gets clip-ons from the stash thanks to its status as go-sorta-faster bike. The rear rack was traded from Steve F. (a.k.a. Local Steve) in exchange for my old messenger bag. The only real whim was trading out the stock cantilever brakes for a set of cheap V-brakes from the stash. Sure, I have an uncanny knack for setting up old, low-profile, smooth-post cantilevers (some would call it a gift, albeit the sort of gift you wish came with a gift receipt), but with a perfectly good set of Vs lying around, I figured I had better things to do with my time.
The biggest expense of the build came in the form of 26x2.0 Panaracer Tour tires (full disclosure, that Amazon link makes me a couple shekels if you use it to spend money) in place of the knobby Tioga Psychos, at something like $20 a pop. These were also a bikelovejones recommendation, and (so far) they seem like a lot of tire for the price. My better half rides the 700x32 version on her wayward Cannondale, so we kinda match. Aww, how cute.
But the most eye-opening part of the build for me was the cockpit. The stock riding position with flat bars was way too long and low for this creaking geezer and his oft-bulging lower back disc. It was great when I was half my current age, shredding dirt, but now? Not so much. Luckily, I had an inexpensive set of upright bars lying around (I think they were from the initial setup experiments on Better Half's Cannondale), so I plugged them in.
There's the drive-side photo you purists have been waiting for, with terrible lighting and a garage door to make sure you know it was taken by me (this was pre-tire-swap if you're also tracking continuity errors). I've always resisted swept-back, upright bars on my own bikes -- despite raves of how amazingly comfortable they can be, they just never worked for me. But here? Bliss. I don't know what magic position I discovered this time, but I'm not moving it a micron. With the swept bars set up on that long, low stem, the bike can feel like a casual cruiser or an aggressive hammering machine depending on my mood. There's even a vaguely aero position if I hook my thumbs over the forward bends and rest my palms on the shifters/brake levers. I never understood how other blog-pal Pondero could do his long, rambling country tours on bars like this, but now I get it.
Oh, one other thing (thanks, Columbo)... I don't know who first invented lock-on grips for flat bars, but I owe that person a big hug. I know these things have been around forever and I'm just a late adopter, but I'm kicking myself for the years I spent dealing with hairspray and air compressors. Though I will miss the quizzical looks at the drugstore when my bald self checks out with just a can of industrial-strength hairspray...