If you're bored with my bottom bracket incompetence, surf away before it's too late!
If, however, you take great joy in the misfortunes of others, have I got a post for you.
So I'd had issues with a cross-threaded BB cup (that I now know I can blame on Former Neighbor Steve for polluting my garage with his bad cross-threading juju), but I'd stolen a cup from another bike that (I thought) was compatible and (I thought) fixed the problem. Did a few rides on the bike, including a fast (for me) out-and-back 26-miler to Cumming, IA Thursday night. No creaks, no rattles, smooth spinning.
Then I saddled up for my commute home yesterday. Got about five blocks from work when things started feeling wrong. Pedals were wobbly underfoot, and each turn of the cranks made this awful grinding sound. Oh crap.
Stopped, assessed the situation, and realized that either a) the cup I thought was compatible actually wasn't, or b) I was too timid after the cross-threading adventure and didn't torque the cup down hard enough. Said cup had backed its way out of the frame far enough to let the cartridge BB rattle around (causing the wobbly feeling) and grind the chainring into the shiny, formerly-pristine metallic brown repaint on my right chainstay (thus the awful sound).
No way I can fix that by the side of the road, and no way I can ride it home. And my cell phone barely has enough juice to make one call.
In the words of the poet Homer, "DOH!"
I managed to get a quick "myphoneisdyingpleasecomepickmeupatthecornerofsecondandMLK" call to my wife and get rescued, but it was NOT how I'd hoped my day would end.
Today, I put in a different cup and torqued that sucker to "gorilla." We'll see if that does the trick.
Showing posts with label bike. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bike. Show all posts
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Homebrewed Tool Tip
I'm trying to get my mechanical hubris back after yesterday's debacle, so I thought I'd dig back through the old shop bag of tricks for a post.
Today's tip is the legendary Homemade Poker/Scraper Tool. I can't take full credit for it since I got it from Paul, my head mechanic when I wrenched in Iowa City. Paul was a hidden legend -- nothing mechanical seemed to faze him, from epicyclic hub overhauls to adding grease fittings to the ski-tuning equipment. He was also doing off-road single-speeding back in the mid-90s before it had dawned on anyone else. The guy could shred all of us on a junked-out warranty frame with one cog and a homemade chain tensioner.
The poker/scraper is one of the simplest homebrewed tools ever. One: Find a broken old spoke. Two: Cut off the elbow (assuming it's not already gone). Three: Lay one end on a flat metal surface and whang on it with a big hammer until a couple inches have been flattened. Four: Sharpen the other end to a point (a bench grinder is the quick way, but a Dremel or file will do the trick too). If you're feeling extra fancy, bend the resulting tool until it has a little loop in the middle for pegboard hanging... or you can just store it by poking it into a pegboard hole.
It seems simple to the point of useless, but you'd be surprised how often a flattened and/or sharpened hunk of spoke can help out while wrenching. The poking end is great for opening up the liner in a freshly-cut piece of brake or derailleur cable housing. The scraping end can get gunk out from between cassette cogs (proceed with caution, however, as the poking end can bite). Dirt clogging up your cleat bolts? Shard of glass stuck in a tire casing? Need to toast a marshmallow for s'mores? Reach for the poker/scraper.
(Hubris sidenote: Today's 20-mile TTT -- Touring Time Trial -- was delightfully creak-free, so it would seem that yesterday's debacle paid off and the teflon plumber's tape performed as expected. Either that, or it was a coincidence and I accidentally tightened up the problem bolt while I was doing all that disassembly and assembly. Either way, I'll take it.)
Today's tip is the legendary Homemade Poker/Scraper Tool. I can't take full credit for it since I got it from Paul, my head mechanic when I wrenched in Iowa City. Paul was a hidden legend -- nothing mechanical seemed to faze him, from epicyclic hub overhauls to adding grease fittings to the ski-tuning equipment. He was also doing off-road single-speeding back in the mid-90s before it had dawned on anyone else. The guy could shred all of us on a junked-out warranty frame with one cog and a homemade chain tensioner.
The poker/scraper is one of the simplest homebrewed tools ever. One: Find a broken old spoke. Two: Cut off the elbow (assuming it's not already gone). Three: Lay one end on a flat metal surface and whang on it with a big hammer until a couple inches have been flattened. Four: Sharpen the other end to a point (a bench grinder is the quick way, but a Dremel or file will do the trick too). If you're feeling extra fancy, bend the resulting tool until it has a little loop in the middle for pegboard hanging... or you can just store it by poking it into a pegboard hole.
It seems simple to the point of useless, but you'd be surprised how often a flattened and/or sharpened hunk of spoke can help out while wrenching. The poking end is great for opening up the liner in a freshly-cut piece of brake or derailleur cable housing. The scraping end can get gunk out from between cassette cogs (proceed with caution, however, as the poking end can bite). Dirt clogging up your cleat bolts? Shard of glass stuck in a tire casing? Need to toast a marshmallow for s'mores? Reach for the poker/scraper.
(Hubris sidenote: Today's 20-mile TTT -- Touring Time Trial -- was delightfully creak-free, so it would seem that yesterday's debacle paid off and the teflon plumber's tape performed as expected. Either that, or it was a coincidence and I accidentally tightened up the problem bolt while I was doing all that disassembly and assembly. Either way, I'll take it.)
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Rookie Mistake
This just in... mechanic defeated by his own hubris.
I'd pulled off a pretty slick repair on our tandem so it would be ready for the farmers' market yesterday. I was feeling pretty good about myself. There was even some mention of my candidacy for the coveted Greatest Living Bicycle Mechanic in Central Iowa title.
Not so fast, slick.
I've been chasing a creak around my main ride, eliminating possible causes through a slow diagnostic process. Today, I had enough time to pull the cranks and bottom bracket. The plan was to grease the shoulders of the bottom bracket cartridge where they sit in the cups and wrap the cup threads with Teflon plumber's tape. It's an old trick from my days as a Cannondale mechanic, since a dry BB install would invariable make a small creak that would resonate through those big aluminum tubes until it sounded like a door opening in a horror movie.
That was the plan, anyway. And it worked for a while. I got everything out, cleaned it all up, greased up the cartridge, wrapped up the cups, and got the right side cup back in the frame, straight out of Sutherlands.
So, I started the left cup. And it felt a little snug. Before you ask, yes, I did know which cup had left-handed threads. Straight out of Sutherlands, remember?
"No biggie," I figured. "The Teflon tape makes it tight." So I kept cranking.
And it got even more snug. "Man, I must have put too much tape on that thing," I figured. So I grabbed a bigger adjustable wrench, clamped that bad boy on my BB tool and kept cranking.
It got even more snug. I could barely budge the thing, and it was barely a third of the way in. Only then did Mr. Fixit think, "Huh, that doesn't seem right." So I started backing it out again.
Cross-threaded. The aluminum cup was absolutely shredded where I'd ham-fisted it sideways into the steel bottom bracket shell. This is a family blog, so let's take the "edited for TV version of Snakes on a Plane" approach and pretend that I said, "I'm such a monkey-fighting idiot, cross-threading this Monday-Friday bottom bracket."
Proof that someone or something up there is looking out for morons and klutzes, at least it was an aluminum cup that sacrificed its life for the steel bottom bracket shell. If I'd needed the BB threads chased late on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, I would have been stuck. And I made a decent save by pulling a cup out of my fixie that just happened to fit despite being an entirely different brand of cartridge bottom bracket. So, the fixie's down until I replace the cup, but at least my daily driver is going again.
I'd pulled off a pretty slick repair on our tandem so it would be ready for the farmers' market yesterday. I was feeling pretty good about myself. There was even some mention of my candidacy for the coveted Greatest Living Bicycle Mechanic in Central Iowa title.
Not so fast, slick.
I've been chasing a creak around my main ride, eliminating possible causes through a slow diagnostic process. Today, I had enough time to pull the cranks and bottom bracket. The plan was to grease the shoulders of the bottom bracket cartridge where they sit in the cups and wrap the cup threads with Teflon plumber's tape. It's an old trick from my days as a Cannondale mechanic, since a dry BB install would invariable make a small creak that would resonate through those big aluminum tubes until it sounded like a door opening in a horror movie.
That was the plan, anyway. And it worked for a while. I got everything out, cleaned it all up, greased up the cartridge, wrapped up the cups, and got the right side cup back in the frame, straight out of Sutherlands.
So, I started the left cup. And it felt a little snug. Before you ask, yes, I did know which cup had left-handed threads. Straight out of Sutherlands, remember?
"No biggie," I figured. "The Teflon tape makes it tight." So I kept cranking.
And it got even more snug. "Man, I must have put too much tape on that thing," I figured. So I grabbed a bigger adjustable wrench, clamped that bad boy on my BB tool and kept cranking.
It got even more snug. I could barely budge the thing, and it was barely a third of the way in. Only then did Mr. Fixit think, "Huh, that doesn't seem right." So I started backing it out again.
Cross-threaded. The aluminum cup was absolutely shredded where I'd ham-fisted it sideways into the steel bottom bracket shell. This is a family blog, so let's take the "edited for TV version of Snakes on a Plane" approach and pretend that I said, "I'm such a monkey-fighting idiot, cross-threading this Monday-Friday bottom bracket."
Proof that someone or something up there is looking out for morons and klutzes, at least it was an aluminum cup that sacrificed its life for the steel bottom bracket shell. If I'd needed the BB threads chased late on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, I would have been stuck. And I made a decent save by pulling a cup out of my fixie that just happened to fit despite being an entirely different brand of cartridge bottom bracket. So, the fixie's down until I replace the cup, but at least my daily driver is going again.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Shh... We're Having A Ride Of Silence
Carla and I took the tandem to the local Ride of Silence Wednesday night. It was a first for both of us.
I'm not much for bike "advocacy" (hence the scare quotes I insist on putting around the word). Do I believe that bikers have a place on the road? Sure. Do I believe that drivers should refrain from putting tire marks across a biker's back whenever possible? Well, of course. But I always have misgivings about some kind of organized "consciousness-raising" event that's supposed to deal with these issues. I'd rather see lots of bikers just get out on the roads and ride their bikes every day. Still, friends had told me that the R of S is a pretty moving experience, and I'm always up for a tandem ride, so we went.
Slight problem, though. The combination of no police escort (other than the lone representative of Des Moines' finest who bullhorn-shouted at us to quit congregating in the road pre-ride) and a ride leadership that seemed a little paranoid about the perception of bikers as stoplight-blowing scofflaws (thus, we were instructed NOT to cork intersections) kind of killed the experience for me. A big, silent, unified group of riders? That's a statement. Dozens of tiny pockets of silent riders getting stuck at stoplights, leapfrogging into and out of clusters, and getting strung out all over town? That's just a bunch of people on bikes who happen to be kind of quiet.
Getting a tandem going at a few dozen stoplights is kind of a chore, too -- sort of like a Mack truck working its way up through the gearbox. And, note to the racer dude in the all-matching-and-matched-to-the-color-scheme-of-his-bike kit who insisted on track-standing every intersection: One, nobody was impressed, and two, the Freddy Kruger nails-on-a-chalkboard sound of your brakes as you repeatedly demonstrated this non-impressive maneuver was NOT what I'd call "silent". (An admission that reveals my dark, twisted, gnarled inner self: I was secretly hoping he'd flub one and fall over, the way that I secretly hope kids on those stupid roller-skate-heel shoes will fall on their butts as they glide through the grocery store.)
Still, I got to spend some quality time with my better half on our two-seater, I got to see the whole Anderson Convoy (Tom and Holly on their tandem with the twins on their singles), I finally got to meet C's bikey knitting pal Jess, I got to check out Former Neighbor Steve's swanky new monster-cross gravel rig, and there were moments that I kind of felt what the event was supposed to be about. Maybe it wasn't a "powerful experience of cycling solidarity", but it was a good ride... and there's nothing wrong with that.
I'm not much for bike "advocacy" (hence the scare quotes I insist on putting around the word). Do I believe that bikers have a place on the road? Sure. Do I believe that drivers should refrain from putting tire marks across a biker's back whenever possible? Well, of course. But I always have misgivings about some kind of organized "consciousness-raising" event that's supposed to deal with these issues. I'd rather see lots of bikers just get out on the roads and ride their bikes every day. Still, friends had told me that the R of S is a pretty moving experience, and I'm always up for a tandem ride, so we went.
Slight problem, though. The combination of no police escort (other than the lone representative of Des Moines' finest who bullhorn-shouted at us to quit congregating in the road pre-ride) and a ride leadership that seemed a little paranoid about the perception of bikers as stoplight-blowing scofflaws (thus, we were instructed NOT to cork intersections) kind of killed the experience for me. A big, silent, unified group of riders? That's a statement. Dozens of tiny pockets of silent riders getting stuck at stoplights, leapfrogging into and out of clusters, and getting strung out all over town? That's just a bunch of people on bikes who happen to be kind of quiet.
Getting a tandem going at a few dozen stoplights is kind of a chore, too -- sort of like a Mack truck working its way up through the gearbox. And, note to the racer dude in the all-matching-and-matched-to-the-color-scheme-of-his-bike kit who insisted on track-standing every intersection: One, nobody was impressed, and two, the Freddy Kruger nails-on-a-chalkboard sound of your brakes as you repeatedly demonstrated this non-impressive maneuver was NOT what I'd call "silent". (An admission that reveals my dark, twisted, gnarled inner self: I was secretly hoping he'd flub one and fall over, the way that I secretly hope kids on those stupid roller-skate-heel shoes will fall on their butts as they glide through the grocery store.)
Still, I got to spend some quality time with my better half on our two-seater, I got to see the whole Anderson Convoy (Tom and Holly on their tandem with the twins on their singles), I finally got to meet C's bikey knitting pal Jess, I got to check out Former Neighbor Steve's swanky new monster-cross gravel rig, and there were moments that I kind of felt what the event was supposed to be about. Maybe it wasn't a "powerful experience of cycling solidarity", but it was a good ride... and there's nothing wrong with that.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tire Stuff: A Follow-Up
My post about the humble Michelin Dynamic actually garnered an off-blog reader e-mail from (I presume) a real person who just stumbled into this dark corner of the interweb. I was more than a little humbled (though not as humble as the Dynamic) to find out that my audience is bigger than just the visible core that comments on my prattle. So, in Aden's honor (hi, Aden!), I'll try to address some of those off-blog tire questions here for the (questionable) benefit of all.
Aden writes:
I live in a relatively rural area in central Virginia, and my riding will be about 80 percent pavement (and to a lesser extent, hardpack bike trails)--lots of group rides, limited commuting, etc--and about 20 percent unimproved roads (dirt/gravel), fire roads, and the like--just casual outings, nothing that would really qualify as "mountain biking". So should I go with the 700x28s or the 700x32s (my rims are 15mm wide, inside measurement, BTW, and I'm a light rider at 145 lbs). I'm sure the larger tires would be smoother riding and perhaps better on the trails, but I'm also concerned about weight and shooting for minimal rolling resistance since the larger percent of riding I will be doing will be on pavement. What to do?
First, I need to disqualify myself on two counts. One, I've never been to any areas of any part of Virginia, so I can't say what's suitable for a rural area in central Virginia. Two, I haven't been 145 pounds since about the fourth grade (yup, I was a husky lad), so the world of the sub-150-pounder is about as foreign to me as the Klingon home world.
But, with those caveats in mind, here's my nutshell response: Read Volume 5, Number 1 of Bicycle Quarterly. Seriously. I'm just a subscriber, not a shill (and I have my issues with some of BQ's other research/hypotheses), but V5#1 (commonly known as the tire test issue) is a winner. It's the only research I'm aware of that attempts to put tires to a real world test (where most of us ride) rather than spinning them on a steel drum in a lab and calling it good.
In that real world, I've found BQ's somewhat controversial assertion that wider tires at lower pressures actually roll faster to be true. How can that be, when everyone else seems to say that the skinner and harder you can run your tires, the faster you'll be? Think about the roads you ride on. Are they perfectly hardwood-floor smooth? I'm guessing not. Mine are pretty bumpy. And when I hit those bumps, a narrow tire with a lot of pressure tries to bounce. Maybe a tire bouncing Aden's 145 pounds is no biggie, but to bounce my girth takes some energy -- energy that's no longer available to move said girth forward.
Now, hit those same bumps with a tire that's maybe 10mm wider than race rubber (at least 32mm) and running down around 70-80 psi. The tire deforms rather than bouncing, and the bike/rider keeps plowing ahead with a lot less wasted energy. This is all a grotesque oversimplification of the fine work in BQ, but it at least gives you the drift.
Aden also asked about weight, which can often be the bugaboo of this "wider is better" argument. After all, tire manufacturers have chased that "skinnier is faster" fallacy for a while now, so they assume their 700x32/35/38 offerings are only being snapped up by tourists and commuters -- folks who aren't trying to get anywhere in a hurry, but want a tire that won't flat easily. That leaves the fat-tire buying public with a lot of similar choices: thick rubber, chunky sidewalls, belts to deflect poky objects, and a lot of weight -- which can take work to spin up to speed. The Dynamic isn't bad in a 700x32 (at a claimed 360 grams, though I kinda don't buy that), but it still starts with a thick cap of rubber in the tread area that could be lighter/more supple.
What I'd like to see is an unbelted, folding semi-slick for 700c wheels in about a 40mm width. No extraordinary measures to prevent flats, just a reasonable rubber cap and nice flexible sidewalls. Proponents of the kooky 650B tire size (tee hee, how I love poking the 650B bear) claim that the 650Bx42 Gran Bois Hetre (imported by Bicycle Quarterly, so I guess I am a shill after all) is the tire I seek, but I'd like it in a normal diameter, please. And while you're at it, how about black sidewalls and tread? That's not a baguette in my pannier (I'm just happy to see you), so I don't need to look like a 1950s Frenchman headed out for a picnic.
Um, Aden, what was that question again?
Aden writes:
I live in a relatively rural area in central Virginia, and my riding will be about 80 percent pavement (and to a lesser extent, hardpack bike trails)--lots of group rides, limited commuting, etc--and about 20 percent unimproved roads (dirt/gravel), fire roads, and the like--just casual outings, nothing that would really qualify as "mountain biking". So should I go with the 700x28s or the 700x32s (my rims are 15mm wide, inside measurement, BTW, and I'm a light rider at 145 lbs). I'm sure the larger tires would be smoother riding and perhaps better on the trails, but I'm also concerned about weight and shooting for minimal rolling resistance since the larger percent of riding I will be doing will be on pavement. What to do?
First, I need to disqualify myself on two counts. One, I've never been to any areas of any part of Virginia, so I can't say what's suitable for a rural area in central Virginia. Two, I haven't been 145 pounds since about the fourth grade (yup, I was a husky lad), so the world of the sub-150-pounder is about as foreign to me as the Klingon home world.
But, with those caveats in mind, here's my nutshell response: Read Volume 5, Number 1 of Bicycle Quarterly. Seriously. I'm just a subscriber, not a shill (and I have my issues with some of BQ's other research/hypotheses), but V5#1 (commonly known as the tire test issue) is a winner. It's the only research I'm aware of that attempts to put tires to a real world test (where most of us ride) rather than spinning them on a steel drum in a lab and calling it good.
In that real world, I've found BQ's somewhat controversial assertion that wider tires at lower pressures actually roll faster to be true. How can that be, when everyone else seems to say that the skinner and harder you can run your tires, the faster you'll be? Think about the roads you ride on. Are they perfectly hardwood-floor smooth? I'm guessing not. Mine are pretty bumpy. And when I hit those bumps, a narrow tire with a lot of pressure tries to bounce. Maybe a tire bouncing Aden's 145 pounds is no biggie, but to bounce my girth takes some energy -- energy that's no longer available to move said girth forward.
Now, hit those same bumps with a tire that's maybe 10mm wider than race rubber (at least 32mm) and running down around 70-80 psi. The tire deforms rather than bouncing, and the bike/rider keeps plowing ahead with a lot less wasted energy. This is all a grotesque oversimplification of the fine work in BQ, but it at least gives you the drift.
Aden also asked about weight, which can often be the bugaboo of this "wider is better" argument. After all, tire manufacturers have chased that "skinnier is faster" fallacy for a while now, so they assume their 700x32/35/38 offerings are only being snapped up by tourists and commuters -- folks who aren't trying to get anywhere in a hurry, but want a tire that won't flat easily. That leaves the fat-tire buying public with a lot of similar choices: thick rubber, chunky sidewalls, belts to deflect poky objects, and a lot of weight -- which can take work to spin up to speed. The Dynamic isn't bad in a 700x32 (at a claimed 360 grams, though I kinda don't buy that), but it still starts with a thick cap of rubber in the tread area that could be lighter/more supple.
What I'd like to see is an unbelted, folding semi-slick for 700c wheels in about a 40mm width. No extraordinary measures to prevent flats, just a reasonable rubber cap and nice flexible sidewalls. Proponents of the kooky 650B tire size (tee hee, how I love poking the 650B bear) claim that the 650Bx42 Gran Bois Hetre (imported by Bicycle Quarterly, so I guess I am a shill after all) is the tire I seek, but I'd like it in a normal diameter, please. And while you're at it, how about black sidewalls and tread? That's not a baguette in my pannier (I'm just happy to see you), so I don't need to look like a 1950s Frenchman headed out for a picnic.
Um, Aden, what was that question again?
Monday, May 11, 2009
This Little Piggy
I broke a toe this weekend, thanks to a combination of a) excessive clumsiness, b) an ill-placed box in a dark bedroom, and c) a late night trip to the bathroom. Kicked that sucker like it was a 60-yard field goal attempt to win the game as time expired. Ugh.
It's not a terribly crucial toe, mind you. Just a pinky toe. The one that (according to legend) cries "wee wee wee" all the way home. So it's now taped to the piggy that had no roast beef in a kind of toe "buddy system" while it heals up.
On the bright side: I can still ride the bike. Chalk it up as another benefit of flat BMX pedals and non-bike-specific riding shoes. I just grabbed my Teva sandals, loosened one strap to take pressure off the sore spot, and pedaled off with all piggies (injured and otherwise) free in the breeze.
Thank goodness it's Spring. I may be a touring nerd, but even I have trouble crossing that line to sandals with socks. It's a slippery slope to wearing your glasses-mounted rearview mirror into the coffeehouse.
It's not a terribly crucial toe, mind you. Just a pinky toe. The one that (according to legend) cries "wee wee wee" all the way home. So it's now taped to the piggy that had no roast beef in a kind of toe "buddy system" while it heals up.
On the bright side: I can still ride the bike. Chalk it up as another benefit of flat BMX pedals and non-bike-specific riding shoes. I just grabbed my Teva sandals, loosened one strap to take pressure off the sore spot, and pedaled off with all piggies (injured and otherwise) free in the breeze.
Thank goodness it's Spring. I may be a touring nerd, but even I have trouble crossing that line to sandals with socks. It's a slippery slope to wearing your glasses-mounted rearview mirror into the coffeehouse.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Retro Raleigh Rolling
A confession: None of my bikes are ever "done." Heck, I was just swapping pedals on a bike that I've owned for seven years, and last night that same bike got a rear rack (the same rack that I took off last year, which replaced the rack that had been on the bike two years before that). I say they're all works in progress, while my wife would probably say I'm a serial futzer. So I can't call the Raleigh a completed thing, but it's at least reached a point of temporary happiness.The drivetrain is 40x17 fixed, with a de-toothed old 42-tooth chainring in the outer position as a chainguard. The chopped 42 doesn't give enough coverage over a 40, but it was the biggest sacrificial ring in my stash and it looks better than the black 40 sitting alone on the inner position (where chainline is best).
Just to prove that I'm developing a Wald addiction, the bars are straight outta Kentucky, model #8095 as seen at The 6-Miler. Cork grips for squish and style, brake lever with a lock button (for a parking brake effect), Kool Stop pads on the original Weinmann front centerpull, spare saddle, old saddlebag, ugly BMX pedals, and away we go!
(I didn't route the front brake to the right lever to be extra-British. I just can't find the left lever.)
In a perfect world, I'd have a bigger chainguard, some fenders (probably Wald again), a nicer-looking saddle, less-homely pedals, and fancier luggage (or a front basket -- do I dare say Wald? Jeez, I am such a shill), but as it stands right now, it's a hoot to hop on and just take off. Sure, it looks like I stole it from a pipe-smoking, leather-elbow-patches college professor, but it goes like a retro race rocket... at least until my pudgy legs can't catch up with the 40x17 any more.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Happy Bionic Birthday To Me
I was doped on morphine and Valium at the time, but this is how I like to imagine the conversation among my doctors exactly two years ago today:
Jason Nunemaker. Bicyclist. A man barely alive.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology.
We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man.
Jason Nunemaker will be that man.
We can make him better than he was before.
Better.
Stronger.
Faster.
(Cue iconic trumpet theme here.)
Okay, so I'm not stronger or faster... but when I ride, it does sound like this.
Jason Nunemaker. Bicyclist. A man barely alive.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology.
We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man.
Jason Nunemaker will be that man.
We can make him better than he was before.
Better.
Stronger.
Faster.
(Cue iconic trumpet theme here.)
Okay, so I'm not stronger or faster... but when I ride, it does sound like this.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Go Steve Go!
That's Local Steve F, a.k.a. Former Neighbor Steve, who is probably kneeling on the deck right about now, tying on his kamikaze headband and lubing up his Karate Monkey (which sounds really dirty, come to think of it) in preparation for this year's Trans Iowa Race.
If you don't know the TI, it crosses our great state on a network of gravel roads in two short days. No sag stops, no support cars, just a bunch of nutjobs out there making the pedals go around and around and around all by their lonesome. Think of it as the Great Divide Race without all the pesky mountains or RAGBRAI on steroids and Red Bull. It's been rainy all week, so those fine, well-maintained Iowa gravel roads should be a bog of tire-sucking, drivetrain-eating quicksand by now. Farmers around here often find the helmets of DNF Trans Iowa racers floating on the spot where rider and bike went under.
So, dear reader, bop on over to Zen Biking and clang your electronic cowbell in support as ol' Steve sets off on the adventure. I'm decidedly anti-Twitter (don't get me started), but I'll actually be watching for his tweets (which sounds dirty again, sorry) as he hits the checkpoints. It's the virtual equivalent of running alongside the race in a devil costume -- and Steve, if you actually see me running alongside you in a devil costume, you've been on the bike too long and need some sleep.
If you don't know the TI, it crosses our great state on a network of gravel roads in two short days. No sag stops, no support cars, just a bunch of nutjobs out there making the pedals go around and around and around all by their lonesome. Think of it as the Great Divide Race without all the pesky mountains or RAGBRAI on steroids and Red Bull. It's been rainy all week, so those fine, well-maintained Iowa gravel roads should be a bog of tire-sucking, drivetrain-eating quicksand by now. Farmers around here often find the helmets of DNF Trans Iowa racers floating on the spot where rider and bike went under.
So, dear reader, bop on over to Zen Biking and clang your electronic cowbell in support as ol' Steve sets off on the adventure. I'm decidedly anti-Twitter (don't get me started), but I'll actually be watching for his tweets (which sounds dirty again, sorry) as he hits the checkpoints. It's the virtual equivalent of running alongside the race in a devil costume -- and Steve, if you actually see me running alongside you in a devil costume, you've been on the bike too long and need some sleep.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Measuring "Value" In Bikes
I was skulking around a local bike shop the other day trying not to get waited on (yep, I'm that guy) when I overheard a conversation that really took me back. The sales guy had obviously been chatting up another potential customer for a little bit when he went to the greatest conversation starter there is in bike sales: "What do you ride?"
Before I let the guy answer, let me explain why that is -- without question -- one of the most outstanding sales pitch openers:
"It's a Trek. And it's like a $3,000 bike, so it's a really good one."
I confess, even though I've been out of bike sales for a decade now, a little bubble of drool formed in the corner of my mouth. It's just not often that you encounter this particular species in the wild. It's the rare "brand plus cost equals value equals respect" shopper, i.e., "I have a bike from a reputable company that cost me a lot of money, therefore, it is awesome, therefore, I am awesome, so please like me! Please really like me!"
If you're a sales shark who has to pay your rent with commissions, those guys (and sadly, they're usually guys) are absolutely GOLDEN. They don't know what's good or bad, and probably don't even know what they like or dislike. They just know brand and cost, and know that the more expensive one must be better somehow. We had one in my last shop, a big-fish/small-pond lawyer who I was taught to know on sight and immediately direct to the most expensive thing in the shop, because he simply wasn't interested in anything he didn't perceive as the best of the best. We actually used his name (which I'm leaving out to protect the innocent... and the guilty) among ourselves as a shorthand for that kind of customer.
Ever hear the story of the guy who had a cheap old bike that he loved, rode it for years and years before he finally treated himself to some Amazing New Vunderbike, but when dosed with truth serum and/or post-ride beers, he admitted that the ANV wasn't as comfortable or fun to ride as his old junker? Welcome to the "brand plus cost equals value" mentality. I wish I were immune to it, but everybody falls into the trap (heck, read my recent post fawning over a Vanilla for just one example). I can't count the number of bikes I've bought (and subsequently resold) that were supposed to be better than what I already had just based on reputation or cost or magazine hype. I had a carbon race bike that beat me senseless and could be (and often was) rendered unrideable by one broken spoke, but damn, did it look sweet hanging in the garage. I had a gorgeous lugged frame from a small U.S. shop that never fit me right, but I just kept sticking different stems in it, desperately trying to sew that sow's ear into a silk purse. Even when you think you know what's good and bad, what you like and dislike, the bike placebo effect can kick in. You change something -- raise a saddle, change pedals, rewrap handlebar tape -- and feel like you've just channeled Lance, at least until the novelty wears off.
I thought I was stumbling toward a point there, but no such luck. Consumerism is weird? Humans are complex and not always rational? Don't trust a salesperson who asks what kind of bike you ride? I dunno.
For the record, $3,000 Trek Guy didn't make any purchases. Guess he was just looking.
Before I let the guy answer, let me explain why that is -- without question -- one of the most outstanding sales pitch openers:
- It doesn't let the customer say, "No thanks, just looking." You want to hurt a salesperson who understands how sales work? Toss out a "just looking" and stop making eye contact. (If you want to stab that salesperson in the heart, wait a few minutes before you ask another salesperson a question.)
- It invites the customer to talk about his/her own bike. What bike nerd doesn't want to do that? Instant camaraderie/rapport.
- It tells the salesperson what the potential customer is interested in, bike-wise... what kind of riding he/she does, what he/she spends on bikes, possible brand loyalties, weird retro tendencies, etc.
- It creates openings for sales spiel that look natural/organic. Customer's riding something from one of your brands? "They just came out with a new [whatever's hot from that brand]... you gotta check it out." Customer's riding old steel? "Wow, that's a classic. Those bikes are really making a comeback, like this [whatever company happens to be jumping on the retro bandwagon this year]." You get the idea.
"It's a Trek. And it's like a $3,000 bike, so it's a really good one."
I confess, even though I've been out of bike sales for a decade now, a little bubble of drool formed in the corner of my mouth. It's just not often that you encounter this particular species in the wild. It's the rare "brand plus cost equals value equals respect" shopper, i.e., "I have a bike from a reputable company that cost me a lot of money, therefore, it is awesome, therefore, I am awesome, so please like me! Please really like me!"
If you're a sales shark who has to pay your rent with commissions, those guys (and sadly, they're usually guys) are absolutely GOLDEN. They don't know what's good or bad, and probably don't even know what they like or dislike. They just know brand and cost, and know that the more expensive one must be better somehow. We had one in my last shop, a big-fish/small-pond lawyer who I was taught to know on sight and immediately direct to the most expensive thing in the shop, because he simply wasn't interested in anything he didn't perceive as the best of the best. We actually used his name (which I'm leaving out to protect the innocent... and the guilty) among ourselves as a shorthand for that kind of customer.
Ever hear the story of the guy who had a cheap old bike that he loved, rode it for years and years before he finally treated himself to some Amazing New Vunderbike, but when dosed with truth serum and/or post-ride beers, he admitted that the ANV wasn't as comfortable or fun to ride as his old junker? Welcome to the "brand plus cost equals value" mentality. I wish I were immune to it, but everybody falls into the trap (heck, read my recent post fawning over a Vanilla for just one example). I can't count the number of bikes I've bought (and subsequently resold) that were supposed to be better than what I already had just based on reputation or cost or magazine hype. I had a carbon race bike that beat me senseless and could be (and often was) rendered unrideable by one broken spoke, but damn, did it look sweet hanging in the garage. I had a gorgeous lugged frame from a small U.S. shop that never fit me right, but I just kept sticking different stems in it, desperately trying to sew that sow's ear into a silk purse. Even when you think you know what's good and bad, what you like and dislike, the bike placebo effect can kick in. You change something -- raise a saddle, change pedals, rewrap handlebar tape -- and feel like you've just channeled Lance, at least until the novelty wears off.
I thought I was stumbling toward a point there, but no such luck. Consumerism is weird? Humans are complex and not always rational? Don't trust a salesperson who asks what kind of bike you ride? I dunno.
For the record, $3,000 Trek Guy didn't make any purchases. Guess he was just looking.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Product Review: The Humble Michelin Dynamic
I've been a skidge negative lately, so I figure it's time for a "happy human" product review.
Today, I give you the Michelin Dynamic. Let's not kid ourselves here. This is not a fancy tire. It doesn't claim to have any magical qualities in its rubber, no fancy dual-compound stripes, no flat-shielding belts, and not even much of a label. It has a basic steel bead. It's been around a while under different names -- back in the '90s, I think it was the Tracer. You can see that the poor Michelin website doesn't really know what to do with it. Sure, they made up RB and SW techno-jargon-acronyms (for "Rigid Bead" and "Skin Walls") just so there would be something to put on the "technical" tab, but I can hear the copywriter saying, "jeez, I dunno, it's just a tire."
So what's to like about the Dynamic? Well, in this age of hyperspecialization (and resulting hyperpricing), "just a tire" can be a pretty good thing. The Dynamic is an almost-slick tire in the tradition of the quietly legendary (and long gone, rumor has it) Avocet FasGrip series. It's nice and round, corners predictably, rides smoother than its price and utility would suggest, resists flats (around here) pretty well considering its lack of fancy belts, doesn't weigh a ton, and has pretty impressive durability. My set of 700x32s just got retired to the trash bin after three years and probably 8,000 miles of all-surface riding. They could have gone through the end of this season, but the tread was finally thin enough that they were flatting on things that newer ones would have shrugged off.
Did I mention cheap? I think the highest price I've ever seen for a Dynamic was $20 per tire. A savvy web shopper can probably scare them up for as little as $12. They're available in a full range of honest 700c sizes (23, 25, 28, and 32) that all measure true if not a bit wider. Retro-fashionistas will decry their black sidewalls, but I find that blackwalls hold up better to UV exposure (no science there, just personal experience.)
So there you have it: A good, cheap tire. Your mileage may vary, but I like 'em a lot.
Today, I give you the Michelin Dynamic. Let's not kid ourselves here. This is not a fancy tire. It doesn't claim to have any magical qualities in its rubber, no fancy dual-compound stripes, no flat-shielding belts, and not even much of a label. It has a basic steel bead. It's been around a while under different names -- back in the '90s, I think it was the Tracer. You can see that the poor Michelin website doesn't really know what to do with it. Sure, they made up RB and SW techno-jargon-acronyms (for "Rigid Bead" and "Skin Walls") just so there would be something to put on the "technical" tab, but I can hear the copywriter saying, "jeez, I dunno, it's just a tire."
So what's to like about the Dynamic? Well, in this age of hyperspecialization (and resulting hyperpricing), "just a tire" can be a pretty good thing. The Dynamic is an almost-slick tire in the tradition of the quietly legendary (and long gone, rumor has it) Avocet FasGrip series. It's nice and round, corners predictably, rides smoother than its price and utility would suggest, resists flats (around here) pretty well considering its lack of fancy belts, doesn't weigh a ton, and has pretty impressive durability. My set of 700x32s just got retired to the trash bin after three years and probably 8,000 miles of all-surface riding. They could have gone through the end of this season, but the tread was finally thin enough that they were flatting on things that newer ones would have shrugged off.
Did I mention cheap? I think the highest price I've ever seen for a Dynamic was $20 per tire. A savvy web shopper can probably scare them up for as little as $12. They're available in a full range of honest 700c sizes (23, 25, 28, and 32) that all measure true if not a bit wider. Retro-fashionistas will decry their black sidewalls, but I find that blackwalls hold up better to UV exposure (no science there, just personal experience.)
So there you have it: A good, cheap tire. Your mileage may vary, but I like 'em a lot.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
"Have A Brew... Don't Cost Nothing"
I take a lot of static for my relentless anti-RAGBRAI stance. As a cyclist in Iowa, you're simply expected to prostrate yourself before the Great Emperor of Cross-State Rides, not point out that he has no clothes -- or in the case of RAGBRAI, wears a way-too-tight jersey that leaves nothing to the imagination.
But I have a real beef with what RAGBRAI has done to "cycling culture" in this state. Specifically, it's turned many group rides -- and, as I learned last weekend, more than a few solo rides -- into keggers on wheels. I've taken to calling it the Register's Great Annual Beer Run Across Iowa. For some RAGBRAI riders, "training" for this event is just an excuse to get drunk, bar-hopping with a veneer of physical fitness to make it seem "healthy."
Case in point: I was out for a ride last weekend when another rider came up alongside me. His greeting? "Where do you carry your beer on that thing?"
Seemed odd (especially considering that my gaping saddlebag could have swallowed a six-pack), but I went with it: "I don't pack any."
And here's where it got scary for me: "Huh. I started with eight, but now I'm down to just two. Guess it's time to head for home."
I told him to have a good ride, sat up, and let him drop me real quick-like. Puritanical? Teetotalish? Maybe. But would you drive alongside a guy who'd put down six beers? One swerve, one bad reaction, and we're both tasting asphalt.
Don't get me wrong. I like beer. I like biking. But -- save some extraordinarily stupid moments as a college student that I was lucky enough to survive and regret -- I don't mix 'em. My bike is my vehicle, and I don't operate my vehicle under the influence. I guess that's the thing that mystifies me... in most cases, I imagine these RAGBRAI bar-hoppers are responsible adults who wouldn't think of putting a key into an ignition after having a few too many. But that same responsible adult won't think twice about staggering out of a bar, saddling up, and wobbling off down the road, risking his own safety and that of his weaving peloton.
Maybe someone can explain it to me, because I just don't get it.
But I have a real beef with what RAGBRAI has done to "cycling culture" in this state. Specifically, it's turned many group rides -- and, as I learned last weekend, more than a few solo rides -- into keggers on wheels. I've taken to calling it the Register's Great Annual Beer Run Across Iowa. For some RAGBRAI riders, "training" for this event is just an excuse to get drunk, bar-hopping with a veneer of physical fitness to make it seem "healthy."
Case in point: I was out for a ride last weekend when another rider came up alongside me. His greeting? "Where do you carry your beer on that thing?"
Seemed odd (especially considering that my gaping saddlebag could have swallowed a six-pack), but I went with it: "I don't pack any."
And here's where it got scary for me: "Huh. I started with eight, but now I'm down to just two. Guess it's time to head for home."
I told him to have a good ride, sat up, and let him drop me real quick-like. Puritanical? Teetotalish? Maybe. But would you drive alongside a guy who'd put down six beers? One swerve, one bad reaction, and we're both tasting asphalt.
Don't get me wrong. I like beer. I like biking. But -- save some extraordinarily stupid moments as a college student that I was lucky enough to survive and regret -- I don't mix 'em. My bike is my vehicle, and I don't operate my vehicle under the influence. I guess that's the thing that mystifies me... in most cases, I imagine these RAGBRAI bar-hoppers are responsible adults who wouldn't think of putting a key into an ignition after having a few too many. But that same responsible adult won't think twice about staggering out of a bar, saddling up, and wobbling off down the road, risking his own safety and that of his weaving peloton.
Maybe someone can explain it to me, because I just don't get it.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Good Rally... But Let's Follow Through
There was a rally on Wednesday riding down to the state capitol to raise awareness for bikers' rights on the road. If you like watching about 500 bikers go past a stationary camera to a soundtrack, be sure to check out the video of the event on YouTube.
I have to admit, after hearing that 500 people came out (I wasn't among them, due to the accumulation of several lame excuses), I was pretty darn impressed. Good start, Des Moines cycling community.
But what's next? It's not enough to crawl from West Des Moines to the golden dome in a 500-body amoeba, blocking traffic thanks to the Des Moines police escort that corked all the major intersections. You don't raise awareness with a one-time nuisance. Sure, our legislators saw numbers, but they'd already put up with a mob of d-bags with teabags that day, plus another mob whose marriages have apparently collapsed since our Supreme Court finally recognized the rights of all Iowans (take THAT, California! Iowa's more liberal than you! neener neener neener!) You think your poor state senator or rep had any energy left at the end of the day to be "aware" (or even placate via platitudes) a bunch of people out enjoying a bike ride in beautiful weather? Hardly.
So here's my proposal: Now that everyone's patted themselves on the back, I'll see all 500 of you out on the streets next week, and the week after that, and the week after that. Not in a lump, not with police protection. One at a time. Riding to work. Riding to the store. Riding to an I-Cubs game. Riding to a park. Just RIDING. Because if we really want to raise any awareness on the roads, that's what it's going to take. Drivers have to see bikers -- a LOT of bikers -- as a normal part of their day, traveling the streets like just another vehicle. It's not enough to put a "Share The Road" sticker on your roof rack and use it to drive your bike to our protected rail-trail sanctuaries.
I'll be out there. Will you?
I have to admit, after hearing that 500 people came out (I wasn't among them, due to the accumulation of several lame excuses), I was pretty darn impressed. Good start, Des Moines cycling community.
But what's next? It's not enough to crawl from West Des Moines to the golden dome in a 500-body amoeba, blocking traffic thanks to the Des Moines police escort that corked all the major intersections. You don't raise awareness with a one-time nuisance. Sure, our legislators saw numbers, but they'd already put up with a mob of d-bags with teabags that day, plus another mob whose marriages have apparently collapsed since our Supreme Court finally recognized the rights of all Iowans (take THAT, California! Iowa's more liberal than you! neener neener neener!) You think your poor state senator or rep had any energy left at the end of the day to be "aware" (or even placate via platitudes) a bunch of people out enjoying a bike ride in beautiful weather? Hardly.
So here's my proposal: Now that everyone's patted themselves on the back, I'll see all 500 of you out on the streets next week, and the week after that, and the week after that. Not in a lump, not with police protection. One at a time. Riding to work. Riding to the store. Riding to an I-Cubs game. Riding to a park. Just RIDING. Because if we really want to raise any awareness on the roads, that's what it's going to take. Drivers have to see bikers -- a LOT of bikers -- as a normal part of their day, traveling the streets like just another vehicle. It's not enough to put a "Share The Road" sticker on your roof rack and use it to drive your bike to our protected rail-trail sanctuaries.
I'll be out there. Will you?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Iowa Bikers: There's A Man Down
Doug Smith of Des Moines was run over by a truck towing two anhydrous ammonia tanks last weekend while out on a training ride, suffering a skull fracture and a broken pelvis.
More details are available from our local CBS affiliate, KCCI. Or, if you like your web news from a paper-pusher, there's the Des Moines Register story.
I love living and riding in Iowa. I've spent 14 years of my life here -- long enough that I actually think of myself an Iowan even though I wasn't born here. But reading some of the comments from our local mob of mouth-breathers made me want to move somewhere -- ANYWHERE -- else.
No matter where you ride, let's be careful out there. And Doug, even though we've never met, my thoughts are with you and your family. Here's hoping that your recovery is like a flat stretch of road with a strong tailwind.
More details are available from our local CBS affiliate, KCCI. Or, if you like your web news from a paper-pusher, there's the Des Moines Register story.
I love living and riding in Iowa. I've spent 14 years of my life here -- long enough that I actually think of myself an Iowan even though I wasn't born here. But reading some of the comments from our local mob of mouth-breathers made me want to move somewhere -- ANYWHERE -- else.
No matter where you ride, let's be careful out there. And Doug, even though we've never met, my thoughts are with you and your family. Here's hoping that your recovery is like a flat stretch of road with a strong tailwind.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
People You Meet On A Trail In Iowa
Let me preface by saying that I am NOT a people person. Sure, my job entails "taking the specifications from the customers to the engineers," but I was raised in out in the country where the nearest kid my own age (save for my little sister) was about a mile of gravel road away. Social interaction and small talk is a chore for me -- I sort of know how normal people converse, and I can fake it, but it takes some effort. How I wound up married is one of the greater mysteries of my life, as most women are put off by my system of pre-verbal grunts and rudimentary sign language. I can only assume my wife is some kind of Jane Goodall wannabe.
As a result, I tend to keep my cycling pretty solitary. I like going out there alone, getting lost in my own head, and relying on whatever's in my saddlebag should something go wrong. On the off chance that I'm faster than someone else on the trail, I can manage an "on your left", and if (okay, when) someone's faster than me, I can grunt something resembling a greeting. I don't usually go further than that, but if I do, I try to make it a policy to say something nice about the other person's bike, because a) bikes are one thing I can talk about with some level of coherence, and b) I firmly believe that everyone should think their bike is cool.
Some days, that policy of "compliment the bike" can get rough. After the twentieth identical Trek goes by, you start to run out of things to say. "Nice... um.... skewers?"
Today, not so much.
I was taking a break at the turnaround point of my ride when an older chap pulled up on a bike that looked pretty ordinary out of the corner of my eye... silver road frame, modern components, whatever. I gave the obligatory "how's it going?" and took a better look. That's when I saw the Vanilla logo on the downtube.
Me: (double take) "Wow, nice bike!"
Him: "Oh, thanks. My son-in-law made it for me."
Me: (triple take with cartoon "ahominahominahomina" sound effect) "Your son-in-law is Sacha White?" (Before you ask, yes, bloggers DO speak in hyperlinks. It's very awkward, what with all the "a href" tags.)
Him: "Yep, he married my daughter."
Me, in internal monologue: Could you please adopt me so I can have an incredibly talented framebuilder as a brother-in-law?
So I'm in the middle of nowhere in Central Iowa chatting (as best as I can) with Sacha White's father-in-law. Go figure. I gave the bike a more detailed ogling and definitely saw the trademark Vanilla stuff... fancy V cutouts in the dropouts, a stunning flat-crown fork with tiny integrated Vanilla logos, and some seriously elegant lugwork set off with just a hint of yellow detailing to match the decals. I know Vanilla has a reputation for some pretty over-the-top show bikes with a lot of bling, but this frame really showed Sacha White's eye for classic, understated beauty. It certainly wasn't a vanilla Vanilla, but nothing jumped out as a "hey, look at me!" detail. It just all fit together. Plus, its owner described it as amazingly comfortable, "perfect for an old guy."
After we went our separate ways, I couldn't help but imagine an entirely fictionalized version of the conversation that led up to that marriage: "So, youing man, you say you'd like to marry my daughter?"
"Yes sir."
"And you say that you build bicycle frames?"
"Yes sir."
"I'm not sure how I feel about that. After all, how much does a framebuilder make, anyway? How do I know you'll be able to take care of my daughter?"
"I thought you might wonder about that, so to show you what I can do, I made this for you." (Pulls out the amazing silver frame)
"Welcome to the family, son!"
To his credit, he was very complimentary toward my giant Jandd saddlebag, even going so far as to ask where he could get one like it, so I rolled away from the encounter feeling like my bike was cool too.
Even if it was just a "nice... um... skewers" moment.
As a result, I tend to keep my cycling pretty solitary. I like going out there alone, getting lost in my own head, and relying on whatever's in my saddlebag should something go wrong. On the off chance that I'm faster than someone else on the trail, I can manage an "on your left", and if (okay, when) someone's faster than me, I can grunt something resembling a greeting. I don't usually go further than that, but if I do, I try to make it a policy to say something nice about the other person's bike, because a) bikes are one thing I can talk about with some level of coherence, and b) I firmly believe that everyone should think their bike is cool.
Some days, that policy of "compliment the bike" can get rough. After the twentieth identical Trek goes by, you start to run out of things to say. "Nice... um.... skewers?"
Today, not so much.
I was taking a break at the turnaround point of my ride when an older chap pulled up on a bike that looked pretty ordinary out of the corner of my eye... silver road frame, modern components, whatever. I gave the obligatory "how's it going?" and took a better look. That's when I saw the Vanilla logo on the downtube.
Me: (double take) "Wow, nice bike!"
Him: "Oh, thanks. My son-in-law made it for me."
Me: (triple take with cartoon "ahominahominahomina" sound effect) "Your son-in-law is Sacha White?" (Before you ask, yes, bloggers DO speak in hyperlinks. It's very awkward, what with all the "a href" tags.)
Him: "Yep, he married my daughter."
Me, in internal monologue: Could you please adopt me so I can have an incredibly talented framebuilder as a brother-in-law?
So I'm in the middle of nowhere in Central Iowa chatting (as best as I can) with Sacha White's father-in-law. Go figure. I gave the bike a more detailed ogling and definitely saw the trademark Vanilla stuff... fancy V cutouts in the dropouts, a stunning flat-crown fork with tiny integrated Vanilla logos, and some seriously elegant lugwork set off with just a hint of yellow detailing to match the decals. I know Vanilla has a reputation for some pretty over-the-top show bikes with a lot of bling, but this frame really showed Sacha White's eye for classic, understated beauty. It certainly wasn't a vanilla Vanilla, but nothing jumped out as a "hey, look at me!" detail. It just all fit together. Plus, its owner described it as amazingly comfortable, "perfect for an old guy."
After we went our separate ways, I couldn't help but imagine an entirely fictionalized version of the conversation that led up to that marriage: "So, youing man, you say you'd like to marry my daughter?"
"Yes sir."
"And you say that you build bicycle frames?"
"Yes sir."
"I'm not sure how I feel about that. After all, how much does a framebuilder make, anyway? How do I know you'll be able to take care of my daughter?"
"I thought you might wonder about that, so to show you what I can do, I made this for you." (Pulls out the amazing silver frame)
"Welcome to the family, son!"
To his credit, he was very complimentary toward my giant Jandd saddlebag, even going so far as to ask where he could get one like it, so I rolled away from the encounter feeling like my bike was cool too.
Even if it was just a "nice... um... skewers" moment.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Still Retro-MTB Obsessing
Now that I've finally outed my unquenchable thirst for that old-school, all-rigid mountain bike aesthetic of the late 80s/early 90s, I can't help but pick it apart. It's the curse of having been to graduate school in a liberal arts field: You can't just "like" or "dislike" something, you have to analyze (in stomach-churning detail) exactly WHY you "like" or "dislike" that thing.
For retro mountain bikes, I think it's the way that their underlying shape never seems dated (I know, talking about "underlying shape" ignores the twin elephants in the room of hideous 80s paint jobs and 90s anodizing. My blog, my dodge.) Take, for example, this Bruce Gordon Rock 'n' Road Tour EX. Admittedly, it's not really a mountain bike per se, but it's an example of a 26"-wheeled all-rigid bike you can buy in 2009. You don't have to squint much to see the direct lineage back to the brief era of late-80s drop-bar mountain bikes like the '87 Bridgestone MB-1 or the '89 Specialized RockCombo. And even though the Gordon in the photo is probably 10 years old by now (just judging by the vintage of its XT parts), it wouldn't look out of place up against today's Surly Long Haul Trucker (which owes a lot of its genetic code to Bruce Gordon's designs), save for the whole threaded/threadless steerer difference. Similarly, you could fire up the flux capacitor and send an '09 Novara Buzz V back to 1993 without freaking out the trail riders of 16 years ago with your crazy future bike. Heck, they'd probably call you retro for not having a suspension fork!
My more-purist pals on the iBOB list will claim the same sort of timelessness for a lugged road frame, but my eye doesn't see it. I really like the '71 Raleigh International I got from pal Steve, but it obviously comes from another era. Modern "frilly lug" designs (like those from Rivendell) strike me not as proof of the "timelessness" of that aesthetic but as desperate attempts to get back something that's long gone. And modern "Raleigh" (scare-quotes intentional) -- with its retro logos, 70s color palette, and sprinkling of Brooks leather eye-candy -- looks like a room full of marketers trying to add scratch-and-sniff "authenticity" to yet another lineup of generic imports.
I'm also willing to admit that maybe these preferences are just because I bought into the "rad, cool, extreme" marketing when I was an impressionable youth and never gave it up. Hey, my sacred cows tip over just like anyone else's!
For retro mountain bikes, I think it's the way that their underlying shape never seems dated (I know, talking about "underlying shape" ignores the twin elephants in the room of hideous 80s paint jobs and 90s anodizing. My blog, my dodge.) Take, for example, this Bruce Gordon Rock 'n' Road Tour EX. Admittedly, it's not really a mountain bike per se, but it's an example of a 26"-wheeled all-rigid bike you can buy in 2009. You don't have to squint much to see the direct lineage back to the brief era of late-80s drop-bar mountain bikes like the '87 Bridgestone MB-1 or the '89 Specialized RockCombo. And even though the Gordon in the photo is probably 10 years old by now (just judging by the vintage of its XT parts), it wouldn't look out of place up against today's Surly Long Haul Trucker (which owes a lot of its genetic code to Bruce Gordon's designs), save for the whole threaded/threadless steerer difference. Similarly, you could fire up the flux capacitor and send an '09 Novara Buzz V back to 1993 without freaking out the trail riders of 16 years ago with your crazy future bike. Heck, they'd probably call you retro for not having a suspension fork!
My more-purist pals on the iBOB list will claim the same sort of timelessness for a lugged road frame, but my eye doesn't see it. I really like the '71 Raleigh International I got from pal Steve, but it obviously comes from another era. Modern "frilly lug" designs (like those from Rivendell) strike me not as proof of the "timelessness" of that aesthetic but as desperate attempts to get back something that's long gone. And modern "Raleigh" (scare-quotes intentional) -- with its retro logos, 70s color palette, and sprinkling of Brooks leather eye-candy -- looks like a room full of marketers trying to add scratch-and-sniff "authenticity" to yet another lineup of generic imports.
I'm also willing to admit that maybe these preferences are just because I bought into the "rad, cool, extreme" marketing when I was an impressionable youth and never gave it up. Hey, my sacred cows tip over just like anyone else's!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Outstanding New Bike-Nerd Interweb Discovery
I have a new bike geek Web obsession.
It's called Disraeli Gears.
No, not the Cream album of the same name, although the site credits the story behind that album name. This is -- brace yourself -- an entire site devoted to one man's collection of rear derailleurs. But don't let the site's humble subtitle -- "A derailleur collection" -- fool you. This is no mere handful of common chain-movers. From old to new, bizarre to commonplace, there must be HUNDREDS of them in words and photos -- I tried to count and gave up. The site's author, Michael Sweatman, has a real passion for the rear derailleur and a true gift for turning phrases and telling stories. Sweatman pans one model by comparing the act of shifting it to "stirring porridge with a tennis racquet." Another model gets tongue-in-cheek praise for its urine-colored finish.
The gauntlet is thrown down on the site's home page. You know you aren't dealing with just another Campagnolo Nuovo Record fetish site (although Campyphiles will get their jollies here too) when the first image that confronts you is the absurdly wonderful three-pulley Suntour XC. The breadth of the collection is mind-blowing, from pull-chain plungers to the boat-anchor "Schwinn-Approved" Shimano GT100 knockoff of the Huret Allivit to the iconic Shimano M735 XT to a pink plastic Ofmega Mistral with matching pulleys. Even though the author is painfully aware of the aesthetic and technical shortcomings of many of these models, he seems to love them in spite of -- or sometimes because of -- their homeliness or clumsiness.
I think what I'm finding most endearing and enjoyable about the site (after reading everything from Altenburger to SunRun) is the voice behind it. This is no dry regurgitation of technical specs and model hierarchies. Sure, you'll get technical information along the way, but the technology just a framework for some entertaining writing. Take, for example, this laugh-out-loud introduction to the long-cage Dura Ace 7700 GS:
Finally Shimano gave in to the inevitability of having to sell its top-of-the-line groupset to fat middle-aged men who want low, low gears. The introduction of the Dura-Ace 7700 GS indicated that the portly wallets of portly gentlemen counted for more than the alluring image of speed, youth and fitness that Shimano had carefully cultured for Dura-Ace over two and a half decades. It was a triumph of beer-fueled reality over EPO-fueled fiction.
Outstanding.
So, if you think you know a lot about rear derailleurs, I dare you to get over to www.disraeligears.co.uk and see how many you recognize. I'd be willing to bet that even the most die-hard, Berto-worshipping, Sheldon-Brown-memorizing bike nerd will find at least ONE model they've never seen before, if not entire BRANDS that they've never heard of.
Don't believe me? Then how many different Chinese manufacturers of Shimano Tourney knock-offs can you name off the top of your head? And can you tell a LandRider Auto Shift from an AutoBike SmartShift 2000? And (warning, impending Beavis and Butthead moment), did you know that Shimano once made a not one but two styles of derailleur called the Pecker?
That's what I thought.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish reading Suntour to Zeus.
It's called Disraeli Gears.
No, not the Cream album of the same name, although the site credits the story behind that album name. This is -- brace yourself -- an entire site devoted to one man's collection of rear derailleurs. But don't let the site's humble subtitle -- "A derailleur collection" -- fool you. This is no mere handful of common chain-movers. From old to new, bizarre to commonplace, there must be HUNDREDS of them in words and photos -- I tried to count and gave up. The site's author, Michael Sweatman, has a real passion for the rear derailleur and a true gift for turning phrases and telling stories. Sweatman pans one model by comparing the act of shifting it to "stirring porridge with a tennis racquet." Another model gets tongue-in-cheek praise for its urine-colored finish.
The gauntlet is thrown down on the site's home page. You know you aren't dealing with just another Campagnolo Nuovo Record fetish site (although Campyphiles will get their jollies here too) when the first image that confronts you is the absurdly wonderful three-pulley Suntour XC. The breadth of the collection is mind-blowing, from pull-chain plungers to the boat-anchor "Schwinn-Approved" Shimano GT100 knockoff of the Huret Allivit to the iconic Shimano M735 XT to a pink plastic Ofmega Mistral with matching pulleys. Even though the author is painfully aware of the aesthetic and technical shortcomings of many of these models, he seems to love them in spite of -- or sometimes because of -- their homeliness or clumsiness.
I think what I'm finding most endearing and enjoyable about the site (after reading everything from Altenburger to SunRun) is the voice behind it. This is no dry regurgitation of technical specs and model hierarchies. Sure, you'll get technical information along the way, but the technology just a framework for some entertaining writing. Take, for example, this laugh-out-loud introduction to the long-cage Dura Ace 7700 GS:
Finally Shimano gave in to the inevitability of having to sell its top-of-the-line groupset to fat middle-aged men who want low, low gears. The introduction of the Dura-Ace 7700 GS indicated that the portly wallets of portly gentlemen counted for more than the alluring image of speed, youth and fitness that Shimano had carefully cultured for Dura-Ace over two and a half decades. It was a triumph of beer-fueled reality over EPO-fueled fiction.
Outstanding.
So, if you think you know a lot about rear derailleurs, I dare you to get over to www.disraeligears.co.uk and see how many you recognize. I'd be willing to bet that even the most die-hard, Berto-worshipping, Sheldon-Brown-memorizing bike nerd will find at least ONE model they've never seen before, if not entire BRANDS that they've never heard of.
Don't believe me? Then how many different Chinese manufacturers of Shimano Tourney knock-offs can you name off the top of your head? And can you tell a LandRider Auto Shift from an AutoBike SmartShift 2000? And (warning, impending Beavis and Butthead moment), did you know that Shimano once made a not one but two styles of derailleur called the Pecker?
That's what I thought.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish reading Suntour to Zeus.
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