The Bike Shop And The Bell Curve

The travesty of my last post is finally fixed -- a shiny new bar-end shifter now graces the right end of my bars. On a 1x8 setup, the slight asymmetry is admittedly a little weird, but it sure beats that Dremeled debacle I was sporting before. Plus, there's just nothing quite like the snick-snick-snick of an upper-tier Shimano index shifter/derailleur combo hooked up with a new, lubed cable. Heaven.

The process of acquiring this shifter has me thinking about the state of bike shops today, though. I wanted to buy the thing locally just to make my life easier: drive to the shop, pick it up, slap it on and go. Problem is, 8-speeds (and bar-end shifters, for that matter) are all but defunct on new-from-the-box bikes... and the bread-and-butter of most local shops seems to be new-from-the-box bikes and the stuff to make them go. There just isn't a compelling reason to waste inventory on stuff that the "cutting edge today, obsolete next week" bike industry has cast aside.

I called and/or stopped in to a few of the closest locals, but no luck. To their credit, they all offered to order the shifters, but having been in the business, I know that we're in the off-season, which means that the orders don't actually get called in to the distributor until the shop accumulates enough backlog to make it worthwhile. If you're lucky, you get your part in a week, assuming the shop remembers to call you (yeah, I screwed that up a few times in my shop days) or hasn't lost the scrap of paper with your number on it (ditto). Plus, the price I was quoted was on the high end of the MSRP, probably reflecting the nuisance factor of a special order part in the off-season (and rightfully so, I should add).

I went home and did some browsing on this magic tube-based technology thing called The Internets (it's apparently new). I found my ridiculously archaic 8-speed shifters in a matter of seconds, placed my order, and had them in hand just over 24 hours later... for LESS than the shop special order would have cost, even taking into account the shipping costs. Bike shops, I love ya, but I don't know how you're going to compete with that.

So is the bike shop just reserved for the fat part of the bell curve these days? The shopper who just wants what's new and would rather junk an old bike than fix it? What becomes of the rest of us, the "shadow bike world" of retro-grouches, duct-tapers, and people who keep getting by on stuff from last season (or in my case, the last century)?

I guess I should be glad that we have this magic tube-interwebs thing, but every once in a while, I think (okay, whine) to myself, "Where's MY bike shop?"

Winning Ugly

I'm not proud of this hack. In fact, I'm only documenting it here in the hopes that going public will shame me into never trying such a thing again.

The 12-year-old bar-end shifter on my main ride finally crapped out. Wouldn't shift worth a darn. And before the chorus of Rivendellian Luddites (Luggites?) chimes in with, "Just switch it to friction mode," that wasn't working either. Each shift wavered between pure indexing, pure friction, and some mutant hybrid of both. I couldn't find a gear to save my life. The thing had done its time and was telling me to let go.

Now, your average biker-guy will either a) use that as an excuse to buy a new bike, or b) purchase/order the correct replacement part and move on with life. I chose neither.

NO, because ordering the CORRECT replacement part is too EASY. Instead, I picked up a 3x8 set of RapidFire Plus shifters (because I'm still in the dark ages of 8-speed rear cassettes... pity me) from a bike shop clearance pile and figured, "I'll make THESE work instead!" Besides, they were so cheap, it was like buying the cables in the kit and getting the shifters for free. How could I go wrong?

Time to go into Sheldon Brown mode (may he ride in peace). Handlebars have a few different diameters. Your standard road bar is going to be 23.8mm diameter at the ends and either 25.4mm, 26.0mm or (heaven forfend) 31.8mm in the center. Your standard flat bar is going to be 22.2mm at the ends and 25.4mm or (again with the fatties?) 31.8mm in the center. So something designed for a flat bar (like, say, for instance, a RapidFire Plus shifter) will fit a 22.2mm diameter. And yet I left the store with every intention of jamming said 22.2mm diameter shifter onto a 23.8mm diameter road bar. In my defense, I was an English major.

My (soon to be proven faulty) hypothesis was that the clamp seemed to have enough material to do a bit of low-budget Dremel machine work, thus giving me the World's Only Drop-Bar Bike With RapidFire Plus (WODBBWRFP). So when I got home, I fired up said Dremel and set to work hogging out some aluminum. And it WORKED! Until I tried to tighten the now-23.8mm clamp over the 23.8mm bars and snapped it like the pop-can-thin aluminum that it was. Ugh. Good thing I got those cables in the kit, because this cheap shifter just became an expensive paperweight.

But, being unable to accept failure (and with the Dremel still warm), I had a bit of a break from reality. Next thing you know, most of the clamp had been "machined" away (along with the gear indicator), and I was digging through the parts boxes, cackling like a maniac. A few bolts, a rubber shim, and an old reflector bracket later, and voila!

Do not try this at home. No, really. 

That's right, baby. You're seeing the WODBBWRFP in its natural habitat! You can identify the beast by the following distinctive characteristics:

• It's ugly as sin.
• The shifter isn't particularly stable on the bars.
• The guts of the shifter are probably doomed to premature failure since a major chunk of the dustcover had to be surgically removed.
• Honestly, the shifter was pretty much crap to begin with since Shimano has knocked 8-speeds down into their lowest component castes*.

But dammit, the thing shifts for now. And can you say you've ever seen anything like it? Here, take in the glory of the WODBBWRFP from the front:

The horror... the horror...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to order some bar-end shifters. Fast.

*That would be Shimano Altus, which -- in a bizarre alternative universe where advertising couldn't lie -- would be marketed with one of the following slogans:

• Altus: Disappointing Cheapskates On Mountain-Bike-Shaped Objects (MBSOs) Since the Early 90s.
• Altus: Just Like Tourney, Except You Can't Buy It At Wal-Mart. 
• Altus: If This Were A Road Group, It Would Just Get A Number Instead Of A Made-Up Name. 
• Altus: Because Alivio Sounds Vaguely Dirty.

Lights Out, Wax On

I've actually started to bore myself with all the light reviews, so I thought I'd move on to something even more dull-yet-contentious: chain maintenance. One of the older ways to clean and lube a chain is by dipping it in melted paraffin wax. Now, there's all sorts of back-and-forth in the Interwebs jabber-space about the effectiveness of wax as a lube, and I do not want to go too far down that path. I'm just presenting this as a "how to" in case anyone wants to give it a whirl and see if it works for them.

The first thing you need is a dirty chain and the mechanical aptitude to get it off your bike:

Next post: How to clean a filthy bike, apparently.

 Easy enough, right? You probably have one of those in your possession already, or else you would have moved on to another blog by now. Note that mine has a shiny SRAM Powerlink in it that lets me take the chain off by hand -- a nicety but not a necessity. Just get that chain off of there however you need to.

The next thing you'll need is a slow-cooker (more common branded moniker: Crock Pot) and some paraffin wax:

I'm melting! Melting... melting...  

I would strongly, strongly suggest that your cooker be 100% dedicated to chain maintenance and not (repeat, NOT) reused for foodstuffs. If the crust of dirty wax blobs on mine doesn't convince you of that, I'm not sure what will. You don't need a huge one -- 1 quart is plenty, and those tend to go on sale cheap around back-to-college time (I think I got mine for $10). They're also plentiful at thrift stores. If you research chain waxing (because if you've read this far, I suspect you're a big nerd like me), you'll hear all about double boilers, cans you melt on the stove, yadda yadda yadda. Don't bother. Why risk waxing your stove, setting your kitchen on fire, making a mess, or enraging someone who lives with you? Just get a cheap slow cooker and be done with it.

As for wax, I get mine at the local grocery store (in the canning section) for around $3 a pound. Not bad compared to the nutty prices those little 4 oz. bottles of magic chain goo cost at the bike shop, right? Paraffin is also available at beauty supply stores (apparently, people dunk their hands in it), but you pay a premium for the same stuff.

So, you have your pot, you have your wax, you have your dirty chain. You'll also want some stirring/grabbing gear -- I use an old spoke and a pair of Vice Grips that can be set to gingerly hold the chain without squeezing or marring it. You'll also want a bit of safety gear... at least little eye protection and a pair of work gloves. Call me cautious, but being scalded and/or blinded by hot wax isn't my idea of a good time.

Now, let's wax! Step 1, throw wax in pot as shown above. Step 2, turn pot on HIGH. Step 3, put chain in pot:

Chain chain chain, chain of fools...

I've let the wax get completely melted before dunking the chain, but it's not necessary to wait. I've also threaded my old spoke through the side plates and roller of one of the opened chain links (the spoke head won't pull through)  so it will be easier to fish the chain out later. Step 4 is to wait for the wax to melt and let the chain soak.

Exciting stuff, huh?

Having fun yet?

You can go stir it around with the spoke if you want.

Thrilling, I know.

Look at the bright side: You now have a new simile for boredom to go along with "like watching paint dry" and "like watching grass grow."

Okay, so once your wax is completely melted and covering the whole chain, leave it in there for a while to cook all the gunk out of the nooks and crannies. Stir every once in a while if you're the sort of person who feels like you need to participate. I usually leave mine in for 30 minutes to an hour.

Next, the delicate extraction operation. Got your gloves and eye protection on? Good.

The clock radio doesn't lie: Time stops while waxing. 

Carefully lift the chain out with a combination of your old spoke and some sort of mechanical grabbing device (pliers, tongs, whatever) letting the excess wax drip back into the pot (or if you're a slob like me, all over the sides of the pot and the workbench). Let it cool until you can just touch it without going "OW OW OW OW OW" and reinstall it on the bike. If you let it get really cool, the wax hardens and makes the chain tough to thread through the derailleur. Spin the cranks a few times, wipe off any excess drips/flakes with a rag, and you've done Mr. Miyagi proud:

You'd think someone could have cleaned the bike 

while waiting for the wax to melt... 

Turn off your pot and call it good. Once the wax re-hardens, you can pop it out of the pot and scrape the gunky layer off the bottom of the wax cake if you want. I find that it doesn't tend to re-deposit on subsequent waxings (you can use the same pot of wax again and again and again), so I don't usually bother. At some point, I intend to get fancy and add a mesh screen/basket to my pot so the chain isn't sitting in that settled gunk, but I haven't been that motivated yet.

Some notes on wax as a lubricant, since I'm sure I'll hear about it:

• It's lousy in wet conditions. Washes off quick and provides no rust protection. I generally switch to something wetter (and dirtier, unfortunately) in the winter.
• Your chain will probably get noiser faster. A couple hundred miles is when mine starts to sound bad. The wax still seems to be working, it's just not damping chain noise the way a gooey lube would.
• There is nothing cleaner than a waxed chain. Nothing. I don't care what the magic chain goo salesmen tell you. A chain that's seen only wax can be grabbed bare-handed without leaving a mark. This is great for bikes that get thrown into cars or live inside apartments/houses, especially if those cars/apartments/houses don't belong to you.

And finally, a chain waxing haiku, just because I wanted to use the pun "waxing poetic":

Melted paraffin

swirls in waxy rivulets
cleansing my chain links. 

You're welcome.   :-)

Lighting Up The Phone Lines

The flood of responses (both on-blog and off) to my last post would seem to indicate that a) more people read this thing than just my wife, and b) those people are more interested in bike lights than my wife is. So, I'll pander one more time at the risk of boring my better half. Sorry, honey!

Several people mentioned that either they don't have a Costco near them or their Costco doesn't have the light that received such high praise. I don't see it on the Costco website either, but a helpful reader from the Internet BOB list found what appears to be the same light with slightly different cosmetics. I can't say for sure if it's the same, and I can't vouch for the site, but there you have it. And, to sprinkle some link juice on that helpful reader, he's the brains behind the Bicycle Geometry Project, a database of road bike geometries over the years. Had a bike you loved and want to compare it to a different bike? The BGP might be able to help. Just want to geek out on bike geometries? The BGP can definitely help.

It seems like everyone has a favorite light, and as the suggestions rolled in, it dawned on me that I hadn't really put down my criteria for these tests before I started. So in no particular order, here's what I find important in a light:

• Self-containment: I've done the "lamp on bars, long wire to separate battery pack the size of a cinderblock" thing. Not going back to that.
• Replaceable batteries: No rechargeable battery lasts forever. When it's finally used up its charge cycles, I want to be able to buy a replacement at a regular old store and pop it in there without firing up the soldering iron.
• Common battery size: This goes along with "regular old store" above. No weird cell sizes, please. If the corner convenience store doesn't have it, I don't want it in my light (a lesson I recently re-learned... more later).
• As long as I'm griping about batteries, use an even number please: So many lights use three cells (usually AAAs). It's not a deal-breaker, but my charger holds four. Add in two for my tail light, and I have to run two cycles to get everything juiced up. It's why I keep trying to love the 2 AA-powered offerings from Planet Bike.
• Less than $100... much less, if possible: The emitters in these things seem to be leapfrogging each other in output every few years. Unless you're going to offer me an LED upgrade at a reduced price (and I know some companies do), I don't want to drop large coin on almost certain obsolescence. Even my test lights have to be cheap since I'm buying them with my own bucks (though any manufacturer who wants to ship a megabuck, megalumen kit my way for a test is more than welcome).
• Reliability: No connections that jiggle loose, switches that fail, mounting brackets that crack, seals that let in water and short-circuit the electronics, etc. A metal case  is preferred, since I ride in temps that aren't always plastic-friendly. Bottom line, I want to know that as long as I have juice, I have light.
• Decent run time: I don't ride all night, and I don't intend to start. Just give me a few predictable days of commuting (2-3 hours of darkness) at full oomph and we'll do fine.

Having said all that, here's an update on the winner from my last post. With universe-defying casual hubris, I said, "The Achilles' heel on this may be run time... I haven't used it for enough consecutive days to know for sure." I can now say that yes, run time is something to be aware of with the Formerly Perfect 2 for $20 Light (FP2F20L) -- not a tragic flaw, mind you, just something to keep in mind. Yesterday morning, about 15 minutes into my commute, the low-battery light started flashing. "No worries," I thought. "I'll just switch to low power to save what I have left." About thirty seconds later, I was in total "who flipped the switch?" darkness. "No worries," I thought. "The moon is out, so I can still see the trail... the trail that suddenly feels very soft under my tires... I wonder why the surface would have changed like... OH CRAP! I'M NOT ON THE TRAIL! I'M IN THE VERY DARK WOODS! AND I KNOW THERE'S A CREEK AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!"

I did manage to bring the vehicle to a stop without becoming an unintentional duathlete, and I was able to ride very gingerly to a convenience store just a couple blocks off the trail for some fresh AAAs (see "common battery size" above) -- and in the light's defense, those rechargeables had been running on high for just under two hours total when they gave out. Still, the "low battery light" that I was so happy to have? Not much of a feature, really. It would be like a low fuel light in your car that came on right when the engine started to sputter on fumes.

This little hiccup gave me pause, but it hasn't changed my overall assessment of the FP2F20L all that much. It still beats all challengers in my stash for brightness and beam pattern. It would be nice to get more time on a charge, and I'd rather run 2 AAs instead of 3 AAAs, but I'll manage... and not just because I don't want to futz with those hose clamps again.