Overcoming some deep-seated snobbery.

The first bike shop I worked in was just a corner of a hardware store. Our clientele wasn't particularly interested in the minutiae of tubing butt profiles, chromoly versus aluminum, Shimano's complex and arcane product hierarchy, and the like. So I learned quickly to point out visible differences between different bike models that would justify the difference in price from one to the next.

One easy marker (at least in the late 1980s) was wheel retention: the cheapest bikes had bolt-on wheels front and rear. Spend a little more, and you'd get a quick-release front wheel - which could be sold as "easy to remove so you can fit the bike in your car." Another rung up the price ladder got you quick-releases front and rear, which made flat repair so much easier - a dubious value proposition when most people brought their bikes to us to fix their flats, but at least it was a visible thing I could point to.

For those who weren't impressed with wheel retention, I'd turn to pedals. The cheapest bikes had all-plastic pedals. Further up the line, you'd get plastic bodies with metal cages. And the good bikes would have pedals with both metal bodies and metal cages. Now that we're in an era where all bikes either come without pedals (under the assumption that the buyer will add their own favorite model of clipless pedal) or come with those cheap, all-plastic pedals as test ride placeholders, it's hard to believe that pedals could actually be a selling point, but there you have it.

That formative experience has left me as a bit of a metal-pedal snob, though. So it's a bit surprising that my main steed is now wearing these:

What can I say? The supply chains are weird these days, I'm a cheapskate, and I wanted something big, thin, light, and concave, so I put aside my anti-plastic bias and gave these Tioga Surefoot Slims a shot since they seemed to tick all the right boxes on paper. Too soon to give a full, definitive review, but I like them after a few rides. We'll see how they hold up after a few months under my paddle-feet.

The best Shimano cantilever brake that Shimano never made.

I know that declaring the "best cantilever brake" in 2021 is not unlike announcing the best dirigible (insert "oh, the humanity!" joke here, unless 84 years later is still "too soon" for that), but I'm going to yet again make a bold-yet-outdated pronouncement and call this the BEST CANTILEVER BRAKE EVER:

What you're seeing is a Shimano BR-M550 (a.k.a. Deore LX) brake (or more accurately, half of it) from the early 1990s, brought out of the Age of Grunge with some modern brake pads (the modern-ish straddle hanger is just there because I was too lazy to put something else in its place). So what makes this thing so great, you ask? (Humor me and ask, or I'll just pretend you did.)

1. Medium-profile geometry. If you want to go deep down the cantilever brake theory rabbit hole (hey, I don't judge), there still isn't anyone who's done it better than the late, great Sheldon Brown. But for those who just want to finish reading this list and get back to their corn flakes, a medium-profile brake is easy to set up while offering scads of power and modulation from both flat-bar and drop-bar brake levers.
2. That little pad upgrade. Shimano was SO close to perfection with these back in the early 90s, except that they hadn't figured out the now-ubiquitous threaded-post brake shoe hardware (that would come with V-brakes around 1995). Instead, the brakes came with these comically fat pads (seriously, they're like a caricature of a brake pad) with awkward and insufficient toe-in adjustment (as an annoying bonus, the choice of pad and hardware also made these brakes somewhat intolerant of little details like varying rim width or cantilever post spacing, likely because this was when Shimano thought it could bend the entire industry to its will and mandate such dimensions). Dump those, throw in some modern pad holders (I'm using Tektro holders and Kool Stop inserts), and you've made a brake that was already easy to set up laughably easy.
   
3. Shimano's good stuff. These babies were made in Japan when the Japanese bike parts makers were absolutely at the top of their game, and it shows. I do have a soft spot for modern Tektro cantilevers, but you can install one brand-new from the box that has more play in it than this 30-year-old LX. Is it a little heavier than it absolutely needs to be? Maybe. But when you pair the brick-shitehouse construction with the precise tolerances, all your squeeze goes into stopping rather than flexing or squealing. That's worth a few grams in my book.
4. No respect. I don’t remember anyone being enamored with these back in the day (likely due to the foibles mentioned above), and they haven’t seen a huge growth in popularity since (though I’m sure this post will cause a run on them). The vanishingly small subset of people who convert vintage touring bikes from 27” wheels to 700c report that they work great with the narrow post spacing on some of those bikes, but otherwise, these are seen as parts box detritus - which means you can snap them up on the cheap.
5. Not-stupid design. Why for the love of all that is good and decent do so many modern cantilever and V-brakes not open up all the way when you undo the straddle? Is it that hard to design a brake that lets the pad clear the fork blades and seatstays? What's the point of a brake that clears a super-fat tire if you can't get that super-fat tire past the brake pads without deflating it when you try to take the wheel off the bike? Do I have any more rhetorical questions? Could I possibly just illustrate this point with a photo instead?
   

Shimano has tried to recapture and improve upon the 550 magic a few times in the three decades hence, most recently with a couple (now discontinued) CX-series models, although those used yet another oddball style of pad mounting hardware. So if you want the good stuff, head (safely, please) down to the local bike co-op and dig through the boxes for some crusty cantilevers of yesteryear.

This again?

Yep, back like a bad check. Because nothing's more timely and cutting-edge in 2021 than... a blog. (I considered TikTok, but if you've seen me dance, you know that's a terrible idea.)

Rather than offer a tiresome explanation of where I've been and what I've been up to (because I think we can all agree that nobody needs a rehash of the last few years), I'm just going to try to pick up where I left off, boring all six of you with my increasingly outdated and curmudgeonly look at obscure bits of bike stuff. In short, I'll be writing about things that entertain me, and if I happen to entertain or inform you along the way, well, that's just grand.

All good? Then buckle up, because it's going to be a yawn-inducing ride.

Outsourcing Strikes The Cycle

It's about time to turn this dusty corner of the internet over to another one of my beloved (because he ain't me) guest reviewers. This time, it's long-time Internet BOB member, known cycling sartorialist, and the man who's never met a steel frame he couldn't improve with a ball peen hammer and a hacksaw, Patrick Moore. I sent Patrick a sampling of my Leg Shield booty so he could put it through its paces in the desert climate of Nuevo Mexico and see how it fared compared to here in Iowa. But enough of my mindless circling the airport... take it away, Patrick!

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When I opened the package and first saw it -- bright yellow -- I laughed. It reminded me so much of the greaves of a medieval knight, or even better, of a cast for a broken tibia. Although I've often thought that puttees should make a comeback to protect one's pants while riding in dirty conditions, this thing seemed in comparison to the old fashioned metal spring "trouser clips" that used to hang by the cash register at every bike shop huge overkill, yet compared to puttees or spats they are too short to protect more than your ankles. I debated between "insufficient" and "overkill" and finally decided on the latter. You don't, I thought, need something this elaborate to keep your pants out of your chain.

But I did try it. I often ride the 7-8 miles to church in civilian clothes, and recently I've been wearing a $16 pair of Target "khakis" made  from nylon. Don't laugh; they look better than they sound, and they are much more comfortable in the saddle because they don't bind and chafe as cotton khakis do. They have 80% of the looks and none of the discomfort. The nylon is well woven and sturdy; it doesn't pill, and it doesn't bag. And they cost $16.

But the fabric has a more slippery hand than cotton twill, and my trouser clips slip off after a mile or less. The reflective ankle band supplied by the same company, which I used on my left leg, slipped off after 1 1/2 mile. But the Leg Shield stayed on. And, the Leg Shield was easier to attach: its tall and full shape helps gather the fabric when you strap it in place. 

I rode 7 miles to church via our sandy acequia (irrigation ditch) roads -- this is NW Albuquerque, where the pre-Colombian and Hispanic-era irrigation system diverting water from the Rio Grande is still very much in use, with the ancient water laws still in place under the independent water authority. The system of ditches and sluices extends the length of the state and, in the Albuquerque area, I've read that there are some 600 miles of acequias an associated paths and roads.

The Leg Shield went on easily, without having to fight to fold the fabric underneath; it stayed in place for the distance; and it kept even slight traces of acequia trail dust off my hems. It does work. I ordered a second from Amazon. Black, this time.

The company's ankle bands are wholly undistinguished; you can find those things anywhere. I didn't even bother with the wrist band, after at first trying to attach it as an ankle band and wondering why it was so short. But the Leg Shield, as risible as it is, is worth at least a look.

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So there you have it, folks. Big thanks to Patrick for classing up the joint, teaching me the very apt word "greaves" (praise be to my MFA, I already knew "risible"), and making me wonder how I've thrown words at this blog for so long without finding an excuse to mention sluices.