It's a good thing Gastown Sprints is on March 17, or you'd have to tell your co-workers that you didn't give a shit about St. Patrick's Day even though you likely have more Irish blood than their grandparents.
If we can get 8 people in on the beer sprints this time, we can have our own mini-elimination pyramid! Tell everyone, and put it in your calendar now. Beer Sprints with ProjB, 8pm at the Astoria on March 17.
Down at the monthly Gastown Sprints roller races people show who's got the most leg speed with zero resistance. As I work better with resistance, I wanted a grudge match with my buds and here it is. Finish your beer before you can finish the race. This was way more fun than getting beat by chicken-legged hipsters, and good for the crowd as well.
I'd like to put out a public word of appreciation for Moses, the man behind the action. He worked his ass off starting this thing up last year and only recently got hooked up with the good people at Cycles Lambert, who are now throwing down prizes every month and making our roller races as lucrative as alleycat racing. It's a format that anyone can participate in, it's indoors, and even if you don't stand a chance to win, you can still race your friends and risk throwing up.
Thanks Nate for the photo. Remember that time I beat you in a race with resistance? Oh yeah. Moses bet on me!
Much shit has been flung. Many nights of blind drinking. A few lost bikes. Camaraderie. There are a lot of stories to tell, though we can only get to so many. I'm happy to announce that Camilo has finally put his parody blog live.
Some more photos of the man himself from our Washington Tour, which we have yet to fully sort through and put up a good writeup. Maybe the ProjC blog can help. Glad to have you around, Project-C.
When you go to another city, you've got to do some things their way. This is one thing you might want to do in New York: take any Spinergy wheels you find, and put them on a mountain bike that's being ridden on the sidewalk. It's gotta be safer than actually riding them.
On the topic of bike safety in New York, Lyle and I took the day off to convert our track bikes to tarck bikes. I wanted to be able to ride in my Sal 23s, and that ain't happenin' with spd pedals nor toe clips. Rather than risk the Jeff Curry in New York, I've put on a brake to complement the Jim C pedals from Lyle's Megatron. We're also changing gears to give the Vallie cog threads a few more cycles.
Doing as Romans, however, is not what we're doing in the following photo. You see, despite what impression the fluted columns overlooking the Hudson River at Inspiration Point may give you, we are drinking novelty-sized PBRs in a public place. That's just not something you do in New York.
Rhiannon, now resident in New York for over eight months, shows us how to do as Romans in Times Square. You see, the overwhelming majority of people there are tourists.
And while you might think that this scene is a result of our friends in Oregon, it is in fact in Rome. Imagine that.
In my last post the Sekine looked like this: fresh profile bar tape on 42cm ergo drops and a 90mm stem, with Tektro levers and "euro" brake setup. Cockpit adjustments are underway, after some riding on varied terrain.
The first test was one beyond the limits of most cyclocross wheels. Scaling the edges of the rocky east shore of Slocan lake, the main objective is to avoid pinch flats. I see this as punishment for my having dropped out of New Brighton on much less treacherous ground. "Diligent" is the necessary riding style, tire pressure somewhere less than the 65psi that comfortably took me to work and back two days prior. The sentinel, Beckham, adds another degree of unpredictability to the equation; he's fast, but likely to bolt into the woods at any point.
It's difficult to determine how a bike fits on jagged rocks. All I can say is that riding along the narrow trail, the vertigo-inducing rock bed on your side is not confidence inspiring. With your brakes switched left-right, even less. I'm not exaggerating the intensity of this trail, which makes it all that much more amazing that my mom rode it on my aunt's Brodie in May. Getting back to the current ride, though, we made it into New Denver with only one poop-on-the-tire incident.
The purpose of this trip was to see Peter Roulston, who runs the Bicycle Hospital in town. During the summer, Peter opens for business two days a week, while taking appointments beyond that. He has a basic stock of Norco catalogue bits, bins full of odds and ends collected over the years, and a couple of used bikes ready for sale.
Talking bikes with Peter is enjoyable, and he was intrigued by my franken-conversion. The unusual part I requested was a bottom bracket (or freewheel) spacer, but it turned out that a threaded equivalent was all he could provide. While probably a couple mm wider than I needed, the freewheel side of the spare KHS wheel had a ton of thread to spare.
After buying a tube and two bottom bracket lockrings from Peter, I headed back along the lake trail with spirits high. He had also told me about a route to seek out, up the next glacial valley to the south. I wonder if I'll find anything like this steep mining cart track, which I stopped to have a look at along the way home - in the past two decades, these tracks have gone from recognizable to almost-ruined. And on the devastation track, I lowered the tire pressure a few blasts and slammed a rock shortly after this photo was taken. While somehow avoiding the New Brighton pinch flat fate, a new gouge was added to the front rim.
Back at the house, I fired up a Bialetti and got to thinking about fitment again. The hoods do feel pretty far away. The answer to this question might end up being interrupter levers, as Lyle so aptly mentioned in his comment to the last post. The reason for this inclination is how much larger this bar setup is than my last comfortable setup on the same bike - 80mm stem and 39cm bars. That's 10mm of reach and 1.5cm of width on each side, plus the extended hoods of the wannabe-brifters. (This begs a measurement of the still-assembled Marinoni.) I haven't fitted a flat bar mountain bike in a while, but this is effectively simulated with interrupters and wide drops.
I bored my family with longwinded explanations about gear ratios while switching the rear tire to the second wheel and installing the 18 tooth freewheel. The bottom bracket lockring leaves lots of threads, and alleviates the spoke head interference which had prevented the freewheel's pre-trip installation. The bearings in this hub - quite possibly an original from Camilo's stolen-in-SF Flite 100 - are reassuringly better set than my other "race loose" wheel.
With 55psi in the tires, I headed north on the rail grade down to lake level, and had a Pilsner on the beach in Rosebery. Beckham's unpredictable gallop is bigger challenge when he's got gravity on his side; I was topping out the new 60" gear trying to stay ahead of him. There are a couple fun singletrack sections at lake level, where the trail diverts from the rail line temporarily. On the way back, I took the dog to school. I actually lost him. Apparently 40/18 is a good gear for climbing rail grade.
Changes are afoot. I took today off riding to do some work around the house, but also did some as-yet-undeclared adjustments on the bike. Tomorrow I plan to ascend a new valley, from the other town on the lake, Silverton.
The MC3 ride started out like any other, except for one thing. The turnout was INCREDIBLE. There was probably 150-200 people at the start. Lots of freakbikes, commuters, bmx's and fixies I was stoked, and nervous. "All these people are going to watch me hurt myself."
The ride headed west on National, and we decided it would be in our best interest to get to the spot ASAP to have time to practice and get set up. Once the ride rolled in, we knew we wouldn't be able to hold them back from rolling through the loading dock area. The crowd was just too big. I've never seen so many people at that spot.
Without a megaphone, Morgan had to address the crowd at full volume. Trying to explain the format of the jam. 10 minutes, anything goes, whoever lays down the best trick gets the prize by way of crowd vote.
I kept it low though, mildly airing the lip, abubacas on the bank, and a whole lot of failed 270° tire tap alleyoops. 10 minutes of non stop shredding is tough. I was faded by the end of the second song, and eventually it seemed like I couldn't land anything.
I was able to stomp Nick's bike a bit with my front tire, after he hung it up on the rail. One close call with Ryan too, other than that it was all smooth. I kind of just focused on the concrete, and tried not to hear the collective gasps each time I dropped the bike and ran.
When it was all over, the crowd picked Skylar as their favorite. No surprise there really =] He took the specially decorated bottle of Projekt-Whiskey, and really appreciated it. I think it was the burley 360 over the rail that did it.
It should also be noted that Camilo, Leo, LeoMike and a random kid on a BMX all took a hit or two at the bank on their respective rides. 700cmx.
When everyone was packing up to leave, I watched tall Paul ride his tallbike through the lot, and snag his derailleur in his spokes. Since his bike must weigh 50lbs, and he was towing a trailer of beer, the derailleur had no chance, around it went, and down Paul went. In true Proj-B fashion, we helped him get rid of the derailleur, and singlespeed his bike on the second cog. Not the straightest chainline, but he'd be able to go MC3 speed, and tow that beer. We caught up with the pack right at Granville.
Next up were the BCCLettes, and a whole lot of security. Leanne spoke with them diplomatically at the start, and must have assured them that there would be cute girls dancing,.. because in a few minutes, all the building's security guards were gazing towards the enticing swirls of red and black. They did La Bicicletta, with more people than I've ever seen, and it looked great. I missed the next one though, apparently it was a bit more interpretive.
Next we headed to the upside down church, where Megan Rose did some crazy looped up acoustic numbers. Though plagued with technical difficulties, I think she did alright.
After that was Kablamo. Now, I like capes, and I like the idea of riding around in them.. I don't like Orwellian chants though. I also don't like mock religious ceremonies that end in tomato fights. ..neither did all the people that gathered up front to watch this so called 'performance'.
We then took the seawall and rolled to the entrance of Lord Stanley's park. This was hilarious as a convention had just gotten out, and there were droves of suits walking on the bike path.
The brakes are getting their moves down. Tight choreography for sure. Special cameo by Morgan. I drink. Alison and Andy smoke. Leg is noticeably sore.
...and into the dark we go, West on Lee's trail. The 'clearing' I expected was not so much a clearing, but a spot where the soil had been trampled. I stood around that party socializing for as long as I could, before determining I had to ride home.
A brief stop at Engrish bay to lighten Morgan's load, and we rolled east to the drive for pizza. Another successful MC3 ride will ride on in my head for weeks to come. ________________________________________
I actually missed the triathlon Sunday morning, but did spend the day rollin around main. (its too bad cause I could use some carbon wheels) We hit the new shop SUPER CHAMPION, and checked it out. Nice enough guys, good boutiquey atmosphere. Prices seem reasonable for the stock they've got.
So as I'm gearing up to go over to Leanne's and eat all of her food, Morgan "Drift King" Tsaylor rings me, and he's all hepped up on some n+1 business because he bought a new BMX, and I think he's trying to offer up his old tank as some kind of compensation for getting scooped on the GT. He sounds like he's been into the tall cans:
"Dude, do you realize that there are people who actually just get on these bikes and do jumps and shit? Like, they're not breaking any parts or hurting themselves or anything - they just ride the fucking things?"
Damn, son. If I even look at a bike with 3-piece cranks these days, my body involuntarily shuts down and I wake up rocking back and forth in a corner muttering to myself about bottom bracket shell standards. So yeah, the ol' wrist ain't doing so well. It's been a rough couple of weeks, and having a veiled offer of an indestructible 20" hackmobile (with pegs!) waved under your nose after losing out on a $300 track bike isn't making it any easier.
It's a rugged life, son. It's war out here in these streets. Burrard St at full chat dropping down northbound past triple-seis last week. Nitwit pedestrian steps out into the bike lane between two parked trucks. Car in the lane to my left, nothing but door on the right. Of course, when you ride with a bunch of random hoons, one learns to watch for the quick leg-twitch and react accordingly: quick metal-on-metal bark up front to scare the shit out of him and set up the weight transfer for a full lock on the rear. Hip-drift onto the grease strip, breaking traction for just the sweetest, neatest little Scandinavian Flick six inches into the left-hand lane and another flick back to the inside because if the juice is flowing, I am coming down that hill like a wolf on the fold. Like fucking plague. Captain Trips, son. M-O-O-N spells "Get money."
Sunday, though, we were all Tom Boonen. And B-O-O-N-E-N spells "owned." Sure, maybe you didn't get to bring home the Queen of les Classiques, but it was mos def one hell of a dance, and everybody got to come home bloody, dirty, and drunk. And on Sunday, Mr. Boonen rocked quietly back and forth on the Grandview Park polo grounds, and tried to piece together just how it all went down. Something about taking a moment to compliment Mr. Luciano (the hardest-working man in show business) re: a fine last-minute wheelbuild from Rob, and then borking it not five minutes later via a kamikaze derby run at Kelly. And making her cry. Work bike vs. polo bike. Comedy wins. Mavic Open Sport and short-term memory lose.
Except that out sur la pave, Tommy Boy is getting the first ever custom-molded bicycle frame to accommodate 13mm worth of back discomfort, and out on these streets, kids can't even get a muthafuckin' dental plan. Shit, some of the hardest female riders in this city are wrecking themselves because they can't even get a frame that fits.
How can you be bitter, though, when guys like The Artist Formerly Known as Nagasawa Mike are screaming "PACK-A-GESSSSS" at you in the elevator; or when Bun Guy appears out of nowhere just as the bonk is coming down; or when you get stopped out of the blue to show off your Midnight Mass emo-button for a Momentum Magazine photo shoot; or when Skylar gets screamed "EYYY! FUCK-A YOU, AH!" on him within seven minutes of leaving the house for a breakfast hoon run out to the Drive?
Or when you're three knuckles deep into the smoothest, juiciest run ever, and the Asian chick smoking a blunt in the black AMG is checking you out and bumping this shit as you lock up:
My roof back, my money rides I'm on the pedal, show you what I'm runnin' like
Steady on that grind, son.
More shit from the B-Tionary:
Pick-n-roll:
Timing your turns so as to keep a vehicle or pedestrian as a barrier against oncoming traffic. Shields up, Mr. Sulu!
Pump-n-dump:
BK1 cheque delivery to a junior mining firm of dubious credibility. Cashout-n-dashout. A good 30% of these offices are shuttered by the time I get there, and I can only hope that their officers and directors had the good sense to break out like Stuart O'Grady to a non-extraditable country before the hammer drops. I suspect that in some instances, I've made it mere moments in advance of the process servers.
HOT BIEK RACE ACTION THIS SATURDAY. BRING INTERNET MEEPING AND A TALL CAN TO CRAB PARK AT 4:20PM. For the record, my race strategy is "Don't fucking hang out with Wendell, Skylar, Leanne, Tara, or Kelly the night before, you fucking degenerate, and maybe you won't be dry-heaving at the starting line this time around."
MORE HOT RACE RIOTS SATURDAY SATURDAY SATURDAY APRIL 5TH! BURNABY VELODROME 3-DAY! BEER GARDEN, CHEAP EATS, HOON SHIT, KASEY SPINS ELECTROQUEER MAKEOUT, SOME OTHER DOODS SPIN HIP-HOP AND FUNK!
Stay tuned for more sporadic alcohol-fuelled updates: the long-procrastinated Project-B winter gear review wrap-up; gettin' dirty with MEC, Park Tool and Filzer; the unkindest words we've pretty much ever had to say about a cycling product since fucking BioPace; and the finest in girl-girl makeout action that the internet cycling press has to offer. As always, somebody gonna get-a hurt real bad.
My kill ratio for the last month is averaging one wheel per week, and the MC3 ride/travelling circus attracted just under 60 boozehoons - and it's only fucking April.
Yesterday had it all: Project Breakfast; a solid wrenching session at Lyle's with Brandon's new POOOOK (sexy crown, yes) as special guest star; the best damn Americano I've ever had; pre-noon tall cans; porchbeers with Kelly (who is now the new Skylar not by virtue of BMX prowess but by virtue of me stealing beers from her Chrome); the MC3 ride deteriorating into alcohol-fuelled hoonery before even departing the GZBOH; non-BMX things breaking by virtue of being ridden like BMX things; the calling of footdown derby; and Camilo's bike being recovered by none other than the vigilant eyes of Mr. Paul Artel.
Mood: fly Music: Thirstin' Howl III & Rack-Lo: Lo Down and Dirty
First of all, the Margaret Charles Chopper Collective (MC3) will be having their monthly ride this evening. Meet at the Gazebo at 6:30 to get your freakbike on. This ride will finish at a Costume Party, show up for details. Bring a costume (like a walrus mask). Be fun or die.
Throughout the weekend will be the Winter Bee. Come down, attend a workshop, tune up that filthy ride. I'm doing two workshops on Saturday. Brakes and Security.
Sunday afternoon, if you're not still fixin' your bike, you should go see You Never Bike Alone. Its a documentary on Vancouver's Critical Mass rides.
Time: Sunday 11th February, 2pm (doors open 1pm) Venue: Pacific Cinematheque, 1131 Howe Street, downtown Vancouver Tickets: $8 ($6 for Moving Pictures members)
ATTENTION! Y'all best be worried. PROJ3KT-B reppin' all over the place today at OPERATION MEOW and BIKES INSIDE!
Haley, NickB and I got our mini-training on Thursday. We did a good 10km of minicore action. Mini-drops, mini-jumps, minice, mini-pipez, we're ready for whatever mini-shit you hit us with.
Everyones been warnin' me bout the checkpoints too. Talkin' smack, sayin' how we are gonna get mini-worked. I'm not scared. Bring it on. I've done basic training at C.F.B. Duncan biatches! Field combat exercises, target practice, pushups in the mud, wilderness survival, climbing rope, all that shit. My gun is clean and ready to fire.
Morgan has also been training for tonights fixie trick comp. Just a bit of what is in store:
N1ck has been up in Skidgate mall, workin' the liquor store to hooks everyone up with some Pilz-Cube^3 action for Checkpoint #1 PROJ3KT-B33R PR1M3Z!!!1.
I've been coffee-wrenching on the PROj3KT-B TEAM VEHIKILLZ all mownin' SO YOU KNOW WE SERIOUS!
TOP SECRET SPY SHOT: If ya don't know whats goin on in this pic, then you gonna find out at the race.
LATEST UPDATE 14:35: N1ck: Word from Lauren is that the Rev forgot his ID and they had to drop him from the peloton. Portland crew is in Seattle, might be delayed.
LETS HOPE THE ZOOBOMB CREW CAN BOMB THROUGH THE BORDER TO BATTLE OUR MINIBIKE ARMY ON CANADIAN SOIL!
Oh yeah, we're kicking in a beer prime to the first one in to the first Operation M.E.O.W checkpoint because we love Midnight Simon, K8T-J, and unsanctioned bicycle racing in all of its wheel diameters. Something on the order of a dozen or so, maybe a Pil cube if we're feeling flush. Pin it out of the gate, kids, because Morgan likes to take beer primes, and if he wins it, I'll just end up stealing them back out of his Chrome. Pretty much a win-win situation all round.
Shoutouts to Gordon "Prayer Warrior" on Velolove, and Adam/Jackie/Tara/Rob for further scandalizing the local cycling community last weekend. On that note, please do take a moment to vote for Donald's Lawn Chopper on the Feeg.
A journey into the mindset of four multi-disciplinary bike nerds. Riding dirty, breaking shit, fixing it, nerding it out, styling it up, passing it on, and arguing about it on the Internet.
