Perhaps its the leaves on the ground or the roadies in Central Park, but I'm longing to get out into the forest. The city has a lot to offer, but I feel like I need the soothing blanket of leaves under my tires on an autumn day. I'm not exactly sure if I've been infected by mountain bike fever, or if I'm just restless.
I've set up the Spicer in a new 'City commuter hybrid' mode for now. Summer is over, so its time for fenders and a brake. I can't really justify the risers though, other than I wanted a change. They're cut to about 46cm wide, which is just wider than my bullhorns, the only difference is that a plastic bar end cap is the first point of contact, instead of my hands. Regarding whether or not they're versatile, I did a 50km ride to Orchard Beach yesterday, and suffered no discomfort.
Speaking of City bikes, the winner of the City Racks Design competition has been announced. I tested these racks out a little over a month ago, and am happy to find that one of my 'finalists' made the cut. Congratulations to Ian Mahaffy and Maarten De Greeve. Hopefully NYC will find a reliable manufacturer of these racks, and have them on every block soon.
I'm sick of hearing stories of signposts bent down to the streets. I want to ride where the signposts aren't.
3 climbs of the Stanley Park hill. Bombing the North Shore, again. This is becoming a regular Tuesday thing. The Marinoni is back on the road. Today's 72km was apparently how long it takes a new low-end Shimano freewheel to break in. Friction shifters are all out of adjustment, but it rolls fast.
To celebrate the Marinoni's triumphant return, I'm thinking about installing a second top tube (those are all the rage these days), and calling it The Lions Gate Bridge. Seriously, though, I think the bike deserves a nicer stem/bar combo; the question is: Japanese, or Italian?
Liquid Ice hangs in the air. CABC0308 has lied to me. 5°Centigrade my ass.
There's frost on every car, and the asphalt sparkles under the streetlights. The air is heavy, and it permeates my sweater. Standing to power up a hill results in a loss of traction.
I nearly collide with a stealth cyclist in John Henry's park. My lights don't seem to reflect off anything. Cars, signs, the Prostitute at Gladsway. They've all got a thick matte finish of nearly frozen condensation.
All six windows of the Corolla behind me are opaque. It seems to be navigating by my LED alone. Stalking me in 2nd gear. I wonder what would happen if I turn off my lights.
Normally the fog density is inversely proportional to one's altitude. Not today. Its thick all the way up until the south slope. ..and I only notice because I realize I can see the infared cameras on the corners of the new McMansion.
I get paranoid about flat tires. I would hate to have to remove my mittens in this.
I'm almost at operating temperature by the time I have to slow my descent
The story of the human-machine connection is not an unfamiliar one; our relationships with bikes are forged over many miles in the saddle. As natural as this sounds, becoming connected with a bike and one's every day rides is an often overlooked aspect of riding. Occasionally, the connections are disrupted, and may take a considerable amount of effort to rekindle.
Long before I broke my collarbone, the Sekine was already having appendage-related issues. The original fork's steerer tube was bent from a winter of 700cmx. Its rehabilitation was arduous, but eventually resulted in a Craigslisted low-clearance fork paired with a nice Shimano 600 brake from Mark's stash. I was excited to ride the bike that took me so comfortably through my first winter of bike commuting, with a steepened head tube angle that I thought I wanted.
My high school shop teacher, Gord Gaudet, always used to say "Thought thought he farted but he shit his pants." Well, that statement couldn't be more true in the case of the Sekine. The new fork has favourably quickened the steering, but at the cost of a much more forward riding position that just isn't as comfortable as it used to be. The bike is still rideable, but it doesn't fill the ultra-comfortable fixed-touring niche that it used to live in.
Now that I've given you the context, let's go for a ride. This morning's commute was more eventful than average. I've been straight-shooting it lately: Victoria to Broadway to Fraser. When you regularly ride the same route through the river of conveyance, certain spots stand out - the rapids of the river, if you will. These spots may exist due to topography, infrastructure, or traffic patterns; the fun part is discovering the resistance - least or otherwise - of each path. All of these are interrelated, and weather comes into play as well.
For the topographic variable, the Vic-Bro-Fra route has three big climbs: Broadway from Clark, and two on Fraser from 20th to 25th and 28th to 33rd. A couple highlights of the infrastructure are the bike/bus only lane on Broadway and the deep dump truck tire grooves South of Fra-Kings. Car traffic is slow on Broadway and fast on Fraser. Today's weather: Overcast, 100% wet, but not raining at the moment.
After filtering through the usual backup at CommBro, I closely followed a car through the intersection at Woodland. As we had just passed through an intersection in a bus only lane, I felt at liberty to give him a hearty "What are you doing?" as I passed by his open window. Then, coming up to Clark, the right lane was too packed with buses to filter up. I took the left line and noticed Ryan, resident brace-face, trackstanding behind the buses on his newly assembled Goldilocks.
The frame is spray painted gold, and I can't decide whether it reminds me of a worn out pair of American Apparel lamé shorts, or a gaudy lawn ornament. The lime green fork and stem, topped with the season-appropriate riser bars, have me leaning toward the latter. After a well-executed moving handshake, we flowed up the hill on Broadway.
Ryan, standing up and hammering on his new bike, paced me up the hill as I stayed seated on the Sekine. Though he may have been mile 200 of a double century, I maintain that riser bars are terrible for hill climbing - this coming from a guy who did Mount Seymour on Nitto B123s. A hoonish left turn at Fraser left Ryan to continue to his orthodontist appointment.
I rolled up to 12th Avenue just as the light was changing. In front of me was a performance commuter, who was awkwardly half-standing as his full-suspension Infinity appeared to be absorbing the grooves in the intersection with the agility of a K-Car on blown stock shocks.
At Fra-Kings, there was a lineup of at least five vehicles in the right lane, and only one in the left. One of those five was a full-size garbage truck, which I was not particularly interested in being behind. I chose the left, and ended up riding the gnarliest section of Fraser - the one with the huge dump truck grooves - in the left lane beside a garbage truck. Then, the car ahead of me decided it was turning left. Into the draft of rank stench I went, as the lack of head wind sucked me even closer. I got out and around the truck again when it made a right turn.
Trackstanding at 25th was the first time I stopped on the ride. With a few moments to reflect on the preceding events, I had a relaxing final stretch before beginning my day at work. Seems like business as usual at Project-B.
Looking back, the Sekine was the first road bike that ever fit me perfectly. With a solid, yet forgiving ride, it was a great winter commuting-slash-adventuring bike. I now have the steep track bike that I wanted - which rides more comfortably than the Sekine in its pants-shitting current state. The now-clichéd phrase "stiff, yet compliant" is a feel the bike had, and has lost the latter part of since the fork swap. Conclusion: it needs to go in for a second surgery.
Also on the topic of disrupted connections, the Mielgeot is currently down with a broken rear axle. Ironic, considering the Miele frame's tall bike destiny was decided upon discovery of a broken rear axle. Without getting into the story of how perfectly that bike fits me, I will say that I'm very much looking forward to commuting on it again.
Dethklok's Toki expresses the uncertainty of our ongoing experimentation, saying "we such screwups that he would be sewn back together wrong." Fortunately, we're dealing with bikes, which can be taken apart and sewn back together right if things don't work out the first time.
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.
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