In 1903 the Wright brothers flew for a few seconds in a heavier than air craft of their own design. They worked outside of typical aeronautics thought, reworking and recalculating established thought. The wooden propeller they developed, hand hewn from laminated wood, was 83% efficient. Modern Propellers, the most advanced among them, are a mere 2 percent more efficient. The Wrights had no computer models, no expensive wind tunnel testing facilities. They were just bike mechanics from Ohio with some spare time on their hands.

In the early days of the century, racers looked down on 3 speed hubs and derailleurs with pulleys. It was thought that the bend in the chain and the rotation of the pulley wheel added friction (with requisite loss of efficiency) to the chain. 3 speed hubs, with their complex internal workings, were indeed less efficient than derailleurs, although they certainly had advantages including a straight chain-line, sealed against the elements, no derailleur to snap off. Fortunately this paranoia of friction had some good outcomes: the invention of the quick release (to change cogs in the back by flipping from one fixed gear to another) and time. Time for the tourists to perfect and explore the concept of multispeed shifting without the undue influence of racing.  Racers in those days prized simplicity and low friction over all other factors.  They were willing to sacrifice ease of use, smooth shifting, and even low weight in this quest for the cleanest, slickest (friction-wise) and more durable gear changing equipment.  This often lead to ridiculous shiftering systems like the Campagnolo Paris Roubaix, the Vittoria Margeita, and the Egg Super Champion.  In fact, there were numberous durable, low friction derailluers on the market, being used by tourists daily.  These cyclotouriste derailleurs saw a range of conditions, and endured incredible distances.  The Cyclo Standard was used on four and seven thousand mile tours, with only oiling and adjustments needed.

Interestingly, hub gears have regressed in efficiency over the years: pre WWII Sachs 3 speed hubs, lubricated with oil have an efficiency of around 95% averaged across the 3 speeds. Contemporary hubs are about 3 percent less efficient. Oddly, the Rolhoff, with its precision machining, is only 88% efficient on average. (Berto, The Dancing Chain: 351-352)  This is mainly because of the sheer number of planetary gears it contains.

Tourists, from say, 1900-1985, knew another established fact of efficiency that has been lost to contemporary cyclists: Bigger cogs are more efficient. The current trend towards eleven and twelve tooth rear sprockets not only prematurely wears chains down (and cassettes and chainrings by default) but also has an adverse effect on efficiency. 12 tooth cogs are 2-3 percent less effiencent than 14 tooth cogs. This is why the old french tourists ran 14-16 tooth cogs as thier smallest cogs in the back.  The current micro-drive rage has come to its logical conclusion in the world of the BMX drivetrain.  Eight tooth cogs and 22 tooth sprockets are the norm on contemporary bikes, and the resulting strains on the chains is seen in the ridiculously overbuilt chains that are needed to withstand the added stress.

you might have thought it was the 1st of May not the 1st of October?

Not the driving snow, but the fact that as I ride home from work, the beer distributor is pumping fresh beer into the pubs from a tanker truck the same size as the ones they deliver fuel in to the city center stations. I think that guys is there like 2 or 3 times a week.

a really big czech keg

On the ethics side of the wooden nickle, Carbon bikes can be lugged.  Aluminum bikes can be lugged.  Aluminum can be bonded to carbon via lugs.  If we were DJs, this would be called a mash-up, culling what some might consider the best attributes of various construction techniques into a unified whole, while retaining distinctive parts of said whole.  However!  We are not DJs, we are serious investigators on a serious path.  Thus-for, we must coin a new word.  A bike that employes a variety (not a hybrid, we will approach these monsters later, big stick in hand) of construction techniques and materials (must be both) is an example of the mash-fab technique, phrase whose etymology resides in the hands of two artists and a number of rail shots of tequila.  Further reading on said etymology found here.

Mash-fab bikes differentiate from bikes where the lug is aesthetically hinted at, or visually aped, the express purpose of such being to (as Walter Benjamin would put it) cull some of the Aura of the lug.  Hybrid (Morphologically speaking) bikes generally employ tig welded tube junctures with carbon tubes bonded inside of the tig welded tubes.  The most extravagant example of this is the Titus Exogrid.

Faux lug shore lines seek to capitalize on the collective value theory based consciousness, as well as the collective notion of beauty and craft.  Lemond perhaps started said trend when he sought to bond carbon OCLV half triangles to Reynolds Steel.  The juncture was mildly stylized, resulting in a highly bland lug inspired shore-line.  Consumers were very drawn to this brutish juncture, even though it offered none of the advantages of the lug construction method.   Nor, as far as I can tell, do the Titus or Jamis versions, to name a few.  Indeed, lest we forget:  ‘A lug is a socket that forms the junction between two or more frame tubes.’  So speaketh Sheldon Brown, God Rest His Immortal Soul.  Ethically we cannot even refer to these designs as lug-like.  They are luggish! Joan Miro painted Child-like paintings.

A fourth grader paints childish paintings:

Ergo, lug stylings are not to be regarded on the same ethical plane as lugs.  Luggish bikes are an ethical affront to the contemporary lug master.  The engraving, tube cutting, and painting of lug inspired graphics cheapens the original work.  For example:  every commercialized copy of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa erodes the intent of the original.

And now that beaded curtain from that show Dharma and Greg:

Some one’s candle:

And an asinine T-shirt:

What does this do FOR the original work?

Ethical lugs = real lugs.  Impostors need a new word to describe their ‘inspired’ erosion of a traditional, yet highly evolved artistic industrial craft socket.

Sram shafts Super Randonneurs and tedious tweed touting tourists with wacky wonder shifter.  The new, portlier, uglier, and less ergonomic shifter adds another nail in the coffin for those who know how to shift the righteous way.  Friction of course.  Fabulously faultless and finely fine-tunable, friction is rejected by racers who refuse to reap the rewards of rebuildable and reliable shifting.  Obviously the only ostensible application for an ass-backward assemblage as this is tri and time trial travesties trying to trump the next chump’s cacophonic collection of Chinese carbon chintz.  (and to coin a colloquialism: chintziphenalia)  Riders rocking righteously ridiculous skin suits and specially situated suck stations (tri geeks holla) clearly cant concentrate on shifting when skin suit style is paramount.  Tri geeks titilate and tempt me into malovent mockery.  Paying to purify prodigioiusly lubricated chains.  (its already clean mate!) Shelling to shed sinfully slothful training tires for tubulars and titanium ten speed cassettes.  Spending cheddar to chamoix and cherish the carbon chintz, chain ring chines, and chain chamfers.  Time is nothing to a tri geek.  Prestige and proper poise propped up by perfect coifs and pedicures.  Underarmor undulates unsolicited in immoral ways.  White rimmed sunglasses speak silently about certain sidelines.  The tri time trialist take tradition and twists it to a technological terminus.  Real riders roll on, hording harems of hardly handled simplex and suntour and shimano six hundred shifters.  The charlatans who cartwheel over compatability and contextual cooridnation for convenience and contemporary con-sensus continue cajoling without carterwauling press to convince consumers to the contrary.  Carbon crap continues to cash in, function loses to form and fashion, tourists keep touring.

Sorry I havn’t written for a while.  Maybe this makes up for it.

So anyway, it’s fun to ride to work in a big city.
People commute to work on full on downhill rigs.
And on tricked out XC bikes, and your normal dimestore turd.
It’s pretty funny actually watching the cute girl on a Woolworth bike pass the big burly dude, all with Prague castle in the background.

OK, anyway back to work.
Go ride your bike!!
-cory

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so we had a super good turn out for the scramble.  dave got points for driving the furthest to get here.  phil got points for riding a bike that would give a cory townie a run for its money (crappynesswise).  way to many people showed up on fixed gears and kicked ass on them.  joe, jay, john (sort of) jason and phil were all punished the roads with their insanity.  there were, if i recall, 9 flats, 4 of which happened to Rob and two of which happened to Damien.  Is that right?  Or were there more?  We made it home before blinky lights were needed, but not by too much.

Dave took pictures, which he hasnt posted on Flickr yet, so did John (same thing) but Joe has some up here.

I hope everyone had as good of a time as I did, pain aside.  That said, I rode the next day and felt 90 percent OK.

I want to not feel OK next time.  I want to be groveling on the side of the road.  To that end, I propose a mega monster ride for october.  That gives you almost two months to lay off the sauce and ride a bunch.  We could split the ride over two days, but where’s the suffering in that proposal?

I’m thinking sort of an expanded dirty sugar ferry ride, to include much more dirt and plenty of more excuses to get flats.  there would be no singletrack, but just alot of farm roads and potholes.  120 miles.  It’s totally doable.  We’d have to start early, and we’d definately end after dark.

here’s a link to the proposed ride route.  

Go ahead and call me crazy.  There will mad amounts of dirt.  Or you will be mad about the amount of dirt.  Check it against the dirt road database.  There is more dirt than pavement, almost. I’d say at least 40 solid miles of dirt.  Let’s say October 26th for now.   Image from last year’s Ferry Ride here.

Maybe someone knows someone’s yard we can sleep in down that way.

By the light of the day the pimp’s yellow ochre suit is plain beige. The rotting wooden trailer out front is the same emerald green as the swing that sat under the willow tree for years after the willow had blown down in a windstorm, 15 feet from the porch where I slept, dead to the sound of the willow tree’s instant death. Now, 10 years later, a small willow grows from the base of the old tree’s trunk. The porch swing became art, the emerald green lending is patina to pieces about Abraham Lincoln and satellite radio. Memories are traded for cash and endorsed checks.

The porch furniture caught in the amber are invisible behind the dirty off white curtain, the illusion reserved for night rides only. The snake smell is just musty now, like a mouse dead in some remote corner of the house, reduced to powder and bones. There are no competitors out today, just the wind, heavy and high, pounding through every turn, making even the steepest downhills into high RPM chores. The splinter in my foot throbs on difficult climbs. The wrong foot placement could lead to a limp leg, as the pain shoots to the kneecap and saps it of structural strength. The lapis lazuli cascade has 3 kids playing in it, 2 teenage moms watch, bored. Not 6 years ago they were playing in that same stream. Now they just it watch it go by, the sparkling water holds no more interest than the latest congressional race, or the biker passing by, observing their life for 3 seconds at 27 mph.

I’m building miles slowly. Today I rode to school, and back, 6 miles total, and then my short local loop, 8 miles, then to the Giant, 3.5 miles, and then I’m heading back to school, 6 miles again, riding home in the dark at 11 or so. I’m eating a spoonful of ice cream a day, and loads of salad and grainy bits. I’m drinking lots of room temperature water, and extra fiber English muffins. My sweat has cooled to a dry powder on my forehead.

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A tale of two one point fives:

I have an idea, its not mine and I don’t remember who said it, but Sean’s recent comment brought it to mind again, and I’ll put the two thoughts together to make one newish thought.

I was always told to hold my handlebars loosely, like they were 1.5 times bigger than they actually are. This way, the bike and rider could react to bumps, and small directional changes, and still sort of auto–pilot its way through stuff. In other words, a loose grip actually meant more control, less wasted energy, and a more ‘ready for anything’ stance. I took this bit of wisdom and applied it. I loosesed up and found more control, less fatigue and more power for my legs, that otherwise would have gone to my hands and forearms. I could ride rigid and not be beat up. I could ride skinny tires off road. I could descend really nasty rocky stuff with crappy brakes and be ok. I ditched my fat oury grips and got big cheeze grips. They were smaller and harder, making it easier and more nessesary to loosen my grip. On my road bikes I switched from cork to cotton. Same deal. I can ride for dozens of miles and not experience numbness or a sketchy front end, because of how I hold my bars.

Instead of increasing headset diameter on road bikes (and don’t think its not coming to mtn bikes, or comfort bikes) why dont we re-teach this old chunk of wisdom. Let’s trade 1.5 inch headsets for theoretical 1.5x larger diameter handlebars. We could start by getting rid of all that gel tape nah nah, and foam pad hooo hoo and get people riding cinelli tape, or medium density stella or (gasp) cloth.

This would also expose undersized bikes, and poor riding positions. Lots of gel and saddle cut-outs do wonders for hiding bad bike fit. Its a win win situation. Really.

all of those thoughts stem out of me sitting here, next to mel (well she got up for something, oh a shot of slivovice, which stinks like medice, thanks cory, medice from 1932, in its original bottle. she’s back now, and reading the newest reader, with her tea and shot of czech booze. and i am looking at those cranks, which, sharp looking as they are, manage to look clunky next to my lyotard Berthet pedals. made of stamped steel, these pedals are somehow bigger, more comfortable, curvy, and lighter than any quill pedal out there, and their hollow stamped windows and swoopy lines remind me of a late 1930s roadster more than any other pedal i can think of. they look like they were drawn using a set of french curves, by a designer who only looked at war time alfa romeros. only alfa romeros didnt look that swoopy when the berthet pedal was invented in 1923ish. they make the otherwise super elegant sachs cranks look like overkill, huge cold forged arms, fat low pro spider. of course even these look lighter and more svelt than new campy stuff. outboard bearings never did anything positive to a bike’s aesthetic, which, i like to think is at least partially why sean goes through all that trouble to hide them. those ridges on the outside of the bearing shells (for external bbs not the vertigo ones) are cool like those sun shade visor things you see on the back windows of 85 iroc-Zs and mustangs. FLASH: they are called sun louvers, which makes them even more lame sauce in clown town, to combine a sean-ism and dave-ism. FLASH: mel just turned off the celtic music. thank god.

I recently picked up a cycling magazine that wasnt the reader, to prove that i keep up with the contemporary world madness of our times. in it found such treasure like 1.5 inch headsets for road bikes (ok they really didnt need to move beyond 1 inch, ok threadless if you are that guy, but 1.5 inch? functional advantages: now you and your bike can look like you dope. claimed advantages: stiffer front end for more positive cornering. now, i have to provide a disclaimer here: i’ve never ridden at 60+ down a huge mountain on a more or less perfectly smooth road on a course that has been precleared for obstacles. but i have descended down sketchy dirt roads at over 45 mph with a one inch threaded headset, a nitto stem with tons of quill showing, and 39cm wide bars that are over 40 years old, with centerpull brakes, and never once, not once, was i aware of, or concerned for front end deflection. and i am fatter than those racy dudes, and carry at least 10lbs in my handle bar bag. if anyone should feel it, it’s me. so it is at this point that i officially say: stop it. just stop it. stop it, please stop it. its gone beyond making me mad, it actually makes me tear up. i’m not planning on having kids, but this is the madness that future children will be born into. a culture that thinks of threaded steerers like you and i think about bushing chains: little if at all.

i was out riding today, just before dinner, a 12ish mile loop that takes me up some steep hills so i can get my singlespeed legs back on. i was riding my witcomb, traditional sized tubing, 1980s race geometry, 40cm bars, cloth tape, wheels that cory had on the second worst bike in the world, one speed. i was having an ok ride, not moving as fast as i was last night, when i saw the holy grail: two cyclists up ahead, roadies, climbing out of the saddle. catch them. that’s what to try to do. lately, my shape has been such that that would have been a pipe dream. but i sprinted, hard, and caught them, and blew past them, nicely, with a comment about the nasty headwind but the nice temps, and then tried to hold my lead. i had to beat them up the next climb (as soon as i passed them, they started after me, pride is a wonderful motivator) and down a series of steep, swooping descents, and then up a series of stepped climbs. I held my lead, my single speed being perfectly geared for out of the saddle mashing on this particular grade. i out descended them too, and perhaps by now they had given up. but no, right around the bend, there they were, sprinting out of the saddle on a flat. you don’t do that with gears unless you A. ‘ know how to ride or B. are trying to catch someone. Miraculously though, i had found the spin zone, and just sat and spun my tits off, as they say. held the lead for 6 miles. then i broke. my stomach developed a cramp you could sell to the CIA for interrogation purposes. my legs turned to mush. i almost fell off the bike from the cramp it was so bad. it was like getting shot with a .22 at close range but without the click bang. it was like having a guy inside of you crash his 4 inch buick lesabre into your colon. it hurt. i wobbled on my bike. i paid for my lead. i came home and did unspeakable things to the bathroom. i’m getting ready to race.