Ride Lugged

.

.

.

.

Mel has been riding some sugino xd 500s for a while now, but for some reason, no matter what, they get chain suck. not every ride, not every shift, but sometimes it happens. And its not her fault. I rode it and the same thing sporatically happens to me. What gives? Changed the rings, changed the chain… She knows how to shift… Anyway, I have been planning on getting rich and buying her either the white industries road double or a pair of TA cranks, set up as a wide range double. That would be minimum 200 bucks though, 200 bucks I dont have. Unless my couch is holding out on me.

Anyway, digging and shooting shit at freeze thaw the other day, and ran across some SR apex cranks. Never heard of them. Minor interweb research led me to believe they were introduced around 1980-1981, had a short market life, and the world moved onto the soon to be standard 11o BCD we all know and sort of love.

here they are, prior to some time with some polish and steel wool, and they still have all 3 rings

118 BCD, came stock with 48/46/28 rings, looked to have a low Q, used standard bolts, standard crank puller, SR made them so they were probally cold forged… nice finish and low wear despite the years in a dust pile. I traded a salsa stem for them, made them a wide range 46/28 double, and slapped them on Mel’s Atlantis.

they look sharp I think. more elegant than the sugino cranks. lighter, lower q.

Ahh lower Q factor. Mel doesnt really know or care about Q factor. But we went for a ride yesterday, and she said something like “why does my bike feel so fast?” also, perhaps more bizarre: “why do i feel more stretched out?” well, didnt know Q did that…. But check out the tread photo:

if this were the 1990s, and it was a basketball game and not a bike part set up thing, and you had made a basket from say, 3 yards beyond the 3 point line, you would say booyah.

OK what else?

Sorry, this post will just go on and on and on and on.

Mel hasnt been on a mtn bike for a while. Last summer. Like me. I suck, I bet she does too. Logs? Ahhhh! Ok so we took a cue from Rob’s Christine course. And set up some obstacles.

start with a rock garden. rock and brick garden that is. you cant not hit some rocks, its a good thing.

log. not big, not small, just right.

log pile with easy finish. for now.

really annoying square edged stutter bumps. ratchet pedal. ratchet!

tiny north shore thing. for balance and confidence building. ends in a drop off.

said drop off. note quality construction.

ends with a teeter totter. easy, but fun. to come: bigger logs, more rocks, a jump. Mel likes jumping.

What else?

Our power went out a while ago, and I decided to try to make an olive oil lamp. I used a tiny glass jar, a rag for a wick, olive oil, and a coat hanger. It worked pretty well, for a while. Then I dont think the kink in my hanger was tight enough. The flame just kept creeping closer to the olive oil.

would cino cinelli hate on me?

I’ve been working on yard salads: using mostly stuff from the yard to put in wraps, have for dinner, etc. I have added dandilion greens now, but this is what i generally use.

I’ve been reworking some images into quadtone images. Here is a sample image, in quadtone and a link to the flickr gallery where more live.

Sweat this: DC is the first city in Mmmerika to have a bike sharing program. Stockholm has had this for years already and it works quite well, though it seems to be used more by tourists than Sthlmers, who would presumably have their own bikes.

i was talking to a local rider and friend, and fellow penn state art program guy eric roman the other day. yesterday actually. and we were sitting at the table cory designed, and talking about people we knew, and found that we both knew a number of philly folks, and meg, so there meg, eric says hey. he held up his fingers, pressed them together and said “the east coast scene is still this big”, or something like that. imagine a fellow 11 years older than me but 40 lbs lighter, who only rides a singlespeed, and still races in the pro class, and has lots of tattoos, and you sort of get an idea of what he looks like. we were looking at my witcomb (was meg’s) and it has the new sachs new success cranks on it, which are sharp looking by anyone’s gauge. he told me they were made by campy using record (or was it chorus) molds, and just branded sachs, which made them sort of under the radar cool. really though, they are the most polished thing on the bike, so they arnt that under the radar. this makes me wonder though: should i be using a campy taper bottom bracket, because i am not, and have logged at least 200 miles on them, and they seem fine, stiff smooth low Q, and silver. eric said: they arnt light but butter never is, or something like that but more clever and off the cuff.

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.

..

..

everyone was sitting in my backyard, about to watch anchor man on the 6 foot projection screen.  yay.  so i went for a nite ride out on my local 8 mile farm country loop.  nite rides are usually 95 percent great: sometimes they are a little too cold, and you arnt ready for it, sometimes you get bugs in your teeth if it is too close to sundown, sometimes you have a semi scary run it with a motorist.  tonite it was the smell.

Everything gets sharpened at nite, no where more so than near a body of water.  Sounds, little movements, and smells become more noticeable.  Your wheels are slightly out of round,  your tires corner better in right turns  than left, your spin is only good for 50 yards.  tonite there is road kill somewhere.  And I can smell it for miles around.  Dead snakes have a particular smell, like a skunk but more pungent, less sickly sweet.  the smell comes in waves with the hills, like a radio station in a car driving through the mountains.

Away from the smell, there were moments of beauty.  The landscape is reduced to large cutout shapes, the mountains to the left are a slow moving herd of dinosaurs, the houses pass like ships at sea, the windows provide the sole definition of the house’s shape.  A cascading stream, the almost full moon catches the water and lights it up, brighter than the reflective mail box reflectors that buzz by: huge round fire flies.  The water is a beacon, a series of lapis lazuli slashes at a black velvet canvas, sparkling like the interior of Joseph Cornell’s dreams.

A barn on a hill, vertical yellow ochre aluminum siding,  a single light turning it into a pimp’s pin stripes under a street corner, Baltimore, 1963.  A house with a porch light turns porch curtains into amber sheets, the silhouettes of the porch furniture becomes the bugs trapped in the amber.  My breath is ragged from the cold air, by bottle stuck in my handlebar bag, more or less out of reach, its normal spot taken by my big battery.

The road flies by.  Few cars pass, I charge up hills, barreling down the middle of the road where the pavement is smoothest.  The stream in the valley is a neon sign, blinking fitfully as my bike shakes and lurches past, my legs unable to keep up with the pace of pedaling 25 mph downhill.  The cows are playing pinochle in their barn, the chickens have a night light on, my painting teacher gets ready to leave for NYC, I see her round form gathering objects through her massive new windows.  I see Paul in his garage, listlessly wheeling his bike around, and I think about the race, and how I will have to get up at 3 Am and ride harder than I can possibly think about, faster than I believe I can, and longer than I want to.  It will be like this, but better.

So you may have seen a post last year about some training obstacles I set up in my backyard to help Christine improve her bike handling skills. This year I added another rock/log pile for her to crawl over and she tried it out today. Here’s the shots…

The course overall…over one pile, around the tree, and over another pile…(while dodging the bushes and clothesline)

Upclose of the older pile…

Christine on the approach…

Up and over…

This little training course in our backyard is an excellent lunch break escape…it’s really improving her bike handling skills and more importantly, her confidence.
Thanks to Casey for the bike on loan.
Please don’t let the fork comments outweigh the cheers of encouragement for Christine’s riding.
Rob

MOOV - Scooter

These are kind of cool. Unfortunately it looks like they’re only available in Europe.

this morning, over stolen coffee, starmer and i hashed out a plan for a day o’ training in patapsco park. this will include 3 mini mock races, with gold plated guiness for 1st place, silver plated yuengling for 2nd, and bronze schlitz for 3rd. the mock races will have a few laps, and somehow be marked so you dont get too lost.

who is invited? everyone who wants to do a day of fast riding, with breaks in betwixt races for burgers, concealed adult beverages, scrabble, and scat. (cards, not scatological). obviously if you are part of the team(s) you should come. we’ll meet early, say 10am, set up in a pavilion (not yet reserved) and go ride. then eat lunch, relax, then go ride. then eat dinner. then go ride. awards will be handed out after every race, with the grand prize being a fif’ of old granddad. platinum plated of course, with jewels.

plan on being back home around 8. or 1am. depending. dont worry about lights, we’ll be out before dark.

possible dates: the 26th or 27th of april. vote like its american idol. but in the comments section.

also, rsvp so we know how many burgers starmer has to buy.

so the 24 hours of big bear is coming up. 2 months in which to lose 50 lbs, learn how to grind for 2 hour internals, and to make incredibly complicated lists and prepatory plans. last year i took a series of steps to make life more comfortable at the camp, including but not limited to: bringing a giant blue tarp that took the better part of a day to set up, and then took the rest of the day and night to maintain due to high winds, a hollow core door table with sawhorse legs, and huge wood clamps to clamp down the stove, paper towels, ect. it was the most planned trip yet. and it payed off, although it took over 2 days to fully set up. practical? schmactical. not tactical. wackticle? yes. wackticle. wackticle.

as you can see from my handy diagram, there is always a big mess, big waste of door/counter space, etc. this lead me to remember that thing called boy scouts, you know, where you light small trees on fire and stuff them into latrines, or maybe you remember it as your first introduction to smut. or perhaps you remember it as the time that you told the newbie to put his tent on the ant hill, or the low ground in a rain storm, or put logs under the scout master’s tent to improve his sleeping ergonomics. whatever your memories might be, one that almost all cool scouts share is the memory of the chuck box, which lesser troops called the patrol box. we were more democratic than that. now even though my troop, 443, thought that winning the klondike derby was simply a matter of stealing the other troops flags and burying them in the woods, we did know how to wield a power tool. or at least someone’s dad did. we had the nicest, heaviest, most tiger tank-esque chuck boxes this side of a d-day pill box. i think the guy who put them together adhered to the following rules: the box must contain as much plywood as possible. normal patrol boxes might take 1-1.25 sheets of plywood. our had at least 4 sheets, as well as all brass hardware taken from a clipper ship, and sized appropriately. our hinges alone weighed more than a coleman stove and 2 weeks of fuel.

the carpenter also thought that if 4 scouts were needed to carry a normal patrol box, and more is better, why not make it so that at least 8 scouts were needed, plus a sixteen scout relief crew. inevitably, our camp grounds were muddy or snowy, or perferably both, so footing was dubious at best, and scouts constantly fell and were tramped by the remaining 7. you couldnt stop, or the whip would fall! when camp was finally set up, there was the inevitable roll call, and the ‘where’s robbie?’ questions. well. we never found him. presumably the mud got him.

if it wasnt raining, sleeting, and or well below freezing, we werent camping. what were we doing? practicing knots. not! ohhhhhhhhhhh that was bad. mainly we watched robbie chew (true story) on the asbestos columns that supported the ceiling the squalid basement that was our troop headquarters. that was before the mud got him. then later, brandy johnson got him. but thats a different story, involving bad haircuts, knife fights, and assault rifle wake up calls.

right so, chuck boxes are fantastic.  instead of schelping  (spell check starmer?) 4 boxes of supplies, a table, saw horses, clamps, and so on, you can make a really heavy wooden box that has compartments to organize everything, and becomes a ’strong like bear’ table.  also, chuck boxes have room for the kitchen sink.  er the camp kitchen sink.  we always brought two tupperware bins for the dishes.  tight.  so i have been pining for a chuck box for a while now, not unlike how i sometimes pine for cheap gold colored bolos and scratchy polyester knee high socks.

i sat down, did some net research, poured a dram for my fallen scouts, and drew up some plans.  i happen to have a grade A- piece of maple plywood in the shed.  its appropriately heavy, although i’m sure i’ll have to add some ballast.

FYI, starmer has one that sounds appropriately huge and hard to use, but claims we dont have the man power to move it.  i suggested he crank out a few dozen kids in time for the race, or at least steal them from mexico.  his response is pending.

then eats yellow snow.

iron-E seems to have johnson pinned to the cold hard facts of reality wet soggy ground.

our hero can hardly breath under the weight of such literary deviciveness

but victory is never far, and johnson stands triumpant, yellowing iron-e

savagely

what what? victory

mmm yellow

Uh,

Art

I guess I see why Johnson doesn’t try to make bicycle art.