Moving on

2011Trek Madone 6.2 DA Lite - Before

The mid-life crisis is officially over. My carbon fiber UCI-worthy super bike is no more, done in by a forgotten roof rack and the low ceiling of a parking garage. Oops! I finally found out what happens when you strike an unmoveable object with an unstoppable force. Your bike shatters! After years of riding hybrids and entry level racing bikes, this was a self indulgent 50th birthday present to myself born of too many hours watching fit young men race around Europe, their logo emblazoned speed machines beckoning like sleek sirens. "Buy me. You'll go faster and climb better and all your cares will melt away," said the review in Bicycling magazine. In fairness, I have to say that aside from the frequently creaking press-fit bottom bracket, I really enjoyed the old Madone. It was everything you could hope for in a full-on racing machine. 

2011 Trek Madone 6.2 DA Lite - After

Well, no use crying over cracked carbon. I got over 7 years out of it. Not much in bicycle years, but in plastic bike years... Who knows?

Anyway, time to move on. A loss can be an opportunity. Destruction can lead to creation. Less is more, more is less. Get over it bikey boy. Truth is, I was already nearly past my imagine-yourself-as-a-racer years when I bought it. And though it climbed beautifully and positively bounded forward with even the slightest weight put on the pedals, it didn't really fit the kind of riding I was already doing - longish, relaxed trips out into the cornfields of Montgomery County's Agricultural Reserve across miles of asphalt only a tractor could love. So while I am sad to part with my old friend, not to mention my youth, I am happy to move on. This is obviously a cosmic sign that it is time to embark on my retrogrouch years. So, let's get on with it already. Time to buy a new bike!

'86 Fuji Allegro

But what kind of bike? I'm over carbon. I still have my old aluminum go-fast "racing" bike if I want to fantasize about being a racer. And I've got my bomb-proof around town bike. When I set up my '86 Fuji, I intended it to be a kind of all 'rounder, everything from bopping down-to-the-grocery store, commuting to work to longish weekend rides. To some extent it has satisfactorily satisfied those requirements. But with it's 27 x 1 1/8 inch wheels, 6-speed gearing it's not quite my ideal all-around, all-day ride. And it has significant wheel flop, especially when front loaded with a lovely French style handlebar bag which is my preference for the most common riding I do. So it doesn't satisfy my desire for a comfortable but responsive bike I can ride all day to often unfamiliar destinations.

I want a bike that's at home on pavement but isn't afraid of the occasional dirt road or cinder bike path. Not a gravel racer. Not a Paris–Roubaix racing bike. Just an all-around flexible bike I can ride anywhere. With that in mind, over the next few episodes I will be documenting the process of researching, buying and getting oriented to a new bike. If you have nothing better to do, I invite you to join me on this journey of discovery.

The natural, and perhaps predictable place to start would be the last homely house east of the sea. Elves and hobbits and dwarves and mithril lugs! As you may know, I've long been a fan of Grant Petersen, so you might think this would be the time for me to jump in and finally buy that A. Homer Hilsen I've long dreamed of. Mmm, such tasty lugs. I admit the thought is tempting.

So what's stopping me?

Well, Jan Heine, for one thing. You see, there are currently two philosophical luminaries in the steel bike world; Grant Petersen of Rivendell and Jan Heine of Bicycle Quarterly. And while they probably agree on a whole bunch of stuff (steel is an awesome frame material, fatter tires are more comfortable and useful, etc., etc.,) there is one thing about which they disagree. Geometry.

Courtesy of (Cog)nitive Dissonance

I suspect it's largely because they each have a different preference for what they want a bike to do. Grant seems to think 4 hours is just about enough to ride on a given day. He wants a bike to be generally useful and insanely versatile. He wants it to be sturdy, intuitive and have a neutral ride quality. Ride it on pavement. Ride it on dirt. Ride it on gravel. Doesn't matter. It will have the same self-assured character. Sure, if you need panniers the tubeset will be a bit thicker, the chainstay a bit longer, maybe some other minor adjustments. But whether it's a bike for roadies to take on fast club rides, a loaded tourer or commuter/grocery bike, anything Grant designs always rides like a Rivendell - stable, neutral, predictable. One bike to rule them all. Grant's bikes, consequently, feature "mid-trail" front-end geometry.

Jan on the other hand, is a randonneur, the ultra-marathoner of the cycling world. He wants to ride until he drops. Twenty-four straight hours in the saddle? No problem. And he wants to do it fast. He also wants to be ready for anything that could happen in twenty four hours on a bike, like weather changes, hunger, darkness, etc., so he wants to carry food and extra clothing. He doesn't want to stop to eat or dig around in his bag, so he wants it up front (have I mentioned gorgeous French handlebar bags?). He wants fenders and integrated dynamo powered lighting.

Jan wants the bike to be light and springy. He's not racing against other riders, but he's racing against the clock, and he wants a performance bike, a lively bike, a bike that "planes" like a hydrofoil that rises from the water as it achieves the optimum speed. In fact, Jan uses the word "optimum" a lot. In his mind a bike that is properly proportioned can attain a near supernatural equilibrium, a perfect balance of dynamic forces held in harmonic tension that, in unison with a sensitized rider who has a metronome like pedal stroke can produce an effortless, transcendent cycling experience.

Bicycle Geometry

The model of Jan's ideal bike is probably a 1952 René Herse, made by the famous French "constructeur", whose eponymous trademark Jan now owns. Tubes are thin, both in diameter and in the thickness of their steel, preferably butted .7/.4/.7 tubes; chainstays are short; wheel diameters are small (650b x 38mm and up); and most importantly, the fork trail is "low". This geometry makes for a bike whose steering is extremely responsive. The steering takes a light touch - some would call it "twitchy" - and it is optimized for carrying a front load.

Not exactly a Protestant Reformation level schism, but Jan, thanks largely to his excellent magazine, has single-handedly revived interest in low trail bikes with 650b wheels. The problem is, at the time he started this revival, more or less fifteen years ago, there were no low trail 650b production bikes being made. To get one you had to find an antique or have one custom made. These days the 650b wheels are much more common and Grant, a lover of wider tires, uses them on all his smaller frames to avoid the kinds of geometric tomfoolery a builder has to do to avoid excessive toe overlap on little bikes. But production low trail frames are still hard to find.

Alright, I'm intrigued. Jan Heine and Bicycle Quarterly has convinced me I should try a low trail 650b "Randonneur" style bike with wide tires. Now all I have to do is find one...

Next! Finding the right low trail bike.