All together now

Previously on MondoBlahBlah... or...

Read the entire story of the research, acquisition and assembly of my new Cycles Toussaint Velo Routier v2.

When last we met, I had assembled a lot of my new Cycles Toussaint Velo Routier 2.0. I had help  installing the headset and bottom bracket from Big Mig at the local Bicycle Place. Of course I just jammed the seat post in and hung a saddle on it. I got the cassette and crank set on the frame along with the derailleurs. I got the stem and handlebar worked out. I got the front rack, fenders and brakes all attached with reasonably satisfactory results. Nothing left to do but attend to the final details of connecting all the moving parts and actually making the thing work.

Ta da!

So at last the build is more or less complete and the bike is rideable. I haven't yet had the chance to ride it, and I still have some tinkering to do to get the brakes and front derailleur fine-tuned, but the build is essentially complete. What follows are some observations about the bits and pieces of Cycles Toussaint's DIY build kit.

Shifters

Alright, let's hear it for the good guys. After I pointed out to my buddy Angus that bar-top "thumb" shifters just don't belong on a road bike, he sent me a completely new set of MicroSHIFT bar-end shifters. And really nice shifters they seem to be, right down to the red anodized accents that reinforce the red in the Cycles Toussaint logo. Thanks very much to Cycles Toussaint. And I note that one of my readers, phillip Cowan noted in the comments that CT sent him both styles with his order. I'm totally going to take credit for that.    

Brake Levers

I tried using the supplied Dia Compe brake levers, but I couldn't get them to work right. After futzing with them for a while I gave up and put on a pair of Origin8 Pro Force aero levers I bought a couple of years ago with the Fuji in mind. They went on fine, though there's no barrel adjuster; I tried and tried, but I couldn't figure out how to gracefully insert an "in-line" adjuster in the set-up, so the rear brake has no adjuster, which will probably drive me crazy eventually.

I'm also not too happy about the way the "Pro Force" levers look. They're pretty clearly modern Shimano knock-offs and look a bit chunky on the bike. I suspect I'll leave them for a while as I get used to the bike and swap them out for something more aesthetically pleasing (like the Origin8 Classique Sport model) later on.

See the little thingy on top of the lever?
Barrel Adjuster - the kit didn't come with them.

After having installed the Origin8 levers, I figured out what was wrong with the stock Dia Compe levers. They were missing brake lever ferrules which act as a "stop" for the cable housing as it comes out of the lever, producing the tension the cable needs to pull against the brakes. Without them, the brake levers just don't work. Looking at every picture I can find on the internet, I see that every image of the "stock" Velo Routier features nifty looking barrel adjusters where the cable exits the lever housing - I think they were these: https://velo-orange.com/collections/brake-parts/products/dia-compe-cable-adjuster-for-gc202-and-dc204-levers. But no such thing came with the DIY kit, rendering the brakes useless or forcing me to seek out these exotic little parts.

This is just one of the "small parts" irritations with the DIY kit. Cycles Toussaint eventually provided me a handful of shifter cable ferrules and some cable end crimps, but they didn't come with the package - I had to ask for them when I whined about the shifters. I know, niggling details, but the site does say, "We package and ship a complete frame set and build kit to your home (only exclusion is seat and pedals.)" There seems to be some room for interpretation of the word "complete".

Chain

I only mention the chain because Cycles Toussaint sent three, count 'em, three of them. At an MSRP of $36 each, I consider that quite generous. It may be a while before I need a new one. And without prompting, Angus threw in a "master link" when he sent the replacement shifters. Very thoughtful, as it makes it a whole lot easier to install the chain.

Front Derailleur / Crankset

The front derailleur went on without a hitch, but the tolerances were super tight. When the chain gets clear of the derailleur, the crank arm rubs it on each revolution. When I back the derailleur off so the crank arm doesn't rub, but chain grinds against the inside of the derailleur. And every so often the chain gets thrown off the big ring to the outside. I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with the parts. I think I just have to do more fiddling with them to get them set up just right.

Rear Derailleur / Cassette

Matching the shifters and front derailleur, the bike comes with a MicroSHIFT rear derailleur and cassette. On the surface it seems like a nicely integrated 2 x 10 drive train with a nice wide gear range. And mostly that's correct. But the rear derailleur (see photo below) doesn't match the big cog cassette (36 teeth). Basically, it just doesn't shift to the lowest gear. Not a huge deal. A 30T x 34T low gear is still plenty low. And 9 speeds in the rear s more than anyone should need. But still - tempt me with a 10 speed / 36T and then give me a 9 speed / 34T, and I'm bound to feel a little cheated. Again. No biggie. Just seems a bit "close, but no cigar."

Various and Sundry

Pump Pegs

A useless appendage - pump peg
forever to remain empty. 

So despite all the really positive aspects of this bike, not the least of which is that it exists at all, there is a really glaring issue I have with it, and that concerns what might be among the most inconsequential details; the pump pegs. One of the truly coolest, quirkiest details on the Velo Routier's frame, the thing that most explicitly pays homage to the constructeurs whose work inspired its design is the dedicated pegs for a frame pump on the left seat stay. Not that single bump on the head tube that some "retro" bikes have, but serious, elegant top and bottom pegs for a classic "pencil" pump. When I saw them I just flipped out - that's a sign of just how seriously these guys at Cycles Toussaint are taking the design of this bike, I thought. What a shame then when I find that they will never fulfill their purpose because there's no such thing as a pump that fits the pegs.

It's not that there are no pumps designed to fit such pegs. In fact Zefal makes a really attractive one, the Classic Lapize. But it doesn't fit. It measures 375 mm or 14.8 inches. The distance between the pegs is 14 5/16 inches or about 363.54 mm. I could conceivably squeeze in a small HPX pump, but it looks like stupid and the connection points just aren't right. It's designed to fit in the spaces of the frame, not between pump pegs. So I'll probably carry a mini-pump in the handlebar bag or use a full size frame pump under the top tube and ride with an empty space between the pump pegs, a forever aspirational void, an unfulfilled longing for elegance and purpose. Pity.

Well, okay, enough with the build. The real question is, how does this low trail 650b bike ride? Stay tuned faithful reader, for my initial review in the next post.

You take the high trail, I'll take the low trail

Previously on MondoBlahBlah...

Okay, so I've decided I want to try a low trail "Randonneur" style bike with 650b wheels and wide tires. Now what? Where do I find one? The local bike shop? Maybe in Seattle or Portland, but not in Bethesda, Maryland.

I could run down to the local Masi dealer and see if they'd be willing to bring in one of their Speciale Randonneurs for me to test ride, but at 41 mm of fork trail it's only barely "low trail", and with no fork braze-ons for the type of mini rack typical of any bike labeled "Randonneur" I'm loath to include it among my choices. And that round crown fork is just a deal breaker for me. So, nice try Masi, but though it's headed in the right direction, the Speciale is just not quite there yet. So with no local bike shop choices, it's off to the internet!

There are only a few companies producing low trail frames and forks that satisfy my requirements. It's still a niche design and the reality of the market is such that the really nice models tend to be a bit to the pricey side. Here I would include the Boulder Bicycles All Road and the Box Dog Pelican. These are gorgeous, small batch, American made bikes, lovingly crafted by artisan craftsmen. Once you get them outfitted with the kinds of accessories they are designed to have, you'd be lucky to get away for under about $4,000. A very reasonable price for a well made bike likely to be handed down to your children, especially in an age when a Chinese-made mid-priced plastic racer can easily run much more than that. But it's a lot to pay for a bike with unfamiliar geometry. It's a lot to pay to see if you like it.

So before going all-in on the low trail concept, a lot of us want to try the entry level, to see if it is all that it's cracked up to be. After all I didn't buy a $5,000 carbon fiber racing bike until after I had ridden a much less expensive aluminum version for nearly a decade.

There are really two options to get into a low trail 650b on a budget; two companies that have taken the risk of producing economical bikes for Bicycle Quarterly (BQ) fans. Soma Fabrications of San Francisco and Cycles Toussaint of Calgary, Alberta. Both companies offer Taiwanese frames based more or less on the designs championed by BQ for about $500 US. I should add that Velo Orange of Annapolis, Maryland also makes such a frame, but their Polyvalent is about $100 more expensive. All three bikes share very similar geometry, the ability to ride wide, fendered tires and easily mount front racks for those gorgeous French handlebar bags. All are made with similarly sized chromoly tubing (.8/.5/.8 the smaller sizes, with .9/6/.9 on larger frames), which Jan thinks is a bit stout, but which is probably about as thin as you're ever likely to see on a production bike - remember, these have to support 135 pound racers and 280 pound cruisers. I am to the heavy side of the cyclist weight classification, closing in on two hundred pounds, so the slightly thicker tubing is probably just fine.

The Polyvalent's Disk-ready fork

Though there are tons of tiny differences between the three models, the primary functional difference between them is the brakes. If you feel strongly about brakes, this is an easy way to choose. The Soma Fabrications Grand Randonneur has forks for cantilever brakes, the Velo Orange Polyvalent has forks for disk brakes and the Cycles Toussaint Velo Routier has forks for the ever-so-exotic brazed on center-pulls. The center pulls and cantilevers are pure retro, though the cantilever frame bosses can accommodate linear-pull brakes, which are said to offer greater braking power than cantilevers. Anyway, if you want a low trail bike built around your preferred style of brakes, there you go.

Style Points

Of course you may be more concerned about style, and there are marked differences there too. The Soma GR has a really lovely white frame with maroon accents. The Velo Routier in its current version is "tricolor", basically royal blue with a red and white logo. The new Polyvalent is offered in a lovely "deep emerald" green and a sort of pastel lilac. I personally hate the lilac, but find the other three really attractive.

The Polyvalent has the extra disk brake braze-ons, which no self respecting retrogrouch could tolerate but which probably provides the most confident braking of the three. The fork crown also seems to be somewhat unconventional, though it's hard to tell from the photographs on the site.  The Velo Routier has traditional, classic frame geometry. It does feature pump pegs on the left seat stay, which allows you to sport a snazzy pump in a really cool place, if you go in for that sort of thing.

Soma Fabrications Grand Randonneur

The latest Grand Randonneur has the loveliest fork of the three, with an elegant "French Flick", a tight bend low on the forks that provides the rake. But the GR has a sloping top tube, which definitely marks it as a "modern" bike, while the other two have level top tubes. There have been some complaints on the forums (I know, it should be "fora" but who says that?!!) that the GR frame looks too small, in the way many modern bikes with "compact" geometry do. Jan Heine noted that in his Bicycle Quarterly review. But I've also read that the geometry is stacked higher in the front providing a more upright position. I don't have one to measure, so I can't say. Still, "traditional" bikes like this generally feature level top tubes and actually tend, as their predecessors did, to be a bit bigger than "modern" bikes, showing less seat post and stem length. That difference marks the GR as a stand-out, though not necessarily in a good way.

Velo Routier Semi-Horizontal Drop Outs

One other note that might determine a winner among these three choices. The second generation of the Velo Routier has a semi-horizontal rear drop out (the other two have the now pretty much standard vertical dropout). It allows for easy conversion to a single speed or internally geared hub both of which can require chain tensioning by sliding the axle fore or aft in the drop out. You see this on a lot of older bikes, but not on many new ones. This is a deal breaker for some riders, as it can make it a real pain in the ass to change tires, particularly on a fendered bike. So there's that.

And finally, Soma and Velo Orange bikes all seem to feature proper head badges, and pretty attractive ones at that. The Velo Routier has a decal in its place. Not a big deal for me, as I'll usually have a handlebar bag covering it anyway, but head badges are lovely things and it's kind of a shame Cycles Toussaint chose the decal instead.

Alright, so having painstakingly considered all the options, which one did I go with? The answer after the break...

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.

Form follows fashion

Over the years I have been expanding my notion of  the platonic form of "the good bike" has been evolving. In the 90's when I started riding, I thought the hybrid was the highest evolution of the bicycle, the fusion of all that had been learned to that time from all the different types of bikes ever designed. And to some extent, that was right.

My 1993 Specialized Crossroads Cruz has a TIG-welded chromoly frame, intuitive indexed thumb shifters powering the thoughtfully chosen 27 speed Shimano drivetrain (28/38/48, 14-28), solid cantilever brakes and 700 x 38 wheels. Nice upright position. Eyelets and clearance for fenders and racks. A very flexible platform for lots of practical types of riding. My wife still uses hers as a commuter, and despite being quite heavy, it's extremely serviceable. I even imagine it could serve as a loaded tourer in a pinch, though that weight problem would dissuade me from pointing it at Machu Picchu.

So I rode the Crossroads for about a decade. Then Lance happened so I had to have a racing bike. Then I had to have a fast racing bike. By then I almost knew better, but it was too late. So there I am, an overweight middle manager riding around Rock Creek Park on an overpriced carbon fiber superbike. I slavishly follow all these rules about what to wear and how to outfit my bike and how high my stem can be based on what the idiots on the Goon Ride think despite the fact that I couldn't hang onto those guys on my best day. Or the fact that even Eddy Merckx, the Cannibal himself doesn't follow them. What a sucker.

The reason I mention this whole evolution is because it occurs to me that what I've really been doing all along is merely following fashion. Hybrid > Road Race > Superbike > Rando... OK, I skipped single speed/fixies, mountain and 'cross bikes. I'm intentionally planning to skip fat bikes and gravel bikes, which are currently all the rage. So it is possible I've gotten off the fashion track and entered my retrogrouch years. Presumably I'll get through the lugged steel phase and find my way to recumbents.

Plowshares reforged

Last week I was on an emotional roller coaster. I had just procured an absolutely delightful set of panniers made of re-purposed canvas Swiss ammunition cases when on their maiden voyage one of the retainer clips broke and the right pannier became unmoored. I became so depressed about the whole thing, I was driven to drink. Fortunately, it will be at least a year before I can have that drink, so while I waited I thought I might just as well repair the pannier; and that is what I did. I'm happy to report that all went well, and the result was even better than I could have imagined.

Copper tube rivet left; aluminum blind rivet with brass washer right

To modify the cases for use as panniers Out Your Backdoor (aka Jeff Potter) uses 3/16 inch copper tube rivets set with a splash anvil. Basically it's just a tube with a head on it that you mash into an anvil that spreads the open end of the tube into kind of a mushroom shape (the second type shown in this video). They work pretty well, and look really nice against the aged leather of the ammo cases. And while they're fine for riveting the leather logo and blinky light tabs to the bag, they're clearly not the best solution for bearing any appreciable amount of weight. No offense to Jeff - it's just the fact. He clearly puts a lot of thought into the placement of the rivets, carefully measuring and finishing them. But for the connections to the hooks that fit over the rack, I just think the copper rivets he uses are a bit too short and possibly a bit too soft. One of these rivets pulled through the leather within the first eight miles of riding with a relatively light load.  

Initially I thought I would just buy a 3/16 inch brass screw, nut and washers (I like brass for its relative corrosion resistance) just bolt the retainer back on and go about my business. But then it occurred to me that a few years ago I had purchased a rivet tool for a project I can't now recall. I had some 3/16 inch rivets but none long enough to add a washer to the inside of the rivet, which I wanted to assure it would be able to hold the weight, should I decide that I DO want to carry a few hundred rounds of 5.6mm ammo (the current standard for the Swiss military's standard issue SIG SG 550 rifle). So oft I went to my local hardware store where the nice man helped me find the Medium length "pop" rivets and suitable washers. Upon return to the Bartlecave, I had the whole thing complete in about five minutes. Voilà! The rivet's secondary head and washer stick out a bit more than the tubular rivet did, but I am convinced this will produce a much stronger attachment. 

The basic process is demonstrated by some guy with an English accent here:

Plowshares to stones

Broken rivet on the Swiss Ammo box pannier

In yesterday's post, I sang the praises of my new 1964 Swiss Ammunition Box Pannier by Out Your Backdoor. Regrettably, right after posting that post, I rode the bike home from work, encountered a speed bump, aka speed hump, speed jump, speed breaker, speed ramp, kipping cop or judder bar. 


Anyway, one of the rivets holding the rack mount popped out of the right pannier (see photo at right) which then failed catastrophically. OK, that might be a bit dramatic - it just flopped off the rack and hung limply from the bungee cord. No real damage was done other than the broken rivet. I was able to just disentangle my jury rigged retention system, secure the pannier on my Michelin Avenir Plescher style rack and go on my way.
OYB's website says there have never been any returns and that if I send it back they'll fix it and pay postage. I'm far too lazy (and cheap!) for that. I'll just go to the hardware store, buy a properly sized nut, bolt and a couple of washers and fix it myself. The repair will likely not cost more than a buck or two and will yield a better attachment than the elegant but obviously inadequate copper rivets Jeff uses. What is needed is a washer on the inside of the rivet. you can see from the photo that the inner face of the rivet is very small and the copper is very soft. A couple of good jolts on the weight bearing rivet was all it took to squeeze the rivet back through its hole. Lest you think I was carrying bricks, the pannier was not heavily laden at the time. I had an umbrella, a small digital camera and a seersucker shirt in it. Had I been portaging 5.6mm ammo (the current standard for the Swiss military's standard issue SIG SG 550 rifle) the rivets would no doubt have popped without the hitting the judder bar. 

See Part III

Nothing left to lose

Vroom Vroom

Wasn't the car was supposed to be the machine that represented freedom? The magic carpet that whisked us away to exotic destinations, that let us spread out and claim that little piece of the American dream? The essential expression of our personality, our very identity? Weren't we all supposed to get in the giant gas guzzler, put the top down, hit the road and discover America à la Kerouac? Was not the back seat the storied locus of our very conception? Where the hell did it all go so horribly wrong? How did the thing that was supposed to free us become our captor, our slaver; the shiny wings transformed into shackles?

As I've started to commute by bicycle regularly, I've spent a lot of time thinking about the role of cars in our community landscape. I have time for a lot of such idle thought as I'm gliding past car after car sitting stock still through light after light (note that we call them Stop lights, not Go lights), futilely attempting to get home, swimming upstream against the overburdened intersections, our mangled on-ramps, the press of our fellow humans all jammed into the constraints of our impossibly congested, detested, molested roads. If your body's arteries are anywhere near as clogged and sluggish as our poor, ailing road network is every evening at 5:30 PM, I seriously advise you to consult a physician immediately. You are on the verge of death.

I couldn't wait to get my first car. As soon as I was of legal age I got a drivers license and as soon as I could afford it, I bought a car. Then of course I had to have the money to pay for gas, insurance and maintenance, which meant I had to get a job, which frankly I only needed to keep the car running which I needed to get back and forth from work. By the time I was eighteen I had pretty much recognized the pattern of desire leading to enslavement. And I stayed voluntarily enslaved to the car for about the next thirty years. Good thing I wasn't allowed to get a learner's permit to use heroin.

SubDivision

The suburbs were the great promise of the American century. GI's coming back from the war could hope for a little place in a nice new development away from the troubles of the cities with their factories and immigrants and crime. The American dream included home ownership and mobility. Both literal and figurative mobility. We built the interstate highway system and drove our Conestoga Vista Cruisers out past the beltway to the promised land of the middle class. And the burbs had a pretty good run. We loved our little boxes and still do. But the suburbs have became so congested they're starting to look like cities. Cities with no cultural amenities (i.e., museums, theaters and public spaces where a diverse array of citizens mix), no public transportation, and no soul. The old shopping malls are dying or desperately trying to transform themselves into cutsie "town centers" where there is no town. Presumably the designers of such faux spaces think people will simply accept that our civil interaction is best played out at Old Navy or the 20 screen multiplex. No wonder the current generation of creative information workers are clamoring to get into cities.

Faced with the inexorable deterioration of our civic landscape, it is inevitable that some of us would seek alternatives. But what? A return to some non-existent pastoral utopia? Return to our Agrarian roots? Shall we hike up our breeches and go back into the fields? Not a very likely alternative for a nation of overweight consumers. But maybe by very small personal decisions, maybe through modest shifts in public opinion we can nudge our culture to first recognize the folly of dependence on automobiles for our every movement in life and find ways of building our communities and our lives around human beings instead of machines.

It's tough to imagine what such a future America might look like. And I'm certainly not an optimist that my countrypersons will suddenly come to their senses and recognize we have spent the last hundred years transforming our country into a spiritless hellscape and abandon the car over night. But there are already signs of transformation. In addition to the aforementioned migration of youth to formerly blighted cities (Cleveland and Detroit notwithstanding), the increase in bicycle commuting, increased investment in public transportation and even the aforementioned lame attempts at reconstructing our suburbs on the notion of Smart Growth / mixed use development are heartening signs of life after Exxon.

Thankfully, we can always trust in good old entropy to help us do the right thing. As we are confronted by the incredible societal cost of maintaining our crumbling roads and of securing fuel for the ever bigger Humscalades we need to isolate ourselves from the increasingly horrid road surfaces, and of the individual cost of owing and operating a personal internal combustion vehicle (auto loans, gas, maintenance and insurance), the sensible alternatives that have always existed (think bicycles, public transportation and more walkable communities) may just occur to more of us as obvious ways to improve our quality of life. But such transitions cannot be imposed on us.

We have to make choices based, hopefully, on enlightened self-interest. We will only choose to make our communities better places when we can no longer ignore the obvious; that the type of absolute reliance on cars that has characterized much of the past century makes our communities and our lives worse, economically, socially and and spiritually; and that walkable, bikeable, human-scaled towns and cities lead to happier, healthier lives for those living in them. It won't happen suddenly and the change won't come from above. It will come through the myriad personal choices made by people like me who seek out walkable communities in which to live and who limit their job searches to positions available within the range of biking, walking and/or public transportation. It seems a luxury to be able to do so, and for most people it is. But if you think about how much money you wouldn't be spending if you weren't dumping it into your car, you might find that you could afford a slightly more expensive house or apartment on the same salary. And if you add to that the fact that if you walked or biked to work each day, you might be able to stop spending money on a gym membership and a holistic life coach. You'd be healthier and happier because you're getting some freakin' exercise for a change.

One day the personal automobile may seem quaint vestiges of a bygone era, like the steamship or the land line telephone. But at this rate I probably won't be alive to see it. In the meantime I'll just keep the cranks rotating while I roll by the line of humanity in their little metal cages.

Revolution Schmevolution

In a previous post I cited a series of articles written by Jan Heine of Bicycle Quarterly (sheesh, why do I even subscribe to that magazine when Jan puts everything but the ads on his blog..?) about the relative merits of bicycle-specific infrastructure such as separated bike lanes, cycle tracks, etc. The gist was that there is a battle between those who advocate for bikes to have separate-but-equal facilities and those who want bicycles to be treated as vehicles - granted rights on the road equal to cars. I suggested, in my intuitive, non-scientific way, that there was likely some middle ground where bike lanes and cycle tracks would continue to proliferated in densely packed urban cores, bikes would continue to be treated like malformed stepchildren in the suburbs and in the country we would still have to clench our Lycra clad sphincters every time one of those gigantic pickup trucks blows by, but otherwise would still be happiest on such roads with their light traffic.

In his follow-up post on the topic, Jan has done what Jan usually does, which is analyze the options from a rational, statistical perspective aimed at maximizing the safety of cyclists and has recommended almost exactly the opposite of what we seem to actually be doing. He argues that on city streets where automobile traffic is moving slowly, riding in the street is the safest approach. Where the speed picks up a bit (up to 30 MPH), painted bike lanes allow sufficient separation to assure bikes and cars can coexist peaceably. And when cars are flying, he acknowledges that completely separate bike lanes are warranted. He cites the example of Munich, Germany which has engaged in a decade long effort to modernize its infrastructure and has apparently achieved a 70% increase in bicycle mode share in just nine years; 17.4% of all trips in Munich are now made by bicycle.

His key recommendation suggests the creation of Fahrradstraßen, bike boulevards where cyclists have the dominant right-of-way. Personally I have difficulty imagining many American cities will ever consider bicyclists worthy of the top spot on the totem pole. It just seems too European. But the concept is definitely intriguing. Just take a few strategically placed, lightly used side streets and designate them "bike boulevards". Cars can still use them, but bikes have the right-of-way. This would get a lot of bikes off the main arteries and make cyclists feel safer, which would get more people on bikes which would reduce traffic on the main arteries. I just have such a hard time seeing Americans giving priority to bikes over cars.

Maybe if we make it a nationalistic thing. Make it about beating the Germans. You know, Let's get those Krauts before they cover the world in Fahrradbahns! It might work. After all it worked once. I mean we entered WWII to save the English, who we don't much care for (and who, I might add we had to forcibly expel from these beloved shores a mere 158 years prior), and the Jews, who many Americans would probably have liked to exterminate themselves. We could get some awesome propaganda posters made and whip up the anti-Teutonic fervor that's always lurking just below the otherwise quiet exterior of the average American. Nah, it would never work. Or, I guess we'll just keep things just the way they are, which is what I suspect we'll do.

The problem is that the communities with the greatest desire for improved infrastructure, i.e., cities, don't really need much in the way of improvement. And those most in need of improvement, i.e., suburbs, don't want it (meaning don't want to spend money on it). So we'll end up with all kinds of separated lanes in the cities where we don't need it and the suburbs will continue to be soulless, car focused hellscapes populated by Humscalade driving distracto-moms shuttling their obese offspring from one diabetes clinic to the next while shouting at their cell phones over the television in the back seat playing a continuous loop of drool inducing mental pablum. Sorry Jan. We're not in the Old Country anymore...        

A woman, a bike and a chicken, whole and roasted.

The Acorn Handlebar Bag

You know, if you have been following this blog, that I’m a big fan of the rack-mounted handlebar bag. But they won’t work with carbon frames (or really any bike with a “modern” racing front fork – no eyelet for the rack). As it happens, my stable contains a modern lightweight bike which I bought because I wanted a bike that would minimize the effort it takes to ride it so I could go farther, longer, more comfortably (okay, titanium or steel might be more comfortable, but the carbon certainly is better on my back than my old aluminum when it comes to the long rides).

Okay, you know it as well as I do. I bought a fashionable carbon fiber racing bike because I am a fan of competitive cycling and so in my perverse male ego I harbor delusions of riding like the professionals do. All I need is the exact same bike Sparticus rides and when some scout from an elite ProTeam gets a load of me ambling along Rock Creek Park on a Saturday morning, he will have no alternative but to recruit me on the spot into their senior division. Of course all having such a bike has accomplished is to drive a stake into the heart of any fantasy I ever had that I could be a racer. But still, I like the bike and I like to ride pretty long distances in places far from home.

And when I'm on such an "epic" ride, out in the glorious country, miles from the clutter and chaos of extraneous things like stores that are open on Sundays, I often find the need to eat and drink more than I can carry in my pockets. I occasionally want to swap out clothing as the day heats up, or to have warmer, drier clothes available when unexpected weather hits. When in unfamiliar locales I might even find it convenient to carry a map (I can see the Garmin owners' eyes rolling). So there you go - I like long rides, but I'm not exactly a touring rider. I like a light, racing style bike, because I've been brainwashed by the ads and reviews in cycling magazines to lust after the latest and greatest technology. But such bikes aren't conducive to portaging the several belongings I sometimes prefer to carry when venturing into the hinterland. Much as I look longingly over my shoulder, that damn team car just never seems to pull up alongside to take my unwanted rain jacket, to provide directions or to pass a prosciutto and Asiago panini out the window. Sowhattayagonnado?

Well, as of last week I am the proud owner of a new bar-mounted bag from the master craftspersons at Acorn Bags. This one is in black and was bought for the Madone, while the rack-mounted Rando in saddle tan has, since last autumn, perched on the front rack of my '86 Fuji Allegro. And I have to say that I love this thing. It's big enough to carry my phone, rain jacket, all the food I'm likely to need for a long day on the bike. And I can even remove a jersey or some tights when it warms up and don't have to cram my jersey pockets with all this stuff. And unlike the Rando, this one is rock solid. The wooden stabilizer bar keeps its shape and the stiffer-than-ripstop fabric keeps it from wobbling around. I just love the rider-facing rear pockets with their shiny turn-buckles, though the cables from my Ultegra make them less convenient than those on the Fuji with its center-pull brakes. I just can't say enough about how great these Acorn products are - and they're made in the United States. Bonus!

Of course this bag is an abomination to contemporary weight weenies, who spend fortunes to shave every gram from their UCI certified trophy bikes. But in my heart of hearts I know I’m an old fart who thinks cycling should be fun and practical, so screw ‘em. I have a big ol’ canvas bag with leather “appointments” on the front of my carbon fibré superbike. So what? Am I a walking talking (not to mention rolling!) ball of hypocritical contradiction? You bet. But I can carry a whole roasted chicken with me when I ride my bike. And chicken grease doesn’t drip down my butt while I ride. Can you say that? 

Related reading:

http://lovelybike.blogspot.com/2010/09/allure-of-handlebar-bag.html 

http://www.ccs.neu.edu/home/fell/PBP1975.html

Atruistic punishment

How could you hate her?

A fascinating, if somewhat perfunctory article on the BBC's website yesterday posits that the reason motorists hate cyclists derives from the game theory notion that society functions only because we are programmed to self police by punishing one another for behaving outside the bounds of accepted "morality." That is to say that humans have actually evolved to punish people perceived to have broken the rules. And for drivers, practically everything cyclists do is technically in violation of the rules, since the set of rules by which they operate is specific to cars. Cyclists can't, by definition, obey some of those rules. We can't go the speed limit most of the time, for instance.

And the rules we can obey, we often don't. Largely because the laws of physics play a much greater role in our mode of transportation. Since the calories we burn are derived from the energy our bodies have converted from food instead of from the refined essence of prehistoric organic matter (i.e., gasoline), we cyclists typically observe much stricter adherence to the laws of conservation of energy. That is, since it takes us a lot of personal energy to build momentum, we often go to extraordinary pains to maintain it. Drivers just push one pedal a couple of inches and hundreds of horsepower are produced, whereas a pedaler has to grind a crank round and round just to get up to a speed most motorists disdain and curse. Don't believe me? Do the math. So we often blow through stop signs. We're following rules - just not the same rules motorists have to follow.

We come by our own little set of rules by the exact same method as drivers have come by theirs - through trial and error, underpinned by a grave sense of self preservation and public safety. We do what we do because we have weighed the costs against the benefits, considered the possible risks and come up with a pretty workable set of operating principles. Just like cars. Even in a society where bicycles represent a meaningful proportion of the mode share (transportation geek speak for percent of trips made by bike), the transportation induced death rate is negligible. Can we say the same thing about our own society in which the car is clearly the dominant mode of transportation? No we cannot.

So when a person sitting in a type of vehicle responsible for over 30,000 fatalities a year can get all pissed when I scoot around them on a vehicle responsible for so few fatalities a year as to be not worth mentioning, I don't really feel that bad about it. When was the last time you heard about a motorist getting killed by a bicyclist? Just doesn't happen. Sure occasionally a cyclist runs down a pedestrian and kills them. Occasionally. How frequently do cars run down pedestrians? But I also understand when motorists, being the good egalitarians they are, and apparently in thrall to their limbic brain, go berserk and start shouting out their car windows and shout, "get off the feckin' road!"

Caged

Just so you know, I considered leaving this entire post blank in tribute to John Cage. But I didn't. You may wish I had.

The very King of Cages

Triathlete water storage

I've been thinking about the 'umble bottle cage. That most utilitarian accessory that allows a cyclist to affix a container of water or other liquid (usually in "bottle" form) to a bicycle. Though usually mounted to the frame, on the seat tube and/or down tube, cages can also be mounted on the handlebars and for some reason triathletes seem to prefer them behind the saddle, like a couple of Truck nutz dangling behind the rider's buttocks. I guess the skin suit, aero helmet and bars don't look dorky enough. Well, to each their own I suppose.

The reason I have been thinking about cages is that the '86 Fuji came without any, so I found myself in the market. Actually, at first I put on a cage that I had left over from an old bike - I am nothing if not a borderline hoarder. But there was something wrong with the way the "normal" aluminum cage (like the one in the upper left corner of this post) looked with the slender tubes of the Allegro. The oversized aluminum tubes of the bottle cage seemed to compete in bulk with the elegant chromoly of the bike. So I set about to find the perfect bottle cage to complement my vintage (really? '86 is "vintage"? I'm old...) bike.

I had a sense that there was more variety available for modern bikes, since my late model Treks sport a set of carbon fiber cages (the teenage punk-ass sales clerk actually complemented me on using the same cages as Lance, which very nearly cost him the sale) and a plastic pair. And the modern styling of the plastic cages fits the large aluminum tubes of the '02 2000 and the giant carbon tubes of the '11 Madone. But the Fuji called for something different, and hopefully less expensive, since the whole bike cost just a bit more than a fashionable set of carbon fiber cages.

Honoré Barthélémy during 1919 Tour de France

The Fuji is a project bike; a bike I bought very much with the idea of learning bike repair, experimenting with different equipment and exploring alternatives to the way I have been riding for most of my adult life. And as I learned about different styles of non-racing bikes, I fell back to my original attraction, which was long distance cycling. I've long maintained the romantic fantasy of the long distance rider, the randonneur, the iron man on a bicycle crossing the world's most beautiful landscapes. And the aesthetic of this fantasy has something of the Heroic image about it. I imagine myself rolling through the Strade Bianche, all wool jerseys and goggles, drinking from an aluminum bottle with a cork stopper, eating paninni wrapped in wax paper. Of course when I actually rode across Italy it was on a state-of-the-art titanium touring bike there was a van following so I wouldn't be late to the picnic set up by the tour guides or the restaurant for dinner.

VO Retro cage MKII, with tab

Notwithstanding the inevitable disparity between self image and reality, as I built up the Fuji I found myself under the spell of the classic cyclotouring bike, the lure of the Constructeur. Of course the Allegro is never going to be a René Herse or an Alex Singer, no matter what accessories I hang on it, but I nevertheless decided to outfit it with classic, beautifully designed stuff that will continue to look and perform perfectly for the rest of my life. So I went where you go when that's the sort of stuff you want, and I outfitted the bike with the cage that made the most sense; the Velo Orange Retro cage MK II, with tab. It just looks timeless, is super lightweight, both visually and physically and is constructed with an ingenious design featuring a single cleverly bent wire. I have spent way too much time tracing the path of the wire around its complete path, reassuring myself that it is indeed made entirely from a single strand. Just lovely. Somewhere in the Design Museum there is an empty pedestal waiting for one of these.

What cost posterity?

It turns out that it costs about $1,800,000 to raise a child, give or take. By my calculation that is the equivalent of about 360 $5,000 bikes.

The Managing Director and I don't have any children, so I put in the requisition today. There was some back and forth on the matter and it was ultimately decided that I am to be allowed 25 $5,000 bicycles so long as our Tuscan villa has room to house them all.

A bike, a baby and a bitch.

And if I buy bikes and an Italian villa, I apparently also won't suffer the lower marital satisfaction and higher depression rates that parents apparently experience. More money, happier marriage, less depression. I guess I'll just have to accept that we will always be one of those sad childless couples having to console ourselves by sleeping late, traveling the world, dining out, going to the theater, you know, just being miserable.

Back to the farm

Farmland, horses, apples, and wineries. What else could you want?

Saturday the Baltimore Bicycling Club (BCC) hosted an unsupported version of the MontgomeryCounty Farm Tour (and picnic) that Potomac Pedalers puts on in September. I had missed the ride in September so I made it a point to make it this time. And a great time it was.

The weather was uncharacteristically warm and sunny, so the riding was especially pleasant out in MontgomeryCounty’s Agricultural Reserve. Leaves are just starting to turn and you can smell the smoke of fireplaces and brush piles as you roll along the rural roads past horse and dairy farms, around the base of Sugarloaf Mountain, right past the winery at its base, filled this weekend with the hoi polloi sipping wine in the autumn air. A really special opportunity, given that it’s only about forty minutes from the DC line.

I did the 55 mile route, though 75 and 35 mile variants were also available. BCC seems to have a lot of tandem riders, and they were out in force on Saturday. I'm not entirely sure why any able bodied person would want to ride such a contraption, but to each their own, I guess. I suppose it helps husbands and wives avoid the inevitable grumbling. I can't help but think that the site of my ass cleavage would overcome any perceived advantage The Managing Partner might derive from going the same speed all day, but again, who am I to say?

There were opportunities for rest stops at Homestead Farm in Poolesville and Kingsbury’s Orchard in Dickerson, Md., both of which had shelves brimming with freshly picked fruit straight out of the trees. Apples always taste best at mile fifty.

Now the hurricane is blowing in and it’s time to hide down in the root cellar for a couple of days before coming up to survey the devastation. Keep your heads down and stay safe.

I oughta have my head examined

Cyclechic Ferrara

Today I want to talk about bicycle helmets. Brain buckets. Skid lids. Cranium catchers. This Sunday past I spent a bit of time riding around the neighborhood dialing in a newly installed pair of Gran Compe 610’s. I was basically just tooling around, stopping to adjust, tooling some more, etc. As the point was not explicitly to go for a ride and as my average speed was likely to be (and in fact was) not more than 10 miles per hour, I didn’t bother with my special clickity shoes and my special stretchy clothes and my special cranial protection.

I zigged and zagged through the neighborhood, wending my leisurely way through the restaurant district, stopping at the art supply store to pick up a paint pen (I’m planning on pinstriping the lugs on the Fuji) past the school where the farmers market sets up, and out past the neighborhood where the One Percenters live. The brakes were now perfectly adjusted, the bike was riding smoothly, the weather was fine, and I was in a great mood. Remembering that I had promised the Managing Partner that I’d do a few things around the house before day’s end, I decided to take the bike path home. Not my favorite way to get around, but it draws a straight line back to the neighborhood and provides a tunneled crossing of Wisconsin Avenue. 

So it was that I came to a stop by the Barnes & Noble, waiting to cross at the light behind the mommy with the stroller and the elderly ladies on their beach cruisers, when a guy on a MuurMart mountain bike crossing in the opposite direction decided to call out to me, “you ought to be wearing a helmet.” What a your-favorite-curse-word-here-wad. I have ridden thousands of miles per year for over a decade. I own several bikes and several helmets. I belong and contribute to several bicycle advocacy organizations. I have read every book about practical cycling penned in the last forty years. I download (and actually read!) lots of those wonky papers about transportation and actually write a blog that’s mostly about bikes and cycling. 

And this t-shirt wearing weekender is gonna tell me to wear a helmet! Feckin’ douche. And I’m sure he congratulated himself for conscientiously educating the guy on the “old fashioned” bike about the need to wear a helmet. I don’t mind that he wanted me to understand the value of bicycle safety. I mind that the dipsh*t feels comfortable playing the nanny without actually having the first idea about bicycle safety.

And Numbnuts’ attitude is quite common. Think about the last time you saw a headline about a cyclist getting run down by a car. Every such article is sure to note, “the cyclist was/wasn’t wearing a helmet.” What the hell does that have to do with the fact that a car ran down a cyclist? Does not wearing a helmet mean I deserve to be run down by a car? No, it does not. It is an irrelevant fact used to dismiss the rights of cyclists. Note that Nanny didn’t tell the mommy pushing the baby stroller across the street while juggling a cell phone and a Vanilla Frappumochaccino to wear a helmet. 

Many European cities have vastly higher modal share for bicycles, as the transportation weenies say, than anyplace in the US. And you will almost never see a single helmet in Amsterdam or Copenhagen. I’ve personally been to several Italian cities where the share of trips by bike hovers near 30%, and never saw a single helmet on any of the senior citizens riding their bikes. 

But surely, given the accepted dogma that helmets save lives, the streets of Ferrara and Lucca must be strewn with the corpses of the bici-victims, right? No. Why? Because Europeans are used to seeing bikes. They have invested in bicycling infrastructure and have made a concerted effort to get people out of the cars that destroy the quality of life in their cities and cause the deaths of thousands of people per year. In 2010, over 30,000 people died in the U.S. because of cars. In the same year 618 cyclists died. So who should be wearing helmets?

There is even reason to believe that forcing people to wear helmets discourages them from riding bikes at all. Places with mandatory helmet laws have notably low ridership levels. But if you don’t believe me perhaps you will believe the New York Times. And with the massive success of Washington, DC's Capital Bike Share and hopefully others like it in cities around the country, we should expect to see a lot more helmetless heads on our streets. And when we do maybe we'll realize that bicycling is a safe, healthy way to get around, not a life threatening activity for which we need body armor. And maybe we'll start designing our communities on a human scale instead of being beholden to the mighty automobile, and then start holding cars responsible for sharing the road with cyclists and pedestrians.

Well, anyway, I’m not going to change anything here. As far as I’m concerned, if you want to wear a helmet, great. Strap one on. I usually do. But if you see a grown up tax-paying citizen riding his bike around town without a helmet, why don’t you just keep your righteousness to yourself. Go ahead and feel superior. Just keep that warm feeling inside. It might just be the case that other people are able to make informed choices for themselves without the benefit of your superhuman concern for our well being. 

Further Reading

http://chasingmailboxes.com/2012/10/10/you-wear-a-helmet-dont-you/

http://bicyclesafe.com/helmets.html