Side by Side

My last ride of was with the delightful Bekka ofBikeyface, who is slowly but surely getting drawn into roadcycling (eeexcellent). We've been practicing our "epic" faces, as you can see.

We had some things to talk about, so we decided to "go for coffee" - a 20 mile ride to the Ride Studio Cafe and back.

Once there, we nearly took the rack down with 60lb of collective bike poundage, but never mind!

The weird thing about riding with Bekka, is that her bicycle - a Surly Cross-Check - is the same make and model as the Co-Habitant's bike - only about half the size and built up very differently. The smaller sized Cross-Check frames have sloping top tubes and different seat tube angles(75° on the 42cm frame vs 72° on the 62mm frame), so altogether her bicycle registers as sort of the same bike as his, but not really. Freaky. And it also goes to show that when reading bicycle reviews and test ride reports, it's worth paying attention to the size of the bike described - this factor can make a difference. But despite the blatant differences in frames, both Bekka and the Co-Habitant are quite happy with theirs, so it seems fair to conclude that the Cross-Check is a crowdpleaser.



With Bekka on the Surlyand me on the Rivendell, we were pretty well matched for speed, which was nice. It was a quiet morning just before New Year and we were able to ride side by side some of the time.I used to be vehemently against cycling side by side on the road - especially in the city - because I felt that this distracted me from paying attention to traffic. Now I am less vehement about it, simply because I've ridden with people who cycle side by side as a matter of course and have learned to adapt. Still, I seldom have a good feeling about it. While in Massachusetts it is legal to ride two abreast, one could argue that doing so is not always practicable, and therefore not in good faith. It has also been known to provoke driver aggression. The local cyclists I've been riding with are split on this one, with some groups prohibiting riding two abreast and others insisting on it, so I am getting some rather mixed messages. I'd like to decide on a policy and stick with it without being influenced by the people I am riding with, but haven't made up my mind yet.



Switching from "lone wolf" cycling to riding with others has caused a rather dramatic upheaval in my little world.I had tried the social cycling thing before and did not enjoy it, but somehow this time around it clicked. Suddenly I have a full "dance card" of cycling events every week, and in the winter at that. Not that I am complaining! But this is definitely a new era, and I am curious what the future will bring.

Those Pesky Gunks Sevens!

(Photo: That's me in the yellow/green jacket past the crux on Thin Slabs Direct (5.7+).)



In my last post I discussed (and expressed skepticism about) several supposed 5.8 sandbags in the Trapps.



Then on Friday of last week, climbing with a new partner Matt, I was reminded of some other sandbags that are not so easily dismissed.



These climbs are like landmines for the unsuspecting leader. They promise smooth, moderate sailing but instead deliver moments of puzzlement and sketchitude.



I speak, of course, of those bewildering oddites otherwise known asGunks 5.7's.



LastFridayMatt and Iwerehoping tojump onBirdie Party, but we found it occupied. Matt suggested wedo Anguish instead since it was open and neither of us had done it. It seemed like a good idea to me. I intended to link the first two pitches in one and take us all the way up to the GT Ledge. Matt would take the crux 5.8 pitch to the top. I thoughtthe first two pitcheslooked pretty easy, except for the new crux of the first pitch that Dick Williams described in his 2004 guidebook. Instead of the traditional route, which moved to the right over a flake/corner at 5.4, Dick now recommends a roof escape to the left at 5.7-.



I thought I remembered a thread on Gunks.com where folks had complained that this roof escape felt much harder than 5.7. (I can't find such a thread now, so maybe it never existed.) But I wasn't worried. I thought it might feel like a 5.8, but so what? I'd be fine. How bad could it be?



Then I got up there under the roof and found out.



I had pro in the corner but it was all the way at the back. I tried to get something in the little flaring notch at the lip of the roof but I couldn't get anything on my rack to stick.



Then I started to pull over the roof, looking for holds, but whatever holds there were seemed very far away.



So I retreated a bit to a stance and thought it over. Dick said escape left, I realized. He didn't say to pull the roof directly.



Goingback up, Itried to follow Dick's orders and escape left. I got a hold of some small crimps and moved around the outside arete. But this put me at a really pumpy stance and the next move up was far from certain. Plus my pro was over to the right and back in the corner. I didn't like this at all. I retreated again.



Three or four times I tried to make my escape but on each occasion I didn't like the move or the potential fall so I came back. And then, defeated,I finally said "screw it" and finished the pitch the 5.4 way.



What a way to start a new climbing partnership! Bailing on a 5.7-.



Matt led the 5.8 pitch three of Anguish and it is really very good. It has some nice crux moves up to the overhang; then the overhang itself is a bit easier. The rest of the way is even more casual but thegear is a little thin. The topout requires a few easy slab moves above your pro.



I wouldn't bother to repeat pitches one and two of Anguish-- the quality moments are few, even if you include the part I skipped--but if I were descending from another climb using the nearby Three Pines rappel routeI woulddefinitely consider running up the third pitch of Anguish again.The pitchbegins on the GT Ledge right around the corner from the bolted anchor, and once you top out it's an easy walk just a few yards over to the bolts on top of the cliff for the descent.



Later in the day, after I'd redeemed myself a bit and led some harder climbs, I mentioned how embarrassed I was to have begun the day by chickening out on a 5.7-. Matt responded that he'd taken a fall at the tricky crux move of Baskerville Terrace (5.7) just a few weeks before-- and thisright after a successful lead of Roseland (5.9)! So I didn't have to feel too bad. He knew what I was going through.



Those pesky sevens!



There sure seem to be a lot of "problem" sevens at the Gunks, no? I've certainly had more 5.7difficulties than 5.8 difficulties. I've never bailed on a 5.8 lead. But here I abandoned Anguish pitch one, andI also remember a couple of seasons ago trying the opening move to Trapped Like a Rat (5.7) and then abandoning that one too. And don't even get me started on that stupid grease-pole-of-a-sandbag Laurel. Come to think of it, I once bailed on a 5.8: Drunkard's Delight (5.8-), but that route too wasuntil recentlyconsidered a 5.7+!



We finished our day last Friday with perhapsthe mother of all 5.7 sandbags: Thin Slabs Direct.



Matt led the 5.7 variation to pitch one, and wouldn't you know it, as he approached the end of the vertical crack that marks the early part of the route, I heard him muttering "Why is this so tricky??"



And then "Watch me here!"



But he sketched through the hard part and then took the lead all the way to the GT Ledge.



When it was my turn to follow I was kind of shocked at how thin the first twosteps off the ground were. I wasn't sure I could even get started on the pitch. But we all know that no matter how hard the first move is, it doesn't count as part of the difficulty rating in the Gunks. Once I got my feet on the wall and my hands in the crack, I thought the climbing was enjoyable and, yes, kind of stiff for 5.7.



When I got near the top of the crack I saw what Matt had been concerned about. The hands were good, but the feet were smeary.I knew with one morereach the angle would ease off; the harder variation start would be over.As I smearedand reached up with the security of the toprope,I thought:"nice lead!"



And: "5.7??"



Once Igot tothe GT LedgeI had to confront the Thin Slabs Direct finish, which is supposedly 5.7+. This variationhas the distinction of being the only "direct" finish I can think of that is actually substantially less direct than the regular route. It is in fact the very antithesis of "direct." The whole point of the variation is to force the leader to traverse to the right for fifteento twenty feet out of the way, over aterrifying drop, with slippery hands and no real footholds to speak of.



I first attempted this pitch in . Before I got to the Direct finish, I led Sente, onsight, to start the climb. This wasmy first 5.9 lead ever, which made me very proud. Then I joined Thin Slabs up to the GT Ledge and promptly got thoroughly humbled by Thin Slabs Direct. I remember being so pumped as I attempted it. Ifound itvery difficult to let go with one hand long enough to clip the three ancient pitons that line the traverse; forget about even attempting to place my own gear. Eventually, after going out and back a few times and taking a hang in the middle,I got to the end of the traverse and managed to pull my body inelegantly onto the shelf on the main face of the cliff. Lying there on the shelf, I was grateful I had survived the climb, but I knew it was no victory.



I wrote a little self-deprecatingpieceabout the experience at the time on Gunks.com (see my post at the bottom of the page). Until last Friday I hadn't been back.



And this time, climbing Thin Slabs Direct felt... well... tough for 5.7, that's for sure. And it was still scary, there's no doubt about that. But mostlyclimbing it againmade me realize how much I've improved. If you hang off that shelf in justthe right way it isn't so pumpy. There are footholds to be found, they just aren't very big.And ifyou turn your body sideways, just so,your feet can really help you, and the clipping isn't so hard. A little technique will get you there.



This time, once I committed to the traverse I moved right through it, coming around the corner without a hitch. It was a great way to end the day, and it nearly erased the bad feelings I got from pitch one of Anguish.



But still, after it was over, there was no escaping one conclusion: Thin Slabs, with both variations, isafreaking HARD 5.7. I mean really, what is it with those Gunks sevens?

Wheeling and Dealing: Can We Learn from Owning (and Selling) Bicycles?

As you have probably noticed, I own more than a couple of bicycles at this point. I have also sold a fewand may be paring down further before the summer's end. Most of the bicycles I've owned have gone through a variety of experimental alterations - some minor, others major; some successful and others not so much. So, what is the point of it all? Were some of these bicycles "mistakes" that I should not have gotten in the first place? And are my various projects ultimately wastes of time and money if I end up selling the bicycle in the end?



Bicycle ownership for me has two purposes. First and foremost, it is utilitarian: Ideally, I want to own several bicycles, each of which will excel at a designated function - such as commuting or cyclotouring. But I also enjoy learning about different kinds of bicycles. This includes understanding bicycle history, geometry, positioning, and the differences between manufacturing styles. And I would argue that this kind of knowledge can only truly be gainedthrough owning and riding a variety of bicycles; just reading and chatting about it is not sufficient. For me, bicycle ownership has been educational, and no bicycle I have acquired and subsequently let go of has been a "mistake": They have each helped me understand something crucial.



Some things I have learned through my experiences:

. the relationship between bicycle geometry and bicycle handling

. how to adjust my position for maximum comfort on different kinds of bikes

. which components work best for me, and why

. what is really my optimal bicycle size

. how to maximise a bicycle's strengths andcompensate for a bicycle's shortcomings

. how to determine whether my cycling limitations are due to lack of skill or to discomfort

. and, of course, how to perform a variety of DIY adjustments



Though there have been frustrations, there have also been great rewards. The Pashley Princess was a dear fried whose beauty inspired me, and thanks to whose stability and reliability I immediately became comfortable with vehicular cycling. The Raleigh Lady's Sportstaught me all about vintage English 3-speeds, plunged me into anobsession with cream tires,and, ultimately, made me realise that I prefer loop frames to straight step-through frames. And the Mercier mixte helped me understand derailleur gearing by allowing me to boldly experiment with drivetrain conversion, as well as to experience an authentic French city bicycle from a bygone era.



I do not see myself as a collector of bicycles, but I am happy to serve as foster parent to a few that will ultimately be passed along to another owner - learning all I can from it in the meanwhile. As for the financial costs of the purchases and the alterations - I have been lucky to more or less break even,and that is good enough for me. I have also been lucky to get lots of advice and help from experienced bicycle lovers not only locally, but from all over the world. Thank you all, and I hope that some of my experiences have provided useful or entertaining information for my readers.

Remembering a Man I Never Knew

[image viasheldonbrown.com]






Because I live in Boston and have been writing about Harris Cyclery from the start of this blog, I am sometimes asked whether I knew Sheldon Brown. What was he like? Did he inspire my love of English 3-speeds? But I regret to say, that I have never met him. The first time I walked into Harris Cyclery was just over a year after Sheldon Brown's death, the anniversary of which was last week. I was already reading his articles at that time (this was Spring ), but did not realise that he'd passed away. And then at Harris, there was this basket on the counter full of little flyers with his picture and "1944 - " underneath it. Seeing the flyers was like a punch in the stomach. "Oh no, he died!" I blurted out without thinking. I remember the moment well, and particularly the disappointment and sadness of it. Somehow, this man's articles about bicycles had managed to fill me with enough affection toward him, so that his death felt like a personal loss - despite learning of it a year after the fact.




Sheldon Brown was a bicycle mechanic, whose technical knowledge - particularly of classic and vintage bikes - was not only vast, but presented in the most captivating manner through a seemingly endless series of articles, glossaries and instruction pages. He shared his writing, including technical information, history, and decades worth of personal journals and travelogues, via a website he developed with Harris Cyclery, which continues to be maintained today. His writing was sincere, funny, wacky, and excellent in equal measure, and its influence cannot be overstated. I meet people from all over the world who will casually mention that they learned how to work on bicycles "from reading Sheldon Brown," or that thanks to his website they identified an old bike found in the cellar, or even that they took up randonneuring after reading his online journals and descriptions of France. Bicycle forums and news groups are replete with Sheldon Brown references and quotes.



But you can find a far better description of all this in his obituary in The Times, and thetribute on Bike Snobis worth reading as well. I don't want to attempt to paint a portrait of a man I never knew. But I do want to acknowledge his impact on me personally.






[image via sheldonbrown.com]


Like so many others, I stumbled upon Sheldon Brown's website while looking for information on vintage bicycles. And I believe it's what I found in his writing that turned what could have been a passing curiosity into the seeds of an obsession. I cannot put my finger on what it was exactly that drew me in: Maybe it was his easy relationship with technical and historical information, which made everything read like a story, rather than a boring manual. Maybe it was his open-minded curiosity about different types of bicycles and different aspects of cycling. Or maybe it was the way he embraced eccentricity, without trying to either downplay or justify it. It's hard to say, but whatever it was - it got through to me and engaged my imagination. I am just one person, but I am certain there are many, many others who would say the same. And that's quite something.



For the last several years of his life, Sheldon suffered from Multiple Sclerosis and was unable to ride his beloved bicycles, yet managed to write an article entitled The Bright Side of MS. But the dominant image I have of him, is that of a young, strong man riding crazy bikes, as captured in his many black and white photos taken with a self timer.



Sheldon Brown was an avid photographer, and the above picture he took of himself has turned out to be chillingly prophetic. The impact he's had on "bicycle culture" is so strong, that three years after his death his presence remains vibrant. I am extremely happy about that. And I thank him for all the help and inspiration he has given me, despite my never having had the privilege of meeting him.

secret powers

last night I dreamed a cranefly orchid
in winter the only green



between 40 shades of brown
and lucky as a clover
I found it

Saddlebags as Camera Bags?

For the past two years, I have been using either my Carradice Barley or Zimbale 7L saddlebags, with the padded Zimbale insert shown here, as camera bags. This setup is convenient, secure and fits up to three full sized (SLR or medium format) cameras. The side pockets are great for storing film, a flash unit or other accessories.



But I am also ever on the lookout for a much smaller bag that will accommodate a single camera equally well without the extra bulk. The ideal bag for this would be just large enough to swallow a DSLR with a zoom lens attached, but no larger - so that it's tucked in behind the saddle without the sides sticking out. It would be fantastic if the bag had a padded insert, but not a dealbreaker if it does not; I can make my own. Finally, I would like for the bag to have the look and feel of a classic saddlebag: earth-tone canvas, that sort of thing.






A bag such at the Velo Orange Croissant, or the Berthoud it is based on, would be perfect for the job if just a tad larger. Unfortunately they do not quite fit my camera comfortably. It looks like the similarly shaped Acorn and Zimbale bags are slightly bigger, but I am not certain they are sufficient either.






After seeing the dimensions of the Carradice Zipped Roll, I thought that it would be large enough. But while the bag is large enough in itself, the opening is quite narrow and I cannot get my camera through. The Zipped Roll has now become the Co-Habitant's handlebar bag.






This United Pedal saddlebag I spotted at the New Amsterdam bike show had the same issue - the bag itself being the perfect size, but the opening too small to fit a full-sized camera through.






It occurs to me that a traditional Roadster saddlebag design could work as well - only made of lighter fabric, so as to make sense on a roadbike.




In this era of small-scale bicycle bag manufacturers, I think it would be a great idea for someone to design the perfect single-camera saddlebag. So many cyclists are also photographers and would love to carry an SLR on their roadbikes without having to mount an expedition-sized saddlebag every time.




If you carry a full sized camera in your saddlebag, what is your setup?

FOTR Rally