Alas, as the event drew closer the weather forecast became increasingly dire, and when I awoke in the early morning hours on the day of the event the rain was falling steadily with no sign of relenting. And so I did something that could be construed as cowardly, but that I like to think is a sign of maturity:
I said "fuck it" and decided to bail.
Sure, I felt bad for all the people who would be working hard to put on a race in the rain, but I figured at least they'd get to keep my entry fee. Also, I am supposed to be doing this for fun, and not only would the rain wash away the fun factor, but it would also increase the risk factor exponentially, and at this point in my life I have to be thrifty when it comes to risk-taking. It's the same thought process I now have when I encounter a particularly tricky section of trail while riding my mountain bike: sure, I could try riding that, and I'd probably even make it. But if I don't I'll probably bust my ass, and I'd hate to have to spend weeks of the bike just because my ego wouldn't let me walk three feet. (And that's not even taking account what a physical job parenting young children is, and it's that much harder when you're physically compromised.)
In other words, all of the above is a roundabout way of saying I'm a total "woosie."
The bike arrived last Friday from Classic Cycles, and you can read all about it on their site here. (Scroll down.) Eagerly I lifted the lid of the travel case in which it arrived, and there it lay like Nosferatu in his coffin, dormant beneath its wheelbag shroud, its Ergopower™fangs pointing reproachfully at the heavens:
Titanius Fredlius resurgemus et conteret et adiuva me vincere hostibus meis
There was a peal of thunder, the lights dimmed, and when the power came back on this is what stood before me:
I don't find myself coveting bikes much these days. That's partially because I have a lot of bikes already, and partially because when you're in the throes of parenthood it's not the bikes themselves you covet, it's the time to ride them. I certainly did covet bikes when I was younger though, and so a bike like this stirs many feelings in me. When I was in my early 20s, in the heady '90s, a titanium Litespeed seemed to represent the very pinnacle of cycling attainment:
(Via here--PDF)
At that point in my life, because of the relationship I was in, I often found myself out in the Hamptons being taunted by success. Riding out to Montauk or up to Sag Harbor on whatever aluminum bike I had at the time, or stopping into Rotations in Southampton for some tubes or an energy bar, I'd see older riders of means astride bikes like these, and it would evoke in me acute sense of just how far I had to go. (A Litespeed with Helium wheels was practically standard issue for the well-to-do middle-aged cyclist at the time.) It's not entirely accurate to say I envied the bikes, since as someone whose job consisted of taking verbal abuse in exchange for a small paycheck what I really longed for was the sense of pride, satisfaction and well-being I imagined must come from having achieved a certain level of success. Still, as someone who loved cycling as much as I did, their bikes were perhaps the most potent symbol of that, much more than the cars and the houses and boats and all the other fancy stuff they play with out there.
All of this is to say that I'm now giving myself a trans-dimensional high five through space and time for finally getting that Litespeed. Oh, sure, maybe I haven't attained the actual success in life of which I was so enamored, but hey, at least the only boss yelling at me is my 4 year-old, and at least I've got the bike. Sure, it may be "obsolete" now, but this particular specimen is something of a turn-of-the-century dream bike, with components that represent sort of a "greatest hits" of the aughts, what with the Record 10 speed and the Ksyriums with the red spoke commemorating the Heliums that used to taunt me so. And yet it's also got the new-style Chorus 11-speed crank to keep it current. (Though I guess even Chorus has gone to 12-speed now, but whatever.) It's an articulate summation of my past longings and my present needs, and I like to think that decades of Fredly longing on my part have willed it into existence.
Anyway, I was so caught up in the symbolism of all of this while assembling it that I was completely taken by surprise at just how nicely the bike rides. I've only got a few rides on the bike so far, and its dangerous to draw conclusions when you're still in that new-bike buoyancy period and twiddling the knobs as it were, but to date every pedal stroke has been like "wow:"
We've all got our chronological frames of reference, but I happen to think that the time period from whence this bike hails represents a particularly idyllic period for the road bike. It's got a threaded bottom bracket and a standard headset for simplicity (not to mention a level top tube, though I was still young enough when those Giant ONCE bikes came out to think sloping top tubes were cool), and yet with an 1 1/8th" head tube and threadless fork it's still readily compatible with what's out there today. And while we're admittedly in the waning days of the rim brake and the quick release axle, they're still going to be around for a long time to come, and more importantly, they work. Really, the only thing that dates this bike (decals and the ugly Ksyriums aside) is the tire clearance. I haven't experimented, but it looks fairly tight, and I doubt 28s are going to happen. (Though, as far as road riding goes, with a pair of 25s you're pretty much ready for anything.)
I'm also really enjoying having Campy again. I had a Record 10-speed group when it was still new, and it came on this ungodly bicycle:
My friends at the shop gave me a great deal on it at the time, and I bought it entirely because of the Record stuff. (The frame cracked in short order, but the components continued for many miles.) At the time, Record 10 seemed impossibly exotic; now the metal-and-crabon aesthetic of the derailleurs looks almost quaint. I loved it at the time, but Campy shifters (at least of this vintage) eventually need to be rebuilt, and since I had only one road bike and was putting lots of miles on it I reached that point fairly quickly. So instead of rebuilding them I sold the group while it could still fetch a good price, and I went back to Shimano which is comparatively easier. (People used to say "Campy wears in, Shimano wears out," but in my experience Shimano works consistently for as long as you need it to despite the fact you can't rebuild it. I've still got the Ultegra group that replaced the Record and it works perfectly.)
Still, I did miss the tactile "ker-thunk!" shifting of the Record, and it's good to have it back. Now that I spread my miles across many bikes I doubt I'll wear the internals out anytime soon, but if I do the downtime won't matter since I've always got something else to ride. And while the Record on the Litespeed omits some of the prettiest parts of the Record 10 group (the hidden-arm square taper crank and the silver headset), I did get the Record titanium seatpost, which is something I didn't have the first time around, and which is as classy a bicycle component as you'll find anywhere.
As for the Ksyriums, I live in fear of the dreaded "Mavic death squeal," but with some proactive maintenance I should be able to keep that at bay, and in any case I'll ride them for as long as they hold up. Sure, all things being equal I'd prefer some traditional wheels with Record 10-speed hubs (I used to have those too and wow were they nice), but the Ksyriums are in keeping with the overall early 21st Century Fred bike aesthetic.
And while everything about this bike may scream "Old guy who skips races when it rains," rest assured that it's rained pretty much every time I've ridden the bike so far, which seems fitting as it came from the Pacific Northwest. In fact on Saturday I practically felt like I was there:
Speaking of the Pacific Northwest, Classic Cycles may have lost a Litespeed, but they're gaining a Renovo:
Indeed, it's in the coffin from which the Litespeed emerged, and it's making its way westward as I type this, crabon wheels and all.
I no longer have a wooden bike. I feel so ordinary now...
