At This Point Just Call Them All "Bikes" And Be Done With It

Firstly, I wrote words, and they're in the Transportation Alternatives magazine, Reclaim--though you can read them on Medium:

And of course there's always the Transportation Alternatives Bike Forecast, which is curated by none other than Your's Truley.

I truly do put the "semi" in "semi-professional bike blogger."

Secondly, as a middle-aged dad living in the cycling backwater known as New York City, I'm pretty out of it.  As such, I only just learned that Shimano has announced the world's first dedicated gravel component group:

I suppose there was a time when I'd made fun of this--you know, back when I was funny.  Now, however, I simply root for the bike companies whatever they're selling.  Gravel groups?  $1,100 hardtail mountain bikes for kids?  Fixed-gear carbon fiber gravel-specific recumbents for your laid-back bikepacking adventures?

Hey, as long as it's not a helmet, I say bring it on.

Moreover, as far as the gravel stuff goes, what's not to like?  I mean yes, it's easy to laugh at gravel-specific shorts, but if the Freds need a special word to make it okay to use clothing with more pockets then who am I to complain?  Plus, when it comes to drop-bar bikes, component makers have traditionally offered lots of nearly identical stuff that differs only in price.  Mechanically speaking, the differences between, say, Dura Ace and Ultegra are virtually meaningless.  So the fact that you can now have the option of a single-ring setup with a clutch derailleur that doesn't require any kludges or workarounds is pretty cool.

Granted, I'm not particularly crazy about the name--do you pronounce "GRX" as "Gurcks" or "Jerks?"--but that's just a minor detail.

Nevertheless, while I'm no longer particularly angry at the bike industry (there are much better industries to be angry at), I still find the cyclists themselves incredibly annoying.  Specifically, in perusing the comments sections on the various Internet posts about these new components, I've noticed disturbing new phenomenon:

Humblebragging about how low your gearing is.

See, it used to be that everyone was using gearing that was way too big, and that was annoying enough.  Now, however, it seems that everybody's running gears that are too small in order to prove what rugged terrain they ride and how much crap they carry.  As far as I can tell, with GRX you can run something like a 31 in the front and a 34 in the back, and yet I keep seeing commentary along the lines of, "This GRX gearing is not low enough!  I have three WolfTooth adapters on my long-cage derailleur so I can run a modified 53-tooth front chainring as my lowest gear in the rear, and I've got a 13-tooth rear cog bolted onto the spider of my front crank, which is what you really for the climbs around here--especially when you're carrying a pour-over coffee maker in the pocket of your Rapha gravel shorts."

At this rate the low-gearing backlash is all but assured, and when that happens I've got two words for you: "fixie bikepacking."

Finally, speaking of fixies:

(Via the Twitter)

The Luna Fixed is a fixed gear styled electric bike. For the uninitiated, fixed gear bikes are generally minimalist frames lacking cable clutter and have their pedal input rigidly connected to the rear wheel without a freewheel, meaning if the bike is moving then the pedals are moving too.

But while old school fixies may be a timeless classic, the Luna Fixed offers a very 21st-century twist. A 400 W mid-drive motor and 250 Wh battery are both hidden in the 6061 aluminum frame of the unassuming bike.

Looks like a pretty cool bike, but I'm reasonably certain neither the designers nor the writer of the article have ever seen a fixed-gear bicycle before.

New Outside Column!

I've got a new Outside column, and it's about how right on red for drivers is bullshit:

Of course we don't allow right on red here in New York City, though there are certain intersections where it is permitted, and if you don't notice the tiny sign telling you it's okay to go the drivers behind you will completely lose their shit because you're robbing them the chance to savor this rare opportunity.

Also, I've been acquainting myself with the mechanical nuances of my new-to-me bike:

 Firstly, I preemptively lubricated the freehub in order to obviate the dreaded "Mavic Death Squeal," and to familiarize myself with the process.  (As it happens, I was riding with a friend recently when his Mavic hub started howling, so the blood-curdling sound was still fresh in my mind.)  In all the process took maybe 5 minutes, required only two hex keys, and in terms of mechanical difficulty was only slightly more challenging than removing the rear wheel from the bicycle in order to do it.  So if doing that a couple times a season keeps things working smoothly then I'd consider that acceptable.

Secondly, a on a ride a few days ago I noticed a subtle squeaking sound while pedaling that I eventually narrowed down to the crank.  (Remember, this bike is new to me, so it's bound to need some attention here and there.)  "Uh-oh," I thought.  As a Shimano Hollowtech II enthusiast (let's be honest, a traditional threaded bottom bracket shell with a Hollowtech II crank is the most reliable, easily serviced drivetrain in the history of humankind), I was dreading the moment I'd have to figure out the Campagnolo Ultra Torque crank, what with its wave washers and Hirth joint and all the rest of it--though I also knew that sooner or later I'd have to come to terms with it, and clearly that moment had come sooner rather than later.

Anyway, removing and reinstalling the Campy crank also turned out to be pretty easy--not Hollowtech II easy, but certainly easy enough.  It also didn't require any weird tools (I had a hex key of sufficient length, as well as a torque wrench), though had I done a full bearing service it would have been another story, because apparently those require a special puller, because of course they do.  In any case, I greased the cups and put everything back together, and since then everything's been quiet.

Hopefully it remains that way, because I've got an Ultegra crank ready to be deployed on short notice, and I will mix Campy and Shimano if I have to.  (In fact, if you look closely at the bike, I already am.)

You have been warned.

Eroica CA DVD Extras!

On Monday I shared my Eroica California story for Outside magazine, which is already being hailed as the greatest story about the 2019 Eroica California for Outside magazine that I've ever written:

Nevertheless, as comprehensive as that story is, it doesn't tell the whole story.  Specifically, it omits many of my crappy photos, as well as the sorts of tedious details nobody really needs or wants to know.  Therefore, I am going to provide you with an abundance of both herewith.

For example, you know I ordered a Brand-X Road Bike from Chain Reaction Cycles for the Nova Eroica and had it shipped to my hotel.  But do you know how it looked when I took it out of the box?  Well, now you do:

You also know that I purchased a Univega Viva Sport for $125 on Craigslist.  Well, here's the actual ad:

Here's the bike mere moments after it had become mine:

And here it is in my sweet-ass rental minivan:

Oh yeah, here's my sweet-ass rental minivan:

As for the Brand X, even though I now ride titanium, the ne plus ultra of frame materials ("ne plus ultra" is how the sorts of assholes who ride titanium say "bestest"), I do have a soft spot for aluminum bikes as well as for inexpensive bikes of all materials.  So I was just as excited to try it out as I would be if it were a $10,000 Fred Sled:

The matte finish and minimal branding also worked for me:

As did the accidental nod to the Bronx, the New York City borough which I call home:

For the data nerds, the shifters were Shimano Tourney, which I believe are probably the last ones to include the little Campy-esque nubbin on the inside of the lever for the upshifts.  Unlike Campy, you can't really access the nubbins from the drops, but outside of a race situation that's not really something you miss too much.  Also, as I mentioned in the Outside story, the bike comes with a seven-speed freewheel, and I do mean freewheel--it's not a cassette hub.  However, that too worked perfectly well, and it also seemed like a fitting nod to Eroica.

Anyway, as I said, I was excited to try my new cheap bike, though to be honest the setting may have informed my excitement somewhat.  It's still pretty cold and crappy in New York City in April, and so watching people heading out for a quick surf before work on a sunny Friday morning seemed impossibly exotic:

And yes, before you tell me about your friend who surfs out in Rockaway before work, I know it's something people do everywhere, but let's not pretend that the pre-work routine for 90% of New Yorkers isn't getting a buttered roll and a coffee at the deli on a dark and rainy morning before throwing elbows on the subway for an hour.

Dialing in the bike was easy, and as I mentioned in the article I didn't even bother to adjust the tire pressure, which was fine out of the box.  After that I picked up some nutrition and various sundries at a local bike shop and headed up the coast in my minivan.  Then, the next morning, I lined up at the start of the Nova Eroica:

If you squint the Brand-X looks like any other gravel bike, but it's oh so much less:

As was the case last year, the ride itself was stunning, and while it featured some long, difficult climbs, there was plenty of time for recovery in between:

Plus, the view at from the tops of the climbs was well worth the effort:

One thing I didn't mention in the article though was that, owing to what was apparently an organizational hiccup or whatever the technical term for fuck-up is, many of the rest stops were insufficiently socked, which is another way of saying they didn't have enough food.  This wasn't really a problem for me, as I had stuffed my pockets with so much food that morning that my jersey was distended and about to burst, and I never got close to bonking.  (The girth of my midriff wasn't helping.)  However, a lot of riders were understandably quite frustrated, since a major part of the Eroica experience is eating fancy quasi-Italian foodstuffs, and whether it's Tuscany or the Central Coast you should be plied with wine and olive oil at every turn. 

Still, there was a stop at a brewery:

And I felt really bad for all the normals who had to endure the constant stream of Freds clomping in for their free sample:

But yeah, that aside, the ride was sublime, and here are the wheels I followed for a good portion of the ride:

"Who's the doofus with the pie plate and 500 packets of energy gels in his jersey?," they're all wondering.

With Nova Eroica down I had only the Classic Eroica to go, and when I spotted this vintage Mario Bros. game in a local restaurant I wondered if there was an Eroica for gamers:

Then I realized I don't really care.

Until now I had barely touched the Univega, so the morning of the Classic Eroica I finally turned my attention to it.  Here's the house we were staying in, so I enjoyed the novelty of working on a bike in a garage as opposed to the basement of an apartment building which is where I usually do it:

The view wasn't too bad, either:

My usual view is of the laundry room.

Here's the Univega exactly as I received it:

It was, by all appearances, a pretty nice frame:

Though the cockpit looked like the "It's" man from Monty Python:

According to this seat tube sticker, it had begun life at Bike Tech in Orange County:

So presumably it hadn't traveled far in the past few decades.

The Craigslist ad had said 1985, but I think maybe the SunTour components are newer than that:

I'm sure someone out there can date all this stuff exactly, though as Classic Cycles points out on their website in the description of my Litespeed, when it comes to bikes it's sort of pointless to get hung up on exact dates.

Either way, while the chain was rusty, the chainrings were quite clean, leading me to believe this bicycle had not been ridden much relative to its age:

I wasn't about to bother re-taping the bars or anything like that, but I did add some toe clips (I brought those home with me for another project), and I also threw on a Brooks Cambium I had brought with me for insurance:

In all, I easily had the mustiest bike there, but I was there, and that's all that mattered:

Recovery rides don't get much better than leisurely spins along the Pacific:

Here's the view from the turnaround point:

And here's what happened to my decaying brake hood when I briefly lay the bike down on the ground:

I guess it must be gravel-specific.

On the way back I stopped to commune with the seals:

After two days spent riding around with packs of people in cycling clothes, it's hard to to draw comparisons:

And finally it was back to Cambria, where somebody apparently misunderstood what the whole Eroica thing was about:

Of course, what you really want to know is this:

Who called dibs on the bikes?!?

Well, I had one dibs-caller on the Brand-X.  He was down from Berkeley for the ride, and if he happens to be reading perhaps he'll hop into the comments and let us know how it's going.  Perhaps he'll also share how (or even if) he managed to get both his own bike and the Brand-X (not to mention all his camping equipment) back in a Miata.  It really is a solid bike, and it seems particularly well-suited to long-haul commuting.  Throw some fenders and a rack on there and you'd be all set.

As for the Univega, incredibly nobody called dibs on it.  Can you believe it?  If it had fit me better I might have even considered keeping it.  However, instead I decided to donate it.  Since I would be flying out of Los Angeles somebody recommended giving it to the Bicycle Kitchen, but then it turned out there was also a Bicycle Kitchen right there in Cambria, so in the end it all worked out.

 After Eroica, I drove down to Los Angeles and spent the night there before flying home on Monday.  Here was the reading material in my trendy boutique hotel room:

Clearly there was no escaping the Eroica theme.

Ti Flies When You're Having Fun

This past Sunday was the Zach Koop Memorial Criterum at Orchard Beach, in my home borough of the Bronx.  This event features a whole day of racing, including kids' races, and while on the opposite side of the Bronx from me it's an easy and pleasant ride via the Mosholu-Pelham Greenway.  So in anticipation of this year's edition I registered for two (2) races and planned to bring the kids and make a day of it.

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."

Nevertheless, the fact remains that the age of 40 has long since disappeared in my helmet mirror (no, I don't use a helmet mirror, it's just a metaphor), and while colonoscopies and mole removals may take up more of my time than I'd like, overall I'm rather enjoying pedaling down this particular stretch of road.  In fact, I like to think my latest velocipedal acquisition is a perfect encapsulation of where I'm at right now:

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:

Wielding a hex key, I recited an ancient incantation:

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...

New Outside Column...*and* Eroica California...and More!

Firstly, my latest Outside column is about why people really hate spinning, and how that guy who told off his daughter for wanting to buy a peloton sounds like kind of an asshole:

If you agreed with him, remember what Jesus said:

"Let he who has not purchased an expensive piece of cycling equipment cast the first stone."

A-meh and Holy Luau.

Secondly, it's the moment you've all been waiting for!  No, not that one.  I'm talking about my Eroica California Story!

(I'm the rider all the way on the right.)

This should answer every question you should possibly have about my participation in this year's edition, though if you don't have time to read it here are those answers:

--Yes
--No
--Yes
--With a shoehorn
--Over easy
--Only on Sundays

And yes, I'll still be sharing outtakes and additional crappy photography here on this blog later in the week.

Oh, and finally, I was also on a podcast!

https://t.co/03DJLT6G22
If you haven't check out this segment with @bikesnobnyc #bikesnobnyc , it's in EP38...
#thebikekarmapodcast .
Or just type BIKE KARMA into the search.#bicycles#bicycle#cycling#cyclinglife#bikesnob#bicyclestories#bicyclepodcast#podcast#bikekarma pic.twitter.com/z00ZNwdguq

— Bike Karma - Bicycle Podcast (@bike_karma) May 5, 2019

(His name is Elliott--two "t"s)

My voice is probably the last thing you need to hear on a Monday, but there it is.

All of this is more me than even I can handle at once.  But hey, at least it's free, right?