Goodbye to an old friend

A few days ago, I was walking around the neighborhood doing some errands, and thinking about my current bike situation. I have accumulated quite a pile of bikes. A couple of them were expensive, but most were cobbled together from inexpensive parts or obtained through various horse-trades. The thought of streamlining the collection has often run through my mind, and I did sell my Univega roadie to a friend not long ago. But even after the Univega was gone, I still wanted to simplify things. And, let's face it, after a strange year in the bike biz, the "recession" generally, and with medical bills (from the recent childbirth in my family) arriving almost daily in the mail, I could use some extra cash right now, too.

Even though most of my bikes have significant functional overlaps, I always found a distinctive characteristic that justified the existence of each one. But during my walk, as often happens during walks, a fact that should have been obvious pushed itself through the mental cobwebs and the sentimentality: I should sell the Atlantis! Why not!? It is one of my few bikes that has significant market value, and I only rode it a few hundred miles all year.

New readers may not understand the significance of that lightning bolt of inspiration. The Atlantis was my first serious bike when I decided to embrace cycling as a lifestyle in 2004. I rode it to work everyday, I rode it to Duluth and back over a weekend, I did weekend tours on it, I discovered both offroading and long-distance riding on it, I got to know many great friends while riding it, I carried/pulled my kids on it, I did a brevet or two on it, and I took it with me on several memorable trips around the country. I did so many things on that wonderfully versatile bicycle, that it became my archetypal bike: a yardstick with which I would measure all other bikes. All my subsequent bikes are, in some way, derivative of the Atlantis I first straddled five years ago now, almost to the day. The bikes we sell at HC, by and large, are Atlantis-esque in some way. When I ordered my Curt Goodrich touring bike, I asked him to re-create my Atlantis, but with some tweaks for my personal ergonomic and riding preferences. Since I was essentially duplicating the Atlantis, I also asked Curt to help me set the Atlantis apart as a distinctive machine by installing S&S couplers. The couplers allowed me to pack the entire bike in travel-size luggage, which ultimately allowed me to take my bike on trips to Portland, Indianapolis, and Southern California.

But the Goodrich replaced the Atlantis as my tourer and "all-rounder". The Stumpjumper is now my default offroad bike, but it can be reconfigured quickly into something resembling a touring/commuting/shopping bike. As of recently, I have the Trek hybrid fixed-gear that I really like for all sorts of riding. If I had a commute longer than my current 150 meter jaunt, any of the above bikes would be perfect. And I now also have 3 kids, which means that for the foreseeable future, many of my bike rides will necessarily include at least one child. That's why I have a kid-back tandem and a Burley trailer. I don't travel often enough to really NEED a take-apart bike, so the Atlantis has become my jack-of-all-trades, master of none, and in the past year, I only rode it a handful of times.

Anyway, I put it up on the Rivendell discussion board, and got my asking price within a day or so. Now to pack it up and ship it to its new home in Washington, DC.

Here are a few memories.

This may have been my first commute on the new bike.

I had a lot to learn about bike assembly, adjustment, and fit back then. I was still tolerating mustache bars. I was also learning about the process of "breaking in" new leather saddles. That saddle was not included with the sale, and is currently attached to my latest project, and on the verge of being broken in too much!


I put the Atlantis away for its first winter. By the time it emerged from storage during some unseasonably warm February weather, it had a 48 cm Nitto Noodle handlebar on it. Much better than the mustache bar. At the time, I was operating on some bad information from a supposedly knowledgeable person about tilting my saddle forward. Bad idea, but I kept it that way for quite awhile.


In March of 2005, I tried to access Fort Snelling on this shaded trail that melts much later in the year. This would become something of an annual tradition for me, as I get antsy for Spring to arrive. Anyway, it was at this time that I decided that the Atlantis was a tough bike and should be ridden year-round.


I briefly used my handlebars to express what I felt was patriotism, or something.


Sleep-deprived with my first baby at home, and quite a bit fatter, I see, I crossed into Wisconsin on an ill-fated 300k brevet attempt. I decided, along with my riding companion, to ride 25 miles to the start of the brevet. We decided to turn around at noon, regardless of how far along the brevet route we were. We didn't finish the brevet, but we had a great ride of something like 140 miles. I was riding 700x50 Big Apple tires (about 2 lbs apiece!).


Not long after the 300k brevet (and still pretty fat, I see), I rode to Duluth on a Friday, and did the MS150 back to the Twin Cities on Saturday and Sunday. The rear Big Apple tire was worn thin by then, and I replaced it on the way home. I think I clocked about 325 miles that weekend.

It was about this time that I started working at a bike shop as a result of the enjoyment I derived from assembling the Atlantis and a couple subsequent projects. That eye-opening experience made me feel differently about choices I'd made previously in life. I quickly recalibrated my career goals, and thought about someday opening my own bike shop. That idea became a reality by the end of the same year.


The following Memorial Day weekend, I did a 3-day solo tour. Now with an Albatross handlebar. It was a miserable trip because it was blazingly hot. Also, I got called home early because of a medical scare with my then 1-year-old daughter. On the other hand, I learned quite a bit about solo bike touring that weekend, and I explored some new roads that I now consider favorites.


By the end of 2006, I bought a fancier digital camera and became interested in photography. The Atlantis was my usual photo-prop.


I rode it in the winter a little bit.

I didn't have the bike for most of 2007 because it was at Curt Goodrich's shop, awaiting couplers.


This is more or less how I set it up once I got it back. It went to Portland like this in 2008, but I was in my pinhole photography phase at that point, so my photos of the bike in Portland are not terribly exciting.


The bike went by train with me to Indianapolis in early 2009.


I had a fantastic time riding around Southern California this past March.

After seeing the results of previous generations of Thill men becoming sentimentally attached to (numerous) inanimate objects, I've tried to steer myself away from similar attachments. I still have memories and sentimentality, but the physical object that is connected to those memories is not important. It is time for the Atlantis to be ridden by somebody else.

preparing for an uncertain future

While I don't often get into such discussions these days, I have written pretty extensively in the past my views about the inevitability (historical fact?) of Peak Oil, and of its consequences for our present and future. If you don't know about Peak Oil, some of the more disturbing potential scenarios are presented here. Today one alarming piece of seemingly fringe Peak Oil news has been getting some coverage by the mainstream news media (I heard it first on NPR, but I understand that other news outfits have picked it up). In a nutshell: Last year the International Energy Agency predicted that oil production would decline by 6%+ per year, which was startling enough, but now a "whistleblower" from IEA is claiming that the IEA is, in fact, overestimating the oil supply, and understating decline rates in response to pressure primarily from the US Government, which is understandably worried about panic buying and price shocks. Of course, we should be careful about how we interpret the warnings of anonymous whistleblowers, who have undisclosed motives and unverified knowledge/credibility.

Whistleblowers and IEA reports aside, one thing that is a certainty is that petroleum is a finite resource that shows some evidence of being increasingly difficult/expensive to obtain. The increase in difficulty/expense in obtaining petroleum in the future is fairly predictable. The uncertainty comes when trying to predict how we as individuals, societies, economies, and geopolitical players will react to that situation. Last summer, oil went to $147/barrel, and set off a housing and consumer spending crash that damaged the economy. Now that we are supposedly in economic recovery, energy prices are climbing again. Given the events of the past 12-24 months, I won't hazard a guess as to what we will see in the next year or two. The situation is much too volatile to make a prediction with a straight face.

While the majority gets by on delusions of technological energy miracles and reliance on an omniscient government that won't let us drive off a cliff, some people have been keeping busy preparing for the shit to hit the fan. Survivalists move to remote locations with notions of living off the land. Others have several years' worth of food stockpiled, not to mention weapons, ammo, and other supplies. I have pondered these approaches and have settled on the "adapt-in-place" strategy, which is advocated by Sharon Astyk, among others.

I emphasize the word "adapt", which is something I think folks should do deliberately and while there is still some choice about how to do it. One easy thing that I think we should all consider is a bicycle stockpile. A bicycle has the potential to be a valuable tool in a future deprivation scenario, as it increases one's radius of travel (over walking) without being dependent on external energy inputs.

If you are already a bicycle-enthusiast, you are likely well on your way with several worthy steeds in your stable. If you have a few decent bikes and some basic fix-it skill, you can keep them going for many years with a stash of extra tubes (and patches), tires, chains, cables, bolts, bearings, and a few bottles of oil and grease. On the other hand, if we take the long view, we can predict (and observe today!) that roads are not getting any smoother, so your 16-lb triathlon bike is probably not the best choice for post-apocalyptic mobility. What we really need is a modern analog to the 3-speeds that the Brits rode on their bumpy roads after WWII: something versatile, universal, hard to break, and easy to fix. In my opinion, the bike that exemplifies these virtues is the Surly Long Haul Trucker, preferably with 26" wheels.

I'm not going to get into specifics about why I think the LHT is a great choice for a bike to ride into an uncertain future, because there are other bikes on the market that have similarly desirable features. I just happen to think the LHT is among the best, and also one of the most affordable. Consider this: If you are starting from scratch, you could buy two LHT complete bikes (suitably equipped with racks, fenders, lights, and bags), one in your current size, and one in a slightly smaller size in case you shrink in the future, along with a dozen or so high-quality tires, a case of tubes (50), a half dozen each of brake and shift cables, some chains and cassettes, a couple middle chainrings, a few pounds of grease, a gallon of chain lube, and a basic tool kit. If you're really worried, get a couple replacement rims, spokes, hubs/freehubs, headsets, bottom brackets, and derailleurs. But if you have two identical bikes with a stash of extra parts and lubes (not to mention future scavenging), you should be able to keep at least one operational bicycle cobbled together for many decades. Depending on how crazy you want to get with your hoarding, the whole package should set you back around 3000-4000 2009-dollars. That sounds like a lot of money, but not if you consider that it is basically a lifetime bicycle supply, and not if you consider that you could as easily lose that money through investment losses or from inflation, with nothing to show for it.

A brilliant scheme comes together

A couple Summers ago I tried to get through from Mendota to Hwy 77 to the Lyndale access point of the Minnesota River Bottoms trail. Somewhere near 9-Mile Creek, I found myself in nasty mud on an indefinite trail, and gave up. In hindsight, I probably just made a wrong turn. Today I had a companion who is more familiar with the trail, and we took advantage of the fine weather to construct an elaborate adventure.

Some government people made a new access road west of the Hwy 77 bridge, which is quite alluring. But after a few hundred meters, it returns to some easy-going singletrack.


After snaking through the woods along the riverbank, we had some opportunities to test our balance.


Here's my bike:


The trail conditions are great, mostly.


This dilapidated raft was our passage across 9-Mile Creek:

Getting on this damned thing with a couple of geriatric hecklers standing by was high-comedy.

Some big trees along the river:


After a very brief pavement crossing of the parking lot at Lyndale, the trail is basically a gravel road. Then it narrows back to singletrack. Approaching the official endpoint of the trail, at Bloomington Ferry bridge, is, in my opinion, the prettiest part of the trail along the river:


My bike on the Bloomington Ferry bridge:

and a close-up of my "Explorer" tire:


This is where things got interesting. I said to my companion: "Huh, I wonder what's on the other side of the bridge." I asked a guy who was walking, and he described an old 2-track road that "goes along the river for a long way." A few minutes later, we encountered an old guy, who I figured would be in-the-know. He said: "I don't know anything about it, but it's worth a try!" That was all the encouragement we needed, and in a couple minutes, we were riding along the river on the 2-track, thinking we were geniuses for finding this alternate return route to complete the loop.

That warm and fuzzy genius feeling quickly subsided when we first had to push our bikes through the long grass and over/around numerous logs. Then we carried the bikes over a ravine, only to find another ravine, which was flowing deep and fast, with no good crossing points:


We opted not to cross, but instead to ride/push our bikes along this lovely trout stream.


It took some doing to hike our bikes through these weeds, which were great for concealing tripping hazards:


After the hike-a-bike in the weeds, we were rewarded with a nice smooth railroad to ride on. After my dental-work rattled out of my skull, we started pushing the bikes along the tracks.

It was a suboptimal situation, but what the fuck.

The railroad eventually led us to a frontage road along the freeway, which led us to a much-needed fast-food joint in a hellhole town (IMO) called Savage. My companion came up with an impromptu route along the perimeter of the Cliff Road landfill, which was nice. Shortly thereafter, we were on Black Dog Road, where I relived my brief (1-event) bike racing career (no near-vomiting this time).

Then back to the familiar trail:


Soon we were back to the point of beginning, for a 42-mile loop that included roads, singletrack, balance-beam bridges, a raft, gravel roads, more singletrack, hiking, railroad tracks, a landfill, etc, etc. We weren't tired at all, and wanted to repeat the loop in reverse, but opted to go home to make our wives happy instead.

history repeats itself again, and I learn something new everyday

Today at the shop, right before close, some semi-regular neighborhood guy walked in with his early 1990s Gary Fisher mountain bike, complaining of symptoms that suggested a broken bottom bracket (BB) spindle. I grabbed the cranks to see if they'd spin independently. They didn't, but there was the sensation of bearings binding and the BB spindle precessed significantly. Hmmm. I noticed and mentioned that the BB shell seemed wider than normal, and that the BB retaining ring(s) seemed farther inboard than normal. M removed the crank, and voiced some confusion and/or displeasure at what he was seeing. Where we'd normally find some kind of BB tool interface, there was a snap-ring. Ok, weird. M produced a tool I didn't know we had, and removed a snap-ring from each side of the BB shell. Then he used a hammer to drive out the spindle and bearings, one of which was in pieces, and the source of the initial problem.

This is the entire BB assembly, including the broken bearing:


And this is the BB shell:

Note the slots for the snap-rings, where, more commonly, we find threads.

The BB shell is about 88.5 mm wide, which is 20.5 mm longer than normal:


Some internet research revealed a couple bike forum discussions of these unusual BBs, but information was sparse, at best. It seems to have been branded by Gary Fisher with the term "Evolution" and some called it "Extra Wide". The spindle was not branded with a Shimano or Sugino logo, but with a Gary Fisher logo, suggesting this was a proprietary, Gary Fisher component, though M thinks Klein had something similar or identical. In any case, it actually seems like a pretty clever design. The extra width and larger bearings would seem to make for a stronger, and less flexy BB. And since there is no need to have threaded cups and/or a BB cartridge shell, it isn't necessarily much/any heavier. Despite Fisher and Klein getting behind the idea for at least a couple years, it certainly never gained much ground with other brands.

Instead, square taper BBs with skinny spindles but largish bearings, which, with their cottered predecessors, had been the standard as long as anyone can remember, gave way to ISIS and Octalink BBs with fatter spindles and smaller bearings. Then the entire concept of a BB with bearings and a spindle contained within and threaded into the BB shell, which had been in use in various forms for many decades, was supplanted with external bearings (still with the standard threading) and cranks that had the spindles attached to the crank spider. This was both lighter and had a large diameter spindle and "wide-stance" bearings for added stiffness/strength. The next step, which is where we are now, is a revisit to press-fit bearings similar to what Fisher and Klein were doing almost two decades ago (without success). Of course, the new BB30 design and similar proprietary designs are not identical to the Fisher that we have in the shop, but the ostensible motivation is the same: to make the BB area stiffer and stronger without adding weight.

Anyway, I was initially not hopeful about this repair, and suspected that the frame was trash since the BB was so oddball. But it turns out that the old Fisher is actually pretty cheap to fix. The wholesale on two new bearings (which are a standard size) is about $5. This was delightful news, but also a little disappointing, as I had designs on the semi-rare 1-1/4" threaded headset and stem on what might have been an otherwise useless frameset (my tandem takes that size headset and stem).

forecasting trends

One personal/professional interest of mine is forecasting trends in bicycle designs. Today the generally agreeable Ecovelo blog has some commentary about evolution in road and mountain bike design, and a general prediction that "transpo bikes" are in the early stages of a wave of evolution.

First, a look at the evolution of other types of bikes suggest that, like biological evolution, the process tends to favor increasing diversity. Road bikes in the 1970s, for example, all featured similar frame geometries, similar materials, similar components, similar gear-ranges, and similar tire clearances. I imagine that die-hard enthusiasts back then, like always, had strong opinions and brand preferences, but looking back, it's hard to see much differentiation in the market. In the ensuing 3 or 4 decades, the road bike category has spawned offshoots like cross bikes, touring bikes, sport-touring bikes, comfort road bikes, sport hybrids, commuter road bikes, etc. The savvy bike-buyer has a large (often overwhelming) number of options from which to choose. Mountain bikes have also become more diverse. At one time, most MTBs were steel, heavy-enough-to-take-the-punishment, had a limited variety of component choices, and almost all took 26" wheels. Now there are numerous suspension (or non-suspension) options, at least 3 wheel sizes, various drivetrains and shifter options, etc. Categorization and subdivision have run rampant in this category, too: downhill, cross-country, freeride, etc, etc. Those of us who don't necessarily get into cutting edge designs, or who prefer a lower level of specialization, have benefited from a sort of neo-"retro" movement, wherein simple, time-tested designs are rescued from the dustbin, perhaps given a modern twist (e.g. threadless steerer or disc brake options), and offered as an alternative to mainstream selections.

Nearly two years ago, I spent a few days in Portland, which, not unlike Minneapolis, is arguably ahead of the curve in the development of that nebulous quality called "bike culture". I noticed that the predominant Portland bike-genre ran parallel to most of the bikes I tend to like. Namely: Touring, sport-touring, or refurbished mountain bikes with fenders, a rear rack, and a pannier or two. The appeal of this type of bike lies in its simplicity, reliability/ruggedness, versatility, usually low price, and DIY street cred. In flatter Minneapolis, the same styles seem to be commonplace among bike people, but I see a few more fixed-gears/single-speeds and a lot more Surly-brand contraptions hereabouts. More specialized bike types, like Dutch bikes, Civias, and other commuter-specific designs are making inroads in the novice bike commuter market (i.e. people who don't necessarily differentiate themselves as bike people"), but those items have yet to gain much foothold among the bike-enthusiast/bike-subversive subculture.

I foresee a lot of growth in the Portland-type sport-tourer category as supplies of "vintage" bikes dry up. Among new bikes, this category is probably best typified by the Surly Long Haul Trucker and Cross-Check. These days, it's actually pretty easy for somebody of modest means to own a bike brand, simply by contacting a certain Taiwanese frame manufacturer and placing a modest order with a limited number of sizes. Local (or formerly local) examples of this include Kogswell, Rawland, and Handsome, all of which have the same desirable qualities: rack and fender braze-ons, ample tire/fender clearance, etc. Because this general design makes a lot of sense for so many people, because the designs are pretty much established, and because small-scale manufacturing of this type of bike is feasible even for small players, the proliferation of small brands that follow this theme seems inevitable. Since many of these brands will offer similar products and similar pricing, marketing will be key, and, for most, "local" brands will be most successful locally.

The other end of the "transpo" category seems to be the fully-integrated commuter bikes that are best typified at this point by Civia and Breezer. These bikes include all the supposedly must-have commuter bike features, like generator lighting, internal-gear hubs, fenders, racks, etc. These bikes, IMO, have limited appeal among the novice, non-enthusiast set, because they cost a lot of money, and even more limited appeal among the enthusiast set, who will pick nits with the part spec. Despite these constraints, I still think this segment will grow in sales, as driving becomes less feasible or less desirable.

Of course, when looking to the future, we have to consider the ongoing financial problems attendant to our post-peak-oil situation. While it seems likely that more people will be riding bikes in the future, the bikes the financially strapped ride will necessarily tend to be on the low-end, either salvaged from dusty garages, or purchased for under $100 from Wal-Mart. The other issue is that we have a sedentary, overweight, and/or aging population that is unaccustomed to physical exercise, and averse to anything even remotely sporty in their bikes. These folks will establish early preference for wide, squishy seats, suspension forks and seatposts, and ultra-high handlebars. Since these features are found on the lower end ($400-500) of name brand bikes, these bikes will continue to sell well, and, assuming the economy stays in the shitter, the bikes purchased now will be in service for many years.

walking

Today, as usual, I walked Elissa to pre-school, for a round-trip of ~0.8 miles. Then I bundled up Oliver into his stroller, packed some shockingly heavy photographic equipment and various provisions in a backpack, and walked to the shop, where I picked up two packages of outgoing merchandise. Pushing the stroller, lugging the backpack, and trying to balance the packages, I made it to the post office, where the packages were sent on their way. Then up the street to the bank for a deposit. After the errands were done, the adventure began. Oliver and I strolled along Minnehaha Creek, and even ventured to inner-city St Paul. By the time we got home, we had more than 12 miles under our belts, which is the farthest I've walked in at least a year or two. Since I was pushing the stroller and carrying the backpack, I did exercise some muscles that haven't done much lately, and I'm starting to feel it.

I often walk my post office and bank errands, which is a round-trip of roughly 2 miles. I like walking. Whenever I walk, I observe details that I usually miss when I'm zipping by on my bike. I have a strange desire to do some kind of endurance walking, maybe even walk a long trip. I've considered, for example, walking the Lake Pepin 3-speed tour, since my walking speed isn't actually that different than the biking speed of some of the cycling participants.

the equipment requirements of the practical cyclist

I've been using a bike as my main transportation for almost 6 years, and been in the business of selling/fixing/outfitting bikes for transportation for close to 4 years. I'm more experienced with this stuff than many, not as experienced as some. Anyway, based on my admittedly limited and unique experience, I've come to disagree with much of the orthodoxy that permeates the internet with regard to the equipment requirements of a practical cyclist.

First, to the shock of many, I don't share the general enthusiasm for internal gear hubs (IGH). There is a general belief that they are The Only Sensible Choice for a transportation bike, mostly based on claims that they are low-maintenance, and dare I say "bomb-proof" (I am cringing). This widely supposed attribute tends to attract users who lack the knowledge, skill, and/or desire to perform simple mechanical adjustments or basic cleaning/lubrication maintenance (not to mention the just plain lazy). This may be a fine approach for your city bike if you live in Southern California or even Portland, but it doesn't really work on a bike in Minnesota. IGH or not, if your plan is to ride through a Minnesota winter or two, then neglect the bike all summer, you are going to have serious problems. If you ride, say, a basic MTB with a Shimano cassette hub, chances are your local bicycle shop will have the parts and expertise to service even the most egregious cases of neglect. Try to find internal parts for your IGH, locally on the internet. Try it. When we have to service these hubs after use in the winter and subsequent neglect, we generally can't order parts from QBP, and we end up contacting manufacturer warranty departments (usually to talk to service people who have little knowledge of IGH parts). As often as not, we are told that they no longer carry parts for whatever version of the hub we happen to have in front of us. That said, IGH hubs do have some advantages, and anybody who is at least minimally competent as a mechanic, who understands that cleaning and lubrication is a good idea, or who is willing to visit the LBS a couple times a year for a tune-up may be well served by an IGH set-up. (I should add that many of the same arguments apply to generator lighting systems - they have lots of advantages, but some diligence in maintenance is required)


Second, chainguards and chaincases are a pain in the ass. There is something to be said for having some kind of mechanism for keeping your bellbottoms clean and out of the chain while pedaling a bike. I know, it makes too much sense. But in practice, these damn things are more trouble than they're worth. They rattle and make the bike hard to service. The chainguard on my old 3-speed routinely catches my shoe and gets bent. Then I try to unbend it and find that it starts rubbing on the chain. If I ever ride that bike again, I'm taking it off and throwing it in the trash. The cheap plastic chaincase that comes on many city bikes (e.g. Breezer) mounts on the drive-side bottom bracket cup, and often the vibration of the guard works the BB loose over time. Chaincases (in conjunction with the IGH set-up hiding behind them) make it hard to fix rear flats, which is the most common bike repair task. I prefer chainwheel type guards, such as the Salsa Crossing Guard. I also prefer to sacrifice my bellbottom fashion impulses, and settle for more cycling-appropriate garments.

I was just reading this treatise about the intersection of frame-geometry, front-loading, and practical cycling. No doubt a front porteur-style rack is one way to carry crap on a bike, and certainly Frenchie-style front-loading is the preferred method of at least one persuasive, and decidedly Francophile publication. I tried carrying substantial weight on frame-mounted front racks on a Brompton and on a Dutch roadster at this shop, and concluded that it didn't make sense to attach the weight to the fork where it will affect steering leverage. Anyway, for years I have been using rear panniers and front baskets on a variety of bikes, with satisfactory results. I tried heavy front pannier loading on a bike that supposedly has "incorrect geometry", and it was fine by my standards (no 50 mph no-handed descents). I have a Big Dummy and a rickshaw that can carry 500 lbs and/or objects as large as a queen (king?) size bed, but for most of what I do, a front basket or a single grocery pannier is adequate for my needs. These are available at most bike shops and work on most bikes and don't cost much. Of course, if you must have a front-loaded French-inspired bike, the best cure is to get one and ride it for awhile to separate the hype from the reality. Maybe you'll like it, and maybe you won't. When it comes to bikes, there are no universal truths, no matter what somebody says on the internet.

Typical Sunday at the ER

Yesterday, just out of the shower, Oliver slipped on the floor and hit his face on the step-stool. I picked him up and saw that his eyebrow was bleeding. Trying to mop up the blood with my finger, I saw that the skin along the eyebrow line was thoroughly laid open. Shit, we have to go to the doctor. After the initial fright of such a crash-landing, Oliver regained his composure, hurriedly got dressed, and got in the car. He even resumed his rambunctious, clownish ways while awaiting his treatment at the ER.

Watching the suture nurse sew up your screaming little boy (while he's wrapped and strapped to a board) isn't for the faint of heart, but he is resilient, and sprung back quickly from the trauma. The post-op popsicle made everything better.

*iPhone photo with some enhancements from the neat Best Camera app.

Winter bike for the 2009/10 season

This bike seems appropriate for the current economic situation, in general, and my spartan economic situation, in particular.

The frame came to me from one of our regulars at the shop. He was riding to or from work one day several months ago when he saw the frame sticking out of a heap of scrap metal on the back of a truck. He somehow arranged to get the frame from the scrap guys. Later he negotiated a deal with me to trade the frame for some miscellaneous bike parts. The frame started life as a (near as I can tell) 1992 Trek 750 Multi-Track: lugged, True Temper tubing, made in the USA. We blasted the paint off and Mark at HC rattle-canned it black for me. It has a high bottom-bracket, so I immediately decided to make it into a fixed-gear.

I did this build on a budget, with used parts from my stash and some closeouts I got at HC.

writing volume

Long-time readers may be tempted to think that my blog writing volume has gone down since I had three kids, got out of school, started a business, and, in general got a life. Not true! I'm still an insomniac, and still write a ton! I actually write about 5 or 10 posts for every one that I "publish". Usually, I get to the end of what I want to write, and suddenly, having gotten all the words out of my head and arranged the way I want them, I no longer feel the need, for various reasons, to share whatever it is that I wrote. I'm not sure exactly why.