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.

what I've been doing lately

I sold the pink Univega. With three kids, I didn't see myself getting out for the long road rides much. Heck, with two kids I only rode it about 200 miles all year, with 150 of those miles in one single day. Now if I want to go for a bike ride, most of the time, I'll have to bring the kids:

The new-to-me Santana tandem is an upgrade to the yellow Gitane that Elissa and I were riding a few weeks ago. I like this bike, and hope we get some decent Fall weather so we can roll out some serious miles.

Today, after a 3-week hiatus, I got back on the unicycle.

I wondered if 3 weeks of no unicycle practice would make me rusty, but I just got on and rode it, maybe better than when I left off.

By the end of today's practice session, I had repeated my previous longest ride several times. I think I'm ready to leave the safety and familiarity of the HC parking lot and hit the open road.

Insecurity and fear in cycling

Via the always interesting Snak Shak, I was treated to this series of articles about fear of cycling, which is written from a scientific sociological viewpoint. As any cyclist who has ever encouraged others to ride bicycles will attest, it can be difficult to get past the fears and insecurities many people harbor about bicycling. These articles break down the construction of safety-related fears. By using the term 'construction of fear', the author implies that fear is produced, almost as if by design, by systematic cultural pressures, and that the level of fear generally rises above the actual risk.

A couple key points that I never really considered before:

1. Until the 1920s-30s or thereabouts, streets served as a conduit of traffic, but also as an unstructured social area, children's play area, etc. As more people started driving cars, it became clear that the streets could either remain multipurpose social/transportation spaces, or they could be dedicated to the efficient flow of automobile traffic, but not both. Obviously the trend was, and continues to be toward permitting the cars to be driven unfettered, and effectively, if not legally, prohibiting the activities of people who aren't in cars.

2. Following #1, some government and non-government organizations initiated safety campaigns aimed at teaching pedestrians and cyclists how to survive on the mean streets in the presence of fast-moving cars. While safety education might seem like a decent idea, one side-effect was to put the onus of safety onto the shoulders of the people who were most at risk, rather than on the people who were causing the risk. Every cyclist who has received a dirty look, a rude insult, or even well-meaning (if wrong-headed) safety admonition from a passing motorist knows that we are viewed as obstacles to the motoring priorities of our society, despite laws that tell us we have the right to use roads (staying as far to the right as practicable...). In any case, the result of decades of safety-education, formal and otherwise, is that many people tend to have a fear of being in the street without being in an automobile.

3. The author uses the third chapter to discuss the effects of social and legal pressures to wear bicycle helmets. Regardless of the value of wearing a helmet, or not, one effect of helmet use and compulsion (social or legal) is to make cycling seem more dangerous (construction of fear, again) and to reduce the number of bicyclists. He also points out, probably to counter the prevailing pro-helmet wisdom, some research that shows that motorists are more careless around helmeted cyclists, that cycling becomes less safe in general when fewer people are cycling. These are non-obvious reasons why widespread helmet use may make cycling more dangerous, counter to our intuition. I don't take a side on this contentious issue, but I do wear a helmet 99% of the time.

I learned a few things from these articles that seem to focus on the fears associated with cycling on streets in traffic. But the author alludes to some other fears in the introduction, and I think they could use a more thorough treatment:

Most obviously this fear relates to anxieties about being in close and unprotected proximity to speeding cars, it’s to do with a fear of crashes, injury and death. But fear of cycling is also more complex than this. People on bikes move through public space in a much more open, less mediated way than people in cars. That’s one of the pleasures of cycling, but it also potentially heightens feelings of existential vulnerability. Some people also undoubtedly fear looking inept on a bike, fear working their bodies in public, fear harassment or violence from strangers. Cities are full of fear, which is partly why and partly because people move in cars.

The fear of looking inept and, more generally, not 'fitting in' is a big one for a lot of people. When we were doing mechanical support for the Minneapolis Bike Tour yesterday, one rider broke it down in terms of cyclists who wear t-shirts vs cyclists who wear a jersey. The t-shirt people are, according to the theory, friendly, approachable, and "just out to enjoy themselves", while the jersey people are overly serious, unfriendly, and, I inferred, not out to enjoy themselves. I half-jokingly responded: didn't you know that establishing a hierarchy and forming a clique is the most important aspect of cycling? Of course, this guy was the walking stereotype of the casual bike rider: older hybrid bike with the requisite whiff of WD-40, t-shirt and casual shorts, tennis shoes, and a helmet that he'd been wearing since the first Bush administration. He apparently wanted the sleek 30 mph guys on the multi-thousand-dollar bikes to acknowledge him and be his friend (as if they have anything in common beyond the vague mechanical similarities of their machines), but that didn't pan out for him. Hence, the sour grapes t-shirt/jersey theory.

The hierarchy thing first became clear to me a couple years ago during a ride out to Hopkins. I made my usual coffee/pastry stop at The Depot. Seated on the patio just outside the door of the place, where everybody would necessarily pass to get coffee or use the restroom, was a guy who could have been posing for the cover of Bicycling magazine. There was his exotic-brand Ti bike, prominently displayed next to him, as if it was to be a prop in a photo. He sat at his table, alone, and, with a cultivated smirk on his face, surveying the other 15 or 20 cyclists who were sipping coffee and talking bikes. Under his $200 sunglasses was the unmistakable smugness that read as clearly as a sign on his forehead: "I have the best bike and the best clothes, and I am the guy you wish you could be." He was there to make everybody else feel inadequate, and therefore, everybody seemed to pretend he wasn't there, as they cast sidelong glances at him, hoping he'd bestow some token of approval or even a nod of acknowledgment. But I'd been in the bike business long enough by that time that I was not impressed, and thought he just seemed like another aging Type-A peckerhead roadie. Later I had the thought that I should have started a conversation with him, maybe discuss his bike a bit before delivering the coup de grâce by underhandedly questioning why he used this or that part on his bike when he should have used some other component that everybody knows is better. I imagine his hot-shot persona would have gone to pieces, but by the time I thought of it, I was well down the road.