Over the Rockies

The Rock Cut Nature Trail is a short paved trail that goes up (and up) from the parking area.



Still snow-covered in areas, the slipperiness and elevation made for difficult walking at times.



Looking toward the west from the top of the Rock Cut Nature Trail.



And, looking toward the east.



Traveling on down the highway and over the summit, the scenery changes drastically. The snow is gone and the hazy skies return, as did warmer temperatures!



No offense to those living in eastern Colorado and southern Nebraska but after crossing the Rockies, the scenery was somewhat less interesting.



I made it “safe and sound” back to Indiana where I'll be until after the 4th of July weekend. And then? Well, time will tell...

The Emptiness of Those Lives...

Over the weekend I read The Riderby TimKrabbé.



This is not a review of the book, but I will summarise it as a stream of consciousness account of what goes through a middle aged cyclist's mind as he takes part in an amateur bicycle race in southern France in 1978.I did not know very much about The Rider before reading it, which is probably why I was caught off guard by its apparently famous opening:



"Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me."



After reading these lines, I shut the book and put it away. Needing something to do, I immediately busied myself with making tea. Was I annoyed? offended? angry? and by whom or what - the writer himself or by the feeling he managed to communicate so successfully?



I review the scene in my mind's eye. So here are the racers, getting ready. And here are some spectators who came to support them. I imagine that one is a school teacher, another an emergency room doctor, another a firefighter, another a war veteran, and so on and so forth. And then I replay it: "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."



In the course of my own life, I've been fortunate enough to live and work in the midst of various "important" people - researchers dedicated to finding treatments for diseases, rescue workers in war-torn countries, politicians who have the power to effect change with a single signature, and fine artists whose work is exhibited in the worlds' greatest museums. Not once have I heard any of them refer to others' lives as empty. If anything, they often question their own choices and complain that their work is not as fulfilling in reality as they had imagined it would be. I've also known serious athletes, who, while passionate about their sport, were not consumed by it to the exclusion of all else. But I do know roadcyclists whose thoughts reflect that famous sentence in The Rider. In fact I've met quite a few.




Amateur bicycle racers and racing aspirants have a reputation for arrogance, for "taking themselves too seriously" and truly believing that cycling is the most important and fulfilling thing in the world. For some time now this has fascinated me. Is it posturing? Are those drawn to roadcyling seeking to construct a life narrative of hardship and heroism in the absence of true hardship in their lives (poverty, illness, war, rape, ethnic persecution)? or, in some cases to distract from that hardship? Or is it the other way around - that something about cycling (what? a chemical it releases?) has such a powerful effect on the body and mind that it eclipses all else and turns perfectly sane people into crazed Ahabs on two wheels?




My curiosity about this is mingled with fear, and ultimately that is probably what made me put downThe Riderafter the opening passage. Sometimes, when I spend too much time on my roadbike I can feel myself lose perspective in a way I've never lost it before. Not in terms of arrogance per se - for someone with my abilities there is nothing to be arrogant about. But, I don't know, it's as if I can sense the existence of another dimension that I am not sure I want to cross into. Some cyclists I know, they are already there and they are "different." The narrator of The Rider(which I've since read to completion) is certainly there, and he describes that state in devastating detail.

Test Riding the Breezer Uptown 8

Since the start of this blog, I've received more requests to review the Breezer Uptown than any other city bike on the market. I have not done so earlier for two reasons. First, availability: Until now, I had not seen the Breezer for sale in any local bike shop. After a break of several years Harris Cyclery now carries them again, which is how I came across this one. But additionally, I was reluctant to review a bike that I was unenthusiastic about: theBreezerhas never appealed to me, and I have no interest in it other than general industry curiosity. However, I would have said the same about Seven Cycles a year ago, and trying one of those (in response to readers' requests as well) had a profound effect on me as a cyclist. I also unexpectedly liked the Urbana, which I tried for no reason other than the manufacturer's urging. In short, you never know and it's good to keep an open mind. That is how I approached my test ride of the Breezer Uptown.

The Uptown is Breezer's fully equipped commuter model, available in 3-speed and 8-speed variants. The bike includes fenders, a chainguard, a rear rack, a kickstand, an integrated rear wheel lock, and front and rear dynamo lighting.

The welded aluminum U-frame has "unitube" construction.Steel unicrown fork. The 26" wheels are fitted with 1.5" wide tires.I tried the 17" sized frame. There are other sizes and also a diamond frame version.Please seeherefor full specs.

The colour is a deep, sparkly forest green, with contrasting silver panels on the chainstays, near the bottom bracket,and on the fork. The two-tone paint job gives the bike a sporty look that strikes me as being at odds with its purpose as a commuter. But the dominant green colour is pleasant.

As far as functionality, it must be said that this bike is excellently equipped for commuting. Front and rear dynamo lighting seems to be of good quality and is internally routed, exiting through the rear fender for the tail light.

The rear rack's tubing will accommodate a variety of pannier systems.

The tires are wide. The fenders provide full coverage and include small plastic mudflaps.

There are braze-ons for the shifter and brake cables, so that nothing is hanging loose, and there are waterbottle bosses.

The wide range Shimano8-speed hub could be attractive for hilly areas. The shape of the handlebars provides a sufficient gripping area despite the twist shifter.

The handlebars are mildly swept back. The brake levers are comfortably placed, and the front and rear v-brakes provide strong stopping power.

All of these features, for a retail price of $980 (or $720 for the 3-speed model), make the Breezer Uptown look undeniably good "on paper." This is the kind of commuter bike you are likely to find in a mainstream European bike shop today - modern, affordable, fairly lightweight, designed to be ridden in everyday clothing, and fully equipped - and it's great to see the same available in the US.

Having said that, I did not like this bike on a number of levels. From an aesthetic and emotional standpoint, I found the Breezer to be "unlovable." The huge welds, the hollow feel of the aluminum tubing, the athletically-inspired colour scheme - it all feels so generic and impersonal. I like a bicycle with some warmth to it, with some evidence of a human touch, and I just don't feel any sense of this from the Breezer. It's not just about lugged vs welded and steel vs aluminum, but about the very essence of how the bike feels to look at, to touch and to ride. This is truly the vacuum cleaner of bicycles - and while for some that's a good thing, for me it's uninspiring.

But more importantly - and more disappointingly - the Breezer's ride quality did not work for me. I rode it for about 3 miles and already felt the sort of strain in my knees that I've experienced on bikes with the infamous "comfort" geometry. This could also be because I would consistently end up in a gear that was too high: I found that being in too high of a gear was the only way I could make the bicycle go at the speed I wanted. In a gear where my cadence felt appropriate, the bike would not move fast enough for my liking.

Additionally, something about the relationship between the seat tube angle and bottom bracket felt "off," and after examining the frame geometry online I still do not know what. Subjectively, it felt as if the seat tube angle was extremely steep - almost a straight drop from the saddle down to the pedals - which contributed to the knee discomfort, but, oddly, failed to add to pedaling efficiency. According to the frame specs, the seat tube angle is actually 72 degrees, which is entirely normal for a city bike. I do not know how to explain my subjective sensation of steepness in light of this.

Aside from these issues, I thought the bike felt rather harsh going over bumps and potholes. Not horrible, but definitely not great. Even on smooth terrain, I felt road buzz through the handlebars, which became painful for my (overly sensitive) hands fairly quickly. Maybe wider tires or a suspension fork would help here.

On a positive note, I thought the BreezerUptown was solidly put together and truly functional, unlike other bikes that only play at being fully-equipped commuters. It was also stable and well-balanced, and there was no toe overlap on the 17" frame. This bike should be easy to handle for a novice transportation cyclist.

When it comes to impressions of ride quality, everyone is different, and I urge you to take that into account when reading my earlier feedback. I know there are people who love this bike and commute on it daily, so obviously it is possible. The manufacturer's history is also quite interesting (lugged mountain bikes!), and worth looking into. Would I buy a Breezer Uptown for myself? No. But if the ride quality works for you and you find the bike attractive, I agree with those who call it a good value.

Cold Weather Victories

When I saw this poster it made me laugh, reminding me of a street scene from the previous day: A woman bundled up in a shearling coat and hat waited for a taxi, while a cyclist in a long sleeve jersey and tights waited at a red light. The woman looked cold and uncomfortable. The cyclist looked ruddy and relaxed, checking his phone for messages with one unclipped toe on the ground.



In the short time window before the cyclist's light turned green and the woman's taxi arrived, somehow the two ended up in a conversation. As I walked past, I caught bits of their exchange. "But how can you... in the cold?," and so forth. By the time the cyclist replied, I was out of earshot. But whatever it was he said to her, they both laughed that special laugh that rings with anticipation. And when I looked back over my shoulder discreetly (I hope), sure enough the woman had her phone out and it looked like they were exchanging numbers. His light had turned green. Her taxi was waiting. They were on the side of the road smiling. "Stay warm!" I thought I heard him yell when he finally took off on his bike. More laughter.



Briskly walking down the street as I fiddled with my scarf, I experienced a moment of longing for my roadbike, and for my technical layers of cycling clothes! It's just so much nicer to be on the bike in cold weather, I caught myself thinking...

White Yucca

Against a blue New Mexico sky I got this picture of white yucca blossoms from the large yucca above.

Along for the Ride with the Veteran Cycle Club of Northern Ireland

Over the weekend I rode with the Veteran Cycle Club of Northern Ireland, and am still re-living the experience. To say that there were rare bikes, stunning scenery, and a charming group of riders doesn't do it justice. Put it this way: It was certainly my most memorable group ride to date. The Veteran Cycling Club is a world-wide organisation that promotes riding and conservation of vintage bicycles, and the Northern Ireland section has been around for 3 years under the leadership of Chris Sharp - a vintage bicycle collector who is known worldwide thanks to the jaw-dropping contents of his flickr account.





When Chris learned that my stay in Antrim coincided with the date of the club's monthly ride, he honoured me with an invitation and I gladly accepted. I have never done a purely social group ride like this before, and did not know what to expect - other than, of course, a fleet of vintage bicycles that Mr. Sharp and friends are known for.





And so, on a fortuitously sunny Saturday morning, I found myself outside a rural community center near the town of Limavady, where 17 riders from all over Northern Ireland gathered with their fine machines.






The bicycles did not disappoint, though after some time my head began to spin from exposure to too many rare and never-before-seen bikes at once. I am easily excitable, I need small doses!





I was so stunned by it all, that I didn't even manage to get decent shots of some of the most interesting stuff!







Highlights included an all-original Lapierre Porteur, which I even had a chance to ride very briefly. It was so strange to see a real French 650B lightweight with original components, having gotten used to contemporary tributes with Velo Orange parts!






The owner of this bicycle (also named Chris) is gradually restoring it and trying to locate a couple of original parts - not easy with French threading and 650B.





There was a fascinating Gundle Work Bike. The manufacturer was apparently the predecessor of Pashley Cycles.





The huge front carrier on this bike is built into the frame, right into the lugwork.It is meant to house a boxy basket.






Keith enjoyed riding this bike very much, despite his racing background and penchant for roadbikes. I believe there was even a sprint finish involved.





Then there was the mystery bike - notice the peculiar frame construction.






The frame is unmarked and the owner, Andy, does not know anything about its origin. He built it up beautifully.Any ideas as to what this frame could be? I seem to recall seeing pictures of German or Austrian frames in this style, but can't be sure.





Rose rode a stunningly elegant and very tall 1933 Elswick loop frame that Chris had lent her, and she honoured it with an appropriate outfit.






And of course there were plenty of vintage Roadsters. This particular one is a Rudge.





The bicycle I rode (also on loan from Chris) was a 1941 Royal Enfield Sport Roadster. I have a lot to say about this bike and will save it for another post. But let me assure you that it is not as innocent as it looks - and don't let the rod brakes fool you either!






This seemingly normal-looking Humber is pretty unusual as well if you look closely: It has twin fork blades! Presumably, this was done as an experimental suspension fork, to dampen vibrations from bad roads.





There was more, much more - in particular the stunning details and the rarely seen components on the many pre-1940s bikes in attendance. But to list them all would risk turning this into a catalogue.





And so I suggest visiting Northern Ireland instead and taking part one of these rides yourself, naturally!





We set off around noon and pedaled along a route that was both beautiful and suitable for the sorts of bikes we were riding. There were a couple of hills, but vintage roadsters are not as ill-equipped for them as some think. Once we got going, our procession somehow naturally arranged itself into a fairly well-organised double paceline, and we would fall into single file when traffic called for it. Riding in a group like this really helped me become acclimated to the left-handed flow of traffic. As I followed the group on turns, it became more and more intuitive.






Let me tell you though... Riding bicycles on loan from Chris Sharp is not without its consequences. By the end of the day both Rose and I were referring to the bikes we were riding as "my bike." Chris almost began to get nervous, reminding us gently that we would be returning them after the ride. Thankfully, that is the only problem anyone in the group had with their bikes all day. All the bicycles present were impeccably well maintained by their owners!





The scenery we passed was out of this world beautiful. With green jagged hills ever present in the distance, we rode along the river Roe and to Lough Foyle - the body of water that separates the western part of Northern Ireland from County Donegal in the Republic of Ireland.





But the truly special thing about this ride was its destination. Around the halfway point of the ride, our group stopped for tea and pancakes in a traditional thatched Irish cottage. This cottage is privately owned, but by some behind-the-schenes magic they opened it up to us.







This cottage has remained unchanged through the centuries, which is a rarity nowadays. There was no heat or electricity, and so water was boiled on the open fire.





The fire mesmerised everyone with its glow and for some time we all just sat there, content to be warmed by it. It is amazing how quickly a fire can warm up the interior of a small house. We were all thankful, as the outside temperature was quite brutal.







Also as if by magic (my God, I can only imagine how much work went into planning this behind the scenes...), a gorgeous and delicate tea service awaited us inside the cottage.






Delicious pancakes with butter were served to the hungry riders.





The supply of both pancakes and hot tea seemed endless. It was not to be believed.





With all our bicycles lined up outside the thatched cottage, it was quite a sight and everyone around got a kick out of it. Even in rural parts of Northern Ireland vintage roadsters are a very rare sight nowadays - let alone a fleet of them, outside a thatched cottage.





It almost felt as if a festival was underway - which hopefully made it worth it for Michael to come all the way from Belfast to join the ride!





On the return route, we stopped by a couple more scenic spots and photographed the heck out of each other and our bikes in the afternoon sunshine. Rose and Andy were particularly picturesque in their period-appropriate garments.






I had considered dressing up, but the morning was such a freezing one that my body just said "no" and I wore about 20 layers of wool instead.






Once we were back from the ride, there was a great deal of trying out each other's bikes and discussing bikes, as well as discussing why and how we collect vintage bicycles. At this point, I am pretty sure my conversational skills had deteriorated to an incoherent babble as my eyes darted from headlamp to chaincase to porteur rack, to the beautiful green hills and baby lambs that surrounded us, unable to process it all as real.





By the time it was over, I felt drunk on tea, bikes, scenery, thatched cottages, and conversation. This was not a typical club ride, and not a typical club. It was not even a typical collector's society, compared to the others I've encountered. I do not know what to make of it, other than to say that I enjoyed it and would love to take part in more rides like this in future. Maybe it's time to consider a VCC membership? Thank you Chris, Susan, Keith, and everyone else I encountered for making me feel welcome. More pictures from the ride here and also from Chris Sharp over here.