Gunks Routes: Yellow Belly (5.8), Birdland Direct (5.9) & Alphonse (5.8)

(Photo: Gail checking out the interesting roof problem on pitch one of Yellow Belly (5.8).)



Last Sunday Gail and I started early with a plan that we would head to the Near Trapps fora half day of climbing. I had numerous routes in mind as candidates for us. I was considering Criss Cross Direct, a 5.10a with a well-protected crux right off the ground. But first I thought we should check out one of the great 5.8 climbs in the Nears that I had never done. Specifically I was thinking of Broken Sling or Yellow Belly.



Gail wasn't too keen on doing Broken Sling. She had done it before and remembered the traverse at the beginning of pitch two as really scary. So that one was out. When we got to the cliff we decided to look at Yellow Belly, which she'd never tried, instead.



Yellow Bellygets two stars from Dick Williams, but no one seems to do it. I think this is mostly because the crux of pitch two involves getting in and out of an awkward alcove. It sounded like fun to me, or at least like something different than the usual thing.



When we got to the base I saw another reason why the climb might be unpopular. There is a tree not far off the deck that looks like it might be in the way. (It isn't.) The tree obscures the view of the climb from below, making the climb easy to pass over. I walked back and forth between Alphonse and Yellow Ridge a couple of times before deciding we were looking at the correct start for Yellow Belly.



Straightforward climbing at a low angle (sling the tree for your first pro!) leads up to the crux roof on pitch one. And this roof is a puzzler. It can be easily avoided on the right but I encourage you to tackle it directly. The difficulty is that you have to get into a hanging right-facing corner over the roof. There is a layback hold in the corner but nowhere to place your feet for the layback, since there is nothing but air below the left side of the corner. It took me a while but I finally figured something out and it was a really cool move. It was definitely not your standard jug haul.



Once above the roof, I was surprised to see a big off-width crack going up the corner. This off-width is too wide to protect with gear. I didn't recall any mention of an off-width in the guidebook so I decided that I was supposed to move left to the outside nose/arete, where I built a belay. Later I saw that Dick does say something about going up a corner/crack to the nose, so maybe I skipped a vital part of pitch. I'm still not quite clear on where the route actually goes. I enjoyed pitch one nonetheless and looked forward to pitch two.



I could see the alcove looming above. But first we had to deal with another crux early in the second pitch. A slabby low-angled face leads up from the belay stance. You have two choices: go up the face close to the nose, or move left to a right-facing corner with a tiny seam at the back. Neither option looks easy. I thought I remembered Dick saying something about staying close to the nose. So I decided to climb over to the right. But there isn't any pro over there, so first I placed a tiny nut in the seam at the left and then moved back right to do the face-climbing. One or two thin moves gained me easier blocky ground up to the alcove. Gail thought I would have been better off not placing the off-line pro to the left, but I can't really say.



And then at the alcove itself I learned why the climb is named Yellow Belly. I had to do a full-on belly flop to get into the alcove. I found myself lying totally prone on a block. The crux for me was the transition from this belly flop to something resembling a standing position. It was very squirmy and cramped but the pro was good so I think it counts as fun! Gail certainly seemed to find my situation amusing. For me the exit from the alcove was easier than getting into it. The exit is a standard Gunks roof escape, moving left with good hands and poor feet, then taking the leap of faith and swinging out and around the outside corner onto the face.



As I placed a piece in a convenient slot at the left exit to the alcove, I thought the climb was all but over.But I was mistaken. After I climbed up another twenty feet or so, with the top of the cliff almost in reach, I was suddenly immobilized. I couldn't move because the rope was stuck somewhere down below.



I tried to shake it loose, but it wouldn't budge.



When it fully sank in that I couldn't get the rope free I started screaming obscenities. I envisioned us wasting our whole day with an epic.



Then I calmed down and took stock of the situation. I couldn't move up but I could move down. I decided to downclimb to see if I could shake the rope free from a lower position. As I moved down, the slack in the rope increased, so I built a two-piece anchor to give myself a top rope as I approached the point where the rope was stuck. This worked out pretty well. The downclimbing was easy enough and eventually I could flick the rope out of the slot where it was stuck, at the exit to the alcove. I'm not sure if my gear placement had anything to do with creating the problem, and I could never really see exactly where the rope got stuck, but beware: if your rope feeds out the left side the alcove on Yellow Belly it might get snagged.



Once I had the rope moving again I reached as far to the right as I could and placed an Alien in a horizontal over the alcove so that I could direct the rope awayfrom feeding back into the same slot. Then I was able to finish the climb without it getting stuck again.



Yellow Belly has weird moves, route-finding issues, challenging pro, an awkward alcove, and rope-eating potential. Doesn't sound so great, does it? But I liked it a lot. I thought the three cruxes were all very different and enjoyable. I'd go back again to tackle the off-width and to try to manage the rope better at the exit to the alcove.



After we finally got done with Yellow Belly, Gail suggested Birdland, a route with no complications, just wonderful climbing. I hadn't done it this year so I was fine with it. I also thought it would be fun to check out the 5.9 variation on pitch two, a direct finish through the roof at the very top of the cliff.



I have previously argued that Birdland is the best 5.8 in the Gunks. I still feel that way. The first pitch has beautiful face climbing, although the little pebble toehold at the crux is looking pretty polished. This just ups the excitement a little bit. You must have faith in the polished toe pebble.



And then the second pitch is totally different, with some thin facey action right off the belay, and then great overhanging moves into the exit corner.



The 5.9 finish is well worth doing. It is superior to the easy traverse right that finishes the traditional 5.8 pitch two. I found this final roof to be very straightforward, with jug holds everywhere and good pro. I couldn't find any 5.9 on it; in fact I think the 5.8 moves into the corner beneath the roof are harder. If you're up there and not worn out, why not give it a try? It is a good "easy" 5.9 lead. It makes an already amazing climb just a little bit better.



When we got back to our packs our half-day of climbing was basically over. We had wasted a lot of time on Yellow Belly and we needed to head home soon. Clearly there wasn't time for me to try a 5.10. But Gail and I were both eager to climb just a little more. Luckily Alphonse (5.8) was just sitting there, wide open, so we decided to do it. It is a decent choice if you are in a hurry because it can be done in one pitch and the 5.8 crux is just one move; the rest is delightful 5.6. I tried to do it like Hans Florine, moving very quickly but in control. I aimed to protect it only when strictly necessary.



I can't say I succeeded in my first effort at speed climbing. Once the route started traversing I still took my time and placed several pieces for the safety of both myself and Gail. I created terrible drag. The route basically makes a u-turn through the crux, so the drag is hard to avoid unless you really run it out through the traverse.



We returned to the house an hour late. I guess I am no Hans Florine.

Pre-dawn light on the shores of Superior

This time of year its amazing how early in the morning it starts to get light. These images were made at about 4:00 a.m. today! They were exposures several seconds in length (about 5 to 6 seconds). It certainly was a beautiful morning, and a very calm one on the lake.

The Heat is On...

Saturday, April 2nd - - Since Butler University, located just five miles from downtown Indianapolis, was playing in the Final Four, I splurged and spent the night in a Motel so I could watch the game! Old news now, but Butler won and will be playing (for the second year in a row) in the Championship Game! My first cousin, Ralph V. Reiff, is the play-by-play announcer for WISH-TV in Indy. I was hoping to be able to watch the game on TV and listen to his calling of the game at the same time but no such luck.







Sunday, April 3rd - - Still heading West, I came across this “tribute” to the Texas Longhorn.



I stopped for the night at Copper Breaks State Park (west of Wichita Falls). Though not far, the drive had been tiring - lots of wind with gusts from 35-50 mph and it was hot! Really hot.





The photo above was taken at 5:24 pm at the campground; the van was in the shade! Yep, it was hot. I did manage to go for a very short walk (about 10 minutes) after driving up to an overlook to get this picture(below)of the lake. The “lower” campground where I stayed was on the left side of the lake. Being lower didn't provide any relief from the wind or the heat.







The sun was completely hidden beneath the hills but for a few brief moments it lit up the clouds like they were on fire, appropriate for such a hot day. The setting of the sun provided little relief from the heat. Even with doors and windows open, it was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable nights spent on the road thus far. Relief did arrive, however, when after midnight a front moved through and the temperature dropped dramatically. When I got up the next morning it was a chilly 48 degrees! And still windy.

Leaning Tree over the Pigeon River

Yesterday I brought the kayak and went for an evening paddle on the Pigeon River in search of Moose. I did not see any Moose while I was on the river (although I did see a nice young bull in the dark on the drive home). What I did see, however, were several Beaver and some of the nicest clouds I've ever seen over the river. When I came upon this leaning Tamarack tree I knew I had to try and photograph the scene with the tree and the clouds overhead. Even though I didn't come home with any Moose photographs, I did come home with the memory of another beautiful evening spent on the river.

Mount Healy

After returning from Savage River, we decided to take another hike. The weather was similar to what we had left earlier in the day – cloudy skies with scattered sunshine. The trail started out easily enough leaving from the visitor center and going through the taiga forest. But this trek was more than a little strenuous with a 500 foot elevation gain in the first mile and 1200 foot gain in the second. After six weeks of no hiking, my legs and lungs were screaming “Stop!” but not wanting to admit defeat nor to be left behind by Sue and Fred, it was onward and upward.

Views like this is what makes it worth the effort! About half-way up to the top.

Sue and me on top of Mt. Healy.

The view from the top. The park entrance, Visitor Center, and Wilderness Access Center complexes are in the left foreground “beneath” the rocks.

Fred and Sue, heading back down.

A portion of the lower trail. Since the ground is frozen much of the year, the trees have shallow roots. I wonder, how many feet have trod over these roots? And yet, the tree still lives!

The top of Mt. Healy. We was up there!

While Fred and Sue fixed supper, I laid on the picnic table bench and watched the clouds pass by.

The Keweenaw Peninsula :: Is it the End or the Beginning?

The end of the road.



The road simply loops around this sign stating it is “The Beginning of US 41”





Over the years, I've driven on sections of US 41 in all the states it goes through except for Wisconsin. I've been at the beginning on the Keweenaw Peninsula and near it's end in Miami and many points in between...

Assateague Island :: Adieu

It was with some degree of sadness that I bid farewell to Assateague on Saturday morning (October 24th). It had been so peaceful and quiet the previous four days but when Friday evening arrived so did more people. The campground loop where I was staying, which had been nearly vacant, was now filled with weekend visitors. The spell was broken, it was time to go. Besides, rain was in the forecast for the next few days!

The golden glow of the sunset over the marsh. My last night at Assateague.

Not as colorful as the morning's sunrise had been, but quite lovely. Indeed.

What one learns and Second Chances...

In the past few weeks I have learned a good bit about myself.



With some after thought I guess I have learned more about myself, people in generaland our relationships when I have been injured.



In early September I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Tonsillar Cancer which is HPV P16 driven. If you are going to get Tonsillar cancer, pray it is HPV P16 driven. (more on second chances in a minute)



http://www.komonews.com/news/health/132764463.html?tab=video



Up first was a "radical neck dissection" to remove the tumors. I was pulling 5.10 a week after surgery so how "radical"can it be? Now Radiation and Chemo follow. I'll be fine in the end. A little worse for the wear and tear may be but pounds lighter and seconds faster. It won't hurt my climbing in the long run is my guess at this point.I will come out of this even healthier and more fit than I have been in a long time. But not a fitness and weight loss program I would recommend either.



So I get a second chance. A cancer they can cure. And a new lease on life witha rebuilt body after loosing 25% of my body mass from chemo and rad.



We all make promises. Some you intend to keep and others you know you will unlikely be able to keep. Most of us do what we can and with some effort more than we might have thought possible until pushed.



I had first intendedto keep my health issues quiet. But as I realised there wasn't an easily accessed body of knowledge on how to get through this I started asking for beta from any of myfriends (and their friends) that might have some insight into a this particular cancer and treatment that would eventually strip me of 25% of my body mass. It all seemed pretty damn scary at the beginning. A little less so now even after dropping 20# in the first six days of treatment. And my friends pulled through for me. Thank you, THANK YOU!



To pay back that debt I will eventually start a new blog documenting this entire experience in detail so it will hopefully bea little less scary for the next guy.



Ten days ago I was unsure if I would ever be able to walk again let alone climb. The initial chemo shattered me physically and mentally in a short 6 days. Not something I easily admit to, but there it is.

Water boarding? Shit, try Cysplatinum.



I, like many who ride a bike, often wonder if Lance did drugs to win those Tours. I don'tneed to wonderany more. Lance did weeksof Csyplantium. I'm only required to do a fewdays. Lance has been requiredto suffer more than most can ask to endure. I suspect that is how he won Tours. Chemo drugs may have taughthim the secrets of sufferingbut no one in their right mind wants the education.







My friends, familyand and our extended climbing family have been the BEST. People have reached out to help and support me, someI hardly know. But I "know" them now. It means a lot to me and I am more than grateful. When you can't move and someone offers a helping hand they are a more than human...more than a kind soul. How anyone does this by themselves hopefully I'll never have to know, thankfully.



Like climbing we seldom do anything alone. And there is a time when we are all alone and a required to dig deep and run it out. That comes as well. But we never get their by ourselves. Some one helped us get to that.



I rushed to get the shell review done before all this started. I was happy with the end result. It was one more off the tick list of "to dos". I have a huge assortment of gear review projects currently in the works. But they are going to have to wait tillI can write (without chemo brain) and get outside again. Those sorts of thingswill be on hold for a bit as I get through this. Future plans?Cham and maybe the Kahiltna again this spring.I am antzy to this over and get to THAT future. But for now I am living cancer. It will bemy way of life for a short time. The experience willenhance me, not define me.



I learned (again) to never take a day for granted. Never forget you have friends. Take care of them, even when you don't have the time. And be thankful every day above ground. Use those dayswisely! 2nd chances are a wonderful thing :)

Night Traveler

This is Trave or Tennessee Walking Horse crossed with a Shetland pony.

Surviving a Paceline Training Ride

[image via alharbiseye]



Well, I did it. I showed up at the weekly women's paceline training ride that is organised by a local cycling team. The very same one I've been talking about forever. It was the first ride of the season and I figured that I should just go, before I lose my nerve and spend every week telling myself "maybe next time" while the entire summer goes by. So I went, and apparently survived - though just barely. Let me tell you about it from the beginning...



It was overcast and threatening to rain all afternoon, but I checked the team's website before leaving the house, and the ride was on. The meeting point was in Lexington, MA - which is 10 miles from where I live. I rode my bike there, taking care to go at a leisurely pace so that I wouldn't already be tired upon arrival. I was so nervous, that I needed all of those 10 miles just to calm down.



I spotted the meeting location immediately. There was a crowd of several dozen women in roadie attire and as many bikes lying on the grass and propped up against trees. My heart sank as I saw them. I guess I had expected more of a mix: Some women on modern carbon fiber and others on old 10-speeds; some in clipless shoes and others not; some in lycra and others in gym shorts. But no: Every single person there had a super-light modern roadbike with "brifters." Every single person there was wearing clipless shoes. Not a soul had a kickstand, fenders or racks on their bike but me. Not a soul had a bag attached to their bike. No one else had, um, a twined stainless steel water bottle. And all wore lycra - the club-affiliated cyclists readily distinguishable by their team kit. Thankfully, at least I wore my wool cycling knickers and jersey and not something more casual. Reluctantly, I approached.



Greeted by a woman in team kit who looked like she was in charge, I was pointed to a bench where everybody was signing waivers. I made the mistake of starting to read the waiver, but the things described there were so horrible that I stopped and just signed it. When I returned to the spot I'd left my bike, two other women-in-charge were gathered in front of it. Was this my bike? Yes... The one I was planning to ride? Yes... They examined my Rivendelltouring bike as if it were a 100-year-old antique or a creature from outer space. There was some debate as to whether it would be allowed: My bicycle was extremely heavy, the tires were too wide, and I did't have the right shifters. I would have trouble doing the ride. Was this even a roadbike? Only roadbikes were allowed. Finally, the senior-most woman was called to resolve the issue. In the end my bicycle was deemed allowable, but I was warned that I might have trouble doing the ride; in the long run I would need a different bike. I tried not to get too intimidated by this. The group I planned to join was described as "paceline learning skills for beginners, 12-15mph." I could ride at that speed with my eyes closed (just a figure of speech, don't worry), so all I had to do was focus on the skills. So I stayed.



The crowd was split into groups and the beginner's group consisted of eight of us: six newcomers and two leaders. The leaders gave us a brief explanation of what it meant to ride in a paceline: The group cycles in a single-file procession, staying close to each other's wheels in a straight line. When the person in front gets tired, they move over to the left and drift to the back of the line, then merge with the paceline in the rear. This gets repeated every few minutes. One thing that makes perfect sense but I hadn't realised in advance, is that you cannot coast in a paceline. Whether going fast or slow, cyclists must keep pedaling at all times, because that is how members of the paceline are able to maintain uniform speed - they synchronise their leg movements. So, coasting is forbidden. Hard braking is also forbidden, as it can cause the person behind to crash into you. To slow down, you need to keep pedaling while "feathering" the brakes. Finally, there is a system of signals that members of a paceline must use - from the person in front indicating that they will move to the left now, to warning about potholes, to asking to merge into the middle of the paceline if you are drifting back on the left and there is a car coming. We were quickly shown all of these, and without further ceremony we set off on our 20 mile ride through rolling hills.



Apparently I am an extremely poor judge of my own strengths and weaknesses when it comes to cycling. I had thought that my biggest problem would be technique. I expected to experience debilitating fear when cycling 6" behind someone's wheel, to be dangerously clumsy at executing paceline maneuvers, and to be slow on the uptake whenever instructions were given. On the other hand, I expected myself to have no problem at all with the pace and terrain of the ride: I mean, 12-15mph? Please!



Instead, the exact opposite happened: I found the paceline training itself to be natural and had no problems with technique. I behaved predictably and signaled appropriately. I didn't coast and I feathered the brakes, modulating my speed smoothly (having ridden fixed gear made this pretty intuitive actually). I reacted quickly and calmly when instructions were given to me. I never once swerved or did anything crazy out of fear or incompetence. In short: all my worries about being poorly coordinated and getting flustered around other cyclists were completely unfounded.



On the other hand, keeping up with the pace proved to be challenging and I wishI could say it was the bike's fault. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it was the no-coasting thing that did me in, combined with the fact that 15mph was the typical speed on flats, with 12mph being the uphillspeed and 25mph the downhill speed (while still trying not to break the paceline). Anyhow, I felt extremely unfit on the uphill portions of the ride, huffing and puffing as I struggled not to lose the wheel of the person in front of me. On these occasions, the leader cycled alongside attempting to reassure me: "You see now?... You're at a real disadvantage with that bike... But you're doing well... Breathe... That's right... Good... Next time, different bike..."



Truthfully, I don't know whether it was the poor bike's fault or mine. All the other girls on the ride were athletes of some sort - runners or "spinners" (i.e. at the gym, on stationary bikes), looking to transition to roadcycling as a new sport to try. My background is very different. I am not an athlete and have never been an athlete. And I have done zero exercise all winter other than riding upright bikes for transportation. So maybe it's really a case of "next time, stronger leg muscles." I would be curious to try the same ride on a modern roadbike and see whether it's any less difficult, but I am skeptical.



There were other problems with my bike on this ride: Namely, the shifters, brake levers and possibly even handlebars. With my friction bar-end shifters, I was at a distinct disadvantage to the other girls, who could shift instantaneously thanks to their indexed "brifters." It was a little ridiculous actually. Moreover, moving my hand to the edge of the right handlebar in order to shift was problematic, because it is a similar gesture to the signal used for indicating pulling over to the left (you have to wiggle your right elbow). In that sense, using bar-ends in a paceline where no one knows what they are has the potential to cause an accident if the person behind me interprets my changing gears as inviting them to move forward. Do I want to be responsible for that?... As for using the drops: I cannot modulate my brakes well from that position because of how my handlebars are shaped and set up, and so I only brake from the hoods. When going downhill, the leader wanted us all to get in the drops for maximum "aerotuck." She kept telling me to do this, but I refused because it wasn't a safe position for me to feather the brakes from. So I stayed on the hoods, but bent my elbows so much that my chin was practically on my handlebars, achieving the aerodynamic positioning they wanted. They were okay with it under the circumstances... but it was yet more evidence of my needing a different bike - with shallow drops and with brake levers I could modulate from all positions.



If all of this sounds like a miserable, degrading struggle, then I've done a good job of describing it. It went on for an hour and a half as we cycled past farms, forests and highways practicing paceline maneuvers. But there were a few minor advantages to my bike as well. At some point it began to rain, and the group leaders grew alarmed - contemplating shortcuts back in case the rain continued. At first I could not understand what the problem was, but eventually realised that their bikes were prone to "wiping out" on wet terrain. Thankfully, that is one problem I don't have on my own bike. There was also a fear of sand. Sand on the road was signaled down the paceline as if it were a pothole to avoid. Not something I normally worry about. While these advantages were fairly minor compared to the disadvantages I experienced, they provided at least some relief.



We arrived back at the meeting point just as it was growing dark, and the girls began taking their bikes to their cars. When they learned that I had cycled from Somerville and now planned to cycle back, several of them offered to give me a lift. But I opted for a quiet ride home on the (now pitch-black) Minuteman Trail, to review the evening'e events in my head and relax. I cycled slowly as the lights on my bike illuminated my path. It was a beautiful night, and when the rain started up again the smell of the surrounding meadows grew pleasantly strong. I never, ever had to do the paceline ride again if didn't want to, but could just quietly cycle in the dark like this on my own forever. And yet?...

Sunset from Diablo

Sunset from Diablo, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

With clouds in the western sky, yesterday's sunset was beautiful. I was hiking in Diablo Foothills Regional Park when the sky lit up with beautiful shades of orange and pink. This area is home to the amazing China Wall rock formation, which stretches across two large hills. Rock outcroppings such as the one in this photo are common in the park.

New Camera Photos

These are the first photos from my new camera. Of course some of the Sandia Mountains.



Cassie



Twinkie




Wiley


Murphy



Tuffee



Ziva



Star



Stormy & Traveler

Big Al Spadijer

Here at jjobrienclimbing we've had hundreds of letters fromreaders asking when are we going to profile a real man and not just some stringy little kid.

We couldn't find one so here's Al Spadijer!

Property news:Prices around Mt Coolum have slumped in recent times.

Al has bought a new house in the neighbourhood.

Coinicidence?













Style:Al, and several billion of the Earths poorest inhabitants, make up a fashion movementcoined by jjobrienclimbing"Economical". Whilst the vast majority of"Economicalists" arevictims of place and circumstance, Al voluntarily embraces the movement with a strong sense of "Dishevelled Chic".





Spoonman 28'Hey mate well done on the send. Not bad considering your conscious state was one notch above coma.'

Bradley Babel (facebook)What Allan Spadijer doesn't know right now, amongst other things, is that the lost roll of finger tape heforlornly searches for is under Frey's rope mat and not in the long grass.

He also climbs.



If only Oli's mum knew who he was hanging around with.











Walk Way

On the main trail to the very tip-top of the Sandia Mountains is this paved walkway with handrails for safety. It was very windy on the day we were there and the railing and it was necessary for me to hold onto the railing. Others weren't but I needed to.

Sharing Space with Pedestrians

As cyclists, when we are not sharing the roads with cars we often share space with pedestrians: mixed use paths (MUPs), off road trails, certain types of crossings, even the road itself in areas with no sidewalks. To new cyclists this usually seems like a safer option to riding in traffic, but they soon learn that mixing with pedestrians presents its own challenges. People on foot move differently than those on a bike and their behaviour can be difficult to predict. Compared to cyclists, pedestrians are less likely to keep a consistent line of travel and more likely to make unexpected stops, which makes passing them tricky. Children make sudden u-turns. Dog walkers let their canines loose. Couples shove each other playfully across the path. Joggers zig-zag obliviously with their headphones on. Even seemingly predictable walkers moving at a steady pace can stop without warning if they get a phone call or notice something interesting.These things happen.




A local woman new to bicycling once told me she was hurt and baffled to discover how much pedestrians, whom she had considered allies, dislike cyclists - not only failing to apologise, but inevitably blaming her for the near-collisions they cause. (I can certainly relate: Just earlier this week a man whose undisciplined dog lunged at my wheel as I passed them cursed at me for not being "more careful.") I think the reason for this is simply that we, as cyclists, are perceived as more aggressive because we are operating machines and moving faster than walking speed. Despite whose fault an incident is, we are seen as the dangerous ones.




It doesn't help matters that pedestrians might not hear a cyclist's approach, or might not know how to react even when they do. In my 4th year of riding in Boston now, I have still not found an ideal way to gently warn those on foot of my presence. If I ring my bell, they might freeze or panic. If I say "on your left" they might instinctively jumpto the left. If I say "excuse me" they might misinterpret this to mean "get out of my way" and get offended. And if I say nothing at all and don't ring a bell, they might move into my line of travel at the exact moment I try to pass them. No solution is guaranteed to work.




When sharing space with pedestrians, I have now simply learned to accept the inherent unpredictability of it; the need for vigilance and reduced speed. Iexpect inconsistency, especially when children are involved. Ipass carefully and never assume my approach is heard or understood. I am mindful of dogs even if they appear to be on a short leash (those things are sometimes expandable). When in doubt, I slow to a crawl or stop altogether. And I do not enter into altercations: If a pedestrian at fault fails to apologise or even shouts at me, I just let it go.While these incidents can be frustrating, I try to keep in mind that as a cyclist I am the fast and scary one; I am the one who is operating a machine.




When I voiced this philosophy to the woman who'd complained of being disliked by pedestrians, she pointed out that cyclists are no less vulnerable in a collision and therefore such a distinction is unfair. Maybe so, but I don't think it's a matter of fairness. I suspect that pedestrians' response to cyclists as "fast machines, therefore dangerous" is a visceral one. Should parents be taken to task for not supervising their children and allowing them to run across the path? Should dog walkers be reported for not obeying the leashing laws? Maybe, but on some level that seems petty to me and I just don't see it making a real difference. The only reasonable solution, in my view, is to separate the infrastructure and not group pedestrians and cyclists together. Until then, we must make do with what is available, cycling responsibly and cautiously in the shared space.

New Old Moser: a 400 Mile Assessment

Having now ridden Moser 2.0 for about 400 miles, I think it is time for a report. For those who do not feel like reading about the bike's entire history, this is a lugged steel racing frame circa 1978 fitted with niceCampagnolocomponents circa 1999. The Columbus"tretubi" frame is 52x53cm, with an 11cm stem, handlebars 1cm below saddle level (I would like to set them lower, but the stem won't go down any further), 700Cx23mm tires, and 175mm cranks. Gearing is 52/39t in the front and 12-26t (9-speed)in the rear.The complete bike weighs 22lb without the waterbottle. I have been riding it since the end of November, and the individual rides have ranged from 30 to 60 miles. Mostly these have been group and club types of rides, and mostly with riders stronger and faster than me.



I know that people are interested in whether building up an older steel racing frame is feasible for "serious" roadcycling, and based on my experience with the Moser I do not see why not. As far as weight, 22lb is not bad at all for a complete bike - I have picked up new bikes with aluminum frames and carbon forks and they felt heavier. If I want to shave even more weight off, it could be done with some strategic component upgrades, but honestly I did not feel that the weight was an issue for someone at my level of ability.





As far as speed, I was able to ride with strong cycliststhe likes of which I did not think I'd be good enough to ride with,at what they call a social pace (15-18mph on average, depending on the ride), while also feeling some reserve. At no point did I feel "if only I had a faster bike!" while riding the Moser.



When climbing, the bike itself feels "eager" to ascend, and the only limitations I felt were my own and also the high gearing. I would need to get lower gearing in the long run, no question. But the bike itself was fine climbing. When I ran out of gears, I would simply "heave" us uphill. Sadly my legs no longer fit into my jeans as a result of this practice, but we can't have it all.



The ride quality on bad roads has no harshness to it despite the 23mm tires, I am very happy with this aspect. The frame's tubing feels wonderful and just right; perfect amount of flex and all that.



At slow speeds (and I mean very slow - like less than 10mph, when stalling in traffic) the Moser is a little twitchy (compared to my fond memories of the Seven at least, which remained stable even at a crawl), but I do not mind and can still easily control the bike.



The one and only inherent aspect of the handling that is a problem - and the more I ride, the more I realise it is a problem - is descending. I do not entirely understand what is going on and why. But basically at high speeds, the bike is extremely resistant to turning and this was rather scary to discover. At first I thought that I just needed to get used to being on a racy bike again, and that I was holding myself back because I was nervous. But nope, something odd is definitely happening with the high speed turns - not just 90° turns, but even following the curvature of a winding road on a descent. I cannot make the same turns that I know I had no trouble making on the Seven over the summer. So while the bike is capable of great speed, this handling issueultimately makes me slower, since I hold myself back on descents when I do not feel in full control of the bike. I've been trying to understand what is causing this, and what I can do to counteract it, but my instincts are failing me. Naturally I try to take wider turns, but it isn't always possible, and I am just never at a point where I can let myself go on descents.





Exacerbating the descent problem is that I am not entirely happy with the braking power. I did not have a brakeset that would fit this bike, so I bought some CampagnoloVeloce calipers. While I realise that Veloce is not top of the line, I still expected it to be fully functional. I guess with my weak hands, not so much. We have adjusted the brakes this way and that, but coming to a complete stop (like at a stoplight or traffic light at the bottom of a hill) after a high speed descent is problematic.





There are other issues that have surfaced in the course of riding the bike. For instance, there are only braze-ons for one bottle cage, and during longer rides I needed more water. I could get a second bolt-on bottle cage, but it seems a shame to do that to this frame. As mentioned before, there is also quite a bit of rust on the frame that is not visible in pictures (like along the underside of the top tube). It might make sense to get the frame stripped, the rust cleaned up, a second set bottle cage bosses brazed on, and then the frame repainted.





In addition, the rear wheel does not want to stay put in the chromed horizontal dropouts unless the skewer is tightened with a death grip. When initially the skewer was closed with reasonable force, it became misaligned and jammed against the chainstays the first time I rode the bike. It is now tightened as tighteningly as can be and this has not happened since. But it means that I cannot remove the wheels on my own despite them being quick-release; I am not strong enough to budge the skewers.





On top of the too-high gearing, the pedal strike from the 175mm cranks, and the too-tall stem, all in all that adds up to a lot of stuff I would have to replace on the bike (the crankset, the cassette, the brakes, and the stem at least)even without the re-paint and second bottle cage question. I would be willing to make this investment for sure if I was 100% comfortable with the bicycle's handling, but this problem with descents now has me concerned.



And that is where I am right now with my assessment of the bike. More than anything, this experiment has convinced me that I do very much need a fast road bike. Despite the issues mentioned here, I just wanted to ride-ride-ride it all the time, even in the winter. No time to ride? I found the time. Too cold? I got over it. Too early in the morning? Nonsense, the Moser beckons. Tamer, more sensible bikes are wonderful, but for whatever reason they do not have the same effect on me as this bicycle does and as the Seven did over the summer. I want a bicycle that is fast enough for club and paceline rides, comfortable over bad roads, and handles well for a ballance-challenged person like me. Is the Moser it? I love it and I hoped so, but I honestly don't know at this stage. Holding back on descents is a problem; I need to feel in full control of the bike if I am going to improve, not to mention for reasons of safety.