Why This Became a Bicycle Blog

   I've been a motorcyclist most of my life.  Before owning and riding them I had motorcycle toys.  Everything from matchbox motorcycles to an Evel Knievel air pump ramp which made a spectacular little rider shoot down it and off into the sunset.  The harder you pumped the further that little bugger would balance and ride.  Members of my extended family rode dirt bikes.  Friends of the family were into the big bikes.  Harleys mostly.  I grew up in Milwaukee.  So it seemed the goal of many I knew who rode either had them or were working toward owning one.  I really bought into the whole free spirit... esthetic.    

  When the time came to find myself a ride I was a little late to the party.  Most of my friends were riding already.  Small displacement motorcycles.  From YZ80s to three and four hundred cc displacement road bikes.  Home was a region of neighborhoods broken up by tracts of woods and fields.  You could really learn how to handle a motorcycle back in those days.  In fact my mother, an immigrant who'd never been on a motorcycle, advised me to get "one of those that have lights but you can ride in the woods.  That way if you crash, somebody won't run you over."  Actually she said it in German.  

  Get an enduro and learn to ride it in the woods around the neighborhood.  Then take it out on the road.  So I did.  And my friends  and I rode trails in southeast Wisconsin.  I can't recall that we ever really "tore it up" either.  We simply rode the worn backwoods paths we found and no one seemed bothered that we did.  Those were different times.

  I grew into desiring larger bikes and paved roads.  My friends did as well.  Some of them crossed the country while I remained much a day tripper.  Although a few overnights were in the cards, I had my reasons for keeping closer to home.  

  Years passed and I moved to another state.  Meanwhile the widespread use of cell phones enhanced everyone's driving experience.  Or so everyone thought.  The truth about cell phone usage while driving guided most states to enact laws and heavy fines.  But prohibition by the state seems to encourage a segment of the population to flaunt the law.  Just to prove to themselves that not getting into accidents must be proof they're fine enough drivers to use cell phones while driving anyway.  

  For a motorcyclist the risks calculated are much more stark.  We tend to back away from commodities which make us question the unknown attentiveness of the driver.  We can see the silhouette of a hand to the side of a head and what that means.

  I haven't seen a positive change since this state made handheld cell phone usage while driving illegal.  Same as before, really.

  My kids were young.  I didn't want to leave them without a father so I quit motorcycles.  Now that it's been a few years I don't intend on going back to it.  Bicycling is healthier and fulfills what I get out of riding.   Are bicycles less risky?  Maybe, maybe not.  Are they healthier to use?  Yes.

  Your mileage will vary.

   

  

Manic minnesota Spring

  I sit and wait for the temps to climb into the barely tolerable.  Just so I can ride.  Even a short distance would be acceptable.  As an atheist to the mantra of extreme sports, well, sports in general, sitting amongst a crowd of strangers just to watch others' invigorated activities when I could be out doing it myself isn't something in which you'll find me involved.  All I can think is, what a waste of time.

  Controversially, I don't buy this... pandemic.  If you agree with me then you already likely share the same reasoning I do. If you don't, I won't try to convince you otherwise.

  The fear which shut down states and nations has eliminated group activities by default.    Meaning sports in general have been abandoned.  People are forced to refocus on themselves.  In some ways it's good.  In others the damage to those who face loneliness, alcoholism, perhaps strife in the home may appear irreparable at this stage of the game.  Yet, like most aspects of the human condition, this too shall pass.  We can't help it.  It's part of our design.  The Bible says Noah was righteous in his generations.  Inferring that what is deemed righteous is not the same for all generations.  But I digress.

  Competition by proxy.  It's one thing to watch a sport if it imbues some sort of life lesson.  You can get that, certainly.  From a strong work ethic to how a person responds to a public humiliation when another player outdoes the first in an ambiguous way.  How does it apply to the observer's life?

  It's a story unfolding.  Theater in three or four timed paragraphs.  The problem is, are the lessons imparted really worth the observer's time or is the framework just filler with a few accidental social values?  Backstories.  They might even be interesting but they're still afterthoughts.

  Humans have a need to do things.  Sometimes, to be a part of something bigger.  Other times to take the mind off something beguiling.  So when spectator sports went away, people rediscovered the world outside their front doors.  Some walk.  Some run.  Some bike.  Some just stand in the naked sunlight, absorbing its natural radiance.  Others take the time to rebuild their homes.  To brighten their inner sanctums, as it were.  

  In an unintended consequence, the people have spoken with their liberties.  They've laughed in the face of fear, flung open front and garage doors and taken to the streets and parks.  You see it everywhere.   

  We may now be standing at the near end of a valley of shadows and darkness, but remember this is only a valley.  Time itself will force our march to the other side and up into the light once again.   People are ready for it; ready for the next phase of recovery.   Optimism and a measured fearlessness is the twinkle in the eye of every passerby on my rides this manic minnesota spring.

 

 


 

Bike Weights, Carbon Stiffness and steel Comfort

  I suppose I can post this [here] since no one really looks at this page anymore.  Probably one of the darkest corners of the web there is.  Who's going to read this?  Just a handful...

  Thank you for your patronage.  Both of you.

 

  If you're a bicyclist and you involve yourself in the many forums dedicated to riding, or even one, then you know there's a debate about carbon framed bikes versus steel framed bikes.  Lightness versus comfort.  

  For a long time something hasn't made sense to me.  The idea of putting stiff carbon forks on frames of metal.  Whether it's aluminum, steel or titanium.  The concept seems backwards.  Like taking the front suspension off a car or motorcycle.  Only in the world of bicycles is the basic equivalent done.

  A steel fork is compliant.  It gives when enough force is applied to its design because, well, it's designed that way on purpose.  It's meant to give a little.  It absorbs energy whereas a stiff carbon fork transmits that same energy away from the source in all directions equally.

  A possible solution?  Take that carbon frame and stick a fork in it.  But make it a steel fork.  My (uneducated) guess is you'll have a very light frame and much smoother, more compliant ride for a nominal weight gain you may not even notice.  Or maybe you will at first, but I bet that ride will be less punishing.

 

 

Near Perfect Spring Roads Companions

  So I'm sitting here in my living room.   Just finished dining on home made pizza courtesy of my wife and daughter.  Now, my wife isn't a bicyclist.  She rode as a kid because it was her only means to get places when she was young.  She was raised in farm country.  The distances to her friends were orders of magnitude greater than my own treks in my suburban environs.  My daughter is old enough to drive but still gets on two wheels on rare occasions.  We ride together a few times a year but that's about it.  Not their thing.  Same with my son.  I get it.

  On the other hand, the older I become the more two wheels and pedals appeal to me.  See, I'm a reformed motorcyclist.  I love to ride... somehow.

  A warm winter brought an early spring.  And I have a bike set up for these wet, gravelled and pothole pocked spring roads.  An early version of a comfort bike, I think it was...  A Trek Millennia in ice blue with crème lettering. Sufficiently fat tires, Longboard fenders from an outfit in Cali known as Rivendell.  Drop bars and friction stem shifters installed by the wizard who owns Rod's Bicycles in St Cloud MN.  The thing isn't a snow bike, but it's damn near perfect as a slusher.  I aim for every water hazard the way every golfer prays to avoid them.

  Most of the snow is already melted and gone.  The roads are clear.  But they're gritty and gouged.  Sticky tar beetles ride the tread only to let go inside the fenders, producing a rattling undertone against the tires' molding to the road's unevenness.  A droning hum with irregular cacophonic snare drums arguing with each other.

And then the tarmac smooths.  It's weird how, for maybe the length of a football field, the road is torn up unsympathetically, and then everything's fine for the next quarter mile.  The old Trek with its comfort width tires is the best companion I could ask for in such conditions.  But its fenders are the icing on the cake.

Early Spring Optimisms

It's March first, in the year of our Lord, 2020.   A warm, blustery day of sun and fleeting clouds.  Nicer than usual.  Especially for minnesota.  

We live in the first world.  Yet, until recently, we managed to botch up some very good things.  And while little of anything is ever perfect, maturity and humility remind us to focus on the better.  Even so, it comes again.  That clarion caller of things lurking in the shadows, the harbinger of dark fates.  The distributor of melancholy.  

You can name it whatever's appropriate to you, it's still Medusa, surrounded by her dark glories.  One head, lots of ways to bite you.

Knowing this, whattaya do?  It's March.  In the old Roman tradition, the time for settling debts is upon us.  (Just ask Caesar) This is a good thing.  We clear our consciences and are refreshed.  Spring!

As this blog attests, riding two wheels is a mendicant to me.  Where motorcycles turned to scooters, scooters became bicycles.  And few things put you in touch with your surroundings better than a tuned up bicycle.  The distances are less but they increase.  The hills are tough slogs sometimes, but the reward is flying down the other side.  And catching your breath at the peak while you take in the view is reward in itself.

Take a long draw off that water bottle.  Nothing tastes sweeter.  Look back where you came from.  Does it look steep?  Now look ahead.  Imagine how much fun you'll have as you glide at speed into the little valley below.

Early spring warmth and an old Trek with longboard fenders.

What's your ride?

Culinary Displeasure

I've never been a "foodie"  Frankly I treat the term as a derogatory description of a glutton.  You should eat to live, not the other way around.   If you can stare down a plateful of obsessively crafted nutriment with the same wolfish glare a seventeen year old male from my own generation visually feasted on a plateful of female then brother, you got problems.  Food isn't a replacement for sex.  It's just the appetizer.  The main course, I remind you, is sitting on the other side of your intimately lit table for two.

And what would the ambiance be without consideration of the proper setting?   A warm room on a cold night?  Slow jazz over occasional laughter coming from the kitchen?  A slightly brusque waitress who reminds you of the Italian aunt you never had because you were Jewish?  What?  Oy!  Just order the wine she tells you to order.

The courses come.  You play your cards.  She plays hers.  The wine warms.   The little hall is now lit only by the streetlamps outside and the soft glow of candle light within.   The piano's melody is right for slow dancing.  You offer your hand and smile.  She responds.  The two of you slide into a rhythmic physicality which increases anticipation.  A brush, response. First base.  A second, positive reinforcement.  She moves into you.  Electric intensity as you temper your actions in the presence of others.  You guide yourselves to your table as you fumble for your wallet.  A generous wad of bills is left on the linen tablecloth as you gather your things.

Arm in arm you breach the door as bitter cold stings your bare skin.  Off to the car, once inside turn the key and... nothing.

That isn't just culinary displeasure, it's the minnesota f.u.