Illuminated Camellia

A camellia flower at the UC Berkeley Garden.

Small Tent Rocks

All over the Jemez Mountains are pointed rocks like these. Most are bigger than this. They are called tent rocks but to me they should be called teepees.

DROVES Diaries I: Que Sera Sera

One of these does not belong...



That thought runs through my mind as I look at the others, scattered around the rustic living room, drinking wine and beer by the dim cabin light. Outside it is pitch black, and alarmingly noisy - the sound of heavy rain hitting the metal roof. The forecast says it will be the same over the next three days: The storm is circling in place, "tornado-like." No one talks about this out loud.



We are in Vermont for Memorial Day weekend. The group includes the Ride Studio Cafe endurance team (Matt Roy, David Wilcox and John Bayley), cyclocross racer Mo Bruno Roy, Dominique and Christine - two French Canadian women who specialise in hill climb races, randonneuring superstars Jake Kassen and Emily O'Brien, 1200K legend Ted Lapinski, and of coursePamela Blalock. A couple of others cancelled due to weather.





DROVES stands for Dirt Roads Of Vermont Epic Sojourn - an eventhosted by the Blayleys,now in its fourth year. They rent a cabin near Burke, VT and invite friends for 3 days of riding beautiful, steep dirt roads. For some DROVES is a training camp before the string of summer's competitive events. For others it is a mini-vacation. As for me, I had no expectations. I could use a weekend away, that's all. When I asked Pamela if she thought I could handle the routes, I got the honest answer "I don't know" - followed up with "...but you're welcome to find out!" So I tagged along, bringing the bike "with the lowest gears" per Pamela's emphatic advice.



As the weekend approached, it became obvious that the forecast was dire. Not just a regular sort of dire, but exceptionally, obscenely, laughably dire: temperatures in the 40s and heavy rain for the entire weekend. Following the weather with morbid curiosity, I packed my winter gear.





Earlier in the afternoon...



I wait for John and Pamela on the curb outside my house. Bags in one hand, front fender in the other, bike propped up against the fence. It is a humid 70° in Somerville, the kind that makes it feel like 90°. Sweat trickles down my forehead. Finally the black Honda Fit approaches. Like a 4-year old, I jump up and down with anticipation as it rolls down the street, almost in slow motion, a tandem perched upon its roof majestically, along with a cluster of other bikes in various states of assembly. The neighbours line up to watch. Whatever is happening here, it looks important. By the time my bike is hoisted onto the roof rack, we are all drenched in sweat.



An hour into the drive, we stop for fuel and feel a drastic temperature drop. Half hour later, the skies opened up. We continue north, under increasingly heavy rain and a blanket of black clouds. Pamela drives. John entertains us with stories of cycling in Ireland and his early custom bikes. Studiously we ignore the topic of weather. In the distance I begin to see hints of mountains, shrouded in thick fog. The view looks like lumpy pea soup.



We turn onto the private dirt road not long after 7pm, but it might as well be midnight. I can vaguely see the outlines of a cabin, a tractor, and a pile of logs in a field. Everything else fades to black. Running from the car to the front porch, my teeth chatter. It is freezing. There is non-stop thunder.





But inside is a different world...



As I crack open the door, I am overwhelmed by the burst of orange - the interior is all wooden planks and beams, aglow from the light of many small lamps. An electric heater is blasting. There are couches and quilts and a heavy large table and a cozy kitchenette. A winding staircase leads upstairs.



A tall man rises from the couch, who I learn is Ted. He reminds me of someone, but not, as the other ladies start to tell him, of "that actor from The English Patient." Ted is quiet, but with a heavy, deliberate presence to him, like one of those salt of the earth male Twin Peaks characters. Within moments he and John Bayley remove all the bikes from the car roof and bring them indoors in one fell swoop. Then they shake hands and open some beers.





By the kitchen counter, two exquisitely fit women -Christine and Dominique - are opening a bottle of wine. "Ah Pamela!" they exclaim, with that charming Quebec intonation that stresses the last syllable in every sentence. Later they ask where I'm from. I am the new kid here, the object of curiosity, and a little out of my element. But at that point we have all had a drink and the story of my origins makes more sense than usually. Mo Bruno-Roy relates to my mess of an accent. She herself can sound Canadian prairie one minute, Nawth Shoah the next. She demonstrates back and forth for our amusement.



David Wilcox is keeping busy in the background. Minutes later he produces a tray of steamed potatoes and asparagus from the oven. The room is warm, garlicky. More wine is opened. No one talks about bikes, or the weather.





The bikes are everywhere though; everyone seems to have brought at least one. Soon Jake and Emily arrive and bring more. My bike is propped against the side of the staircase. I park myself on the rug beside it to re-attach the front fender. "Look, she is eager to ride!" someone teases me.



The evening is warm and familiar and endless. With a cup of tea, I sit across the couch from the Canadian hill climbers. Dominique is a brunette with a serene facial expression. Christine is blond and animated. They are about the same height. There is a ying-yang symmetry to them that is mesmerising. "Why do you climb Mt. Washington?" I ask, innocent that I am. Taking turns, they recount the history of them doing the race, which includes the story of how they met Pamela. But they don't say what compels them to do it.





This is the most relaxed evening I've had in ages...





Just when it seems to be nearing bed time, Matt Roy arrives, dripping wet. He is carrying boxes of components, a bag of tools and a work stand. The RSC Endurance Team has recently snagged a sponsorship deal (Seven Cycles, SRAM, Rapha, Zipp and Clement), which would equip the three riders with bikes for long distance mixed terrain racing. John Bayley's frame had just been welded earlier in the day. They'd dragged it up to Vermont and now planned to build it up.



At around 10pm, they set up the stand in the kitchen.I make endless cups of tea and look on with fascination. An eccentric bottom bracket. Road levers for hydraulic disc brakes. 700X40mm tires. Everyone gathers to watch and ask questions, drunk on the exoticism of the strange machine.



The rain beats against the metal roof like a chorus of tribal drums. I resist imagining the condition of the dirt roads. But then no one seems intent on forcing me to ride. Not only that, but by the group's demeanor it isn't clear whether they plan to ride themselves. Perhaps there is an unspoken agreement to write the weekend off and spend it indoors - drinking, catching up with friends and building bikes? It does not feel right to ask.



Finally I see Pamela at the far end of the room, producing her laptop and GPS unit. I walk over, and, feeling as if I'm vocalising the unspeakable, ask whether she plans to ride tomorrow. She says "Let's play it by ear and see how it goes?" - a stunning pronouncement coming from her. She shows me the updated forecast, which now threatens temperatures in the 30s, floods, and - my eyes can hardly believe it - chances of snow.





The original plan had been to set off at 8am and ride either a 90 mile or a 60 mile loop. The new plan is to sleep in and see what the road conditions are, come mid-morning. Walking upstairs, I can hear the clinks of wine glasses below, complemented by rolls of thunder and the sound of rain outside.

Refurbishing Vintage Bicycles: Different Perspectives

[Manfred Dittler collection, image via waffenrad.at]

It has been so nice to see more and more people revamping vintage bicycles over the past several years, riding them, and sharing pictures with others. Seeing vintage bikes actively ridden and lovingly cared for feels as if history is "interacting" with our contemporary lives - reestablishing a sense of continuity that has been ruptured in many ways over the past several decades. But as the use of vintage bicycles grows more popular, it is worth noting that not everybody holds the same views on refurbishing them. For me, discovering these differences has been educational, and I will try to describe some of the approaches I have come across:



[Panther Damenrad, image via waffenrad.at]

The Full Restoration Approach

To "restore" a bicycle typically implies bringing it back to its former glory inasmuch as possible. If the bicycle is not in great cosmetic shape, then this may include re-painting the frame in a colour painstakingly matched to the original, finding new-old-stock original decals or replicas, and taking the trouble to locate well-preserved versions of the components and accessories, if the original ones cannot be cleaned up sufficiently well. The end goal is for the bicycle to resemble as closely as possible what it looked like when it was sold as new - be it the 1970s or the 1910s.



[Manufrance Hirondelle, image via collectvelo]

The All-Original Approach

In direct opposition to those who restore bicycles, are those who prefer to keep them all-original - meaning in whatever condition the bicycle was found. The reasoning behind this approach, is that a vintage bicycle is a piece of history and should be preserved in its found state. Some who adhere to this method will clean up the components and frame as much as possible - as long as it does not involve repainting or replacing anything on the bike. Others will take things to the extreme and literally leave the bicycle as is - including any dirt or rust that has accumulated on it. Somewill perform repairs, as long as the components remain original; while others believe that if the bicycle is not ridable without repairs, then that is how it should stay.



[somervillain's Shogun touring bike, image via lovely bicycle]

The Period-Appropriate Approach

This approach is somewhat similar to restoration, but is considerably more relaxed and is done with the intent for the bicycle to be ridden, not collected or exhibited. Those who prefer this method, typically clean up and refurbish the bicycle in a way that keeps its appearance period-appropriate without going so far as to replicate the original components, accessories and colour scheme. For example, the bicycle above has been repainted a soft blue - a traditional colour choice for vintage touring bikes, but not the original frame colour. The components selected are also traditional for the time period the owner wanted to evoke, but they are not the components that originally came with this bike. The period-appropriate approach is popular among those who want the bicycle to suit their tastes and riding style, while still paying homage to the era from which it came.



[Motobecane Super Mirage, imagevialovely bicycle]

The Updated Remix Approach

Some cyclists prefer to fit vintage frames with modern components - either in part or entirely. The reasoning behind this, is that while they may prefer the looks, ride quality, craftsmanship and other aspects of the older frames, newer components tend to be more comfortable and more convenient. This can include anything from using a modern style of handlebars, brake levers and cranks, to fitting the bicycle with clipless pedals and new high-tech lights. While the newer components are not even remotely original or period-correct, some owners will attempt to make the overall look of the bicycle harmonious. To others this does not matter so much, and they regard the vintage and modern mix as purely utilitarian. If I had to classify the current fixed gear modification trend (whereby parts of the frame are filed off and the bike is fitted with super-modern wheels and colourful components), it would go in this category as well. The degree of consideration that is given to the original frame is up to the owner.



[Jeunet porteur, image viasomervillain]

Over the past two years, I have spoken with vintage bicycle owners whose approaches run the full spectrum of these categories, and have at times been amazed by how strong views on this topic can be. Restorers are criticised for recklessly altering pieces of history. Those who keep vintage bikes original are criticised for not giving the bicycle a chance to "live again". Those who take the trouble to set up their bicycle in a period-appropriate manner are perceived as obsessive "retrogrouches." And those who put modern components on vintage frames are accused of butchering or "not caring enough" about vintage bikes. Personally, I can see the benefit in all methods, and I think that quite a lot depends on the bicycle itself - how rare and historically significant it is.The Co-Habitant and I have used the "updated remix" approach at least to some extent on most of our vintage bikes - but none so far have been historically valuable. What is your take on this, and what approaches have you used on your own bikes?

A Mess

What a mess he made. I hope he had fun doing it.

The Seat Cluster: a Starburst of Lugwork

One of my favourite parts of a bicycle frame's anatomy is what's called the "seat cluster" - the joint where the seat tube, the top tube, and the rear stays of the bicycle meet. If done nicely, the seat cluster can look like a beautiful starburst of lugwork, and that is what I love about it. On the picture above is the very classic seat cluster on the Waja trackbike I rode in Vienna earlier this summer.

A similarly classic seat cluster on the Rivendell Sam Hillborne.

[image via Franklyn W]

And another example from an Ebisu bicycle. You can see how the individuality of the cut of the lugwork interacts with the colour of the paint to create subtle variations in form and shade. The stay caps (those narrow diagonal pieces that taper to meet the main lug) can be rounded or pointy, flat or concave, stubby or elongated.



[image viacycleczar]

They can even wrap all the way around the main seat lug, like on this Toei bicycle, so that the pointy tips meet. This is called a "wrap around seat cluster" design.





The stay caps also make for a good surface to embellish with an engraving of the manufacturer's name, like on this vintage Trek 610.



[image via Dancing Weapon]

Or with hand-painted flourishes, like on this Bob Jackson.



[image via Royal H.]

They can also be carved, if so desired, like on this early Royal H. frame.



[image via ribalrid]

While I prefer classic seat clusters, there are also many designs that deviate into all sorts of creative directions. On this Bates B.A.R. bicycle, the seat stay caps look like sharpened pencils and meet the main lug at the bottom.



[image via somervillain]

On this vintage Trek 560, the seat cluster is one big lug, and the seat stays are held by lugged sockets at the back.



[image via Kevin Saunders]

And then there are seat clusters where the stays connect to the tube directly, below the lug, like on this Formigli frame. (My understanding is that both this and the method used by Trek above is done to create tighter clearances?)



[image via Royal H.]

A similar approach to "fastback stays" by Royal H., with the seat stays attached at the rear.



When it comes to lugwork, there is no shortage of details to get obsessed about, and the topic can provide hours of impassioned discussion to those who feel strongly about one design over another. Crazy? Maybe so, but also beautiful... like the seat cluster on my Royal H. frame that will (hopefully very soon now) emerge as a fully built bicycle.

Cycling in a Coastal Downpour

On the second morning of our trip I awoke to the sound of vigorous drums, which I soon realised was pelting rain. Outside, the line between sky and ocean was blurred and the patch of rocky beach we occupied was flooded. Inside, everything was damp from humidity - our clothing, the bedding, our faces. We had known that the forecast promised intermittent rain, so this was not a surprise and we didn't despair. We were not planning to cycle every day; we had loads of other things to do. We would see.



But as we drank coffee, the rain appeared to let up. Things were looking good - picturesquely stormy, but calm. It looked as if the downpour had exhausted itself in the course of the night and we decided to set off on our bikes after all, going along the coast for a manageable distance.



The ride started out fine. We made our way up a winding hill, past ominously abandoned beaches. Moody skies hung low over a dark gray ocean. The empty roads were promising. There was only a mild drizzle and we agreed that if things stayed like this, it would be even better than sunny weather - cooler, and less crowded. After cycling for a bit it grew humid and I removed my rain jacket, stashing it inside the handlebar bag. Two minutes later, the skies opened up. There was no build-up; it was as if someone opened a floodgate.



Instead of turning back we persisted, hoping the rain would eventually ease up again. But it only intensified. The amount of water was unbelievable, even compared to the many other times I've cycled in the rain. Visibility became non-existent, with everything turning gray and liquidy. The roads became flooded and soon I was cycling with my wheels partly submerged in water. Roads are terrible in this area, and even on a dry day it is a task to navigate around potholes. Now that they were invisible underwater, I could neither anticipate nor avoid them. My bike bounced violently over ditches at high speeds. This felt distinctly unsafe, especially on curvy descents. On a bike with narrow tires, the ride would have been simply impossible for me.



The coastal road was narrow and winding. As I tried to maintain a consistent line of travel, motorists sped past us, well over the posted speed limit, sending sprays of yet more water in our direction. I had my lights on and could only hope I was visible to them. My jersey - which had started out a bright crimson - was now a dark, dull brown. There are a few tricky spots on this route, where several roads merge on a twisty downhill - so that one must resist picking up speed and be prepared to brake instead. At these instances it became frighteningly apparent that my brakes did not work well under such conditions. I suspended disbelief and did my best, feathering the brakes and trying not to have a panic attack. Climbing up a flooded road while bouncing over potholes was horrifying as well.



Despite my best efforts I found this type of cycling too stressful to enjoy. I couldn't see where I was going, let alone anything resembling scenery, and frankly I had nothing to prove. This was meant to be a pleasant trip and not an endurance contest. I signaled to the Co-Habitant that I wanted to turn around, and we did - making our way back through the unrelenting downpour the same way we came. Before returning home, we took a detour and stopped at a hardware store to pick up oil for the bikes - later spending a great deal of time wiping sand and debris off of them and treating the components to prevent rust - which can form alarmingly quickly in a coastal environment. My wool cycling clothing took a day to air-dry, and my shoes are still soaking wet.



Though I know others enjoy the challenge of riding in this kind of weather, this is not an experience I care to repeat unless absolutely necessary. It is one thing to cycle in the rain, but a trip along the coast in a continuous and forceful downpour - with the roads flooded, visibility poor, and the wind assaulting my face, body and bike with sandy salt water - is not something I can justify, both in terms of safety and in terms of its detrimental effect on equipment. Hopefully there will be better weather ahead... though the forecast remains ominous!

Reality check?!!

Heads up....there is incoming on target!



I try to remind readersevery couple of months that I write this blog for my own pleasure. What you read here may not be anything helpful to you or your own gear needs. The blog posts are simply my own observations on gear based on my own needs, observations and experience. Gear gets donated for reviews.I buy some of it with my own moneyon sale and I pro deal the rest. The donated and obvious excess gear gets resold, after I write a review, to help financeanothergear purchase or just gas money for the next climbing trip. Way better deal for the buyer than the seller generally. I don't review gear that doesn't interest me. So you don't see junk here. It might get a bad comment or two. But it won't be junk or I wouldn't bother writing it up.If I take the time to write about it, that means I thought enough of it up front to use it climbing, trial running or on my road bike. If it is climbing gear (and most of it is) you can bet I looked at it with a critical eye long before stuffing it into my climbing sack. Pays to remember that when I make lengthy comparisons.



The previous Julbo sun glass comments are a classic example. Took me a year before I finally decided I would pay retail for a pair at REI. Money well spent when I finally did. I like those kinds of surprises.



I have distinct tastes in gear usually developed over time and from using gear I might actually have consider shite...for a while previously. Or it might just be my climbing style and lack of committment and strength.



I've made some folks unhappy in the hard goods industry by calling an ice tool or crampon a "spade" when they were less than what I thought they could be. Better safe than sorry on gear, imo. Likely getting myself in trouble for doing similar things with boots and clothing now. If not I will eventually anyway and will again on the hard goods. I simply try to report what I see and think. What ever value that may have I am comfortable with. The blog isn't a job for me. Although it is often way too much work! I try to take what I do write, seriously. So no pulled punches but not elaborate bs either. I don't get into every detail, just what I find interesting and important to me. It is how I entertain myself. No one paying me to do this.



So feel free to disagree or ignore the blog. I disagree with reviews I read all the time.



Like it or not you always getwhat you pay for here :)

So make sure you don't take it all too seriously!

Sometimes I just love climbing

It was just Sister Matt and me at the cave today.

I love a crowd at the crag but it's different when you have the place to yourselves.We have a shot at climbs we don't usually do. Dogging aroundon hard stuff and then suddenly pulling off a surprise lap on the project.

Storms o'er the cane feilds. Water falling in the wind off the lip of the cave.

Bits of chat. Other bits of nothing much. Weekday climbing always feels a bit like wagging school.

Heat wave and route condition updates

The temperatures at Paradise hovered in the high 70's all day today while Camp Muir fixated in the mid-50's. For the past couple of days it's been VERY warm, and those trends are going to continue. This sort of news is great for sunbathing but not so great for the snowpack.

There has been quite a bit of upper-mountain action over the past week. Dan McCann of UT recently ripped the Disappointment Cleaver on tele-boards (see that line in the lower center of this photo? It's his!). And rumor has it, some gnarly NW skiers are headed for the Mowich Face this weekend!

More climbing updates can be found on the Emmons, DC and Ptarmigan Ridge routes. As for the Emmons, there was some interesting action on the Inter Glacier approach, proving that you could be killed while hiking to high camp! In other words, be "heads up" for the possibility of massive rockfall and snowslides. [Ed.: stratovolcanoes are "geologic junkpiles]

In other photographic news, Eric Simonson, with Paul Baugher piloting the airplane, provided the aerial image of the upper DC , Ingraham and Emmons. Climbing ranger Stoney Richards took a number of GREAT route images on the following lines: Gib Ledges and Gib Chute, Ptarmigan Ridge, Mowich Face and South Tahoma Headwall. Check them out in the updated route reports!