The China Wall

The China Wall, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Here's a local rock formation that is (amazingly) known of by few people. Called the China Wall, it extends for about 1/3 of a mile across a gap between hillsides. And speaking of hills, they're starting to get really green out here in California. Looks like it might actually be a pretty good spring...

Assateague Island :: More Wild Ponies

Stopped traffic was a common sight whenever ponies were spotted along the roadside. I wasn't immune to their allure either, almost always stopping when I saw a group. This day I was riding my bicycle out to the bridge, which was a little over 3 miles from my campsite. This is at the intersection to the main road out to the Island.

Adios, Big Sky Country

And this is why they call it Big Sky Country!
The Crazy Mountains, dwarfed by the sky and clouds.

You may have noticed that things have been rather quiet here at Kinexxions. I've been busy with the photo project, which I'm happy to say has been completed. In the process I was able to free-up over 55gb of hard drive space on the netbook and have sent an external drive with all of the photos to a friend for safekeeping.

The ladies at the library have been very nice, helpful and friendly. The wifi has been wonderful and it is greatly appreciated. I've spent a couple hours there every day that it has been open.

Sadly, I haven't done as much sightseeing here as I would have liked. Which means that I'll probably have to come back... which wouldn't be a bad thing, it has been VERY NICE here. The weather has been pretty good. Most days there has been sunshine. In the evenings it seems to get a little cloudy. There have been a couple of rainy days, but not an all-day rain. Temperatures have been very pleasant – in the upper 70s and lower 80s with a couple of days in the low 90s.

The van has been emptied and cleaned and a few things were discarded giving me a little space for some of the things I'll need for the next portion of the journey. I'll be leaving here Sunday morning and heading North... through Canada and into Alaska!

Yes, Alaska! A place I've wanted to go to for a very long time... my friends Sue and Fred (the same folks who got me down into the Grand Canyon) notified me less than a month ago that they had added Alaska to their fall trip. I took advantage of their generous offer to join them anywhere along their journey so we're going to meet at Denali National Park for several days then go down to the Kenai Peninsula for a few days. I'll be spending additional time in that area while they head on over to the Inner Passage to Haines, Skagway, and Juneau. I'll be going there too, just not at the same time. And so, this is why I haven't done much sightseeing here in Montana! I've been spending a great deal of time at the library looking up information about activities and making reservations. There is so much to see and do! It is overwhelming.

I'm excited but nervous at the same time. It is a long drive but from what I've read, the roads through Canada and into Alaska are similar to our secondary roads here in the lower 48 so I'm not overly concerned about that aspect of the trip. It is just a very, very long ways away...

Visiting Neighbours at Work

A couple of weeks ago I visited Seven Cycles - a local manufacturer of titanium, steel and carbon fiber bicycles. I was given a tour of the factory and it was, of course, fascinating. I never tire of seeing local framebuilding shops: The machinery, the precision of the work involved, even the heaps of tubing and the scraps of metal lying around excite me. And there certainly was all that at Seven, on a grand scale.






To my surprise - seeing how they are TIG-welders mostly - there was even lugwork. Lots and lots of lugwork in fact, with interesting cutouts.






But what made the biggest impression on me during the visit was not the intriguing floor layout, the delicately carved titanium latticework, or the explanation of Seven's approach to the manufacturing process. It was the fact that I recognized so many of the faces I saw there.





It is hard to explain the state of mind this put me in without coming across as preachy about local manufacturing, which is not my intent. I am not thinking about the political-economic implications of local manufacturing as a concept, but about the very concrete existence of my local manufacturing. I mean, there is a factory 6 miles from my house, and in this factory they make bicycles from scratch, and the people making these bicycles - well I happen to know many of them and they live nearby, and sometimes we even see each other on the street. That is highly unusual is all. In today's society the relationship between objects and the people who make them has become completely abstracted. We do not expect our neighbours to make the stuff we might be using; we expect that stuff to be made by some nameless entity, far away from our little world.





When I told SevenownerRob Vandermark how much I enjoy watching frames being built, he replied that not everyone feels that way. For some seeing the process takes away the mystery, and it's more exciting if a frame just "appears" - shiny and new with flawless paint. I've heard that before. A framebuilder once told me that he discourages customers from watching him work, because it makes them more aware of the possibility of human error and later those customers are liable to feel more nervous about their frames. Psychologically, that makes sense. But it also means that consumers of goods prefer not to think about the process of making those goods, which has all sorts of far-reaching implications.





Maybe it's because I've made things by hand myself and used them, as well as given and sold them to others who've used them. But seeing how something is made excites me rather that ruins some illusion of flawlessness.






The first person I saw when I entered the production area during my visit was Bryan Hollingsworth of Royal H. Cycles - whom I watched make a lugged mixte frame for me more than 2 years ago now. He works for Seven(making carbon fiber frames!) a couple of days a week, and on Royal H. the rest of the time.





Welder Mike Salvatore has his own project on the side as well, albeit a Sketchy one.






Dan Pugatch lives in Somerville and is well known on the local cycling scene.





Dan writes ablog and contributes to Boston Retro Wheelmen, but what I didn't know is that he also has this cool tattoo that promotes cycling to work in regular clothing. Notice that the pirate is riding a step-through with a full chaincase. I wonder how the crate is attached to the rear rack, and whether there is a sword peg brazed onto the frame?






Jonathan Henig lives maybe 5 minutes from me and is a fellow photographer. First thing he did when we started talking was examine my camera lens and nod approvingly.





I had not met Neil Doshi before, but I knewhis bike - a happy marriage of titanium, green canvas and leather.






And now I saw it in person, along with dozens of other contraptions in the famous Bike Room. The bikes of Seven employees are staggeringly practical - lots of upright 3-speeds, handmade racks, huge saddlebags. More what I would have expected to see at Rivendell than at Seven, a company known for its racing bikes.






After my tour, I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd gotten the most out of it. The space is truly impressive and there is a positive energy that makes me want to run out and apply for a job there, regardless of what it is they'd assign me to do (I hear there is a titanium shavings sweeper position open?). In retrospect I should have asked more detailed questions about the manufacturing process. I should have taken close-up photos of the machinery with a medium format film camera. Instead I walked around talking to everyone, then watching them quietly, then talking some more. Not necessarily about bikes either. And then we all said "good-bye" and "see you soon" and then I rode my bike home - an idyllic route from Watertown along the Charles River Trail.






Cycling home after my visit, I remembered the first time I met Rob Vandermark. It was about a year and a half ago, when I had just discovered the Ride Studio Cafe. The first time I came in there was this tall, polite, unassuming guy serving coffee behind the counter. Naturally, I thought he was the barrista. Later someone came in with a flat tire and he went to take care of that, so then I figured he was the all-around shop guy. After a brief chat, it also turned out that he was my neighbour - living nearby in Somerville and commuting to Lexington by bike when possible. Only well into another conversation with him later did I learn, with some embarrassment, that he was the owner of both RSC and Seven Cycles. As a customer, you would never know. And of course the whole point is that it should not matter.







I guess all I'm saying is... My neighbours build bikes. And I think that's really, really great.

Daydreams

Cycling through the city yesterday, I almost felt as if I was being shown one of those videos of "How Boston Could Be 5 Years from Now"... except it was real.

Passing through a stretch of the Charles River trail, it seemed that almost everyone sitting by the water had arrived there by bicycle. And the majority of the bikes looked to be personalised and well-ridden - rather than the sort of bicycle that is either a rental, or ridden once in a while on a sunny weekend. The velo-atmosphere is distinctly different from last summer.

Having crossed the BU Bridge, which is now under construction, I then looked at it from the trail and thought about the Charles River Bridge Campaign that I had mentioned in a previous post. This campaign aims to ensure that along with the scheduled repairs to the bridges, practical improvements will also be made that will make the bridges more walkable, more cyclable, and generally more enjoyable. The possibility of benches and shady promenades was mentioned.

Can the huge, dangerous bridges over the Charles really be made to resembles these lovely smaller ones? That would be utter Utopia.

And Utopia is not necessarily impossible.

At least the bicycles of Boston are hopeful.

The Other Side of the Road

Back in Boston for a few days, I am in re-adjustment limbo - feeling tentative, not altogether present. Everything here is so familiar - the roads, the sounds, the smells, the people. And at the same time it all feels utterly strange, as if replaced with a hologram of the real thing. A muggy heat engulfs me when I exit the airport, giving the landscape that hazy, blurry, flickering look.



In this disoriented state, I decide to join my cycling club's Tuesday morning 100K ride. I need to feel more solid, planted, integrated into reality - and I realise this is the best way I know how. The thought irritates me. Since when did cycling turn into this? This... defining thing, this part of my chemical composition?



In the morning, logistics are irrelevant. I pull together a mismatched outfit from the hamper. I don't have my roadbike, so I grab the cyclocross bike that still lives at my house. And then I push off - on the right ("wrong!" my brain screams) side of the road, in morning commuter traffic. On autopilot, I weave my way to the Ride Studio Cafe and the miles between us disappear.



No one knows I am coming, not evenPamela. Reluctant to admit to myself that I miss her, I nonetheless watch the door in anticipation, until there she is - platinum braids thick as ropes,tanned slender limbs,Southern accent and all. She is duly surprised by my presence and we talk in bursts, in the way of friends who have not talked in some time. "You think I'll be okay on this bike?" I point to the fat all-terrain tires. Pamela waves it away nonchalantly, as if to say "Bikes! What do they matter. Let's go."



Of course everyone but me is on skinny tire racing bikes. The thought that this might be brutal drifts through my mind.The Tuesday rides are described as "social pace," but of course for me that means "best effort pace."My eyes are swollen from lack of sleep and my legs ache from the sum of all earlier rides. I realise that brutal might actually feel good right about now. Again, I am irritated at the thought. Now why would brutal feel good, what on earth is wrong with me?



It is obscenely hot and the turnout is low today. The 5 of us set off in a single file and stay that way for most of the ride. Remarkably, I am in the middle of the group, rather than struggling behind it. My legs turn the pedals as I play a little game I learned in Ireland, called "same cadence, bigger gear." It is a fun, but painful game. I have played it for 10, 20 miles at a time before. Today I would play it for 60.



We arrive in Harvard, MA, eat lunch, then climb to the Fruitlands. On top, we stop at the side of the road to take in the view of surrounding mountains. After Northern Ireland, this strikes me as funny, that there is a specific destination with "the view." Over there, the landscape is so open that the view is everywhere. As you're riding, you can see for miles and miles - undulating glens, the sea, the entire Sperrins mountain range, even the hills of Donegal across the water. By contrast New England is so woodsy that you seldom see beyond your immediate surroundings; it is as if you are riding through a tunnel the entire time. Psychologically this feels very different. Riding through forests turns me inward; riding through glens opens me up.



The descents here feel tame compared to what I've been doing in previous weeks. On the other hand, the condition of the roads is even worse than I remembered - enormous cracks, ridges, gaping ditch-sized holes in the crumpling pavement - stunning when you're not used to it. But the texture of the pavement itself is smoother. In Ireland, the tarmac is a sort of chipseal, its surface nearly as rough as gravel at times.



By the afternoon, the heat has reached its apex and we all feel it. We start to take breaks now. We groan, we pour water over our jerseys. I am drained, but also lulled into a pleasurable trance by the intense scent of pine trees in the heat - this is something I've missed.My legs are leaden and I am caked in salt, but I give it one last push, inspired by Scott's relentless pace. Scott is a strong rider, whose compact, muscular body looks like a purpose-built machine when he pedals. I focus on staying on his wheel. Even though I know he is controlling his speed for my sake, just being able to follow him like this feels unreasonably good. Then I push further still and lead for the last couple of miles.



Back at the club house I hear "Hey, you're back!" The familiar voices are as welcome as the blast of air conditioning that greets us. Suddenly shy from the attention and the disconcerting sense of ...what's the word I'm looking for, belonging? I mumble "Yes... Well no, I'm only here for a couple of days." But with my legs weighing me down, Pamela sipping iced coffee at the bar, and the jungle of bikes suspended from the ceiling, I do start tofeel more grounded, and Boston starts to feel realer.

How I Got My Moser Back...

So I bought my Francesco Moser frame back from the person I sold it to, and built it up as a geared racing bike with modern components... despite having sworn off vintage roadbikes earlier. Yeah, I know. Allow me to provide some context:

I got this 1978 Moser racing frame in Vienna two summers ago, mailed it to myself in the US and built it up as a fixed gear. It rode nicely, but wasn't really suitable for fixed gear conversion with its low bottom bracket and resulting tendency toward pedal strike. Once I got my fixed gear-specific Mercian, I moved the components over and decided to sell the Moser. Building it up as a geared roadbike was not feasible: I would have had to spend a fortune on new wheels and components only to put them on an old steel frame, with no guarantee that I'd like the end result. It seemed wiser to buy a roadbike that I could test ride beforehand.

For what it's worth, I still believe that it is not financially practical for a "civilian" (i.e. a person who is neither a wrenching enthusiast withspare modern groupsets lying around, nor someone withbike industry connections), to take on a project like this. However, I have not really been a "civilian" for some time: I am interested in bikes not only for personal use, but also for the sake of learning and writing about them onLovely Bicycle. And I do at this point have industry connections, as well as readers who are interested in making specific projects happen. All of these factors played a role here.

One of my readers offered to donate some of his used modern Campagnolo components and his old racing wheels if I were willing to experiment with a vintage racing frame. Around the same time, the person who bought the Moser from me built it up (with modern Shimanoparts) and discovered that the bike felt too small for him. Luckily, I'd sold the frame locally. I saw this as a cue to buy it back.

The second-hand components I received were a 9-speed Campagnolo Record drivertrain and levers circa (I believe) 1999 and a Campagnolo Vento wheelset of similar vintage. I already had the headset, stem, handlebars, tires and seatpost among my own spare parts. I bought a new bottom bracket, brake calipers, cable housing and bar tape at Harris Cyclery and they built up the bike for me.

The Moser is now finished, and I've ridden it - but not as extensively as I'd like before writing about it. I am also waiting to put some finishing touches on the bike before I take pictures.Not sure what I will do with this bicycle in the long run. The frame is 33 years old and was raced for years by the original owner. The drivetrain and wheelset are around 10 years old and well-used. Even if my impressions of the reborn bikeare positive, I have concerns about frame/component failure and will need to think about that aspect more carefully. But it is certainly informative to compare this bicycle's handling to the modern roadbikes I have been trying over this past summer and fall. Let's just say I am surprised.

I am glad to have theMoserback; in a number of ways it is an even more unique bicycle than I thought.I hope to share my impressions in the coming week and fingers crossed that it doesn't start snowing in the meantime.Stay tuned, and a huge thank you to everyone who's helped me with this project!

Blue Ridge Parkway :: Brinegar Cabin

The grounds were neatly mowed. The garden was lying fallow. The cabin was locked. Peeking into the windows revealed nothing but empty spaces, except for a large object covered with a sheet. It was likely the loom used in demonstrations during the “prime” visitor season, summer.



The Brinegar Cabin, at milepost 238.5 on the Blue Ridge Parkway. A placque at the top of the hill overlooking the cabin proclaims:

The Brinegars were not famous or rich, but they were important to their families and neighbors. In 1876 Martin Brinegar purchased this 125 acre farm from Henderson Crouse, Caroline Joines' uncle, for $200. Two years later Martin and Caroline were married; he was 21 and she was 16. there were many small communities close by where the Brinegars visited their families and friends, traded for supplies, and attended church and school.

Martin and Caroline first lived in a one-room cabin that was already here. Their three children – Alice, Sarah, and John – were born in that cabin. As the family grew Martin built the cabin that stands here now. Their last child, William, was born in this cabin, but died as an infant.

The Brinegars did all the usual work of living on a farm – raising crops and animals, preserving food, and cutting firewood. Martin also made shoes for his neighbors. He was a local justice of the peace and notary public, and for many years he served as clerk for the Pleasant Grove Baptist Church. Caroline made clothing for her family and augmented their income by gathering medicinal plants like bloodroot, snakeroot, and black cherry bark and selling them to nearby drug merchants.

In 1925 Martin was caught in a storm on his way home from church and died from pneumonia eight days later. He was 68. The state of North Carolina bought the Brinegar farm in 1935 to become part of the Blue Ridge Parkway. Although Caroline had a lifetime tenure to stay in her home, she went to live with her daughter Sarah when it became too noisy here for her. Caroline died in 1943 when she was 82.

The Tale of a Midtail Cruiser

Traveling through the suburbs last week, I suddenly spotted something green and curvy zipping toward meon the opposite side of the road. It was a Yuba Boda Boda cargo bike - not a common sight around these parts. The woman astride it looked happy and carefree. As we passed each other, both of us waved with the zeal of true bicycle obsessionists, and yelled hello. I then spent the rest of the morning wondering who this mysterious woman was and how I could get a better look at her bike. But I didn't have to wonder long. Having recognised me, she soon got in touch and we arranged to meet up.






Josetteis a local cyclist and mother of two boys, ages 6 and 3. She lives in a hilly outer suburb of Boston and works in a neighboring, equally hilly suburb. Her typical daily commute involves taking her younger son to preschool, as well as cycling to and from work, for a total of 13 miles plus errands. Josette got back into cycling as an adult a few years ago, and has since owned a couple of bikes, including a modern hybrid and a vintage English 3-speed. She now wanted a cargo bike that was both easy to ride and could handle two children. She tried several cargo bikes, before settling on the Boda Boda - a new "midtail cruiser" model from the California-based Yuba: The Boda felt easier to manage than full sized longtails, and the handling felt more intuitive than that of the Dutch bakfiets. Josette purchased the bike at Ferris Wheels in Jamaica Plain (Boston) and has been riding it since October.







Yuba refers to the Boda Boda as a "cargo cruiser." Named after African bicycle taxis, this model was created in response to requests for a shorter wheelbase, lighter weight and lower stepover.On top of that, it promises casual handling combined with the ability to tackle hills. Featuring an aluminum frame, 26" wheels, fat tires, swept-back handlebars and 8-speed derailleur gearing, the Boda weighs 35lbs and is rated to carry over 200lb. There are two versions of this model: the Step-Through, shown here, is smaller in size and features a lower stepover. The base retail price is $999.






The midtail rear end of the Boda features an integrated rack with a bamboo platform and an optional "Soft Spot" pillow - handy for ensuring passengers have a comfortable ride. Josette personalised hers with a customcrocheted cover, which gives a charming and unique look to the whole setup.






The platform as shown here can fit both of Josette's children.






Although I only met her younger son, this picture illustrates how both boys fit on the bike. Josette's blog post on riding with kidsprovides more details about her experience.






The "apehanger" style handlebars in the rear were an aftermarket addition, as Yuba's standard "Hold On Bars" did not work here. The main issue was that, given Josette's saddle height and the height of the rear rack, there was no way to install Yuba's standard handlebars so that they'd reach above the rack. In addition, the wider and more swept back apehanger bars make for a more accommodating and comfortable position for Josette's boys.






The Boda's rear rack height is an interesting topic. You can't quite see this in my pictures because the bags cover it up, but the Boda's rack platform sits unusually high. This is because the e-assist version of the Boda (aka the El Boda), has its battery stored underneath it. Josette's feedback is that the extra height of the rack feels suboptimal, both as far as weight distribution when carrying passengers and cargo upon it, and as far as saddle height adjustment. For example, very short riders may have difficulty moving the saddle all the way down despite the extra seatpost showing, because at some point the saddle will start to interfere with the rack. Also, because the handlebars had to be threaded through the rack, I was not able to raise the saddle to my optimal height when test riding this bike. Despite the quick release skewer, the setup shown here cannot be easily shared between persons of different heights.




This issue aside, the owner is happy with the carry capacity the Boda affords. In addition to allowing her to carry two children on top of the platform, each side of the rack accepts two full-sized panniers, or Yuba's own "Baguette Cargo Bag" (The orange bag pictured is apannier hybrid bag from Vaya, made in NYC).The front "Bread Basket," rated to carry 50lb of weight, can be purchased for even more carry capacity.






The Boda Boda comes standard with swept back Dutch stye handlebars, cork grips, city brake levers, and painted bell,






26" wheels and wide, cushy cream tires,






platform pedals,






and a minimalist chainguards.






Fenders and a double-legged kickstand were added as accessories, as was dynamo lighting front and rear, and the front wheel "Deflopilator" stabiliser.







I took the Boda Boda out for a quick spin. Though Josette graciously offered to lend me her son, I did not feel comfortable with that plan, and just rode the bike with 3 panniers on the rear. Mostly I was interested in the feel and handling, so I did a short loop that involved a local hill.




This bike is a little strange to describe. If you've ever ridden a Northern European hybrid circa the mid-2000s (à lathis), the position the Boda puts you in is very similar.The closest non-obscure equivalent I can reference is maybethe Breezer Uptown, but it's really closer to the European bikes. Mounting and dismounting, the stepover was indeed very low. There wasno toe overlap with the front wheel when turning, although it was surprisingly close; not much clearance. Yuba does not provide geometry charts, but the cockpit area felt extremely compact, and there was something about the position of my butt in relation to the pedals (or saddle in relation to the bottom bracket, if you will) that I associate with a particular type of hybrid or cruiser type bike. At the same time, I have to admit that the Boda felt light and speedy. And the low gearing allowed me to pedal it up a major hill without having to dismount (Josette tackles that same hill on a daily basis, and only has to dismount when both kids are on the back of the bike). The ride quality over potholes was nice and cushy.






In essence, my first impression is that the Boda Boda is what it claims to be: a cargo cruiser with easy handling that is ridable in hilly areas.




Considering my recent test rides of the Xtracycle Radish, a comparison of the two is probably in order. The obvious difference is that the Boda is shorter and a bit lighter. This will make it more manageable for those who consider full longtail bikes unwieldy, but at the expense of giving up load capacity. The Boda has a somewhat lower stepover, which makes it easier to mount and dismount. As far as fit and handling, I prefer the Radish, simply because it feels more natural and intuitive for my style of riding. Others might feel differently.






Having ridden the Boda on a more or less daily basis since October, the owner is pretty well used to it and enjoys the freedom of mobility it's given her.






With her boys and without,Josettehas ridden the Boda in all sorts of weather, though overnight she keeps it in her garage and during the day at the bike parking facility in the basement at her work.The bike has served her well in the course of daily use. Some words of criticism include the rear rack height, the delay with receiving some of the accessories (she is still waiting for the Bread Basket), and the fact that the price of each accessory adds up to make the true price of the bike, once it's fully equipped for commuting, nearly double the stated MSRP. Still,3 months down the road Josette is pleased with her decision to choose the Boda over other cargo bikes. It suits her riding style and her lifestyle.