Cream Delta-Cruisin'

Last night, our 3-speeds Lucy and Rodney came home after a bit of sprucing up. When replacing the original tires, we decided to go with the cream Schwalbe Delta Cruisers. These are light touring tires with a "racy" quality. They have Kevlar puncture protection and are inexpensive.

Here they are in motion. It was getting dark by the time we got the bicycles home, so pardon the blurry shots. I think the cream looks so elegant with the green frame! As an aside -- Yes, I've been wearing the same shorts in recent photos (well, alternating between 2 pairs of the same shorts)! It's been over 90° F here with 100% humidity for the past week, and the thin terrycloth material of these is about the only thing I can endure wearing when not submerged in the ocean. Summer dresses get soaked instantaneously and stick to the saddle, but these shorts have an intriguing moisture wicking and non-slip quality to them. They are by Champion; highly recommended.

Back to the Delta Cruisers: The tires on the Roadster are 28", and the ones on the Lady's Sports are 26" . Note that the 26" tires have reflective sidewall strips, but the 28" do not; no idea why that is.

We've tested the tires on a ride around the neighborhood. They feel very similar to the Schwalbe Marathon Plus that came with our Pashleys, but the Delta Cruisers are a bit lighter and faster. This makes them well-suited for the vintage English 3-speeds, which are somewhat more sporty than the Pashleys. I also love how the cream tires give the bicycles a personal touch. There are so many 3-speeds in Boston, but Lucy and Rodney are our 3-speeds.

Forbidden ..

Part III
"More To Go"

It was already lighter when we arrived at the notch. We watched headlamps from a party at the lower basin camp start up to Sahale or Sharkfin. (We never did see where they went.) We wondered if they had noticed our lights on the ridge and what they thought was going on.

Then Steve set about making himself comfortable and took a snooze. I was too uncomfortable to sleep at first and after jostling about in different positions finally took a nap. Steve said I even snored. I awoke a half hour later.

Nap time (photo by Steve Machuga)

Then we watched the sky turn beautiful colors as the sun rose. I ate a bag of dried fruit and nuts and Steve had a few granola bars. We weren't quite ready to get moving, so we lounged until the sun hit a feature we were calling "The Scottish Arete."

Having gotten some rest, we headed out slowly and methodically back down to camp. In our tired condition, we knew there would be a few cruxes on the way to camp. The first was getting around the chock stone at the top of the gully. This proved to be no issue and we were now making our way down the slabs and loose rock. We reached the bottom of the gully and got on the snow. Steve felt comfortable with a standing glissade. I put crampons on and walked quickly down the snow. (I just wasn't feeling confident in the boots I had chosen.)

We got back onto rock in the lower gully and navigated our way down to the next crux. On the way up we made an uncomfortable step onto the slab from a snow lip on the lower snowfield. I was sure there was no way to make this step after the previous day's melting. That would mean we would have a choice of climbing down either of two short waterfalls. When we arrived, Steve probed it out and made a step onto a lower portion of the final slab before making the big step out onto the snow. It didn't look that safe to me so I hesitated before finally making a large gentle step onto the snow. We crossed that short bit of snow and then gained the slabs again before jumping back onto snow down to camp.

Once in camp we quickly went about filtering water to drink. It was nice and cold snow melt and I drank enough to give me brain freeze. We lounged again at the stream dipping our feet in the water and dreading the coming hike out. After a while we made our way back to the tent to pack up and head out.

The flies were horrible at the tent and it made packing difficult. In my already weakened mental state the flies were the final straw. I was running about trying to kill any that came near me. It was an ordeal. We packed as quickly as possible and hoped that once we left the camp area we would be rid of the pesky insects.

Our hope faded as we had to negotiate a grassy moraine littered with Marmot dens and scat. The flies were even worse. There were brief moments hiking down the basin where there was a faint wind or even cooler temps and seemingly no flies. Then we would encounter another area, like the lower stream crossings and be swarmed again.

Once through the stream crossings we made it to the woods and through the avalanche debris fields. Constantly in and out of swarms of flies. At one point during the heaviest bushwhack area of the trail the flies were so thick I looked like Pig Pen from Peanuts with the swarm around me. Steve said he could see dozens landing all over his clothes. When we escaped that area, I told Steve I was close to a nervous breakdown. He said that me running down the trail screaming "Cannot stop! Must keep moving!" was a sign of a partial breakdown. I agreed and knew that the worst was behind us.

About 20 minutes later we were back at the car. We found a note from the rangers on the windshield stating "Steve and Gilbert: Your party has been reported passed due. Please check into the ranger station when you receive this note. A search party is being sent." We packed the car quickly and drank some more water before heading out.

The drive on Cascade River Road always seems longer than it should be. I understand that it is a 23 mile mostly dirt road with a 35mph speed limit, but it just seems to go on forever. Once out, we made right for the ranger station and reported in. We were told someone was just sent out to look for us and we presumed it was the ranger truck heading up the road as we came out. After leaving the ranger station we called our contacts to let them know we were alright. Apparently the rangers had gotten to that first in some cases. Then it was time for the long drive home.

This was another exciting experience in the mountains and was a good learning experience.

I think both Steve and I learned some lessons this weekend:

One of which is that the two of us actually get tired. (Which may be hard for others to believe.) I think if we had not done South Early Winter Spire on Saturday, the Forbidden trip would have played out completely different. We would have been fresh and moving faster without all the lethargic delays. I cannot say for sure this would have kept us on route during the climbing, but it probably would of had us moving faster on route, as well as the approach. It may also have made us more at ease with the rock quality and exposure.

Another lesson has to do with emergency contacts and when to call in a passed due. This was partially a flub because we had changed our plans a few times, so it wasn't exactly set in stone when we left Edmonds. That caused the timing to be off, and created a panic regarding our return time. In retrospect, it appears that Steve and I may not have even been on the same page regarding when authorities should be contacted. While Steve and I had no idea that a rescue was initiated, this incident has made me strongly consider the use of a Spot.

A funny thing about the "rescue" was that when we arrived at the ranger station the ranger behind the desk said they could have initiated the search earlier if we had used the climbing register. (We had neglected to, probably due to our fluid plans.) I thought at the time this was funny as I didn't even think the rescue needed to be initiated at all and that starting it earlier was a waste of time and resources.

The route itself was interesting. I don't know if I'd recommend it, as I was not a big fan of the rock quality. (Well, at least the quality of the protection.) It is also the sort of route people seek for the exposure, which is not a reason I usually seek out routes. There were only a few memorable climbing segments on the route, so it is also not a route to seek out if you want to get into some climbing. However, the setting is hard to beat with numerous 8000' peaks nearby and many small and a few large glaciers tucked here and there. I'd have to admit to loving downclimbing the ridge in the dark as well. It is truly spectacular to be on a beautiful mountain like Forbidden and watch the sun set, the stars rise, and eventually give way to the sun again. It was something we obviously didn't plan to do, but the trip was enriched because of it. It was a wonderful experience that I shall never forget.

I think I learned a few things about my ability to stay alert and focused after being up all of the night. (Partial thanks to Powerbar Gel with Caffeine.) I'll probably always look back on this trip fondly even though the result was not what Steve and I were looking for.

And Steve and I still have not done the West Ridge, so perhaps we'll have to go back for that and see if it lives up to the popularity.

Once again, pics are here.

What's Green and Lugged and Not a Bicycle? An Unexpected New Addition!

All right, so some may know this already, but I received a tremendously generous gift for the holidays that is so beyond what I anticipated or deserved that I am almost ashamed to mention it. "Almost" being the operative term, as my excitement clearly surpasses my sense of shame or modesty. Plus I had to confess it sometime.

So, the gift: Well, it's green. It's lugged. But it's not a bike.... At least not yet.

It is a bicycle frame! Exciting and utterly unbelievable! Between this and the custom mixte frame (which is now awaiting paint), it looks like will be The Year of Building Up Frames. I suppose that's taking it to the next level from , which was The Year of the First City Bike Purchase?

But enough rambling. I should really introduce you already. Who is this beauty, shimmering a pearlescent puke green that seems to have been custom-mixed for my bizarre aesthetic sensibilities?

Yes, who indeed?

Well, I will leave you to your own conclusions for now. But have no fear, an excruciatingly detailed post will follow. I just needed to get this off my chest. Happy weekend!

Purple Door

I liked this purple door and bench by an art gallery.

Paceline Ride, Take 2... or How I Psyched Myself Out, Then Had Fun After All

After two weeks of cancellations due to inclement weather and a week skipped due to injury, I finally did my second paceline ride. Because so much time passed since the previous one, the whole thing had gotten completely blown out of proportion in my mind, and I was even more nervous than before. I was now convinced that it wasn't being on a touring bike that made the ride strenuous for me last time - it was just me, being hopelessly out of my league. Was I prepared to face the embarrassment of arriving on my 110% appropriate loaner Seven just to have the same experience as before?



But moreover, as time passed I began to question whether pacelines were really a good idea for "someone like me." Since my write-up about the first ride, I've been warned by readers and acquaintances alike about how unsafe pacelines are, how ruthless the members of this particular cycling team supposedly are, and how there was no need to go to extremes - why not join a nice social group ride instead? I've even received links to videos of paceline crashes, just to make sure it sunk in what sort of danger I was exposing myself to. Though I took it all with a grain of salt, I would be lying if I said it didn't get to me. When I arrived to the meeting point for the ride, I was so nervous that I had to practically shove myself toward the group of women sitting on the grass. I can't believe that I managed to psych myself out to that extent. I did the ride, and it was great.



To clear up a misinterpretation of my previous post on the part of some readers, I never meant to suggest that the atmosphere of the last paceline ride was anything but welcoming. The leaders told me I had the wrong bike not because they were being unfriendly, but because I did have the wrong bike for that type of ride. This was an introduction to a sport and I basically showed up with inappropriate equipment. This handicapped me in comparison to the other participants, and they were simply letting me know that. My description of doing the previous ride on a touring bike was meant to show the humour of the whole situation, and not to criticise the nature of the ride or its organisers - for whose guidance and time I am genuinely grateful.



This time around, the difference in speed was so obvious that it is hardly worth discussing. Yes, a Seven Axiom set up for racing is faster than a Rivendell Sam Hillborne set up for touring, and to frame this as some profound realisation would be absurd. Still, I was tremendously relieved to have real evidence and not just assurances that "the right bike" would make such a difference. The right bike does not have to be a Seven of course. But it needs to be a light, aerodynamically set-up roadbike with closely spaced gearing and modern combination levers. When that's what every single other person in the group has, then that's what you need to have in order to be on equal footing.



Our group was larger this time and by the middle of the ride it was evident that a gap kept forming in the same spot. So we split into two groups and I ended up in the faster one. This was fantastic. I was mostly in the big ring for the rest of the ride, took more turns in the front, and practiced rotating while going full speed downhill. One of the leaders made sure to pull up alongside me and cycle as closely on my left as possible on the descent, having noticed that I am scared of that kind of proximity. With no way of escaping, I thought I'd lose my marbles and crash into a tree out of sheer fear of sensing her elbow 1" away from mine. "Oh my God, you're too close to me!" I pleaded. "No I'm not. Keep going. You need to get used to this." And I guess she had the right idea for how to deal with me: I got used to it.



At this point I am probably horrifying some of you again and making you wonder what on earth attracts me to this type of cycling. Honest answer: I don't know. But something definitely does. I like the speed. I like being in a paceline. I like receiving straightforward feedback about what I am doing wrong. I am relieved to know that my speed and endurance are up to par. My technique needs a lot of work, because I am still somewhat scared of the bike, scared of downhill speeds, and not entirely comfortable with constantly shifting gears. But all of that can be improved if I am willing to practice. The funny thing about human psychology, is that we tend to do what feels good without really knowing why, then construct elaborate rationalisations of our actions after the fact. But right now I'm too tired and confused to rationalise. I don't fully understand why I like the paceline rides. But I know that I want to keep doing them.

Arches Revisited

Ten days ago I left Hovenweep National Monument and continued north toward Moab. My intention was to stay a few days and spend some time at Arches National Park. I immensely enjoyed my visit there, about a year ago. However, after a stop at the visitor center, where I learned that most of the campgrounds in the area were already full and booked for the weekend, I resumed driving. There is a State Park at Green River about 45 minutes northwest of Moab and, as luck would have it, they still had quite a few campsites available. It was mid-afternoon when I checked in and before the sun set the campground was full.



The next morning (Friday the 13th), I decided to stay at Green River State Park for the weekend. It was a gorgeous day and after doing a few chores in the morning took a drive over to Arches National Park.





One of the numerous formations at Arches. It was late afternoon and nearby formations cast their shadows, slowly creeping ever closer to this formation.





Another formation silhouetted against the skyline.



The snow-capped La Sal mountains rise up in the distance and dominate the horizon



Balancing Rock. From this angle it really does looks like it is doing a balancing act.



But as you walk around it, the angle of view and perspective change; it is securely attached to the base rock. In time, the wind and rain will erode the base further and some day, in the distant future, the balancing rock will be no more.





And, of course, the setting sun marked the end of another beautiful day!

Chasing Elusive Ancestors :: The Hazlett-Dunfee Connection

Last month I posted photos of the gravestones for Jonathan and Elizabeth Hazlett in Ashland County, Ohio who may be my 5th great-grandparents. I say “may be” because all I have to go on is circumstantial evidence, and that is rather “iffy” to say the least.



According to her gravestone, Elizabeth was 86 years old when she died on March 3, 1848 which indicates that she was born about 1762. The date of birth of Jonathan, based on his age given on his gravestone, calculates to August 15, 1771. So, if this information is correct, then Elizabeth was about nine years older than Jonathan. Somewhat unusual, to be sure.



The gravestone of Sophia Elizabeth Hazlett Dunfee in Evergreen Cemetery, Whitley County, Indiana shows that she died March 13, 1864 aged 69y 10m 3d, which calculates to a date of birth of May 10, 1794. If Elizabeth, wife of Jonathan, is the mother of Sophia then Elizabeth would have been about 32 years old when Sophia was born, not unreasonable. Jonathan would have been not quite 23 years of age. Rather unusual to have that age difference. So, I have my doubts that Elizabeth is the natural/birth mother of Sophia. A more likely scenario is that Sophia's mother died and Jonathan later married Elizabeth.



And how do I know that Jonathan is her father? I don't know for sure that he is. But my “gut feeling” tells me it is so. This is what we do know:



Sophia Elizabeth Hazlett was the wife of James Dunfee, born about 1788. The 1850 and 1860 census records show that they were both born in Pennsylvania. The 1880 census records for five of their children living at the time also show that their parents were born in Pennsylvania. The one exception is the youngest daughter – the 1880 and 1900 census records for her both show that her father was born in Pennsylvania and her mother was born in Maryland.



Biographies of three children and two grandchildren were published in local county history books. These provided clues as to where James and Sophia were born, in most cases corroborating the information from the census records.

• A biography of William H. Dunfee states that he was born in Adams County, Penn., April 10, 1822, and came with his parents to Ohio in 1831. (Counties of Whitley and Noble, Indiana Historical and Biographical; Goodspeed, 1882 p280) His date and place of birth is the same in his obituary.

• In a biography of Jonathan S. Dunfee it states that he is a son of James and Sophie (Hazlett) Dunfee, the former a native of Pennsylvania and the latter of Kentucky. Jonathan was born in Adams County, Pennsylvania on June 9, 1826... being one of thirteen children... he was taken to Wayne County, Ohio when but five years of age. (Counties of Whitley and Noble, Indiana Historical and Biographical; Goodspeed, 1882 p394)

• A biography of Frank E. Lovett states that his father, James Hanson “married Mary, daughter of James and Sophia (Hazelete) Dunnfee, who were of Scotch descent, and came from Pennsylvania to Ohio in 1830. Mary (Dunnfee) Lovett was born March 19, 1816 in Adams County, Penn., and came to Ohio with her parents. James Dunnfee was born in North Carolina in 1786, and died at the age of seventy-six years; his parents came from Ireland. Sophia (Hazelett) Dunnfee was born in Pennsylvania, her parents having been driven from Scotland during the religious persecutions.” (Commemorative Biographical Record of Wayne and Holmes Counties, Ohio; Beers, 1889, p641)

• The biography of David McNabb states that he “was married Oct. 18, 1842 to Sophie Dunfee, a daughter of James and Sophie (Hazlett) Dunfee, who moved from Adams County, Pa., to Ohio in 1833.” (History of Dekalb County, Indiana Vol 2, Interstate, 1885, p577-578)

• A biography of Warren McNabb, son of David and Sophia (Dunfee) McNabb, states that Sophia was “the daughter of James and Sophia (Hazlett) Dunfee, who removed from Adams county, Pennsylvania, to Ohio in 1833.” (History of Dekalb County, Indiana; Bowen, 1914, p422)

The biographies for the three children state that they were all born in Adams County, Pennsylvania and all of the biographies show that James and Sophia came from Adams County, Pennsylvania to Ohio, sometime between 1830 and 1833, with one providing the name of the county in Ohio – Wayne – and telling us that James and Sophia had 13 children.



Another clue resided in the family coffers – the files of my grandmother Hazlette Brubaker Phend (named after her Aunt Hazlette who was named after her great-grandmother, Sophia Hazlett Dunfee) – in the form of a letter written on March 16th 1849. Although signed “James and Sophia E. Dunfee” it was clearly written by Sophia (in Lakeville, Holmes County, Ohio) to their son William H. Dunfee and his wife Catharine in Columbia City, Indiana. The letter gives a brief statement regarding the health and well-being of various members of the family. From that letter we learn that William's baby is the 21st grandchild of James and Sophia. Family members mentioned were Lucy, Sarah, father, George, Henry, Mary, Aunt, your father, Jonathan and Marye An, and Oliver Quick.



I think that “father” is Sophia's father (thus still living in 1849) and that “your father” is William's father James, thus Sophia's husband. Oliver Quick was a brother of Marye An who was the wife of Jonathan.



No where in all of this do we derive a clue as to the name of the parents of Sophia Hazlett or James Dunfee.



However, a tantalizing clue for James' parents comes from the gravestone of “Catherine Dau. of G. & M. Dunfee” found in a heap with other gravestones in Evergreen Cemetery – the same cemetery in which James and Sophia are buried in Whitley County, Indiana. Thankfully, a local researcher had transcribed the stones in the cemetery many years ago and from that publication we learn that Catherine Dunfee died July 27, 1851 aged 57y 9m and that she was buried in the same row, next to James and Sophia. Catherine's date of birth calculates to October 27, 1793. James Dunfee was born about 1788. Is Catherine a sister of James? And who are G. & M. Dunfee?





A pile of gravestones in Evergreen Cemetery, Whitley County, Indiana. The marker for Sophia Dunfee was intact and can be seen behind that of Catharine Dau. of G. & M. Dunfee. Photo taken in November 1985.



To be continued....

At the Asylum: an Account of a None Too Sane Patient

Some of you might be wondering where I've been over the last couple of days, either concerned or outraged over my lack of regular posts. Well, if you must know I have been up for the past 48 hours, watching a certain Interview on Oprah again and again, then endlessly analysing it with my internet friends on cycling forums ("Did you see his left eyebrow twitch when he said 'absolutely not' for the 8th time?").




No, I jest. But speaking of analysing facial expressions, readers might recall that I am a psychologist by training and former profession. And you know us psychologists, we love to experiment (that's professional jargon for "mess with people"). Well, last week my PsyPhone - which had grown dusty from lack of use - suddenly rang again, and I was asked to participate in One Last Assignment. "Come on boys," I groaned, wiping bicycle grease off my hands to the sound of jazz in background, "You know that I'm out of that racket." But they wouldn't have it. They needed me. Reluctantly I agreed.




The assignment was in the tradition of theRosenhan experiment. A team of us would infiltrate asylums throughout the country to observe and document their practices - from methods of diagnosis to treatment of inmates. I was assigned to the relatively newArtisan's Asylumin Somerville, Massachusetts.






Armed with notebook and camera, I approached the drab concrete exterior. The need for caution was immediately apparent, given this institution's stealth tactics. Tucked away on a side street lined with warehouses, the enormous building was hidden in plain sight in my very own neighbourhood. Thus it had managed to evade my attention despite being operational for an entire year.






I examined the street conditions to gauge inmate demographics. Bicycles of all types were locked up to every available post. It was clear that I too would require a bicycle, so a to appear a convincing inmate candidate. Luckily, I already had one with me.






At the front desk, several staff members were in place to scrutinise visitors. According to plan, I walked in presenting with vague symptoms of artisanry. Among these I listed: painting, knitting, sewing, persistent compulsions toward bicycle design, and a one time incident of framebuilding. I did not elaborate, I did not exhibit flamboyantly artisanal behaviours, and my hands and clothing were relatively clean. Yet the staff member required no further evidence to admit me. On a notepad I saw them quickly scribble what looked likepsychosis framebuildis, poss. acute. Then another staff member came to escort me.






The inmates call him Dr. Carson, but we never see his face. He, as the other senior staff members, wear welding masks at all times. He appears to be legitimate, even if his interaction tactics unconventional.






Another specialist is called Dr. Skunk. He interacts with inmates exclusively from behind a curtain. He too is purportedlylegitimate, and even runs his own clinic on the side.






Inmates appear well-kempt and not in apparent distress. Possibly they are medicated. Those who have been in the facility long term, enjoy a good degree of freedom. Some rely on two-wheeled devices to assist with mobility around the floor space.






However, new inmates are required to wear green polka dotted metal "gowns," so that they are easily identified by members of staff. This contraption severely limited my speed and range of movements, making note taking and photography challenging.






The interior of the Asylum is vast andlabyrinthine. Endless hallways connect shared spaces designated for inmate activities such as woodworking and metal working.






Private spaces are only partially walled off, allowing staff members to observe inmates.






Primary colours are commonly used.






Evidence of traditional (some might say outdated) treatment models, such as brazing activities, abounds.






Nutrition available on the premises seems limited to beer and coffee, which the inmates are required to brew themselves.






They must also make the tools and dispensers necessary for its production and serving.







Each inmate receives a thermos in which to store hot liquid meals.






Yet I also noted sculptural renditions of used dishes piled up in several communal areas,






which could explain why the premises exhibit signs of insect, rodent, and possibly dragon infestations, in metal and paper form.










A variety of instructional signs guide inmate behaviour. Voluntary compliance rates are considerably higher than I've seen in other institutions.





While I have not noticed any overt force or violence used on the inmates, some visual displays seemed designed as intimidation tactics to keep them under control.






After my tour of the premises, I noted the staff members administering a subtle series of tests to confirm my diagnosis. First, I was exposed to a disassembled vintage Bianchi bicycle in the traditional "celeste" colour scheme while a hidden video camera measured my pupil response.






This procedure was then repeated with tubing, then lugs, then finally some unpainted brazed joints used as stimuli. At the end, Dr. Carson shook his head and jotted down some notes, which I saw to be a confirmation of the initial diagnosis.As far as I can tell, no other steps were taken to probe into my history or consider the appropriateness of my presence at the Asylum.






Following a brief consultation among staff members, my fate was decided. My condition was serious. I was to stay at the Asylum and undergo intensive treatment.






Devises to be used in this course of treatment were shown to me.






Noticing I appeared to have familiarity with them, only confirmed to the staff members the correctness of their diagnosis.





"Much of this is our own technology, made inhouse," Dr. Carson said soothingly. "I believe it will be effective in addressing your needs."







He then showed me other inmates undergoing similar treatment. How happy they were, how engaged, how productive.






Having witnessed everything I came to witness at the Artisan's Asylum, at this stage I attempted to explain myself and depart. But denial is such a common symptom of the condition I was diagnosed with, that this proved to be challenging. I tried to present evidence contradicting my diagnosis. But the staff members only nodded gently. "The pupil test does not lie," said Dr. Carson. From behind his curtain, Dr. Skunk tapped out in Morse code: "you. must. remain."




At length I managed to get to a phone and contacted the project leader of my assignment. He listened to my report. A long silence on the other end then followed."But Dr. [Redacted]..." he finally said, "You have not worked with us for some time. We have no record of such a project as you describe."






What can I say, dear readers. Sometimes life takes us to strange places. Places that exist in pocket universes right under our noses. Places that have brazing and welding facilities (and beginners' workshops, for anyone local interested). I still think the diagnosis is inaccurate, and I am still not sure how I got here. But maybe I will stay a while after all.

About a Year

Looking through the pictures I took of a recent ride along the cherry-blossoming Charles River, I realised that it has been just about a year since I began Lovely Bicycle. I say "about a year", because I am not entirely sure when exactly I started writing vs. publishing the entries. But apparently it was right around this time, as in my first documented bike-ride the blossoms were in bloom as well.



It is customary to conduct some sort of self-assessment when a project like this reaches its 1-year anniversary. But when I think about why I started this website, I feel suddenly inarticulate and a little confused - because honestly I do not have a good reason. I am not an activist and do not seek to promote "a cycling lifestyle". Life has worked out for me in such a way, that personally I have not driven a car since 2007, and I love to ride my bicycle(s) for both transportation and recreation. However, if you happen to own a dozen SUVs and enjoy driving them, that is fine with me. If you collect bicycles solely for the purpose of photographing them in your garden and never actually ride them, that is fine as well. And if you are a die-hard Foresterite vehicular cyclist who hates bike infrastructure and loves 6-lane roads with 40mph+ speed limits, that's wonderful too. You are all welcome, if you feel that you can relate to some aspect of this website.



Neither is the motive of this weblog a diary-style documentation of my life. Those who know me in person are aware that my posts here create an amusingly incomplete and warped presentation of my actual life and personality. And finally, neither was it ever my intent (not that I am in any danger of this) to gain commercial success or recognition for this website.



When I first started Lovely Bicycle, the intent was to review the options that were out there for bicycles that were both practical and aesthetically pleasing for people with lifestyles and tastes similar to mine. This was driven by my own frantic search for a "lovely bicycle" in Spring of . However, the weblog developed far beyond this premise and I am still no closer to explaining what motivates me to continue it - when frankly my life is quite hectic as it is and does not need extra projects.



I will be honest: This discrepancy of the blog getting larger and more time consuming (I now get over a dozen emails per week and it is becoming impossible to answer most of them) with my not having a good explanation for why I am doing this, has caused me some concern and I have considered discontinuing Lovely Bicycle on several occasions. An alternative option could be to start accepting selected sponsorships, and using any earnings from these to at least cut down on some of the consulting projects I do in order to stay financially afloat - thereby freeing up time to continue working on the blog. But I do not have a clear idea of how this could be done while still maintaining the home-made feel of this wesite.



In short, it remains to be determined in what direction Lovely Bicycle will meander next, if at all. But in the meantime, I can't seem to help continuing to take pictures of beautiful bicycles and writing all of this nonsense about them!



While taking the pictures shown in this post, I was approached by a couple who asked me whether their daughter could pose next to my bicycle for their home-made video of the girl reciting "Make Way for Ducklings" by Robert McCloskey. We moved the bicycle closer to the river, and the mother directed the daughter while the father videotaped. They did several takes of the recital and the child was adorable.



Of course I didn't have the heart to tell them that the "ducklings" in the river were in fact geese. Where better for me to share a story of such an encounter, than on Lovely Bicycle?...