Getting there was the more challenging part, because large chunks of the route are uphill. We hadn't realised it before, but the Charles River Trail - though overall longer - avoids many of these hills, while the vehicular cycling route takes you right through them. No matter what anybody says, I do not recommend a heavy upright bicycle with limited gearing on hills for long distances, unless you have the stamina and leg strength of a hardened cyclist. The hills were bad enough, but the hills plus a killer headwind nearly did me in. I did make it though - soaked with sweat, bright red in the face, and without a clue how I was going to get the energy to cycle back! Oh, and Harris Cyclery was closed - we hadn't realised that their winter hours were 6 days a week only.
Thankfully, the sandwich place down the street was open, and we secured a table with a spectacular view of our bikes, partaking of their refreshments until I could muster up the strength to ride back. The return trip was considerably easier, though there were still some uphill patches.While the hills and headwind bothered me, cycling on major roads with cars did not. Granted, there are some aspects of cycling on the road long distance that make it challenging. For one thing, it is not as easy to stop on a busy major road as it is on a trail. On the trail, if you are tired or need a drink, you can simply stop the bike. On the road this is not always an option: You need to find a good spot to pull over, signal - and only then can you stop. There is also more pressure to cycle at fast and consistent speeds. At this point I feel that I am a strong enough cyclist for this, but just barely. Especially on those winding roads with 40 mph+ speed limits and no bike lanes - one has to have a certain degree of confidence and stamina to make it all the way through: Once you are there, there is often no alternative way back other than on the same road.
Having said all of this, I still enjoy cycling on roads more than on trails, because I feel a greater degree of freedom. On a bike trail, I am constantly aware that a pre-determined path has been prescribed and it gets pretty boring. There is no sense of exploration or adventure, unless I have not been on that trail before. The road, on the other hand, offers limitless possibilities - which for me at least, is a major "high" in addition to cycling itself. Of course I prefer a road that is as scenic as possible, with as few cars as possible - but a road nonetheless. And I can't wait to get my Sam Hillborne built up - because I cannot imagine willingly doing this sort of ride on the Pashley again!
I tend to think of myself as having begun cycling when I got into it as an adult. But technically, that is not so. I learned to ride a bike when I was a child, and rode one all through junior high and most of high school. There was a nice post today on ecovelo, where Alan mentioned having "lived on his bike" as a kid, and in a sense it was similar for me. My friends and I did not race each other through wheatfields or pop wheelies, but we did use our bikes to get around our small town. Even once old enough to drive, most of us somehow still stuck with bicycles: It just seemed easier and even kept us off our parents' radar (for example, they could not look at the odometer to determine whether we had gone out when we were told not to).
But during all those years of riding bikes as a child and teenager, I knew absolutely nothing about "technique." At some point I was given a 2-wheel bike, and I used it as a push-bike for a few laps around the park until suddenly I was able to pedal without the bike falling over. To me, that meant that I was pretty much done learning "technique." In the years that followed, I rode with the saddle low, never learned how to start and stop "properly" or to pedal while standing, and was not aware that turning involved leaning and balancing, rather than using the handlebars. Heck, I never even learned how to shift gears, because the shifters on my low-end bike were jammed!
When I think about how it feels to cycle today - and particularly, how it felt when I first started doing it as an adult - I am confused and frustrated by all those younger years spent riding a bike without knowing how to do it properly. It's odd that I did not naturally pick up any skills what so ever during that time. (How can that be? Surely no one is that unathletic?) Moreover, my friends must have been just as clueless, because no one ever made fun of me or told me I was "doing it wrong." And it's frustrating that those skills were so much easier to learn as a child than as an adult - so by not having learned them early, I am at a disadvantage that may take me some effort to overcome.
As for saddle height, it is an ongoing fiasco: It took over a year of gradually raising it until I was able to have it at more or less the height where it needs to be for good leg extension... But I still cannot mount a bicycle properly and have to do a graceless little lean-and-hoist maneuver to get myself onto that raised saddle. Terrified of falling, I am highly resistant to being taught, and watching videos of others doing it over and over has not helped. At least I am now finally able to pedal while standing: After months of riding fixed gear, I finally got it (at first I could do it only on the fixed gear, then the skill gradually transferred onto freewheel bikes). I have to say, that was not easy for me to "get". In my head I understood what to do, but my body refused to balance.
I don't have much leeway in choosing when to go on long rides, so lately I've been doing my "tour training rides" in the rain. The first time getting caught in the rain was an accident: the forecast said no rain, but it lied - and 13 miles from home the downpour began, "baptising" my 
My old "lobsterman yellow" waterproof windbreaker. If you are horrified by the neon, I will explain that I see touring in the rain as different from transportation cycling. The latter is a relatively short, urban ride for me on an upright bicycle, and I wear my regular clothing. If it is raining, I wear my trenchcoat and that keeps me dry. I turn on my lights and that keeps me visible. For long-distance rides, I feel that this is not enough - because I cycle through rural areas where my bike and I blend into the landscape much more than in the city. When it is raining, I am practically invisible to cars traveling at high speeds, and in the daytime lights are not always sufficient. So I feel safer wearing brightly coloured clothing in this context.
Having observed the visibility of other cyclists, I would say that bright yellow and red look especially striking against the green-gray backdrop of woodsy and countryside areas. Other popular colours - like purple, turquoise, pink and green - not as much, even if they are neon.
My lobsterman windbreaker is falling apart from old age, so I am looking for a new rain jacket that is specifically designed for long-distance cycling: long in the back and form-fitting around the torso to prevent billowing. And I'd like it to be red. Haven't had any luck so far, and most of the ones I've tried in bike stores seemed ill-fitting. But I will keep looking and welcome any suggestions.
Today we traveled to Mercersburg, PA. It was only a few hours away from Mom's house, so it was a very short travel day.
Photo courtesy of:http://www.alpineexposures.com/
I like havingoptions!
When it comes to wrapping handlebars, the typical options are cloth tape and cork tape. And my impression is that many, if not most, cyclists today consider cork tape to be more comfortable. On the surface this makes sense: cork is softer, and gripping something soft ought to feel better than gripping something hard.
However, I generally prefer cloth tape. This tends to surprise people, but here is my reasoning: I feel that the softness of cork tape can be counterproductive, because it necessitates a tighter grip. When I ride a bike with cork handlebar tape it initially feels cushy, but over time I notice that the cushiness is making me grip tighter and my hands grow tired from the exertion. Because cloth tape is firmer, it allows my hands to relax and I am not perpetually squeezing.
Similarly, I always had some form of cork tape or grips on the vintage Motobecane mixte I used to own, because its aggressive geometry would place too much pressure on my hands.
But once I managed to slacken the seat tube angle (with the help of a swept back seat post) and improve the hand position with the Belleville handlebars, holding the bars finally became comfortable and cloth tape felt better than cork.
A number of times now, I have been approached by other cyclists and asked how I "can stand" having my handlebars wrapped in cloth tape, as well as how I manage to cycle without padded gloves. Don't my hands hurt? Well, no. I feel no pressure on my hands, so the bar tape is really just there to provide a pleasant surface texture to the handlebars, rather than to "fix" any discomfort issues. Since cork tape is fairly new, I wonder what those who have been cycling since "back in the day" think about the cloth vs cork issue.
This prairie dog figurine came from Prairie Dog Town some where on the road between Pampa, TX and Amarillo, TX. In about 1955 my mom, my grandmother, and I made the trip from Pampa to Amarillo about once a month or more often when I mom was pregnant with my sister. We were living in Pampa and the Air Force base where my mom had to go for her appointments was near Amarillo. My dad was stationed in England at that time. The Prairie Dog Town made a nice stop for all of us. There was a cafe, gift shop, and a fenced area out back that was full of prairie dogs for the guest to watch as they went about their prairie dog lives. They were feed by the people that ran the place and were a great attraction especially to me. For those that don't know a prairie dog is not a dog, they are a rodent (rat) but are cute. They dig long tunnels through an area that becomes the dog town. When one of them is startled it will stand on it's hind legs give a sharp squeak and dive down the hole with all the others then doing the same thing. They are also very dangerous to livestock and people who have stepped in their holes and broken legs. At one time there was a bounty on them over most of the southwest. We have a few out here on the desert near where we live. They are so leery of humans I have never seen one but have found the towns with the many holes leading to the tunnels.
A couple of my recent posts have generated some engaging commentary on "form vs function" and the validity of aesthetic preoccupations in cycling. I put the phrase "form vs function" in quotation marks, because I do not view it as a dichotomy that needs to be resolved. For me, the two concepts are in a symbiotic relationship, whereby one enhances the other and is incomplete without the other. I readily acknowledge my interest in aesthetics. But I stop well short of putting aesthetic factors before practical ones, which I hope comes across clearly throughout Lovely Bicycle.
To me, functionality means that a bicycle must be good at what it was designed to do. For instance, a racing bicycle is designed with the goal of winning races. It therefore must possess qualities such as the ability to gain speed quickly and extreme maneuverability. Anything in the design of a racing bicycle that detracts from its ability to win races is a functional flaw. By the same token, an urban transport bicycle is designed to serve as a viable means of transportation for the city dweller. It therefore must possess features that enable the cyclist to comfortably and conveniently travel in everyday clothing, to observe their surroundings, to securely transport their bags and packages, and to travel in the dark. Anything in the design of an urban transport bicycle that detracts from this is a functional flaw.
The notion of comfort is equally important, and equally subjective. We need to be comfortable on a bicycle in order to enjoy riding it, or even to tolerate riding it. The more comfortable we are, the more we ride, and the safer our cycling behaviour. An uncomfortable bicycle can make commuting, touring and even racing a nightmare.There are many, many factors that go into what makes a bicycle comfortable - from the geometry and material of the frame, to the positioning of the saddle and handlebars, to other, more elusive aspects.
Finally, I believe that the aesthetics of a bicycle are no less crucial in the enjoyment of the overall cycling experience. Put simply, aesthetics is how appealing or attractive we find the bicycle to be. Do we enjoy looking at it? Does it fill us with excitement and pleasure? Do we feel compelled to touch it, to ride it? It is about an emotional response, and it is about individual definitions of beauty.
The importance of functionality, comfort and aesthetics in the cycling experience extends beyond their individual roles; it is the interaction of the three that is crucial. How useful is the functionality of a bicycle that is not comfortable? How useful is the comfort of a bicycle if it is not functional? What good is a beautiful bicycle that is either uncomfortable or non-functional? And how sad it is for a bicycle to be functional and comfortable, but not excite you or make you smile?The most successful bicycle design is one where functionality, comfort, and aesthetics intersect.The graceful sweep of a loop frame is not only visually pleasing, but allows easy step-through. A handle bar bag secured to a randonneur-style front rack is not only handsome, but extremely useful on long trips. Form and function are best enjoyed as a happy couple.
The show went well, and was the same neat things as the other times I've been here.
At some point, it became very interesting to me though because I saw something different. When Aric and I were here, they told us that they were bringing out a new stallion. They weren't sure how he'd do. He did great. Today was his second time. He's the middle horse in this group and you can see the look on his face that tells us he is feeling feisty already:
This is where he lets us know he is going to implement that plan:
And this is where he does it:
This is where that plan gets nipped in the bud:
And this is where he pouts about it. He wasn't happy about being reigned back in. He wanted to show us his stuff. He didn't want to simply perform the show that mere humans came up with. They stopped the show to explain what the deal was. They explained that it was his second time out with the big boys. They said he was the teenager in the bunch. That explains this expression:
I had no idea horses could make that face. I'm on teenager number five. I recognize this face all too well!
It's not all that amusing when my teens give me that look, but I have to tell you that it was hysterical when he did it. I feel for his mother is all I have to say. I have loved every trip to this wonderful place, but this was the best by far.