It is no small task to describe the entity that is "Camberville" - that serpentine Somerville-Cambridge city line with its mazes of pocket neighbourhoods, unkempt grapevines, mysterious alleys lined with crumpling garages, and grandiose structures tucked away on sleepy side streets. Wandering through a neighbourhood you think you know, it is not unusual to encounter something wholly unexpected - perhaps a sidewalk treehouse, an enchanted forest, a small castle, or a warehouse-sized artisan incubator.
Very possibly I have cycled past the Round House before without taking much notice. The once-grand structure is not difficult to miss, now only a shadow of its former self. A lusciously overgrown garden torn out some years ago, a grass lot and chainlink fence now surround its bare walls, stripped of trim and embellishment. A thicket of condominiums stands in what was once an open space, blocking the house from view in certain directions.
But on this ghostly-quiet afternoon, I noticed it straight away. It was one of those humid days when the air stands still and the scent of flowers is sickly sweet. The weekend's explosion of lilacs was making me lightheaded. I cycled up a steep hill, and as I turned the corner onto a tiny one-way street the house appeared like a hallucination -backlit by the waning sun and tilting slightly to the left.
Stopping to have a look, I was distracted by the prominent signs discouraging trespassing. They struck me as so insincere as to almost be playful.
I was intrigued further by the curious discrepancy between the siding - which appeared newly installed - and the foundation, which seemed on the verge of collapse.
And then there was the bulging wall.
Strange to think that a Victorian-era locksmith is responsible for this cylindrical wonder. Inspired by the idea of octagonal houses floating around at the time, Somerville resident Enoch Robinson decided to take things one step further and build a round house. Constructed in 1856, the 3-story single family residence housed generations of Robinson's family.
It is not clear why the Round House was vacated and stood empty for so long. But by the 1980s it had its windowsand ornamentation removed, had suffered water damage and faced serious structural problems. There was talk of tearing it down, which, predictably, riled up residents who saw it as a landmark of historical value. Thankfully, it never came to that. Several years ago, the house was purchased by a developer with experience in historical preservation. He plans to restore the house and place it on the market as a single family home.
The Round House was created on a whim, to satisfy a personal interest - possibly an obsession, judging by the limited information I found on its creator. Yet by virtue of existing in a publicly visible and visitable space, it is also a communal resource, and will continue to be as ownership changes hands. How will the new residents feel about that, I wondered, eying the awkward battlements that surround the top story. I hope they plant a nice garden. Maybe some lilacs, dogwood and pines, against that stark beige facade.
...you're tempted to stop and examine every bike you see, no matter how nice or "crappy." Your walking companions are accustomed to this and stop in front of bicycles pre-emptively when you are with them.
... you walk by a freshly painted house or fence and wonder what the closest matching RAL colour code would be. You narrow it down to two, both of which you remember by heart.
...you get confused when trying to walk places. You are accustomed to the cycling route.
...you happen upon a scenic spot, and you wonder how well your bike would photograph there.
...it is impossible to snap a photo inside your apartment without getting at least a small piece of bike in the frame.
...you decide to rent a boat on vacation, and it ends up being a pedal boat.
...you arrive in a foreign country and the first thing you do is sort out your bike situation. Later you also tend to the small stuff, like making sure your mobile phone works and that you can withdraw cash. You don't even bother with public transport.
I am guessing you would welcome a break from Interbike at this point, so I am going to take advantage of that by asking for advice. Just in time for the cold season, I finally have a dedicated fixed gear frame to replace my Moser conversion. I will tell you about the new frame later, as it's part of a larger story. But suffice to say I have it and it's nice. My plan was to simply move all the parts from the Moser onto this frame. The parts are rather plain and cheap-ish, but they will do for now and maybe in a year I will upgrade to something fabulous and Phil Woodsy. But the one thing I forgot is that the crankset I have on the Moser (Sugino RD2) has the wrong length cranks for the new frame. The Moser had a low bottom bracket, so the cranks I have on it are 165mm, but the new frame has a high bottom bracket and I want to use 170mm. So I need a new one and therein lies my dilemma: I am clueless about single speed cranksets.
For example, one option would be to just buy another inexpensive Sugino RD2. However, I am told that this is ultimately an iffy idea for a fixed gear roadbike, because it's not made for a track chain. Also, if I do plan to upgrade the components, it doesn't make sense to buy cranksets twice - maybe I should get the nicer version already.
And the "nicer version" is apparently the Sugino 75. It is a Keirin-approved track crankset and is extremely expensive. Why I need it, I couldn't tell you - since my fixed gear frame is not a track frame and I won't be racing on it. Even in terms of aesthetics I don't find it all that spectacular. A friend might have one to sell secondhand, in which case it may be worth it - but otherwise I don't get the appeal of the Sugino 75 for non-racers.
