Moon over Oxbow Bend

I'm still reminiscing over my trip out West a few years ago, and today I came across this image that I had wanted to put on my website but just never got around to it. This was at the end of a beautiful day of shooting in and around the Jackson Hole/Grand Teton National Park area. My friends Jake and Stuart were looking forward to an evening of photographing the stars over the Teton Range, something neither of them had done much of before. As the night descended, we began hearing more and more Elk calling in the distance (this was in late September). All night as we photographed the stars over the Snake River and Mt. Moran we could hear the Elk bugling. At times it seemed as though they were on all sides of us (and they probably were). But, thanfully, we never had any up close and personal encounters with them in the dark :-) This photo is another great reminder of what an excellent trip I had with my friends.

Feels Like a Pacific Island Around Here

With all the beautiful sunny days and scorchin' temps we've been having lately, some visitors to Rainier might feel like they are actually visiting a Pacific Island rather than on a cold snowy volcano in the Pacific North Wet. It's actually kind of fitting since this month of May, is National Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month.



Even though our high camps are far away from warm Pacific Islands, rangers have sometimes been known to imagine themselves on a tropical beach of some sort. So bring your sunscreen, some tropical fruits, your favorite swim costume and head on up to our glacial island where you can almost see the Pacific Ocean on a clear day. We'll be waiting.



On another note the Northwest Avalanche Center has issued another special statement visitors to our mountain should read. If anyone sees anything weird going on with out snowpack we'd love to hear about it.

More Spring Wildflowers...

Hite Cove Trail, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

...next to the Hite Cove Trail near Yosemite. It's spectacular there right now!

Paradise Road Damaged!

Updated Winter Access to Paradise

The washout approximately 6 miles above Longmire at mile 12.4 on the road to Paradise (just above the Nisqually Bridge) has been rated to be acceptable for 1-way traffic by the Federal Highways Administration inspectors.

Mount Rainier National Park has arranged for weekend and holiday access to Paradise. There will be one-way-at-a-time traffic operation with a flagger at milepost 11.3 (Glacier Bridge chain-up area) and another flagger up above at milepost 13.3 (Canyon Rim Overlook). Expect about a 5 to 10-minute wait for cars to pass each way before the opposite direction traffic is allowed.

Overnight use, climbing, and backcountry camping are allowed, but your trip itineraries need to be limited to these periods that the road is open to the public (weekend and holiday periods).

Updated: January 31st, The NPS is trying remain flexible about road closures during the mid-week. If the weather forecast for the day looks good (clear and sunny, or at least no snow forecast), we are currently making a strong effort for the road to be opened to the public. This means that if the forecast looks good, you should be able to plan a climb!

On Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays the road will close each evening at 5:30 p.m. No traffic is allowed down or up the road after the road is closed. The road crew typically is able to re-open the road sometime between 7:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. each day, depending on the amount of new snow received during the night.

Listed below are good guidelines to follow regarding estimating when the road may open. Please bear in mind that these estimated times are by no means a promise, so your patience is requested. Many variables exist that determine when the road is ready to open. Snow density affects plowing operation, with lighter snow being easier to move. Wind is another factor, since drifts and wind-packed snow take longer to remove. A large front-end loader or extended times with a blower are often needed to remove avalanche debris. How many plow drivers are on duty is a yet another factor. But generally, at Paradise:

0-3 inches of new snow: 7:00 - 8:00 a.m. opening
3-6 inches of new snow: 8:00 - 10:00 a.m. opening
6-10 inches of new snow: 10:00 a.m. - 1:00 p.m. opening (avalanche danger may be an issue with this much new snow)
10-15 inches of new snow: 11:00 a.m. -1:00 p.m. opening (avalanche danger may prohibit the road from opening at all)!
15 inches or more: The road may remain closed either due to snow removal problems or due to avalanche danger!

It is very important for visitors to realize that during or for an unspecified time after heavy snow periods, the road may not open at all. Be flexible! To make the best use of time at Rainier during these periods plan an alternate trip itinerary, perhaps to a backcountry destination such as Eagle Peak, Indian Henry’s, or even up into Van Trump Park and onto the upper mountain via the Kautz Glacier Route!

Don't forget to pick up a climbing or backcountry permit and a climbing pass at the Longmire Museum, open 9:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. daily.

Have fun, stay out of avalanches, and be safe!

Burnout

It used to surprise me when cyclists talked about burnout. Oh no, it could never happen to me. Cycling is my refuge. I need it. I crave it. But of course, that's just the thing: When we feel that way about something, we want to do a whole lot of it. And when we do a whole lot of something, it is possible to overdo it - to burn out.




It's happened to me three times so far. Each case was fairly minor, but felt catastrophic at the time.To look at my bike and not want to ride is a dreadful feeling. What if I never want to ride again? I cannot continue that train of thought.




The first two times it happened were nearly identical. They were working vacation type of situations at the end of summers and . I could only take one bike with me - a bike that would be used for everything from recreational rides, to commuting, to hauling equipment. I took the touring bike I owned at the time. Diamond frame, drop bars, racks, bags. Technically speaking, it did everything I needed it to do - from metric centuries to schlepping equipment back and forth over hills to riding through dense in-town traffic. But after a couple of weeks of this... It's hard to describe the feeling, but it was as if cycling felt heavy and tedious instead of light and liberating. I didn't want to look at drop bars or a diamond frame again. I didn't want to ride up hills with heavy bags again. It was just too much, I was sick of bikes! This state of mind lasted no more than a few weeks, but still it was horrible. After the second time I vowed not to repeat whatever had caused me to feel this way. Clearly riding a loaded touring bike long distances is not something I enjoy. Commuting on a diamond frame bike with drop bars is not something I enjoy. Combining the two, day after day, for weeks, is not a great idea. Lesson learned.




But then it happened a third time, and it was entirely different. Roadcycling. In retrospect I was probably pushing myself too close to my limits, but whatever warning signs there were I missed them. One day I was on an ecstatic high after yet another draining ride, and the next day I suddenly crashed, emotionally - exhausted not so much from the riding itself, as from being in pain every single day and realising that it would never, ever get easier. Suddenly the eagerness to ride just was not there, and in its place was depletion. I know, I could have used self-motivation tactics. But that is not how I view cycling. It should not get to the point where I need to motivate myself to ride. If it does, I don't ride. And so I didn't: For an entire two weeks. Then the sense of depletion left as suddenly as it had set in and I was back on the bike. But the experience changed me; I am more cautious now. How far is it safe to push myself without this horrible thing happening again? This is always in the back of my mind.




When cyclists talk about dealing with burnout, it is mostly about prevention. Some try to identify what it is that makes them overdo it, so that they know what to watch out for. Others take intentional breaks from cycling altogether. Once the burnout sets in, the solution is less clear. For me, focusing on a different type of cycling and/or bike does the trick - that and trying to remind myself that it's just a temporary state!

Home Sweet Home

Home. I've been contemplating just what that means ever since fM announced the topic of "Celebrate Home" for the upcoming edition of Smile For The Camera. I lived in three different houses while growing up in the rural communities of North Webster and the Barbee Lakes. And while I consider that area to be my "hometown" because that is where I grew up, none of those houses hold any special meaning for me. However I do have fond memories of those locations and some of the events (birthday parties, holidays, family gatherings, etc) held there. And of the people who lived there, family and neighbors.

After graduation from high school, I bounced back and forth between living at "home" and living in apartments in Fort Wayne. I lost track of how many times I moved during that time. Then, after three years, it was off to join the Navy, with numerous duty stations during my 9+ years of service. And, in the nearly 30 years since my discharge from the Navy, I've only lived in six different places. Several hold a place in my heart, again, not so much for the buildings themselves but rather for the memories they recall. Two of the places I've especially enjoyed living in are shown below.

Eastbrique Tower on Fruitridge Avenue, Terre Haute, Indiana. I lived here 1979-1982. I don't know when the house was built but it was quite old. The owner was remodeling it and turning it into apartments. I lived in a little efficiency apartment located in the left corner, first floor. I was devastated when I returned to Terre Haute in 1985 to discover the house had been torn down and the lot turned into a paved parking area for a neighboring restaurant. Inclusion of my shadow was on purpose; I wanted to be in the picture, but the house was really the subject. Copyright © 1982/.. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman.

Knapp Lake. Noble County, Indiana. The little house in the upper right is where my mother lived for fifteen years. I lived there with her for about two years. The front yard would flood in the spring or during heavy rains, but luckily the house itself didn't. Neighbors were in close proximity but it didn't matter, living on the waterfront was wonderful. It was a small lake, so no big powerboats were allowed, just fishing boats and pontoons. Infrared Photograph. Copyright © 1985/.. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman.

Moreton Bay Fig

The gigantic roots of two very old Moreton Bay fig trees.

Garden Beans With Shallots and Basil

Garden Beans With Shallots and Basil, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

This is an easy side dish that can be made in a few minutes. I used 'Tenderpick' beans from my not-so-healthy plants. Sweet basil (also from the garden) was added, as were shallots from Trader Joe's.

Green Beans with Shallots and Basil

Serves 1.

1 cup fresh green beans
2 shallots
5-10 fresh sweet basil leaves
1-2 tbsp. butter
salt

Peel and mince the shallots. Tear the basil into small pieces. In a pan, stir-fry the green beans, basil, and shallots in the butter (medium-high heat). When the beans are tender, serve immediately and garnish with leftover shallots from the pan. Salt as desired.

The Dream? The Adventure!

I don't know what climbing, specifically alpine climbing, means to anyone including myself. I can no more tell you why climbing is so important and good for me than I can tell you how the universe was created or what "life" is.


But I know it started as a dream, a wish for adventure and a ability to comprehend what I saw in nature as something more than just special.

No matter what I climb, the type of terrain or how much I enjoy the moment it is all related to being in the mountains eventually and alpine climbing.

I get teased sometimes about my obvious boot fetish. Couple of things happened recently to bring me back to the original "dream", cold feet and why my desire of wanting to climb so badly.

The boot fetish is based on the reality of spending a lot of time out doors as a young kid. My parents hunted, fished and skied. Of course all that slowed down when they had kids..at least until we (the kids) could walk. And by walking I don't think we had to be able to walk far before we were off on their adventures. From my childhood I remember three things from those adventures, cold feet, how I liked heights when everyone else got scared and how much fun it was to be in the snow.

So the boot fetish should be easy to understand. I had cold feet from day one!

In the late 1950's the lookout shown above was the first place I remember seeing, and others talking about, climbing. I can remember my Dad walking with me out to the lookout and back hand in hand on that set of stairs. I was in the 2nd grade. Imagine my surprise to find out the Needles had its, "first recorded technical climbing is April 1970, Fred Beckey, Dan McHale, Mike Heath climbed the South Face of the Warlock, an 8 pitch climb rated 5.9." That ascent is of course a a full ten years after me seeing climbers in the Needles.

The view of the Needles from the lookout.


That was 50 years ago and I still get a thrill remembering the journey. It was another 10 years before I was to actually climb. But not because of a lack of desire. As I aged I remembered the thrill of that simple visit to the Lookout and the awe I had for the guys climbing on the rocks.

Learning to ski held my attention as did dirt bikes, basketball, football, bicycles, guns, knives and swimming. In the late '60s and early '70s our high school library carried a French magazine called "Paris Match" and even though I was taking French I couldn't read much of it. But, my Oh my, the pictures! Rene Desmaison made me WANT to be a alpine climber. Add a subscription to National Geographic my Grandmother gave at Chrismas every year since I was born (really, since I was born) and how could I not WANT to climb :)


" Readers of Paris Match read his dramatic reports and a radio audience measured in millions shivered with him during a live broadcast caught in a storm on the north face of the Grandes Jorasses......

In the 1960s when many of the so-called “last great problems” in the Alps were being addressed, Desmaison played a leading part in solving them. One attempt on the unclimbed Central Pillar of Freney, high on the Brenva face of Mont Blanc, became a France v Britain race. A team including Chris Bonington, Ian Clough and Don Whillans had a day's lead and were attempting the difficult overhanging crux of the climb when a group led by Desmaison appeared, attempting the same pillar by a nearby line. Bonington recalled that the corner crack they were trying to climb was too wide for their pitons but too small for the protective wooden wedges they were carrying. A request to the French for suitable gear met a firm and not unreasonable “non”, as the same gear was needed on their own route. Bonington and Whillans persevered, overcame the crux and dropped a rope to the rest of their team which the French then asked to use to ascend the difficult pitches. The rope was left, but seemingly failed to find a mention in French accounts of the climb.

Desmaison's closest brush with death came in the winter of 1971 attempting a new route on the Grandes Jorasses. With Serge Gousseault, a newly qualified Chamonix guide, the two climbers became trapped by violent storms sweeping the mountain face. After six days of slow, difficult climbing the weather had closed in. They reached a summit cornice, an overhanging lip of snow and ice, only a short distance from safety but were unable to move, hanging from pitons in a festoon of ropes. Rescue helicopters twice arrived above them but failed to understand Desmaison's signals for help. On the 12th day Gousseault froze to death and it was two days later that Desmaison, near death himself from cold and dehydration, was air- lifted to safety. Two years later he returned and completed the climb, once more arriving on the summit in a storm. "
René Desmaison, French mountaineer, guide, author and film-maker, was born on April 14, 1930. He died on September 28, 2007, aged 77

So between Desmaison and Gaston Rebuffat, another French Alpinist with a penchant for photography, writing and good climbs I was hooked long before I ever owned an ice axe.

Skiing, when I started, most still used leather boots. And the boots could be used for walking as required as well as skiing. Not cutting edge technology by any means even then but a whole lot of fun. Not a lot of difference between skiers and climbers then from my limited perspective.

Then while in high school our family moved to a little town just east of Mt. Adams. From our new home you could see Mt Hood, Mt Adams, St Helens, and of course Mt Rainier!

Now I just had to learn how to climb mountains! Of course I had no clue just how much mountains and climbing would come to influence the rest of my life.

A duplicate of my first "climbing" boots, age 14. Army surplus, alpine troop, ski and mtn boot. Bought in Lewiston Idaho with paper route money shortly before seeing Mt. Hood up close for the first time.

That was my start. Yours?

Drop Bars!

With my horrible sense of balance, I did not think I'd be able to ride a "real" road bike, with drop bars and narrow tires -- but apparently I can do it! A complete review of Marianne coming soon...

Signs of Richard Sachs

It was the day before the Providence Cyclocross Festival and Richard Sachs asked whether I was going. Richard Sachs is a bicycle framebuilder in central Massachusetts, maybe you've heard of him.He builds these nice lugged steel bikes for which there is a 10 year wait list. He also races cyclocross, with his team, on bikes that he makes (no wait list for those). They would all be racing in Providence that weekend, and if I went I would get to see them.






I should explain that I'd never actually met Richard Sachs at this point, though we'd exchanged a couple of emails. As another bit of indirect contact, some time ago I briefly rode one of his bikes - a blue and white 26" wheel brevet bike that belonged to a friend of the Blayleys. It was a nice bicycle, and I knew of the legendary status of Sachs frames. But what truly sparked my interest in the builder was his writing. His writing is extensive, addictive, and freely available online. Blog entries that read like essays on postmodernism. Quotes from his own interviews followed by commentary, analysis and critique of those quotes. He keeps records of things that happened 10, 20, 30 plus years ago. He tells and retells his history, using scanned photographs, scraps of receipts, and yellowed bits of newspaper as evidence. You can learn almost anything you care to know about Richard Sachs by reading through all of this. "[People] are buying me, not the bike," Sachs once wrote. "They want to have a little bit of me." And sohe grants us access to his person, or at least gives the illusion of doing so. Naturally, all of this fascinates me.










The site of the Providence Cyclocross Festivalwas labyrinthine and chaotic. When I got there, I realised that I had no idea how to go about finding a specific person. There was no Sachs tent, and he had given me no instructions for where to find him. As I wandered around, I made a game out of looking for him. After 10 minutes the closest I got was spotting a red and white bike being wheeled past, with "Richard Sachs" on the downtube in yellow.








Then I saw a woman with a fluffy white dog peeking out of her backpack. Both she and the small creature looked familiar. When I noticed that she too was rolling a red and white bicycle, I realised this was Deb, Richard Sachs' wife. The Masters men's race was scheduled to start soon, and she was headed to the staging area.






All of the Richard Sachs cross team bikes are red and white, and all are fitted with identical components. The look of the team bikes has not changed much over the years, nor have his bicycles in general. "Why buy a frame from a one-man shop still using traditional hand-building methods?" his website asks. "Because technology alone is a poor substitute for experience." The experience he speaks of dates back to 1972. His frames are not custom, but made to measure, in the sense that the customer has no input into geometry or other core design elements. A Sachs frame means Sachs geometry, his own proprietary blend of (Columbus "PegoRichie") steel tubing, his own lugs, dropouts, fork crown. He has perfected his method over the course of 40 years. This is what the Richard Sachs customer pays for; this is what they believe is worth the wait. Spotting some more of his bicycles on the roofs of cars, I try to see all of this in the frames. But my novice eye just sees some classic lugged bikes.






I was now in front of a car that I recognised as his. "Richard Sachs" was everywhere, but still no Richard Sachs. Also everywhere was his signature acronym ATMO - "according to my opinion." ATMO is used on online forums, in written correspondences, in descriptions of things. Products are branded with it. You can buy an ATMO bag, t-shirt, hat.






Socks.Seeing them somehow made me feel better prepared to meet him. Just one of those ridiculous thoughts that goes through one's mind.In fact I had no idea whetherI'd be able to pick him out of a crowd.I flipped through my mind's database of all the online pictures I had seen of him. These generally fell into three categories: There was the thoughtful Richard Sachs in a black turtleneck sweater, brazing. The muddy, suffering Richard Sachs in a skinsuit and helmet, racing. The smiling Richard Sachs in jeans and a blazer, shaking hands at NAHBS. Tableaux.






I'd heard numerous stories at this point about what he is "really like." He is arrogant. He is humble. He is funny. He is humourless. He is charming. He is abrupt. But now I spotted him in the race, and my first impression was that he was a cyclist. Skinny and scowling, he stood and pedaled, staring straight ahead, breathing with his mouth open, as if gasping for air. "That bike fits him well," I thought, before I remembered that he made it.






I had picked the wrong day to attend the cyclocross race: sunny, dry, cheerful. The following day would be all rain and mud, but my pictures make the riding look like a fun little jaunt. There were at least two men in the Master's race wearing theRGM Watches-Richard Sachs team kits, but I quickly determined that Sachs was the one in long sleeves and that made it easier to follow him around the course.Not that this helped me much.






I do not envy sports photographers: This stuff is more difficult than a wedding. To get good shots, first you have to study the course in advance and wait for the riders you want to capture in the spots that not only promise action, but offer a good vantage point for photographing individual riders. Then you have a split second to compose a shot; once a rider passes you, there is no do-over. By the the end of the day I started to figure it all out, but when Richard Sachs was racing in the morning I had not yet gotten my bearings. It took a couple of laps before I even managed to get a picture where his head was not overlapping with a tree or other riders. Finally he was riding alone for a stretch and I got a few shots, one or two of which were even in focus. Still, nothing to write home about and certainly not worth all the running around I did.






Once it was over, I headed back toward the car where I had seen the ATMO wheels and dirty socks. On my way there I saw the other, short-sleeved Masters rider (David Genest?) rolling along while doing the double-bike maneuver.






Soon after that Richard Sachs rolled up, recognising me. His appearance up close was a little startling at first. He has very pale gray eyes and features that are both angular and delicate. The kind of face you might see in an expressionist painting. We said hello. He was tired, but willing to pose for pictures, even pointing out which parts of the bike and his outfit to photograph, so that sponsors would receive attention.






"Make sure to get the watch," he said, and I did (RGM Watches).






The black team kits with cream horizontal panels and red edging are striking and elegantly styled. Sponsors' logos have the look of vintage newspaper headers.






I studied the bicycle - a Richard Sachs, with Richard Sachs upon it. I tried to focus on the details of the frame, take some close-up of the brake bridge and fork crown, that sort of thing. But instead I kept thinking of the steel tubes against the 59-year-old muscles. The streaks of dirt on the frame juxtaposed with those on his legs.The stylised RS headbadge with the weight of the actual man whom those initials represent resting above it. Richard Sachs has done an impressive job of branding himself. He has created a micro-universe of imagery, logos, words, phrases, even ideas that signify him. The red bikes. RS. RICHARDSACHS. e-Richie. ATMO. CFRS. "The frame is the frame." "Imperfection is perfection." I tried to see through these layers of signifiers and representations, to the actual flesh and bone person in front of me. But I couldn't see him clearly. Or photograph him in a way that satisfied me.






We kept talking, not about anything in particular. He came across as open, friendly. At some point he picked up his fluffy white dog, cuddled it, held it in front of the camera. I took the pictures, but even as I did I sensed that this too was a tableau; that when I'd get home and look online, others will have taken the same shot.






"Perhaps I am not I even if my little dog knows me," I thought. That's a lesser known version of a popular Gertrude Stein quote. I could not get a feel for the man, as a separate entity from the e-mythology that surrounds him. At the end, finally I came close - catching him off guard as he sat on the edge of his car and stared into space. It was a fleeting moment, and still perhaps a tableau. The post-race Sachs.






Before becoming a framebuilder, Richard Sachs had planned to be a writer. Of course, this was over 40 years ago, but it still "explains things," one could say - meaning his blog, his extensive documentation of personal history, the way he forms his replies in interviews. And the interviewswith him are numerous, as are the biographicalarticlesand the reviews of his bikes. Me, I can hardly contribute anything of substance to such a collection. Best I can do is share this story of meeting him.

The "Fendi Abici Bike" in Vogue Magazine

A friend sent me this great scan from the June issue of American Vogue:



"Girls, go tell the groom that we've found the gift of all gifts to give his bride on the big day. (He does know that one's in order, right?) The Abici Amante Donna city bike now comes fitted with Fendi's luxest Selleria leather accessories. Seat, handles, thermos case, and GPS holder are all cut and sewn by hand. In front, the fully outfitted picnic basket -- which, you might tell him, doubles as a beauty case -- bears the house's signature stamp. There's also a splash catcher (he'll know this isn't its technical name, but "mudguard" is so unsexy) on the back wheel. The course of true love never ran more smoothly!"



The price of the Fendi Abici is $5,900 and the detachable travel case on the front rack is $975 extra.







This is a gorgeous bicycle and a lovely wedding gift, but is the Fendi version worth six times the price of the standard Abici Amante Donna? I guess that is a matter of personal choice and depends on how much you like Fendi. Personally, I'd rather keep the Brooks saddle. The travel case is rather nice though (any idea on the weight?).



[image from abici-italia.it]

Pictured above is the standard Abici Amante Donna in cream with original saddle and handles, and without dress guard, racks or thermos holder. I believe the cost is about $1,000 MSRP. Not being a fan of the rod brakes, I prefer Abici's Granturismo model. Still, the Amante is quite beautiful, and I think that Fendi had the right idea to add some dark warm contrasts to all that white.

The Least Daunting Option

Well, it seems that we've been having one of two weather conditions in Boston lately: (a) blizzard, or (b) in between blizzards. When it's the latter, I have been riding my bike - sort of. To be honest, I would not be doing it if I didn't have to, because the road conditions are pretty bad. But the bus makes me motion sick, the nearest subway stop is a 15 minute walk from our house(longer in the snow), and the sidewalks are slippery. So except on days when the roads are completely impassable, cycling seems to be the least daunting option. Still, "least daunting" doesn't mean "easy," and I've had to make a number of adjustments to the way I ride a bike, in order to be able to do it at all.



For one thing, I cycle much slower than usual, because I am scared of hitting not only ice patches, but those mini-mountains of hard snow that seem to pop up when I least expect them, like some treacherous obstacle course. Cycling slowly allows me to see them in time to either brake, or figure out how to go around them safely (I am a slow thinker when it comes to spacial rotation tasks). Happily, there are almost no other cyclists on the roads, so there is no one to get annoyed at my crawling speed - I've found that I can go as slow as I like, and no one seems bothered. I guess to cars, it's pretty much the same whether I am cycling at 7mph or 20mph: Either way, they are faster than me and will have to pass me eventually.



I also simply accept that I will have to get off my bike and walk a lot - across impassable stretches of slush and even over snowbanks. Sometimes I'll walk for a quarter of a block, then get back on the bike and ride for a couple of blocks, then get off again, and so on. It's annoying, but still better than walking the entire way - at least to me. Warmer and faster.



Finally, I've been having to get really creative about locking up my bike. Most bike racks have been made inaccessible by the surrounding knee-deep snow. So I will usually chain my bike to a fence, or whatever is handy - often having to rest it on top of a snowbank.



While all this is kind of miserable, I also find it pretty funny. I am not a "hard core" cyclist by any means and I am extremely risk averse. "Wimp" would probably be the appropriate word. And yet I am one of the few people out there on a bike, which does make me question my sanity. But I guess there is no better motivator than having no other choice - or at least no alternative options that are less daunting. Cycling in slow motion through a winter wonderland is not so bad, after all, when I compare it to feeling nauseous inside of a stuffy bus, or slip-sliding along icy sidewalks.

Did Not Wearing a Helmet Save Gene Hackman's Life?

film still via the gothamist

As some may know, 81-year-old actor Gene Hackman was hit by a truck while riding his bicycle in Florida last week. As the media has made a point to note again and again and again, Mr. Hackman was not wearing a helmet during the incident. It is now known that Mr. Hackman has survived the collision.



So... Does this mean that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life?



Don't answer that, I know what you are going to say: My God, of course not. That would be absurd. What an insane conclusion. Right? Well, don't worry, I agree. Of course the fact that a helmetless cyclist survived a collision does not mean that this favourable outcome resulted from them not having worn a helmet. An accurate way to describe the situation is that the two facts coincided: He was not wearing a helmet, and he survived the collision. As everyone who has studies the scientific method or statistic knows, correlation does not imply causation.



I am glad we are on the same page now about the absurdity of implying that Gene Hackman's lack of helmet saved his life. Because if you agree about this, then surely you will see the double-standard of finding it entirely logical when helmeted cyclists who survive collisions report that wearing a helmet saved their life. It is a powerful emotional argument, but logically, statistically, and scientifically, it is erroneous for the same reasons it would be erroneous to say that not wearing a helmet saved Gene Hackman's life. If a cyclist wears a helmet and they emerge from a collision alive, that implies correlation, not causation.



Bicycle helmets have some protective properties under some conditions, but these properties are limited and do not extend to colliding with moving motor vehicles. Bicycle helmets also have some drawbacks, including their ability to cause rotational injuries. After reading lots and lots and lots of studies (the studies themselves, and not the media's digested, distorted, misquoted and sensetionalised versions of the studies), I believe that the evidence pertaining to bicycle helmet effectiveness is mixed and inconclusive. And this is talking about effectiveness itself, without even delving to the larger, social implications of the helmet debate. We are all scared of getting hurt while riding our bikes, and we would all like there to be a magic device or talisman that makes cycling safe. But it is erroneous and even dangerous to over-attribute protective qualities to the bicycle helmet. Personal accounts of surviving collisions are tremendously affecting, both for the person recounting their experience and for the listener or reader. And I by no means wish to undermine these accounts. But it is also important to recognise that as human beings, we are "wired" to be more susceptible to affecting narratives. Things that are not in fact logical make sense to us under emotionally charged conditions, and "a helmet saved my life" is a textbook example of that.



Be angry at me if you must for the title of this post and the things I write here. But also try to understand my point. Accepting emotional, subjective beliefs as evidence does not actually contribute to safety. It only contributes to a false sense of security, to hysteria, to witch hunts, and to the media now making it a point to state whether a cyclist hit by a motor vehicle was wearing a helmet or not, thus normalising the "blame the victim" mentality in reports of cyclist deaths and injuries. How did we let this happen? That is something we ought to think about very carefully.

Barter Economy

Some of my most interesting bicycle-related acquisitions have been through trades with others, and I find these barter exchanges to be great. Whether bicycle related or not, trades can work out nicely - with each party feeling as if they are getting something new and useful.



For instance, I received this vintage Ideale saddle in exchange for somevintage Brooks.



I received these beautiful dressguards in exchange for a spare saddlebag.



I even had some custom metalwork done in exchange for a basket.Other trades have included embroidery in exchange for a rear rack, collectible fountain pens in exchange for artwork, and products in exchange for photography.



A good place to start looking for bartering opportunities as far as bicycles go, is bikeforums. They've set up "For Trade" threads for different geographical regions, where you can list the items you have available and the items you are looking for. Here is the one for the Northeastern USA. I have been considering setting up something similar - but cannot think of a way to do it without it eating up too much of my time.



And while trades can be pre-determined and formal ("I'll give you my Item X in exchange for your Item Y"), they can also be a sort of reciprocal, whimsical gift-giving - like pen pals exchanging objects instead of letters: You send the person something you think they might like, and at some later point they do the same. There are no explicit arrangements or expectations, and that is the neat thing about it. I've had these types of exchanges with several bike people, and it's been really nice - my latest gift being the delightfully named "bike burrito."



These things have fascinated me for some time, so I was pretty happy to get one. It's called a "bike burrito" because - well, it folds up like a burrito.



...And unfolds to reveal compartments for your tools. (We all have different concepts of "tools!")



The "burrito" is held together by a toe-clip strap, which can be easily threaded through the rails under your saddle. With the "epic" winter we are having, it's safe to say that I won't be using it any time soon - but it deserves to be seen!



Connecting with other bicycle-loving people from around the world can be fun, and can lead to all sorts of exchanges you would not otherwise have. What are your thoughts on developing a system to facilitate this? Would you find it helpful? What features would be useful? Would simply using the comments section of a post be enough, or do you think it won't work without a message board? Ideas welcome!

Trompe L'Oeil Lugwork

Having mentioned the idea of doing this as a joke some time ago, imagine my delight when I saw it in the wild: trompe l'oeil lugwork! Standing in the parlor of local pickelleur (randonneuring Dill Pickle bag maker) Emily O'Brien, when I first saw the bike across the room the illusion looked quite real. I figured it was an old beater frame, with the lugs spray painted to contrast the tubes. Then I got closer and realised the lugs looked unusually flat, and finally it hit me: They'd been cut out of tape and wrapped around the welded frame joints.






And lest you think this project is only about the fabulous looks, it does have practical merit: The tape is reflective. Just imagine the beautiful lugs glowing in the dark... A fun DIY idea to spruce up a boring frame in any event.








Apparently I am not the only one to have been fooled from a distance, as cyclists stop Emily all the time to ask about the interesting bike, usually assuming it is something vintage and Italian. Any guess as to what this bike is? Hint 1: It's a ubiquitous modern steel bike. Hint 2: The fork crown is lugged for real.