Remembering the one and only Ted Cox!

Last Sunday Mount Rainier National Park and the Rainier Climbing Community lost yet another long time friend. The following is from our Chief Ranger Chuck Young and former climbing ranger Mike Gauthier. Thanks Guys. A memorial service honoring the life of Ted will be held this coming Thursday, August 16th around 6 pm at the Community Building in Longmire, WA. Everyone is invited to come and help us celebrate the life of our friend. It is a potluck so along with stories bring some food and beverages to share. If you would like more details about the location or event please email us, we will try to be timely in our response.

We are saddened to report that MORA Protection Division employee Ted Cox 
has passed away from complications related to an aggressive form of 
cancer. Ted, 70, passed away this Sunday in the company of dear friends 
and loved ones; he had worked for the past 10 years as a seasonal Trails 
Laborer at Camp Muir. 

Ted’s career at Mount Rainier was defined by meticulously taking care of 
the waste and water systems for Camp Muir, arguably one of the world’s 
most difficult utility systems to maintain.  He did so with pride, 
dedication, and joy, which earned him the unofficial and affectionate 
title of "Mayor of Camp Muir."  By doing his duties so well and with 
such disarming charm, the climbing rangers were better able to focus on 
the pressing needs of public safety and resource protection. Each week 
in the late spring and summer, Ted began his work shift by hiking to the 
10,000 foot high camp where we would reside for four days. Each trip, he 
would pack and haul heavy loads of supplies and materials; often he 
performed arduous and physically demanding tasks at high altitude which 
is always an impressive feat. This is something that Ted did with 
gleeful pride up until his diagnosis this June. 

With a playful and light-hearted grin, Ted often said that maintaining 
the critical waste system at Camp Muir was his “life’s work.” He was 
serious about that too, as he loved the mountain community and the 
unique personalities that he would meet day to day.  Ted did more than 
just maintain a utility system, however; he also cared for the staff as 
a non-judgmental friend and confidant, and always kept the peace amongst 
a dynamic crew of with equally dynamic personalities and situations. Ted 
was the person that rangers and guides could rely upon to help maintain 
cohesiveness and peace within the sometimes intense and stressful 
situations that can exist at 10,000 feet.  Before Mount Rainier, Ted 
worked at Olympic National Park in the maintenance division, and in the 
off-season, lived in Sequim, WA and in Talkeetna, Alaska.    He will be 
sorely missed by the guides, rangers, his friends, and the public who 
had the good fortune to meet Ted at Camp Muir or while hiking up or down 
from Paradise.

10 Inch Howling Coyotes

Frosted Oat Seed from Hay

Wordless Wednesday :: It's not a sunset...

Cumberland Island National Seashore, St. Marys, Georgia
December 27, ..

Seymour Blueskies

As some have already noticed, I recently acquired one more bicycle that I have not yet written about. It is a vintage Trek roadbike - fast and aggressive, with super-responsive handling. Don't ask how I got the bike; sometimes these things just find you. It was in exactly my size, and came along at a time when I had begun to experiment with more aggressive road cycling. I wanted to try a "real" roadbike without spending more money, and here was my chance.



So please allow me to introduce Seymour Blueskies. He is a Trek 610, built in 1982. The lugged steel frame is made with Reynolds 531 tubing, and cro-moly fork and stays. The frame is 52cm, with 700C wheels.It is an interesting blue-gray colour that Trek called "gunmetal"in its catalogues.



The 610 was a higher-end model, and the previous owner built it up with nice components - though over the years they had become somewhat of a medley.



The wheels were handbuilt using Rigida racing rims with a gunmetal finish, a Campagnolo rear hub, a Suntour XC 9000 front hub, and double butted spokes. The drivetrain is Suntour Sprint 9000, with Suntour downtube shifters. The stem is vintage Nitto and the handlebars are ITM. The bicycle also came with a Brooks Finesse Titanium(!) women's saddle.



I have kept all of the components as they were, except for the brakes and brake levers, which we replaced with newTektros.We also added cork bar tape, installed SKS fenders and a bottle cage, replaced the original clipless pedals with MKS Touring pedals (withPowergrips), and attached my Zimbale bag and a Crane bell from another bike.



I prefer cloth tape on handlebars, but these bars have a weird, squared-off shape to them with a carved-out channel for cable routing. This can all be felt though cloth tape, making the bars uncomfortable to hold without a layer of cork. They are also a bit too narrow for me, and if the Trek ends up being a keeper I would like to replace them with something like Nitto Noodles, or a vintage equivalent.



The reasoning behind the SKS fenders was initially budget-driven, but I am very happy with this choice. They are quieter and less fussy than Honjos; I hardly even notice them. The Co-Habitant hates SKS fenders, because he thinks they are "ugly". I do not find them "ugly"; just more sporty than Honjos - which was exactly the look I was going for here. Incidentally - even with the fenders, saddlebag and waterbottle, the Trek is the lightest bicycle I own.



After a few weeks of ownership, I have also justreplaced the original Michelin 25mm tires with 28mm Panaracer Paselas in white. The Michelinsthat came with it are supposed to be fantastic, but they felt hard as rocks and made for a very harsh ride. The Paselas, on the other hand, feel as if I am riding on a cloud. 28mm tires are probably the widest this bicycle will fit with fenders, and that is fine with me.



Now, for the ride quality... The vintage Trek handles very differently from the Rivendell Sam Hillborne. The best way I can describe this bike's behaviour, is that it wants to go fast and does not like to go slow. At slow speeds the Trek feels unstable and difficult to maneuver, especially when cornering. It took me a few rides to learn how to handle this without panicking, but eventually I got used to it. By the same token, it becomes amazingly stable and precise at fast speeds: Once I exceed 16mph, it seems to magically "relax" and almost floats above the asphalt. Accelerating is easy - almost too easy! One turn of the pedals, two turns - and before I know it, I amflying. This is great fun now that I am more or less comfortable on a roadbike, but even a couple of months ago I would not have been able to handle this kind of cycling. When riding the Hillborne, I feel that I am exploring - I can go fast, or I can go slow. Riding the Trek, I feel that I preparing for a race - going slow is not really in the cards.



All other factors remaining equivalent (road and traffic conditions, my energy levels, etc.), the Trek is a faster ride than the Rivendell. I cannot tell how much faster exactly, because conditions are never identical on any two rides - but when the Co-Habitant accompanied me, he said the difference in my speed on the two bikes was noticeable. One explanation for this could be that the Trek's handlebars are set lower, but it could also just be that the bike is designed to be a bit racier. On the flip side of the speed advantage, the Trek is not as comfortable as the Rivendell(which is insanely comfortable) and encourages over-exertion - leaving me feeling far more exhausted after a ride. One curious thing about how I feel on the Trek, is that my hands always hurt at the beginning of a ride - but stop hurting as the ride progresses and I pick up speed. This is surprising, because when something hurts at the start of a ride, it typically only gets worse the longer I cycle - so each time I get on the bike I have to suspend disbelief and remind myself that my hands will stop hurting in a few minutes. And thankfully, they always do. I also find it challenging to hold the drop portions of the bars on the Trek (something I have already mastered on the Rivendell) without losing some control of the bike or at least weaving a bit. I am sure this will feel comfortable eventually, but I am not there yet. Just yesterday, I was finally able to use the downtube shifters for the first time - after having tearfully declared that they were "impossible" time after time on previous rides. Everything takes practice.



When I first got the Trek, I was not at all sure that I would be keeping it. We modified it just enough to make me comfortable, and it would be easy to resell this bike at no loss. I wanted to experience a "real" roadbike without the coddling qualities of the Rivendell, and now I have. So what next? Well, I don't know yet, but I don't really want to let it go. It has been bewildering to discover that I kind of, sort of might actually be good at road cycling, and I would like to see this discovery through. Depending on how much time I have in a day for a ride, I take either the Rivendell (for long rides), the Trek (for medium, but fast paced rides), or the fixed gear Moser (for shorter, intense rides) - and together they are helping me understand my potential.

New Mexico Sunset

The view from my campsite at Rockhound State Park.Southeast of Deming, New Mexico.January 6, ...

On Notching, or the Joys of the Hole Saw

This might surprise some of you, and it was certainly a surprise to me, but my favourite thing about the framebuilding experience so far has been learning about all the machines in Mike Flanigan's shop. I have never been into this sort of thing before, preferring to use the simplest tools possible for DIY stuff. The "shop atmosphere," with its various lathes and saws spinning menacingly, has always confused and intimidated me. I am not sure what changed now. Maybe the part of my brain that's responsible for this kind of stuff is just now maturing, but suddenly I am like a kid in a candy store. The machines are super-useful, physically easy to operate, and are proving to be excellent teaching tools when it comes to mechanical concepts I find difficult to grasp.For example: notching!






Building a bicycle frame is mainly about joining together pieces of tubing, which involves a lot more work than merely brazing or welding the joints. For instance, before the tubes can be joined they need to fit together properly.






Think about it: When we get a tube, its edge is cut straight across. But if we want that edge to join the rounded surface of another tube, weneed to sort of scoop out the center of that opening, to scallop it. This is what's called notching - also known as mitering or coping.






And because the tubes join at an angle that is almost never 90°, the notch must be done asymmetrically, to fit the precise angle. In theory, I understood the concept, but in practice I had a hard time imagining concretely how this was to be done. How were builders able to determine the shape of the scalloped edge with such precision and draw it on the edge of the tube? Too embarrassed to ask this question, I tried to read up on it. Unfortunately, the more I read, the more confused I got.






But the mystery was cleared up in a matter of seconds once it was time to notch my own tubes. Mike has what's called a horizontal milling machine, which can be fitted with all sorts of tooling - including hole saws of various diameters.






A hole saw is literally a round saw that makes holes in things. They are available in a variety of diameters. You choose the saw that matches the diameter of the dominant tube - the one to which you will be joining the tube you want notched.






After attaching the correct saw and installing the to-be-notched tube in the clamp, you then set the angle of the joint, according to your bicycle frame's geometry.






And that's it. As you turn the crank, the hole saw makes its way through the edge of the tube and notches it. Basically the saw forces the shape of the dominant tube through at the correct angle. Watching this happening I experienced a sudden flash of understanding and it was immensely satisfying.




Of course, by far not everyone who builds bicycle frames has this type of machine handy, and the low-tech notching method involves using lugs to make guide marks, then a hacksaw to make the cut.But even if I never have access to such machines again, operating them has done me more good than I can express.






I love the clean look of a notched frame; the way everything fits together perfectly and makes total visual sense before you get it all filthy with flux and leaky brazing marks. But also, watching the tubes fit and actually getting how and why they fit is wonderful.My head is bursting with the sudden understanding of concepts I've previously struggled with, and that is an exciting feeling to have. Whether it's framebuilding or any other subject-matter, it is never too late to learn new things.