For years now, I've been making excuses for not riding as much as I want to (or should) because of a long string of sinus infections. In my worst year, I think I had six or seven infections, and most of them kept me off the bike for a couple of days to a week. The first theory was that allergies were setting off the infections, but now it looks like that's not true.
The latest one has lasted three months, and still isn't gone; I'm starting on my fifth antibiotic since October. Now, it's starting to look like I haven't had lots of sinus infections--I might just have had one long and incredibly treatment-resistant one that has never gone away. I may the lucky winner of a case of chronic sinusitis. (I'd rather have the equivalent cash value.)
Clearly the tiny civilization that I'm harboring in my sinuses has turned anti-bike, and decided to take it out on me. Perhaps they're still bitter about the election results. Their evil plan to keep me from riding has worked pretty well in the last few months--I've gotten out, but I've never really felt right.
But the time has come to turn the full force of modern radiology on them--I'll be getting a CT scan in two weeks. This seems dramatic (not to say silly) for a mere infection, but at least I can see how reality compares to all those "House M.D." episodes I've been watching.
Anyway--my New Year's Resolution is to eradicate the usurpers of my breathing passages and get back to riding every day.
(How is this related to landscapes and cycling? I dunno. Maybe I'll post a panoramic view of my sphenoid sinus or something. No?)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
basement bike project #2: the mixed-terrain mutt
A while back, I was reading the "cyclocross" section of the late Tom Cuthbertson's Bike Tripping. Not long after he described the insane roughness of 'cross courses, Cuthbertson used the phrase "cyclocross tripping for fun," and I knew the book was going to be a keeper. When I read that phrase, I thought "that's it! That's what I want to do."
For a long time, the bike I've most wanted has been a light-but-strong road bike with room for wide tires (38mm or so) and (probably)cantilever brakes, for use on "mixed-terrain" rides. Now and then I'd see a bike like cyclofiend's "C. Xavier Hilsen" that would really flip my switch. But now that the Heron Wayfarer is no longer available, and since I haven't won any Free Custom Bike lotteries, I had pretty much given up on the idea of getting that kind of bike anytime soon.
But then the "turn the parts pile into bikes" idea came along (see Episode 1 here), and I realized that I could cobble together some sort of mixed-terrain bike with the Schwinn Super Le Tour frame that I was given a while back. It's not ideal--it originally came with sidepull brakes, takes a 0.833" stem, only has a bolt-on derailleur hanger, and seriously needs a paint job--but it's a double-butted 4130 frame, the tire clearance is passable, and the frame is in decent shape. And I figure it's better to have a good-enough bike and enjoy it than to pine for the perfect bike that may be years away.
Since I'd often been frustrated with setting up cantilevers, even if they do look nice and (eventually) work well, I figured this would be a good time to try centerpulls. If they're good enough for Homer Hilsen, they're good enough for my mutt-bike, and should work better than sidepulls for mixed-terrain riding. So, with that decision, I dove into the pile and, bit by bit, as time permitted, started assembling the bike. Until last night, it was hanging from a hook in the basement and very slowly evolving from a bare frame to a working bicycle.
The first test ride was my morning commute--always a dangerous idea--and it was a big change from any of my other bikes. The bars felt low, and the bike seemed a bit twitchy at the front, but that's OK for a bike that will see some trail use. After a few adjustments--front derailleur limits, seat position--it should be ready to get muddy.
And here it is:
[click for bigger, if you want to see the rust and paint chips really well]
More pictures here.
I wish I could say that the parts pile was noticeably smaller and tidier after all this....
The ingredients:
* 1980s Schwinn Super Le Tour frame/fork/headset
* rummage-sale wheels - rear Mavic MA40 with Campy freewheel hub, front Ambrosio with Campy hub (These are my first Campy components. The rear wheel needed a minor rim repair and new grease for the bearings)
* WTB 700x38 All-Terrainasaurus tires+ - found these on ebay after reading jimg's rave reviews
* Shimano XT derailleur on bolt-on hanger - seems like some sort of heresy
* Fuji 110bcd double crank with 48/38 rings (all I had; will probably change to 48/34 soon) and a nice NOS Vuelta bashring/chainguard+ from ebay)
* Shimano 600 14-32 six-speed freewheel - the 7-speed I wanted to use was too wide, and jammed on the inside surface of the bolt-on hanger. 14-32 is a bit low, but I should have a 13-34 Megarange 6-speed soon, which would work well with a 48/34 crank
* MKS pedals bought from Tim Fricker, with MKS toe-clips
* 45cm Nitto B115 drop bars - my favorite
* "Schwinn approved" Dia-Compe centerpulls from somewhere or other
* Shimano 600 aero levers and Nashbar interrupter levers
* various original components - 0.833" SR stem (I really need a taller stem, but can't find one in that size), Suntour Symmetric top-of-downtube shifters, Suntour ARx front derailleur, 25.4 seatpost with original shim
* take-off seat from Bike Friday tandem - this will probably be replaced
+ = the only bits I had to buy, all from ebay in this case
For a long time, the bike I've most wanted has been a light-but-strong road bike with room for wide tires (38mm or so) and (probably)cantilever brakes, for use on "mixed-terrain" rides. Now and then I'd see a bike like cyclofiend's "C. Xavier Hilsen" that would really flip my switch. But now that the Heron Wayfarer is no longer available, and since I haven't won any Free Custom Bike lotteries, I had pretty much given up on the idea of getting that kind of bike anytime soon.
But then the "turn the parts pile into bikes" idea came along (see Episode 1 here), and I realized that I could cobble together some sort of mixed-terrain bike with the Schwinn Super Le Tour frame that I was given a while back. It's not ideal--it originally came with sidepull brakes, takes a 0.833" stem, only has a bolt-on derailleur hanger, and seriously needs a paint job--but it's a double-butted 4130 frame, the tire clearance is passable, and the frame is in decent shape. And I figure it's better to have a good-enough bike and enjoy it than to pine for the perfect bike that may be years away.
Since I'd often been frustrated with setting up cantilevers, even if they do look nice and (eventually) work well, I figured this would be a good time to try centerpulls. If they're good enough for Homer Hilsen, they're good enough for my mutt-bike, and should work better than sidepulls for mixed-terrain riding. So, with that decision, I dove into the pile and, bit by bit, as time permitted, started assembling the bike. Until last night, it was hanging from a hook in the basement and very slowly evolving from a bare frame to a working bicycle.
The first test ride was my morning commute--always a dangerous idea--and it was a big change from any of my other bikes. The bars felt low, and the bike seemed a bit twitchy at the front, but that's OK for a bike that will see some trail use. After a few adjustments--front derailleur limits, seat position--it should be ready to get muddy.
And here it is:
[click for bigger, if you want to see the rust and paint chips really well]
More pictures here.
I wish I could say that the parts pile was noticeably smaller and tidier after all this....
The ingredients:
* 1980s Schwinn Super Le Tour frame/fork/headset
* rummage-sale wheels - rear Mavic MA40 with Campy freewheel hub, front Ambrosio with Campy hub (These are my first Campy components. The rear wheel needed a minor rim repair and new grease for the bearings)
* WTB 700x38 All-Terrainasaurus tires+ - found these on ebay after reading jimg's rave reviews
* Shimano XT derailleur on bolt-on hanger - seems like some sort of heresy
* Fuji 110bcd double crank with 48/38 rings (all I had; will probably change to 48/34 soon) and a nice NOS Vuelta bashring/chainguard+ from ebay)
* Shimano 600 14-32 six-speed freewheel - the 7-speed I wanted to use was too wide, and jammed on the inside surface of the bolt-on hanger. 14-32 is a bit low, but I should have a 13-34 Megarange 6-speed soon, which would work well with a 48/34 crank
* MKS pedals bought from Tim Fricker, with MKS toe-clips
* 45cm Nitto B115 drop bars - my favorite
* "Schwinn approved" Dia-Compe centerpulls from somewhere or other
* Shimano 600 aero levers and Nashbar interrupter levers
* various original components - 0.833" SR stem (I really need a taller stem, but can't find one in that size), Suntour Symmetric top-of-downtube shifters, Suntour ARx front derailleur, 25.4 seatpost with original shim
* take-off seat from Bike Friday tandem - this will probably be replaced
+ = the only bits I had to buy, all from ebay in this case
Monday, December 1, 2008
land access and topographic writing
The British writer Robert MacFarlane wrote a very nice article in the Guardian a few years ago about the dedication, and time, needed to produce the best nature and landscape writing.
The best topographic writer I know of working right now* is Tim Robinson. His books on the Aran Islands and Connemara prove MacFarlane's assertion that "lyricism is a function of detail, and not of abstraction." Robinson's repeated walks across those landscapes, which led to both maps and books, are the foundation of his absorbing work.
But what if Robinson had been forced to base his maps and books about all those fields, rock platforms, bogs, beaches, cliffs, woods, pastures, streams, islets, and ruins on what he could see while standing on the public roads, visiting public parks (if there are any there), and entering private lands where he either knew the landowners or could secure formal permission to visit? (Fortunately, he does seem to have a good relationship with other residents).
This may seem like an extreme scenario, but it seems to be what faces landscape writers and artists in the United States, where there is absolutely no public access to land outside of public rights-of-way and parks. Land access is a fuzzy issue in many countries, and the expectations are based on respect and caution. In Scandinavian countries, all land is essentially open to foot access, provided that walkers maintain a respectful distance from homes, crops, and livestock. But in the US, stepping off public land is literally a crime--even if no damage is done, and even is the "trespasser" is only a respectful observer (of the landscape, not of the private details of individual lives).
Of course, part of the issue is the sheer density of people, and landowners' reaction to that. In places dominated by wilderness or extensive grazing, walkers pose little threat. And on land occupied by cultures who do not so painstakingly delimit ownership, binary "yes/no" access rules probably aren't felt to be necessary. Even in the part of Virginia where I live, I have heard from older residents that land access was much more casual through most of the 20th century, but that it has tightened up as more outsiders have moved in.
Probably this issue will be fuzzier than I've made it sound. In many places, some landowners might be more open to uncontrolled access by writers and artists--although that may require even more time and committment, before the work can really be done, just to get to know people, and with no guarantee that enough access will be granted to make the work possible. In others, perhaps on small islands or near very small towns, walkers may not yet be seen as a threat--Henry Beston's wanderings around his "Outermost House" would probably be much more diffiicult now tha Cape Cod is so developed.
But all this isn't meant to say that topographic writing is impossible here. It's just a problem to be overcome, and the solutions are probably as tied to place as the research and writing must be.
* Please suggest others--I'm always looking for more good writers in this vein.
The best topographic writer I know of working right now* is Tim Robinson. His books on the Aran Islands and Connemara prove MacFarlane's assertion that "lyricism is a function of detail, and not of abstraction." Robinson's repeated walks across those landscapes, which led to both maps and books, are the foundation of his absorbing work.
But what if Robinson had been forced to base his maps and books about all those fields, rock platforms, bogs, beaches, cliffs, woods, pastures, streams, islets, and ruins on what he could see while standing on the public roads, visiting public parks (if there are any there), and entering private lands where he either knew the landowners or could secure formal permission to visit? (Fortunately, he does seem to have a good relationship with other residents).
This may seem like an extreme scenario, but it seems to be what faces landscape writers and artists in the United States, where there is absolutely no public access to land outside of public rights-of-way and parks. Land access is a fuzzy issue in many countries, and the expectations are based on respect and caution. In Scandinavian countries, all land is essentially open to foot access, provided that walkers maintain a respectful distance from homes, crops, and livestock. But in the US, stepping off public land is literally a crime--even if no damage is done, and even is the "trespasser" is only a respectful observer (of the landscape, not of the private details of individual lives).
Of course, part of the issue is the sheer density of people, and landowners' reaction to that. In places dominated by wilderness or extensive grazing, walkers pose little threat. And on land occupied by cultures who do not so painstakingly delimit ownership, binary "yes/no" access rules probably aren't felt to be necessary. Even in the part of Virginia where I live, I have heard from older residents that land access was much more casual through most of the 20th century, but that it has tightened up as more outsiders have moved in.
Probably this issue will be fuzzier than I've made it sound. In many places, some landowners might be more open to uncontrolled access by writers and artists--although that may require even more time and committment, before the work can really be done, just to get to know people, and with no guarantee that enough access will be granted to make the work possible. In others, perhaps on small islands or near very small towns, walkers may not yet be seen as a threat--Henry Beston's wanderings around his "Outermost House" would probably be much more diffiicult now tha Cape Cod is so developed.
But all this isn't meant to say that topographic writing is impossible here. It's just a problem to be overcome, and the solutions are probably as tied to place as the research and writing must be.
* Please suggest others--I'm always looking for more good writers in this vein.
Monday, November 24, 2008
basement bike project #1: the woods/trials bike
For a long time, I've been curious about bicycle trials, which is the opposite of my usual cycling interests. Rather than long exploring rides, it's about bike control over short, extremely tricky "sections" that might include rocks, trees, walls, and other obstacles, and that require difficult leaps and drops.
After finally seeing a competition, I had the same reaction to bike trials that I had to my brief dabblings in rock climbing and whitewater kayaking--they're things I like (or would like) to do, but ideally not as ends in themselves. My imagination tends toward trips, rather than actions--experience over time and distance, rather than intense athletic feats. If I climb a rock wall, I want to do it because it's the way to a great hike. If I go kayaking, I'd rather drift for days down a river than have an intense afternoon in a boulder garden.
Bike trials, especially the free-form urban riding that you see in videos, has the air of skateboarding--just a bunch of guys messing around, being daredevils and not really going anywhere. Most trials bikes only have one extremely low gear, and no seat--you can't go very far. Some have to have at least six speeds to qualify for certain competitions, but nobody shifts much, and it's not as if they put panniers on the trials bike and ride to the competition. (Although hauling a trials bike on a cargo bike would make for an interesting day out.)
But the thing is--riding trials looks like a lot of fun. Not so much the pogoing around on concrete walls and stacks of pallets, but scrambling around out in the woods and on rocks--the kinds of places I would ride to anyway. And the people I met at the trials competition were very open and friendly, more supportive and friendly than competitive.
So I started to wonder--what kind of bike could you take for real rides, but still use to make easier trials moves out in the woods? Any sane person would just say "mountain bike" and leave it at that. But a properly-sized MTB frame doesn't leave much room for trials moves (there's a reason that real trials bikes have no real "top tubes" or seats).
The usual advice for somebody just starting with trials is to use a too-small mountain bike until they're sure they like it well enough to buy a trials bike. I had also just read about Geoff Apps's "Dingbat" bike, which was a 24" trials-influenced version of his off-road cycles designed for the trails in his part of England.
So I decided to build up a homebrew Dingbat out of my basement parts stash (aka "that mess downstairs") and a small MTB frame. With a bit of luck, I found a free 14.5" Trek 800 frameset (I'd normally ride an 18-19" MTB, and my old MTB commuter was closer to 22"). With a seat, it'd be a passable MTB for messing around on trails with the kid. With the seatpost pulled out, it'd leave enough standover for minor trials moves. (I still need to find a way to clip the seatpost to the bars so it can be carried along.) In the end, I had to buy some pieces to make it work, but in general it was a very cheap project.
After the bike was almost done, I found this useful page on how to set up mountain bikes for trials use. And here's a blog post from another middle-aged guy, in Malaysia this time, who went through setting up an MTB for trials.
In many ways, my new bike is just plain wrong. It doesn't fit what I would normally want for a bike, it's not ideal for any one activity, and it's certainly not the typical iBoB homebrew-trad setup. The word "underbike" should never be uttered around this thing. And, to be honest, it's ugly. But it's been fun (read: "frustrating, but fun in hindsight") getting all the pieces to work together. And, as one commute ride proved, this isn't going to be a bike for long-haul trips--more for playing around in the woods and at campgrounds. The end result isn't much like the Cleland Dingbat, but you work with the inspiration and the parts you have.
Come to think of it--after all this blather, what it looks like the most is an oversized BMX bike. Ah, well.
So here it is, in woods mode and trials mode:
[click for bigger]
[click for bigger] Edited with a new picture. Thanks to jimg and cyclofiend for the advice--it's simpler and safer to just drop the seat than to take the seat and post out and carry them elsewhere. I had thought that wouldn't work, but it does.
The ingredients:
* 1992 Trek 800 Antelope MTB frame, 14.5" size, free
* Single-wall rear wheel with high-flange hub from my 1983 Schwinn Cimarron (this is the component that worries me the most)
* Front wheel with double-wall Sun rim and XTR hub (!) -- $5 at a used-stuff sale
* Tioga "Yellow Kirin" 26x2.35 tires with heavy sidewalls and small square knobs - my first-ever purchase of "downhill/freeride" tires, but for $12, they'll do as a substitute for $60 trials tires
* Nitto riser bars (22.2 clamp!) from the Cimarron -- they were ridiculous on that bike, but they're perfect for this one. Thanks to Bens Cycle for still carrying the elusive 22.2-to-25.4 shim
* 12cm SR road stem (was too long for Univega road bike)
* Suntour XC Comp triple crank with a single 34t ring
* Blackspire bash ring--a nice used find, since the new ones for 110bcd cranks seem to be very hard to get.
* Shimano Megarange 13-34 7sp freewheel and Shimano LX rear derailleur, both from the Cimarron
* Tektro v-brakes and cheap Avid v-levers (I tried to use the high-profile cantis from the Cimarron, but with this tiny frame, both feet would snag on the brakes when I pedalled. The original brakes and levers from the frame were wrecked.)
* Chinese friction thumb shifter
* take-off seat from the Bike Friday tandem
* 400mm (!) seatpost - new
After finally seeing a competition, I had the same reaction to bike trials that I had to my brief dabblings in rock climbing and whitewater kayaking--they're things I like (or would like) to do, but ideally not as ends in themselves. My imagination tends toward trips, rather than actions--experience over time and distance, rather than intense athletic feats. If I climb a rock wall, I want to do it because it's the way to a great hike. If I go kayaking, I'd rather drift for days down a river than have an intense afternoon in a boulder garden.
Bike trials, especially the free-form urban riding that you see in videos, has the air of skateboarding--just a bunch of guys messing around, being daredevils and not really going anywhere. Most trials bikes only have one extremely low gear, and no seat--you can't go very far. Some have to have at least six speeds to qualify for certain competitions, but nobody shifts much, and it's not as if they put panniers on the trials bike and ride to the competition. (Although hauling a trials bike on a cargo bike would make for an interesting day out.)
But the thing is--riding trials looks like a lot of fun. Not so much the pogoing around on concrete walls and stacks of pallets, but scrambling around out in the woods and on rocks--the kinds of places I would ride to anyway. And the people I met at the trials competition were very open and friendly, more supportive and friendly than competitive.
So I started to wonder--what kind of bike could you take for real rides, but still use to make easier trials moves out in the woods? Any sane person would just say "mountain bike" and leave it at that. But a properly-sized MTB frame doesn't leave much room for trials moves (there's a reason that real trials bikes have no real "top tubes" or seats).
The usual advice for somebody just starting with trials is to use a too-small mountain bike until they're sure they like it well enough to buy a trials bike. I had also just read about Geoff Apps's "Dingbat" bike, which was a 24" trials-influenced version of his off-road cycles designed for the trails in his part of England.
So I decided to build up a homebrew Dingbat out of my basement parts stash (aka "that mess downstairs") and a small MTB frame. With a bit of luck, I found a free 14.5" Trek 800 frameset (I'd normally ride an 18-19" MTB, and my old MTB commuter was closer to 22"). With a seat, it'd be a passable MTB for messing around on trails with the kid. With the seatpost pulled out, it'd leave enough standover for minor trials moves. (I still need to find a way to clip the seatpost to the bars so it can be carried along.) In the end, I had to buy some pieces to make it work, but in general it was a very cheap project.
After the bike was almost done, I found this useful page on how to set up mountain bikes for trials use. And here's a blog post from another middle-aged guy, in Malaysia this time, who went through setting up an MTB for trials.
In many ways, my new bike is just plain wrong. It doesn't fit what I would normally want for a bike, it's not ideal for any one activity, and it's certainly not the typical iBoB homebrew-trad setup. The word "underbike" should never be uttered around this thing. And, to be honest, it's ugly. But it's been fun (read: "frustrating, but fun in hindsight") getting all the pieces to work together. And, as one commute ride proved, this isn't going to be a bike for long-haul trips--more for playing around in the woods and at campgrounds. The end result isn't much like the Cleland Dingbat, but you work with the inspiration and the parts you have.
Come to think of it--after all this blather, what it looks like the most is an oversized BMX bike. Ah, well.
So here it is, in woods mode and trials mode:
[click for bigger]
[click for bigger] Edited with a new picture. Thanks to jimg and cyclofiend for the advice--it's simpler and safer to just drop the seat than to take the seat and post out and carry them elsewhere. I had thought that wouldn't work, but it does.
The ingredients:
* 1992 Trek 800 Antelope MTB frame, 14.5" size, free
* Single-wall rear wheel with high-flange hub from my 1983 Schwinn Cimarron (this is the component that worries me the most)
* Front wheel with double-wall Sun rim and XTR hub (!) -- $5 at a used-stuff sale
* Tioga "Yellow Kirin" 26x2.35 tires with heavy sidewalls and small square knobs - my first-ever purchase of "downhill/freeride" tires, but for $12, they'll do as a substitute for $60 trials tires
* Nitto riser bars (22.2 clamp!) from the Cimarron -- they were ridiculous on that bike, but they're perfect for this one. Thanks to Bens Cycle for still carrying the elusive 22.2-to-25.4 shim
* 12cm SR road stem (was too long for Univega road bike)
* Suntour XC Comp triple crank with a single 34t ring
* Blackspire bash ring--a nice used find, since the new ones for 110bcd cranks seem to be very hard to get.
* Shimano Megarange 13-34 7sp freewheel and Shimano LX rear derailleur, both from the Cimarron
* Tektro v-brakes and cheap Avid v-levers (I tried to use the high-profile cantis from the Cimarron, but with this tiny frame, both feet would snag on the brakes when I pedalled. The original brakes and levers from the frame were wrecked.)
* Chinese friction thumb shifter
* take-off seat from the Bike Friday tandem
* 400mm (!) seatpost - new
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
from the museum of topographica (1)
Attached is a report on a newly-found item of interest to the museum's collections on landscape photography, mapping, and topography (in both senses).
Item 2008-001.
Year created: 1917
Author/creator (if known): James W. Bagley
Title: The Use of the Panoramic Camera in Topographic Surveying (United States Geological Survey Bulletin 657)
Format: Paper document - sewn and glued signatures in paper outer cover
Size: 14.7 cm x 23.1cm
Acquisition comment: This item came up in a online search for a different book, but I couldn't resist an obscure, obsolete government document on panoramic landscape photography, topography, and mapping.
[click for larger]
[click for larger]
[click for larger]
Friday, November 14, 2008
cyclocross courses
It's cross season, and I'm hoping to massively increase my attendance to TWO whole events this year. Well, parts of two. So far, I've been to part of one--the annual "Urban Cross" event here in Charlottesville, which is on the site of an old factory that is being redeveloped. The course has some nice elements--a sandpit that degrades entertainingly throughout a race, some deceptively-smooth-looking gravel, a set of railroad-tie steps to ascend, etc. I'll put some pictures up on Flickr soon.
But the more cross races I watch, the more I think of the line from Tom Cuthbertson's "Bike Tripping" (one of my favorite cycling books--"there have been cyclocross races on courses through which some of the riders could stay aboard the bike, bu those weren't serious cyclocross races."
Now, let me first admit that I would probably collapse and die if I tried to take on a cyclocross race, and that I certainly don't have the skills of most of the riders. I have huge respect for anybody who takes on these races. But I've been surprised that most of the courses I've seen in person or online look more like grass-track racing with slopes than the mud, rocks, stumps, narrow trails, rough roads, etc that I expected from the real enthusiasts' descriptions of cyclocross and those great pictures from the French races back in the 30s. Large portions of modern courses just seem to be lines and lines of tape marking out back-and-forth routes across yards and sports fields.
This isn't really meant as a criticism--I'm just wondering why course design has changed this way. Maybe it's that there aren't many places where you can get access to have a race and ride in conditions like that. If you have to use a public park, you're probably not allowed to create a big mudhole or to route the riders through a big swampy puddle. Private land is probably hard to find because of liability and insurance problems.
If anybody has examples of rougher, more varied courses, it'd be fun to see them. It'd also be interesting to have cyclocross "scrambles"--point-to-point races over rough terrain, rather than laps. Of course, that's less spectator-friendly, and makes the land-access problems even more difficult.
[Note to blogger spell-checker: "cyclocross" is a word, so you can stop with the little red underlines.]
But the more cross races I watch, the more I think of the line from Tom Cuthbertson's "Bike Tripping" (one of my favorite cycling books--"there have been cyclocross races on courses through which some of the riders could stay aboard the bike, bu those weren't serious cyclocross races."
Now, let me first admit that I would probably collapse and die if I tried to take on a cyclocross race, and that I certainly don't have the skills of most of the riders. I have huge respect for anybody who takes on these races. But I've been surprised that most of the courses I've seen in person or online look more like grass-track racing with slopes than the mud, rocks, stumps, narrow trails, rough roads, etc that I expected from the real enthusiasts' descriptions of cyclocross and those great pictures from the French races back in the 30s. Large portions of modern courses just seem to be lines and lines of tape marking out back-and-forth routes across yards and sports fields.
This isn't really meant as a criticism--I'm just wondering why course design has changed this way. Maybe it's that there aren't many places where you can get access to have a race and ride in conditions like that. If you have to use a public park, you're probably not allowed to create a big mudhole or to route the riders through a big swampy puddle. Private land is probably hard to find because of liability and insurance problems.
If anybody has examples of rougher, more varied courses, it'd be fun to see them. It'd also be interesting to have cyclocross "scrambles"--point-to-point races over rough terrain, rather than laps. Of course, that's less spectator-friendly, and makes the land-access problems even more difficult.
[Note to blogger spell-checker: "cyclocross" is a word, so you can stop with the little red underlines.]
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
that northwest downhill thing
I google-tripped into one of those videos of mountain-bikers in the northwest flying downhill between tree trunks with moss everywhere, and all I could think was "watch out for the Ewoks!!!!"
Next t-shirt: "I endo'd on Endor."
Next t-shirt: "I endo'd on Endor."
Thursday, November 6, 2008
notice of blog quality standards violation - ref. # 2008-00012D
Landscapecycling LLC's central office received the following e-mail this morning:
NOTICE is hereby given that the blog post quoted below has been found in violation of the expected quality standards of written Internet communication (reference ISO communication standards) by the Federal Communication Standards Agency. Specific objections are included below.
Further violations may result in fines, confiscation of computer equipment, and/or listing of the author's name, home address and other personal information on publicly-accessible print and online violator registries designed to provide citizens with warning of the violator's location and violation history in the interest of community safety.
The author of this blog shall post the full contents of this notice on the blog within 24 hours under penalty of law.
Inspector 47-B
the longlow aesthetic [violation: unnecessarily pretentious and recherche title]
How can a bicycle be beautiful? [Opening with a question--violation of false-creativity standards (Section 13)] It's no more than a spindly arrangement of structural materials and small moving parts. Seen from the side, it's mostly not there--it's hard to take an autofocus picture of a bicycle, since most of the area within the wheels and frame is empty space. [Probable plagiarism--sentence will be referred to Copyright Inspector. Also, repetition violation type 2: failed attempt to reinforce point by unnecessarily restating idea.] But whether or not they are visually beautiful--and some are--bicycles can become attractive through the kinds of experience they suggest or recall. [Clumsy sentence violation]
For me, the bicycles most likely to cause this reaction are traditional-looking steel bikes of a certain type, but this is not an exercise in nostalgia. [Questionable-assertion violation.] Light, nimble road bikes with tires and brakes that can handle anything from paved roads to single-track paths will always be my ideal, no matter what else I also ride and enjoy. Rivendell Bicycle Works used to call these bike "longlows"--road bikes, but with long wheel bases and low bottom brackets. Stable, fun bikes that offer long days of exploration and enjoyment, rather than twitchy racers.[Major received-idea violation--attempting to curry favor with audience by restating idea popularized by more experienced persons. Cf. standards regarding unnecessary repetition of ideas contained in existing works. ]
It's an aesthetic based on implied experience, on the promise of something more than routine transportation and less than high-adrenaline thrills. On expanses of time spent moving through and experiencing a landscape.[Style violation--clichéd attempt to achieve style through use of incomplete sentences] And it can be applied to more than just bicycles. Several years ago, when I toyed with the idea of taking up kayaking, [Poseur violation: Our research shows that you took one 3-day whitewater class, did five or six flatwater kayak rentals, and gave it up. Affected expertise is considered a quality violation]it was neither the whitewater boats nor the long-distance ocean tourers that caught my imagination. The one boat that called the most was the Prijon Yukon Expedition--it's not pared-down like a squirt boat, and it's not designed to cross an ocean. It's not even all that pretty. But it promises long days on wild rivers, and some fun in the rapids when you need it. [see previous comment]
No doubt the longlow ideal could be applied to any vehicle or tool that offers a chance to find, or recapture, the feeling of immersing oneself in a place and an experience, of being on the road through somewhere, and of that being enough.[Major violation: Using platitudes and affectations of wisdom rather than a viable ending paragraph. Any repetition of this category of violation will result in immediate loss of communication privleges.]
Overall rank: B3 Highly Questionable Post. Felonius abuse of communication standards, writing privileges, and reader expectations. Future monitoring and standards enforcement recommended.
Explanatory notes from inspector (optional): Overall, this post demonstrates wanton waste of a viable idea through shabby, easy, ill-considered writing practices. You have been warned.
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The author of this blog shall post the full contents of this notice on the blog within 24 hours under penalty of law.
Inspector 47-B
the longlow aesthetic [violation: unnecessarily pretentious and recherche title]
How can a bicycle be beautiful? [Opening with a question--violation of false-creativity standards (Section 13)] It's no more than a spindly arrangement of structural materials and small moving parts. Seen from the side, it's mostly not there--it's hard to take an autofocus picture of a bicycle, since most of the area within the wheels and frame is empty space. [Probable plagiarism--sentence will be referred to Copyright Inspector. Also, repetition violation type 2: failed attempt to reinforce point by unnecessarily restating idea.] But whether or not they are visually beautiful--and some are--bicycles can become attractive through the kinds of experience they suggest or recall. [Clumsy sentence violation]
For me, the bicycles most likely to cause this reaction are traditional-looking steel bikes of a certain type, but this is not an exercise in nostalgia. [Questionable-assertion violation.] Light, nimble road bikes with tires and brakes that can handle anything from paved roads to single-track paths will always be my ideal, no matter what else I also ride and enjoy. Rivendell Bicycle Works used to call these bike "longlows"--road bikes, but with long wheel bases and low bottom brackets. Stable, fun bikes that offer long days of exploration and enjoyment, rather than twitchy racers.[Major received-idea violation--attempting to curry favor with audience by restating idea popularized by more experienced persons. Cf. standards regarding unnecessary repetition of ideas contained in existing works. ]
It's an aesthetic based on implied experience, on the promise of something more than routine transportation and less than high-adrenaline thrills. On expanses of time spent moving through and experiencing a landscape.[Style violation--clichéd attempt to achieve style through use of incomplete sentences] And it can be applied to more than just bicycles. Several years ago, when I toyed with the idea of taking up kayaking, [Poseur violation: Our research shows that you took one 3-day whitewater class, did five or six flatwater kayak rentals, and gave it up. Affected expertise is considered a quality violation]it was neither the whitewater boats nor the long-distance ocean tourers that caught my imagination. The one boat that called the most was the Prijon Yukon Expedition--it's not pared-down like a squirt boat, and it's not designed to cross an ocean. It's not even all that pretty. But it promises long days on wild rivers, and some fun in the rapids when you need it. [see previous comment]
No doubt the longlow ideal could be applied to any vehicle or tool that offers a chance to find, or recapture, the feeling of immersing oneself in a place and an experience, of being on the road through somewhere, and of that being enough.[Major violation: Using platitudes and affectations of wisdom rather than a viable ending paragraph. Any repetition of this category of violation will result in immediate loss of communication privleges.]
Overall rank: B3 Highly Questionable Post. Felonius abuse of communication standards, writing privileges, and reader expectations. Future monitoring and standards enforcement recommended.
Explanatory notes from inspector (optional): Overall, this post demonstrates wanton waste of a viable idea through shabby, easy, ill-considered writing practices. You have been warned.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
the longlow aesthetic
The Walter Mitty Press, as part of its court-ordered pro bono public-service program, hereby offers number 1 in a series of works by temporarily off-the-road cyclists. These riders are enrolled in an experimental writing-therapy program designed to reduce the quirky moods, daydreaming, and occasional odd physical tics generated by ongoing, involuntary periods of ridelessness.
How can a bicycle be beautiful? It's no more than a spindly arrangement of structural materials and small moving parts. Seen from the side, it's mostly not there--it's hard to take an autofocus picture of a bicycle, since most of the area within the wheels and frame is empty space. But whether or not they are visually beautiful--and some are--bicycles can become attractive through the kinds of experience they suggest or recall.
For me, the bicycles most likely to cause this reaction are traditional-looking steel bikes of a certain type, but this is not an exercise in nostalgia. Light, nimble road bikes with tires and brakes that can handle anything from paved roads to single-track paths will always be my ideal, no matter what else I also ride and enjoy. Rivendell Bicycle Works used to call these bike "longlows"--road bikes, but with long wheel bases and low bottom brackets. Stable, fun bikes that offer long days of exploration and enjoyment, rather than twitchy racers.
It's an aesthetic based on implied experience, on the promise of something more than routine transportation and less than high-adrenaline thrills. On expanses of time spent moving through and experiencing a landscape. And it can be applied to more than just bicycles. Several years ago, when I toyed with the idea of taking up kayaking, it was neither the whitewater boats nor the long-distance ocean tourers that caught my imagination. The one boat that called the most was the Prijon Yukon Expedition--it's not pared-down like a squirt boat, and it's not designed to cross an ocean. It's not even all that pretty. But it promises long days on wild rivers, and some fun in the rapids when you need it.
No doubt the longlow ideal could be applied to any vehicle or tool that offers a chance to find, or recapture, the feeling of immersing oneself in a place and an experience, of being on the road through somewhere, and of that being enough.
How can a bicycle be beautiful? It's no more than a spindly arrangement of structural materials and small moving parts. Seen from the side, it's mostly not there--it's hard to take an autofocus picture of a bicycle, since most of the area within the wheels and frame is empty space. But whether or not they are visually beautiful--and some are--bicycles can become attractive through the kinds of experience they suggest or recall.
For me, the bicycles most likely to cause this reaction are traditional-looking steel bikes of a certain type, but this is not an exercise in nostalgia. Light, nimble road bikes with tires and brakes that can handle anything from paved roads to single-track paths will always be my ideal, no matter what else I also ride and enjoy. Rivendell Bicycle Works used to call these bike "longlows"--road bikes, but with long wheel bases and low bottom brackets. Stable, fun bikes that offer long days of exploration and enjoyment, rather than twitchy racers.
It's an aesthetic based on implied experience, on the promise of something more than routine transportation and less than high-adrenaline thrills. On expanses of time spent moving through and experiencing a landscape. And it can be applied to more than just bicycles. Several years ago, when I toyed with the idea of taking up kayaking, it was neither the whitewater boats nor the long-distance ocean tourers that caught my imagination. The one boat that called the most was the Prijon Yukon Expedition--it's not pared-down like a squirt boat, and it's not designed to cross an ocean. It's not even all that pretty. But it promises long days on wild rivers, and some fun in the rapids when you need it.
No doubt the longlow ideal could be applied to any vehicle or tool that offers a chance to find, or recapture, the feeling of immersing oneself in a place and an experience, of being on the road through somewhere, and of that being enough.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
a day
not much sleep.
car stolen.
co-workers were threatened with violence (not by me)
racking tubercular coughs (doc says don't worry about it).
three weeks without cycling, and with a headache.
work projects going nuts.
enjoyable training-class trip cancelled (not allowed to sign up for any more due to budget cuts).
twice stepped on slugs. once in socks, once in bare feet.
Obama better damn well win.
car stolen.
co-workers were threatened with violence (not by me)
racking tubercular coughs (doc says don't worry about it).
three weeks without cycling, and with a headache.
work projects going nuts.
enjoyable training-class trip cancelled (not allowed to sign up for any more due to budget cuts).
twice stepped on slugs. once in socks, once in bare feet.
Obama better damn well win.
Monday, November 3, 2008
temporary loss of sanity
Forgive me, fellow cyclists, for I have sinned in thought. My only excuse is that three weeks off the bike (and seriously off my game generally) with an invincible sinus infection have driven me insane.
But for those few weeks (and, truth be told, intermittently for quite a while before that), I've been spending a lot of time thinking about taking up...ahem....er....motorcycling. There. I said it.
Never mind that it's been more than half my life since I last rode a motorcycle. Never mind that I don't even have time for cycling, never mind a new activity. (There's no question of motorcycling replacing cycling--I'm not that crazy.) And never mind that I can't afford a motorcycle, that gasoline is expensive, and that my greenie spoutings would sound pretty hypocritical if I took up a motor-sport. Never mind that cyclists are the first bunch of people I've really felt connected to in a long time. I just keep getting drawn back to thinking about riding motorcycles. The problem is, the d*** things are fun and take you to interesting places (just like bicycles; range is the difference).
What this really comes down to in practice, since I lack the main ingredient for the sport, is spending time on an online forum (as usual--my ancestors were apparently all obsessive researchers). And the interesting thing is that my motorcycling interests are very similar to my cycling tendencies--I'm most drawn to back roads, looking around, and simple equipment. No giant flatulent cruisers, no overpowered street racers for me. The motorcycle version of 'cross and touring bikes on trails and rough roads is called "dual sports," and involves a similar kind of "compromise" bikes that do lots of things well enough. And just as with bicycles, I'm more interested in peoples' travels and experiences than the details of their machines.
With luck, I'll soon defeat the evil bacteria colonizing my sinuses, get back on the bike, and come back to my senses. And I have a nearly-finished bicycle project lurking in the basement to reassure me that I haven't totally lost my mind. Not that the bicycle project makes any sense, either, but more about that once the last few parts are finally installed.
But for those few weeks (and, truth be told, intermittently for quite a while before that), I've been spending a lot of time thinking about taking up...ahem....er....motorcycling. There. I said it.
Never mind that it's been more than half my life since I last rode a motorcycle. Never mind that I don't even have time for cycling, never mind a new activity. (There's no question of motorcycling replacing cycling--I'm not that crazy.) And never mind that I can't afford a motorcycle, that gasoline is expensive, and that my greenie spoutings would sound pretty hypocritical if I took up a motor-sport. Never mind that cyclists are the first bunch of people I've really felt connected to in a long time. I just keep getting drawn back to thinking about riding motorcycles. The problem is, the d*** things are fun and take you to interesting places (just like bicycles; range is the difference).
What this really comes down to in practice, since I lack the main ingredient for the sport, is spending time on an online forum (as usual--my ancestors were apparently all obsessive researchers). And the interesting thing is that my motorcycling interests are very similar to my cycling tendencies--I'm most drawn to back roads, looking around, and simple equipment. No giant flatulent cruisers, no overpowered street racers for me. The motorcycle version of 'cross and touring bikes on trails and rough roads is called "dual sports," and involves a similar kind of "compromise" bikes that do lots of things well enough. And just as with bicycles, I'm more interested in peoples' travels and experiences than the details of their machines.
With luck, I'll soon defeat the evil bacteria colonizing my sinuses, get back on the bike, and come back to my senses. And I have a nearly-finished bicycle project lurking in the basement to reassure me that I haven't totally lost my mind. Not that the bicycle project makes any sense, either, but more about that once the last few parts are finally installed.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
waterscape swimming
Thanks to an online discussion about the new 10km open-water swimming event at the Olympics (sounds exciting--sorry I missed the coverage), I found a link to a news piece at the Outdoor Swimming Society site about "swimhiking"--travelling waterways with a waterproof "swimsac". No need to go back to where you left your towel and clothes--just take them along.
There's also a nice Guardian article on the same topic:
I really like this idea--it has the same feel as landscape exploration by bike, but a completely different setting. It also recalls all the stories--and daydreams--that I used to love, about escapes and clandestine, sneaky travelling. As the subject of the article says, "What I love about swimhiking...is that you are mixing land and water, so you feel a bit like James Bond and Tarzan."
I wish I had come up with this idea--but then, having grown up in South Florida, I would have felt a bit put off by the alligators.
There's also a nice Guardian article on the same topic:
It looks a bit far, but I nod and follow his lead. Hayes has been swimhiking since 2002, when he decided that combining his two favourite activities, swimming and hiking, was the perfect way to get fit and explore the countryside. "With swimhiking you are freed from the constraints of hiking. On foot, rivers and lakes become a barrier, but if you swimhike you can go much further, or at least in more directions," he says while doing front crawl.
I really like this idea--it has the same feel as landscape exploration by bike, but a completely different setting. It also recalls all the stories--and daydreams--that I used to love, about escapes and clandestine, sneaky travelling. As the subject of the article says, "What I love about swimhiking...is that you are mixing land and water, so you feel a bit like James Bond and Tarzan."
I wish I had come up with this idea--but then, having grown up in South Florida, I would have felt a bit put off by the alligators.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
landscapes - a distinction
Found this again recently:
The beaded lizard is part of the landscape. Seldom is it part of the scenery. A distinction to bear in mind. Scenery is what you look at. Landscape is where you live and die.
-- David Quammen, "The Beaded Lizard: Sanctuary in Tucon", in The Flight of the Iguana
not rv, but r/v
The Cabin Fever Press, an imprint of Walter Mitty Publishers, is proud, or at least compelled, to bring you the following Bicycle Thought Experiment, in a special delayed release (aka finding the lost draft in Blogger....):
It is a sure sign of bicycle deviancy when three weeks of no bike commuting starts to lead to more odd cycling thoughts, rather than fewer.
This time, it was a book that set things off. I've been idly leafing through Galen Rowell's In the Throne Room of the Mountain Gods, an account of a 1975 expedition to climb K2, the second-highest mountain in the world. I'm not generally interested in Big Expeditions with hundreds of porters, etc., but this book was claimed to be an honest report on the pitfalls and complexities of such a venture.
But the most interesting part (so far) for me has been Rowell's encounter with George Schaller, a conservationist and field biologist who wrote one of my favorite books, Stones of Silence. In contrast to the massive K2 expedition, Schaller was travelling with one box of food, one Pakistani companion, and one porter/assistant. And rather than attempting to launch a few climbers up a rock, his "expedition" was there to study the possibility of creating a massive national park around K2.
I might also have been influenced by my five-year-old son, who recently decided that he wanted to "play explorers, because explorers are better than pirates." We were on a boardwalk near the Chesapeake Bay, heading for a playground. So I told him that the boardwalk and/or the playset could be his "research vessel" (rather than a pirate ship, as previously planned).
Thinking about all this, I began to wonder if and how explorers (in a more Alpine/small-scale style) and field scientists might make use of bicycles to increase their speed and mobility, or maybe increase the range for any given amount of food and supplies. Rather than trains of porters trampling the routes and disrupting the local economies, could people get around under their own power more easily if they rode bikes? What's the two-wheeled equivalent of a research vessel?
Of course, lots of people have done very rugged tours by bike, so this is not a new idea, but it's not one I've put much thought into before (or, to be honest, am ever likely to need for my own use). But it's fun to imagine, at least.
It is a sure sign of bicycle deviancy when three weeks of no bike commuting starts to lead to more odd cycling thoughts, rather than fewer.
This time, it was a book that set things off. I've been idly leafing through Galen Rowell's In the Throne Room of the Mountain Gods, an account of a 1975 expedition to climb K2, the second-highest mountain in the world. I'm not generally interested in Big Expeditions with hundreds of porters, etc., but this book was claimed to be an honest report on the pitfalls and complexities of such a venture.
But the most interesting part (so far) for me has been Rowell's encounter with George Schaller, a conservationist and field biologist who wrote one of my favorite books, Stones of Silence. In contrast to the massive K2 expedition, Schaller was travelling with one box of food, one Pakistani companion, and one porter/assistant. And rather than attempting to launch a few climbers up a rock, his "expedition" was there to study the possibility of creating a massive national park around K2.
I might also have been influenced by my five-year-old son, who recently decided that he wanted to "play explorers, because explorers are better than pirates." We were on a boardwalk near the Chesapeake Bay, heading for a playground. So I told him that the boardwalk and/or the playset could be his "research vessel" (rather than a pirate ship, as previously planned).
Thinking about all this, I began to wonder if and how explorers (in a more Alpine/small-scale style) and field scientists might make use of bicycles to increase their speed and mobility, or maybe increase the range for any given amount of food and supplies. Rather than trains of porters trampling the routes and disrupting the local economies, could people get around under their own power more easily if they rode bikes? What's the two-wheeled equivalent of a research vessel?
Of course, lots of people have done very rugged tours by bike, so this is not a new idea, but it's not one I've put much thought into before (or, to be honest, am ever likely to need for my own use). But it's fun to imagine, at least.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
not seen while riding
[cheating here -- this is a repost of something posted elsewhere a couple of years ago, but this topic was on my mind again]
A few nights ago, I was watching an archaeology show on TV (I know, bad dog). The site was in farm country in England, along a nice narrow country road that had probably been there for several hundred years (although the asphalt was surely not earlier than 1740). Of course, looking at this road, I'm thinking, "what a great place to go for a ride." Turns out that the scenic field by the road, which at first glance only contained grass and sheep, also included a 15th-century house with 12th-century artifacts underneath, scattered bits of Roman pottery, two Iron Age roundhouses, and an Iron Age circular earthwork or henge of some sort. Most of the contours of the field were formed by medieval plowing, and hadn't changed much since. From above, you could a medieval and a prehistoric path down a tall hill to the settled area. All great stuff for a might-have-been medievalist and archaeologist.
All this made me think of Kent's Boiling Frog Road trip report:
"It is easy to succumb to the illusion of independence on these trips, so
I try to guard against that. I am not alone on these trips, these are not
journeys of discovery through new lands. These are trips of rediscovery
and I'm rolling in the tracks of ghosts"
...and of John Stilgoe's _Outside Lies Magic_. But Stilgoe was talking about figuring out a place from what you can see while you ride. Even if you're inclined to look around while riding, it's fairly mind-boggling to think of how much history (human and natural) you *aren't* seeing (or maybe can't see) as you pass by. I find myself wondering about the waves of settlement, de- and re-forestation, etc., when I'm out, even on the short rides I tend to do these days, but a lot of it is still guesswork. Oh, well, food for the imagination, I suppose.
Time to get outside.
A few nights ago, I was watching an archaeology show on TV (I know, bad dog). The site was in farm country in England, along a nice narrow country road that had probably been there for several hundred years (although the asphalt was surely not earlier than 1740). Of course, looking at this road, I'm thinking, "what a great place to go for a ride." Turns out that the scenic field by the road, which at first glance only contained grass and sheep, also included a 15th-century house with 12th-century artifacts underneath, scattered bits of Roman pottery, two Iron Age roundhouses, and an Iron Age circular earthwork or henge of some sort. Most of the contours of the field were formed by medieval plowing, and hadn't changed much since. From above, you could a medieval and a prehistoric path down a tall hill to the settled area. All great stuff for a might-have-been medievalist and archaeologist.
All this made me think of Kent's Boiling Frog Road trip report:
"It is easy to succumb to the illusion of independence on these trips, so
I try to guard against that. I am not alone on these trips, these are not
journeys of discovery through new lands. These are trips of rediscovery
and I'm rolling in the tracks of ghosts"
...and of John Stilgoe's _Outside Lies Magic_. But Stilgoe was talking about figuring out a place from what you can see while you ride. Even if you're inclined to look around while riding, it's fairly mind-boggling to think of how much history (human and natural) you *aren't* seeing (or maybe can't see) as you pass by. I find myself wondering about the waves of settlement, de- and re-forestation, etc., when I'm out, even on the short rides I tend to do these days, but a lot of it is still guesswork. Oh, well, food for the imagination, I suppose.
Time to get outside.
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