Hey, Have You Got A Spare?

In my generation, some kids grew up wanting to be astronauts.  Others wanted to be actors, politicians or rock musicians.  I didn't share any of those dreams, except for the last one, and I achieved it, if peripherally:  I was part of a punk rock band that played in bars where patrons were too angry or drunk or stupid to know or care how awful we were.  As a "percussionist" (that's what I told people I was; in reality, it was a fancy way of saying "drummer") and backup singer (another euphemism), all I really had to do was bang and scream to songs--a few of which I wrote--with lyrics that are unprintable even in non-family publications and websites.

I say I achieved my dream "peripherally" not only because I was even worse than any of those booze-addled patrons may have thought I was. You see, I didn't want so much to be a musician as to bang and wail my way into a finale in which I smashed a guitar onstage and screamed, "Pete Townshend is bullshit!." It wasn't because  I hated The Who's string-plucker (although we all know he couldn't hold a Fender to Jimi Hendrix or even Eric Clapton); I just thought it would be a way of showing how much more angrily hip or fashionably angry I was than everybody else--which, in the internal and external worlds I inhabited, would have been saying something, if I didn't quite know to whom.

Anyway, I mention all of this to mention my real dreams:  to work on the Calypso with Jacques Cousteau (which I wanted to do even more than to be a marine biologist, which is what I told my parents, teachers and guidance counselors I wanted to do) and to win the Nobel Prize for Literature and the Tour de France.

About wearing the maillot jaune while flying down the Boulevard de Champs-Elysees:  Yes, I wanted that, but at that time it was about as realistic a dream for me, or any other American, as it was for a newly-freed female slave to become President.  I did, however, have a brief and inglorious racing career (no prize money, but a few prizes and a third-place trophy I still have somewhere) and, partly as a result of that part of my life, realized a related dream:  a Campagnolo-equipped bicycle.

As I rode, I realized that some parts--especially the hubs, bottom brackets and brakes--lived up to their reputations.  While none were substandard, a couple of pieces weren't quite what I expected. One was the Nuovo Record rear derailleur. Yes, it was well-made and nicely-finished.  It also shifted predictably, at least once you knew its, shall we say, quirks.  But when it was introduced, in 1967, it offered a better shift than almost anything else available.

Within a few years, other derailleurs that were developed at the same time offered easier, more accurate and more predictable shifts and cost less and others that were lighter, simpler or prettier, became widely available.  And all of them were less expensive than the Nuovo Record, let alone the Super Record. But Campagnolo equipment remained de rigueur in the peloton because of its head-start in establishing itself.  Teams gave their riders Campagnolo-equipped bikes--and folks like me saved our pennies or lived, ironically, on foods that wouldn't be allowed on any training table--because the spare wheels and parts in neutral-support vehicles were from Campagnolo, and the spare bikes had Campy equipment.  In other words, what we and they rode was dictated, in part, by interchangability.

I thought about that when reading about what Victor Campanaerts planned to ride in Omloop Het Nieuwsblad, the race that traditionally opens the season in his home country of Belgium.  His Ridley Noah fast was equipped with a Dura-Ace 12-speed system--with two twists: a single chainring in the front and a Classified Powershift two-speed rear hub.

The rear hub allows Campanaerts to ride a single chainring (62 teeth!), thus eliminating the need for a front derailleur.  That makes the bike somewhat more aerodynamic but, more important for the purposes of Omloops, reduces the chances of "dropping" a chain. Apparently, that has been a frequent occurrence during the race which includes cobblestones and is often seen as a kind of earlier, smaller version of Paris-Roubaix.

That setup means, of course, that if he were to have  a problem with the hub—or get a flat—he wouldn’t be able to ride one of the spare bikes and the neutral-support mechanics won't have a replacement wheel or parts for it.  (When racers get flats, the wheel is changed:  Fixing the flat would take too much time.) So...would he revert to a conventional system?

Turns out, he had another bike just like it.  Apparently, he didn’t need it.

Stacking Up

 Around 1980, “aerodynamics” became all the rage in bicycling.  Certainly, there are advantages in shaping parts to minimize air drag for some riders, particularly time trialists.  But studies have revealed that, for the most part, the benefits of aerodynamics accrue only to cyclists riding at more than a certain speed—45 KPH, if I remember correctly.

Still, that didn’t stop bike and component manufacturers from making “aerodynamic “ bikes and parts for loaded bike touring or even “aerodynamic” versions—which looked as if they’d wandered into a vise—of Huffy and Columbia ten-speeds sold in department stores. 

Now, it seems there is a trend in the opposite direction. At least one European team is making part of its rolling stock less aerodynamic.

I’m not talking about the bikes.  Rather, a new anti-aerodynamic principle is being applied to the team cars and vans that follow riders during major races.  Typically, these vehicles carry one or two spare bikes and, perhaps, some wheels and other parts.  But, lately, some teams have been stacking five or more bikes atop those cars and vans.

The reason, apparently, is to create a slipstream for the riders ahead of them.  Not only does a taller stack, like a higher wall, blocks more wind.  But, because the vehicle is moving, it pushes air ahead of it—in the direction of the riders.

As far as anyone knows, neither the Union Cycliste Internanationale (UCI) nor any other governing body has a rule against this practice.  If the UCI were to pass such a rule, I have to wonder if it will do as much to deter bad behavior as, oh, their anti-doping rules.

The Jersey Off His Back

A domestique is, literally, a servant.

On a cycling team, it's his or her job to help the team leader win the race.  That often means riding for long stretches in front of the leader, making a slipstream that allows him or her to conserve energy for a breakaway or climb.  It can also include inserting themselves into a breakaway and forcing other teams to chase, or to chase another breakway that threatens their team.    

A domestique can also  bring water or food from team cars to the leader.  He or she might also be called upon to give up a wheel--or even a bicycle--if the leader's machine fails.  I've also heard of domestiques giving leaders the jerseys off their backs!

How far should a domestique go to help the team's leader win?  

  

Tubes--And No Tubulars

 Tubeless tires have been one of the most-ballyhooed developments in cycling during the past few years.  I have not used any myself, but I can see the appeal for certain kinds of riding, particularly off-road:  Tires ridden at low pressures are more prone to "pinch" flats than to punctures.  

The debate over whether tubeless tires will displace their more traditional counterparts reminds me of the argument I heard when I first became a dedicated cyclist:  tubulars vs. clinchers.

My first "serious" bike, a Peugeot PX-10, came with tubular tires.  Their casings wrapped around the tube and were sewn together (hence the nickname, "sew-ups).  They were then attached with a cement with the consistency of applesauce (until it dried) to a rim with a crescent-shaped surface.

The fully-enclosed tube made for a more buoyant (not for nothing do the French call these tires "pneus boyeaux") and lively ride.  They also were lighter than any clinchers available at the time, which accentuated their performance advantage over "clinchers," the tires 99 percent of us ride.

Clincher (top) and tubular tire.

Tubed (left) and tubeless clincher tires

Getting a flat on any tire is not fun, but fixing one on a tubular is an ordeal.  We usually carried a spare with us and, if we flatted, we changed the tire, letting the cement dry to about the consistency of bubble gum.  Then we'd cross our fingers for the ride home. Professional racing teams are trailed by cars, which usually carried spare wheels with tires glued solidly onto them.

That is why, for my first tour-- which I did on the PX-10--I had a set of clincher wheels built.  In those days, some riders toured (with loaded panniers!) on tubulars, but I was not going to do any such thing, especially when I ventured into the countryside of a foreign land.  Those wheels--my first custom-built set--and tires, together, weighed about two kilograms (a pound and a quarter) more than the tubulars, even though they were among the lightest of their kind available.  The tires were less prone to flats and much easier to fix.

Over time, companies like Michelin, Continental, Panaracer and IRC developed lighter clincher tires with improved durability, and Mavic created  rims--the "E" series--that adapted the weight-to-strength ratio of tubular rims to clinchers and added a "hook" bead that made it possible to use high-pressure folding clincher tires.  (Any rim made today with even a pretense of quality, in whatever diameter or width, is based on the “E” rims’ design.) Thus, the gap in speed and road feel between tubulars and clinchers narrowed to the point to the point that whatever benefits tubulars offered no longer offset their fragility, at least for most riders.

After my brief foray into racing, I kept one set of tubular wheels for fast rides.  But, as I developed other ineterests (and relationships), I decided that I'd rather spend my time riding than fixing flats.  Also, tire-making companies were offering fewer options in tubulars, or stopped offering them altogether.  So, about twenty years ago, I rode tubulars for the last time.  I'd own my last set of such wheels and tires, briefly, when I bought "Zebbie," my 1984 Mercian King of Mercia, just over a year ago.  Hal Ruzal built me a nice set of clinchers (with classic Campagnolo hubs and Mavic Open Pro rims) and I sold the tubulars that came with "Zebbie" about a month after she came into my life.

I mention all of this to provide context for a story I came across yesterday.  It seems that the tubular vs. clincher, and not the tubeless vs. tubed, question has once again reared its head.

For the 2021 racing season (assuming, of course, there is one), both of Specialized Bike's  World Tour men's teams--Bora Hansgrohe and Deceuninck-Quick Step--have committed to abandoning tubulars for all races except the early-season classics.  Both teams plan, eventually, to get away from sew-ups altogether.

Roval Rapide CLX wheel

What might surprise some people, though, is that they are not casting their lot with tubeless tires.  While both teams used tubeless, as well as tubular, wheels and wheelsets during the shortened 2020 season, their decision to go with clinchers might have been inspired by Julian Alaphilippe's Tour de France stage win on them.  Also, Roval, the wheel-maker of choice for many in the peloton, is making two of its lightest road wheelsets for use only with tubed clincher tires. "When it's possible to create tubeless wheel/tyre systems that outperform tube-type clincher systems, that's what we'll recommend to riders," read a statement from the company that, for the past couple of years, looked ready to go all-in on tubeless clincher tires.

So, for the time being, some of today's young racers on high-tech carbon-fiber bikes have returned to the choice many of us made two or three decades ago:  clincher tires.  With inner tubes.

What They Did Before And After They Raced: Jean Hoffmann and Jacques Anquetil

An article in BicycleQuarterly No. 54 outlined the life and career of Jean Hoffmann.

Jean Hoffmann.  From pdw

Chances are, unless you’ve read BQ 54, you haven’t heard of him.  I hadn’t either, until my copy of the magazine showed up in my mailbox. On the other hand, anyone who has followed bicycle racing for as long as it takes to lap the Arc de Triomphe has heard of someone who “served in the trenches”, if you will, with him.

That compatriot is none other than Jacques Anquetil, the first five-time winner of the Tour de France. 

Jacques Anquetil.  From Ina.fr

They rode for the same team—the legendary Raphael Geminiani —though not at the same time.  They did, however, serve together with the same French Army battalion in Algeria.  (At that time, even such luminaries as Yves St.Laurent had their careers interrupted for mandatory military service.)  Although Hoffmann crashed and was dropped after the 14^th stage of the only Tour he rode, in 1959,  he arguably was, in his own way, as much of an iconic figure of French cycling in the 1950’s and ‘60’s.

In those days, someone who won amateur hill-climbing competitions like the Poly de Chanteloup or rode at or near the head of a major randonnee like the Paris-Brest-Paris could garner nearly as much attention as the professional riders who won multi-day racers (which France certainly didn’t lack!) enjoyed.  In fact, Hoffmann was known in the cycling press—a major part of the French media at that time—before anyone heard of Anquetil.

It didn’t hurt Hoffmann’s popularity that he so dominated the qualifier for the Poly—on, as he recalls, a heavy old bike with a single chainring and “way-too-large gears” at age seventeen that Rene Herse loaned his own bike to Hoffmann for the actual competition.  It almost goes without saying that Herse was delighted to have Hoffmann on his team—so much so that he gave Hoffmann a velo de service that was chromed, like Rene’s own, rather than the typical Herse blue (a lovely color, by the way) other team members received.

After riding on Herse’s team for a few years, Hoffmann couldn’t resist the urge to race.  He quickly found success, mainly because of his climbing abilities.  One of his major successes was winning the climber’s jersey in the 1955 Peace Race, often nicknamed “the Tour de France of the East”.  He was selected to ride in the 1956 Olympics.  But, fate intervened:  He—and Anquetil—were drafted.

After completing his military service, Hoffmann continued his racing career, turning pro in the year he rode his only Tour.  He would retire from racing after three years.  He never stopped riding, though:  He rode gentleman races—which pitted young riders against older ones and gave the latter a handicap based on his age—as well as rides like the Audax and Randonee Paris-Brest-Paris.  Today, at age 81, he does a 50 km ride (which includes at least one climb) every day. 

Interestingly, he rides a Look carbon bike.  He has no interest in machines like the one he rode for Herse’s team in the ‘50’s.  In those days, it was the most technically advanced bike available; being a racer at heart, he moved on to what technology offers today.

As we all know, Jacques Anquetil not only rode in the Tour; he would become the first cyclist to win that race five times.  No one disputes that he is among the handful of greatest racers of all time: in the same league as Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault, Gino Bartali and a few others.  He retired in late 1969. 

In contrast to Hoffmann, Anquetil did not come to racing from the world of randonees and other such endurance rides.  He also didn’t retreat to that milieu.  In fact, Anquetil got on his bike only three times after retiring.  “I have done enough cycling,” he declared. He died in 1987, at the age of 53.

After reading the BQ article, I have the impression that Jean Hoffmann might live to be 100—and won’t stop riding!

In Living Colors

Back when I was racing, we had to wear white socks.  I don't remember whether that was a UCI, or merely a USCF (now USA Cycling), rule. But wearing any other color under your Detto Pietro cleated shoes got you disqualified from a race.

In the early days of mountain biking, riders wore black socks in defiance of that tradition.

I wonder what they--or the UCI or USCF--would make of this:




From Biking Toronto



Riding A Bend

Back when I was racing, I, like many of my peers in the peloton (and other cyclists who had racing fantasies) judged bikes and components mainly on one trait: stiffness.

This was especially true of frames and, specifically, the rear triangle.  Any flexing, we thought, wasted our energies and robbed us of precious seconds.  

Of course, a bike that rides like a jackhammer can subvert one's ambitions just as much as a "wet noodle".  After all, if you're getting bounced around, all of that vibration can wear on you, no matter how tightly-put together you are.  

I was thinking about that when I came across a bike none of us would have gotten anywhere near:

A completely-bendable frame.  It makes me think of a joke I heard about an all-rubber suspension bridge.  If nothing else, the bike solves the problem of how to lock up both wheels when you're parked in a high-theft area.

The frame flops loose with the flick of a lever.  I wonder whether there's any way to accidentally jar the lever while riding.  I take that back:  If I were riding the bike, I don't think I'd want to find out!

A World Cup Tournament Of Cycling Nations

In an earlier post, I briefly described an interesting paradox:  Some of the nations that have dominated bicycle racing are also among those that have been among the world's elite in football (what we Americans call "soccer"). Yet, the wheel and the ball rarely, if ever, cross each other's paths.

I was thinking about this again, today, as the World Cup football tournament opened with host nation Brazil's team beating its counterpart from Croatia.  Brazil perennially fields one of the world's strongest sides and, playing in its home country, is expected to win the tournament.

I couldn't help but to notice that the teams that have the best chance of keeping the Brazilians from winning it all come from Argentina, Germany and Spain. Other teams believed to have at least an outside chance are those of Portugal, France, Belgium, Italy, England and Uruguay.

Now, I don't have to tell you about the cycling traditions of France, Belgium, Italy, England, Spain, Germany or even Portugal:  Each has produced a disproportionate share of winners of the world's top bicycle races.  Cycling is also a popular form of recreation in those countries, and using bicycles for transportation is making a resurgence in them. And all of them, with the possible exception of Portugal, have their share of notable bike builders.

Of the three South American soccer powerhouses in the tournament, Argentina seems to have more of a racing tradition and culture than the others.  In its relatively brief history, the six-stage Tour de San Luis has become an important part of the UCI Americas Tour, one of the Continental Circuits sanctioned by l'Union Cycliste Internationale.  Levi Leipheimer won the TdeSL in 2012, one of the last triumphs of his career.

Argentina was also home, for many years, to Spanish-born Francisco Cuevas, considered one of the most meticulous craftsmen among frame-builders.  He would later emigrate to the US and set up shop in Queens, a stone's throw from where I live now and even closer to the Kissena Velodrome.
Some other fine builders practiced their trade in the home of the tango, and a company called Saavedra produced some rather nice components, most of which were Campagnolo knockoffs.  One of their most interesting pieces was a headset that looked like a cross between a Campy Super Record and a Stronglight Delta.  But, at heart, it was more like the Delta with its roller bearings.  But perhaps their best-known product was their Turbo rim, which became popular among time trialists because it was the lightest--although far from the most durable--available.

Perhaps one reason why Argentina had a relatively strong bicycle culture and industry is that so many Europeans--particularly Italians-- emigrated to it. Indeed, it's often been called the most European of Latin American countries.

Uruguay doesn't seem to have the kind of cycling history Argentina can claim.  But, to be fair, it's a much smaller country, only about the size of Connecticut. On the other hand, a Google search of "bicycling in Uruguay" seems to turn up nothing but rave reviews in which two-wheeled tourists rave about the good roads, spectacular scenery, rich history and friendly local people they encounter.

That leaves us with Brazil.  It doesn't seem to have much of a history of road racing, but there seem to be a lot of downhill races in various parts of the country.  And, as some have noted, the popularity of cycling for transportation and recreation declined as the bicycle was increasingly seen as a "poor man's" vehicle.  But that image is starting to change, and a bicycle culture is developing in Sao Paolo and other cities.  

The only Brazilian bicycles I've ever seen were made by Caloi.  They make a variety of bikes, but all the Calois I've seen were mountain bikes.  I first started noticing them in the early '90's, around the time I took up off-road riding. Their aluminum bikes seemed like lower-rent versions of Cannondales.  I haven't seen any lately; then again, I haven't been a mountain biker in some time.

Brazil has won more World Cup football titles than any other nations.  How soon before a cyclist from that country wins Le Tour, Il Giro or La Vuelta? 

November Discs

Those of us who are writers or other creative artists have our own ways of getting started.  One obvious way for a writer is, of course, reading.  But many of us also follow visual cues such--or, as you might expect, take walks or bike rides.

When I first started writing poetry, I would sometimes begin my work with word associations.  For example, if I looked at the sky, I might write that word, then "flight", "wind", "skip", "bliss" or other words, and write a couple of lines using those words.

These days, I sometimes play a version of that game, if you will, on Google or some other search engine.  I might type in a word or phrase and see what comes up.

I did that a moment ago.  I typed in "bicycle november" and came up with a bunch of things, including a shop called November Bicycles.

Of course, I checked them out.  They're very much a racing-oriented shop, so I may not ever buy anything from them.  However, I like its owners' philosophy--or, at least, what I gleaned of it from the blog that's part of their site.

For one thing, they feel that racing bikes--and, especially wheels--cost too much.  So, as they explain, they market their own products and bypass many of the distribution channels through which other retailers obtain the merchandise they sell.

And they clearly have their own opinions about riding and equipment.  At least those opinions seem to be based on experience and common sense--and, unlike at least one other would be philosopher-bicycle retailer, they're  not evangelizing or selling a lifestyle.

Mike and Dave of November Bicycles

One blog post I found particularly interesting was "My Opinion On Disc Brakes."  In it, the author admits that he uses discs on at least one of his bikes.  But he also doesn't relish the prospect of them becoming the de facto industry standard for all bikes.  For one thing, trying to squeeze them into a road bike, which has narrower frame spacing than a mountain or cyclo-cross bike, can be problematic, especially if the bike has an 11-cog rear cassette.  The only way it seems possible to make it work is to use a brake with a smaller rotor, which negates most of the advantage a disc is supposed to have over caliper brakes.

About that advantage, he's skeptical, if not doubtful.  He also mentions problems in keeping them adjusted:  On some models, on some bikes,it's all but impossible to keep the pads mounted close enough to the rotor so that braking response is quick and powerful, without the pad occasionally rubbing on the rotor as you ride.  So you choose between response, power and modulation or being able to ride at more than a snail's pace.

What I found interesting is that the arguments he makes against disc brakes--except for the difficulty of using them with 11 (or even 10) cogs are ones I and any number of other mechanics could have made thirty years ago.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, "new" ideas in bike design (or almost any other area, for that matter) almost always are reiterations of things that had been done before.  For example, German manufacturer Altenberger made dual-pivot sidepull caliper brakes during the 1960's and '70's.  A few bikes were equipped with them; as one mechanic lamented, "They have the worst features of center pulls and side pulls, and none of the good features."  About twenty years ago, Shimano resurrected the dual-pivot concept and eliminated most of the problems encountered on the Altenbergers.

So it was with disc brakes.  As I recall, a Japanese company, a French company and Phil Wood made them.  For the latter, it was probably the only faulty product he ever made:  They were recalled.  But they, and the others, had the same problems with adjustability and issues with rotor size the author of November Bicycles mentions.  

Back in my day, the only bicycles that used discs were tandems.  Because tandeming has always been one of the smaller niches of the bicycling world, ideas, innovations and products developed for them rarely find their way onto other kinds of bikes.  That, and the problems I mentioned, are the reasons why disc brakes all but disappeared by the mid-1980's.

An Old Riding Partner--Or Racing Rival?

"Mind if I ride your wheel?"

"No, not at all!"

He didn't realize it's the best--or, at least my favorite--question anyone has asked me in a while. It's  as good as "How old are you?  Forty?"

We'd been playing "tag" along Cross Bay Boulevard, the road that runs the length of an island in Jamaica Bay between Howard Beach and Rockaway Beach.  It's a long (about 4km) flat stretch, which makes almost anyone on a bike feel like a sprinter, at least for a few minutes.  The day was sunny, though chilly, and we were buffeted by the winds one expects at this time of year.  Still, I think both he and I felt  about ten years younger.

Actually, I felt even younger than that. A man--a trim one, who looked like he'd been riding more than I'd been--wanting to draft my wheel.  Hey, if he'd asked me, I probably would have pulled him with one hand!

Somehow he looked familiar.  He was maybe a centimeter, if that, taller than me and, as I mentioned, trimmer.  His dark beard was flecked with gray, and his fair black skin had a few small wrinkles.  I'd've guessed him to be close to my own age.  That guess would turn out to be correct.

As we talked, I couldn't help but to think we'd met--actually, ridden--together.  When I was living in Park Slope, he was living on the other side of Prospect Park, in Crown Heights.  Now he lives in Bedford-Stuyvesant.  So, naturally, we talked about riding in Prospect Park, and how we both had the "ten lap" rule:  Once we could ride that much in the park without much effort--something that would happen around this time of year, maybe a bit earlier--we'd "graduate" to longer rides outside the park,and even outside of Brooklyn or New York City.  I had a feeling I'd ridden with him on at least one of those longer rides; he had the same feeling. 

He also mentioned that he'd road-raced, around the same time I did.  Like me, he quit racing (and I also stopped riding off-road) after turning 40:  Although, ironically, I had more strength and endurance than I did 15 years earlier, my wounds weren't healing as quickly as they once did.  He also gave that as a reason for not chasing trophies, and other riders.

I rode with him for a couple of hours and, actually, off the route I'd planned to ride.  But I didn't mind:  Just as I was wondering whether I'd ever get myself into any kind of shape, ever again, he wanted to ride my wheel.  And he thought I'd been riding more than he'd been.  To be fair, I have to give at least some of the credit to Arielle:

To answer a question you might be asking:  He gave me his name (which was familiar) and told me where he works.

Mondonico Criterium: A Beginning And An End

From looking at this blog and my bikes, you have probably figured out that my favorite color is purple.

Today, I'm going to write about my first purple bike.

From what I'm told, Antonio Mondonico himself built this bike back in 1992.  I got new around Christmas of that year.  At that time, many of the Italian "master" builders like Mondonico and Colnago were still building their own bikes, though some were raced with the names of teams or sponsors on them.

This was the fourth Italian bike I owned, if I recall correctly.  Although I went through a period in which I would ride nothing but Italian bikes (the Mondonico was part of it), I was never entirely convinced of the Italian mystique, though the bikes I had were quite good.

There were two ways in which this bike stood out from the other Italian bikes I've owned and ridden.  One of them is in the finish and details.  Some Italian bikes were quite pretty; others were garish (like the Gios, in my opinion) and others simply gaudy.  My Mondonico was, I thought, distinctive and surprisingly crisp for a purple Italian bike.  The lugwork was very sharp-edged, and the outlines were clear.  And, the paint was not only pretty; it seemed to hold up better than the paint on other Italian bikes I had.

The other way this bike distinguished itself--from my other Italian bikes (and, for that matter, other bikes I've owned) is in its handling.  If I'm not mistaken, it had slightly steeper angles than other road bikes I've owned.  In fact, its geometry was remarkably similar to a track bike I would acquire about a year after I got the Mondonico.  A post about that bike is coming soon.

Its geometry meant that this bike was intended for criteriums: the sorts of races in which large numbers of riders pedal through a short course of closed-off city streets.  The length of the race is usually determined by the number of laps or the time; in either event, a "crit" typically lasts an hour or less.  

The Mondonico had what one might expect of such a bike:  quick acceleration and snappy handling.  I used to have a lot of fun riding it in Prospect and Central Parks (where I raced it a few times), and on similar kinds of courses. However, it wasn't the most comfortable of bikes on longer rides, even after I changed the seatpost to one with more setback than the one I originally had and fiddled with the saddle position.

Also, the Mondonico was a smaller size (53.5 cm, if I recall correctly) than my previous racing bikes, as I wanted a shorter top tube.  However, I think using a longer seat post than I used on previous bikes exacerbated the strain the steep seat angle created on my thigh and shin ligaments.  That would also be part of the reason why I would sell this bike after about three and a half years, when I realized that criterium-type races would never be the "main event" of my cycling life.

One other way which this bike is noteworthy, at least for me, is that while it was my first purple bike, it was also the last I rode with tubular (sew-up) tires.  In addition to the sew-ups, I had a set of clinchers for this bike; they were the wheels I rode most of the time.  When I sold the Mondonico, I also sold my last pair of tubular wheels and tires.

Taming The Bicycle

From High Wheel Bicycle

On my bicycle, I've raced, toured, commuted and delivered pizzas, books, payroll checks, blueprints, contracts, machine parts and a few packages with "don't ask don't tell" policies, if you know what I mean.


I've thumped along potholed city streets, rumbled down rocky hills, rolled along county roads and routes departmantles past fields, castles, cathedrals and through forests and villages. I've woven my way through pacelines and drafted riders I would pass and others who would ride in races, and in places, I have never seen.   I've cycled over ice and through fire.  (I'm not making that up!)  I've ridden alone, with friends, with lovers and after breakups.  And I've pedalled away from a person or two.

On the other hand, I've never done BMX, bicycle polo or paintball on bicycles.  And I've never ridden a high-wheeler, although I sometimes think I'd like to.  After all, my cycling ancestors did so.  They include Auguste Rodin, H.G. Wells and Mark Twain, who wrote an incomparable account of the experience.  


He tamed his bike the way he tamed just about everything else: with his wit and irony.  Really, I don't see how a cyclist can not develop at least a little bit of either quality.  

I Rode That Way Then Because This Is How I Ride Now

"Velouria" wrote about me and this blog on her "Lovely Bicycle!" blog.  


She made me blush.  I may not know much, but I know this:  The only thing better than a man who can make a woman blush is another woman who can make another woman blush!


Part of me wonders whether I deserve such a wonderful write-up. First of all, look at the photo at the top of her blog and the one at the top of this one.  Not only is she (or whoever took that photo) a better photographer than I'll ever be, she's also more beautiful and stylish.   Take a look another look at that photo:  Do you really think I can compete with that?


Also, look at the layout and design of Lovely Bicycle!  I wouldn't have a clue as to how to do anything like that. And, finally, read her writing and compare it to my ragged prose.


But, hey, what can I say?  I'll take the compliments.  Besides, she's right definitely right about the fact that I've experienced two completely different aspects of cycling, and I'm one of the very few people who's experienced both of them.  


The funny thing is that I was the "lycra-wearing, hard-training, fast-spinning, Alps-conquering roadie...named Nick" precisely because I wanted to be "the woman who cycles to work in a skirt and heels."  Or, more precisely, I was the hard-riding guy precisely because I always knew that, deep down, I was, and was meant to be, that woman cycling to work, to the marketplace and down a country lane to the sea.


So why did I live and cycle as I did?  Well, I have to admit, I enjoyed competitive riding, whether or not it was sanctioned in a race, and the camaraderie that accompanied and followed it.  But I now realize that I wanted to ride as hard and as long as I did because I had so much anger in me.  By now, you probably realize what forged much of that anger:  the cauldron of rage that roiled from the fires of my unfulfilled desire--to live as the woman that I always knew myself to be.


Some guys' worst nightmare is finding out that the girl for whom they've fallen was once a guy--and probably even more of a guy than any of them ever were!  Of course, I don't mean to make light of that:  Too many of us have been killed over that. But, it's hard not to see the irony in it, and to apply it to my cycling life:  What if some of those guys I used to ride with and against were to meet me today?  

Actually, one of those guys has.  And he's taken it very well.  He has an even stronger sense of himself than I ever imagined he did.  What am I saying?  Back in the day, I wasn't even thinking about whether he or anyone else was secure within his own skin.  There was simply no way I--as I was in those days-- could have thought about that. 


But as for the other guys...well, I'll tell you about one of them.  He would have utterly despised me, as I am now.  Or, at least, he would not have been seen with me, whether or not either of us was on a bike.  But I know for a fact that if no one else were watching, I am the very first person he would have come to, for love, advice or just about anything else.  He would have--if he were honest with himself--spent the night with me rather than with his wife or any girlfriend he ever had--or, for that matter, almost any other woman and absolutely any man.  He would have gone for rides with me for the same reasons he would have gone to museums, poetry readings and stores, and walked the streets of Paris, San Francisco, Rome and Boston with me.  


Actually, he wouldn't have done any of those things with me.  He did those things with me.  What's more, he did them with me, and in the presence of his wife and girlfriends.


By now, you've probably figured out who that man was.  Yes, he was me.  And he was who he was--including that "lycra-wearing, hard-training, fast-spinning, Alps-conquering roadie"--because he was me:  the "woman who cycles to work in skirts and heels."