A Ride Of Ripples

 High, wispy cirrus clouds.  The ocean barely waving, let alone tiding.  A breeze against my face on the way out and my back on the way home.

 

 

 

Everything felt like a ripple today.  It may have had to do with doing another Point Lookout ride.  I made that choice, in part, because of the direction of that breeze, as gentle as it was.  Had I gone to Connecticut, Westchester, Alpine or Nyack, I would have been pedaling against the wind on my way home.  Also, yesterday was warmer than it had been earlier in the week, and I started to ride later in the morning than I'd planned.  If the warmest part of the day was going to be warmer than the past few days, I wanted to ride by the ocean rather than inland.

 

So, when I say that the ride was a ripple, I'm not complaining.  Rather, I felt rather privileged, as if I could see the brush strokes of those ripples in the sky and on the water, as I felt them against my skin.  Also, it's a treat to ride any of my bikes--in this case, Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, lived up to her name.

 

Our ride ended, not with the rain, but a ripple.  All right, T.S. Eliot didn't end " The Hollow Men" that way.  I'm not sure that he could have, any more than I could have written his poem. I am happy to write my own poems--and take my rides, whether they begin or end with ripples, or anything else.

Waiting For...Murray?

I waited nearly a year for Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special.  At least I expected as much:  When I ordered her, the folks at Mercian were advising customers to anticipate such a lag between the time they placed their deposits and received their frames or bike.  

If I recall correctly, I waited about the same amount of time for my first Arielle, my dear, departed first Mercian. For ten or twelve months to pass from the time someone puts down a deposit and takes delivery of has never been unusual when ordering a bespoke frame or builder.  But, until the pandemic, the longest I can recall myself or anyone waiting for an off-the-shelf bike was three months, in the heyday of the 1970s North American Bike Boom.  That's how long it took for me to get my Schwinn Continental in 1972.  To be fair, though, I wanted a color that, I'd heard, Schwinn was offering in limited numbers.  

But I don't recall a situation like the one that's developed during the COVID-19 pandemic:  People have had to  wait a year for a bike.  And I'm not talking about a Mercian or a custom frame from someone like Richard Sachs.  Rather, folks are standing in line for Murrays and Huffys from big-box stores.  That has to do with the supply-chain disruptions you've heard about:  Factories closed during lockdowns and ship and dock workers, and truck drivers, either couldn't go to work or quit their jobs.

So it's particularly galling to see this:

 

 Why, in the middle of a bike shortage, is Target tossing brand-new bikes into a dumpster?  One would expect that if those bikes didn't move during a shortage, perhaps they could have been discounted or donated.  But no.  For all that the company, like so many others, likes to tout its philanthropy and environmental objectives.  It doesn't, however, donate merchandise under any circumstances. 

To be fair, many other companies have similar policies. They also, like Target, try not to sell merchandise at significant discounts:  If Target sells Schwinn or H&M sells a sweater, for example, at 50 percent off, the regular price seems much higher.  As for donations, some companies cite the tax and other legal implications of this practice.  Call me a cynic, but while I am willing to grant that companies find that it's too difficult or costly to give their stuff to Goodwill or a community bike center, I can't help but to think that tossing brand-new stuff comes down to the only two words I remember from the only economics class I took:  supply and demand.  Retailers want to keep the former low and the latter high to prop up prices.

I wonder whether the dumpster-diving mom who took the video had been waiting for one of those bikes for herself or her kids.

To Their Own Hues, And Others

Earlier today, I wrote a post about something people might not associate with Spring:  a survivor pedaling among the wreckage of Mariupol.

To me, this season is about the living beings who make it through winter--whether it's a season of cold, snow and darkness or the death and destruction of war (another kind of darkness) as well as the new life that rises, whether from the ashes or a well-tended garden.

Because I've encountered the latter on afternoon rides, I am more fortunate than the cyclist in my earlier post.  It's funny, though, how Dee-Lilah (my custom Mercian Vincitore Special), Vera (my Miss Mercian), La-Vande (my custom King of Mercia) and Tosca (my Mercian fixie) always seem to find reflections of themselves.

Or, at least they, in their differing shades of purple, are drawn like moths to the flame of color.

Even if it isn't their own.

 

What Did Dee-Lilah See When She Woke?

 Yesterday I roused Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special, from her long winter’s nap. 

For a few weeks, the season hasn’t been able to make up its mind: The weather has gone from February to May and back, and from clear skies to downpours faster than you can say “spin.”  As a result, streets and roads have been sprinkled or coated with the remnants of change-of-season storms:  sand, road salt, fallen branches and other kinds of debris. That’s why I let my “queen” extend her rest.

She experienced some of the changes I’ve described during our ride to Point Lookout.  When we began, the sky was as blue as, well, the sea, depending on where you are.  And the air was warm enough that a few minutes into our ride, I thought I might’ve over-dressed.

About half an hour later, though, I felt the temperature about 10 degrees (Celsius) as I pedaled into a seaborne wind on the Cross-Bay Bridge.  That is typical at this time of year because, even if the air is 10 or 20 degrees Celsius (50 or 68 F), the ocean is still only about 5C (40F).

Those differences, playing off or fighting (depending on your point of view) each other made for this view from the bridge.

The water in the foreground is Jamaica Bay.  The gray haze behind the buildings on Rockaway Beach could have been fog—or the ocean.  Just as the day could have been late winter or early spring.

Acorn Bags: Nuggets Of Beauty And Function

Some would argue that a true artist, or even artisan, wants the focus to be on his or her work rather than him or her self.  They may have a point:  After all, while some (yes, I include myself) might be interested in the details of  Rodin's, Picasso's, Shakespeare's, Louis Armstrong's or Georgia O'Keefe's personal lives, what matters is the images, sounds and words they left us.

So I could understand Ron's wish not disclose his wife's name, or even his last name.  For the past fifteen years, they've done work that has, rightly, attracted attention in the cycling word--and outside of it. 

One day this past fall,  when I was crossing underneath the Hudson on the PATH train with Dee-Lilah, my custom 2018 Mercian Vincitore Special, two young couples asked me about the bike, with its lovely (if I do say so myself) paint finish, intricate lug work and a couple of nicely-made bags--or, if you prefer, pieces of bicycle luggage.

A male member of one couple, and a female of the other, seemed to be regular cyclists and wanted to know about the bike itself.  But the male member of the other couple--who told me he rides, but is "not a bike fanatic"--was interested in the bags because, he said, he's thinking of leaving his regular job and becoming a full-time maker of custom bags of all kinds.  He could see the workmanship on the bike's bag, he said, and was curious as to who makes such items.

A couple of weeks ago, when I pulled into a service station/convenience store on Point Lookout with Zebbie, my 1984 Mercian King of Mercia, someone asked about both the bike--which, while its lugwork isn't as intricate as Dee-Lilah's, has a unique paint job--and the bags I'd attached to it. 

In both instances, folks were curious about bags, or bicycle luggage, made by Acorn Bags in California.  I've been using them (along with Ruthworks Bags, which I've mentioned in previous posts) for about three years.  They haven't quite developed the "patina" canvas bags like it acquire because, since I have several bikes (and a bunch of bags), there isn't one, or even a set, that I use every day.  But I feel I've ridden the Acorn bags enough to comment on them.

First of all, I want to say that while they might seem expensive in comparison to mass-produced bags of synthetic materials,  Acorn's prices are actually quite reasonable, especially when you consider the materials used and the hand work that goes into making them.  

More important, the materials and workmanship on them are impeccable. The canvas is as strong as it is aesthetically pleasing, and the stitching is consistent and formidable.  Currently, Acorn's bags are made in three colors:  black, gray and brown.  Every couple of months, Acorn makes a run of bags in one of those colors.  They post a list of colors and anticipated availability dates on their website, so if you have your heart set on a particular color or model, sign up for their mailing list.

While I like all of their colors, my particular preference is for brown.  It looks both earthy and classy, like a leather bag or pair of boots made in a similar color.  Also, it's similar to a color in which Specialites TA-LaFuma bags were made for several years.  

I've been using their medium randonneur bag, front "bread box" bag and two of their saddle bags.  With the exception of their "bread box" bag, all are inspired by classic French and English designs.  It's hard not to notice the similarities between the Medium Rando bag on the front rack of Zebbie and its Specialites TA counterpart, the Medium saddlebag on that bike and the Berthoud "banana" bag, or the saddlebag on Dee-Lilah and some Carradice or Brooks designs.

But Ron and his wife don't seem content to copy traditional designs as much as possible.  They seem to have thought of how those beautiful, durable bags can be made more convenient.  For example, the Medium Rando bag can be used, with light loads, without a decaleur as long as you mount it on a rack like the Nitto M12 or M18 or Velo Orange racks with the "tombstone."  (The "bread box" bag is also designed to be ridden with such racks.) With somewhat heavier loads, you might want the decaleur, but I've managed to stabilize the bag with a small bungee cord attached hooked onto the D ring on either side and passed underneath the rack.  And, while I haven't tried it yet, I imagine that it might be possible to use the large saddlebag--with an exterior size and inner capacity like that of the Carradice Barley--without a support because of the ways in which the bag is reinforced in key spots.

The "breadbox" bag is somewhat smaller in capacity than--and, perhaps, not as "classic" looking as--the Rando bag. But one thing I really like about it is the way it fits on the rack:  Its profile almost perfectly matches the platforms on the Nitto M18 rack on Dee-Lilah or the Velo Orange Constructeur front rack on Zebbie.  And, its flap provides easy access to all of the bag's contents, though I advise tightening the elastic closure.

In all, I can confirm all of the good things you've read and heard about Acorn bags.  They are worthy of the finest handmade frame and will add a touch of class and personality to a mass-market bike. But, most important, Ron and his wife have managed to make functional improvements to beautiful classic bags--and to imbue them with the pride of true artisans and artists.

And This is How 2021 Ends (Apologies to T.S. Eliot)

So how will you remember this year?  

Whatever the state of the  COVID pandemic, or anything else in the world, I can say that 2021 was better than 2020 in at least a few ways, however small.

For one thing, I didn't have two accidents (here and here) that landed me in an emergency room (one of them to a trauma center), as I did last year.  I guess one of my blessings, if you will, is that they were the only two such accidents in my nearly half-century of dedicated cycling.

For another, I've met a couple of new potential riding partners.  As much as I like to ride alone, I sometimes want someone to share the experience.  And one of those new fellow riders is two years older than I am and took her first rides in four decades--with me.  Lilian is good company and the educator in me finds fulfillment in helping her re-enter the world of two wheels and two pedals.

And last year's first crash, which wrecked Arielle, my Mercian Audax, yielded enough insurance money for me to buy another Mercian frame--La Vande, a custome Mercian King of Mercia constructed from Reynolds 853 tubing and equipped mainly with parts I had in my apartment.  She's a nice complement to Dee-Lilah, my custom Mercian Vincitore Special.

I still wish I could have taken a trip somewhere more than a state or two away. Well, I could have, but even though I am fully-vaccinated, I have been reluctant to get on a bus, train or plane.  That hesitancy has also kept me from doing a few rides that I've done a couple of times in each of the past few years because they involve a ferry ride to connect parts of the trip or a train ride to get me home.  So, I've been doing many of the same rides again and again.  Perhaps, in the coming year, I'll seek out some new routes.

Oh, and Marlee has been at the beginning and end of my rides.  She joins me in ushering out this year, and wishing you good tidings in the new year.

Bet You Can't Ride Just One

Do you actually ride all of those bikes?

You've probably heard that question from the non-cyclists in your life.  I try to explain that even though each of my rides might look similar, they actually offer different kinds of rides, based on their geometry, frame material and components (especially wheels and tires).  

So, my answer is, yes--though, if I'm feeling a bit snarky, I might add, "but not at the same time.  I'm working on that."

Well, last weekend I did manage to ride three of my bikes in three days.  On Friday afternoon, I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, for a spin along the waterfronts of Queens and Brooklyn.

Saturday was the sort of gloriously sunny and brisk early fall-day that riding dreams are made of.  What better day to ride to Connecticut--on Dee-Lilah, my delightful Mercian Vincitore Special.

I'll say more about her accessories--the bags--in another post.   For now, I'll just say that I like them a lot, and while they're not the easiest to acquire, they're worth waiting for.  

And yesterday I took another ride along the waterfronts, mainly because I didn't want to turn it into an all-day (or even all-morning or all-afternoon) ride, as I'd promised to spend some time with someone who can't ride--and some quality time to Marlee.  I didn't take any photos of the bike I rode--Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, but she's pretty much how you remember her if you've seen her in some earlier posts.

So, while I didn't ride all of my bikes, I think I varied my rides enough to feel justified in having, well, more than one bike!

La-Vande Is Here

 Last week, I did four rides on four different bikes--all of them mine.

If you've been following this blog, you've seen three of them:  Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special; Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear and Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic.  But I didn't mention what I rode to Point Lookout that Friday.

La-Vande, a Mercian King of Mercia, rose from the wreck of Arielle, the Mercian Audax I crashed last June.  One of the few good things that came from that mishap--save for the support you, dear readers, showed--was a settlement to cover another bike.

I intended La-Vande to be the "winter" and "rainy day" version of Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special.  So, I specified the same geometry but a slightly heavier tubing--Reynolds 725.  And I'd asked for a different color scheme because I'm not trying to build a "Stepford" fleet.  

Well, the frame was built with the same Reynolds 853 tubing as Dee-Lilah.  And it was painted in the same colors, though La-Vande's lilac paint is slightly lighter.  Grant at Mercian said it was probably a result of a "different batch" of paint.  He apologized, but I wasn't upset, really.  What La-Vande is, essentially, Dee-Lilah with less fancy (though still lovely) lug work--and some slightly less expensive components, most of which came from my parts bin.  

Anyway, I pleased with the bike.  It's a "younger sister" to Dee-Lilah.  I figure that since she has a geometry and build I like, it doesn't hurt to have another bike like her.  

Here is a list of La-Vande's specs.

Frame:  Mercian King of Mercia, Reynolds 853 tubing.

Headset:  Tange sealed bearing.

Wheels:  Phil Wood hubs.

              Mavic Open Pro 36 hole rims.

              DT Competition spokes.

Tires:     Continental Gator Skin folding 700 X28 

Brakes:   Shimano BR-R451 

              Tektro RL 340 levers 

              Mathauser Kool-Stop salmon pads

Crankset:  Stronglight Impact, 170 mm, 48-34 chainrings

Bottom Bracket:  Shimano UN-72, 68x107mm

Derailleurs: Shimano Ultegra 6500 rear 

                  Shimano Dura Ace 7400

                  Dura Ace downtube levers

Cassette:    Shimano 105 9 speed, 12-25 

Chain:         SRAM PC-971 

Pedals:        MKS Urban Platform with "basket" toe clips and Velo Orange toe straps

Handlebars:   Nitto 177 "Noodle" 42 cm, wrapped  with Newbaum's Eggplant-colored cloth  tape

Stem:             Nitto NP 110 mm

Seatpost:        Nitto 65

Saddle:           Brooks Professional

Accessories:    Nitto M18 front rack, Zefal HPX pump, King "Iris" water bottle cages

In another post, I'll tell you about the bags on this bike--which I've also been using on some of my other bikes.

Three Times, Better

 I have done what just might be the strangest sequence of cycling I’ve done in a while.  What makes it so odd is its familiarity:  I have done the same ride three times in five days: today, Monday and Saturday.

Why did I do that?  Well, I took Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, to Greenwich, Connecticut on Saturday.  That has become a frequent weekend day ride for me.  I took that same ride on Monday because I wanted to start the week right.  And today I hopped on Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special.  The weather—overcast, with no threat of rain and temperatures that maxed out at 24C (75F)—was ideal and I just wanted to ride and ride. Somehow I ended up taking that 140 kilometer round trip again.

Perhaps an unconscious, or at least unacknowledged, wish guided to today’s ride.  Whether it had to do with Dee-Lilah, the weather or me, today I felt better riding today than at any time since last June, when a crash led to a weekend stay in Westchester Medical Center.

If I can say “this is the best I’ve felt” at my age, I guess things are pretty good.

Different Rides, Different Folks

 There are some things non-cyclists just don’t believe, or understand.

About the former:  my neighbor and new riding partner, Lillian, has a friend named Beverly who can’t ride. Her husband—whom I knew slightly before I met Beverly—is a gruff blue-collar Queens guy who reminds me a bit of Frank Barone of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” He’s seen me on a bicycle, and knows I ride, but simply does not believe it’s possible to pedal to Connecticut.  Mind you, he doesn’t believe that I, personally, can traverse distances: He simply doesn’t think it can be done.

Well, I rode to Connecticut on Saturday,—after trekking to Point Lookout on Friday and spending Thursday pedaling to Freeport and up to the North Shore.  Moreover, I did each ride on  different bike: 

 Dee-Lilah, my prize Mercian Vincitore Special to Connecticut

Negrosa, my vintage Mercian Olympic, to Freeport and the North Shore, and

a bike I’ll mention later to Point Lookout.

Oh, and I took a spin to Bayside on Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, yesterday morning.

All of that brings me to the second point of this post.  I did four rides on four different bikes.  Most non-cyclists can’t understand having more than one bike.  

He Kept A Community's Wheels Turning

I love a beautiful bicycle as much as anybody does.  All you have to do is look at Dee-Lilah or Zebbie, my Mercian Vincitore Special and King of Mercia, to see how I care  about fine workmanship and finishes.  At the same time, I appreciate and respect the technological refinement of modern bikes and components.  I avail myself to as much of it as I find useful--and affordable.

But I also understand that what if the current bike boom, fueled by COVID, is to continue, it won't be on the wheels of bikes sold in boutique shops for more than workers in the developing world make in a couple of years.  Wherever the bicycle is seen as an integral part of the transportation network, let alone as a way of life, people are riding utilitarian machines (think of Dutch city bikes) to work or school, or bikes that are sportier, if not much pricier, to the park, seashore or market.  And, in such places, bike shops and mechanics concentrate on keeping those commuters and recreational cyclists on the road (or getting them there in the first place).  They don't spend much, if any, time working on the electronic shifting systems of $12,000 bikes.

In other words, those mechanics are like Joe Haskins who work in shops like the one that bears his name.  He bought it from its founder, his aging uncle, in 1958, when the shop was still known as Tampa Cycle--and he was 17 years old.

Joe Haskins.  Photo by Kelly Benjamin

He never left, literally and figuratively.  Over the years, the shop moved to several different locales, all within the same area of Tampa--and, most important of all, serving the same sort of clientele:  basically, anyone who needed a bike or repair.  Sometimes his services had nothing to do with bikes or cycling:  Former Tampa Bay Times reporter Alan Snel (who writes the Bicycle Stories blog) noted, "every mayor has their downtown pet projects, but the essence of a city is the neighborhoods and small businesses like Joe's bike shop that help everyday residents with everyday issues."

So, when the driving force/guiding spirit of such a business retires or passes away, as Joe did last Saturday, it leaves a hole in the community.  But it seems that the shop will continue:  During the past few years, as Joe's health declined, family members stepped in to keep the shop's unwritten mission alive.

Tampa's All Love Bike Crew will honor his memory with a ride on Sunday.  Somehow I don't think that many Crew members will be riding $12,000 bikes or $300 helmets. 

Am I Normal Yet?

Public figures and everyday people talk about the world or their lives "returning to normal" once Mango* Mussolini is out of the White House or "when the pandemic is over."  Of course, the new "normal" is never the same as the old "normal;" it never can be.  When our routines or the machinations of society are disrupted, things change and we, hopefully, learn.

Even with this knowledge, however, I am going to give in to the temptation to say that something in my life might be returning to normal.  Yesterday and the day before, I did something I hadn't done since I was "doored" in October:  On Saturday, I pedaled up to Connecticut; on Sunday, I rode to Point Lookout.

The Saturday trek was my standard route to the Greenwich Common via Glenville Road, about 140 kilometers (85 miles) round-trip.  As I hadn't done the ride in about three months, I actually wondered whether I'd get up the last climb on the ridge, just after I crossed the state line.  But partway up, I realized that I was fighting not only "rust," but also a headwind.  

The last time I saw the Common, leaves were turning red and gold and orange.  On Saturday, bare trees bore witness to the cold and wind through which I'd pedaled.

On my way home, I felt ready to challenge Jeanne Longo, Rebecca Twigg and Missy Giove in their prime.  Pedaling downhill with the wind at your back can make you feel that way!

Yesterday's ride took me to the South Shore of Queens and Nassau County, through the Rockaways and Atlantic Beach to Point Lookout.  Under a clear, bright sky, the water barely rippled.  And, in contrast to Saturday's ride, this one is flat, and I encountered barely a breeze on the 120 km (72 mile) round trip.

In late summer or early fall, when I'd normally have pedaled a lot of miles, the Point Lookout jaunt would be a "recovery" ride if I did it the day after a Connecticut ride.  But it seems odd to call it a "recovery" ride when the past three months have been a time of recovery for me!

One thing I couldn't help but to notice was how little traffic, motorized or otherwise, I encountered on both rides.  I guess the cold kept people in their homes in spite of the bright sunshine.

In case you were wondering:  I rode Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special, to Connecticut and Zebbie, my 1984 Mercian King of Mercia, to Point Lookout.  Being able to do those rides again was enough to make me feel good, but being on bikes that look and ride the way they do made me feel even better.

Things may not be "normal" yet.  But at least one part of my life is getting there, I hope!

*--I feel guilty about equating  a mango, a fruit that brings nothing but pleasure to those who eat it, to someone who's slammed democracy and people's lives with a baseball bat.

Vive La Velo--And Cherries Clafoutis

Yesterday I celebrated Bastille Day in a pretty French way.

After attending to a couple of errands related to my recovery, I went for a ride.  It wasn't long or difficult, but these days simply getting on Dee-Lilah, my Mercian Vincitore Special (or any of my other bike) is reassuring.

People ride all over the world. But when I ride on la grande fete, I can't help but to think about Parisian streets or Pyreneean paths, where I have ridden on the 14th in years past.

After eating a healthy supper, I did something entirely French--and indulgent.  Over the last couple of days, I bought about three kilos of cherries.  When I see those ruby (or yellow) fruits, fresh, in a greenmarket or streetside stall, I simply can't resist!  I know that sometimes cherries from the Southern Hemisphere are available in the winter.  They're perfectly fine, but there's nothing like in-season local (or at least domestic) fruit.

So what did I do with my "harvest?"  I turned some into a dessert I've enjoyed in France but I almost never find here in the 'States: Clafoutis aux Cerises (Cherry Clafoutis). 

It's a vanilla custard, a bit denser than creme caramel or flan, with cherries.  (I added some chopped almonds.) Unlike so many French foods, it's not much to look at.  Someone once told me, only half-jokingly, that it's the reason why Americans like to coat it with confectioner's sugar.  I don't, partly because I'm generally not a fan of powdered sugar, but also because I don't want to mask this dessert's unique combination of flavors and textures.

Since I don't have a proper baking dish (I broke the one I had over the holidays), I made two smaller tarts.

Whether or not it's a jour de fete--or you're a Francophile--you should enjoy this treat at least once a year.  It's really not so difficult to make.  And, let's face it, after a good ride, you deserve it!

I Christen Thee Negrosa

Finally!  She's together!

No, that's not what someone said about me after I figured it all out.  (As if I ever did!)  I'm talking about...another bike.  I mean, what else could I be talking about on this blog, right?

Specifically, I'm referring to the 1973 Mercian Olympic (I mistakenly identified it earlier as a King of Mercia; Grant at Mercian confirmed that it's an Olympic) I bought in June.  The funny thing is that I didn't have to do much to it, but it took me longer to finish than it took to get Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, ready after the frame arrived.

In the case of Dee-Lilah,  I had all of the parts, and Eli (of Ruth SF Works) made a couple of bags for me and once Hal put it all together, it was ready to go.  I haven't found any need to adjust or change anything yet.

On the other hand, for the Olympic, I had to look for a couple of things, and make a couple of other choices. 

Right from the beginning, I replaced the tires, which were cheap and mismatched, with a pair of Continental Grand Prix 4 Seasons.  I also swapped out the SunTour freewheel for another SunTour--the ProCompe  that came with the bike (and is now on another) for a New Winner--and the unknown-brand chain for a Sedisport that'd been in its package for 30+ years. 

Old Cinelli logo.

After a couple of rides, I knew I wanted to change the stem from the 9 mm extension that came with it to a 10.  The stem and bars that came with the bike were Cinellis, in the old 26.4mm clamp diameter.  I like the bars, so I didn't want to buy new ones.  That meant looking for a stem in the proper diameter.  I also wanted to find one that had the old-style oval logo, like the one that came with the bike, but had no luck there.  Oh, well.  Cinelli has never produced an ugly logo, so I don't mind having the newer one.  Besides, the logo switch seems to have been made not long after the frame was built.

Now, stems before the 1990s didn't have "faceplate" clamps.  So, if you want to switch stems, you have to unwrap the bar tape.  I didn't mind, as the tape that came with the bike was a mess:  It was faded and felt as if it had been epoxied onto the bars.  And the rubber hoods were disintegrating on the brake levers.

Luckily for me, I managed to find a pair of original-style Campagnolo gum hoods for not much more than they cost 40 years ago.  Best of all, they were fresh and supple.  As for the tape, I decided to go with something basic but classy:  black Tressostar cloth tape.  I spiced it up a bit, though, with red bar plugs.

To match those plugs--and the red parts of the frame--I found some vintage red Christophe straps.  And the one truly unsightly part of the bike as I got it--apart from the brake hoods and tape--were the toe clips, which were rusted and pitted even though nothing else on the bike was.  They were from "Cycle Pro", which offered some decent stuff back in the day.  But, since we're talking about a vintage Mercian with Campagnolo parts, I thought only Christophe clips would do.  And they're what I put on those Campy pedals.

Now, of course, we all know that we really make our bikes our own with accessories.  I could have sworn I had a Silca frame pump somewhere--but I couldn't find it for the life of me.  Oh, well.  Hal had one, but it looked like hell.  He made a suggestion:  a Zefal HP or HPX.  I just happened to have one in the latter, in just the right size.  And, while it's probably from the 80s or even later, it looks good, if not period-perfect, on the frame.

And, yes, that's a real, live Specialites TA cage on the handlebars.  Like the brake hoods, it was in pristine condition before I mounted it.  I found, though, that I needed to use longer screws than the ones that came with the clamp.  I have a feeling they were designed for old French handlebars, which are narrower at the "sleeve" area than my Cinellis.

Yes, the bike came with that saddle!

The bag is from Acorn.  I have another, larger, black bag that Eli made.  

Even with those minor changes, I still can't believe my luck in finding that bike--with a Brooks Professional saddle in perfect condition, no less.  And so soon after getting Dee-Lilah:  It was like getting two birthday presents!

After accessorizing, there's one more thing you (or I, anyway) have to do in order to make your (my) bike your (my) own: name it.  So, after putting that bottle cage on the handlebars, I christened her Negrosa. 

Now I really have decisions to make whenever I go out for a ride:  Dee-Lilah, Negrosa, Tosca (my Mercian fixed-gear), Arielle (my Mercian Audax) or Vera (my Mercian mixte).