Montreal: Eddy 1974 vs. Justine 2015. Or: Anything Eddy Did, I Can Do...If You Give Me Enough Time

Eddy Merckx said it was the toughest world title race in which he was ever involved.  

He did it on this bike:



Today, I rode it on this bike:

All right, I didn't ride the whole race, or anything close to it.  However, I rode over what might have been the toughest parts.  

And I did it on that bike. Mind you, it's not bad, especially as rental bikes go. In fact, I'd say it's the nicest bike I've rented.  As researchers would say, I have a limited sample size:  In plain English, I haven't rented a lot of bikes.  Still, I feel confident in my judgment.

But it's certainly not Mercx's DeRosa.  And, oh yeah, he was half my age when he did the climbs of Mont Royal.

You see, "le Mont" isn't a single climb.  It's really two hills, separated by a depression that resembles an ancient dormant volcano.  Except that, according to scientists, it never was a volcano:  The "twin towers" were the result of some unusual erosion patterns.

The first climb takes you up to the visitors' center at Maison Smith and to the trails that lead to the broadcast tower and this:

La Croix is visible from much of the city, especially on clear nights.  Yes, I rode to it and, since I don't do "selfies", I asked an anonymous stranger to take this photo:

Then I took another trail to the observation area

and another trail to the other part of the mountain, near the McGill University campus.

Then, after exiting the trails at the Avenue des Pins, I did some more climbing into the Cote de Neige (Yes, there's skiing and snowboarding in the area!) and the mansions of Westmount.

As Mercx and others remarked, the mountains aren't very high. So, the climbs aren't long.  But they're pretty steep, as many paved-over old roads are.  And, having to do them in sucession, as I did today, wore out some of the world's best rider in that epic 1974 race, the first World's Championship held in North America.

At least today's ride was, if chilly (high temperature:  10C, or 50 F), at least gorgeous:  Yesterday's rains seemed to have cleared the sky of clouds.  And, because it's well into autumn here,  north of the 45th parallel (New York City is at the 40th), the sun didn't seem very intense, even with such a clear sky.


Before and after the climbs and descents, I rode, almost at random, through various parts of the city, and into a couple of its suburbs.  I don't know how many kilometers I did today, but I can pretty safely say I rode.  And I definitely enjoyed it, and this city, which I hadn't seen in about fifteen years before this trip.

Where In The World Is Justine Valinotti?

If you're too old to be one of my grandchildren (as if I will ever have any!), you might remember a TV game show called Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?  In it, the title character, who was the head of an international crime syndicate, would send one of her henchmen to steal a landmark.  (That gives new meaning to "Wanna buy a bridge?")  Contestants would use their knowledge of geography to track the thief from city to city and country to country.   The contestant with the most points would have a chance to capture Carmen Sandiego.  

Now, I am not involved with any crime syndicates--though I sometimes would say, "the Valinotti family" with, shall we say, just the right intonation.  (OK, now you know the real reason I never lost a fight!)  However, I will take over Ms. Sandiego's role and invite you to play "Where in the world is Justine Valinotti"?

Here's your first clue:

All right.  There are lots of places where you can see fog and low clouds enshrouding buildings.  So I'll give you another clue:

This house faces a park.  Said park isn't Central, Prospect, Fairmount, Greenwich or the Luxembourg Gardens. However, it's in a city that has a park designed by the same person who desgined the first three I mentioned and was inspired by the other two.

Now I'll give you another clue:

So you know I'm in a French-speaking city.  But it's not Paris, Toulouse or Dijon.  Or Geneva.  

OK, one more clue:

What French-speaking city might have a "Petite Italia"?  Probably not Saigon.  Or  Port-au-Prince. Cayenne:  I believe not.   Almost certainly not  Ouagadougou.  

So if not in France, Africa the Caribbean, or Southeast Asia, where am I?

By now, you've probably guessed where I am:

Athena, holding an announcement for a series of lectures in Montreal.

Oui, je suis en Montreal!  I arrived last night and checked into an interesting hotel run by an absolutely fabulous woman.  More about her, and the hotel, later.  

Since you're reading this blog, you're probably wondering whether I've used Bixi, this city's bike-share program. I haven't, mainly because I didn't ride at all. I was going to rent a bike today but decided against it because it was pouring when I woke up and the rest of the day was a series of drizzles, downpours and other variations of rain.  So I went to an art exhibit and gallery, shopped and ate unhealthy but tasty foods.

One of those foods was indeed poutine.  It's easy to see why it's one of the most emblematic foods of Quebec:  Few things feel better on a cold, rainy day.  Made with French fries and cheese curds smothered in brown gravy, it's also just the thing to eat when you want to thumb your nose at a sanctimonious, politically correct vegan you know.

I plan to rent a bike tomorrow and ride, sightsee and eat, not in any particular order.

I'll close this post with this, from the Place des Arts:

On the Sciences building of the Universite de Quebec a Montreal, images of Montreal's life, history and culture are projected onto the wall.  In the surrounding neighborhood --the Quartier des Spectacles, not far from Montreal Vieux and the old port of Montreal--there are all sorts of shows and plays of light

London: Life In The Bike Lane

Cities in the Western world have seen phenomenal increases in the number of cyclists on their streets during the past few years.  One of the cities in which the increase has been most noted is London.  According to one study, during the peak morning hours (7-10 pm), on some streets, as much as 64 percent of the traffic consists of bicycles.

In other words, at such times on those streets, there are almost two bicycles for every motorized vehicle or pedestrian!

The study also reveals--perhaps not surprisingly--a dramatic increase in the number of accidents, injuries and deaths among cyclists   Most interestingly, it notes that most accidents and casualties occur during daylight hours.

But it also shows increase spending on cycling infrastructure (which include plans for a bicycle "Skyway")--which, with greater public awareness, could reduce, or at least slow the increase in, the numbers.

Perhaps the most thought-provoking statistic of all, though, is this:  If just fourteen percent of all trips in Central London were on bicycles, emissions of nitrogen oxides--the most prominent vehicle pollutant--would fall by nearly a third.  

That is to say, when people ride bikes rather than drive in the central city, it has double the effect in reducing at least one major type of pollution:  no small matter in a city noted for its congestion and fog.

From Fiona Outdoors

Is It High Time For Ti Again?

It's soo '90's!

And if it's soo '90's, it must be reeealy...'70s!

What am I talking about?  It has nothing to do with food, clothing or hairstyles.  It's not a musical genre, either.

Since you're reading this blog, you surely realize that it has something to do with cycling.  Indeed it does.

So what is it from the '70's that became all the rage--or, at least, seemed poised to become all the rage--in the '90's?

Why, titanium frames, of course.

About two decades ago, the Great Titanium Debate, at least in road bikes, was Litespeed vs. Merlin.  It seemed that all of the titanium bikes that weren't being made by custom builders were made by one of those two companies--including many that bore the labels of leading mass-producers (like Bianchi) of the time.  Oh, there were builders like Dean and Moots, who made their bikes one-at-a-time, by hand, in smaller volumes than Litespeed or Merlin.  And a few custom builders, such as Serotta, made frames of the material.  But the vast majority of titanium bikes that rolled out of bike shops (at least in the US) during the '90s came from Litespeed or Merlin.

At that time, "Ti" seemed poised to become the material of choice for the most demanding or well-heeled cyclists.  It seemed to have everything going for  it:  light weight, resistance to the elements and a silky yet swift ride.  The world's pelotons--and cyclists who wanted to emulate them--were not sold on carbon fiber.  And, aluminum and steel seemed to reach plateaus in their development.

So what happened?  In a word:  cost.  Titanium is an expensive material; so is manganese-molybdenum (Reynolds 531) or chrome-molybdenum steel tubing.  More important, their production techniques are more labor-intensive than those of carbon fiber or aluminum. 

Also, welding titanium properly is more difficult because the process attracts the very elements--nitrogen and hydrogen--that contaminate titanium and render it weaker.  That is one reason why some of the titanium frames made during the 1970s--and a few in the early '90's--failed:  The welders didn't seem to realize that the weld area has to be shielded by argon, not only during the process of welding, but until the weld has cooled.

In fact, in the 1970s, little besides its light weight was actually understood about titanium.  That is the reason why most titanium components of that time--even the ones made by Campagnolo--didn't stand up to the rigors of hard use.

Speedwell Titanium Bike (UK) with Campagnolo Record equipment, circa 1975

On the other hand, carbon and aluminum aren't as expensive to fabricate as frames, at least with current production methods.  As titanium's popularity peaked just before the turn of the millennium, and carbon was in ascendancy, most of the world's bicycle production--even of high-end models--was moving from the West and Japan to Taiwan and China.  For bike and parts makers that had committed themselves to carbon, the choice between retooling old factories (or building new ones) in the high-wage, high-cost countries of Europe and North America (and Japan), or building new facilities with modern production methods in low-wage China and southeast Asian countries was a no-brainer.  Thus, nearly every carbon frame available (and, to be fair, the vast majority of those not made by custom or specialty builders) comes from that part of the world.

Is it possible to shift Titanium--and high-end steel--production to those areas?  Possibly.  Does that mean that Titanium will once again become "the frame material of the future".  Well, it was in the '70's and '90's.  Every other decade...hmm...could it be time for another Ti renaissance?

Can You Steer Someone Away From Stealing Your Bike?

The first person I ever knew who rode a fixed-gear bike outside a velodrome was a librarian at Rutgers, the college I was attending.  

Like many campuses, Rutgers suffered more than its share of bike thefts.  So did the surrounding city of New Brunswick, which was going post-industrial before anybody started using that term.  The problem was, nobody figured out what would replace those industries that were leaving the city.  (Rutgers?  What an idea!  Why didn't I think of that?!)

Still, this librarian--who looked like a Zen monk, though I couldn't have told you that because, at that time, I had no idea of what a Zen monk looked like!--never locked his Schwinn Paramount track bike whenever he went into a store, another Rutgers building or even when he went to see a film.  He wasn't worried, he explained, because bike thieves "don't know how to ride one of these bikes."  Someone who "borrowed" his steed, he said, "would break his legs" the moment he tried to coast or stop.

In those days, that was probably true.  Most thieves would have gone for a ten-speed bike from one of the popular makers of the time, such as Schwinn, Peugeot, Fuji, Motobecane or Raleigh.  Of course, a desperate person or a thief who didn't yet know any better would probably steal anything, but the common wisdom of the time said that thieves were thinking about quick turnaround and high resale value.  Back then, most thieves' potential customers would have turned up their noses at a bike with "only one" gear, probably conflating it with kids' bikes that came with coaster brakes.

In all the time I knew and rode with that librarian, he never had his bike stolen.  I wonder if he ever lost it later, when fixed-gear bikes became more popular.  For that matter, I wonder whether he's still riding or even alive, as he wasn't a young guy (though he rode like one) in those days!

I got to thinking about him and his bike when I saw this:




On Cool Things

Apparently, the lock in the cap keeps the bike from being steered.  So, if a thief makes off with your wheels, he can only ride in a straight line--even if a truck is directly in front of him.  Or someone crosses in the middle of the block.  Or someone with a leash longer than the Verrazano Bridge lets her dog run into your path.  

The librarian/rider said a thief would probably break his legs before he got anywhere with the bike. If someone takes a bike with the cap-lock, he or she will break--just about everything else, on his or her body, and the bike.

Or, someone could just pick up an unsteerable bike and load it into a truck or van.  If a human makes a lock, another human can find a way to break--or get around--it.

Hmm...Maybe there is no better deterrent to theft than a bike nobody else knows how to ride!

I Couldn't Put The Cat In My Bag

Yesterday, I managed to get out for a late-day ride:  a couple of hours spinning and making random turns on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear.

Although I had clip-on lights in my rear bag, I didn't want to ride after dark. So, when the sun--which, early in the afternoon had emerged from a days-long absence--tinged the sky orange, I took a shortcut back to my place through the deserted (as they are on weekends) industrial areas of Maspeth and Long Island City.

As I pedaled up a street nestled between rows of warehouses, I saw what looked like a furry shadow slinking by a construction site.  It leaped onto the crumbling brick stoop of a house that seemed to be constructed of peeling shingles.  And I heard...

Meow.  Yes, that furry shadow was feline--but not, I would soon find out, feral.  I stopped and, after I looked into its eyes for a split-second, he (by that time, I had decided  he was male) made a tiptoed sprint toward me.

I rubbed my fingers on his head.  He rubbed against my ankle.  I stroked his back.  He closed his eyes and rolled, a little, on his side.

I really knew he wasn't feral when I picked up my leg and dismounted my bike.  That motion frightens off most cats (and many other animals).  But my new friendly feline acquaintance took a step closer to me.  Finally, I squatted and picked him up.  He didn't resist.  In fact, he curled himself on my shoulder and chest.


He stayed there as I lifted my right leg over Tosca and re-mounted.  I pedaled down the deserted street, crossed another and increased my cadence just a little when he started to squirm.  


Hmm...I know that even when I was at my best, my pedal stroke was never as smooth Jacques Anquetil's or Stephen Roche's.  Still, I tried to make my motions more fluid, if slower.  The cat squirmed more, and jumped off.

But he didn't run away from me.  In fact, he almost seemed to be waiting for me to dismount and pick him up again.  Which I did.  And I remounted the bike.  And pedaled--slowly--again.  He squirmed, but never clawed me.  Not only was he not feral; he had obviously never been on a bike before!

So I picked him up again and walked, with him on my left shoulder and my right hand clutching Tosca's stem, back to the construction site. He looked, rather forlornly, as I said goodbye. (If only I could have photographed him!)

As I left, I noticed a bowl and plate by the construction site: Somebody has been feeding him.  Still, I am somewhat tempted to go back--even if my landlady really means what she said about a two-cat limit (which I had to beg for when I moved in; she only wanted to allow one).  Plus, I have to wonder how my cats would take a new addition to the "family".  Max is friendly and curious; he seemed to be thinking "Great!  A new playmate!" the day I brought Marlee home. But Marlee is still fearful and skittish; she seems to come out of hiding only for me. 

From Boyz on the Hoods

I could go back with the LeTour, which has baskets on it, and a blanket or pillow.  And maybe the landlady, if and when she comes in, won't see him:  He is a smoky gray color, which means he could hide fairly easily.  Plus, Max would like him:  He likes everybody, or so it seems.  As for Marlee...

Whether You Autumn Or Fall, Please Don't Take A Header!

A few posts ago, I made a lame pun to explain why I prefer "autumn" to "fall", especially when it comes to cycling.

No one has ever autumned off his or her bike.  On the other hand, just about every cyclist has taken a fall.  

I have taken a few in my time.  None resulted in my missing any significant amount of time from riding. Ironically, the only injuries that kept me off my bike for more than a few days were not cycling-related.  Ditto for the one other event that kept me out of the saddle:  my surgery.

Of the falls I have taken, two resulted in my head making any contact with whatever I was riding, and fell, on.  

The first came when I was pedaling from Park Slope, where I lived at the time, to a school in the Bronx where I'd been conducting poetry workshops as an artist-in residence. I had just spun my way across the Greenpoint Avenue  Bridge and veered left onto Van Dam Street, in an industrial area of Long Island City, Queens.  About two blocks into Queens, a truck driver flung his door open, and into my side--causing the one and only somersault I've ever done on my bike.  Some would argue it wasn't a true somersault, as I didn't push my hands out in time to keep me from rolling on my head.

The second time, I was riding my mountain bike in Forest Park.  I was pedaling at  high-octane pace and was in my own little zone, not paying attention to my surroundings.

Well, in my path was a mound the BMXers used to flip themselves in the air.  I rode up on it--in the wrong direction, on the nearly-vertical side.  

Well, I flipped over. But I didn't flip back. Instead of landing on my wheels, as any of the 14-year-old kids would have, I came to earth upside down.

Those 14-year-olds rushed to my side.  "We really thought you were gonna die!", one of them chimed after helping me up. I never lost consciousness, but when I got up, I noticed that my helmet had broken.  In two.

OK.  So now you probably have figured out my position on helmets.  Yes, I wear them and encourage others to do likewise.  

Even though I had a helmet protecting me in each of those accidents, I count the lucky stars I didn't see when I feel that I have never taken a "header".  I hope you haven't either.

A line drawing of the world's first "header".  From Roads Were Not Built For Cars.

It seems that in the days of high-wheeled bicycles (a.k.a. "penny farthings"), "headers" were a fairly common occurrence. And, since cyclists in those days commonly rode front wheels of 60 inches (about 1.75 meters) or more, the impact from such a fall must have been even greater.  

Some would use the fact that people survived such falls as an argument against helmet-wearing.  That's a valid argument, as far as it goes.  However, there is also this to consider:  In those days, no one seemed to know much about concussions, let alone their long-term effects.

So...Yes, I will continue to wear a helmet as I cycle in autumn--and be grateful I haven't taken a "header".  At least not yet.

Mature? Not Yet: Disc Brakes On Bicycles

In the mid-1970s, my high school acquired its first computer.  The father of one of my classmates, who worked in a nearby military base, in one of those jobs he couldn’t talk about, negotiated the purchase.  For $6000, my alma mater got a used machine, about half the size of a classroom—and with about half of the capacity of devices kids carry in their backpacks nowadays.

When I graduated the following year, one of my relatives gave me a new Texas Instruments Model 101 digital wristwatch.  With its red LED display and sleek goldtone band, it seemed like the epitome of elegance and slick high-tech, all rolled up into one.  No one else I knew had such a timepiece:  For the one and only time in my high-school years, I was the coolest kid in the class.  At least, that’s how I felt.

Neither the computer nor my watch made it past my sophomore year of college.  The big box (“It’s just an oversized, overpriced file cabinet!” one parent exclaimed upon learning what it cost) assigned classes like “Sports Heroes” to honors students who signed up for the Shakespeare seminar.  (I know.  I was one of those students.) And that was the least of the computer’s malfunctions. Worst of all, nobody seemed to know how to fix them.

And nobody seemed to know how to fix my watch.  One shop claimed that displays of numbers that had nothing to do with the time of day were a result of “water damage” –only moments after I took that watch out of its box.  (I have since learned that technicians and reps say “water damage” when your electronic device is acting up or not working and  they can’t figure out why.)

Less than a decade after I graduated high school, the Yankees were giving away digital watches (with the team’s logo, of course) as promotional items on Fan Appreciation Day. My graduation gift, in contrast, sold for more (in non-inflation adjusted dollars) than most smartphones or laptops cost today.  And the watches the Yankees gave away were more reliable (water resistant to 100 meters, and shock resistant) than the one I got on Graduation Day.   

I was thinking about the computer and watch as I read an article in the most recent Bicycle Quarterly.

In “Are Disc Brakes Mature Technology? “, Jan Heine recounts his and other BQ editors’ experiences with both mechanical and hydraulic disc brakes on road, mountain and city bikes.  While the brakes on one bike offered the power and modulation of good caliper brakes, their performance was hampered by their incompatibility with the levers that came on the bike.  The brakes on the other bike were not as good as road calipers and, worse, there were a couple of potentially serious failures. 

Heine seems to think that disc brakes have potential, but there are issues that need to be worked out.  Braking power is still determined mainly by the size of the disc.  A larger disc is heavier and could necessitate larger forks—both of which are anathema to racers and other performance-oriented cyclists.  More important, though, is that while larger discs offer more power, they seem to offer less modulation.  From what Heine and others say, it seems that larger rotors give the brakes the “all or nothing” feel that V-brakes (at least the ones I’ve used) always seem to have.

Avid BB7 disc brake on Look X85 cyclo-cross bike

The flip-side is, of course, that smaller rotors offer less power.  And, if there isn’t enough power, whatever modulation the brakes offer is all but irrelevant.

Another problem, as Heine points out, is that on disc brakes, the pad grabs the disc on the rear.  On a front fork, that means the wheel is pulled away from the dropout (or fork end).  When you’re barreling down a hill—or sluicing through traffic—few things are more dangerous than a front wheel popping out of a fork. 

Most modern quick release levers, Heine says, aren’t secure enough for bikes with powerful disc brakes.   Through-axles, like the ones found on downhill bikes, might be a solution.  But even with them, the fork blades on most non-suspension (telescoping) forks wouldn’t be stiff enough to counter the forces the brakes would put on them.  So, Heine says, a dedicated suspension fork might be the best kind to use with disc brakes.

 (In contrast, rim brakes pull the wheel slightly upward, into the dropout.  And their forces are concentrated in or near the stiffest and strongest part of the fork:  the crown.  That is the reason why properly-installed wheels don’t fall out of forks equipped with rim brakes or no brakes.)

I myself don’t plan to start using disc brakes any time soon:  I have never had trouble getting the braking power and modulation I need from rim brakes, as long as I use good cables and pads and keep everything properly adjusted.  Plus, there is something to be said for the simplicity, not to mention the lighter weight, of such brakes.  So, I hope that disc brakes don’t become the only option on new bikes or that component manufacturers stop making rim brakes and parts.

On the other hand, I am not against some bikes coming with disc brakes, or for such brakes to be offered on bikes where they might make sense.  Most of all, I hope they don’t become a de facto standard—or the only option—before they are a “mature” technology.  At least, when my digital watch failed, I still had the mechanical watch another relative gave me for a birthday—my 12^th or 13^th, if I remember correctly.  And plenty of others were available. 

Joaquin Is Going That Way...

Everybody’s been storm-watching for the past 24 hours or so.  They all remember Sandy and, from what the weather reports say, Joaquin is even more powerful.  But the wind and rain that’ve battered us today aren’t his fault:  A Nor’easter has worked its way along this part of the coast.

Joaquin, as of today...we hope!

Sandy became a “superstorm” when  merged with a Nor’easter before making landfall near Atlantic City, New Jersey.  It doesn’t seem that Joaquin will do anything like that:  He seems content remaining out to sea, well to the east of Montauk Point.  Still, he could gift our Nor’easter with even more wind and water than it might have whipped against, and dropped on, us:  As meteorologists tell us, the course of a hurricane is one of the most difficult things to predict.

There seems to be an interesting divide in how much concern people who lived through Sandy’s ravages are expressing about the prospect of another Nor’easter, hurricane or—superstorm?! From what my own admittedly unscientific observations, the folks on the South Shores of Staten Island and Brooklyn, and in the Rockaways, are bracing themselves.  Whether or not they’re making actual preparations, they are taking the reports and warnings seriously—more seriously, some admit, than they did when Sandy approached. 

On the other hand, residents of Long Beach and other communities on the South Shore of Nassau County—which, arguably, incurred even more damage than Brooklyn and at least as much as the Rockaways—seem more blasé.  As one man said, “I lost everything then.  I’m not worried now.”  But people in other devastated areas also “lost everything”.  In fact, in the Breezy Point area of the Rockaway Peninsula, houses that weren’t blown apart or washed away burned to the ground when water wreaked havoc with the electrical wires.  I recall seeing people who were able to retrieve only family photo albums before fleeing, or upon returning.

As for me:  I am watching the storms.  Aside from not having classes for a week, I wasn’t affected much by Sandy.  I want to make sure I can say the same thing about Joaquin or the Nor’easter.

Then again…Joaquin couldn’t possibly affect us as much as Sandy did.  After all, Joaquin is a male name, while both males and females are named Sandy.  Hell hath no fury like that of both genders, combined!

Vera Goes Gran Fondo

You tell yourself, "This is it!"

You're not going to buy another bike, you tell yourself.  The bikes you have are "for life".

No more changes, no more upgrades, you say.  You're not going to buy another part unless you absolutely have to replace something that's worn out or broken.  You won't buy another bike accessory, no matter how great it looks or whether you really wonder how you've lived without it. And you absolutely swear not to go to any more swap meets, spend any more time hanging out in bike shops or while away your evenings looking at bikes and parts on eBay.

And you promise yourself you won't lift another allen key or screwdriver, or squeeze your oil can or grease gun, unless you're doing maintenance that absolutely must be done to keep your bike rolling.

But you know, deep down, you're lying to yourself: Once you learn how to tinker with your bikes, you won't stop--no matter how little mechanical aptitude you thought you had before you picked up that first repair manual, that first edition of Anybody's Bike Book.

You always find something to fix, even if it doesn't need fixing.  And there's always some experiment you want to try.

So it is with Vera.  Just before I went to Paris, I had an idea:   I'd turn  her gearing from a typical "compact" road setup (well, with slightly lower gears) to something I'd never before tried:  Gran Fondo gearing.

Turns out, I had everything I needed for the experiment. Well, almost.  The crankset that originally came with Vera--a Shimano Deore triple from the late '80's or early '90's--was sitting in a box, just begging to be reunited with her.  A BBG 46 tooth chainguard/bashguard, also sitting in that same box, would look good on that crank--and on Vera--I thought.   And I had a nice Stronglight 46 tooth chainring I'd been using with my the compact double as well a Shimano UN-52 bottom bracket that, according to the folks at Harris Cyclery and Velo Orange, would work. All I'd need is a 30T chainring with a 74mm bolt circle, which I found easily enough.

I installed the chainguard in place of the outer chainring.  The Stronglight ring, made to be an outer ring for a double or triple, went on the middle position.  And, of course, the 30T ring was bolted on the inside.  

I installed the Stronglight chainring with the logos facing out, as if it were in the outer position.  That meant the chainring fixing nuts wouldn't sit flush with the surface of the ring, as the holes for the chainring bolts are countersunk on the opposite side of the ring.  That didn't seem to matter.  I've ridden the setup about 200 kilometers and it doesn't seem to be coming loose--and the nuts standing proud of the chainring surface doesn't seem to affect the shifting.

In this image, you can see the countersinking of the holes for the chainring fixing nuts.  You can also see a segment of an example of drillium at its best or most extreme, depending on your point of view!

Speaking of which:  I've shifted, well, only to see how it shifts.  I haven't ridden on the 30T ring.  But part of my intention in setting up the gears as I did--and, by the way, I set up the gears on Arielle, my Mercian Audax and Helene, my other Miss Mercian--was to spend most of my riding time on the larger ring and to use the smaller one as a "bail out" gear.

In any event, the shifting was even smoother than I expected it to be.  The Shimano 105 front derailleur from the 8-speed group is made to handle, as most modern road front derailleurs are, a 14-tooth difference between the chainrings.  Part of the reason why I haven't had problems with shifting is, I believe, that I'm using a non-indexed downtube shifter.  I wonder how (or whether) the setup would work if I were using Ergo or STI levers, or even bar-end shifters.

The bottom bracket's axle is 127 mm long.  The crank is actually made for the old-style asymmetrical axle:  The original bottom bracket is what's known as "121+5":  In other words, 5 mm are added to the right side of a 121mm axle.  Using the modern bottom bracket doesn't seem to affect shifting or my pedal position"  It just leaves more axle showing on the left side than what you see with modern cranks and bottom brackets.  However, if I keep this setup, I might splurge (if finances permit) for a Phil Wood bottom bracket with the asymmetrical axle.

In reality, riding with this setup isn't different from riding with the compact double, as I am using the 46T ring nearly all of the time.  But I think that it will allow me a greater range of gears, should I ever want or need them.

Vera seems to like it.  Truth be told, I think she likes getting the nice old crankset back.