What's the Difference?

While the Randonneur collaboration bike was in my possession (it has now been shipped to its owner), for about a month I alternated between riding it and my own Rivendell in attempts to compare them.

When I mention the very idea of comparing these bikes I tend to get completely polarised reactions. To some they look identical: lugged frames, 650B wheels, wide tires, fenders, dynamo lighting, dropbars and classic handlebar bags. Can there possibly be significant differences in how they ride? To others, the bicycles are so obviously different in terms of geometry and tubing, that a comparison seems equally absurd: Of course they will be radically different!

So first, let me explain the two bicycles in a way that I hope does not get too technical. The green one on the left is the Rivendell Sam Hillborne. The frame has relaxed angles, long chainstays, and classic (mid/high) trail. The tubing is oversized to support heavy loads. The top tube is unusually long for the frame size and slightly sloped, for reasons to do with Rivendell's approach to bike fit. It is fundamentally a touring bike, but with some quirky qualities thrown in.

The blueish bike is a one-off collaboration between Royal H. Cycles and myself. Built as a classic randonneuring frame, it is made using skinny, somewhat flexible tubing with fairly steep angles, moderate length chainstays, and low trail. The Randonneur is supposed to be lighter, faster and more responsive than a touring bike, yet still comfortable. The low trail geometry is considered to be optimal for carrying a front load, but overall the bike is not meant to be heavily loaded.

Fully built up with similar components, the Randonneur indeed came out lighter than the Rivendell. Unfortunately I do not have a scale to weigh them - but I estimate maybe 4-5lb (when comparing with handlebar bags attached and everything else shown here). [Edited to add: The difference between these bicycles as shown is 6lb. The Randonneur weighs 26lb and the Sam Hillborne 31lb.]

The difference in tubing is immediately apparent, both when looking at the bikes in person and when picking them up by the top tubes - I can close my hand around the Randonneur's top tube much easier. This made the Randonneur easier for me to pick up, carry around when necessary, and take in and out of the house. As for how the tubing and other differences translate into ride quality, it is difficult to say. The Randonneur is a faster bike, though modestly so. It is also less fatiguing and perhaps a wee bit cushier over bumps. I can feel the frame and fork flex as I ride, but not too much. And I would certainly not attempt to do this on the Randonneur - I think the frame might bend in half.

Regarding the low trail geometry, I have yet to organise my thoughts on that topic. Suffice to say that I expected a "weirdness" in the bicycle's handling that, for me, just wasn't there (though an acquaintance who test rode the bike disagrees). Yes, it handled differently under some conditions - but the same can be said of almost every bike in comparison to almost every other bike.

And perhaps the biggest surprise of all, was that I did not feel a significant difference in the way the two bicycles behaved with a front load. Yes, the Randonneur is spectacular at carrying weight in the handlebar bag... but then so is the Rivendell. Maybe I am not as sensitive to this specific aspect of bicycle handling as others, but I am not sure I could feel a difference. I also did not think the Randonneur was at all "unridable" without a front load, as some warned me about. Again, it is possible that I simply lack the sophistication and experience to sense the difference, but there you have it.

When I initially planned to compare the low trail Randonneur to my Rivendell, I assumed that I would prefer one type of bicycle over the other. Instead, it became clear that the two bikes are simply optimised for different types of cycling. Both are versatile in that they can be ridden on and off road equally comfortably, are fully equipped, and can carry at least some of the cyclist's belongings. The Randonneur is a somewhat faster, lighter and more "precise" ride, but it would not work in a fully loaded capacity. The Rivendell can haul great quantities of stuff unflinchingly, but at the expense of that extra bit of speed and maneuverability. The Randonneur is, of course, a custom bike with all the attention to fit and craftsmanship that implies, so I am not comparing on that level.  But as far as the ride quality goes both bikes are great, just for different, albeit overlapping, uses. As for what role low trail geometry plays in all of this, I am honestly still not sure. Despite my pages of elaborate notes about the Randonneur's handling, I cannot say it is "better" or "worse" than typical mid/high trail geometry. My impressions of the handling are vivid, but oddly devoid of a value judgment. Vive la différence?

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Within My Grasp, Yet Out of Reach: the Evasive Century Ride

Once a cyclist begins to ride longer distances, it is inevitable that they will hear the siren call of the Century - the 100 mile ride. While 100 miles is as arbitrary a number as any, it has an undeniable cachet to it. It is a three digit number, a round number, and impressive number. Put simply, 100 miles is unambiguously "a lot." It is often considered a marker of seriousness when it comes to long-distance cycling.

Although I never set it as a goal for myself to complete a century, to tell the truth I thought that surely I would have done it by now. Distances of 30, 40 and 50 miles were so easy for me almost from the start, that I assumed 100 miles would inevitably follow. However, it is now my 3rd summer of cycling and somehow I still have not managed it - 65 miles being the longest distance I've covered so far in one go. One obstacle has been lack of time. As someone who gets annoyed when others tell me they don't have time to cycle, I can't believe I am using the same excuse. So maybe I should rephrase: My time management skills have been inadequate. I try to set a day aside for a century ride, but something inevitably comes up to make it impossible. Shorter rides are easier in that sense, because they do not require taking an entire day off. The other obstacle has been finding places to ride to. While the countryside outside Boston offers excellent cycling, I am having a hard time mapping out routes that exceed 65 miles and are still within my comfort zone when it comes to car traffic and elevation changes. And doing repeat loops just to cycle 100 miles is not appealing.

While on Cape Cod last summer, I thought that surely a century would finally be completed. Our plan was to gradually work up to it, but in the end we did it too gradually: Just after the 65 mile ride I got sick, and by the time I felt better it was time to go home. This summer, the inability to reach the 100 mile mark is becoming almost comical. Now that we are on Cape Ann - with both the time to do it and the perfect location - weather and other factors have intervened to foil our plans repeatedly. 50 miles along the coast has been the longest we have managed so far, and with half our stay over and more storms predicted for this week, it's possible that a century is simply not in the cards during this trip either.

It is becoming clear that, while I am accustomed to fitting rides into my life "organically," the century may necessitate a different approach. If I am serious, then I will need more careful planning, stronger determination, and a willingness to do it in poor weather conditions or along a route that I am not entirely comfortable with. But frankly, that just doesn't seem like much fun. When I finally find the time to do a 100 mile ride on my terms, it will be fantastic. But to approach it as a grimly goal-oriented undertaking for the sake of saying that I've done a century would defeat the purpose. As far as endurance goes, I am fairly confident that I can handle the mileage, so it's just a matter of an opportune situation presenting itself. I am sure someday it will.

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Traveling by Bike

As you may have noticed, we are staying on the coast for a little while - our annual working vacation. This is something we've been doing at the end of every summer for the past six years. When we lived further North, we used to go to a place in Maine, and after moving to Boston we began staying on Cape Cod. I've been writing about that for the past two summers, and it's funny how over time our trips became increasingly bicycle-oriented. Two years ago we went by car as usual, but for the first time took bikes and cycled around a bit during our stay. Last summer we arrived by car again, but got around entirely by bicycle once there and attempted some high mileage day-trips. This summer we no longer have a car and really did not want to rent one just for the trip. So after discovering that Cape Ann was accessible by commuter rail, we decided to come here instead and do the whole trip on bikes. Another reason for choosing Cape Ann, is that it is a popular starting point for long rides up the coast of Northern New England. There are no decent routes north directly out of Boston, and what cyclists often do is take the commuter rail up here before proceeding north. So that was the plan: To arrive on our bicycles, to get around by bike, and to cycle up the coast as far and as often as possible in the course of our stay.

Our main challenge was figuring out how to transport our belongings. This is not a bicycle-specific trip, so we needed more than a change of cycling clothing and rain gear. We are living here for two weeks and doing all the same things we do at home - including work-related stuff. We needed our regular clothing and footwear, personal hygiene products, bedding, towels, laptops, a variety of electronic devises, some necessary books and documents, and our camera equipment - in addition to the cycling clothing, tool kits and raingear. And all of that we fit into the luggage you see here.

For a number of logistical reasons, we decided the most practical course of action would be to turn one person into the pack mule - and since I already had a front rack and a large handlebar bag on my bike, it made sense that this would be me. I had planned to eventually get a touring-specific rear rack for my Rivendell anyway, and so that is what I did. Between the two of us, we packed a total of five bags for the trip - four on my bike and one on the Co-Habitant's.

The rear rack on my bike is a Nitto Campee with removable lowrider panels, to which we attached a set of Carradice panniers, while using the rack's platform to support a Sackville SaddleSack. These bags plus the Carradice saddlebag on the Co-Habitant's Surly contained our clothing, bedding and laptops. My Ostrich handlebar bag contained camera equipment, electronics and various other miscellaneous items. Everything was packed very tightly, and I estimate that my bicycle weighed around 100 lb when all was said and done.

The ride to the train station from our house is 4 miles through some of the busiest parts of the city. I have never ridden with my bike loaded up like this before, and the prospect of trying it for the first time in Boston traffic was nerve-wrecking. Overall, the bicycle handled fine. Once it got going, I could not feel the weight at all, and the heavy handlebar bag did not affect steering. But at very slow speeds - especially when starting and stopping - there was a fishtailing effect in the rear that took some getting used to. Also, with so much weight on the bike, the brakes were less effective than usual, which I had to keep in mind when stopping on a downhill. The frame itself had an interesting feel to it  - as if it was "yielding" to the weight (mildly flexing?). The resulting ride quality was in some ways nicer than with the bicycle unloaded. Having survived this ride in traffic, loaded touring on the open road does not seem in the least daunting. Going slower than usual is, of course, a given - but the reduction in speed was not as drastic as I thought it might be. Even cycling uphill (which I got to experience once we arrived to Cape Ann and rode from the train station to the place we are staying!) was not as difficult as I expected. Thanks to a helpful reader after my description of our previous commuter rail experience, we were able to board the elusive bike train, which made the trip more pleasant still.

Once we arrived and settled in, we removed the lowrider panels from the rear rack, transforming my bike from a full-on pack-mule into a lighter ride that could still carry food and equipment when necessary. I will write more about this particular rear rack in a separate post; it is pretty neat and versatile.

The place where we are staying is somewhere between a cabin and a shack on the architectural spectrum and is the size of a small garage. It is situated on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean, and there is a beach down the road. Despite the stormy weather, we love being here - just the two of us and our bikes. Yesterday the sun finally came out and we did a 50 mile "warm-up" ride, hoping for more soon. And it feels great that we were able to drag all of our stuff up here without needing a car. It was important to us that this did not feel like a compromise compared to the previous times we've gone away, and it most definitely does not. We were able to fit everything we need into our bicycle bags, and not having to deal with a car here feels extremely relaxing. I highly recommend giving traveling by bicycle a try!

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Cycling in a Coastal Downpour

On the second morning of our trip I awoke to the sound of vigorous drums, which I soon realised was pelting rain. Outside, the line between sky and ocean was blurred and the patch of rocky beach we occupied was flooded. Inside, everything was damp from humidity - our clothing, the bedding, our faces. We had known that the forecast promised intermittent rain, so this was not a surprise and we didn't despair. We were not planning to cycle every day; we had loads of other things to do. We would see.

But as we drank coffee, the rain appeared to let up. Things were looking good - picturesquely stormy, but calm. It looked as if the downpour had exhausted itself in the course of the night and we decided to set off on our bikes after all, going along the coast for a manageable distance.

The ride started out fine. We made our way up a winding hill, past ominously abandoned beaches. Moody skies hung low over a dark gray ocean. The empty roads were promising. There was only a mild drizzle and we agreed that if things stayed like this, it would be even better than sunny weather - cooler, and less crowded. After cycling for a bit it grew humid and I removed my rain jacket, stashing it inside the handlebar bag. Two minutes later, the skies opened up. There was no build-up; it was as if someone opened a floodgate.

Instead of turning back we persisted, hoping the rain would eventually ease up again. But it only intensified. The amount of water was unbelievable, even compared to the many other times I've cycled in the rain. Visibility became non-existent, with everything turning gray and liquidy. The roads became flooded and soon I was cycling with my wheels partly submerged in water. Roads are terrible in this area, and even on a dry day it is a task to navigate around potholes. Now that they were invisible underwater, I could neither anticipate nor avoid them. My bike bounced violently over ditches at high speeds. This felt distinctly unsafe, especially on curvy descents. On a bike with narrow tires, the ride would have been simply impossible for me.

The coastal road was narrow and winding. As I tried to maintain a consistent line of travel, motorists sped past us, well over the posted speed limit, sending sprays of yet more water in our direction. I had my lights on and could only hope I was visible to them. My jersey - which had started out a bright crimson - was now a dark, dull brown. There are a few tricky spots on this route, where several roads merge on a twisty downhill - so that one must resist picking up speed and be prepared to brake instead. At these instances it became frighteningly apparent that my brakes did not work well under such conditions. I suspended disbelief and did my best, feathering the brakes and trying not to have a panic attack. Climbing up a flooded road while bouncing over potholes was horrifying as well.

Despite my best efforts I found this type of cycling too stressful to enjoy. I couldn't see where I was going, let alone anything resembling scenery, and frankly I had nothing to prove. This was meant to be a pleasant trip and not an endurance contest. I signaled to the Co-Habitant that I wanted to turn around, and we did - making our way back through the unrelenting downpour the same way we came. Before returning home, we took a detour and stopped at a hardware store to pick up oil for the bikes - later spending a great deal of time wiping sand and debris off of them and treating the components to prevent rust - which can form alarmingly quickly in a coastal environment. My wool cycling clothing took a day to air-dry, and my shoes are still soaking wet.

Though I know others enjoy the challenge of riding in this kind of weather, this is not an experience I care to repeat unless absolutely necessary. It is one thing to cycle in the rain, but a trip along the coast in a continuous and forceful downpour - with the roads flooded, visibility poor, and the wind assaulting my face, body and bike with sandy salt water - is not something I can justify, both in terms of safety and in terms of its detrimental effect on equipment. Hopefully there will be better weather ahead... though the forecast remains ominous!

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This Is the Day...

We've been talking about doing something like this for a while, and now we finally are! Didn't want to write about it earlier lest I jinx it; details to follow. Have a good weekend!

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Gear Inches and Different Bikes?

Whenever there is mention of a bicycle's gearing, inevitably we bring up gear inches. And when there is a question of what gearing is best on a new bicycle, someone will suggest to calculate the gear inches on a bike the person is already comfortable with and use that as a template. But here is the thing: While I known how to calculate gear inches, I've been finding this mostly useless when setting up a new bike - because, in my understanding, gear inches are bike-specific. In other words, the same gear inches don't feel the same on different bikes. What am I missing or misunderstanding here? 

To quickly summarise for those new to the concept, gear inches are a convenient way to describe the gearing you are in when in different combinations of the front chainring and rear cog (taking into account wheel and tire size and crank length [edited to add: see discussion in comments regarding this; seems that I did misunderstand.]). The lower the number, the easier the gearing. For example: The lowest gearing possible on my Rivendell is 26 gear inches. The lowest gearing possible on the Royal H. Randonneur is 27.6 gear inches. The lowest gearing possible on the loaner Seven is 33 gear inches. 

So, on paper, it appears that the Rivendell is geared easier than the Randonneur, and much easier than the Seven. But in fact the bicycles feel similarly easy to ride in their lowest gearing. Cycling up the same hills, I've determined that 33 gear inches on the Seven feels about the same as 26 gear inches on the Rivendell and 31.6 gear inches on Randonneur. It seems that weight, geometry, positioning, tubing, and a number of other factors play into it and that gear inch calculations are bike-specific. It is not clear to me why some seem to suggest that gear inches are independent figures that one can use to determine the appropriate gearing on any bike. 

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Edited to add: My "what am I missing or misunderstanding here?" question has been answered in the comments; please read through them for an interesting discussion. I was mistaken in believing that crank length is factored into gear inch calculations; it is only factored into gain ratio calculations (an alternative way to measure gearing). When comparing gain ratios between the three bikes, the equivalently-experienced gearing on the Seven and on the Randonneur are in fact the same, whereas the equivalently-experienced gearing on the Rivendell is a bit lower. So... while other elusive factors remain, it appears that crank length is a huge one and that calculating gain ratios instead of gear inches allows you to factor it into the equation. Please continue to contribute to the discussion if you feel there is more to it, or that I phrased something incorrectly. I would like all of this to remain here for others' benefit.

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A Dirt Road Excursion

I've decided that I will definitely be going to the Deerfield Dirt-Road Randonnée (D2R2) this year - a scenic ride along New England dirt roads that will take place in August. The 40 mile route is said to be tame in comparison to the longer options, but I still need to get used to riding on dirt roads if I am going to do it. So we began by exploring some of the ones close to our usual cycling routes: the Narrow Gauge Rail Trail that runs from Bedford to Billerica, and the Battle Road Trail that runs from Lexington to Concord. Both of these are pretty short (3 miles and 5 miles), but they are the only dirt roads I know of around here that aren't too technical. We incorporated them into our regular 40 mile ride, setting off on bikes with wide tires. 

650B x 42mm Grand Bois Hetre tires on my Rivendell, and 700C x 50mm Schwalbe Fat Frank tires on his Surly. I know that some prefer to ride mountain bikes and be more upright on trails, but I really like the feeling of a roadish bike with dropbars on this terrain: My weight feels well-distributed and the speed and maneuverability seem to work in my favour when going either over or around tricky patches. 

I am fairly certain that I would not enjoy a trail so technical as to require a dedicated mountain bike. Even this offshoot of the main path was too much.

When there are rocks and roots jutting out every which way, navigating around them is stressful - while going over them feels like riding a pogo stick. I don't think this kind of surface is for me.

But the surface of the main paths looked like this most of the time: Mainly packed dirt with some gravel, and occasional stretches of sand. These things I am more or less okay with.

We maintained a speed of about 12-13 mph most of the time on this surface, and I was fairly comfortable. When gravel is loose, it can feel like it's slipping out from under your tires - but the main thing is to get used to that sensation and just keep going. Easier said than done of course - especially when cycling down a winding incline. Even a gentle incline and a subtle turn can incite panic if it feels like your tire is slipping sideways. But braking is a bad idea and trying to put a foot down is a bad idea - pretty much just trusting in the bike's momentum and continuing seems to be the way to deal with this.

I did have a minor incident when we went over a stretch of deep sand. I was fine through most of it, but toward the end the mere awareness that I was cycling through sand just got too much and I lost my nerve. The bike started to topple and I sort of half-fell forward in slow motion (crotch onto toptube - ouch!), while desperately clutching the handlebars so that the bike itself wouldn't fall. Given that this hardly even qualifies as a fall, I am glad it happened: Now I understand how the bike behaves if I slow down in sand.

After this dirt road excursion, I am still not not sure how I feel about cycling off-road. Riding in the woods was nice and I do appreciate the fresh air and the quiet of being away from busy roads. But the slower speed felt limiting and I was very glad to be back on pavement and cycling at 20mph once we were done with the trails. The technical aspect - developing skills to transcend difficult terrain on a bicycle - is just not exciting to me at all in of itself. The aspect I do like is the feeling of exploring, and I hope to find some other trails that are longer and lead somewhere more interesting next time. What appeals to me about the D2R2 is the vastness and diversity of terrain it promises, with beautiful riverside views. It's a legendary ride, and I hope to be comfortable enough on dirt roads to complete it in August. Any advice for local routes to practice on most welcome!

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Leveling the Playing Field

File this under "duh" if you will, but I need to acknowledge this out of fairness to Rivendell, and as a means of providing information to others wondering just how much of an effect one's positioning on a bike can have on pedaling effort and speed. Earlier I described being considerably faster, particularly uphill, on the Seven bicycle I have on loan in comparison to my Rivendell Sam Hillborne. It was widely agreed that there were many factors involved in this difference - from frame geometry, to weight, to positioning. For some time now I'd been considering making changes to my Rivendell, and finally it's been done - thus somewhat leveling the playing field between the two bikes, with interesting results.

You may spot a number of other alterations in these pictures, but for now I will talk just about the difference in positioning. Namely, the bike now has a longer stem (8 cm, instead of 6 cm as previously). The handlebars have been positioned slightly lower as well.

We've also reduced the amount of setback on the saddle by about 2 cm (not just by moving the saddle forward, but by replacing the seatpost). The overall effect is that my lean has increased by a small amount, my weight on the bike has shifted forward, and my hips are move directly above the cranks.

It's important to stress that I would not have found this position comfortable a year ago, so making these changes is not so much "admitting a mistake," as altering the bicycle's set-up to reflect my changing skill level and preferences. I very much find this position comfortable now - comfortable and fast.

We rode to Lexington, MA to try some hill intervals. I did not attach a saddlebag, so that I could get a sense of how the bike itself performs. And it performed well - albeit differently from the Seven.

Here is my amateur description of what happens on the two bikes when I cycle uphill: The Seven allows me to very easily "attack" a hill - to cycle up it at a fairly high speed, until I run out of steam toward the end and am forced to slow down. In comparison, the Rivendell does not like to "attack" and forces me to slow down earlier. In its previous state, this slowing down happened almost immediately and drastically. Now it happens half way up, and the speed drop is considerably smaller. Cycling on flats, the new positioning makes the Rivendell faster to accelerate than previously. Not as fast as a racing bike of course, but I no longer feel as if I am sitting "behind the bike" unable use my weight efficiently.

Once I attach bags, that will no doubt slow it down some. But I have a strong feeling that the change in performance is due to the forward placement of my weight more than anything else - when I ride the bike now it feels inherently different - more responsive and more efficient. I am not trying to convert the Rivendell to a Seven and I am not considering taking it on paceline rides. I want to keep the wide tires, the fenders, the rack, the bags, the lighting - there is no compromise possible on that end, as these features are extremely useful to me. But the Seven's positioning (and my enjoyment of that positioning) has most definitely affected my expectations in terms of performance, and I don't think I can go back to short stems and seatposts with generous setback. Not that there is any reason I should - It's all about what you are comfortable with at any given point in time.

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Back and Forth: Lessons in Positioning

Last week I rode my Rivendell Sam Hillborne for the first time in three weeks after riding exclusively the loaner Seven on a close to daily basis. It's hard to believe that the body can adapt to one position so quickly as to find other positions unnatural. I confidently got on my bike, expecting that old familiar feeling of riding it to welcome me back. But I was in for a surprise. The ride was as comfortable as I remembered, but everything felt off. It took me a while to understand what was wrong. Initially it was just a vague sense of not feeling as connected to the road and as much in control of the bike, which was disconcerting. As I kept cycling, I became aware that it was really two specific things: I felt that I was seated too far back, and that I wasn't out far enough over the front wheel. I kept wanting to shove my weight forward, and it was frustrating to feel almost as if I were sitting "behind" the bike. 

Looking at the way the two bicycles are set up, the difference makes sense. On the Seven, the saddle sits further forward and the handlebars are further out. I was aware of this difference before, but assumed that I would find the Seven's set-up aggressive and uncomfortable, while the Rivendell's set-up a welcome relief. Instead the Seven's set-up now feels "right" and anything deviating from it feels "wrong" - as if I don't have sufficient control of the bike. That feeling is hard to shake. I think my Rivendell needs a little make-over. 

While moving the saddle forward is easy enough, changing the handlebar set-up will be messy, because I will have to replace the fairly short (6cm) stem with a longer one. When I fist began trying to ride with drop bars, I found it extremely difficult and a short stem was recommended to make the transition easier. I cannot say that it was a poor recommendation, because it worked. I rode with this set-up for a year, gradually becoming more comfortable with the whole idea of a roadbike, and feeling increasingly natural in a forward-leaning position. Some would look at my bikes and point out that my stems are too short, and I was perfectly aware that by most standards they are. But these things are highly personal, and last year I was concerned not so much with speed and agility, as with just being able to ride the bike. The way a bike balanced with a shorter stem felt better to me at the time. For what it's worth, I see many roadbikes from the 1970s-80s that were ridden by women set up with short stems. My previously owned vintage Trek had an even shorter stem than this bike, and that was the original owner's doing.

Going back and forth between the Seven and the Rivendell has been educational; each has what the other lacks. It is fairly clear to me that I "need" a lightweight, purely-roadish roadbike like the Seven and that I also "need" a wide-tired, befendered, dynamo-hub, luggage-bearing long distance bike like the Rivendell. I would not want to turn one into the other, or to combine them into something in-between. If I could make changes to the Seven, it would be to magically decrease its size. If I could make changes to the Rivendell, it would be to alter its positioning and to make it lighter. The former we will be doing shortly. The latter is not really possible without getting rid of the very things that make this bike practical. But I am very curious now whether it is the positioning, more than anything else that accounts for the difference in speed between the two bicycles. I am also wondering what the "ideal" stem length for this bike would be. The top tube is unusually long, so it would have to be 8-9cm tops. It's frustrating that experimenting with stems is not easy, but I will report the results of my trial-and-error fumblings. 

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Perfect Just the Way You Are

In describing my experience in a paceline training ride earlier, I had written that my Rivendell was not the right bike for that ride. Subsequently, I've received some suggestions for how to make it faster - including getting narrower tires, installing "brifters," removing the saddlebag, rack and fenders, and stripping off the dynamo lighting. While I appreciate the advice and agree that all of that may indeed improve my paceline performance, I do not plan to make any changes to this bicycle. Right now, I have a bicycle that is perfect for me as a touring bike. Why turn something that's perfect for one activity into something that's okay but not ideal for another?

In stating that my Rivendell was not the right bike for a racing team-sponsored paceline ride, I was by no means criticising it or expressing unhappiness with it. I was merely reiterating a simple fact: Touring bikes are not racing bikes.

A touring bicycle is about exploration and about experiencing one's surroundings. You cannot do that when cycling 6" behind someone's rear wheel at 20mph.

A touring bike is about the long haul and about going at one's own pace.  I use the computer as a handlebar-mounted clock and odometer more than I use it as a speedometer - because "how far" is a more interesting question for this bike than "how fast."

A touring bike is about the freedom of going anywhere, without having to cultivate the handling skills of a pro racer. Comfortable geometry and stable handling enable novice and experienced cyclists alike to ride. My bicycle is easy, and its wide, cushy tires make me immune to most of the fears that plague cyclists on modern roadbikes: potholes, rain, sand, uneven terrain - bring them on. I can even wear nice clothing while I'm at it, because the fenders will protect me from road grime. And with my bright, dynamo-generated lights I can cycle through the night and not worry about batteries.

A touring bike is a home away from home. In my saddlebag, on the day this picture was taken I carried: a large DSLR camera, a sweater, a hat, an apple, a notebook, a fountain pen, a bar of chocolate, a saddle cover, gloves, sunscreen, a lock and a mini pump. And that's nothing compared to what I could have brought had I also attached my handlebar bag. Setting off on a racing bike limits you to a training ride and nothing more. On a touring bike a ride can start out as one thing and morph into another. Groceries can be involved, or a spontaneous visit to a friend's house. Who knows!

Riding a touring bike is an organic experience. My Rivendell's steel, brass, canvas, leather, twine, shellac and rubber fit harmoniously with its riding style and with my enjoyment of exploring nature. It is not about competing with nature with ever-more-efficient materials and aerodynamic postures, but about simply existing.

In turning this bicycle into a performance-oriented bike, I would essentially be giving up the very things that make it special. And that would be a shame.

Sure, we may be curious about pacelines and racing.

But not at the expense of smelling the flowers. Some bicycles are perfect just the way they are.

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First Group Ride!

Yesterday, I went on my first group ride. Yes, there were only three of us and we're all friends. But those who were reading this blog last summer understand what an accomplishment this is for me.

Ever since I began to ride a roadbike, I've been whining about wanting to learn how to ride in a group... yet refusing to go on group rides. Yes, it was paradoxical. But you see, I wanted to learn the skills of riding in a group, while at the same time being afraid of it - convinced that I would perish in a high speed crash, images of the most gruesome bicycle race pile-ups flashing through my mind. I toyed with the idea of joining the women's training rides offered by a local cycling team, but ultimately the entire summer passed and I did not do it - opting for solitary rides and occasional rides with the Co-Habitant instead. I had to be coaxed into joining yesterday's ride, and I did try to back out as usual... but in the end something just clicked in my head and I went. And I'm very glad. Yes, I know you told me so!

My cycling partners were the Co-Habitant on his nearly-finished Surly Cross-Check (notice the fenders!) and our neighbour Somervillain on his vintage 650B conversion.

I was on my Rivendell Sam Hillborne. How happy he was to be out amidst the cherry blossoms!

Though we were riding different bikes, the aesthetic was amusingly similar. We all had candy-coloured frames with fat tires, cantilever brakes, aluminum fenders, leather saddles, classic bar wrap, and even twined water bottles. All three of us were also wearing wool. We looked like a team of eccentric bicycle obsessionists. The plan was to go on a roughly 40 mile loop - starting on the Minuteman Trail, then going through the hilly parts of Lexington, and arriving in Concord, MA - where we would stop before returning along a similar route.

Any nervousness I had about the ride dissipated as soon as the three of us set off in city traffic on the way to the Minuteman Trail. I expected this to be stressful - keeping pace with the others while paying attention to cars and negotiating treacherous intersections - but instead it was easy. Easier than cycling in traffic alone and easier than cycling in traffic with just the Co-Habitant. I still need to think this through in order to understand why, but possibly because three cyclists really do constitute a group in the eyes of motorists and are thus given more space. Maybe. Whatever the reason, it was great.

For the first part of our ride, we went in an unchanging single file procession - with the Co-Habitant first, Somervillain second, and me last. We cycled fairly closely behind one another, which I did not find problematic. It took me some time to get used to the rhythm with which Somervillain started from a stop, and to time my own starts the same way so that I wouldn't run into him. But otherwise, it was all very intuitive. I did not have trouble pacing myself to maintain the same speed consistently. And I also liked it that they hand-signaled every move they would make on the road. When we cycle alone, the Co-Habitant and I don't do this - which sometimes results in miscommunication.

We went along the Minuteman Trail at 14-16mph, then headed for the hills in Lexington. We've had an especially long winter and rainy spring this year, and I had not done major hills like this since last Fall. I was physically unprepared for them. I also forgot how steep and long this one particular hill was. We began climbing it, and almost immediately I was spinning in a low gear and my speed dropped to 7mph. I just couldn't do any better. It was at this point that we dispersed, so that the stronger riders would not lose momentum. Somervillain took off uphill and the Co-Habitant followed him at a slower pace, but still faster than me. I eventually made it, but the climb was such a huge shock to my system that even the downhill decent that followed made me unable to catch up with them. As soon as the distance between us decreased, came another uphill and I would lose them again. While I found this frustrating, I also appreciated having a true sense of the differences in our abilities. And I certainly preferred them going ahead to slowing down for me - that would have made me feel excruciatingly self-conscious.  We cycled over a series of hills in a similar style - the distance between us decreasing on the descent, then increasing again on the ascent - until finally the elevation changes lessened and we were able to cycle in a single file again. I did not have trouble keeping up on flats and mild hills, so that was a relief. The day had been beautiful and sunny up until then, but now it started to rain, which was a relief as well. The raindrops cooled me down.

We stopped in the Concord town center to have lunch and coffee. The sun came out again by then, and the small town looked ridiculously picturesque - blue skies, green grass and cherry blossoms everywhere.

We filled up our water bottles.

And Somervillain showed us his clever iphone-charging system.

The socket is built into the light mount and derives its power from the dynamo hub. He made it himself. I don't own an iphone, but still want this on my bike!

At some point in the course of the ride, the Co-Habitant's brakes suddenly became stronger, solving his brake dilema. Looks like they just needed to wear in.

My writing skills are not strong enough to make the canti-comparison conversation that followed sound interesting, but I'll show you Somervillain's Mafac brakes.

And my Tektro brakes.  After a thorough examination of my bike, we may now have a diagnosis for my complaint about the drivetrain fussiness: bent derailleur hanger, possibly. So I will have to take care of that.

After the town center, we cycled a bit further and stopped by Walden Pond.

Even with lots of people there on a Sunday, it is still such a quiet, meditative place.

We chose a slightly less hilly route home, and the return part of our loop was more casual. We switched places in line frequently, and at times cycled in a cluster instead of a procession - all of which I was fine with. I got a sudden burst of energy on the way back and did not feel tired.

It is fair to conclude that my first group ride was a success. I enjoyed cycling in a procession at a controlled speed, and I did not have problems riding in close proximity to the others. I guess my sense of incompetence in this respect was exaggerated. The losing them on hills aspect I will have to work on, but I think it is to be expected given the differences in physical strength between us.

I looked up the schedule for the women's training rides this summer, and the first one of the season is this Tuesday - tomorrow! Before I lose my nerve, I think I need to just force myself to show up. Will make my best effort - now off to shop for a certain required accessory!

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