Bicycle Safety: My Perspective

Every so often I am asked to state my views on safety with respect to transportation cycling*. Though reluctant to raise this topic in the past, after more than two years I feel ready to share my perspective. So here it goes, and I ask in advance that you help me keep any ensuing discussion civil:

When it comes to bicycle safety, I draw a categorical distinction between two facets that are often mushed together, but for me are entirely independent: (1) safe behaviour, and (2) protective gear. I believe that safe behaviour is essential and a matter of social responsibility. I believe that protective gear is secondary and a matter of personal choice. This distinction and prioritisation governs (i.e. biases) the views on transportational cycling that are expressed throughout this blog.

To clarify what I mean by "safe behaviour" on a bicycle, here are the points I consider crucial:

Riding a bicycle that is functional and road-ready
Taking reasonable steps to ensure one's bicycle will not fail on the road. This includes making certain that the wheels are secured and that the brakes, lights, and other crucial components are functional. Riding a bike with known mechanical problems, insufficient braking capacity, or any unusual features that make it intentionally difficult to operate, can have disastrous consequences in traffic.

Being in possession of basic bike handling skills
This includes being able to start and stop without faltering, to maintain a line of travel without weaving, to reduce speed when appropriate, and to safely maneuver around obstacles. It helps to ride the type of bike one is comfortable with and in a way they are comfortable with, depending on skill level and personal preference. Those who do not yet possess adequate handling skills should practice on trails and quiet side streets before mixing with traffic.

Adhering to traffic laws
Knowing and following local traffic laws, as they pertain to bicyclists. This includes respecting lane directionality, street lights, stop signs and right of way, signaling turns and intentions to merge, and in general behaving predictably.

Knowing safety maneuvers
Awareness of various crucial safety maneuvers and the ability to execute them. For instance: not positioning oneself in the blind spot of a car that could turn into one's line of travel, not cycling in the door zone of parked cars, and not passing other cyclists on the right.

Being visible
Having sufficient lighting on one's bicycle, so as to be clearly visible to others on the roads in the dark and in inclement weather.

Being vigilant
Paying attention while cycling; being cautious and attentive to what goes on in one's peripheral vision while resisting distractions. This includes not being engrossed in conversation with fellow cyclists, not chatting on one's mobile phone or texting, and otherwise not engaging in activities that detract from an awareness of one's surroundings.

You might not agree with me on some aspects of these points, but I believe in them and try to adhere to them to the best of my ability. In my view, this makes me a conservative and safe cyclist.

As for protective gear (helmets, knee pads, steel-toed boots, padded vests, pre-emptive neck and back braces, etc), these things are simply not relevant to the safe operation of a bicycle. We all have the right to expect safe behaviour from each other, when the behaviour impacts other road users. But we do not have the right to decide what each other's personal comfort levels ought to be, when this comfort has no effect on us.

In addition, I think that protective gear - whether we believe it to be useful or not - is secondary to safe behaviour to such an extent, that to stress it above the other stuff (as I feel is routinely done in safety campaigns) is misguided and even, dare I say, dangerous. As I write this, out of the window I can see a helmeted cyclist making a left turn onto a one way street against traffic, riding a bicycle with no handbrakes and no lights. I think this sort of thing is a direct result of promoting protective gear instead of safe behaviour, and I think it's evidence that we have our priorities backwards. I do not find that my views on this matter are radical, although sometimes I am made to feel as if they are. Whether you agree or not is entirely up to you.

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*a small group of us (Dave from Portlandize, Matt from Bicycles, Books and Bowties, and myself) are working on a transportation cycling brochure, where the topic of safety will be covered. However, I am not the person who is writing that particular section, and the opinions expressed here - though congruent with those in the brochure - are my own.

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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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Rapha Women's Line... I Don't Get It

Rapha is one of those companies that people tend to either love, or love to hate. Essentially a manufacturer of high-end cycling clothing, but also a magazine publisher, racing sponsor,  event organiser, bicycle design collaborator, and general "lifestyle brand," Rapha promotes an unapologetically romantic vision of roadcycling via an endless output of dreamy images as part of its advertising and social media campaigns. Slender, beautifully backlit cyclists suffer exquisitely as they scale mountains - often in black and white, and often to the accompaniment of haunting music, fostering a sense of nostalgia for a time that is not yet in the past. The garments offered are minimalist and expensive. That is Rapha in a nutshell. 

Now, let me make it clear that I have nothing against Rapha's marketing tactics. I appreciate an effective advertising campaign achieved through emotional channels, and for this they surely deserve an award. When something inspires such excellent parody, you know it's reached iconic status. I also have nothing against brands that are considered luxury or high end, if the quality of their products reflects the price. So what's my problem with Rapha? It's not so much a problem, as a genuine feeling of dissonance - at least when it comes to the women's line. When I encounter their clothing in person, what's in front of me does not match the image cultivated by the impressive adverts.

Take, for instance, the Women's Stowaway Jacket. Last summer I was desperate for a cycling rain jacket after my old windbreaker came apart. I wanted the jacket to be form-fitting, waterproof, and, ideally, red. Having exhausted the less pricey alternatives, I followed up on a suggestion to try Rapha. The Stowaway happened to be on sale at the Ride Studio Cafe at the time, and I came prepared to buy it. I tried on the jacket. It wasn't bad. I mean, not horrendous. Basically, it looked like a tracksuit top circa 1982 - something you'd expect to see on, say, an East German gymnast of that era. It's an intriguing look if you can pull that sort of thing off, but not especially flattering. The shade of red also strikes me as uninspired: not an exciting bright red and not a classic vintagey-brick either, but a dated crimson that I do not readily associate with cycling.

True to '80s tracksuits styling, the fit is tight in the chest, but mysteriously baggy above the chest - forming strange folds at the collar that threatened to constrict my breathing.

And do you see that bulge in the back? You're probably thinking that's the rear pockets. Nope. This cycling jacket has no rear pockets; that's just a bulge that forms on its own.

Although there are side pockets, they are small - so small, that I had trouble sticking my hands inside. Mind you, none of these design flaws are at all unusual in the sadistic world of women's cycling apparel, and if anything Rapha is not as bad as some of the alternatives. But for me, that is just not good enough given what I was made to expect.

Moving on to the Classic Women's Jersey - which I had considered when looking for wool cycling clothing: The styling in itself is all right, except that the full-length zipper creates artificial "tummy folds," as is common with this type of jersey.

The fabric is described as "sportwool," but as soon as I put it on, it became clear that this was a euphemism for a polyester-heavy blend. I later checked and yup: "sportwool" is 60% polyester.

Though the minimalist design is tasteful and subtle, I would rate the texture of the fabric as average on the rough vs silky scale. And for a hot weather jersey, it seemed somewhat heavy to me.

One nice thing about the Rapha jerseys, is that they come with arm warmers. Problem is (and I am not the only one to have noted this), that the arm warmers seem to be one size smaller than the jersey - rendering them essentially useless for those whose arms are not stick-thin. Too bad, because including matching arm warmers is a wonderful idea.

I could go on about other items in the Rapha women's line, but that's probably enough for now. Suffice to say that I find all of it more or less all right, but by no means extraordinary either in quality or looks. I am supportive of what Rapha is trying to do - create inspiring, classic, tasteful, well made cycling clothing. We can certainly use more brands that create such clothing for female cyclists, so really, I am all for it.  But come on Rapha: Live up to your image. Watching all those dreamy backlit videos, I expected some truly "epic" women's cycling apparel... and this ain't it.

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Pass It Along

A few weeks ago, I experienced my very first incident of dropping a chain. Of all the times this could happen, it happened during a paceline ride: We were transitioning from a downhill to an abrupt uphill and I rapidly switched to the small chainring. It's funny how we don't immediately recognise things that we haven't experienced before, and it took me a moment to understand what was happening. I sensed that pedaling suddenly became way too easy and that I was losing speed rapidly... but what could be the matter? It wasn't until somebody yelled "chain off!" that I looked down - and oh my God, my chain was off! It was surreal, like one of those dreams where someone says "But why are you wearing a duck costume?" and that's when you realise that, indeed, you are wearing a duck costume. First comes the wave of shock, then realisation that this must be a dream. Except this time I was awake - and aware that three other girls were pedaling behind me, so that a sudden stop on my part would likely cause a crash. 

Everything happened quickly. I managed to make a "pulling over" gesture, then steered the chainless bike onto the grass and dismounted, averting disaster. But the rest was pathetic. Though I knew how to get the chain back on, my hands were not cooperating. Soon I was covered in grease and bleeding from somehow having cut myself on the chainring, but the chain would not stay on. "Need help?" said a voice next to me. I became aware that one woman stayed behind with me and was now observing my ineptitude. Still in a state of shock and now also red with embarrassment, I could not even answer coherently, and could only mutter "it won't stay on... why won't it stay on?.." Next thing I knew, she calmly took the bike from me, put the chain back on the ring, and turned the pedals until the chain was back on. I felt like an idiot as I thanked her profusely - but she expressed not an ounce of annoyance. "Don't worry about it. I froze the first time it happened too." I don't know whether this was true, or whether she was just being self-deprecating to make me feel better, but it did make me feel better.

Fast forward to my ride this morning. I stopped to drink some water and saw a woman walking her bike toward me from the side of the road. "Excuse me, could I use your phone?" I gave her my phone and asked what happened. She replied, with some embarrassment, that her chain came off and she wasn't able to get it back on. She wanted to call her boyfriend for a ride. "I know how to do it, but it's just not working." I looked at her chain and decided to give it a try. This time I wasn't nervous or under pressure to fix my bike as soon as possible. I said "May I?" and - miracle of miracles - got the chain back on. She rode the bike down the path and back, confirmed that it was working, and no longer wanted to call her boyfriend. She was just as flustered about not having been able to do it herself as I had been two weeks earlier. So I said the same thing the woman in the paceline had said to me: "Don't worry about it. I froze the first time it happened too." It was true!

When mechanical problems happen, I think it's natural to freeze. We may know how to fix things in theory, but when it's actually happening to us for the first time, it's a different story. It's nice to be helped without being judged as inept. I appreciated that help when I got it, and will reciprocate in the same manner when I can. 

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Shifter Placement on a Mixte: an Aesthetic and Functional Challenge

I've been asked to describe how the shifters are set up on my mixte, but I hesitate to write about it, because I don't necessarily recommend this method. My handlebar setup consists of inverse brake levers, elk hide grips covering the entire handlebar, and bar-end friction shifters mounted upon "thumbies" up toward the front. The rationale here was to leave as much of the handlebar area uninterrupted as possible, allowing for a variety of hand positions. It works nicely in that context, but it is not for everyone - which brings me to the issue so many have written to me about: There seem to be few options for mounting gear shifters on a mixte with upright handlebars that are both elegant and convenient. Personally, I find my own setup not entirely elegant: Too many cables up front. And it's not entirely convenient either: The levers can only be reached when the hands are in the aggressive forward position on the bars. But what other possibilities are there?

One alternative is to move the shifters closer to the edges of the handlebars, so that they are near the brake levers. This placement is more convenient if that is the position where you tend to hold your hands the most, and since I've been using my own mixte more and more as a city bike I am considering switching to something like this. The problem, however, is that placing the shifters here interrupts the handlebars and limits potential hand positions: It will not be possible to slide my hands back and forth along the bars the way it's possible on my current mixte set-up. Also, it's essential to get the angle of the shifters just right, and doing so does not always result in attractive placement. Finally, both with my current set-up and with the set-up pictured above, there is something messy-looking to my eye in having so many cables sprouting from the handlebars. I have not been able to find a way to make handlebar-mounted shifters look attractive.

A potential way to clean up the handlebar setup from the "messy cables" look while keeping the shifters within reach is to opt for bar-ends. I tried this prior to my current setup, but quickly discovered that this works well only with the wide Nitto Albatross bars used by Rivendell, and ideally on a bike with a long virtual top tube and/or with the handlebars raised high. Otherwise, you may discover that the bar-end shifters will poke you in the knees to the point where it could interfere with pedaling on turns. That is exactly what happened when I tried them on my small sized mixte with narrow Porteur bars.

If none of these methods appeal to you, you can go the vintage route - one possibility being to mount the shifters on the stem. However, generally this is not recommended for a number of reasons. Some claim that mounting the shifters in this spot is dangerous, because they could potentially "impale" you if you fall forward on your bike. To me this seems rather far-fetched: After all, it's common to have bruises on your thighs from bumping into bar-end shifters, yet no one claims they are dangerous. I think the real reason stem shifters are disliked is that they are considered to be a symbol of lower-end bikes: In the '70s, stem shifters meant that a bike was marketed for amateurs who held their hands mostly on top of the handlebars and were unable to reach downtube shifters.

But while downtube shifters offer elegance and simplicity, removing the second set of cables from the handlebars entirely, most cyclists who are looking for an upright mixte find them difficult to use. In order to shift gears, you have to remove you hand from the handlebars are reach quite a ways down. Particularly if you are sitting upright, this is inconvenient - not to mention beyond the skill level of some cyclists.

As far as aesthetics go, a mixte frame is a challenge to set up, because the twin lateral stays already add a degree of visual complexity to the looks. If you add a cluttered handlebar set-up to that, it can get pretty messy. In vintage photos and in handmade bicycle shows, the cleanest looking mixtes tend to be set up either as single speeds, with hub gearing, or with single chinrings - ensuring that there is, at most, only one shifter to deal with. But in practice, most mixtes today are set up with derailleur gearing and either double or triple chainrings - presenting an aesthetic and functional challenge. 

While I cannot offer a solution that would suit everyone's tastes, I wanted to share the methods I know of and the pros and cons of each, as I see them. How have you set up the shifters on your mixte, and are you happy with them in terms of user-friendliness and looks?

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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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The Brompton: an Extended Test Ride

About a year ago, I briefly test-rode a Brompton folding bicycle and wrote about it here. We've been toying with the idea of getting Bromptons since before I started this blog, but it just hasn't happened. For one thing, I am not all that attracted to folders. They are fascinating, but they don't excite me in a way that would make purchasing one feel like an absolute priority. On some level, I also just instinctively don't trust that a small folding bike is as versatile and convenient as some claim: Is it really a good idea to ride a tiny bike in city traffic, where you want maximum visibility? Can a bike like this possibly handle hills? And don't those small wheels make for a harsh ride? My short encounter with the bike last year was insufficient to answer these questions, so I decided to test ride it properly once and for all. Harris Cyclery kindly lent me their demo model for this purpose. I left my own bike at Harris and rode home on the Brompton, then brought it back two days later.

The model I rode was the P6L-X, which means that it is set up with "butterfly" trekking handlebars, 6 speeds, fenders but no rear rack. The "X" at the end indicates that the frame is the lightweight version - with titanium fork and rear triangle. Generally Bromptons are available either all-steel or with titanium parts, either with or without fenders and racks, with a variety of gearing options, with or without dynamo lighting, and with a choice of handlebar styles.

Here are the three styles of handlebars next to one another: the "S" type (mountain bike style straight bars), the "M" type (traditional upright bars), and the "P" type (trekking or "butterfly" bars).

I chose a model with the trekking bars, because I was worried that my hands would bother me in the limited hand positions afforded by the other styles. I have problems with the nerves in my hands that make it difficult to hold them in the straight-in-front position for more than a few minutes at a time, so I did not want to take chances on the 9 mile ride home that awaited me.

Now I know that lots of people find these trekking bars goofy, and I agree. But you know what? The Brompton is already goofy, so to my eye the bars look right at home here. Imagine replacing that expanse of foam with some nice cork tape - I think this could look great.

The gearing on the 6-speed Brompton is interesting in that it includes both a hub and a derailleur. The shifter on the right handlebar operates the 3-speed Sturmey Archer hub, while the shifter on the left operates the 2-speed derailleur.

Here is a close-up of the hub and derailleur together.

And a panned out view. Notice also the titanium rear triangle in this picture.

Titanium fork.

The crown on these forks is made in the style of the Raleigh/ Pashley fork, which looks very cute in miniature. On the all-steel models, the fork crowns look like this.

There is lots of debate among Brompton owners regarding whether the lightweight option is worth the hefty upcharge it fetches. The titanium parts reduce the weight of the bicycle by 2lb, and some claim that they also improve ride quality. Others claim that there is no difference in ride quality, and that the weight difference is negligible. Even after having tried both versions, I am unsure where I stand on this one. The online consensus appears to be that the lightweight package is not worth the price, but in person more than half of the Brompton owners I meet are sporting the titanium parts - shrugging diplomatically when questioned about its "value." Make what you will of that!

As I wrote in my previous review, everything on the Brompton is impeccably made, proprietary and adorable. The tiny fenders with tiny mudflaps are particularly endearing.

The little wheels mounted at the rear are so that the bicycle can be rolled when folded.

The staff at Harris Cyclery showed me how to fold and unfold the bike and attached a huge basket to the front, so that I could carry all of my stuff home. I first rode on the streets behind the store without the basket, just to get used to the bike. Because the Brompton is so low to the ground and has such small wheels, it initially gives the impression of being a very long bike and this took me some getting used to. It also felt "different" from normal bikes when starting from a stop: At first there was an odd sensation of momentary front end wobble when starting, so I practiced starting and stopping at intersections until it felt natural. Then I mounted the front basket and set off.

My ride home was just over 9 miles and the first half of it was on fairly busy, hilly roads, in 5pm suburban traffic. The Brompton does not handle like other bikes I am used to, but I did not find this bad or difficult to manage, just different. I soon discovered that the bike was easy to maneuver through tight spaces, and was capable of making dramatic turns gracefully and safely. I used this to my advantage when cycling through town centers in stand-still traffic. I was also pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to cycle up hill; The Brompton had a light, roadish feel to it when climbing. Cycling downhill felt stable, and the brakes were easy to control and modulate. 

There is a lot of talk about small wheeled bikes having a "harsh ride quality," so here is my take on it. When riding the Brompton, I was aware of a constant, but extremely subtle feeling of road vibration regardless of whether the road was smooth or bumpy. This sounds worse than it actually is, so let me clarify: There was no pain or sense of being "knocked about" associated with what I am describing, just a very tiny, barely perceptible "shimmy" type sensation. Interestingly, when the bicycle actually went over bumps - even sizable ones - it handled them better than the average full-sized bike. So: I am okay with the subtle shimmy if it comes with the superior ability to swallow bumps, but others might not agree. Best thing to do is to test ride the bike and see how you feel about the ride quality - but "harsh" would not be a word I'd use to describe it at all. I can imagine riding the Brompton long distances on bad roads.

The trekking handlebars were not as helpful as I had hoped in allowing for a variety of hand positions. I mostly kept my hands on the tops and occasionally on the corners. It is not possible to reach the brakes from the other positions, but moreover the other positions are not especially comfortable. I've been told by several Brompton retailers now that many customers prefer the traditional M-bar, but with bar-end attachments that will allow for a more ergonomic hand placement. 

Both the Co-Habitant and I rode the Brompton repeatedly over the course of the two days I had it on loan. My positive impressions included the high quality of the build, the smoothness over bumps, the maneuverability, the ease of mounting and dismounting (low step-over), the compact size, and the amazing load capacity. This bike is designed for enormous front bags, plus whatever the rear rack can fit - I had no idea it could carry this much stuff. And as far as aesthetics, I find the Brompton charmingly eccentric, and would be fine riding it. My favourite colour option is the raw lacquer, though I also love the new sage green. My not so positive impressions included the weight (a 20lb folding bike?), and the fact that should you not wish to drag the bike around with you everywhere, it is not so easy to lock up safely. While I know that most people are crazy about the famous Brompton fold, I am neutral about it. Maybe I'm just being difficult, but I don't get the miracle there: Okay, so it folds... Isn't that the whole point of a folding bike? But I am only partly serious and I do understand that it folds better than the other folders out there. It is a neat design that is especially conducive for travel - which is precisely why we are considering it.

In reality, our biggest problem with buying Bromptons is that in the course of choosing all the options we'd want (good lighting, 6-speed gearing, fenders, racks, extras) the bikes transform from what initially promises to be reasonably priced to something entirely unaffordable. Depending on the components and options selected, a Brompton can easily double or even nearly triple in cost, so that is something to keep in mind. Is it worth it? That depends on how much you want or need a folding bike. And among folding bikes, the Brompton is widely acknowledged to be "the best." Thank you to Harris Cyclery, in West Newton, MA, for this extended test ride.

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