Another perfect day

Having once experienced the joy of sex (excluding time spent alone) I can honestly say that there really are days when riding a bike rivals time spent between the sheets (or in the back seat of the car, on the car bonnet, in the broom closet, on the table, etc). 

Yes. Really. 

And today was another one of those perfect mornings for riding a bike. A cool, dry, overcast morning with clouds hanging low on the horizon. Hitting the trails well before dawn gets me a clear run on my favourite loop of singletrack. Rain from the past few days dampens the ground: just enough for patterned rubber to maintain traction yet not too much to bog them down. I float. I grind. I whoop through a few technical sections. Then back to grinding. And floating. And whooping. And all various combinations. Two hours later the sun breaks through the clouds and light surges through the trees dappling the ground. I can’t read the terrain as well as I would like. I fatigue and make a few mistakes. Then the trail throws me off for a minor indiscretion. I walk my bike. I burn. But I clear the last run. Clean.

I finish as the tracks start to fill with other riders.

Apart from doing it rather badly there is little that I know about mountain biking. But one thing that I have noticed in my short jaunts in the wilderness is that there are plenty of dual-suspension bikers out there. And a lot of them choose to ride their suspension. That is to say they squat their suspension over the many man-made obstacles as if to negate their presence - to negate the very reason for their being. Sure, in a race situation this manoeuvre keeps the tires connected to maintain speed and traction. But this isn’t racing. It appears to me that some riders use their suspension to take the fun out of riding. I wonder whether they will ever learn, and, if not, whether that means anything. They enjoy the ride regardless. Sometimes I wish I had a dual-suspension bike.

I think about cleaning my bike as I hang it back on the rack. I think I’ll clean it next week after my ride. A ride that has a more than 50:50 chance that I won’t do.

I have breakfast, take a shower and slip on my (current) favourite T-shirt. 

I’m now ready to face the real world.

I am ironman. I have four shirts to iron before Monday.

Saturday morning grocery shopping is a constant part of the weekly routine. On the way I almost run over an old chook crossing the road. She pulls out from behind a parked car and walks directly across my path. On seeing I had stopped (or on hearing the brakes screech, I’m not sure which of the two senses is the less diminished) she then decides to continue by the shortest route to the store - which means walking along the road and ignoring the line of the cars building up behind me. I meet her again as she pushes in front of me to get to the fruit and vege shop. And she crosses my path once more as she jumps the queue waiting at the checkout. The lady in front of me turns and we smile. This ancient soul knows the lie of the land. She has probably seen many of her family and friends move on. She is more cognicent than the rest of us that our time in this world has a start and a very definite end. Social graces and common courtesy be damned: she has things to do. Either that or her senses are going. The world is a blur around her, and she deals with her daily tasks with singular focus.

A shortcut may be the fastest way between two points but is not necessarily the best way to travel. Life isn’t a destination and if it were we’d all be building pyramids and this old girl would probably beat most of us. There is a fine line between preparing for the future and building a pyramid. Preparing for the future (assuming that one has enough for the present) is smart. Building a pyramid is simply a waste. Taking a shortcut to the end is where we cross that line.

Still at the shops I overhear a young girl whisper to her partner “Will you still love me when I get old and fat?” as an opulent, older lady sachets slowly in front of them. I don’t hear the response but we all know the correct answer: “Yes. What a silly question...” taking care not to miss out any words. In my head I already answered for him: “Well, it depends on whether I have a choice”.

The erudite are aware of the choices available. Making a good choice in a free world requires some level of discipline. Staying with that choice requires commitment and/ or insight.

I come home and put away the shopping. I take a look at the renovation plans sitting on my desk. The plans include a room just for bicycles. I’ve become weary of trying to squeeze a little collection into an even littler room. And I bought another bicycle last week. A beautiful steel frame sold with a modern, mid-range component group transferred across from a new bike. The seller tells me that he can’t shift old frames without selling them as complete bikes. Most people don’t care about steel frames. I don’t care for the attached componentry. Jim comes over and we do a deal: he gives me some coin and I hand over everything but the frame. We have a chat about my bikes. 

I take another look at my renovation plans and wonder how to arrange my bikes in the new room. I tell myself that I am not stocking a pyramid. But I can never know.

I pull out my woollen Molteni jersey that, many moons ago, I paid a princely sum of $300. I have always feared that one day I would find a hole in it where a moth has left its mark. Today I find that hole. I let out a sigh and think “I should get that fixed". I put the jumper back.

I rather enjoy mowing my lawn. I am no green thumb but I can look after grass. I decide that it might be time to throw on more fertiliser. There’s something raw and honest about spreading chicken shit and what-nots with your bare hands.

I wash my hands but they still smell. But I don’t mind the smell.

I read a review by BikeRadar on Shimano Ultegra Di2 giving it a 4 1/2 star rating. In the write up it describes Ultegra Di2 as “...still far from cheap but it's not far off from the disappointingly mediocre mechanical Dura-Ace group while offering vastly superior performance...” Well, how about that. Mechanical Dura-Ace is now mediocre. Such is the pace of evolution in bicycle technology. I have a a Chinese-made GT road bike. It is a couple of years old but runs current model, mechanical Dura-Ace. I have several older bikes running obsolete derailleurs. The bicycle I rode this morning has no derailleur. Mechanical Dura-Ace seems pretty good to me. 

It’s been a long time since I raced a bike. I can’t even remember the last time I rode on the rivet. 

I pull out the movie ‘Sideways’. I’ve already seen the movie twice. I watch it again.

Maya: You know, can I ask you a personal question, Miles? 

Miles Raymond: Sure. 

Maya: Why are you so in to Pinot? 

Miles Raymond: [laughs softly] 

Maya: I mean, it's like a thing with you. 

Miles Raymond: [continues laughing softly] 

Miles Raymond: Uh, I don't know, I don't know. Um, it's a hard grape to grow, as you know. Right? It's uh, it's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's, you know, it's not a survivor like Cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and uh, thrive even when it's neglected. No, Pinot needs constant care and attention. You know? And in fact it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked away corners of the world. And, and only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand Pinot's potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and... ancient on the planet. 

Miles Raymond: What about you? 

Maya: What about me? 

Miles Raymond: I don't know. Why are you into wine? 

Maya: Oh I... I think I... I originally got in to wine through my ex-husband. 

Miles Raymond: Ah. 

Maya: You know, he had this big, sort of show-off cellar, you know. 

Miles Raymond: Right. 

Maya: But then I discovered that I had a really sharp palate. 

Miles Raymond: Uh-huh. 

Maya: And the more I drank, the more I liked what it made me think about. 

Miles Raymond: Like what? 

Maya: Like what a fraud he was. 

[Miles laughs softly] 

Maya: No, I - I like to think about the life of wine. 

Miles Raymond: Yeah. 

Maya: How it's a living thing. I like to think about what was going on the year the grapes were growing; how the sun was shining; if it rained. I like to think about all the people who tended and picked the grapes. And if it's an old wine, how many of them must be dead by now. I like how wine continues to evolve, like if I opened a bottle of wine today it would taste different than if I'd opened it on any other day, because a bottle of wine is actually alive. And it's constantly evolving and gaining complexity. That is, until it peaks, like your '61. And then it begins its steady, inevitable decline. 

Miles Raymond: Hmm. 

Maya: And it tastes so fucking good. 

As the film critic, Nick Rogers has said on Rotten Tomatoes: “‘Sideways’ is about wine aged to perfection sipped by men who've aged to mediocrity...”

Ah yes. I allow a little chuckle to myself. 

A perfect way to end a perfect day.

And I don’t even like Pinot.

Masi 3V "Lo-Pro" track frameset

Photo's ripped from ebay listing from several years back. 

Commentary previously posted http://campagnolodelta.blogspot.com.au/2009/10/provenance-and-nonsense.html

Don't seen many of these lying around.

Kevin

Kevin likes to collect green, glass bottles. Bottles that are translucent, bottles that are opaque. Some have round bases, others square. Some geometric, some flowing like a blades of grass in the breeze. Some stand like giants. Some appear fragile and vulnerable. And there are bottles of all manner of form and sizes in-between. No one else understands Kevin’s collection. Kevin is colour blind.

Dia-Compe BRS500 calipers

via http://www.tearsforgears.com/2008/12/mavic-451suntour-superbe-prodia-compe.html

The show bike

The human eye can be very exacting. The human hand often less so.

 Bishop 650b Randonneur. 

Photo by John Watson via http://prollyisnotprobably.com/2012-nahbs/ 

It’s been a long two weeks since the North American Handmade Bicycle Show. And on a cold, lonely night one can sometimes read more into a set of lugged, steel tubes than in the clear light of day (or otherwise read more into a set of fillet-brazed/ bilaminated/ TIG-welded/ glued/ wrapped/ moulded - steel/ titanium/ aluminium/ carbon/ bamboo/ wood tubes...)

Leaving aside the marginal behavioural tendencies of one sad and lonely troll, it is probably fair to say that NAHBS is a radiant beacon of the bicycle builder’s craft. Sure, there are many talented builders and plenty of beautiful bicycles out there, but NAHBS does a good job of bringing a large number of them together albeit only for a couple of self-indulgent days. No other trade show celebrates the expression of the bicycle as an art form quite like NAHBS. 

Now, the troll is old enough to remember a time when the show bike was simply a blinged-up production bicycle propped up against a background of other production bikes and frames. A time when the show bike gleamed in flawless chrome or with - even more ostentatious but patently ridiculous - gold plate. A time when pantographing was a mark of the exclusive. A time when the show bike was dressed only by Campagnolo. 

Well, times have changed. 

And two ex show bikes currently on ebay highlight some of the differences.

1979 Guerciotti Oro N.Y. Trade Show Bike BIN USD $5,500

http://www.ebay.com/itm/1979-Guerciotti-Oro-N-Y-Trade-Show-Bike-/150774711866?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_0&hash=item231adf863a#ht_1083wt_1398

Photos by Ray Dobbins via http://www.raydobbins.com/ebay/bike-guerciotti/bike-guerciotti.htm

The demise of Campagnolo from the professional peloton has been notable. But bicycle racing has many layers beyond the bicycle and its assorted componentry. The personalities, controversies, race tactics, and photogenic locations/ opportunities that highlight competitive cycling’s increasingly buffed and beguiling image (female or otherwise) provide far more exciting conversation. Singular focus on bicycles and their attached bits and pieces is the playground of the bicycle trade show. So Campagnolo’s absence, or rather, its lack of presence, at NAHBS over the past few years is noteworthy. A circus of divas and curios at the other end of the world may seem a piffle to one of cycling's grandest racing icons but they both market to the pointy end of the consumer spectrum. As NAHBS profile increases (including the display of serious race hardware) Campagnolo (at least its modern goupsets) remains conspicuous in its absence.

 2010 Ellis NAHBS Show Bike BIN USD $6,000 (frame, fork, headset, bars, and Dura-Ace Di2 groupset)

http://www.ebay.com/itm/Ellis-2010-NAHBS-showbike-Dura-Ace-Di2-immaculate-/330699981756?pt=Road_Bikes&hash=item4cff4143bc#ht_668wt_1167

Quality workmanship in any area will (ultimately, if not immediately) draw an appreciative audience. And subtle refinements of the bicycle framebuilder’s craft has always attracted admirers amongst those that looked for it. But, in the main, bicycles are functional items. Being noticed in a world busy with other distractions often demands a less than subtle approach. And wrapping a base metal in gold is one sure way of drawing attention even if it makes no functional nor metallurgical sense. But times have changed. Enlightened souls networked in an internet era means more chatter and more choices. Like the consumption of boutique beer, the mass appreciation of the finer aspects of the bicycle is a recent development. Small builders with flair now have access to a much wider audience. No longer can a big brand company wrap a standard frame or groupset in chrome or gold and pass it off as a “show bike” assuming the market has no other choice. Discerning consumers want more. Bicycle appreciation is mainstream. 

Well almost. 

Beer is a lot cheaper.

But do we need show bikes? Yes! Because they are an unnecessary indulgence. For those that care about such things they are standard bearers that represent what is possible. Something that can stand above what can be perceived as mundane and mediocre. It encapsulates hope and desire. An escape from whiling away the hours. But it is still only a bicycle. Recognise any resonance that develops between man and inanimate machine for what it is: a potent mix of perception, experience, emotion and timing. It reflects as much about the individual (and the image he wants to project) as it does about the object at hand. For those that don’t care about fancy frivolities, they gain nothing nor do they lose anything from disregarding the existence of such superlatives. Satisfaction is a blessing. Enjoy it. But mock not those that can see more than you: neither those that can afford such luxuries, nor those that merely choose to dream.