Category Archives: Cycling

Can’t See the Forest for the Trees

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It’s been pointed out to me twice in the last 24 hours that this place has become too silent.  I’ve been struggling with blogger’s block of late if I’m honest.  Still out there riding, sweating and swearing but when I sit down here, the day evaporates and I find myself reading the things I said I wouldn’t and not writing anything.

I’ve managed to avoid the “this piece of laser-guided, alien-inspired carbon-billet doo-daddery that weighs precisely 3 french fries less than your current one is a must-have at only $1500″ pseudo magazine articles however in my on-going dithering about a new bicycle, I’ve been scouring the internet endlessly.

The Stevens Carbon Team in all it’s Germanic perfection…without disc brakes sadly.

After 10 days of waiting, the you need to show more interest than going down there 3 times to tell them you’re interested before they’ll respond to you bike shop finally responded to my subsequent interest-expressing email with a very reasonable quote on a Stevens Carbon Team frame build.  It was good enough to pique my interest despite the lack of one of my key want features – disc brakes – but their so-low-pressure-sales-we-won’t-do-anything schtick eventually wore me down and I moved on.    Just as well, I want those disc brakes.  In my three previous interest-expressing trips, I’d expressed my desire for a Stevens Vapor – the only one with discs – but was eventually told via Guru Thomas that they wouldn’t order it because they didn’t want to get stuck with it.  I’m not going beg you to take my money…

Now disc brakes on bikes are the subject of all sorts of internet and bike-shop debate from the barely reasonable – they add weight to the utterly ridiculous – they’re too powerful and lots of inexperienced riders will crash after they lock up their front wheel while blazing down the mountain pass in the rain.  Yeesh.

In fairness, they are heavier – about 300 grams to go from cantilever to disc.  Less than a 2nd water bottle.  I’m not in the pro or amatuer or any peloton nor do I see the 300 grams of extra brake as a deal-braker when I’ve got an easy 3000 10,000 grams around my middle I could shed.  The latter argument – too much power – doesn’t warrant an actual rebuttal it’s so utterly cockamamy.

I would like to comment on another reason I’ve been given to avoid disc brakes – they’re not hydraulic.   Disc brakes come in two fashions – mechanical/cable operation or hydraulic operation.  If I was given the choice, I’d certainly pick hydraulic over cable.  At the moment there is precisely one manufacturer making a hydraulic brake system for road/’cross bikes (yet numerous for mountain, this due to the UCI – the cycling version of the FIA, only just approving discs for cyclocross bikes) and they’ve not released anything to the public yet, rather continuing to work with Colnago on their beautiful C59 road bike.  I’m not sure which would cost more however – the C59 or the divorce that would inevitably result subsequent to it’s purchase.

Mechanical/cable versions are very simple – pulling the brake lever pulls a cable.  The other end of the cable is attached to a lever that is attached, for the purposes of illustration, to a threaded ram.  Pulling on the cable pulls the lever which causes the ram to rotate, which causes it to move in towards the disc by virtue of the thread.   A brake pad is mounted to the end of the ram and thus when the ram is rotated inwards, it pushes the pad into contact with the disc.  Bicycle brake discs are thin (1.5mm or ~0.060″) and somewhat flexible so as the pad is pushed into it from one side, it flexes away from the pad and makes simultaneous contact with a pad on the opposite side, ultimately sandwiched between the two pads.  A spring on the ram rotates the pad/ram/lever assembly back out when the lever is released and the disc, now unstressed by the pad, returns to it’s previous position, no longer contacting the inside pad.

Absolutely simple and quite effective – certainly more effective, and more importantly impervious to the elements than any rim brakes currently available.  Granted, it’s subject to cable-related issues – stiction, cable stretch and jacket collapse among others.  These issues have existed since motorcycles were introduced as they’ve used, for a century or so, cables for operation of the clutch, throttle and even early drum brakes.  Mechanical brakes also require consistent maintenance as there is no automated means to compensate for pad and disc wear.  This takes all of 5 minutes every Sunday evening as I prep the Rescue Bike for another week of riding.  If I get around to it (the maintenance that is).

Hydraulic brakes function like scaled-down versions of motorcycle brakes.  Powerful, linear, exceptional and capable of both tremendous stopping power and remarkable modulation.  Using the principle of Pascal’s law, they use fluid under pressure in place of a cable and a piston (or pistons) in place of the ram.  The spring is replaced by a deformable D-ring seal – the D shape of the seal allows the piston to slide out while deforming slightly as the piston, under pressure from the fluid, pushes towards the disc.  That seal deformation in combination with subtle piston-chamber design pulls the piston away from the pad (and thus disc) when the brake lever is released.  Hydraulic discs are more refined than mechanical to be sure – you don’t have to adjust them for wear – the action of the D-rings seals and piston motion serve to automatically adjust position every time they’re used though a dirty or poorly maintained setup will drag the pads on the disc.  They’re powerful, far more so than mechanical and infinitely more than rim brakes.  Their single drawback (in my eyes – I don’t care much about weight or being too powerful after all) is the brake fluid.  When it’s clean and bled properly, there’s no issue but air in the system can be a nightmare to get out.  This isn’t a use issue of course, just maintenance related.  Take care of them and they’ll take care of you.

So if a rider wants to step into a road or cyclocross bike, wants disc brakes and wasn’t born into a family of investment bankers, the choice today remains mechanical/cable.  Amusingly, those that would advise me to fore-go the mechanical discs because they’re only cable, not hydraulic somehow miss entirely that the rim brakes they’re admonishing us to stick with are – yup – cable operated.

In the event you’re confused by the cyclocross reference, see here.  An insanity originating in Belgium it involves pavement, mud, grass, snow perhaps, steep climbs,cow bells and barriers that require you to carry your bike.  The course is unrideable by design – but it’s spawned the ultimate do-everything bike.

 

Ignorance Is Bliss

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You don’t often (ever?) see me refer to information from a proper cycling publication or go on about any of the Grand Tours – one of which we happen to be in the middle of.  That’s because I’m not paying attention.  I’m ignorant by choice but there’s a reason.  I like gadgets, gizmos and technology.  “New” things captivate me.  I have an addictive personality.  In this way, ignorance is bliss.  Allow me to explain

A lifetime ago, one of my customers was the owner of large Chevrolet dealership.  While bantering about all things automotive one afternoon, I asked him what he thought of the new Z06 Corvette – the then-current pinnacle of GM’s performance offerings.  “It’s unbelievable!” he said, “I’ll tell you what – you come down on Friday and I’ll throw you the keys, you bring the car back Tuesday after the long weekend and tell me what you think”.  As a gearhead – and a Chevy gearhead at that – the offer was irresistible.  I couldn’t believe my luck!  Before I could say yes, my brain raced into overdrive imagining a weekend with such a potent car.  Drifting through the off-ramps, blazing tires down deserted streets, the envious looks from not-so-lucky gearheads.  The impromptu drag race, the sudden loss of control, a telephone pole…

The pie-in-the-sky scenario – the absolute best possible outcome of this offer - was going to be a large pile of money spent in gas and an overwhelming, all-consuming desire to own a car which was slightly more than twice my annual income.  The worst case was the very real possibility that one of us – the car or me – or both would not survive long enough to see Tuesday.  I’m not sure what geographical area of brain real-estate is occupied by the prudence and sense process, but mine is historically a remarkably tiny one.  That I managed to eek out a deceptively calm thanks but I’ve got plans response is still a mystery.

Had that car been in my possession for the weekend, I’m certain I’d still be haunted by it today.  I’d have experienced it in full, unhinged, heart-pounding, chest-thumping fury and then been forced to walk away from it.  I would no longer be ignorant – I’d know exactly what I was missing.

Avoiding the bicycle mags and forums isn’t exactly the same, but it’s close.  I don’t worry about my gear, my bike, what kind of frame I have, how much my spokes weigh or how aerodynamic my forks are.  I still don’t know how many style faux pas I make every time I get on the Rescue Bike.  By not knowing about all these trivial things, I enjoy what I have and despite all of the rabbit chasing and SCR-ing (Stupid Commuter Racing), I remain in competition with only me.

Now having said all that, I do want a new bike, mostly due to being un-ignoranted by happenstance.  The Rescue Bike is great but I don’t need a mountain-bike fork and I’d like some taller gearing for the road rides.  Oh, and bigger wheels – apparently bigger wheels are faster thanks to their lower rolling resistance – same effort, more speed.  I like speed.  Have I said that before?  I have?  It bears repeating – I love going fast.  I’m tempted by offerings from the local bike sellers and possibilities from overseas.  I want.  Cogito Rapido Ergo Sum

I’ve spent some time at one of the local bike shops and inquired about a specific model I didn’t see on their floor.  How much is it and how soon can I have it.  “I’ll take your number and call you”.  They didn’t.  So I went back and bugged them again – “yeah, sorry – didn’t hear from the rep so we didn’t call you.  We’ll know in a day or two and I’ll give you a shout”.  It’s been two weeks.  They haven’t.  While visiting them one evening, Adam learned they had an oddball frame but no customer for it.  It sounded like something I’d be interested in so he passed them my contact information (again) and suggested they contact me.  Any guesses?  That’s right – they didn’t.  “Oh – well, you have to express some interest before they’ll talk to you about it” Guru Thomas informed me.  Erm.  Okay.  I’ve been down there three times, been specific about the style and features I’m after and even the precise model.  I’d have presumed that qualified as “expressing interest”.  I drafted up an email expressing my interest (again) and fired it off to “my buddy – he runs the place”.   Result?  Mmmm…yeah.  Silence.

I’m not saying I won’t buy a bike from them – they haven’t been rude or crass or pointed out the obvious heft around my midsection while snickering at my “want to go faster” request.  They’re just nice guys making me do all the work to give them my money.  It did open up avenues that otherwise wouldn’t have been explored though.  Go figure.

Struggle Within

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Morning rolls around, alarm chirping away in the semi-dark afforded by the blinds.  Outside the sun has been up for an hour or better, a far cry from the spring’s dark morning rides.  I hide under the covers.

I don’t want to get up.  I hate getting up.  I want to sleep a little longer, then maybe have a snack before it’s nap time.  A bike ride after the nap, then home for a snooze, a snack and a movie.  In bed.  When my fantastic wife and kids went to visit the grandparents for the weekend, that’s exactly what I did.

The hardest part was getting through the guilt.  Phrases like “All the sleep you need when you’re dead!” rattled around in my head.  I could hear the voice of my mother admonishing me to “do something” with my time.  I went back to sleep, waking up just before one (yes the post-noon one) and felt fantastic.  You should really go for a ride I thought to myself, but stopped to ponder the nature of the “should” I’d used.  Why should I?  Because you want to dummy.  Oh…yeah, that.  I do.  I wanted to go find this Stairway route I’d been told about.

The selling point for the Stairway – “It’s a series of hills, very quiet – you hardly see a car or truck”.  It was a full-on road-ride, no paths but not a lot of vehicular traffic to be concerned with.  By the time I’d snacked, geared up, packed some sustenance and fluids, serviced the bike, loaded the bike…you get the idea.

It was 4:00pm and I was still in the driveway.  The clouds were rolling in and big, fat drops started to fall.  I backed out and headed for the gas station – more delays.  Finally fueled, loaded and enthused, I set off to explore the Stairway climb.  By the time I’d reached the far southwest of the city, unloaded and assembled the bike and was geared up to go, it was after five.  The trade-off of sleeping the morning (and then some) away I suppose.

I headed south along the route I’d been given and immediately realized how much trouble I was in.  It was not the hill I was looking at that concerned me so much as the top of the hill I was on.  In and of itself, not a horrendous obstacle but if the first bit of my ride is down the long hill, the last bit of my ride is going back up.  Just like going home.  A nicer finish would be a long ride down the hill followed by a flat section then the lot where I’d parked, but with a doughnut truck waiting.  Mmmm…doughnuts.

I rode down the hill with a giant grin, hoping I wasn’t going to eat any flying critters on the way down.  A brief flat section and then my first climb, an 8% grade for half a kilometer.  I was not feeling particularly good by the time I reach the top, but I made it.  I stopped to take a picture, find some air and have a drink before I went south again.  Down the hill, then up the hill, this one not so bad, but followed by a long downhill section, a long flat section and what appeared to be a very steep climb well down the end of it.  I’ll admit it.  It scared me off.

It’s not climbing on the way out that gives me pause – you go, you do (do or do not, there is no try – Yoda) and it’s all good.  With a series of rolling hills that you’re doubling back on, it’s not all good anymore.  No, you have to do what you’ve just done.  Have to.  Ride it or push it, the car is waaaay back there on the other side (the top side) of all those hills.

I started down the 3rd descent but he was too quick.  No. Freakin. Way! and before I knew what was happening, I’d turned around and was heading back towards the car.  The Quitter had taken over and had put an end to this ride, or at least had successfully determined the half-way point from which we’d turn around and head back to the car.  Now I felt awful.

It wasn’t just the humiliation of giving in and calling it off either, I was truly feeling ill.  A week of spicy foods culminating in a late night of spicy chili, spicy pepperoni and spicy tomatilla conspired to all but melt me from the inside out.  Heartburn raged through my system, burning the back of my throat with every pedal stroke.  Climbing did not appear to be a remedy for heartburn unless by remedy one means agitator.

Spent, ill and disappointed, I packed the Rescue Bike into the car and headed back to the hills we’d just climbed.  I wanted to know what I was getting into – I may have lost the battle but the summer is just getting started.  I followed our course along it’s paved route until it ended.  The end of the Stairway.

Now I don’t know about you, but when I think of stairs, I think of a progression that leads either up or down.  I thought I could climb up the “Stairway” and ride back down – this was wrong.  The Stairway is a series of large (in a non-mountain kind of way) hills with an average grade 8% but the Garmin data reveals the true nature of it as it ranges from little flats of 0% to bursts of 22%.

Looking back from the end of the route, I couldn’t help myself.  I unpacked the Rescue Bike once more, clipped in and prepared to suffer.  Worth every moment.