A Lovely Touring Bike... For You?

When I mentioned my "roadbike for women who fear roadbikes" project earlier, I didn't make this clear as I was still figuring out the details - but it is now very much official: I will be giving this bicycle away for free to an interested recipient in the spring.





To recap: Back in November, I picked up a vintage Shogun bike in which I saw a lot of potential, due to its comfortable frame geometry. The Co-Habitant and I are overhauling the bicycle from the frame up and fitting it with nice, comfy components. The goal is to turn it into a touring bike that will hopefully address some issues that fledgling female cyclists tend to have with roadbikes. I was not able to handle a roadbike until (after much trial and error) I discovered that a comfortable frame plus the right components were key. That experience changed my perspective and made me very happy, and I would like to help make that happen for someone else.



I am able to fit this bicycle with extremely nice components and give it away for free, thanks to the generosity of several donors. The main donors for this project are Velo Orange and Cambridge Bicycle, whose contributions will be described below. I have also been offered a monetary donation by a reader "Cedar" to cover the costs of the frame and wheelset I had purchased. Additional contributions of components were made by: Justine Valinotti of Midlife Cycling, reader "Spindizzy," reader "G.E.," reader "neighbourtease," and "somervillain" of Boston Retro Wheelmen. The Co-habitant and I are contributing our time and labor, as well as a few of our own things.





The frame and fork are cro-moly, and the seat tube angle is a comfortable 72.5 degrees. The frame has "touring geometry" and eyelets for fenders and racks. The bicycle as shown in the pictures here has been stripped of most of its original components, fitted with an updated touring wheelset, a Nitto stem, Nitto Randonneur handlebars, and a Velo Orange saddle. The drivetrain shown is original, but it will soon be replaced.





The size of the frame is 52cm, as measured from the center of the bottom bracket to the center of the intersection with the top tube (or 54cm if measuredto the top of the seat tube). I am 5'7" and the size is just right for me - with plenty of top tube clearance, but not too much. If you are 5'5" - 5'8" it should fit you as well. Outside of that range, I would need to know your inseam measurement or pubic bone height to give you a better idea. Since there is only one bike, the size will naturally exclude many of you from participating in the give-away, and I am sorry about that.





The frame colour of the bicycle is an ethereal mixture of mauve and champagne. It's a neutral colour, but vibrant, with some shimmer to it; the pictures here portray it accurately. The headtube panel is a deep, dark chocolate-plum. The Shogun insignia on the downtube is sage green.





The Nitto Technomic stem and Randonneur handlebars are from my own parts stash (the handlebars are new, the stem gently used). I am not sure yet whether the final bicycle will have the Randonneur bars or the Noodles - I am planning to do a comparison test.





The saddle is a "Model 3" touring saddle from Velo Orange, which I will test out and review once the roads are clear of snow. The person who gets the bike in the end will have a choice between this saddle, and one of my own Brooks B17S saddles (which I no longer use).





In addition to the saddle, Velo Orangewas kind enough to donate: a headset, a crankset, fenders, and leather handlebar tape. The items were ones I requested specifically for this bike.





I don't want to remove the hammered fenders from the packaging until it's time to install them, but they look beautiful. The hammered pattern has a "honey comb" look to it that I visually prefer over the Honjo version - though this is, of course, a matter of taste.





The "Grand Cru" crankset is classic and beautifully made, modeled on vintage TA. Before VO released this model, it was very difficult to find a crankset in a classic style.





I haven't put leather tape on any of my own drop bars, as I consider it too expensive - but if will be fabulous to try it out before giving the bike away!





I have not yet picked up the components donated by Cambridge Bicycle, but they will include: brakes, short-reach brake levers, derailleur, cables, housing, and MKS touring pedals. I will feature these in a separate post.



For others interested in getting involved in this project, I am still in need of the following components for the basic build:bar-end shifters (Shimano or Silver), abottom bracket (JIS Square Taper, 110mm spindle length, hollow axle), tires (32mm Panaracer Pasela Tourguards), and a few other random items. Additionally, I am looking for a local bike shop that would be willing to ship the bicycle in the event that the recipient is not local, so that their winning does not entail having to pay for shipping. Everything donated will be used for this project only. To contribute, please get in touch at filigreevelo-at-yahoo-dot-com and thanks in advance for the help!





I am not sure yet what form the give-away of this bicycle will take. I hate to call it a "contest," but there will obviously have to be some sort of selection process, as there is only one bicycle. Either way, the formal rules will likely not be announced until early Spring. In the meantime, I would love to hear what you think about the whole idea. A refurbished vintage bike is not a typical give-away item and I am not even certain whether anybody will want it! Do you like the colour? The look so far? And I am especially interested in hearing from women who would like to try a road bike with drop bars, but have not had much luck thus far. What has been your experience? What do you find intimidating or difficult about the process? Similarly, if you already ride a roadbike, but find it uncomfortable or sub-par, I am interested in why.



I am enjoying putting together this bicycle immensely, and I thank once again those whose donations have made this project possible!

Leavenworth Trip ...

Adam and I did a three day weekend in the Leavenworth area finishing with helping out Matt with field trip on Sunday.

We took a midday ride out on Friday for some cragging at Clem's Holler. Arrived around Noon and headed up the steep trail. We had lofty goals of climbing some nice sport climbs, but decided to warm up on the first two pitches of Playin' Possum. Doing only the first two pitches keeps it at a reasonable 5.8 instead of the .10a rating it has for continuing onto the third pitch. I led the first pitch, and Adam led the second. While the climbing was not particularly difficult, my head wasn't totally in the lead, and I had to hang a bit at one point (mostly to rest my feet) before continuing upward. After completing the climb, I was not exactly ready to tackle the harder projects, so Adam and I went searching for Arselips and Elbows (5.8) a 14" wide top rope crack.

According to the book, Arselips is "up and left" of The Hatchet. We found it to be generally left, and that dropping down into a meadow was a more sane way of reaching said climb. We first attempted with some exposed moves on grassy ledges before dropping to the meadow and coming back up. I'm pretty sure we were mostly following goat trails. The terrain was sometimes steep, and had a thick coating of ponderosa needles on it adding to the slippery factor. Plenty of sticker bushes in the area too. You have to persevere to get to this climb. Once there, we had an easy hike up to the bolts to set up a top rope. Then it was time for the groveling to begin.

Looking up from the base

The opening moves were on the face while stepping on boulders to gain the crack. Once at the top foothold on the outside, it was time to move in. I found the chicken wing very secure, but it took a fair amount of trial and error to get some sort of secure leg into the crack. The left side of the crack is also a loose corner, with a small finger crack, but I did not feel too comfortable grabbing on it as I was afraid to pull it off. Inside the crack it was narrow, and a deep breath could mostly keep my in my place. I realized after some struggling that I had to exhale to make moving up easier. In my first attempt, I managed to gain the crack and move a few centimeters off the outside rock before needing my left foot to do something. I took a rest while Adam gave it a shot.

About to leave the outside world

Adam gave the crack a try and made no further progress than I did. He tried it first in his trail runners figuring that would give him an advantage. After his attempt, he decided his next attempt would be with rock shoes. I gave it a second go with a result of getting about six inches higher than my previous attempt. I was able to successfully use my left arm and leg in the attempt, but found the upward progress too much of a struggle to continue further. Adam gave it one last try and it looked something like this:

He's in there

After getting to roughly the same height I did, Adam melted out of the crack and I lowered him to the ground. We both agreed that that was the most effort we have ever put forth to move two inches! I thought I could get up any 5.8 in Leavenworth on top rope. Apparently, this climb proved me wrong. After our struggles, we called it a day and headed back to the car. Our sport climbing objectives at Clem's Holler could wait for another day.

We awoke late (8am) on Saturday, and had breakfast in camp. By the time we packed up camp, it was about to rain and when we arrived at parking for our intended destination for the day (Peek-a-Boo Tower) there was a light rain. Looking west made us concerned so we drove to the mouth of the canyon hoping for better weather. We stopped in the Snow Creek parking lot and by the time we rolled out of there, it was raining as well. So we headed to Peshastin again.

It appeared that others had the same idea when it started to rain in Leavenworth, and many small parties of climbers dashed out of the parking lot to get to climbs quickly. We were in no rush and decided to climb Windward which we figured no one was running to. When we got there, I was not too enthused about leading it and we decided to walk around to see if we could get on something else. When we arrived at Dinosaur, and saw no one on Potholes, we jumped on it. Adam had me lead the first (5.8) pitch and he said he would decide at the belay about leading the second (5.7) pitch. I personally have always found the second pitch harder, but that may just be me. No real surprised on Potholes except for me having more difficulty this year with the crux of the first pitch. And Adam getting a good chuckle from watching me struggle with the final moves to the anchor. We rapped off and headed to Grand Central Tower to climb the West Face.

Adam past the first bulge on Potholes second pitch

It was nice to finally lead the West Face and not have any trouble on it. Well, no trouble climbing it. There was a party that was off route on Nirvana Ridge that kept raining sand down onto us. It does not make for a comforting lead. Adam followed, and even got hit by a slightly bigger rock on the way up. We rapped off to find the wind had died off and it was downright warm out. We decided the clouds cleared enough to the west to try the Icicle again.

We drove back and watched the outside temp drop from 68°F to around 60°F by the mouth of the Icicle. We stopped there to head to Surf City to climb a few moderate cracks. We started on Paydirt, a nice 5.7 finger crack that I would revisit. I was a bit too tentative on the lead on this one, and I am not sure why. (Must have been the theme for the weekend.) I had a minor slip and even opted not to place gear at one point. Hopefully I can revisit that one with a better head.

Stepping into the finger crack

Adam then led Blunt Instruments which was one of those cracks that does not really require crack climbing technique. It was a bit dirty at the top and also finished with a slab like Paydirt did. (Although the Paydirt slab was a bit more runout.)

After that I attempted to lead another route there called Undertoe. I couldn't get a decent first piece in and so we called it a day. This time we were at The Mountaineers group campsite and had a feast. Ben Evans showed up and cooked a huge pan of bacon chorizo paella.

Sunday I was pretty spent from the weekend (and sleeping on a Z-Rest) that I had the student I was with lead all pitches on Midway. I did not climb well, and even used a piton as a foot hold before attaining Jello Tower. It was nice to sleep in a bed last night.

Pitsford Water anticlockwise

Led by Mel. Barrie, Vera, Terry, Steph, Norma, Chris, Phil and me. Foggy start, then fine and sunny. Lunch at The Willow Café. Around 7 miles.

The mist begins to lift

Coffee break - I want to see everyone's face.

The Cyclist's Dwelling

When I talk to cyclists who have recently moved or are looking to move house, most admit that bikes influence the location and layout criteria for their new place. Usually this admission is made sheepishly, with some embarrassment that cycling plays such a prominent role in their lives. Me, I don't bother to be embarrassed anymore. Cycling is not the most important thing in my life, but it is up there. It is also more intertwined with the other important things now than it was before. And it is crucial to my sanity. It follows that any place I live must be bicycling friendly.




As far as location, this can mean different things for different types of cyclists. For some it means being in the middle of a city with good bicycle infrastructure. For others it means being close to good roadcycling - hilly country roads, or networks of dirt roads, or mountain bike trails. For others still the ideal cycling location is climate dependent. And for others, it's dependent on proximity to clubs, races, randonneuring groups, "cycle chic" get-togethers, or other types of cycling-specific communities. Of all these things, for me it is easy access to good back roads and dirt roads that is on top of the list. While I love a city with good infrastructure and loved living in Vienna for that reason, I know that I can also function without it with fairly little stress. And while I appreciate a close-knit cycling community, at heart I am a loner and do just as well on my own. But when it comes to access to open roads, it's more than a matter of liking it or appreciating it, it is a matter of needing it. Living on the edge of town in Boston (rather than deeper in the city) is wonderful, because it allows for easy escape from the congested urban tangle. And living in rural Northern Ireland is a dream, because a network of country roads starts straight out the front door. I would not do well living in an area without easy access to good roadcycling.




As far as the layout of a house or apartment, I am pretty easy: I like a ground floor entrance for dragging my bike out the door. While I joke about having a farm with a bike shed, in reality I am quite content to cram my bikes into a small apartment space. But I do want to be able to roll my bikes out the door with the minimum amount of stairs and narrow hallways. As it is, I am covered in bruises from the narrow hallways in my current place - never failing to hit myself on the shin with a pedal or on the thigh with a brake lever whilst getting my bike out the door.




For someone who loves bicycles, I am unusually indifferent to "bicycle art" - cycling themed photos, paintings, sculptures, housewares and such. But I do tend to have bike parts and tools lying around in a way that they become integrated into the very fabric of the house. After two weeks in my current place, my roadbike looks wonderfully at home leaning against the book case. And the random bike parts scattered throughout look natural mixed with the household objects and appliances. It's funny, because I only have one bike in the house right now (okay, and one more out on the porch), but somehow the place still has that "bikes live here and they are important" feel to it.




Grabbing Desdemona, I roll her out the door, and - cursing affectionately as I bang my ankle lightly on the derailleur - I pedal away and head for the hills, thankful for the quiet, cloudy Sunday morning, for the emerald green sea, and for the warm tiny place that awaits me and my bike upon our return.

In Memoriam - Teresa Wiseman Plybon (1954-)

My little sister, Teresa Jane Wiseman Ratcliff Plybon was born January 31, 1954 at Warsaw, Kosciusko County, Indiana and died February 18, .. at Daytona Beach, Volusia County, Florida. She had just celebrated her 53rd birthday. The picture below, of Terry and Mom, was taken March 11, .. on our last trip to Florida.

It's sad to say, but I didn't really know my sister. She was 6 years younger than I was and I was pretty much gone from home after I graduated from high school - she was 12 years old then. I moved to Fort Wayne, joined the Navy, went to college and when I returned home in 1982, she was all grown up, married, and divorced, with two daughters. Five years later she moved to Daytona Beach, Florida, with her second husband, where she lived the rest of her life. On January 19, 1989, she had another child, a son, Edgar Delano Plybon. He survives, as does her husband Edgar Lee Plybon, and her two daughters from her first marriage, Tami and Carrie, and four grandchildren.

I saw Terry four times during the 20 years she lived in Florida. So, my memories of her are fleeting, bits and pieces here and there. She was a good-natured kid, overweight most of her life, generous to a fault. She'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it more than she did. She was always giving to others, even when she didn't have anything, which was most of the time. She did the best she could under the circumstances. She had an infectious laugh and a great sense of humor.

Door Slave

it seems that I have become a door slave to 2 dogs and 3 cats. Of course I have known for the past 50 years I have been a door slave to large number of dogs and cats but it seems to be worse the past week or so. There is always one or another of them wanting in or out. They come in, they go out. And repeat. And repeat. The dogs have to go to use the facilities. But the cats were supposed to be indoor cats. I insisted on my cats being indoor cats if I lived in town, especially in an apartment. but here on several areas they enjoy going out as much as I do. I don't force them to go out, but I do "train" as much as you can train a cat to come in at dark each evening. I do it by constant, presistently doing a "cat roundup" each evening. They don't like it but it is a necessary evil as we have coyotes in our area. I see a lot of cats in our area now that are out at night and I am surprised more of them don't disappear. In the mean time I will continue to be a door slave. I just wish they wouldn't always wait until I sit down to ask to come in.

Hill Training: My Epic Semi-Fail

Over the summer, one of our local bicycle clubs runs what's officially known as the (In)famous Wednesday Night Hill Ride: a loop "encompassing the gnarliest hills in the Boston Metro area." Of course the route does not belong to them and lots of local cyclists who want to cram some serious hills into a relatively short ride use it to train on their own time, particularly racers and randonneurs. Back in July Somervillain began riding this route with a small group as practice for the D2R2 and invited me to join. At the time the very notion was laughable. Me, on the Infamous Hill Route? The women's paceline rides were hilly enough for me, and those were described by the same bicycle club as "mostly flat" (ha!).



But definitions of "hills" are subjective. Fast forward a few months, and mine too had changed. Having gone on a handful of rides with some strong local cyclists, I even developed a new fondness for hills and no longer outright hated them. So when Somervillain suggested the two of us try the Hill Route before the snow arrived, it suddenly seemed like a great idea.What can I say? I am human, I got cocky.



Things started off innocently enough. My level of excitement was almost festive. Finally, I was going to do "real" hills, like the "real" roadies. I managed to get organised and dragged myself out of the house to meet Somervillain at an ungodly morning hour. The temperature was blessedly mild in the high 30s. The sun arose picturesquely over the local Dunkin Donuts parking lot as we convened in front of it on our trusty steeds: he on his '80s Trek racing bike, I on my Moser. It was going to be a great ride! A nice 30 mile ride with some hills in the middle. As we took off, I had a smile on my face (hint: it did not last).



Let me tell you about the Hill Training Route. The part with the proper hills is a 12 mile loop and the elevation profile looks like this. But no technical description or chart can communicate the subjective experience of this ride. The build-up was uninspiring, as we cycled along some ugly main roads with fast suburban traffic. After about 10 miles of that, we turned onto a narrow residential street and began the first climb up a small mountain. The climb began suddenly, and, being out of sight from the main road, there were no visual cues that allowed me to psychologically prepare for it. We turned the corner, and bang! - the very turn itself was already the beginning of a steep, twisty hill. The narrow road wound around the mountain instead of going directly up it, so there was no way to see what was around the bend. Would it get steeper or let up a bit? And how much longer to the top? Not knowing this drained my self-confidence and increased my anxiety tenfold. In addition, there were potholes the size of craters, and I had to zig-zag gingerly around them as I climbed.



My bicycle is geared fairly high (52x39t in the front and 12-26t in the rear), but still I did not expect to max out my gears quite so early on. Click-click-click! Click! And I was done. From that point onward there was no spinning, only pushing, and I still had most of the hill ahead of me. So I pushed on the pedals and heaved myself forward in jolts.



Promptly, my body began to rebel. A pain shot up straight to my right temple, so intense that it clouded my vision. I had a strong urge to throw up. My leg muscles felt as if someone was injecting them with acid. Somervillain was way up ahead of me and around the next bend. I felt intense shame at being so hopelessly terrible at this, even after all the rides I've done to build up to it. I did not see how I could possibly keep going at this rate, and only a stupid, primitive sense of pride kept me pushing. Thoughts such as "Do not stop the bike!" and "Like hell you're going to walk!" were the only things circulating in my otherwise empty mind.



At the top I felt nothing. No elation, no sense of accomplishment. Maybe some anger at my naivite ("You needed to do this, did you? Racers describe this ride as "infamous" and you decided this meant it was suitable for you?"), but otherwise nothing. I drank water and looked around blankly for Somervillain. Somehow I'd managed to lose him. Could he have taken a different side street to descend? I cycled around the maze of streets along the side of the mountain, climbing some smaller hills for no reason other than to keep warm. I was now shaking violently. Then it occurred to me that we both had phones. I phoned, he picked up immediately, we realised what had happened to separate us and agreed to meet back at the base of the hill. It was pretty apparent to me that I could not continue the ride, and he could hear it in my voice as well. I cycled down to meet him with my head hung low and my face a deep crimson.



I am not entirely sure how we ended up repeating the climb (yes, you read that correctly). I think it may have started out as a suggestion in jest. But long story short, we climbed the same hill again. Oddly it went easier the second time around, despite my utter sense of depletion. Maybe knowing what to expect made it easier. Once again I maxed out my gears and pushed myself up in jolts the whole way, but with a clearer sense of when to expect an end to the hellish ordeal. In the last stretch, my breaths were coming out in audible heaves: Hee! Haw! Not unlike the sound of a tortured donkey. And then again it was over. At the top we stopped in a parking lot behind a small, shabby water tower. I tried to eat a piece of an energy bar, but nearly threw it up. I did drink more water and kept that down. My hands were trembling. We agreed that we were done for now: descend carefully, then back to Somerville. Two difficult climbs was not so bad given my lack of experience.



Cycling home, we transitioned to the Minuteman Trail and enjoyed the glorious sunshine. We chatted casually about this and that and began to contemplate where would be the best place to stop for coffee.



And then I opened my mouth and said: "You know what? I am not tired anymore. This always happens, I begin to feel more energetic at the end of a ride."



And he said: "Oh yeah? Do you feel like going back and doing the last climb of the route then? We have time before I need to be at work."



And I said... Well, what could I say. I couldn't exactly back out of it at that point! So we rode to Arlington Heights for the last climb.



This climb was very different and I am so glad I did it. It was a big, open road that went straight up instead of winding, and I could see exactly how far it was to the top. It was a steep climb of about a mile and again I maxed out my gears fairly early on, but somehow it was just a more rewarding experience. This road had nice scenery and a more pleasant atmosphere; I just felt better riding there despite the same horrible pain in my legs and the same shortness of breath. Seeing that I had about a mile of this ahead of me, I somehow "settled into" the climb and relaxed. The entire time I was thinking "Oh my God, am I actually... enjoying this?" Somervillain was way ahead of me of course, so I had no illusions about my speed. When he stopped at the top and turned around to check how I was doing, I gave a thumbs up and smiled.



Upon reaching the top, I was delighted by the sight of a beautiful stone water tower surrounded by a small park. I had never been here before, and it's always nice to discover a new scenic spot. Suddenly, everything began to seem okay, even funny. It wasn't so bad. I really should have done the middle two climbs of the route instead of bailing so early on. To make me feel better, Somervillain pointed out that we'd really done more like 3 out of 4 climbs, since we did the first one twice. Plus we'd cycled 30 miles over all. Let's call it a modified route. After taking some pictures, we descended down a monstrous hill with a view of the Boston skyline, climbed another short but steep hill, and then cycled home for real with a quick coffee before parting ways.



On my way home I stopped by the Co-Habitant's office to say hello. He laughed and said I was incoherent, clearly still coming down from a post-cycling high ("and then... and then... there was a TOWER! And I almost gave up, but... tower!")



Sigh. I guess I should be grateful that even in my 30s I can enjoy the little things. I am pretty terrible at this roadcycling stuff, especially hills. But God, I love it anyway. We'll be doing this ride again. And thank you, Somervillain!