Smiling down on us from tube heaven

I installed this tube on my front wheel 2012 and during its 18,000 mile life, I invested an entire patch kit in it.  It was hard to say goodbye to it this morning when the valve stem tore open.

And with luck there will still be some for my kids to inherit

Phil Wood grease, purchased from Ann Arbor Cyclery in about 1978.

I couldn't have imagined then that this mundane purchase, one of a thousand or so similarly forgettable items I must've also bought that year, would follow me around for 35 years and that in 2013 I'd still be using it to lube pedal threads.  (A bit less remarkably, I still have the Campagnolo Nuovo Record low-flange front hub that I got that same day, but it hasn't been ridden in years.  Lots more use out of the grease.)

I don't rebuild many hubs or headsets nowadays, so I don't pull this out of the tool bag very often and there's a good chance it will last me the rest of my life.

Dark

I love riding in the dark, the way it opens up in front of you and closes up behind you, and all the rest of the time you’re as good as invisible. I suspect that one of the things I like deep down about bike commuting is that for half an hour every morning and evening I move through a busy and crowded world without altogether being a part of it. Biking to work is the next best thing, I think, to being able to fly 15 feet off the ground.

Anyhow, dark enhances this illusion. Remarkably, my fore and aft lights don’t diminish it much, perhaps because even with them I’m only a bright dot at a hundred yards or more.

Secrets of winter riding, Part 2 – Control

There are only two tricks to winter riding: Don’t freeze and don’t fall. In Part 1 I explained how to keep from freezing; now for some tips on how to stay upright.

First, however, one observation. If you can find clothing that suits you, you very well may become indifferent to cold. By contrast you will – or should – never become indifferent to snow. It’s possible to ride in the stuff, regularly and successfully, but it’s not ever as safe or as easy as riding on bare pavement. If you want to bike to work over snowy roads or trails, these suggestions will help. But if after trying it a few times you’re still uncomfortable, then don’t do it – wait for the plows to come through!

Moving along. The problem with snow is not so much that it’s slippery but that it’s uneven. Ruts, ridges and hard-packed clumps will all push you off a straight line. As you ride through these spots, your handlebars will twist in your hands, your front wheel will begin to slide, and it’ll feel like you’re going to topple over for sure. But remember Newton. Your bike wants to keep going in the direction that it’s been going; that is, in a straight line. And a wheel wants to spin, not burrow! As soon as your wheel clears the immediate obstacle, it’ll pop back straight and you can keep right on riding. Your aim is simply to allow that happen.

And therein is the essential trick to riding in snow: Let your bike work it out for itself. Loosen your grip. Let the handlebars wobble and twist. Keep pedaling, evenly and steadily, when you feel the front wheel begin to lose its purchase. It feels wrong, but it works out right! (Uh, most of the time – as I said, riding in snow is not as safe as riding on bare pavement.) The feeling of nearly losing control is really disconcerting and it’s hard to suppress the urge to wrestle the bike back into a straight line. But if you fight, you will almost always overcorrect, and wind up on the ground more often than if you just let everything go.

This is one of those lessons that, I think, is best learned through experience. The next snow day that comes along, take an hour or 90 minutes, find a stretch of road that’s not too heavily travelled, and just ride around. Relax your hands, arms and shoulders. Steer in and out of tire tracks, try turning a little harder than seems prudent. Accept that you will fall, and don’t try to stop your bike if it seems to be heading that way. Weirdly, once you accept that you are going to fall, you won’t (as often). And, at 8 mph and onto snow, it’s probably not going to hurt if you do go down. The first time I rode in deepish snow (6-7 inches, on precisely one of these “who cares” excursions), I fell, harmlessly,10 times in 90 minutes before I learned to trust the bike, and its inertia.

Practice helps. The more you ride in the snow, the more comfortable you’ll be with it. (And conversely, less comfortable when you don’t – the first snowy day of each year invariably presents a challenging commute!) Also bear in mind that, staying upright usually comes at the expense of a clean, straight riding line – a sort of Uncertainty Principle for bike riders. So in snow, don’t cut things as closely as you might otherwise, and be particularly vigilant for passing cars.

Finally. All of the foregoing pertains only to snow. None of it works on ice, where you can find yourself on the ground before you can even think the word “Zen”. On 28 degree mornings following a freezing rain, I walk to the Metro – or stay home along with everyone else whose businesses have closed for the day. If you do find yourself on a patch of ice (it happens!), steer as straight and steady a course as you can until you’ve cleared it. Don’t turn, don’t brake, don’t accelerate. Maybe don’t even breathe. And during those tense few moments, relax yourself by remembering that if you fall on ice, you leave a whole lot less of yourself on the ground than if you’d fallen on asphalt!

Chillin'

Winter has arrived in full force in Washington (though I suppose technically it’s still “fall”) and again I’m reminded of how much fun cold weather riding can be. The sharp air on my face and in my lungs is invigorating; it’s impossible to overheat from the effort of cycling – and there is something strangely satisfying about being one of very few people who are out and actually experiencing the weather.

Remarkably (he remarked), cold isn’t much of a problem on a bike – that is, once you’re a mile or so into the ride. (I think that first five or six minutes – which can be, well, a bit bracing – is what puts most people off winter riding.). Two or three woolen layers under a medium weight windbreaking jacket, winter bike tights, good gloves and a balaclava (for the worst days) are good for temperatures all the way into single digits.

Of course right now it’s dry, and the snowfall has been modest. It’s harder to remain quite so enthusiastic during those slippery, slushy February days when salty road crud splashes up from cars, soaks your legs and collects as puddles in your shoes. In fact the best part of those days is peeling off the cold, wet bike clothes and changing right into something warm and dry.

Which, come to think of it, is itself an advantage that cycle commuters enjoy over those poor sad souls who have to slog, in their all-day clothes, through the same crud to their offices from the Metro or parking garage. Ah, good – something to look forward to even then!

Dalecarlia Tunnel at 100

Dalecarlia Tunnel, Capital Crescent Trail, Maryland. Completed in 1910. I haven't heard of any commemoration planned, which is a bit surprising given the trail's popularity and the affection people have for it. Maybe I'll swing by Costco, buy a cake and hand out pieces some Saturday.

Here's a great photo of the same spot in 1974.

Weather immunity

Regular bike commuters enjoy a liberating indifference to weather. Take rain. A pedestrian caught without an umbrella is forced to wait out the storm or dash from awning to awning until they reach the protection of the Metro, bus shelter or parking garage. And even with an umbrella, their clothes below the waist are quickly soaked. The cyclist by contrast doesn’t care. There is only one weather metric on a bike: warmth. If you’re warm, you’re fine. And staying warm on a bike is usually pretty easy. (On perhaps the 15 hottest days of the year, the opposite holds – if you’re cool, you’re fine. Those days, drink a lot of water and ride slowly.)

In summer rainstorms, all you get is wet. And you quickly discover that wet, by itself, isn’t unpleasant at all. (One long day in the rain in 1995 revealed this truth to me.) The warm air, plus the heat you generate by riding, are usually enough to keep any chill at bay. In the cooler air of spring and fall, add a rain jacket or perhaps another insulating layer on rainy days. And of course no matter how wet you may get on the bike, when you get where you’re going, you peel off your wet bike clothes and climb into a dry set of duds. (The ordinary commuter by contrast has little choice but to wear the day’s weather until merciful evaporation completes its work.)

Staying warm in winter is largely a matter of the right clothes. With good layering and proper cold weather selections (like special lobster gloves and a balaclava), you can ride for half an hour or 40 minutes in temperatures down to 10-12 degrees Fahrenheit and honestly pronounce the weather merely “chilly”. Snow is not much of a problem because it doesn’t make you wet. The worst days are rainy ones right at or just above freezing, and I confess that I don’t really look forward to them. But even they aren’t that bad, and I ride in them too.

After a while at this you really do begin to believe you possess a special, personal kind of immunity to the weather. A couple of years ago I had to spend eight weeks in Chicago in October and November on business. I couldn’t ride to work so I deliberately chose a hotel about a mile from the office so I could at least get in a little walk each day. I know what Chicago weather is like that time of year but in packing I completely neglected to pack an umbrella, raincoat or hat. Only later did I realize I had come to believe that weather was just not something that I ever needed to worry about in travelling between home and office - having completely lost sight of the fact that this was thanks only to the bicycle and was not some superhuman trait. Luckily, taxis are abundant in Chicago even in the rain; I spent enough time in them that month.

. . . because all their lives men have been telling them that this – [---------] – is 9 inches!

And so it is in cycling as well - many things are not as substantial as one might imagine or wish them to be. I've already noted how hard it is to achieve 10,000 hours in the saddle, which turns out literally to be a lifetime accomplishment for the non-professional cyclist. Another surprising figure is how little money one actually saves on gasoline by riding instead of driving. At 25 mpg and $3 / gallon, my 2,500 bike commuting miles works out to a gasoline savings of a modest $300 / year. Of course I avoid many other costs (e.g., DC's confiscatory parking lot fees; auto depreciation) which may be even more substantial, and there’s no question that bike commuting is a money saver. But I’m not going to put my kids through college on the difference. Hell, I could save more than I do on gas simply by giving up my second cup of store-bought coffee each day.

10,000 hours?

Malcolm Gladwell (“Blink”, “Outliers” and other best sellers) says that true, world-class mastery of any discipline – be it athletics or computer programming or musical proficiency – requires at least 10,000 hours of practice. The TimesOnline UK has a nice summary of this 10,000 Hour Rule, if you’re not familiar with it. Link here.

I’ve ridden more than 60,000 miles since I started keeping serious track in 1987. That’s more than 2,600 miles per year, every year, for almost a quarter of a century. A lot of riding, right? Well – it doesn’t even get me close to 10,000 hours. 60,000 miles at an estimated lifetime average of 15 mph is – do the math – 4,000 hours. Not even half.

The upside I suppose is that "expert cyclist" must be a satisfying thing to accomplish when you're 80.