Chocolate cake

Chocolate.

I recoil ever so slightly when, upon finding out I'm into cycling, an "ah-ha" moment washes over people wondering how I lost and keep off all this weight. Scanning for some sort of easily explainable reason I could possibly drop more than 70 pounds, they finally pounce on the fact that I ride a bike, and to them, it explains it all.

"Oh, so that's how you stay so thin," they'll say, or some variety.

What a strange time and space we occupy where it's simply unbelievable that someone could lose a ton of weight without being on some strict diet or being a kettle-bell throwing fitness freak.

I understand, I guess. It's part of the world we live in. Everyone wants to know the shortcut, because everyone uses the shortcut. And I guess it would be disingenuous to say that cycling has had nothing to do with losing weight. It obviously has. I lost a considerable amount of weight before I even bought the Peugeot, though, and I'm convinced that all these CrossFit crazy people are at least slightly misguided. I think keeping trim is mostly about eating right. Just look at that food pyramid the doctor always told you about, and that's sort of my guide.

Sometimes I do feel like the miles I put on my bike do, shall I say, allow for some slop in the system, however, and that brings me to chocolate, my true love. My middle guy's birthday cake request was chocolate cake with a ganache frosting. Yes, my 10-year-old requested ganache as his topping.

Who am I to argue? I went to my go-to. What recipe is that, I am always asked? I proudly tell them it's the "Perfectly Chocolate Cake" recipe on the back of the Hershey's Cocoa label. I actually find product recipes to be some of the best there are. For example, there' s a great recipe for cookies on the back of Reese's Pieces.

I've often considered making a different chocolate cake, but the label really is truth in advertising: it's perfect, and I just can't bring myself to mess with it. There's an odd step at the end with boiling water that I don't understand, but why question it?

The only audible I called was my son's request for the ganache. I just poured hot cream over about 8 ounces of semi-sweet chocolate, and that was it. I made the "Perfectly Chocolate Frosting," which is also on the back of the cocoa container, and used a whole cake's worth in between the cakes.

The cake is delicious. I know restaurant food is a different way of cooking, but this cake is something I would put up against anything in any bakery. I'm not bragging--it's simply that good. It's moist (I think that's the boiling water part), and unlike box cake, it tastes like chocolate. That's the thing about from-scratch baking with chocolate. The end result ends up tasting like chocolate. A little bitter, a lot sweet, a little coffee-ish.

So I had a huge slice and part of a few others, and it felt wonderful and right and why would you ever want to deprive yourself of something like that?

Check out the geese in the background. Coes Pond, Worcester, Mass.

Yes I rode yesterday and today, but not in some frantic race to balance out what I ate. I rode because I wanted to ride my bike. If it happens to absorb the dietary blow of eating wonderfully good food, then that's a bonus. I suppose that's one of the great things about cycling--it's a hobby that's actually incredibly good for you.

Yeah, I'm just gonna go ride a bike

Headstone at a local cemetery.

The weather apps seemed a bit bleak this week, but so far it has been reasonably warm and pleasant. Each day this week it has been a quick and easy decision. Guilt about not getting enough done around the house has been building, however, and the weather may not end up being the determining factor for the rest of the week.

Don't be jealous of my sweatshirt "kit." 

For today, however, the riding was splendid, and I took a rare spin down Granite Street to add a few miles. The hills are nicely spaced so momentum just pushes you up the next hill. Before and after the junkyards, it's a nicely wooded, quiet ride, and a right on Cliff Street spits you out across from the bike path parking lot.

The Pug is bullet proof, always a trusty ride.

Earlier in the week a brief cross-border raid into Millbury took me over or under three major highways for the day: I-290, I-90, and Route 146. It's nice to be able to make route adjustments on the fly. I wanted to go up Upland Street to get home with slightly less hassle than having to back under 290, but Upland is a mini-beast of a few long, kinda steep hills.

Rarely do I venture over the bridge.

A quick left onto Spofford Road cuts those hills in half. It's such a neat area over there; my iPhone ride-bys don't do the neighborhood justice. There are these huge vegetative areas that still haven't been developed, and they're just beautiful. It's surrounded by these big hills, so it reminds me if Central America or some mountainous land. Really cool.

Upland.

The true revelation, however, was after the ride when I whipped up some zucchini fritters. I envisioned a sort of burger, and it worked in that sense, but they would be just as good with some sauce on the side or maybe some caramelized onions. 

Fresh chives from the unkillable chive plant in the backyard.

Only looking at the picture do I now realize how huge that piece of salmon was.

And here's a gratuitous grilled salmon shot from the weekend. I would eat a salmon jumping out of the river, grizzly bear-style, if I could. It is my most beloved fish. It needs little to be spectacular, which is probably my biggest folly. I simply don't do too much to it. 

Wonderful stretch

Southbridge Street, tailwind.

Recent weeks have blessed me with good riding and good eating. Today, for example, the temperature soared into the 70s, reminding me about why I love spring so much. Riding in the winter has its own set of enjoyments and rewards, but there's nothing like simply lacing up the sneakers, throwing on the helmet, and hitting the road.

Grass and dandelions.

It's views like this all over the place as lush grass still waits for its first cut. Everything is just so lush and colorful this time of year. The trees and their various buds, flowers popping everywhere. The things you have the time to notice on a bike.

Pasta with vegetables and basil-garlic oil.

Recent months have revealed a bit of a food rut on my part. Not anything as desparate as losing my love for cooking, but just a general un-adventurousness, if that's a word (it's not). My wife shaking up her eating habits has in turn forced me to stretch a bit, and I've been inspired to work on little things like the basil/garlic oil I whipped up for this pasta dish. Pasta dishes like this fill my plate several days a week, but the quick, easy herb oil makes it interesting and new and fresh all over again.

Ball bearings, herded back into the headset.

New and fresh and all over again has been the wonderful experience so far with the Univega mixte. It's just about wrapped up, and it went back together nicely. Look for details in an upcoming post. Here I was repacking the headset bearings. They seemed in good shape if a little dirty, so I cleaned them the best I could with household kitchen cleaning being my chemical exposure limit. The bungee cord holding the fork on was a godsend, and while it took three days to pick up all the loose ball bearings that scurried all over the floor upon disassembly.

Riding in warm weather, learning the contours of a fascinating old bike, anticipating the new road bike some time soon, and enjoying time with the family. In such an uncertain, anxiety-ridden world, there is much to be happy about. The fundamentals are sound.

Stopping

I'll admit it--I like Strava. I like looking at a map of where I just went. I get jazzed when one of those little trophies pops up, although the other day the air partially went out of my balloon when I realized that my "second best time" going south to north on Mill Street was just that--I almost beat my own personal best. I was 67th or somewhere near there when stacked up against other cyclists.

I figure I'm pretty safe right now with my free-level membership, and I obviously don't take it too seriously. But I have noticed I have to tell myself every so often that it's not a race. I don't need to aim for a target speed or calorie burn or longest ride.

Today I rode down to the Blackstone River Bike Path, and it's as wonderful as it always is. The rains have swollen the mighty river, and as I approached, the thought crossed my mind that someone has probably Strava'd their time on the path, and I pedaled harder thinking I might rate. 

It was silly and harmless, but I had to tell myself to stop and get off the bike. It's beautiful, and it's not 20 degrees like it was in March. 

It's okay to stop. Stop and take a drink. A look. A bite to eat. It's like golf and rally racing--you're only competing with yourself. 

The way of nature

Obadiah Hadwen loved trees, and I love him for that. He donated the land for which Hadwen Park is named, and it's a wonderful place to ride through. 

My eyes-on-the-prize goal is a road bike, and I'm told by the Power That Is that the day is coming soon, perhaps in the next month or so. But what I haven't told the Power That Is is that I've developed a hankering for mountain biking. 

Now it's not as big a problem as it might seem; my vaguely imagined plan is that if I came across a halfway decently put-together mountain bike of any vintage for dirt cheap, I'll scoop it up. 

But it's riding through places like Hadwen that really gives me the hankering. It's just nice being out in the dirt, away from traffic and glass and sewer grates and potholes. It's always nice to be near water. And cemeteries. 

It's times like these when it dawns on me that I am more fully submersed in modern bike culture than I thought I was. Padded shorts. Dreams of a road bike and clip less pedals. And now the storied "N+1" affliction. How many bikes will wander into my basement? 

 I submit myself as a full-fledged, triple-butted bike dork.

The long ride

The numbers don't lie. It's true--I averaged 0.0 miles per hour.

The big cycling goal this year is simply to just pile on the miles. Longer rides, more adventurous routes, perhaps a tour or charity ride or two seem like tangible targets. It has been two years; I am in shape, and feel perfectly capable of the distance.

The other morning, after fixing my sunglasses with a tiny little screw and my long thumbnail, I filled a water bottle, drank some water, and headed out on a ride.

Just over 31 miles later, I returned home. What a fantastic feeling it was, putting that much distance on the bike. My legs felt a little weak, and there was some soreness in my knees, but other than that I felt no different than if I had just completed an 8 or 9-mile jaunt.

Getting this nice long ride in gave me some good data. It told me that my bike must be at least a halfway decent fit for me, and is in great working order. I never had any leg numbness or extreme pain anywhere, and I wasn't even sore the next morning.

It told me that next time, I might want to pack a snack or two, even though it was still a relatively short ride in the whole scheme of things. Maybe just some granola or a banana.

It told me that mapping out a route in your head and actually riding it can be two different things, and that details matter.

Cutting through Webster Square and onto Mill Street, I made my way up Olean to the reservoirs. It's nice scenery and nice roads. It gets really hilly, though--the reservoirs have to collect that water from somewhere.

My mini-backpack is trespassing.

I did succumb in a few spots in Paxton and had to walk it a bit. I'd say I walked no farther than a bit less than a quarter mile the whole ride. That's what I was talking about with the planning. Perhaps next time a little recon in the car beforehand would go a long way.

The sun was out, although it was chilly for late April. But the big challenge was the wind. God that wind was horrible. Gears aren't only useful for hills; they are invaluable, I found out, for heading into brutal winds. I knew what I was getting into checking the weather forecast. It was a northwest wind, so I figured if I rode into it on my way out, I'd get the wind behind me on the back half of my ride.

It didn't quite work out like that. The wind was brutal the entire way to the reservoirs, but then it miraculously died out. Perhaps it was all the hills providing some sort of barrier, I don't know. But once I got to the hills, it was pretty much the hills that were tough, not the wind.

Well, the wind did contribute to me almost getting killed. Yeah, I'm not exaggerating. I almost got killed by a falling tree. I had just completed a disastrously long detour due to a wrong turn taken after a picturesque stop at Paxton center.

I have a thing for cemeteries, I guess. This is a really really old one.

What I was thinking I don't know, but I decided I knew where to take the turn for Route 56, a road I've driven down in a car dozens of times in my life.

Turns out I was very wrong, and I ended up in the wilds of Spencer until getting back to 56. As I coasted down a hill toward the intersection of Paxton Road in Leicester, I heard the unmistakable crack of a tree about to fall. A few loud cracks, increasing in frequency, just to my right. For a split second the thought crossed my mind to take a look and try to gauge where it was going to fall and get out of the way, but I instead decided just to pedal as fast as I could toward the intersection. I blew through the intersection, figuring my chances of surviving getting hit by a car were better than being crushed by a tree. As I got to the middle of the intersection I heard and felt the giant old tree fall to the ground.

Those limbs were huge, I swear!

I turned around and saw the wreckage in the road. the bulk of the trunk stayed in the woods, but some big limbs sat in pieces in the road, right where I had been. A couple pulled up, and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and said, "Boy you dodged a bullet there, eh?"


I agreed, composed myself, took a couple pictures, and headed on my way, knowing I had used up my free pass for the day.

The reward for this harrowing experience came at the top of yet another climb, seemingly toward some Star Wars--esque cloud city.

Oddly enough, this was one of the milder climbs I had to do that day

I've driven around here many times--I used to drive around here with the kids in the car when they were babies and it seemed they would only stop crying when in a moving car. But it's a whole new world on a bike. You think something is coming up, but it's far away. You didn't notice what a nice view a certain vantage point provided. You didn't notice that farm. Those sheep. That nice old house.

A landing plane would have really knocked this pic out of the park

Route 56 goes along the backside of the Worcester Regional Airport. It's just a nice place to be on a sunny day. My bike almost blew over after I leaned it against the fence. But this is really what the destination was when I mapped out the ride in my head. On this day, this is where I wanted to be. It took an extra 45 minutes or so because I was where I didn't want to be for a time. But no matter. Besides some apologizing for wildly underestimating the time I was gone from home, there was really no penalty. It made it better. And it produced that nice big number on my bike computer.

My reward? A simple roasted chicken, cooked according to legendary chef Thomas Keller's old recipe. It's not even a recipe, really. I did brine the chicken first, which he doesn't mention. But then I just threw it in the skillet and put it in a 450 degree oven for about an hour and 15 minutes. It's delicious every time.

My go-to chicken. Basically throw it in the oven. You won't be disappointed.

My city

In the course of following more bike blogs and advocate/activist groups, I've noticed there's a huge emphasis on whether a particular city or town is "bike friendly." 

I would break down the particular bike-friendliness of an area into two categories: culture and infrastructure. 

In Worcester, it's hard to say whether the infrastructure is quite there yet, or whether it's pretty decent considering what it's like in other cities. I dnt have a heck of a lot of perspective, but compared to, say, Cape Cod, Worcester falls behind. But jeez the Cape is amazing. You can basically get to wherever you want to go mostly using dedicated bike paths. That's never going to happen in Worcester. 

Worcester has it's end of the Blackstone, and there are random bike lanes here and there. Construction is supposed to start soon on an extension of the path up to Union Station, but that seems to be about it right now.

As far as riding a bike in the city goes, I find it easy and enjoyable. Take Mill Street, which I meandered down the other day. I was told recently that the wide shoulder was actually conceived as a bike lane. You wouldn't be able to tell, but there is one of those "bike route" signs. Bike lane or breakdown lane, it's very nice and long, and there's nice scenery to chew on. 

Even in the thick of city traffic, it's not too bad. Chandler Street is a nice climb and a chance to pay respect to the place where it all started, Chandler Bike (it was still Barney's then, but technically it still is). Just under two years ago the Pug rolled out of there all nice and not shiny. 

I think what I'm finding is that the infrastructure, quite simply, isn't as important as the culture. And right now, from where I pedal, that comes down to how drivers treat you. 

And one of the revelations of my adventures in cycling in and around the city is just how expectation and stereotype-defying 99 percent of motorists are when I'm on a bike. Sure there are some bad apples, as with all aspects of life. Nobody and no city is perfect, and besides being the recipient of the odd yell out the windshield or having someone make a big show of how they're gunning it by you the first chance they get, I find that most drivers most of the time just give me the room or time I need, and pass by when they feel it's safe. 

If anything, weirdly enough, some of my biggest peeves come not out of unfriendliness but of too much consideration. For example I don't like when people stop everything to let me turn. It makes me feel pressure to do so, even if I don't feel it's safe. And I also would rather a driver pass me closely, than leave some exaggerated wide berth around me. It makes me feel like I'm going to cause an accident. 

So I guess I'd say that in my experience--obviously everyone's opinion is shaped by their own personal experiences--Worcester is a pleasant place to ride a bike. 

Easter

A morning spent watching the kids revel in Easter greatness, it seemed a good afternoon to head out on a newer route I've been trying out lately. 

I pretty much ride alone so there is little frame of reference to how much climbing other cyclists do. But I feel like I do an inordinate amount of it. 

Maybe all cyclists feel that way. Partly because of time constraints, and partly because of a sort of ethos I seem to be ahdering to that says it's a bit silly to drive your bike somewhere so you can ride it (I think I'll realize this is ridiculous sometime soon), hills are just plain unavoidable in my little neck of the woods. 

Today took me out to Auburn for a nice 11-mile run around some water, because in Auburn it seems like there's a lake around every corner. I suppose that explains the hills, too, to a certain extent.

 

These are quiet little roads on any day, but it was nice to have such little traffic on the holiday ride. It's funny the things you notice on a bike. For instance, on a bike there's much more time to realize who is having an Easter gathering--cars packing up a driveway and spilling onto the street. There were a lot of people just sitting outside in their front yards today, which was nice to see. I didn't see another cyclist. I am sort of curious what the big bike thoroughfares around here are, because the typical cyclist I encounter is some guy going the wrong way on the sidewalk or pretty clearly getting to work the only way he can since his DUI. 

Maybe that will be my hill solution. Go where the spandex-clad cyclists are. Because for all the talk about challenging themselves with climbs, my guess is they know the long, flat routes that fill up their mileage logs. 

I am acutely affected by that sort of obsessive self-convicing behavior where I decide something is the way it is, and I put the blinders on. One thing I've convinced myself of is that I need cycling shorts, and I think history will judge that this is not one of those times I just talked myself into something. 

My mileage hasn't gotten extremely longer, despite my willingness to put more distance on my plate. Still, butt soreness is about the only complaint I can come up with, regardless of distance. I don't really get a sore back; my hands get a bit sore, but that's because I have unpadded, shellacked cotton handlebar tape and I don't wear padded gloves, so I know I'm sort of asking for it in that respect. My knees get a bit sore, but finely tuning my gear selection helps alleviate that. 

I really enjoy a nice hard saddle, and I think it's much better ot have a harder saddle than a soft squishy one. That's probably why I don't have a lot of back problems, even in light of my bike being a drop-bar converted 80s French mountain bike with slightly smaller geometry than I probably need. 

But I feel that just a little bit more padding would do wonders for my comfort on the bike. A cushier seat I think would be too much. Plus it seems cheaper to try a set of padded shorts before going for a nicer and/or cushier saddle. d

.  

Saturday afternoons

Vacations with my boys are always crazy, stressful, tiring, and fantastic. Three little men who continue to impress and amaze me. 

Of course time off for them means my carefully honed routine gets tossed aside in favor of playground trips, backyard frolic, long, made-to-order breakfasts, and just time spent together. Wonderful hours burned off as the weather gets warmer and the sun feels just so nice on the skin. 

How do I find the time to ride a bike? The best way to describe it is probably that my riding schedule is like a firehouse. My bike is like the turnout gear sitting by the fire truck, boots and uniform perfectly ready for when the radio crackles a call over the air. 

Planning for an elaborate day built around a bike ride is simply a superfluous luxury for me right now. If the time is right, I will simply guzzle down some water, grab my phone (Strava dork in traiining!), and bolt into the basement, where the Pug awaits. In just a few minutes I'm plunging down the street to start a ride.

Any hesitation, any contemplation, is a debit on the ride itself, so it is not considered. So today, with my wife about to rise for her day and me finishing up mine, I surveyed my tired boys, who were laying around watching television and poking at their tablets after a long day of playing outside, for the most part and to to their credit. 

I needed coffee for Easter Sunday--not a day when you want to add an extra trip. So there was my carefully curated ride log. Coffee. 

"I'm going for a quick bike ride." I announced. "I'll be back." 

Off I went, downtown on a beautiful afternoon. Starbucks for some beans (and those chocolate-covered graham crackers that are, I believe the best thing besides the coffee there). I always feel like Captain Bike Commuter when my rides have a purpose or a destination. I get to lock my bike, and I wonder what people think when they see it. Whatever they think, I hope it includes a happy thought about how much they liked riding a bike as a kid. 

I don't do it enough to have a system down pat, so I tend to fumble with things. I'll put my wallet back in the backpack when I'm going to need it to pay. I'll put my keys back in my bag when I get ready to go when I need them to unlock my bike. Stuff like that. 

The weather is getting really wonderful, and the environment is following suit. Not only is it getting warmer (although it was cooler than usual this week, but in a tolerable way), but everything is greening up nicely. The street sweeping is in full swing, which as a cyclist and driver I doubly appreciate, and I'm seeing more people riding, which is really nice. 

One of the teachers at my youngest's preschool was rejoicing at the weather the other day and talked about how it just lifts her mood. I agree wholeheartedly. I feel so much better now that it's nice out. I enjoyed riding through the winter (when I could--it was a nasty this year), but just a few weeks in, and spring has put much distance between me and those memories of staring out the window, wondering if the roads would be ok for a ride. 

Maybe, with this whole week off, I'll plan a nice long ride one of these days. Just take off for half a day and explore. Go somewhere and find a nice twisty route. Find some hills and a nice view and maybe some other riders to share the joy with. 

Riding all over the place

At the gym, what can you do when you get tired of the same old routine on the elliptical? Maybe change the channel on the tv display, maybe go with a different mix on the headphones?

That's the problem I developed with the gym--it's way too easy to get in a rut, and at that point the obstacles loom larger--getting to the car. Carving out the time. The drive there. Et cetera et cetera.

One of the many aspects of cycling that I have grown to love is that the gym dilemmas, which in essence is just convincing yourself that you aren't going to the gym, simply don't apply. 

When I shove the Pug through the basement doorway to head out for a ride, I usually pick one of about three or four more-or-less fixed routes. There's no real hierarchy; there's a quicker one,  hillier one, a few longer ones, and an easy one. 

If I ever get even a hint of feeling the monotony of going out on the bike, I know it's time to switch up the route. Today I took advantage of the almost instantaneously nice spring weather and blasted through the cemeteries, across Park Avenue, down Mill Street, down June Street, on to May, and eventually back home. 

I spent a lot of time riding bikes with a very good childhood friend in this neighborhood. It represented an amazing amount of freedom for a fourth grader. Just bombing around, exploring, with an occasional foray into the woods. In fact, I may or may not have fallen waist-deep into this brook at one point. 

It's still a little chilly in the morning, but I look forward to continually adding mileage. The different route today provided just the amount of newness, just the amount of fresh scenery to chew on, that in just 8 miles any hint of boredom with cycling was wiped away.

Down hills

One of the best things about biking that is also one of the most obvious is that included in all the hills we tackle is the built-in reward of going down the other side. 

The downhill of McKeon Road is one I always look forward to. Supposedly a plan is afoot to install sidewalks as part of a master-plan style reimagining of the area, which I hope doesn't narrow the road any. I think that's why I like it so much: it's big, fat shoulders. Call them breakdown lanes, call them shoulders. They are perfect for bike travel. In the summer you have to duck your head a bit to avoid a few low-hanging branches, but it's smooth and fast and long, every time. 

Out of the frying pan

Oy vey.

It's funny sometimes, the responses you give in the course of conversation. When I talk to myself (which is all the time), deep in thought, up in the woods, I always sound so articulate; every word is chosen carefully, every sentence declarative and deliberate. In my own mind, I'm up on the stage giving a TED talk on why I like salmon so much.

But when it comes time to drop that knowledge in polite conversation, there is, shall we say, some lost energy there. I don't think I'm unique in that sense; it's just funny.

I was thinking, for example, about talking with people about observations made now that I have been back on a bike for a few years now. Typically the person I'm talking with will ask where I ride, since I live in a busy part of the city. If I go left, I go into Auburn, which is a little more low-key. If I go right, I head downtown into the city. More lights, traffic, etc. But I usually caution them that it's not so bad; I rarely feel like I'm going to get killed while I'm in the city. Remarkably enough, on balance, I find other motorists to be quite patient most of the time.

At some point, though, my subconscious takes over and I usually blurt something out about all the trash. And that's not exclusive to the city. In my 2 years (in May) back on a bike, I can say that until you ride in the gutter (or near it), you don't realize just how much trash is in and around our streets. It's disgusting. As someone who was raised by parents who looked at littering as on par with swearing, hitting your sister, or quite possibly murder in the pantheon of awful things you could do in life, I detest littering, and litterers. Especially this day and age, when there are publicly available trash bins basically outside every convenience store, shopping center, gas station, fast food restaurant, and parking lot. It drives me nuts how much people litter, which is why I felt compelled to stop and photograph this freaking frying pan on the side of the road in Auburn the other day.

It's not that it was in a bad spot, or that I could have gotten a flat. It's just that someone saw a small wooded area, had a frying pan, said to themselves, "jeez, there's a huge commercial strip of businesses with myriad trash bins right up the street. But I guess I'll just toss this frying pan out right here."

Pick up after yourselves, people. Because I said so.

Willing spring into existence

After last winter, I declared my lower temperature limit for bearable biking was 20 degrees. But it has been such a long, cold winter that this week I crumpled that up and tossed it. The screenshot below was from this afternoon; this morning it was about 14 degrees when I put my winter gear on and hit the road.

Translation: cold

It wasn't so bad, and it was such a short ride that I was back inside by the time things got too numb. But the sun was out, and the benefits by far outweigh the challenges of riding in the cold. It's not wind-in-the-hair, soaking-in-the-rays-of-the-sun satisfying. It's more of a "Nice, I grounded it out and I feel 1000 times better, because I rode my bike." 

I got out four times this week; that's by no means "laying down base miles" like the guy at the bike shop told me last year, but even after just a few consecutive rides I feel like my body is getting back in the swing of things. I adjusted my saddle height up just a bit because I had been feeling a little cramped (my Pug, I think, is a tad on the small size for me). 

I am impressed at how my off-season maintenance paid off. Well, I should say off-season repairs. The wheels are rolling sweet after bearing replacement in the fall (prompted by that broken axle on Vernon Hill!), and cleaning the freewheel and the complete teardown/rebuild of the rear derailleur seems to have worked wonders on the drivetrain, which feels smooth and is almost completely silent. 

I look forward to the day (hopefully late spring/early summer) when I roll out of the bike shop on a shiny new road bike, but today I felt really connected and comfortable on the Pug. Anything I've ever read about Peugeots makes some mention of how well they go down the road; count me among the masses. It feels solid and it feels like it is always covering a lot of ground. It might not be fast, but it feels swift. I think I will realize and be able to take advantage of the benefits a road bike will offer me: light weight, modern construction and components, the low rolling resistance of skinny tires. 

The Peugeot will stay with me, that is assured. When I first made up my mind in that regard it was, I think, due to nostalgia and the emotional connection of the 80s relic getting me back on a bike. But the more (and more and more) I ride it, the more I think it stands on its own. It stands out as a hidden gem, a relic of the dawn of mountain biking, as imagined by a bunch of French guys who really, really knew their stuff when it came to building road bikes. It's a really nice bike, and I will continue to ride it. 

Repairs

I've been very lucky since I returned to bicycles in 2012. Having read all the horror stories, I was prepared for battle, but the breakdowns, crashes, accidents, and other headaches just never came.

That lucky streak ended recently, but I suppose it was as gentle as possible.

First, just as I was starting a brief ride, I tried to shift into my lowest gear, so I pushed as far as I could on my thumb shifter. I'm not sure what happened next, but I think the pressure pulled the cable out of the cable clamp. I think I didn't realize this, so I just kept pushing the shifter forward. I ended up pulling the cable housing through the shifter.

Oops

Oops.

I was desperate enough for a ride that day that I kept on going, single-speed style. But just as I was returning, I hopped off my bike and realized I had a flat rear tire. A large chunk of beer bottle glass was firmly entrenched in the rubber.

Old shifter from an 80s Fuji. Perfect replacement.

Facing several days of single-digit temperatures, I decided to do a little maintenance. I figured I would fix the shifter and tire, and finally take apart my derailleur, with the hopes of giving it a good cleaning. I was pleasantly surprised at how easy everything came apart and went back together. I see much joking about old French build quality, but I have nothing but good things to say about 80s-vintage Sachs-Huret friction derailleurs.

Bits and pieces. 

I don't really like riding in bad weather, but riding in the winter means your bike picks up a lot of road gunk. No big deal; my bike isn't precious enough to keep indoors whenever it's slightly wet out. But it does mean that frequent scrubdowns are necessary; you can feel all that grit when you pedal. And I think I was probably the first person to ever get that deep into that derailleur.

All cleaned and ready to get dirty again. 

The only casualty was the small plastic cover that goes over the dropout bolt. It's just aesthetic, but I was a little irritated. Perhaps I'll come across another one of these days.

Enjoying the winter rides

Don't worry, I don't ride on the sidewalk! 

I can't quite take a break from my bike. The weather has been quite lousy lately; rain and snow have lingered, and we're gearing up for another cold snap after enjoying about a week-long respite from the last one.

My limit is 20 degrees. Anything below 20 degrees and I'm not taking the bike out. It just gets painful, no matter how properly attired I am for the ride.

It's not just the cold, either. It's always wet, and the sand and salt spread on the road just seems to torture my bike. I'm not a neat freak about the Peugeot, but I have my limits.

Hanging from my basement ceiling awaiting a wipedown. 

The downtime is probably a good time to just do something else for a while. Relax. Do some maintenance. Work on some stuff around the house.

But I just can't resist getting out there. It has been in the high 30s-low 40s this week. Relatively speaking for this time of year, it's balmy. The recent melting has widened roads.

This wonderful wall my Peugeot is sitting against is Hope Cemetery, Worcester's municipal cemetery. I love living near cemeteries; they are beautiful, peaceful places. They are full of history and character.

Surveying all that is before her.

This is one of my favorite monuments. I've never checked out what the story is behind her -- one of these days -- but she always looks to me like she has this perfect view of the gently landscaped grounds. The hair, the pose, the garb, the patina. It's just all right.

Puffy snowboarding gloves fit the bill.

One new addition this year has been the puffy Burton snowboarding gloves you see perched above the Pug. It was the most money I have ever spent on gloves, and it seems to have been money well spent. They do have their limits -- I was at a scene for work last week in about -5 degrees and it was pretty chilly. But for bike riding in 20 degree-plus weather, they perform flawlessly.

I truly enjoy riding my bike in the cold. I end up warming up pretty good, and I am always in a better mood after a ride, no matter the climate. When it's 70 degrees in May, I will look back on the dead of winter and maybe shiver a bit while wondering what possessed me to drag my bike out of the basement at the first sign of the low sun. But I'll also look back with a smile that even in those conditions, I still made it outside, in the fresh air, zooming along, clearing my head.