Winter project completed, spring is now welcome to arrive

As even more (!) flakes fly outside, one of the few respites from bicycling cabin fever is wrenching on one in the basement. With my nine-year-old outgrowing his 20-inch six-speed mtb, it was time to prepare him for another size up.



This was my oldest son's bike until I rebuilt him a Fuji Boulevard last summer. It takes 24-inch wheels, and it's the perfect size for my middle guy for at least a few years. He tippy-toes the floor from the saddle with it all the way down, and his legs look good on the pedals. Here it is after I started putting it back together.


 It's a bit heavy, but it's a nice bike. It was also yet another opportunity to learn more about repairing and rebuilding bicycles. On this one I went through everything. I replaced the old steel wheels with alloys from a parts bike, and repacked or replaced wheel bearings, bottom bracket bearings, and headset bearings. Those old Shimano derailleurs work perfectly, and keeping myself to a pretty modest budget, I just cleaned and re-used this one. Partly just to have an excuse to buy a freewheel removal tool, I swapped the Shimano 6-speed from the old wheels to the new ones. The cockpit is all new. New flat bar, donor stem, new twist grips and new levers. I had amazing luck with these Shimano BL-550R levers; they work wonderfully with cantilever brakes, and I have used them on other bikes I've had. The SRAM twist grip shifters work nicely, and they come with the grips for just about 17 bucks online. I replaced the cantilever brakes with basic generic ones, with Jagwire pads. They work fine. And I swapped over my 9-year-old's computer.

This winter has been snowy and brutal.

I'm pleased with how it turned out. The only nagging shouldawouldacoulda I have is the drivetrain. The old 2x6 works just fine, but I wonder if I spent another 50-60 bucks I could have truly upgraded this bike into new territory. I think the answer is probably not. It still weighs a ton, it's still a late 80s-early 90s Nishiki hybrid 24-inch bike that's only going to last my son a few years at the most. I only paid $50 for the bike in the first place, which is also a consideration. My son will enjoy it I'm sure; he was happy with the final product. But it's nice to just take stuff apart, see how it works, and put it back together sometimes. Better to make mistakes and go down rabbit holes with a cheap little project like this. I think I'd like my next project to maybe take a little more risk, a little more reward. Maybe a nicer old Schwinn, or Peugeot, or an 80s steel Trek. Something worthy of well-thought-out upgrades. On the other hand, when you build a bike from just a frame like I did on this one, part of me is starting to think that basic, high-quality components are all you really need. The rest is just marketing.

Want of the day

I don't obsessively stalk mountain bikes on Craigslist like I stalk road bikes, but if there was any lasting legacy of that "Reveal the Path" movie the other day it was giving me the mountain bike bug. According to th seller, this is a mid to late-90s Gary Fisher Joshua X. Bike names can veer into very strange territory; there's little rhyme or reason.

I like this bike. It's well-presented, actually--I'm sure the seller didn't think much of it, but the gentle green frame goes well against the orange wall. These sort of Y-frames that became popular in the 90s don't usually set me on fire, but knowing it's a Gary Fisher along with the bike's clean, overall simplicity makes it really interesting for me.

This Joshua X appears to be outfitted with some nice hardware; I'm no expert, but Shimano's Deore XT mountain groupsets are pretty well-regarded. The selller wants $235 for it; if I was actively in the market for a nice light to medium-duty mountain bike I'd make an offer, at least.

As I descend deeper into bicycle nut territory, I find myself leaving behind my previously strong belief that for most riders, one versatile bike will suffice. I have slightly adjusted that to two bikes--road and mountain.

Oddly enough, my current steed is an ancient mountain bike converted to drop bar quasi-road bike duty, and ridden pretty exclusively on pavement. For that reason, my short-term goal is to get a new road bike, in all its modern brifting, indexed glory. But for something like this Gary Fisher, which was a pretty capable, high-end mountain bike in its day, the money seems short for such a fun toy.

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Taking advantage

Taken before the recent foot of snowfall.

The winter we're experiencing here in the Northeast isn't any more or less brutal than any other year that I can remember, but it certainly doesn't fall into that nebulous category of "mild." We've had quite a bit of snow, but hey, it's winter.

I don't ride in the snow. I just never really saw the benefit of investing in studded tires for what would only likely be a few rides a year.

It is, however, important to sneak out whenever possible. At this point, it's not about staying in shape. It's just riding to take a ride. Fresh air. Body moving.

Other than that, it's winter maintenance, a project bike or two, and soaking up more and more information and perspectives on cycling.

On a whim last night I cued up Netflix and watched "Reveal the Path," a movie about a bunch of dudes who apparently went to some far off places over a summer and documented their exploits. I used to say I couldn't stand watching golf on television. It's accessible enough that you should be out playing it, not watching it. I feel the same way about bicycle stuff, but when there's a foot of snow outside, you have to get your fix somehow.

The locales in "Reveal the Path" were stunning. What were intended as backdrops for cool mountain-biking and vague talk about "taking the path" and "just going out and doing it" almost seemed to steal the show. The Scottish highlands, the Alps, Nepal, Morocco, Alaska--well chosen, boys.

It was pleasant enough, and they didn't seem to come on too strong with their whole message, although there was a website at the end where I'm sure you could indoctrinate yourself further. Above all, it was nice to see bikes going through green grass; a lack of winter gloves; and again, those bikes--very high end mountain/trekking bikes. Not exactly where I think I'm headed, but as I watched I kept thinking boy, I could use a nice mountain bike at some point. It would be nice to have in the stable.

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.

Racks and rides

 This morning marked the debut of an old rack I threw on the Pug. It's a nice Blackburn that I took off of the Fuji I rebuilt for my son a while back, and it went on pretty good, although the braze-ons on the bike were not threaded like they were on the Fuji, so I had to use a nut and bolt instead. It seemed to work out fine. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about a recent post on Lovely Bicycle; the discussion revolved around how short a bike ride can be while still being enjoyable. The comments were interesting--you can tell a lot about what kind of bike riders people are without them coming out and saying it, but it made me think about what kind of bike rider I am.

 When I got back on a bike about a year and a half ago, the big goal I had in mind was fitness. Walking simply wasn't enough of a workout, and I had never been able to make running work for me. Fitness was not a singular goal; I had always loved riding as a youth, and I was excited to feel those sensations again. As I kept riding, I wondered if the motivations and inspirations were changing. I don't think they were changing as much as they were fluctuating. What does it matter, anyway? If I'm out on my bike, that's the point. I think every time I go out for a ride I look forward to checking off the fitness box, but I also just look forward to riding my bike.


 The other night, for example, I had been jonesing all day to get out for a ride. I finally got out and rode through Kelley Square, up Vernon Street, and down Vernon Street. I felt great; God knows how many calories got burned, but those 7.5 miles made my mind and my body feel better.

 A few weeks ago, I tagged along with Worcester Loops, a sort of underground riding group (they tend to drink in parks after they finish), for a 13.7 mile loop around the city. It was thrilling, challenging, and invigorating. It was a beautiful, warm evening, and it was lovely to see parts of the city on a bike I had only ever driven through.

 I wasn't thinking about how many watts I was pushing out; I was having such great fun leaning into the Washington Square rotary like I was a MotoGP rider.

 One of the comments on the Lovely Bicycle blog post went something like "If it's not worth starting up Strava, it's just transportation cycling..." I've never done Strava, but when I read that I thought, hey, I resemble that remark! Most of my rides average about 5-8 miles. I'm probably putting in 40 miles a week. I simply don't have the long stretch of time that a longer ride requires. That commenter probably does as many miles in a week that I do in a day. But is he getting what he wants out of how much he rides? Am I getting as much as I want out of my rides? Hey, maybe the answer to both is yes. I think I have some longer riding in me, but right now, I don't know any better. I rode a few miles to the library with my cool new (to me) rack, dropped off a book, and rode home. It was immensely satisfying. I don't know what a 25-mile ride feels like, but at this point, it's all relative.

Zucchini Provencal

I've been making this at least once or twice a week for about a month now.