the practical pedal - issue 3 winter 2008

S u b s c r i b e f o r f r e e a t : w w w.p r a c t i c a lp e d a l . c o m Winter - the P ra c t i ca l Peda l - Pa g e 1the Journal of Practical Bicycling

* Carless In Portland pg. 6

* They Came With Front Panniers pg. 10

* Anatomy of A Commute pg. 12

* Render the Fender Unto the Bike pg. 4

FREE

WinterRidingMade Easy

It’s wortha read

Winter 2008

- the P ra c t i ca l Peda l - Winter S u b s c r i b e f o r f r e e a t : w w w.p r a c t i c a lp e d a l . c o m

If Our Bikes Get Better, Do We?

by Wiley Davis

I’m not a curmudgeon, I swear. For one, I’m much too young to qualify for

official curmudgeon-hood. To be a cur-mudgeon, you need to be able to make sage proclamations that begin with the phrase, “Back in my day...” I can’t do that with any semblance of credibility. As far as I know, my day is still happening. If I went back to reference anything, all I’d be able to refer to are a few choice episodes

of TV’s The A-Team or Airwolf. Back in my day, that’s where I looked for wisdom.

But if I’m not a curmudgeon, why am I swearing I’m not one? Well, think of it as a disclaimer for what I’m about to write. And remember, Grant Petersen is a curmudgeon. Sheldon Brown prob-ably wants to be a curmudgeon but is too silly to pull it off. I am not a curmudgeon, no matter what anyone else tells you.

But here’s why I suspect I’m on the path toward curmudgeon-hood: I think the machines that we humans interact with should retain elements that are dif-ficult to use. That’s code for, “I like down-tube friction shifters.” I also enjoy riding in traffic and along mixed routes that in-volve potholes, railroad tracks, slippery ice, narrow shoulders, and bayside paths littered with inattentive people walk-ing long-leashed yapping speedbumps.

Don’t misunderstand. I enjoy the tranquility of a nice, wide, traffic-free bike path. I like staring at my cycle computer without care of car or pedes-trian. I even enjoy the rapid-fire abil-ity to select any gear I desire with the flick of a finger, never varying my ca-dence by more than 3/10 of an RPM.

But here’s the thing. There’s some-thing inspiring, even sexy, about compe-tent people. And competent people don’t become competent by doing things that are easy. Because I want to be competent (read inspiring and sexy,) most of my machines are incredibly difficult to use.

My big red bike, for instance, is a 63cm Raleigh Super-Course with interesting gearing. Up front it’s got a 52/39 chainring and out back it’s got a 7-speed freewheel that jumps from 28 to 34 teeth in a single shift. Naturally, the bike is equipped with those downtube friction shifters that sexy people use. Librarians may be notoriously

sexy but I assure you it’s in spite of their indexing habits, not because of them.

When I lived in San Diego I used to commute from Hillcrest to La Jolla and back every day on that big red bike. It was a 28-mile round trip with a very steep (but short) hill somewhere in the middle. This hill began immediately after a sharp 90-degree corner at a stop sign. I’d stop at the sign, make the turn and then im-mediately shift down to my 34-tooth cog.

These days, of course, I can shift that bike slicker than a buttered hot dog on a water slide, but back then I wasn’t as sexy as I am today. Nine times out of ten I’d round the corner, reach for my shifter, shift into the 34-tooth cog, then right past the 34-tooth cog and into the spokes. No adjustment screw, no matter how far turned, could solve the problem. If you gently nudged the shifter, the chain would cuddle up with the side of the big cog and make a racket so fierce it seemed certain that either a shift or some kind of mechan-ical offspring was imminent. But a shift-less racket was all a nudge would inspire.

If you jammed the shifter hard, how-ever, the chain would jump up onto the cog like a big dog into a pickup truck. But in its exuberance, the chain would keep going, over the cog, off the back-side, and into the spokes with a furious excitement. My chain and my spokes couldn’t get enough of each other.

It took me almost three months of riding, 60 attempts, before I developed a technique for that one shift. The tech-nique itself was conceptually simple but demanding in practice. I’d initiate the shift by pulling hard on the shifter. This got the chain to jump up onto the big cog.

Then I’d immediately back off just a bit to keep the chain from overshooting the gear.

It was demanding to execute because there was no feedback. The two-part mo-tion had to be done not in response to any feel or sound, but as a specific and practiced movement. There was no time for feedback. It was like a less involved version of driving a shifter kart through a chicane. You don’t steer the kart through. Rather, you line yourself up and slam the steering wheel right left right as fast as you can, knowing that if you ex-ecute a properly-timed sequence with-out even thinking about it, it will work.

That shift was an epochal moment of the ride every day. After I’d done it once, I knew it was possible. In the beginning I usually botched it. But gradually, suc-cess became more frequent until the shift happened with the consistency and beauty of a finely made clock. Even after it had become second nature, that shift was something I owned, a little piece of competence which hadn’t existed before.

The example may be dramatic, but any bike commute is a series of little chal-lenges like this. Every route is comprised of a string of problems needing a solution. Those wet railroad tracks demand a tech-nique. That four-lane traffic river requires some thought. And every day you ride the route, you add a solution to the score un-til one day you find you’re riding it from start to finish as naturally and gracefully as a practiced dancer. Your commute no longer a commute, but a performance. Such competence is inspiring and sexy.

It’s a cliched story but one that in-spires us nonetheless. Jimmy Hendrix learned to play guitar upside down be-cause he didn’t have a left-handed mod-el. Scores of children in Costa Rica will out-surf you on homemade boards carved from trees. From shoeless long-distance runners to that one guy on a fixed gear at a cyclocross race, there are people out there whose competence comes from a practiced humanity, not a collection of gear. We can’t help but admire them. The next time you think you need a new piece of equip-ment, ask first whether it’s new equipment you really need, or just more practice.

See, I told you I wasn’t a curmudgeon. I’m just an admirer of competent people.b

From the Editor

These days, of course, I can shift that bike slicker than a buttered hot dog on a water slide.

S u b s c r i b e f o r f r e e a t : w w w.p r a c t i c a lp e d a l . c o m Winter - the P ra c t i ca l Peda l - Pa g e 3

Impractical PedalGear - Pg. 4

You wouldn’t go to a Gallagher show without a poncho to protect you from flying melon, so why go riding without some fenders to protect you from the rain?

Odds & Ends - Pg. 5Hold On Loosely, Riding tips from 38 Special.

Traffic - Pg. 13Endurance is not the way. To ride through Winter, you need an ap-preciation for what must be done.

Gaston Dilmoore’s Outdoor Situation - Pg.15Any expedition can be fun if you’ve got the right-hookers.

Carless in Portland - Pg. 6The adventures of going carless from Anchorage to Portland.

Winter Riding - Pg. 8Yes, you can. Tips, tricks, and motivation to keep riding year-round.

Fiction - Pg. 10A steady stream of grisled bike tourists hint at a mythical bike shop hidden in a low-key mini-mall.

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Editor - Wiley DavisEditor-at-Large - Neil Zawicki

- Contributors -Darrin Nordhall

David CainJohn Friedrich

Fugio Tagganini(Design Consultant / ex Ital-

ian Military Designer)

602 S. 7th Ave. Unit ABozeman, MT 59715

[email protected]

www.practicalpedal.comthe Practical Pedal is published quar-terly by HONDO Publishing with a print circulation of 10,000 copies.

Table of ContentsDepartments

Features

HHONDO Publishing

Is That A Log In Your Peloton?This bike, spotted amongst the freaks at the Missoula, Montana Tour de Fat, is indeed made from a log. Sustainable? Most likely. But talk about inefficient use of chain. If we had to guess, we’d say that thing uses at least sixteen feet of the stuff. Not content to just show you a picture and let it be, we decided to ask our resident literary critic Dr. Winfred Von Burstein, what he thinks this log bike signifies.

There are a few clues we can use to decipher what is really going on with this so-called “log bike.” The rider appears on first glance to be rebelling—the log bike a defiant

anti-consumerist statement. “I use wood, which is natural,” he seems to be saying. But what I find most fascinating by this almost tribal display is the little American flag. Note that he places the flag behind him and that his cockpit has been placed far forward, as if to suggest that he’s at the vangaurd of a new thrust into the future. He’s placed his pa-triotism squarely behind him, in the past and he’s ready to move forward using only the most natural materials and some refined factory steel where neccesity dictates. I woulddn’t be surprised to find that this bike evolves toward a more wood-like construction until the rider can safely say that his bike, though non-functional, is perfectly “natural.b


GearFendersby David Cain

Why fenders make sense

Soon after I discovered that I could sleep later and save money by biking

to my office job in downtown Boston in-stead of riding the infamous T, I started to realize the limitations of my nearly aban-doned old mountain bike. It only took a day or two of riding in wet weather to re-alize that there was no way I was going to get to work in presentable condition with-out some fenders. I stopped in at a local bike shop, bought some fenders, mounted them on my bike and came to deeply ap-preciate the profound utility of two curved pieces of plastic and some metal stays.

Fenders are without a doubt the single-most important piece of equip-ment you can own that does not come standard on most contemporary bicy-cles. Fenders make life easy on a bike, and yet, most bicycles are fender-less.

Think about it this way: rain is, gen-erally speaking, clean water falling from the sky. It’s no fun to get wet, but a bit of rain won’t bother you that much. Rain that’s fallen on the ground is a different story. Once it hits the ground it gets mixed up with all sorts of nasty grit, dust, and grime. Your swiftly rolling bicycle tires become an excellent means of conveying this muddy mixture back up. At you, at your bike, and at anyone riding behind you.

It’s the stuff coming back up that you really need to worry about. To avoid this you either need to be dressed from head to toe in rain gear, willing to get dirty, or not ride your bike. That is un-

less you have a good set of fenders. I’m not sure that fenders were ever in fashion, but there is a reason they were standard equipment on most of the old English three-speeds that countless British fac-tory workers used for daily transportation in the post-war years before cars became widely affordable. These folks needed to get to work dry and clean for a day’s work.

Your bike itself will also be bet-ter off with fenders. All the rain and grit the fenders catch will be nasty stuff that does not end up all over your frame and various components. It is precisely this sort of gunk that you want to keep off your bike. Grit, road salt, and sol-vents are the enemy of your bike’s health.

Types of fendersFenders come in a variety of styles

and materials from basic plastic models to slick metal ones to deluxe wooden variet-ies. The size of your wheels will be the main consideration along with the vari-ous mounting possibilities. Most manu-factures make models for the widely used 700c and 26” wheel sizes. Additionally there are different widths depending your particular tire size. There are many op-tions out there to choose from. You can purchase a reasonable set for under $50.

Another thing to keep in mind is the overall coverage of the fenders. The lon-ger the better. A short fender will allow spray from your front wheel to come up and douse the whole area around the bot-tom bracket and your feet. Its no good if your body is dry but your feet are wet, so

get long fenders. Along the same lines, fenders are quite helpful when you are riding either in front of or behind a friend in the rain. The rear tire of the bike in front will provide a constant spray all over the following rider unless the fend-ers have adequate reach over the tire.

MudflapsIn both the cases just mentioned,

to really minimize the spray problems, you’ll want mudflaps affixed to your fend-ers if they don’t already come with them. Mudflaps are flexible extensions of plas-tic, rubber, or leather that attach to the end of the fenders that deflect the low stuff. Often you will see mudflaps that extend nearly to the ground to catch as much spray as possible. Mudflaps are particularly helpful in keeping spray off those riding near you -- your friends and fellow bike commuters will appreciate it.

MountingWhen thinking about appropri-

ate fenders you’ll have to consider your mounting options. Not all bikes can eas-ily accommodate fenders, particularly ones specifically designed as race bikes,

and that can be a bummer. The challeng-es tend to arise around having enough clearance over the tire and below the brake/fork area for the tire to pass through, and attachment eyelets for the metal stays. You may find that space between the bottom of your fork and the tire is just too small to allow fenders. There are some creative ways around this, but it can be a bit of a challenge. Something to keep in mind when thinking about your next bike!

Lots of older frames and most tour-ing bikes come with rack/fender attach-ment eyelets to make mounting fenders easy. If your bike does not have these you’ll need to purchase little clamps that go around your fork and seat stays.

Lastly, bikes with suspension can complicate things a little bit more, but there are options here as well. If you have any problems figuring this stuff out, find a bike shop that is interested in helping you solve these details. There are some creative ways to make fenders work on a bike, even if it was never designed for the purpose. b

Dave Cain lives and works and bikes in Waitsfield, Vermont. You can con-tact him at [email protected]

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Odds & Ends

Riding Tips From 38 SpecialHold on Loosely, but Don’t Let Go

Bike-by-NumberThe numbers below show the amount of to-

tal vehicle weight that is actually useful load as opposed to pure vehicle weight. That is, vehicles are intended to haul people and cargo. Because it takes energy to move mass, the per-centages below help show us how much of that energy is actually being used to haul people and cargo as oppsed to vehicle weight alone.

3.95%Hummer H2

6.74%Honda Accord

14.84%1989 Geo Metro

82.50%Steel road bicycle

84.12%Xtracycle-equipped bi-

cycle

100%Walking Naked

You see it all around youGood ridin’ gone badand usually it’s too late when you, realize what you hadand my mind goes back to a girl who rode circles around me years agoWho told me,Just hold on loosely, but don’t let goIf you cling too tightlyYou’re gonna lose control

It’s so damn easy, to hold on too tightTo clench all a mighty, with a grip that aint lightand my mind goes back to a girl who rode circles around me years agoWho told me,Just hold on loosely, but don’t let goIf you cling too tightlyYou’re gonna lose controlYour bike needs someone to be steerin’not someone to be fearin’

I’ll throw my cards out on the tableYour bike is naturally stableIf you go overridin’your bike will go slidin’

So hold on loosely, but don’t let goIf you cling too babeYou’re gonna lose controlyeah, yeah, yeah

38 Special Knows WhatThey’re Talkin’ About

For many new riders, the idea that foregoing the white-knuckled

death-grip for a gentler hold on the han-dlebars will somehow make them less likely to crash is tough to accept. This stems from the mistaken belief that it’s the rider that keeps the bike from crashing, when actually, most bikes are inherently stable, requiring only a small amount of lean to initiate a turn.

By holding on loosely to the han-dlebars, you allow the bike itself to de-termine the appropriate turn angle for a given lean. If you hold on too tightly, it’s more difficult to steer because you’re fighting the naturally-stable tendencies of the bike. So listen to the wisdom of 38 Special and hold on loosely.b


by Neil Zawicki

My car recently blew its head gasket, so I am now without a vehicle.I couldn’t be happier.Traffic frustrates me. Not only because it exists, but be-

cause it is perpetuated by the driving culture who accept it like they do the weather, never considering there could be another way to get around.

My faithful disdain for endless lines of single occupant vehicles began in Phoenix, Ariz., a city that embraces driving as much as it embraces its cancer-like sprawl. Just before I moved from there to Alaska, I swore I would break the auto barrier. For my first eight months up there, I walked to and from work. It actually sounds like the old cliche, but it’s true: I walked four miles both ways in the snow to work every day. I did it by choice. Later, when I worked 13 miles out of Anchorage, I would park my truck at work on Mon-day and ride my bike the 26 miles round trip during the week.

“What’s wrong with your truck?” my co-workers would ask me.“Nothing.”It just seemed so outlandish to me to drive that short distance—a

distance f illed with single occupant vehicles. I rode during that fan-tastic summer on a curvy, paved bike trail. The ride was f illed with long climbs and speedy descents, and at times would meander through wooded areas. I would get up to speed and just go rushing through the woods, all the while wary of the idea that at any second a hap-less moose could emerge in front of me, and that would be the last

My Struggle to Escape the Automobile Culture

(Or how to murder your car and get away with it)

There’s a long line of cars, and they’re trying to get through. There’s no single explanation, there’s no central destina-tion, but this long line of cars is trying to get through, and this long line of cars is all because of you.

-John Mcrea of Cake


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thing I would see until I woke up three days later in a hospital bed, surrounded by f lowers and get well cards. Still, it was much better than wasting gas, sit-ting in traff ic and putting extra miles on the truck. And I got great exercise that way. In the winter I rode the bus. I know what you’re thinking, but I just haven’t ramped up to winter riding yet. It might have to do with the fact that I bit it on the ice while racing down a steep hill, sending me and the bike skidding more than 30 feet, causing both the startled onlookers and myself to won-der how I didn’t get seriously injured.

After Alaska, I lived on a sailboat in Dana Point, Calif. I had no car, only a bike, and I worked four miles away, in San Juan Capistrano. It was perfect. I felt I had reached escape ve-locity from the gravitational pull of the auto culture. In Southern Cali-fornia, of all places. I rode my bike to and from work, and mounted all-day treks to neighboring towns for shop-ping purposes. It was wonderful. From there, I found it necessary to move to Portland, Ore., to make a good life for my new-born daughter. I survived without a car for the f irst nine months, walking and taking the bus, due to the fact that my bike was taken on my first night in Portland. Later, when my daughter got older and the necessities of getting to work and picking her up on time made having a car un avoid-able, I reluctantly bought one again, and spent the next year or so as a dead-faced member of the long line of cars. Actually, since being here in Portland, I personally have owned a long line of cars. First, the 1968 Chevy f latbed I’d traded for my sailboat to drive up here, which I parked for a year and then sold to get a more sensible 1987 Honda Accord, which I totaled on the freeway one day because I was distract-ed by a homeless guy’s sign that read, “betcha can’t hit me with a quarter.”

Next, I bought a co-worker’s little ‘86 Dodge Colt for $600 and drove that for a whole summer until it nearly burst into f lames. Undaunted, I went and got a little bit newer vehicle: a 1992 Nissan.

You may be noticing a pattern here. It seems I only purchase old, crappy cars, and then I either crash them or run them into the ground. It’s true: I do not place much value on vehicle owner-ship. I think of a car like an appliance, a simple tool of practicality. Still, the practicality of such a tool is something I regularly call into question. It could be said that I am lousy at taking care of them, but I can assure you that I check the oil and keep the coolant levels up. I think it’s just that I place almost no

value on cars, so I try to get away with spending as little as possible on them.

Nonetheless, here I am again without a car. Actually, I’d been rant-ing about driving and about traff ic for months—something that was driv-ing my wife nuts. I kept threaten-ing to park the damned car and start riding or bussing to work, but the daily routine held a tight grip, and I never made good on my threats. Un-til now. In fact, I have a confession:

I planned the whole thing. I mur-dered my car.

I carefully ran it out of oil. Not too much, just enough for it to get sick and die. But I had to be certain it would die at a time and place of my choosing. And it had to be dramatic: a wonderful last straw, allowing me to f inally opt out of the dismal daily car commute. I was quite careful, and my planning paid off. On the day it all went down, I had just dropped my daughter off at preschool and then had driven my wife to the light rail stop. Both were safe. It was just me and…that car. Like clock work, the car began to rattle.

I kept driving. Next, the car made a loud clunking

sound, and I could hear large chunks of metal tumbling underneath as it lost compression and began to smoke like a steam locomotive until f inally it quit running. I coasted to a stop, switched on the hazard lights and climbed from the smoking corpse while single occupant vehicles rushed by with loud hissing sounds. I buttoned up my coat, called my boss to say I’d be late, and began to stroll casually to the next off ramp.

It was f inished. I was free again. A tow truck took the corpse to a

safe spot on family property, and now it’s for sale. I plan to use the money to start a sailboat fund. In the meantime, I take the bus, carpool, and plan to bike to work when the weather turns. Now that my daughter is in preschool near the house, picking her up is lo-gistically simple. I’m not sure if I can explain how nice it is to get to work and other places without being locked into a car in a river of other cars. I have interesting conversations, see things I wouldn’t otherwise see, and generally feel more connected to my community. We do actually plan to buy a new car in March, but I am in no hurry at all. Even then, I’ ll only drive it if we abso-lutely have to or if we’re going out of town. I f igure if I stay away from it and from traff ic as much as possible, that will keep me from killing again.b

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Order your copy today from the Bigg Amazing Catalog or from Powell’s Books in Portland.

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WinterRidingMade Easy

by Darrin Nordhall

Winter can wreak havoc on the practical pedaler. Throughout much of the country, Mother Nature serves up heaping helpings of snow, sleet, ice, and hail. Think commuting through these conditions is difficult in a car? Try it on a bicycle.

Snow and ice test a bicycling commuter’s principles and agility. I am the father in a one-car family of four. As public transit in my part of the world leaves much to be desired, I have little choice but to brave the elements—and try my balance—on two wheels. For me, bicycling is a year-round commitment, not a fair-weather endeavor.

The obvious constraints aside, winter cycling is not without pleasure. The feeling of riding a bicycle through virgin powder is akin to skiing, offering a distinctly serene experience. The challenge of pedaling through the snow and ice is a pleasant challenge. Though people may look at you funny or go out of their way to call you crazy, snow cycling offers us the chance to appreciate Mother Nature and human balance in a way that is not available in fairer weather.

I have logged many miles on icy roads and trails during my winter commutes. Through trial and error (but no broken bones,) I have learned that having the proper equipment, clothing, and technique can ensure a truly pleasurable cycling experience. My co-workers wonder if I am an inspiration or just a whack-job. I like to think the former. As such, I offer a few tips that I hope will inspire legions of cyclists to embrace wintertime cycling.

Skidding on ice and snow is considerably eas-ier when you’re equipped with an extra pair of legs.


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EquipmentWinter cycling is tough on bikes. Conditions are un-

predictable and you need a frame that can handle chang-ing terrain (packed snow, powder, ice, and slush.) That means generous wheel clearances to accommodate wider tires when they’re needed. Snow and ice accumulation on the rims is an inherent condition that can be problematic for braking. For these reasons, road bikes with skinny tires and caliper brakes do not make ideal snow-cycling commut-ers. Mountain bike frames and cross bikes are your best bet. Shoot for frame-and-fork combinations that allow 700x35 (or 26x1.5”) tires or wider and cantilever or linear-pull brakes. It can be a challenge to stop a bike that has cold rims and ice stuck between the brake shoes and the wheel. Linear-pull and cantilever brakes with a quality wet/dry brake shoe offer tremendous braking force, pro-viding peace of mind and a respectable stopping distance.

Invest in quality snow tires. The best have carbide studs embedded into generous-sized knobs. Studded snow tires are not cheap, but they are your only connec-tion between the bike and the ice. The traction they pro-vide—and hence the safety they offer—are invaluable. Nokian and Schwalbe offer several sizes and styles for different winter riding conditions. I find the Nokian Hak-kapelliitta W106 a fantastic tire for commuting through the Midwestern winter. A good studded snow tire is a

trustworthy addition to your winter riding gear and they’re cheaper than a trip to the hospital.

Low handlebars and ice are incompatible. Handlebars that sit below the level of the seat en-courage a rider to move forward on the bike, plac-ing more weight over the front wheel. This weight shift reduces traction at the rear wheel and makes a front-wheel washout more likely (more on this

later, un-der “Tech-nique”.) Almost any handlebar can pro-vide good leverage for the tricky

conditions and encourage a more traction-grab-bing upright position as long as it’s mounted high enough. Even drop bars can work well. A set of wide cross-style drops on a tall stem can be the best of both worlds, giving you a high riding position in the hoods while still allow-ing for a lower position should you run across a dry patch of road with a stiff headwind. Of course, mountain bike bars—flat or raised—are fine. But don’t rule out moustache bars, or my personal favorite, butterfly / trekking bars. Just make sure the bars are raised high enough to better encourage an upright riding position.

The final accessory to consider is a pair of Legions of people are embracing winter cycling. It’s adven-turous, fun, thrilling, American. Continued on Pg. 13

You will generate a tremendous amount of heat, enough to keep you warm even in single-digit temperatures.


By Wiley Davis

Adam noticed them the first time he ate at the Jack-in-the-Box. They came with front panniers and always, with one exception, from the North—their bikes tat-tered and wisping with bits of fabric tied on here and

there, the bulk long blown free before this way-station, so that the steel tubes bristled like ciliates in the wind that blew from the nearby Pacific. They were a couple that first time, the two of them, man and woman, ordering tacos ahead of him in line, the woman with no cheese and the man throwing frequent glances out the window to tether their bikes with his attention.

On his way into the Jack-in-the-Box Adam caught one of the man’s nervous glances while staring at the bikes leaned up against the white stucco building, a pair of sentinels guarding the door. He remembers distinctly trying to figure out their shapes, a task made difficult by the swimming threads and stickers and lack of solid color. He wondered, no gasped, at how difficult the purposeful design of such objects would be. So much accumulation, density of experience and knick-knack tied, lashed, taped, glued, and bolted to those bikes. He wanted to explain it as random accumulation, something without order, but he knew it was a severe form of order that had arranged these piebald machines; A severe unplannable order.

It was, he noticed with time, that unplanned order which dis-tinguished these Northern adventurers from their more common counterparts, those of the neon flow that pedaled south along the PCH like a stream of annuals, colorful, seasonal, and always in neat little rows.

He thought that first couple was a fluke. But while the flow of bicycle tourists continued to stream past along the highway, the Jack-in-the-Box on the corner always seemed to skim off the more grizzled of that flow and he wondered about this mystery, in-venting explanatory scenarios. Perhaps the owner of this fast food establishment kept a ham radio next to the stockpile of ketchup packets in the back, which he used to relay messages. An order of fries, a couple of tacos and any news from the frontier. Would you let it be known that we’ve decided to continue on to Guatemala, please? He imagined such transactions pulsing as a separate layer underneath the standard bargain of food purchase.

The mystery was solved by a cyclist from the South. He was tanned, deep brown from head to toe, and wore shorts and sandals. His bare toes were calloused, his long hair streaked with white to

They Came With Front PanniersIf you’ve got time, and folks do even if they don’t ad-mit it to themselves, then a bike will take you any place you’ d wanna go. Just like that. No excuses.


By Wiley Davis

Adam noticed them the first time he ate at the Jack-in-the-Box. They came with front panniers and always, with one exception, from the North—their bikes tat-tered and wisping with bits of fabric tied on here and

there, the bulk long blown free before this way-station, so that the steel tubes bristled like ciliates in the wind that blew from the nearby Pacific. They were a couple that first time, the two of them, man and woman, ordering tacos ahead of him in line, the woman with no cheese and the man throwing frequent glances out the window to tether their bikes with his attention.

On his way into the Jack-in-the-Box Adam caught one of the man’s nervous glances while staring at the bikes leaned up against the white stucco building, a pair of sentinels guarding the door. He remembers distinctly trying to figure out their shapes, a task made difficult by the swimming threads and stickers and lack of solid color. He wondered, no gasped, at how difficult the purposeful design of such objects would be. So much accumulation, density of experience and knick-knack tied, lashed, taped, glued, and bolted to those bikes. He wanted to explain it as random accumulation, something without order, but he knew it was a severe form of order that had arranged these piebald machines; A severe unplannable order.

It was, he noticed with time, that unplanned order which dis-tinguished these Northern adventurers from their more common counterparts, those of the neon flow that pedaled south along the PCH like a stream of annuals, colorful, seasonal, and always in neat little rows.

He thought that first couple was a fluke. But while the flow of bicycle tourists continued to stream past along the highway, the Jack-in-the-Box on the corner always seemed to skim off the more grizzled of that flow and he wondered about this mystery, in-venting explanatory scenarios. Perhaps the owner of this fast food establishment kept a ham radio next to the stockpile of ketchup packets in the back, which he used to relay messages. An order of fries, a couple of tacos and any news from the frontier. Would you let it be known that we’ve decided to continue on to Guatemala, please? He imagined such transactions pulsing as a separate layer underneath the standard bargain of food purchase.

The mystery was solved by a cyclist from the South. He was tanned, deep brown from head to toe, and wore shorts and sandals. His bare toes were calloused, his long hair streaked with white to

match his stubbly grey beard. He showed up alone in early December and it seemed to Adam that he had a wild tropical energy about him, something he carried as fuel for the long push North.

Before the southerner, the mystery remained just that, a mystery. Adam never asked why they came. His mood was never right for mak-ing that kind of inquiry. The Jack-in-the-Box was very much a way-sta-tion for him as well, though he lived only a five-minute walk from it. The white, cold light of the fluorescent tubes, the uncushioned seats, the standardized menu of food prepared by manual and protocol, all these qualities served to make the Jack-in-the-Box a chamber in which to observe, severed from the connective tissue of his daily routine. It was his blind, a place to watch people and patterns. He’d set up in the back booth under cover and pretense of hunger and watch as people moved through. The rutting behavior of the fraternity crowd, usually drunk or on their way somewhere to become so, dressed in their shabby form of finery, flirting, enjoying the virility and power of their singular motives. Adam watched the hipster herds in their proportion-mangling dress—small dense herds of them wallowing in a form of self-awareness that compelled them to analyze others in order to set themselves apart.

This wildness never noticed his observations. The Jack-in-the-Box claimed no clientele. It allowed no one to derive a sense of place from its pastel walls and clean tables. Graffiti was rubbed clean by morning, employees with attitude were replaced, and loiterers were sent packing. This was a watering hole that could not be owned by frequent patronage or any sense of locality. It gave you food, a place to sit while eating it, and nothing else. No hassle would be given strangers here, and no familiarity to those who came day after day.

The Southerner challenged that aloofness. He arrived in Early De-cember when Balboa Peninsula was burdened under a cold, dense air of coming Winter. The Pacific was grey and horizonless, the ocean breeze turned to a heavy wind that pushed trash and debris across the sand at speeds impossible to catch. In spite of this December, the Southerner did not hunch his shoulders or suck his arms close. His elbows bowed out and he looked at people while he waited in line to order. Adam watched as the Southerner’s behavior sent waves of uncomfortable ten-sion through the people in the restaurant. The man sought conversa-tion, interaction, connection, and everyone sensed and avoided it as best they could. When he finally sat down, the crowd settled back into their anonymous comfort. The man sat in the across from to Adam, his back to the room, face to face with the observer and his blind.

“Saw you lookin’ at my bike,” the Southerner said.“It’s an interesting bike,” Adam said.“Is there a bike that ain’t?”“I suppose not.”“Where you from?” The Southerner said.“Just up the hill. What about you?”“South Dakota, originally. Just come up from Mexico, though. Be-

fore that Costa Rica.” He took a bite of his hamburger, holding it be-tween his thumb and two fingers, folding it slightly as if he were holding a newspaper. “What do you do up the hill?”

“I go to school,” Adam said. “At the UC.”“You like it?”“Not really.”“That’s a shame. Not that we should go around doin’ jus’ what we

like. But a shame nonetheless. Got an interest in bicycles, I notice.”“A bit.”“It gets a grip on ya don’t it? It’s a dangerous realization these bitch

machines can take you anywhere.”“Dangerous?”

“They don’t leave no excuses. It’s a dangerous path that leaves no excuse for not takin’ it. That bike out there don’t require of me anything that I ain’t ever not had. If you’ve got time, and folks do even if they don’t admit it to themselves, then a bike will take you any place you’d wanna go. Just like that. No excuses. That’s a dangerous proposition for a lad without any kids to claim him. Though I seen that too. Whole families out on the road. No excuses.” The Southerner stared out the window at his bike and bit at his burger without looking at it. A small palm frond was lashed to the rear pannier, its browning leaves pressed flat by the wind. Wooden beads on a string had been wrapped around the handlebars.

“Why is there always someone like you eating at this Jack-in-the-Box?” Adam said.

“Ain’t never been a person like me in this place. Try not to lump the person with the activity. Bad form. But if you mean how come this joint gets so many adventurous types, it’s probably on account of the hidden treasure just across that parking lot.” He motioned with his half-eaten burger toward the window. “You don’t know about Sioux City Bike?”

“Nope.”“Well son, your livin’ next to one

of the last great bike shops on the West Coast. Tucked right there between that salon and that burrito joint,” he said, pointing.

“Where? I’ve never seen a bike shop over there.”

“I said hidden treasure didn’t I? The store ain’t no wider than its door is, no windows, but Hal, the owner’s, got more bikes in there than you’d be-lieve possible. And ain’t a one of them new. Most of the sag crowd never stops but Hal’s got a reputation amongst the adventurers for havin’ what you need when you need it. I hear he’s got a bub-ble fairing, which is what I’m lookin’ for. There’s a mighty headwind comin’ from the North.”

The southerner took the last bite of his burger and wadded up the paper on his tray. “look,” he said. “I can see you a sittin’ here on the bank of the river.

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It’s winter so when the alarm shrieks your wake up call

the sky outside is still dark and the idea of going out-side, into that darkness, repels you. But you’ve got a job so you climb out of the warm bed and start putting on your riding clothes. You pull on some thin silk socks, then you slip a plastic bread bag over your feet and cover that with a pair of thick wool socks. You pull on your insu-lated tights and then your cycling shorts. You question your decision to sell your Subaru at the start of winter.

Outside it’s worse than you imagined. The wind gusts, tearing the front door’s knob from your hand and slamming the door shut. The cold makes your eyes burn and you wonder if you’ll be able to endure the ten miles you need to ride. But you also know that if you simply endure, you’ll never make it. To endure is to be victimized so instead you fight. You challenge the wind and the cold. You think, “This burning sen-sation on my face is but a trifle, and I will conquer it.”

With a set jaw you mount your bike and begin ped-aling. The slippery ice ruts grab your studded snow tires and make them behave as if they were made from ice themselves. Your bike slips and moves against your will. You wrestle with the handlebars, forcing them into posi-

tion. You fight the en-vironment.

But you keep pedaling and slow-ly you are drawn into the process. You learn what the ice ruts want and you begin working with them. You stop fighting, your anger subsides and still you are pedaling. Two miles down, eight to go.

Your movements are now smooth and you find that you enjoy this interaction with your environment. The road and the wind and the rising Sun have made their demands and now, you understand them. Your suffering and your fight against the winter harshness have turned to cooperation with it. There is no longer any need to endure, to suffer, to fight. Five miles down, five to go.

You’re now very warm and the falling snow flakes melt as they hit your cheeks. And then, just as you no-tice this melting, imagining yourself as a projectile of heat traveling through a beautiful winter morning, the Sun breaks over the mountains to the east. Now the whole landscape looks as you feel, swathed in a warm glow, and you think, “Why haven’t I been doing this my whole life?” Eight miles down and only two left.

You pass a side road with longing, wishing you had enough time to take the long route, to enjoy this winter morning as it awakens. There are crows circling overhead and the winter wind seems to possess magic that works better than coffee at sharpening your senses. You cut south

onto a residential road to avoid the traffic of Main Street and you glance at the windows of the houses as you ride by. Smoke pours from chimneys and cars sit idling, warming up in preparation for their occupants. The thought of people inside those houses, sipping coffee and hot choc-olate, is a sweet thought made sweeter somehow by your position out here, ensconced in the elements. And all this time, you’ve been communicating with the slippery, slushy road, speaking its language with subtle inputs on the han-dlebars, never fighting the road, but working with it in the only way it can be done, riding not as you want, not as you need, but something even better, you are riding as you must. You are in no position any longer to be counting the miles.

You arrive at work and as you walk in the door steam rises through the vents in your helmet and the reception-ist looks amused. You recall that first step out your door this morning and vow that the next time you set out to ride to work you will remember to begin not with suf-fering or with a will to endure, but rather you will set out to do as you must, to ride a route through a winter morning. You also remind yourself to wake up earlier, so that you might take the long route in. You wonder why you ever bought that Subaru in the first place.b

TrafficTo Endure Is To Fail

S u b s c r i b e f o r f r e e a t : w w w.p r a c t i c a lp e d a l . c o m Winter - the P ra c t i ca l Peda l - Pa g e 1 3

All Hail the Studded Snow Tireby John Friedrich

Here in Montana we don’t get much ice falling from the sky or freezing rain, but we do have a city with a lackluster attitude towards plowing.

Like my feelings on fenders, I thought that I could live without studded tires. I managed to, and I also accepted the occasional fall as part of the deal. Last year I also invested in some good quality studded tires (after a dismal at-tempt at siping some old mountain bike tires), and I’ve found something else I refuse to go another winter with. They’re not cheap, at about $60 each but if you compare that to the cost of cracking your elbow on the ground it’s not too bad. To make the cost even more manageable, amortize that $120 over five or six years and the cost is minimal. I love how on my bicycle I have more con-trol than most folks driving cars, and I no longer have any trepidation when approaching a frozen puddle with a truck on my left and a parked car on my right. If, on the other hand, ice is not too much of a big deal, just about any tire can work well. In snow (on roads, not trails) a thinner tire is best, slicing right on through with a minimum of effort. I’ve gotten impressive traction in a few inches of snow with some Panaracer Paselas in 35mm widths. Pure slicks won’t work, but you’d be surprised at how little tread is needed for traction.b

fenders with mud flaps. A variety of snow conditions are encountered while commut-ing on a bicycle. There will be trails with virgin powder; shady sections and bridges with ice; brown slushy stuff (affectionately referred to as chocolate mousse or oatmeal snow) along curbs and gutters, and wet conditions in the roadway. Fenders help keep your shoes and pants clean and dry.

Mud flaps are essential in any com-munity that inhibits ice by spreading salt on roads. Anyone who has lived on the East Coast understands the corro-sive properties salt has on the undercar-riages of automobiles. Salt has the same corrosive properties on your bicycle as well. Salt can cause pitting on aluminum frames and rust on steel frames. Shift cables that run under the bottom bracket are especially vulnerable to this corrosion. Unfortunately, most front fenders do not extend far enough behind the wheel to protect the lower portions of your bike frame from saltwater splash. Enter the mud flap. Mud flaps need not be pretty, just practical; a piece of leather or even a plastic water bottle or pop can, cut in half lengthwise, will do a superb job. Just affix it to your fender with a single screw.

ClothingThere is a reason snow-fencing is or-

ange: it is highly visible against a blanket of white. Choose clothes as you’d choose snow fencing. Colors such as “construc-tion-worker” orange, red, day-glo yellows, greens, and pinks won’t improve your fashion, but they will get you noticed. Reflective tape or other markings are a smart option as well. The slightest breeze can blow fresh powder in the air, reducing visibility for motorists even in the middle of the day. Do your best to ensure you are seen, especially during snow flurries. Cover areas of the body most prone to

frostbite: nose, ears, fingers, and feet. A balaclava works great, but you may find it is actually too warm. Cycling through the snow is quite a workout, and I prefer to give heat an easy escape route through my head. I use a neoprene mask that cov-ers only my ears, nose, lips and chin. If conditions are really cold, I cover some of the helmet vents with tape; cheap, easy, and flexible for those late Fall/early Spring days when temperatures are frigid in the morning but warmer by the late afternoon.

Glare can be blinding on the snow, and sunglasses are essential. A pair with polarized lenses offers the best protection against horizontal glare. Polarized lenses also help during evening commutes when oncoming headlights can be hard on the eyes. Ski goggles are a great alternative to sunglasses as they are designed to keep the eyes warm and the lenses fog-free.

Few realize the physical exertion needed to cycle through snow. It is more than a leg workout; your entire body is exhausted. Your quads work harder than normal plowing through powder; your obliques are constantly tighten-ing to help maintain balance; your arms and back keep the front tire light over bumpy terrain or areas of snow accumu-lation. As such, your jacket and pants do not need to be as heavy as one might assume. I often wear a light pair of ski pants and jacket, with nothing extra un-derneath. Wind is the biggest enemy, and heavier clothing may be required during blustery days, But in the wind’s absence, you will generate a tremendous amount of heat, enough to keep you warm even in single-digit temperatures.

Since winter cycling has not be-come as popular as it should be, you may not have much luck finding the right winter clothing at your local bike store. The best offering will be found at ski shops, especially ones that sell cross-country ski gear. Try lighter gear first. You want to be comfortable, but nim-ble and flexible. You can always layer.

TechniqueYou will slip and slide in the snow, it is

inevitable. But the temporary loss of trac-tion is what makes snow cycling a work-out filled with thrills. The trick is to avoid the spills. It is difficult for the novice, but you must train yourself not to put your feet down every time your wheels slide. “Ride it out”, I keep telling myself. Your

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studded snow tires actually provide better traction on ice and packed snow than the soles of your shoes. I’ve found that putting my feet down actually in-creases my chances of falling. Here are a few techniques that can help improve your balance and keep you upright.

Keep moving. Regardless of ter-rain, it is more diff icult to maintain balance on two wheels the slower you move. This seems to be amplif ied on snow and ice. Plow ahead, and keep your crank spinning. This means you may have to gear down a bit, but momentum greatly aids in keeping you upright.

Remember it is the rear wheel that provides the traction and the front wheel steers direction. “No duh”, but remembering this simple law of phys-ics is imperative for slide-free snow cy-cling. If your rear wheel slides a couple of inches from side to side (and it will) there is little risk of falling if you “ride it out”. If your front tire slips just one inch to the side, however, you are go-ing down. Keep your weight back on the frame, over the rear wheel and keep as much weight off the front wheel as possible. Low handle bars, as men-tioned earlier, are not good for winter riding. Lower your center of gravity in the wintertime. On dry pavement, proper saddle height allows for a full leg extension on the downward stroke. This maximizes power and eff iciency. However, it also raises the center of gravity for the bike and bike rider and moves your weight forward. For ice, snow, or other slippery conditions, a lower center of gravity is required. This is easily achieved by lowering saddle height an inch. This also helps prevent falls if you have to put your foot down.

Stay seated; standing raises the center of gravity and transitions weight from the rear wheel to the front. Trac-tion is lost, and the risk of a wipe-out greatly increases. Try to limit how much contact your front tire has with the snow. This often means a lot of lifting is done on the handlebars (like when you want to pop a wheelie). Whenever the surface ahead appears ruddy, or is laden with obstacles (that oatmeal or choco-late-mousse), keep your front wheel as light as possible. It helps smooth out the ride over those uneven surfaces.

Pay keen attention to the type of snow or ice you are crossing. Pow-der is actually relatively easy to ride through…it just takes a lot of leg strength. Keep momentum through powder by gearing down. Packed snow, especially if ruts are present from cars and trucks, can be exceptionally slip-

pery. The snow fills the spaces between the tire’s knobs, and studs have little holding power. This type of condition will often yield the most f ish-tailing. Again, avoid the urge to put your feet down and ride it out. Ice is surprisingly easy to cycle over, so long as you have studded tires. The trick is to maintain a steady speed and direction. Abrupt changes in speed or direction will usu-ally land you on your bum. Chocolate mousse (that slushy brown stuff most often found at intersections and along the sides of roads) appears relatively harmless, but it is deceptively treach-erous. Knobbies and steel studs have little holding power through slush. Anyone who has ever tried to carve a turn on skis through slushy condi-tions understands. It is just plain dif-ficult to move through. The cycling technique is similar to ice: maintain a slow, but steady speed and direction.

These tips should help provide an enjoyable and safe winter biking expe-rience. When I began to experiment with snow-cycling, I had nobody to follow or learn from. Through fits and starts, I found what works in a vari-ety of Midwestern snow conditions. Following these suggestions should dramatically reduce the time it takes for you to get comfortable on a bike in the snow. Caution is still advised, however. As with any attempt to learn a new skill, go slow at f irst. Practice on your street during a weekend, not on a busy arterial on your way to work

or school. You will be surprised, how-ever, that with the right equipment, and a few modifications in biking technique how easy—and fun—cy-cling through the snow can be.b


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But let me tell you. You can’t just put in your toe. You gotta jump in. If you don’t feel like jumpin’ in, you better just walk on back up that hill. Sioux City ain’t for the dabblers.”

Adam watched him ride off in the dark. When the Southern-er had gone, Adam glanced across the parking lot. Between the bur-rito place and the “Phunked” hair

salon was a door, no sign. He’d al-ways thought it was a janitor’s closet.

He walked back up the hill with the Southerner’s words in his head. “...a reputation for always hav-ing what you need,” Perhaps I’ll stop in tomorrow, Adam thought.b

To be continued next month. Evil? Perhaps. But to be contin-ued nonetheless.


High handlebars, studded snow tires, warm clothes... all of these make winter riding easier. But the one thing you need, above all eles, is a bit of gumption. The ability to have fun with accomplishing the difficult will help you become an ace winter rider. Don’t give up.

S u b s c r i b e f o r f r e e a t : w w w.p r a c t i c a lp e d a l . c o m Winter - the P ra c t i ca l Peda l - Pa g e 1 5

Gaston Dilmoore’s Outdoor Situation

Bike Geek and The Breeze

by Gaston Dilmoore

Nunzig did a joke to me yesterday. It happened after eleven straight

hours of riding through the central mountains of Kamchatka, in pur-suit of this dastardly expedition. Af-ter such time, we encountered a 1953

Gorkovsky Avtomobilny Zavod Soviet staff car. Upon inspection, Nunzig dis-covered it still turned over, and ran.

“Here! Come here!” he shouted with excitement. It seems old trusty

Nunzig had fashioned an artificial street intersection by lining up foot-ball-sized boulders to delineate the curb edges of a typical American street corner. He’d even taken a red barrel lid and had written the word “Step” on it with white paint. He affixed this to a pole and stood it up at the intersection. Next, he drew a bent arrow on a yellow flag and displayed that on another pole.

“I say old Chap,” I declared. “If I didn’t know any better I’d swear I was in downtown Chicago over in the USA!”

It really was impressive. Nunzig got in the staff car and started it up.

“Now, you go! You ride to corner!” he called from the idling car. Curious,

I began to pedal to-ward the invented intersection, and he inched forward. When I neared

the corner, Nunzig gunned the mo-tor and executed an abrupt right turn, smashing into my bicycle and send-ing me smartly into the Step Sign.

“Whoo Whoo!” called Nunzig. “Like in USA with Right Hookers!”

I was a bit dazed, but amused none-theless.

“Very clever old bean!” I shouted. “Let’s have another go!”

We spent the next three hours “executing Right Hookers,” as Nun-zig called it, and became so exhausted from the fun that we had to relax for a bit. We fell asleep, and woke up sev-

eral hours later when a hot air bal-loon cast a shadow on our camp. It was the backers, and they had several questions. Not the least of which was why we had a fake intersection with a Step Sign and a bent arrow. Nun-zig explained about the Right Hook-ers, but the backers seemed puzzled.

“You just lost a good god-damned sponsor,” shouted one of them. So I seized the opportunity.

“Have you any mints up there?” I called.

I do adore mints.b

We spent the next three hours executing Right Hookers.

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