Cycler's Life

Three friends ramble to the coast

2011-08-25T23:23:00.008-06:00

A little past 9 am, I roll up to Pioneer Square in downtown Portland to find my pals Luke and Ollie already waiting. Fifteen minutes later we wheel our loaded bikes onto the MAX train and officially kick off our first tour together. It would be my first multi-night tour and my first tour with a group, having only done a few solo overnights in the past. I watch Luke and Ollie's huge bikes nearly drag the floor as they swing on the bike hooks. Luke toe straps his old Trek to the handrail to reign it in. I think we must be nearing some record for average bike tour height or something. I'm not used to being the runt at 6 feet on my 63cm frame, but Luke and Ollie are both several inches taller with bikes to match!

Our plans are simple and vague--just right for a late summer ramble. Randonneur Ollie will lead us through Yamhill County wine country and over the Coast Range on Nestucca River Road from Carlton to Beaver. Nestucca seems to be one of the least-used routes from Portland to the coast and promises a few miles of gravel and nice camping options. We'll camp somewhere past the summit, and then ride together to Sand Lake Road near the coast. Ollie will head south to meet family near Lincoln City, and Luke and I have a vague plan of looping north to Cape Lookout and home.

About an hour later the train arrives in Hillsboro, saving us a climb over the West Hills and a winding route through the suburbs that I can never get quite right. Luke, who wrenches at a bike shop, demonstrates cobblers' children syndrome for us by installing a new chain (that he'd had me pick up, his shop was out) at the train station. He'd bartered for the old Trek 720 and built it up in the space of a few days. The trip would be his shakedown cruise. At 10:25a, we were back on the road.

After a few miles on the wide-shouldered TV highway, Ollie leads us south through a maze of small roads. For Luke and I, it will be all new ground from here. Subdivisions give way to farm fields, and pretty soon we're on skinny roads with no hint that Portland's just 25 miles behind us. With mountains in the distance, we roll easily past fields of wheat, corn, blueberries, and possibly hops, and we speculate on many others. We pass my digital camera around and try some riding shots. I'm trying out a belt holster for my little digicam, and it works well. Riding solo there isn't much reason to shoot from the bike, but in a group there are always captive subjects around--if you can keep up with them!

A charming lady in a BMW rolls down her window to chastise us, "Single file!", though at that point we were bunched up in a left turn lane while she was turning right at a tee. I guess she'd seen us from a ways back. I'm always amazed at how cyclers bring out the mothering instinct in everyone. "Where's your helmet?" "It's too cold to be riding!" "Your child should be strapped in!" "Single file!" I can't imagine these same people leaning out the window to yell at other motorists: "No texting!" "Mind the speed limits!" "That child should be in a car seat!"

Ah well, we leave the silly encounter behind the first rolling hills of the day. Without really saying anything, we all sort of roll to a stop in a perfectly shaded little grove and lean our bikes against a barbed wire fence. It's wonderful to be free of the background hum of the city. It's so quiet we can hear the skinny-tired whir of an approaching road biker out for a training ride from far down the road. We take a minute to look over each other's loads and bikes, as bikies do, and then we head out from our little grove and on to Yamhill.

The Yamhill General Store is a treat. It feels like it's been in continuous operation for a century at least. There are layers of stock that look as though what doesn't sell just gets pushed to the back and into corners. The oldest stock just gets relabeled as antiques! I down a V8 and grab a bag of Fritos, thinking we're about to hit the day's big climb. We linger just a little, then pedal out of town along the highway.

A neat thing about bike touring, I'm beginning to learn, is that it leaves time to linger a little. On a day ride, one really only has half the day to spend before turning the bars back toward home. On an overnight, I always seem to be racing darkness to my camp spot. Without the usual constraints, there's time to have a little fun and launch a scheme or two. One of our schemes is to find a decent bottle of Yamhill County wine to carry over the mountain to camp. Ollie leads us down a dirt lane to a "winemakers' studio" which lives up to its name. That is, we don't understand what goes on here at all. The bottles don't have prices, and the separate price list we're handed doesn't look promising, so we enjoy the cool stone building a few minutes and hit the road again.

Still on the hunt for the elusive $20 Oregon red, we pull off of the main drag in Carlton, and Ollie ducks in to a tasting room to do some reconnaissance. While Luke and I are noticing that

everything that once was is now a tasting room--movie theaters, banks, the train station, a grain mill--a similarly out of place dude yells from across the street, "Joe?!?" As he heads across the street toward us, I recognize cyclotourist extraordinaire and friend Arne from Portland! Arne's gal Lyndi soon joins us and introductions are made all around. It turns out they're in Carlton looking for a bottle of wine to take up Nestucca River Road! Portland can seem a very small place sometimes. Joining forces, we soon find a couple of bottles for the evening ahead. Our trio decides to linger and eat lunch in Carlton, but we promise to check in at Arne and Lyndi's camp if we don't catch them on the climb.

I grab a coke to supplement my PBJ and fritos, and Luke and Ollie get sandwiches from a little deli. We eat and top off our bottles, and then point the bars toward the hills. Soon we're on Nestucca River Road, spinning up the first false climbs of the foothills. After a few ups and downs, we start a gradual climb up a beautiful, narrow valley. We see Arne and Lyndi up ahead, stopped on the roadside deciding whether they really want to do some "extra credit" climbing on a smaller road parallel to Nestucca. Arne is on a recumbent with BOB trailer behind, a new setup for him.

Having only seen a car or two to this point, the five of us hadn't tried too hard to get fully clear of the road when we stopped. So, when the vintage white Ford pickup swerves around us and stops quickly in the middle of the road ahead, we all brace for the lecture to come. Afterwards, we would each admit to making a mental list of what the spry, white-haired farmer who hopped down from the cab was likely to say. As he starts in with "You young people..." I cringe a little. Suffice to say not one of us was ready for the rest of his speech, "You young people who are able to travel this way, well I think it's great! I'll park my pickup at the end of our driveway about three miles up, and you all stop by and fill your bottles before the BIG climb." Bacteria-free water from 500 feet down, on account of his wife, he goes on to say. As he pulls off we all look at each other a little dumbfounded, laugh, and agree we surely must have picked the right road! Ollie, Luke and I have full bottles and decide to pass on the kind fellow's offer, but Arne and Lyndi would stop off and not be disappointed.

The road finally tips up for good and treats us to a picture perfect climb. Four miles at 7% takes us slowly to the top with stops for blackberry picking and a few photos. Luke has packed along an old Russian Lubitel medium format film camera in addition to my little digicam. I miss the ritual of shooting film and the delayed gratification of prints. It's fun to try our hand with Luke's camera. I don't have high hopes for my shots!

The day has warmed up enough that it's a relief to hit the shady stretches between Oregon's famed clear cuts. I take my helmet off as we ride and strap it to the tent pile on my front rack. I had been a little worried about keeping up on the climb, and I definitely spend the most time of anyone hanging off the back, but I'm able to hold on and whoop my way over the top with the other two.

The descent seems to have been designed by cyclers. Cool shade, the Nestucca River on the left, smooth pavement, and curves that sweep just enough to challenge but not so much that we even have to touch the brakes often. This is about as good as it gets on a bike. We stop off at Dovre campground, our friends' planned destination, and leave a note for them. Luke and Ollie decide to swap bikes for a bit. Ollie's Kogswell is unusual, with steering geometry designed to carry most of the weight up front.

Soon we hit the promised gravel section, and our moderately wide 700x32 tires keep us rolling pretty well. On this quiet gravel road on the coast side of the mountains, it's beginning to get chilly, and Pioneer Square in Portland seems like a distant memory. We check out our free campsite option, Elk Bend, but it feels cramped and buggy, so we decide to roll on to Alder Glen. The light is just beginning to fade when Ollie flats, and suddenly the promise of warm food and a campfire starts to sound very nice indeed. Tube changed, we quickly reach the site and claim a spot in the very back next to the river and our own private waterfall.

Luke and I pitch our tents, and Ollie--traveling light--spreads out his bedroll. The woolens come out, and we set to the task of dinner. I quickly realize another big advantage of touring with others--much better meals! Between the three of us, we had packed a real feast. Seasoned as it was by the miles in our legs and a day of fresh air, the food and wine disappear quickly. Firewood is gathered and before long we're passing a flask and stories around a roaring fire.

In the morning we eat a quick breakfast and break camp as the day warms quickly. We've left ourselves nearly 20 miles of gradual descent down to Beaver and the junction with 101. The miles pass too quickly, and soon we're at a Shell station downing "breakfast" pizza and chocolate milk to fuel the day. From here, we have to ride a short, unpleasant stretch of 101 to get to Sandlake Rd, which will take us to the ocean. From there, Ollie is heading south past Lincoln City to join his family on the coast, and Luke and I are planning to camp to the north at Cape Lookout on our way to Tillamook. We decide to pedal south with Ollie as far as Pacific City where the brewery promises beer and warm food.

Once we hit Sandlake Rd, the riding is peaceful again, although a bit busier than Nestucca River Rd had been. It also kept the beach just out of sight for a comically long time. Eventually, we reached the ocean. Mission accomplished!

At Pelican Brewery, we grab a spot on the beachfront deck and loiter over some mean clam chowder and decent beer. We chat with a couple of guys en route from Seattle to San Francisco on classy bikes. Reluctantly, we leave our perch and roll off in our respective directions. Luke and I stop at perhaps the coast's tiniest grocery store and pack off some beer for camp.

We turn up Cape Lookout Rd and stop to check out the dunes at the "RA", once a military test site and now a dune buggy free for all. We hit the bottom of the climb on a crystal clear, hot summer day. A few miles later, we crest in a cloud of fog, shivering in all of our wool layers. Such is summer on the Oregon Coast. The chilly descent is refreshing but has us talking about hot chocolate instead of beer when we reach the campground at Cape Lookout. The hiker/biker camp there has apparently won awards, and well-deserved!

After tucking our tents into dense old forest near the beach, we meet up with Arne and Lyndi again just a few sites away! We share a fire and tell stories from the road. Nursing the fire well into night, we enjoy the stars and company before finally calling it a day. The next morning, Luke and I have an easy pedal into Tillamook, eat a second breakfast, and put our bikes on the bus back to Portland.

We had considered biking back over Hwy 6, but after such perfect roads, we weren't that excited to share the hot road with all the summer beach traffic. The bus ride was quick, and we were back in Portland by early afternoon. It was shaping up to be the hottest day of the year in the city, and I could only shake my head as I pedaled the few miles home, thinking of chilly descents, campfires and hot chocolate only the day before.

More photos here.

The one-way bike commute

2009-03-27T14:29:00.003-06:00

I've discovered a new way to spice up the daily trip downtown--the one-way bike commute! I'd heard of the OWBC before but only in the context of crazy long-distance cyclo-commuters. They might ride in, say 20-30 miles then get a ride or transit home. The bike stays at the office until they feel up to riding it home again.

Since my commute is only 5 to 6 miles each way, I'm pretty much always up to the return trip, and there is no faster way home for me. Also, I remember hearing from one seasoned OWBCer that things can get a little complicated. He once ended up with both bikes and his car at the office and had to bum a ride one evening to retrieve his gear. I sort of tricked myself into it, though.

I was loaning out a bike to a PSU exchange student, and I needed to get it downtown to make the handoff. I could have pulled it on the trailer or done some epic ghost riding, but I was lazy and just rode in on the loaner bike. I think I had a vague plan to ride the bus home--vague enough that I didn't bring a bus ticket or any cash along. Or my wallet, actually. Hmmm. One of those weird carfree moments of Zen.

The weather was nice enough, and nothing was pressing, so I decided to walk the five miles home. It turned out to be a pleasant way to spend an hour and a half of my evening. The next morning I was really ready to get back on my bike, too. Hmmm.

I sort of shelved the thought through the worst of winter, since I'd much rather be on a bike than on foot in cold and rain. This spring, I've been experimenting more with the OWBC, though, and I'm really enjoying it. Walking home's fun because I can take weird "urban explorer" type paths that would be a pain or impossible on the bike. I've made all sorts of fun right-of-way discoveries in the southwest hills. I've also run home twice. The distance is a little out of my comfortable running range, but it's still fun as an occasional challenge. My usual OWBC plan of attack is to ride in, walk or run home, and then bus in the next day. It really makes me appreciate the bike trip in, too, since I know I'm going to have two trips off the bike.

I'd love to add some new commute modes to the mix. I may try kicking in on Rachel's little scooter some day. I wish I knew how to skateboard--those longboards look like a relaxing way to get around. Or kayak. I'm lucky I can leave the bike in my office, since a sketchy lockup spot would kill the OWBC. If you can make one work, though, I highly recommend it!

DC Smart Bikes

2009-02-02T12:18:00.006-07:00

January in Portland was a decent month for cycler-ing around, and I feel like my year's off to a good start. We had an unusual string of clear, calm nights in Portland, and they made for some great night commutes home. I love the almost total silence on late, cold nights under the stars, whisking along by the Willamette. It's hard to believe that in another month or so, the spring peepers will make Oaks Bottom loud as a highway, if a bit more pleasant.

Only 153 miles left me off pace for my ten a day goal, but some nice extended commutes in the west hills made it feel like more. Also, I was gone to a conference and visiting family for 2 weeks around DC.

I'm a big casual fan of bike sharing, and I was looking forward to seeing the DC Smartbike fleet up close. Unfortunately (but probably for the best), the system is not meant for us gawking tourists. I had heard snickers in Portland that the DC system seemed awfully small to cover the city. In my week hoofing it in and around Dupont Circle, I was surprised to stumble on 3 separate Smartbike stations. It seems like DC made the most of the initial installment by concentrating the stations.

Despite some seriously blustery weather, I saw a lot of turnover at the stations. Dupont Circle metro station to the Whole Foods about 3/4 mile away seemed to be a popular trip and struck me as a "killer app" for the shared bikes. The bikes themselves are super smart. I snapped a few cell phone pics at the Dupont rack.

Plenty of bikes on a weekday afternoon. On the weekend, the rack was down to 3

The front rack is sized for a paper grocery sack and has a bungee to secure the load. The rack has pins that lock the bike into the return rack. It's released electronically when a user logs in at the checkout terminal at the end of the rack.

Super smart bike design for regular clothes and minimal maintenance. Internal 3-speed hub with rear roller brake and front v-brake, full chain and skirt/coat guards, fenders, lights. The seat post is quick release for adjustment but won't pull out all the way for obvious reasons.

I like the twin top tube design. Why not have a little flair? The rear light's clamped onto the seat tube and well protected. I couldn't figure out how the lights are powered or turned on. There's no generator or obvious switches. Do they charge from the rack contacts? Turn on automatically?

All in all, I left pretty impressed. I'm sure in the summer they'd need a lot more bikes, but it seems like a nice system to build on, and it's definitely getting used, even mid-winter. Way to go DC!

Cycler's '08

2009-01-02T19:19:00.003-07:00

It's fun to think back over a year's worth of riding. Even for a person that doesn't ride all that far all at once, those little rides add up to something pretty satisfying. This year, I got down on riding a little when school and work whittled away at my exploring time. I also think my 6-7 days a week commuting was a bit much. For the first time, I woke up one morning and just didn't want to pedal the 5 miles to downtown. I walked to the bus stop and just kept walking all the way in. I saw all the things I used to see on my bike and realized I'd started riding with my head down.

Since then, I've slowed down some and enjoyed things a lot more. I also started mixing up the commute a little more. I'm lucky that I have 4-5 reasonable routes from here to downtown. I didn't take the hilly, 8-mile Terwilliger route as often as I'd wanted, but I did ride it in yesterday to start the year off right. I found it hard to gear myself up for the Riverview Cemetary climb in the morning, and I didn't feel entirely safe on Terwilliger at night coming home. Still, the Brooklyn neighborhood route, the west side river trail, and the Corbett route have kept things fresh. It's almost like getting work done, too, since I'm currently working on a project to model cyclist route choice here in Portland.

Overall, this was my lowest mileage year of the past 6. I don't use computers consistently, but I'm pretty good at keeping track of the miles, in a rough sense. My rememberings put me at about 3,000 miles for the year. About 2,500 of those miles were commuting! That leaves a scant 500 other miles!! I guess I am officially a slave to the man. Hopefully I'm missing some fun miles in my stack of scribblings here.

My big accomplishment was getting out for a great overnight camping/fishing ride to the Upper Clackamas. My best cycling memory of the year though was on one of my fire road explorations out beyond Forest Park. It was steep, grassy two-track for about a 2 mile circuit with the ripest, best (invasive, exotic, but who cares right then!) blackberries I've ever found. I would go all out up the hills on my singlespeed until I blew up, then hop off and gorge on blackberries. Eventually, I made it to a clearing with awesome panoramas of the Cascade peaks north of Portland beyond the Columbia. What a great ride!

I hope to do more exploring this year and definitely another camping trip or two. I like Tarik's goal of averaging 10 miles per day on the bike. I think that's doable. I'd also like to run more. I've never been a runner, but I started running with Rachel once or twice a month and sort of like it now that there's no coach making me. Once a week seems like it might be a decent goal.

Oh, yeah, and update this blog more regularly. I'll shoot for a post a week, although I think recent posts show pretty clearly that this blog is powered mainly by snow, so that may be tough. Happy New Year of cycling everyone!

Zip tie bike tire "chains" II

2008-12-20T12:56:00.006-07:00

I woke up to a couple of inches of fresh snow, with more still falling, and 28 degree temps. I headed out from Sellwood about 9 AM, and testing conditions were perfect for the zip tie-re chains:

I decided to head for Mt. Tabor (a local park on a hill). There are a couple of packed down intersections around Ladd's Addition that would make for good start-up traction tests. I cruised through the neighborhoods and emerged on Division. The intersection of Division and 11th was a good first test. I slowed down to hit the red light and put my feet down. Things were good and packed down and slippery from cars spinning out. The light turned green, and I spun out sideways. One more try. Nope. Now, some cars were coming behind, and I had to boot shuffle off the road in shame. I tried again at 12th with the same result.

If this were a winter gear review site, I would only give the zip ties 1 snowflake. They are a good conversation starter at bike racks, and they don't seem to do any harm. But, I think a pair of regular knobby tires beats slicks + ties hands down. Plus, there's that nagging feeling that zip tie-ing your tires on is just asking for a flat. I think I'll cut them off before they wear through and release themselves into the wild.

After sliding around quite a bit on the last steep bit on Lincoln, I turned around at the base of Tabor. I wasn't confident enough to climb the hill. Still, a nice couple of hours out and about. One block had cordoned off their prized sledding hill--nice!

The beard worked better than the zip ties. I give it 4 snowflakes. I would give it 5 if it covered my nose, but then it might become socially awkward. Also, my ears haven't actually turned gray just before falling off. Those are Ear Bags (R), and they work OK. My ears get a little chilly downhill, but they don't freeze, and this way I can wear a brimmed hat. The safety glasses are strictly for looks.

Happy riding, or sledding in laundry baskets (I was too slow with the camera), strange fellow PDXers!

Zip tie bike tire "chains"

2008-12-18T20:01:00.005-07:00

Todd Boulanger, Vancouver (WA)'s bike czar, came up with the idea of wrapping zip ties around the rear wheel as lo-fi tire chains, and then bikeportland.org ran with it. The hard plastic bands should in theory provide some start up and braking traction. Of course, if you have a rear rim brake, you'll have to disconnect it, and, frankly, that's kind of a deal killer. Since my Azor has hub brakes front and rear, I thought I'd give it a try on both ends. I'm here to report that it can be implemented, and it works well, in theory!

I hadn't realized the extent of Todd's brilliance. While I was focused on the physical effects of thin bands of hard plastic, Todd was looking beyond that to the metaphysical impact of doing something this desperate for a bike ride. Sure enough, with my little black tire charms installed, the snow and ice seemingly melted before me, as if parted by a tiny snowboarding Moses. This was aided by the temperature climbing rapidly to 37 this morning. Still, I don't think we can totally discount the tire charms. For my loyal readers, I managed to snap the following photo on some unspoiled sidewalk snow. It sort of does look like the zip ties could help.

I didn't dare hang around long, though, since nearby I saw fresh tracks from one of our urban cougars (Felis domesticus). I imagine stranded cyclers without tire charms are some of their favored winter prey. Be careful out there.

If things freeze again in the next few days, I may be able to report back with some actual information on the zip ties.

Icy ruts of doom

2008-12-15T15:45:00.004-07:00

I had planned to take the bus today, but I just couldn't resist another day pedaling in the snow. Things were still fine in the neighborhood, since there was still a little strip of snow between the glare ice and parked cars. The Springwater Trail was another story. The path was a rutted, icy mess, and I had to summon my extreme inner fear of breaking my collarbone to avoid wiping out. Oh, yeah, and two more "Do you have chains? No? You're brave"s, which I've now come to understand is the polite Portland way of saying "That's really stupid. I'm going to watch you fall now and laugh inwardly."

Well, I got a DNF-icy death ruts after about two miles of wrestling the bike down the trail. I did make it home without falling, as far as you know. Things really are pretty lousy out there. I'd recommend to the 0-3 Portlanders that may read read this blog to only ride on studded tires or in places where sliding under moving cars is unlikely.

At $4 per ice day for bus fare, I calculate that we only need another 36.5 days of this to justify a set of studded tires. Come on, wacky weather patterns!

If I were like Tarik, whose most excellent blog Moscaline has been added to the link list over there, I would have snapped some pics of the icy death ruts and cashed in on my blog gold. Instead, I once again rely on my readers' mighty powers of imagination, which I imagine they have plenty of time to cultivate in the months between my postings.

PDX powder!

2008-12-14T19:16:00.003-07:00

To begin, yes, I have become the Rivendell Reader of the bike blogosphere. Oh, wait, the Reader is still really good when it finally shows up. Anyway...

It actually snowed enough to count here! The grass had to really fight to keep from being almost totally subsumed. For my readers from places with an actual 4th season instead of just an extra shade of gray, the picture below shows what happens to people's minds without a real winter to cool them down. Ah, icy grass sledding, I remember it well from my own youth in east Tennessee.

I was out early and had the first northbound tracks on the path. The snow was perfect this morning. Nice, cold powder and a decent bike is like your first bike ride and first snow all at once. It's really amazing how totally quiet and smooth the ride is. The Dutch bike did great, even though I don't have the best snow tires on it. I can't believe I biked so many Montana winters without discovering drum brakes. Between that and the super rearward weight distribution, I was even able to handle some pretty steep hills without slippage.

The only slight annoyance was that PDX people often feel the need to shout something at a snow biker who's just minding his or her own business. "You're brave!" was second only to "You're crazy!" Seasoned snow bikers know full well that either one makes an embarrassing slide out highly likely until one's safely out of sight. Before I loaded up some sweet directors' chairs scored at the thrift, one kindly old physicist decided to postulate an entire theory on what would happen when I tried to pedal away. Then I rode away without incident. To be fair, his static model probably failed to account for my 20 pounds of wobbling rear ballast, which I believe created a gyroscopic effect that made it impossible to fall. In fact, my bike's still standing straight up in the yard with the chairs wobbling on the rack as I type.

Enjoy what weather you have. Oh, and given this blog's frequency, merry Christmas, and happy Easter!

B-SMART

2008-10-20T14:27:00.002-06:00

As usual, scooped by bikeportland.org! But, I thought I should alert my 5 loyal readers who might otherwise have missed it. I've been working on a web-based tool to collect and organize cyclers' experiences with collisions, close calls, and trouble spots on Portland's roads. The hope is that "hard" data on bike safety--however imperfect--might help us make better decisions about allocating local resources. If nothing else, it should spark some interesting discussion.

Take a look if you're interested:

Introducing B-SMART; a close call reporting tool (at bikeportland.org)

Ride safe!

The big 0-3

2008-09-21T18:50:00.003-06:00

Assuming I don't give in to temptation this week and buy that '84 Pontiac Firebird of my dreams, next Sunday will mark 3 years of carless Broaches. Among other things, that's more than half of our married years and about 10 percent of my life to date. Since my one and two-year anniversary posts died in the draft folder, I think I'll try a quick hitter of thoughts on the 3 years--as quick as I hit, anyway.

1) It's getting harder and harder to compare life without a car to life with one. That's mainly because we've moved to a new city where we've never had a car. I mean, I imagine we'd be cruising MLK and Grand in our lowered Japanese street racer with 6-inch pipes, blasting the tunes, and yelling at peds and cyclists on side streets. But, really, that's just a guess. Who's to know for sure? When we weren't cruising, though, I'm pretty sure we'd visit our friends who live out a ways a lot more, make regular trips to the Cascades and the coast to hike/camp, and almost certainly make it to more dancing spots.

2) It turns out that all the practical things we thought would be problems really aren't. Shopping, commuting, and "emergencies" have been non-issues. These are easy to adapt to (depending on the city?).

3) It was easier in Missoula than Portland. From our experience, I brashly generalize that small cities are easier than middling big ones. Missoula was compact enough that we really could get everywhere in town reasonably by bike. In Portland, especially with friends/events we just can't get to in an evening, it's more apparent that our choice is limiting in some ways. Some things that were/are important to us like flyfishing, hiking, camping, and dancing would be tougher here in any case, but they're near impossible for us without a car.

4) That's not to say there aren't advantages. We couldn't live in such a great neighborhood with the added expense of a car. We'd also have missed some great rides and adventures together when weather or circumstances would have wimped us into driving. Our amazing neighbors and two little girls bought a fleet of bikes and now pedal everywhere, too, and that's been really fun to watch. I'm not sure they would have been convinced if we weren't doing everything by bike.

5) We have an embarrasing number of bikes (7 single bikes and the tandem!), but that probably would have happened anyway. Still, it definitely goes against my desire for a simple existence. Wasn't I down to one bike once? Bikes are so simple and noble and cheap that they seem to slide in under my stuff radar.

6) In all honesty, it feels as though we've learned about all we can from our kidless-in-bike-friendly-cities carfree experiment. For the first time in three years, I think we'd probably own a car if we had piles of money laying around. Given our near-term financial prospects, I don't think I'll be staying up nights working on a new tag line. We still plan to be carfree when we have kids, too, and we look forward to all the new adventures that will bring.

An overnight trip up the Clackamas River

2008-07-23T10:37:00.013-06:00

Often, my head decides that something must be done before it allows me any processing time for other tasks. You know, the sort of thing you hit command-option-escape or control-alt-delete for when it happens to your computer. Most of these things sound pretty ridiculous if I say them out loud (or, so Rachel tells me). Usually it's something fairly mundane, like, "I have to clean out that fridge today!" Have to or what? The fridge will explode from a build-up of sulfurous gases? Fortunately, it's never gotten that bad.

So, I was a little surprised when I blurted out something like "I have to ride up the Oak Grove Fork above Lake Harriet and tramp around the woods with my fishing rod" and Rachel's response was "How can I help you get ready?" I guess I was expecting more of a talk down from the bridge sort of response, but that's not giving Rachel enough credit. She realizes better than I do that a lack of time outdoors doesn't do much for my general mood. And, as that chart-filled last post reflected, the drought has been fierce lately.

On Friday afternoon I load my gear and take a shakedown ride with Rachel out to Sportsman's Warehouse to get a fishing license. On the short climb back into the neighborhood, I start having misgivings about striking off with that load 50 miles into the woods. We stop at the bakery where she works, and after cooling off a few minutes I'd mostly forgotten my worries. Then I get home and summon Google Maps to plan out my water stops. That's when I learn it's more like 65 miles from where I sit to the little area I'd circled to look for a camping spot.

In a rare moment of sense, I say, "I can't do it. Sixty-five miles is too much right now. I'm just not up for it." Rare because I usually have thoughts like these after I'm halfway into some hare-brained mission, when turning around is harder than stumbling ahead. Taking great pride as I do in consistency, especially with regards to foolishness, I change my mind the next morning, repack to lighten the load on my Romulus, and decide to take off early Sunday morning. If nothing else, I would find out just what a 5-mile commute can prepare a cycler for, since I've done precious little else for about a year.

Sunday morning, I have a fruit smoothie and eat some leftover fried chicken, fill up two water bottles, and roll out the door a touch past 6 AM. I add no noise to the quiet Sunday morning as I pedal south down Milwaukie Ave, then 17th, and then connect with the Springwater Corridor Trail about a mile from home. The trail will take me the remaining 17 miles out to Boring, past the urban growth boundary and into farmland. In between adjusting to the loaded bike's handling and dodging rabbits, I mull over a game plan for the ride.

Unpaved section of the Springwater Trail near Boring

I decide I'd like to maximize the odds of not blowing up on one of the climbs to come, collapsing, and falling into some river canyon. Okay, that seems reasonable. So, sticking to the plan, I soft pedal my way out of town. I enjoy the smell of the dry brush as the sun first hits it. I stop to use the restroom at Gresham city park and stop again at the Shell station in Boring for a Kit Kat and map check.

The roads are new territory from Boring to Estacada. I take Richey Rd. and then Amisigger past a golf course and berry farms. Amisigger eventually turns into a wooded country lane and tips down for a surprisingly long descent, shedding most of the 500 feet or so I've gained in about a mile. Then it's onto the wide shoulder of Highway 224, where I'll slowly gain the elevation back over the next 8 miles to Estacada. I don't realize this, though, and I mistake the false flat for a lack of energy. I start worrying about the second half of the trip beyond Estacada.

I check my watch, which isn't there, and stare at my wrist for a few long, early morning seconds. Some time later, I lean my bike against a wall, thread a thin cable lock through the rear wheel for token security, and stroll into the Estacada Thriftway with a short mental shopping list: doughnut, apple juice, Fritos, wristwatch. I've found diluted apple juice and a handful of Fritos helps ward off the heat headaches I'm prone to. I ask the check out clerk if she happens to have any cheap watches. During what seems like an awkwardly long moment, I sort of half expect her to lean in close, flip open the apron, and flash the fake Rolexes.

Instead, she thinks a second and directs me to the "High School Pharmacy." My turn for the awkward silence.

"At the high school?"

"No, that's the name, 'Hi School Pharmacy'." And she points across the street.

Hi School Pharmacy was indeed the place for cheap watches in Estacada, and I walk out $3.99 poorer, but with a whole new sense of style. I suck down the doughnut, stash the other goodies, and head out of Estacada on a pleasant sugar high.

I'm on the lookout for Faraday Rd. and find it soon enough. I had learned from Michael Wolfe that Faraday was the original road, and when they built the new one straight up and over a big hill, the old river grade route was left open for cyclists and peds. My first trip up the Clackamas (I took the bus to Estacada) I took the new road, and while the view was nice, the relentless climb alongside 65 mile per hour boat trailers was not. The old road is just as Michael said it would be, easy and pleasant.

Faraday Dam

I roll into cool forest just as the sun heats up around 10 AM. I stop to look down at Faraday Dam, which diverts half the river via pipe and canal to a pair of artificial lakes (Faraday and Estacada), which then generate power. Or, at least I think I have that straight. There's a lot of misdirecting of water up here with the end goal of power generation. It's pretty amazing and maybe just a little creepy, moving entire rivers around for convenience and efficiency. The dam that Faraday replaced, Cazadero, washed out in the 1964-1965 floods. I would have had quite a view from up here. There is an impressive fish pass for steelhead and salmon. The structure actually switches back 180 degrees on its way up over the dam and then meanders a couple of miles through the woods before dumping the fish out in the North Fork reservoir.

Shortly after the dam, I come upon what must have been the massive landslide that blocked Michael and friend on a past trip. The exposed soil is very alien looking, with layers that looked like spirals. Or, maybe the spirals are the result of some stabilization effort? Anyway, I liked them.

Remains of the landslide

Riding a closed road makes me realize how much mental energy I divert to listening and looking for traffic even on a mostly empty road. It really is nice, and I smell and hear more than usual as a result. The spicy damp smell of ferns, the birdsongs, the scampering chipmunks. I start thinking maybe I should get a rear view mirror and see if it has the same effect.

I come up to the imposing North Fork dam, which feels vaguely like a prison camp with all the spotlights, watchtowers, and security fence. It's also kind of beautiful in a way I can't really explain to myself. Around a bend I pass the first folks hiking up the road with fishing gear and soon I'm to the end of Faraday and back onto the highway shoulder.

At about mile 40, I stop at Lazy Bend campground to fill my water bottles. I also swap my wool jersey for a light cotton dress shirt for the hot climbing ahead. As I stow the jersey and shift food around, a fellow comes over and starts chatting. Now, let's just say this guy doesn't look like a bicycle advocate, nor does it look like he's ridden a bike any distance for a good number of years.

"Looks like ya got that bike loaded down. Where ya headin?"

"Just a little past Ripplebrook. I'll fish and camp the night and ride back."

"It's a different way to get around."

"Yeah, definitely a different pace. You see things differently."

"You see things better; that's what you do. Really can see things from a bike."

And, here I'd been expecting some offhand remark about gas prices. You never can tell. He wishes me a good ride, and I pedal off. The climb is never super steep but sort of relentless, and a hot, dry wind from behind makes it hard to stay cool in the sun, even though the temperature is pretty pleasant. I push toward the 50-mile mark. This is where I usually start to wear out, and today's no different. Despite constant snacking on nuts and fruit, I start to flag and decide to take half an hour to cool off and eat lunch. I lay my foam sleeping pad against a shade tree and feast on a bacon and greens gallette, fritos, and dried fruit.

I feel refreshed as I climb the little dirt road back to the highway, ready to tackle the final, steep climb to Ripplebrook Guard Station. As the road tips up toward a 7 percent grade, I realize I'm maybe not so refreshed after all. The sun suddenly is baking me, and my energy dives. To be fair, this is about what I expected given my preparation. I'm slow on flats, slow on downhills, but I've always been a decent climber, so it feels somehow embarrassing to fiddle with my shift levers to get up a one and a half mile climb. I know there's more climbing between me and camp, though, and I resist the urge to blow myself up now. At the top, I'm soaked with sweat and beginning to see stars despite using my lowest gear. I glance back at the river canyon I'm leaving. I'm still moving, and that's something.

A couple of mercifully shaded miles find me at Ripplebrook Guard House. Some road bikers are trickling into the parking lot, apparently finishing up a day ride. The place is crowded, and I decide to drop down the quarter mile to Ripplebrook Campground to get water. Only, there is none. It always amazes me how unreliable the forest service maps are about this key bit of information. No water at Rainbow CG, either. 0 for 2 there, NFS map. I pedal back up to Ripplebrook in a foul mood, thinking I'll have to buy bottled water from the store. The ranger there kindly directs me to a hose out front, and also tells me that Lake Harriet doesn't have water either. 0 for 3 (actually, I would learn that there is water at Lake Harriet; 0 for 1 ranger, 1 for 3 map). I guzzle a pint on the spot and fill up both bottles and my 2 quart bag, figuring this should be enough to get me to camp and back the next day.

I decide to reverse my planned loop to get above Lake Harriet and take the smaller, steeper, unpaved FR-4630 up and FR-57 back down tomorrow. I'm feeling beat, and don't want to deal with the Timothy Lake traffic on FR-57. It takes me a minute to adjust to my new 4 pound, sloshing weight in the front basket, but pretty soon I'm enjoying the solitude of the shady climb up 4631/4630. The pavement ends, and I notice the dirt surface is nearly white here. When a truck passes, I get personally acquainted with this new white dust (glacial silt?). The dust is really fine, and coats all the vegetation within a couple of hundred feet of the road. Each time another vehicle passes, it's like taking a spinning class inside a vacuum cleaner for the next few minutes. Fortunately traffic is rare, and I learn it's better to just stop and wait a few minutes when someone passes.

I get occasional glimpses of the higher mountains to either side but never much of a view. It speaks to my fatigue that I don't bother taking any pictures of the entire 4630 stretch of the ride. My legs were still spinning, but I'm not sure my brain was. Traffic picks up near Lake Harriet, and I pull into the campground to confirm there's no water. I pull up to a hand pump and high comedy starring tired cycler ensues.

Well, I'll just see if it works, just hold up the bike with this hand and...Water spurts out as I move the lever through a stroke. I lose my balance a little, and the loaded bike starts heading away from my off hand. I catch it, but in doing so manage to derail the chain. Still for some reason not laying the bike down, I finagle the chain back on, getting both hands nice and greasy. The next 10 minutes are spent trying to wash my hands under a hand pump--a nearly impossible task. I can just stretch anough to have one hand under the outlet and still get leverage on the pump handle. A quart of water blasts out, and I make a little progress on the grease. Eventually I come to my senses and scrub my hands clean with dry grass, but not before what seems to have been a pretty good show for the old codger camped in the adjacent site.

Camp

A tough graveled climb up to the junction with FR-57, and I finally relax. It feels good to have made it up here. I find a nice site on the Oak Grove Fork, set up camp, snap some photos, and head off for an evening of fishing. It's about 4 PM when I check my watch, meaning it took me about 10 hours to cover the 65 miles. Well, it beats walking! I have a nice evening on the stream, which is still too high and cold to fish worth much. I catch some small cutthroat and rainbow trout, though, which at least gets me on the board in Oregon. It's really nice to be tramping along a mountain stream again.

Oak Grove Fork of the Clackamas River

I get back to camp a little after 8 PM, heat water for a dried soup, PBJ, and Frito dinner and then sit by the stream a while before turning in. I'm up at 6:30 AM and on the road a little after 7. I've decided to try my luck on the main stem of the Clackamas on my way back down. The descent down FR-57 is smooth and fast. I'm shivering a little, but it's a nice way to start the day. I eat a muffin and dried fruit back at Ripplebrook and before too long, I'm back near my lunch spot and the Roaring River mouth. I fish a couple of hours here and a couple more near Carter Bridge with limited success (more small rainbow). In between, I make the dangerous discovery that I can ride with my 8.5 ft flyrod fully rigged between my front basket and saddlebag, just outside my leg. the rod just flexes around corners. I'm sure to eventually break one this way, but it's great fun pedaling along in my felt-soled wading boots, ready to pounce!

Back on the road, it's a hot day in the canyon, and now the wind's in my face. I limp along, neck aching, trying to maintain some sense of decorum until I can turn off onto Faraday Rd., sit up, and weave around the empty road trying to stretch my neck and back. Something catches my eye at Faraday Dam, and I stop to look. Slowly, the dark shapes of enormous fish come into focus a hundred feet below in the river. Twenty or thirty king salmon are schooled up near the fish pass entrance, jostling for position and waiting to make their move. Occasionally, one of the brutes will leap clear of the river and come crashing down with a huge splash and crash easily audible up on the ledge above. Truly an awesome sight.

The day seems really hot as I roll into Estacada, and I'm beginning to get some leg cramps. I pull into the Thriftway looking for potassium and ice cream. I settle on an ice cream bar and pomegranate juice, which turns out to be a bad, bitter, mouth puckering combination. As I pulled into town, I'd seen the 31 bus to Portland pull in and the driver hop out for a break. There is still time to put my bike on front and avoid the hot ride back. I waver for a minute, and then point my bike back to the highway. I have to finish this ride pedaling. Where have I heard that before?

As fate would have it, I actually pass the bus again a few miles later at the Eagle Creek Rd stop, and I relish in the irony as it leaves me behind in a cloud of diesel exhaust. My back aches, my neck is killing me, and I am not much enjoying the ride on the Highway 224 shoulder. I decide to play tour rider and "power" up the hill on the other side of the Eagle Creek crossing, and that boosts my spirits a little. I imagine myself, sleeping pad rocking violently side to side, swooping out unexpectedly from a side road into the Tour De France leaders. The laugh hurts my neck but makes the pedaling feel a little lighter, and soon enough I'm turning off onto Amisigger Rd, my own little Alpe d'Huez between me and familiar roads home.

I always get butterflies when I hit an unfamiliar climb toward the end of a long ride. I gear down and spin, trying to remember things from the day before's descent. I notice how easily I can keep the heavy front end planted on the skinny fog line on this shoulderless road. It's amazing how quickly one adjusts to a loaded bike. Soon enough, I'm climbing out of the trees and the farm fields open up ahead. I come upon the bizarre sight of a blind man with guide dog, cane sweeping my edge of the road from the grassy shoulder. I'm not quite sure whether to call out or not, afraid it might startle him into the ditch. I look over my shoulder and merge into the lane, giving him a wide berth. The guide dog does his best to convey this information, but it just earns him a reprimand from his owner.

Spirits high from conquering my personal Alpe, I charge the rolling hills and soon round a corner and am greeted by Mt. Hood in the distance. It's a last reminder of how nice the mountains were before I turn left into Boring and continue toward home. The Springwater is closed unexpectedly at 182nd street, forcing me off in a part of town I don't know very well. I end up following traffic clogged Powell Blvd. as far as 92nd Ave., and the shock coming from country lanes is great. I roll in without incident, though, happy to have gone and equally happy to be home.

So, my advice to other commuters with the cyclotouriste bug? You can turn 10 commuting miles a day into a 130 mile overnighter in the mountains, but I'd suggest easing up to it. Well, unless you just have to do it next weekend.

Full photo set is here.

For the bike/gear geeks: I rode my Rivendell Romulus with Michelin Dynamic 700x32 tires. A Nitto R-15 rack and Carradice Camper saddlebag carried about 18 pounds in back. A Wald basket on the Blackburn style front rack carried another 12 pounds. Gearing was 26/36/46 in front and 13-24 in back. The setup handled well, although it took some concentration and a light grip on the bars to keep the underbuilt front rack from starting a mild speed wobble. The fishing gear adds about 8 pounds to the load.

I use a Big Agnes SL-1 Tent and a Western Mountaineering Aspen MF down bag (25 degree). I'd like to try a hammock; there are definitely more trees than nice tent sites here. Food consisted of (2) pint bags of nuts and fruit, ham & cheese croissant, bacon and greens gallette, (2) PBJ sandwiches, bag of Fritos, (2) muffins, dried lentil curry soup, apple. I had food left over.

Portland bike crash data

2008-07-14T23:15:00.010-06:00

Update: added a couple of new graphs with data on licensed OR drivers by age group

I've been sifting through the Oregon DOT crash database recently and thought I'd post a few of the more interesting diggings here. Maybe there's something to be learned. Keep in mind that the figures come from reported crashes, and bike crashes are substantially under reported. All data is for Multnomah County (Portland city, basically) city streets (no freeways).

Maybe the most puzzling results were the ages of drivers in bike/car crashes compared with other car crashes. Click the chart below for big.

The distribution for non-bike crashes is what I'd expect. Lousy young drivers who steadily improve with experience from mid-20s on. As reaction times and vision deteriorate, most people also drive less and more cautiously.

But, for bike crashes, that learning/wisdom seems to be delayed, and things don't start to improve until mid to late 40s. Maybe there just aren't enough bike/car interactions to learn from, even in Portland. Any ideas? That blip around 80 years old may be just noise, or maybe that's when most people honestly can't see a cyclist any more.

I've often heard that fault runs about 50-50 in bike/car crashes. The Portland data on severe injury/fatality crashes suggests that cyclists are more likely to be cited for errors. Click for big.

The most common cyclist errors in serious crashes are running lights, stop signs, and proceeding without the right-of-way. I guess the bright side is that riding smart may reduce your risk of getting hurt quite a bit.

Men are more dangerous behind the wheel in general, and the likelihood of getting smacked by a guy is even greater on a bike. Just over 60% of bike/car injury crashes involve a male driver, compared with a bit under 56% of non-bike crashes. Are guys just more aggressive drivers?

Stay safe out there. I know I'll be giving any middle-aged guys turning left a wide berth.

Update:

Some good comments here and elsewhere suggested that it would be nice to have some idea of "exposure" by age. Ideally this would be miles driven in Portland. As it is, I'll settle for the number of licensed drivers by age group in Oregon--not perfect, but better than the nothing I had before. The new data comes from the FHWA's Highway Statistics 2000. If drivers of all ages were equal and A) drove the same number of miles B) in the same conditions C) with the same degree of skill and care, then we would expect crashes to track licensed drivers very closely.

In each graph below*, the proportion of licensed drivers in each cohort (the data are in 5 year chunks) is plotted along with the smoothed proportion of crashes by driver age. What stands out is that the age of drivers in bike crashes follows our "If all drivers were equal" assumptions pretty closely. The relationship is much weaker in non-bike crashes. One scenario that would lead to this discrepancy is that drivers learn how to avoid crashes with cars but not bikes.

* You may notice that the non-bike crash curve is slightly different from the first graph. I took another good suggestion to remove single-vehicle car crashes (rollovers, fixed objects), since the equivalent bike crashes almost never get reported. The result is a slightly flattened initial hump, which suggests young drivers are overrepresented in single vehicle accidents.

Bike sharing

2008-06-29T14:24:00.002-06:00

I was really disappointed to see that Portland killed the bid process for its bike sharing program. Reports everywhere are that people really are unusually willing to consider other options right now. Transit ridership is up, and that's been posing problems for multi-moders trying to find space for bikes on local light rail trains. A recent--by all appearances well-done--survey in Portland showed that cyclers who do bike-train-bike commutes really do need their bikes at each end of the trip. Since leaving a bike at either end seems like a lot to ask, maybe a well-designed sharing program could fill the gap at one end?

I was also excited about the bikes. Every bike sharing program I've seen uses really smart, integrated city bikes. Seeing these around (and, hopefully, using them) might really help people understand that bikes don't require special clothes, training, or innumerable gadgets to work really well. I think the Smartbike design for the DC program looks great. I'd love to see bikes like this in shops for a few hundred dollars. They're sort of like scaled down Dutch bikes with full chain/skirt/coat guards, integrated lighting, fenders, internal gears, and a smart front luggage rack.

I've heard arguments that either A) Americans' bike snobbery or B) Americans' tendency to "think less, sue more" will kill bike sharing programs here, even though they've been huge successes in Europe. I don't think either would be a major problem in Portland. I've seen what even hard core roadies use here to lock outside the bar or New Seasons; these bike share bikes can compete for utility use. And, King County's adult helmet law pretty much means Seattle can't start a bike share program. If there's one thing Portlanders seem united about, it's that we must take any advantage to make Seattle look bad. Well, here's another chance!

I hope the D.C. program is wildly successful, and Portland's envy results in a bike sharing program here before too long.

You can see the bikes and read more about the DC program here and there. The blog hub for bike sharing seems to be at The Bike-Sharing Blog.

"Idaho" stops

2008-05-25T19:02:00.002-06:00

Riding in to the office today, I was approaching a stop sign in the new South Waterfront area. Now, this stop sign happens to be a reasonable one. Visibility is poor, and there is a fair amount of traffic even on a Sunday. As I slowed and noted a car approaching from each side of the cross street, a cyclist blew past me and the stop sign at full speed. Fortunately, both cars stopped, each of them arriving before I did, but neither continued on. Both of them looked at me with a "Well, aren't you going to blow the stop sign, too?" look. As we got our little right-of-way convention sorted out, I noticed my momentum-loving friend was busy blowing the next two stop signs despite car and pedestrian traffic at each.

I hear people talk about "all those cyclists blowing stop signs," but I actually don't see much of it at all. Most cyclists I see treat stop signs pretty much like I do. They slow down enough to see that no one is coming or else, if someone is coming, stop to yield right of way. Just for the record, blowing stop signs was the only thing my renegade friend had in common with the fixed-gear hipster crowd of stop-sign blowing stereotypes. He was middle aged, pedaling a nice suspended mountain bike and wearing full rain gear plus backpack.

I decided to catch up to him, tell him in a friendly-ish way that blowing stop signs like he had makes it worse for all of us cyclers. As I kicked it into 3rd (whoa, nellie) and eased up toward 20mph, I started anticipating possible responses. Among choicer expressions, I considered: "Yeah, I'm sure YOU stop at every stop sign, buddy." Hmmm, he'd have me there, I guess. And that's one of the real problems with current law as I see it. I caught him as a stop light turned red in front of us. He blew that, too, and the next one, and I decided chasing him off my own route was more than I was interested in this morning.

Besides a decent story to tell Rachel tonight, the encounter left me with a couple of thoughts. Current law makes peer pressure sort of impossible. It's kind of like exploding on someone for doing 75 in a 65, when everyone drives 72 anyway. Also, the current law tends to make me default to the cyclist's side when they get ticketed for stop violations. I've seen two cyclists caught in the act, and both had treated the stop signs in a respectable manner, in my opinion.

In other words, if the law called for "Idaho stops", I'd argue that both average cyclers and police would find it easier to enforce safe behavior. The cost of a full stop, braking distance, and visibility differences between bikes and cars are enough to warrant different treatment in this case. The "bikes are cars, same rights same privileges!" rant doesn't work for me. We already (correctly) differentiate based on performance differences. Bikes are allowed on multi-use paths; cars aren't. Cars are allowed on all freeways; bikes only where their performance differences won't create safety problems. Cars have to have brake lights, and so on. Stop as yield makes a lot of sense to me. It might even work for cars, too!

Perceptional drift

2008-05-14T13:20:00.003-06:00

It's fun to have those moments when one realizes his perceptions of the world have been changing. Just slowly enough to not be noticed, but quickly enough to cause a mental "Whoa!" when it is noticed (like the already shoulder-high rosebushes in our backyard). I noticed this morning that my perception of speed has undergone some serious drift.

I walked my commute this morning (80 minutes on foot, 25 by bike, 15 in car). I noticed the bikes whizzing past and thought, "That's too fast to see anything!" I had been noticing the jagged edges of new leaves, whose gutters needed mending, reading the announcements on all the tiny Brooklyn shops' doors. The world was in slow motion. I smelled more, too. The little smells in between the big ones, if that makes any sense. It was a lot like when I first started non-sport cycling five years ago. And there were the cyclers with heads down, trying to stay ahead of buses and make those timed lights just like I do.

Twelve miles per hour has become 70 with the cruise on for me. My detail senses shut down and wait for a stop. Those leaves with jagged edges become green stuff off to one side. I can count on one hand the memorable "scent zones" along my commute route (the bottom, the woods, the river, Ross Island cement, downtown). Twelve miles per hour sounds slow, but 18 feet per second sounds fast. It depends on what one's looking (or sniffing or listening) for.

A little odd maybe, to walk to work during bike to work week, after biking to work during the 51 non-bike-to-work weeks. But, I think I'll hoof it more often, just to encourage a little more drift in the slow direction. Maybe it will remind me to sit up and slow down on that fire chariot that is my 40 pound commuting bike. Plus, those jagged leaf edges are pretty cool.

Sheldon Brown, 1944-2008

2008-02-05T09:43:00.001-07:00

(http://www.ccs.neu.edu/home/fell/images/personal/scb_eagle.jpeg)

Sheldon Brown is gone. I get the feeling that I wasn't alone in thinking of Captain Bike on the ride home last night. I even hit the downhills hard in the soggy darkness, remembering tales of the big fella's grinning descents.

There are people in any age who set the standard, who seem to have figured it out while the rest of us are busy fiddling with all the new knobs. Sheldon had this internet age figured out before most of us bloggers could reach a keyboard. It's the reason that everyone writes Sheldon and not Mr. Brown, even though most of us never met him. He lived an open life and seemed to keep no secrets. His magic lay in revealing everything to us on the internet, answering every email thoughtfully, but somehow managing to also live a full life worth reading about.

I think Sheldon lived a cumulative life. Every experience along the way seemed to be adding up to something, like each new entry in his bicycle glossary. While most of us would say, "I'm glad I moved on from those heavy old 3-speeds!" Sheldon would say, "I have fond memories of those, and I still love to ride mine on occasion. And, have you tried a modern internal gear hub?" With Sheldon, there were no dead ends, just new links. As a good life, so a good website.

I guess Sheldon solved the internet. Just like any new technology, it's the living that matters, the rest is just (well organized) details.

My own power

2007-12-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

A lot of cyclers will tell you there's something really satisfying about getting around by their own power. Headwinds, hills, and cold rainy nights all become accomplishments when the only way to put them behind you is to keep turning the pedals. More than once I've shown up on my doorstep sopping wet, dog tired, and, strangely enough, ready to do the same thing again. Romantic as it is, one's own power does have its limitations, and the implications are kind of interesting.

The past year has made it clear that my own power is not the same as your own power. And, it is not even in the same league as my distance riding pals like Kent and Michael. As it turns out, my own power is pretty ordinary.

When I drove as well as biked, I of course didn't realize that. We read about the early affordable cars as the great equalizers of mobility, but I'm not sure we really grasp the concept any more. If Kent, Michael, and I all wanted to go bike camping in the mountains, well, by gum we all could. Kent and Michael would pedal from Portland into the hills, and I'd be brewing a cup of tea one spot over--after I drove the 25 miles to the foothills, parked my car, and biked the rest of the way.

My first year without a car in Missoula was easy in part because where I wanted to be was more or less within the limits of where my own power could take me. The trout streams and mountains where I liked to hang out were almost all within a 25-mile radius from my front door. I also had a more flexible schedule and a walking commute there, and that left me fresh and ready to head for the woods 2 or 3 days a week.

In Portland, 25 miles gets me to populated foothills, at best. My schedule is less flexible. My commute is 6 flat miles each way, which doesn't sound like much, but after a long day at work and school adding another 20 or 30 to loop through the hills takes some resolve for me.

This year in Portland has been much tougher for me than the carfree year in Missoula. It is also a really interesting experience to constantly butt up against my own limitations. If nothing else, I think it's kind of rare for us these days. For many of us, when we reach our limitations on most practical things, we can just pay someone else to sort of extend our abilities. If I can't install a headset on my bike, or fix the furnace, or build a chair, it doesn't mean I have to give up riding, build a fire, or sit on the floor. In the same way, with a car and gas money, I can pretty much buy all the mobility I want, regardless of how well I can get around on my own. Giving up driving is like refusing to buy furniture (and, some might say, an equally silly thing to do!). With some woodworking tools and lumber, most anyone can cobble together a chair, but one's limitations are suddenly going to become obvious.

I'll never be able to ride as far in a day as Kent or Michael or a lot of other cyclers do. And, I certainly can't access all of the woods I could by car. Then again, I can only explore one place at a time anyway, and I only need one patch of ground to stretch out on for the night. These thoughts occur to me as I look down an old logging road somewhere in the Tualatin Mountains, after just an hour or so from my office downtown. Too muddy to explore right now, but I'll be back when the rains stop.

There's still something special to me about getting around under my own power, even if it just means working within my own limitations. I could buy a car and drive to the bigger mountains a range over, but I wouldn't find anything there as satisfying as that muddy logging road winding back into those little hills. The whole notion of sustainability is really just learning to live within our means. In focusing on what we have to give up, we sometimes lose sight of what we might gain. There is a peculiar satisfaction in pushing up against one's limits more often.

Downtown bike lanes: a problem becomes tragic

2007-10-13T13:23:00.000-06:00

By now, most everyone in Portland is aware of the tragic death of a young woman on her bicycle downtown on Thursday. Kent Peterson, Alex Wetmore, and Beth Hamon all have good thoughts on the poor bike lane design that contributed. Basically, striping a bike lane all the way to an intersection where cars are turning right is a really bad idea. It's the equivalent of putting a left turn lane in the center and a straight lane on the left. When I worked for the city of Missoula encouraging safe cycling, one of the toughest things to teach folks was how to position themsleves at intersections. Sometimes to be safe you need to move over where it feels less safe. We would occasionally even get yelled at that "It isn't safe over there in traffic!" None of this, of course, is to imply that the cycler did anything wrong on Thursday.

As usual, I don't have any answers. A thriving downtown is a logistical nightmare for transportation. How can we accomodate cars, trucks, bus, rail, streetcar, pedestrians, and bikes in such a constricted, bustling space? I agree with those who say bike lanes are dubious downtown. The short blocks and constant parking action makes conflict all but inevitable (The Broadway "Hotel Zone" bike lanes that double as valet parking dropoffs border on comical). At the same time, I've been surprised at angry comments from people about bikes ridden in traffic lanes downtown--some from friends that are generally positive about bikes.

Right now, I think it's fair to say bicycle riders are fourth class users downtown--after autos, transit, and peds. There are few facilities for bicycles, and those that exist are of questionable utility. Increasing the safety and mobility of bikes downtown would involve tradeoffs, but I think it's time to start mulling the options. Who do we give priority to, and why? Is that the best thing for downtown Portland? The opening of the new transit mall and the possibility of a fleet of public rental bikes downtown only makes the issue more pressing.

That other half of the cycling year

2007-10-07T17:50:00.000-06:00

As temperatures drop toward the hypothermic here in Portland (if one's trapped outdoors in an ice-filled cooler), and the sky verily gushes with water (for about half an hour once a week), the wise Stumptown cycler calls it a season (or starts racing cyclocross). Yesterday, as I roll toward Forest Park on a blustery fall day, I catch up with another fellow out for a spin.

"Turned into a nice day for a ride, huh?" I offer.

"Yep, we may sneak in a couple more rides yet," he (fenderless) says.

"This is just my second fall--does seem like it's coming quicker."

Noticing my (fendered, lit, be-bagged) bike he adds, "Well, it looks like you've adapted pretty well. That's a nice bike!"

I thanked him, told him where I was headed, explained that the road bike handles Leif Erikson (the unpaved main road through Forest Park) fine, and we parted ways. I can understand a drop off in riding during the bleakest months, but it sure seems like Portlanders duck and cover a little early in the shoulder seasons.

Portland's Office of Transportation does neat bike counts every year. This year, they counted twice for two of the bridges, in March and August. I haven't seen any mention outside the report itself that March rates of Hawthorne and Broadway bridge bike crossings were HALF of August rates.

Some portion of those "missing" bike trips were probably recreational. Still, the seasonal dip detracts a little from the argument that bike facilities can replace a sizable chunk of auto capacity. It would be neat to track what happens to those missing trips. What portion are simply not taken, and what portions switch to transit and auto?

It also seems like a great target for some informational campaigns around clothing, lights, and fenders. Something along the lines of Kent Peterson's talks. Or, maybe an off-season gear show to let local shops/craftsfolk show off what they've got for those other seasons?

Then again, maybe other people just have more diverse hobbies. My highest mileage month this year? January.

There are times when a stiff pair of boots might be better.

San Francisco trip

2007-09-19T14:25:00.000-06:00

Rachel and I spent last week in San Francisco. Neither of us had spent more than an afternoon there before, and we really enjoyed the city. Our first impression was: "Wow, this place is tiny!" It turns out SF has a population similar to Portland's--only in about one-third of the space. Walking and transit are approximately, um, way better because of the density.

On the bicycling front, the riding looks a little tougher to me, but we didn't actually ride in the city. We saw a fair number of bicycle riders, but I'd say bicycling is not nearly as evident as in Portland. The hills are really steep but pretty short, and it seems like a smart rider could avoid most of them without missing much. Bicycles were much better locked on the streets than in Portland, generally with two good locks. Maybe the neatest bike scenes were the clever ways that surfers get their boards to Ocean Beach. Unfortunately, I only had a cell phone camera, and most of the neoprened pedalers were too quick for me. I saw a couple of different "surfboard-as-wheeled-trailer" setups. For minimizing length, though, this one's tough to beat:

The surfboard sits in the two hooks, obviously, sort of like a sidecar...a sideboard?

Also had fun chatting with my cousin Chris, who was a messenger in SF starting in 1990. It was interesting to get his take on how messenger bikes have changed. Messengers he knew mostly rode mountain bikes, partly because of rough streets after the earthquake. They also took pride in retrofitting their bikes with ultra-low gears, so they could shortcut over hills. That's quite a contrast with today's fixed gear/track frame messengers.

A couple of workbikes caught my eye:

A Danish-looking cargo trike seen on Market Street.

A longbike holds up the pile on the west side of Telegraph Hill.

We also had a chance to ride BART out to Rivendell Bicycle Works in Walnut Creek. When we arrived, head honcho Mr. Grant Petersen was earning his next executive bonus the hard way: hand painting what looked to be 50 or more touch up paint samples. He insisted on loaning us bikes, and then spent a good half hour setting them up for us and riding with us down to the bike trail. He then pointed us toward some pretty impressive-sounding gelatto joint (three different coconuts!) and sent us on our way.

Rachel was set up on a Glorius. She liked the ride of the 650B tires immediately, finding them as quick as the 559x32's on her "fast" bike and cushier feeling than the 622x37's on her commuter. Mixtes are great. I need to find a really big one for my Dad.

Glorius with Big Loafer Bag and Rachel

I rode a 66cm Quickbeam--a lot of bike, but I fit just fine. Grant swapped on one of the newfangled slotted leather saddles. I think I like it just a hair better than my Brooks B-17s.

I signed the helmet waiver

The gelatto was good, and when we came back, Grant pulled out a 52cm Glorius for Rachel to ride (she usually rides a 46cm bike). After riding it barefoot, she confirmed it was a nice fit. We both loved the clear powdercoat finish on the bike (sorry, no pictures). It really looked like a suit of armor with the grey tubes and brass visible around the lugs.

The Riv crew were all super nice. Grant, in particular, really went out of his way, and the visit capped off a great trip to the Bay Area. We look forward to going back and maybe riding more next time!

Two-wheeled variety

2007-09-06T18:46:00.000-06:00

Probably it has something to do with the fact that my body and that ingenious contraption the bicycle just don't seem to combine for much speed. Although my mileage has increased every year for the last few years, my speed on two wheels remains about the same: pretty slow. Now, that's not altogether a bad thing. One of the perks of being a natural slowpoke is that messing around with things that would slow fast riders way down barely registers on my speed-o-meter. Riding road bikes off-road up mountains? Sure! With two gears I shift by hand? Now you're talking! Covering 50 miles on a Dutch bike (more soon) over hill and dale? Hey, why not? The truth is, such apparent foolishness tends to knock a mile or two per hour off my average racing-bike-on-the-flats pace. Might as well have fun and see some stuff, right?

[A dapper guy in traffic on a kickbike, courtesy of this site]

Enter kickbikes. I guess they're technically scooters and not bikes, but they look more like bikes than those noisy little kid movers that prowl the sidewalks. They sound like a lot of fun, mostly, and they are two-wheeled, human-powered machines. People have actually ridden them all over the place--like across the US. Apparently, these things can be propelled to pretty much bicycling speeds by kicking off the ground with one leg--no drivetrain or saddle. I also found out that Portland has a dealer, which means it's only a matter of time before I test ride one! Then I can start my new blog Kicker's Life. If anyone beats me to the test ride, let me know what you think.

So many fun ways to move around, so little time.

Clever Cycles

2007-08-26T16:24:00.000-06:00

I've added a link to the Clever Cycles blog. Clever Cycles is local bike shop specializing in bikes which are extremely practical and way fun. I've actually covered about 400 miles in the past month on one of their Dutch city bikes, and I'll post a full review here soon. In the meantime, the site's well worth a visit for co-owner Todd F.'s writing. Enjoy!

Another threat?

2007-08-26T15:16:00.000-06:00

Bikeportland.org picked up the story of a bicyclist who was assaulted and robbed on the Springwater Trail multi-use path Wednesday night. The path makes up the bulk of my commute route most nights. The incident actually happened out past Sellwood, where the trail definitely changes character from good spooky (owls and rustling critters) to bad spooky (nocturnal humans with hobbies their mothers probably wouldn't approve of).

I remember riding from campus over the Hawthorne Bridge with a friend one night last year. When I said I'd be peeling off at the Springwater-OMSI exit, she asked whether I thought it was safe at night. Now granted, I hadn't been here long from Montana, but my response in hindsight seems pretty funny in a hick-in-the-big-city sort of way. I responded, "No cars, potholes, or mountain lions...yeah, I'd say supersafe!" Now, with time, I came to understand that it's people that everyone's worried about here. I've never had a problem on the stretch from OMSI to Sellwood, but I'll admit I've been a little spooked on the stretches farther out when I've done night rides that direction.

In a comment over at bikeportland.org, local bicycle rider Beth H. (who has a neat bike blog of her own) hits on the big answer, I think. She argues that feeling unsafe on the bike path is just a symptom of the larger problem of displaced, distressed populations in the city. I see one of the advantages of bicycling as bringing me closer to these sorts of problems. Each winter night, I ride through a homeless camp that's setting up for a cold night under the Hawthorne Bridge and pass folks slowly pedaling all their belongings toward some uncertain future. The vulnerability of being on a bicycle makes us more aware of our connection to these bigger problems. But, that long-term advantage has real short-term complications. Problems of homelessness and poverty won't be solved in time for tonight's commute, so what should we do in the meantime? Several commenters on the recent attack mention that they won't use the Springwater after dark (or some portions even in daylight), and I think that's a real problem.

Suggestions include regular bike patrols, better lighting, or improved design. A part of me thinks we should just toughen up and ride through the dark (and, the more cyclers the safer!). But, at the same time, scary bicycling probably isn't the best way to encourage folks to ride. Maybe step one is just moving away from anecdotes and getting real information. How risky are the trails at night? Where/what are the major problems? Are things getting better or worse?

At any rate, glad that the assaulted cycler is all right, and I hope he gets his bike back.

Am I paying my share?

2007-08-18T19:58:00.000-06:00

The Mary Peters fallout raises an issue that always seems to be aggravating the cycler/driver divide. Do cyclists pay their fair share for the facilities they use? It seems like as soon as anyone asks the question, it changes into "Should they pay their fair share?" and pretty quickly each side is lobbing in complications until the question is unanswerable. I, for one, would really like an answer to the actual question. As a cycler, just what is the difference between what I pay into the transportation system and the costs that I impose on it?

Now, I concede that there are external benefits to utility cycling like freeing up road and parking spaces for someone else. And, at least a particle or two of air is that much cleaner given the exhaust I would have released. But, suppose I choose to give all of those external benefits as gifts to the world, what about the more basic question?

Does it boil down to the amount of road user fees (which I don't pay, directly) that is spent on the bicycle facilities that I do use, times my share of overall use of the facility? I suppose one should include some small cost for using any street, since I do take up a small piece of moving real estate. So, say the annualized cost of bicycle transportation in Portland is $1 million (PDOT estimate here is $3.5 million over 5 years for capital projects), at most about half of that comes from road user fees (here), and my share of annual Portland bicycle miles is 1/15,000th (based on 3% of Portland trips made by bike and 500,000 residents). That would put my share of the unpaid costs at about $33 per year.

Hmmm, 14 cents per round trip commute. I think I could handle that, if push came to shove...

Socializing bike commutes

2007-08-14T21:07:00.000-06:00

A couple of posts back, I mentioned socializing bike commuting as one way to ease new commuters into it (or maybe encourage occasional bike commuters to ride more often). Let's push the idea a little more.

It seems like a natural in some ways. One of the advantages of bikes is the ability to ride together and converse but still have one's own vehicle for different origins and destinations. Kind of like a carpool without the annoyance of the pickups and dropoffs. A group of cyclers is surely more visible than an individual cycler. Especially in the dark, rainy months, it might feel a lot safer traveling home with a group. Veterans could share load carrying, clothing, and other riding tips with neophytes. And, assuming one finds an amusing, like-minded group, there would be some positive peer pressure to get on the bike each day.

Could organized groups of commuters scattered around the city become a sort of dispersed Critical Mass (without the baggage)? I think it's possible. Smaller groups with an "acceptable" reason for riding (getting to work) might make a real positive impact on commuting motorists in a way that neither organized disturbances nor lots of individual commuters could.

Obviously, there are some reasons this sort of thing hasn't just sprung up on a large scale. There's the logistical challenge of matching up a dispersed group of cyclers with different schedules and riding preferences (routes, speeds). Especially with commutes on city streets, legal issues might pop up. At what point would your commuting group need a permit? How do you keep the group together through stop signs? None of these are insurmountable, I think.

Two commenters in the post two down from this noted a couple of potential models to build from (the Bike Buddy program (example here) and a once a month version in Toronto called BikeFriday). Kent Peterson also just posted about a proposed bike "bus" program with a similar intent.

I guess some thought needs to be given to who/what social bike commutes would best serve. Once a month (or week?) probably makes the logistics easier and would serve antsy new commuters and the "Critical Mass" visual impact. Daily groups might better serve the group safety and support role. This is Portland, maybe themed commute rides. I could imagine the impact of 30 cyclers from the "natty dressers commute club" pedaling downtown in their finest some Friday morning! Comments welcome. Would you want to share your commute once or more a month?

Car/bike contact

2007-08-11T14:20:00.000-06:00

Wow, four years of riding pretty much every day, and I finally had my first physical car/bike incident. No damage done (to me), but maybe there's a lesson, or maybe you have time to kill and need something to read.

Going to show that cycling is pretty idiot-proof, quite a few unusual things had to conspire to cause a 1-inch bike/car overlap. I was riding home from a long, hot ride on a new bike. I was riding the bike lane south on Water Street near the Hawthorne Bridge. There was a long string of cars held up trying to get to some event at OMSI. A yellow Hummer (no kidding!) merged from a cross street into the bike lane and stopped, waiting for someone to let him in. I went around him on the right and had to immediately merge back into the bike lane to avoid parked cars ahead. The maneuver put me a little more right in the bike lane than usual. It probably also kept the lady in the second parked car from seeing me before swinging her door open.

I remember thinking (all in a split second): 1) I'm going to hit that door, then 2) LEFT! LEFT!!, then 3) Wow, I think I made it! Then, I felt the most peculiar sensation. The rear end of my bike suddenly lifted up and moved over, as if a giant had just pinched the rear rack and scooted it over a foot. Then, I heard some nasty noises. I stayed upright, no doubt due to my superior bike handling technique of sitting perfectly still and looking dumbfounded, and braked to a stop.

"Are you OK?" the unfortunate door-opener asked. I don't think I answered, just continued to sit on my bike dumbfounded, since this had worked well so far. I finally circled back and found the woman trying in vain to reattach the plastic trim that had been ripped off the door. There was a small dent where the last of it had held on as my bike and I pivoted around on the other end.

"It just pops back on, right?" she asked in good humor, as it fell back to the ground. At this point someone else who must have seen the show asked me if I were all right. I said with much grace and tact, "Looks like the car got the worst of it!" Haha. So, I apologize to whoever it was in the red VW for the door. For once, it really was the Hummer's fault!

Portland's next step: a contrarian view

2007-08-11T12:41:00.000-06:00

It's lonely at the top, I guess. There isn't a lot of debate about which big US city is the bikey-est. Having lived in Portland for a year now, I have to agree that this city has gotten a lot of things right, from a cycler's point of view. There is a sense that Portland is not quite sure what to do next, though. Should we keep fighting for funds and rights of way to build bike paths? Should we keep striping bike lanes, or make them wider, or take them out? Should we bark up a new tree, and shift toward more Euro/Davis,CA ideas like bike boulevards (of which we have a few already)? Should we go more radical (Keep Portland weird!) and shoot for the moon with covered bike expressways or fleets of public bikes?

Although I think whatever comes out of the PDX bikebrain will probably be great (and miles better than anything I could come up with), I have a contrarian view, and this is my blog. I think that at some point--maybe now--the focus needs to shift a skosh away from infrastructure and toward actually getting "butts on bikes," as the Portland Tribune so eloquently put it.

Portland's problem is sort of unprecedented in this country. How do you get even more people to ride once you've skimmed all the cream? The problem is best summed up I think in the range of bicycle attitudes in Portland. Those who actually ride fall into either the "Strong and fearless" (<0.5%)or "Enthused and confident" (7%). The balance of Portlanders are either "Interested but concerned" (60%) or not the least bit interested (33%). I've been taught that given a planning problem (like convincing 2/3rds of the population to try riding a bicycle more/at all) there are usually 3 ways to come at it. We can change the built environment, change the rules of the game, or change people's attitudes. I'm not at all qualified to make this statement: Portland is focusing an awful lot on changing the built environment. I say we take up Plans B and C and start working on those attitudes. After all, the difference between "Interested but concerned" and "Enthused and confident" is maybe 10% education/experience and 90% attitude, especially in this town.

So, what would a Master Plan look like if it backgrounded infrastructure? Here's my short list:

1) Educate: Find ways to teach people the basics of riding in traffic and using their bikes. Close a street or two and have some fun neighborhood classes. Also, remind people that bicycling isn't any more dangerous than driving, probably less so.

2) Socialize bike commuting: Hire some clever people to make it easy to link up bike commuters going the same direction. The first commute is probably the hardest, and a little positive peer pressure probably helps when the rain starts!

3) Get serious about incentives: What's 250 days of new bike commuting worth to the city? How about a free commuter bike setup, paid off by 250 days of using it. What's a trip to school or the grocery store worth? 50 trips? Surely some free ice cream, anyway. If we could get kids nagging their parents to ride, we might get somewhere!

4) Get bike shops involved: could we fund an employee at each shop dedicated to utility cycling (not that all shops need it)? Or, help pay for ads? I love the River City Bicycles ads. Bike shops benefit from new riders, too.

5) Rethink rules and enforcement: Cars are huge, dangerous objects, and driving them should be a solemn, rule-bound duty. Bikes, not so much. I would push for stop signs as yields for bikes, for instance. Anything that doesn't seriously impact safety and reminds people that bikes aren't cars, they're easier and more fun. I might go for legalizing side by side riding, too. It might make new cyclers feel safer near traffic.

I think back to my own start with utility cycling 4 years ago. I lived in a town (Missoula, Montana) with good bicycling infrastructure and had a bike. My own move from "Interested but concerned" to "Enthused and confident" was mostly an attitude shift. Once I made the decision to venture out there, I found things weren't actually so hard and scary after all. With a little bit of instruction, I was a pro! My grandfather used to say most of success is just showing up. I wonder if we focus too much on what new cyclers will find when they get there and too little on getting them to show up.

Cultural Images and Car Culture

2007-01-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

My favorite kind of read: provocative, smart, funny, and written by a cycler. This one is well worth part of your lunch break.

"The Despotism of the Image" Demetri Orlov (culturechange.org) [link]

Snow Day

2007-01-17T14:14:00.000-07:00

I wake up, shower, dress, and start breakfast before a strange realization hits me. "Isn't it kind of dark for 9:00 in the morning?" Our front and back porches are covered with clear plastic sheeting, and this morning, they're packed with snow. Snow? Snow!! About 3 inches here in Sellwood and still falling. NPR is on the radio. "Portland State has also decided to close the campus today." What? A snow day? After 8 years at the University of Montana and zero snow days, I move to Portland of all places and, well, let's not analyze this all morning. Some days, the ride comes to you! A quick clothes-change and...

A couple walking through ankle-deep snow on the sidewalk smiles as I approach, zipping through a smooth patch of snow-covered side street. "Snow tires?" they ask. "Nope!" I respond, just as I hit another nasty series of transverse ruts and wrestle the front wheel as the rear fishtails. The couple's smiles change to those looks parents give a kid when he says, "Watch this!"--some mixture of amusement and concern.

I'm not lying about the tires. I gave my best snow tires away when I left Missoula last summer, figuring they'd just rot on a hook in the warm mists of Portland.* My snow bike, the one that's carried me on many a finger-numbing adventure in Montana, is also missing in action--disassembled at the moment as the result of an identity crisis since the move.

Different bike, different tires, the only constant is. . .riding in fresh snow is really, really fun. A few more loops around the neighborhood and I pretty much have my snow legs back. I decide to head downtown to see what the news folks meant by "paralyzed." I figure the bike path solves at least half of my two iron laws of snow riding: "Stay upright" and "Don't get smacked." The ground and cars are the two main things to avoid while snow riding, and it's hard to get very far from that first one for any length of time.

Parents and kids were all having a great time of it on the sledding hill near the Riverfront Park. I wasn't having such a great time of it at this point. The Springwater Trail would have been great about two hours ago, but at this point boot tracks had made it into a real minefield. The ride was rough, and my arms started burning from the effort of fighting the front wheel's wayward tendencies.

Ever adaptive is Homo bicyclus. Pretty soon I developed a strategy of riding in the fresh snow just at the edge of the path. This meant keeping the bars about 8 inches from the fence and occasionally having to fight back up the invisible path's dropoff, but my speed was up to 9 mph instead of 6. Things improved in the middle section around Ross Island Gravel, where I passed a cross-country skier. Where am I, again?

I crossed the Hawthorne Bridge into downtown, passing cars which were creeping along that crazy, frozen, open-grid steel deck. That's one bridge on which I'm happy to be "banished" to the sidewalk. A couple of folks downtown complimented my riding skills, not knowing that complimenting a rider like that is almost always bad luck. It seems like I managed to do something dorkspastastic each time. Mostly, though, I noticed the quiet. I think most people would agree that motor traffic is noisy. I don't think, though, that many of us realize just how all that noise adds up. Being on a bike a lot helps the realization, but noticing the near silence downtown when traffic is absent was really powerful. When was the last time you heard footsteps everywhere downtown? Eerie and...neat.

A quick stop at the office to collect a few things, and then I headed back to the bridge, white-knuckling the descent a little, I admit, as a few cars were sliding around on 4th. Missoula was flat unless you searched out the hills, and I think today's ride suggested a corollary to my laws of snow riding: "Snow, cars, and hills; pick two." Without violating either of the iron laws, though, I made it safely across the bridge.

This time I took city streets and fared much better. I've ridden quite a few tires in snow and ice, and each of them seems to have its strength. For these tires, the sweet spot turned out to be hardpacked snow, and I flew (relatively) along around OMSI, through Brooklyn and Moreland, and back into Sellwood. On 17th, I was able to keep pace with the #70 bus and cruise behind it out in the lane. Lots of folks having their own crazy fun in the snow gave me a smile and that head shake you give people who've gone nuts. I was happy to play the role today.

Stay upright, don't get smacked, and have fun out there.

* the best all-around snow (not ice) tires I've used are the IRC Mythos CX in 700x42; today I was riding the Avocet Cross II in 26x1.9

Bummer Encounters

2006-12-19T15:13:00.000-07:00

I actually find it mostly pleasant interacting with cars in the city. There is a type of negative interaction that always sticks with me in a bad way. It happens maybe once every 4 rides, and I've taken to calling them "Bummer Encounters." These are interactions with motorists in which neither party really does anything wrong, but both sides leave with reinforced stereotypes and general bad vibes. Here's an example:

I took my first ride up Rocky Butte a couple of days ago. It's about 11 miles from the apartment, and instead of using a map, I decided to make a game of following the bike route markers (little bike symbols marking turns on the pavement and occasional junction signs) to get home. I rolled up to a stop sign at a busy cross street intersection. A minivan opposite me was already there, waiting to turn left onto the busy street. Since the van had the right-of-way, I took the opportunity to check out the sunset and have a drink (of water!). Little did I know a Bummer Encounter was unfolding. Either the driver didn't realize he had gotten to the intersection first, or he had been trying to yield his right-of-way to me. In other words, he'd been waiting for me to go and had maybe passed up a chance or two of his own. I gathered this quickly as he rolled down his window, leaned out, and looked like a person about to yell something not-too-nice at me.

Well, just before he did, a horn--beep-beep friendly style--signalled me that the cross traffic wanted to let me through. I took the opportunity to ride straight across and up to the minivan's window. I'm not a confrontational person, and I really wanted to diffuse this potential Bummer Encounter by explaining that the right-of-way was his, and I'm sorry if I missed your signals, but we cyclers would rather you just do your legal thing here. So, I rolled up to the window, and closer inspection reveals he's more upset than maybe I realized. A little confused, I say something really erudite: "Hey, what's up, man?" As I say this, the driver turns away and the power window winds slowly up in my face--comically slowly, really. I see he has a couple of car seats in back.

I stand there a second by the closed window sort of befuddled (more than usual). He keeps his head turned, and that's that. Who knows, but my guess is at best he likes cyclers on the road a little bit less, and at worst, he confused my action as aggressive, critical mass style biker dude. Neither of us really did anything wrong. He should have been more aware of his right-of-way, and I should have payed him more attention. But, nothing 10 seconds of chatting couldn't have straightened out. Shoot, a real Bummer Encounter.

These things happen between cars at intersections all the time. You know what I mean. People wind up mouthing things behind glass, but they get over it pretty quickly. From my time logging complaints about cyclers in Missoula, I think that these incidents make more of an impression when a bicycle is involved. Probably, it's just because Bummer Encounters are so common between cars and so uncommon (even in Portland) car-to-bike.

I still haven't successfully diffused a BE-in-the-making. I feel like it's hard to communicate verbally with drivers without coming off as aggressive, especially when there's already a "situation," however silly it may be. Anyone have any stories with happy endings?

On a more positive note, the ride up Rocky Butte was well worth it. Best panorama of SE Portland and the Cascades I've seen so far from the nifty park up top. The climb's not bad, either, a little sketchy through the tunnel maybe. Oh, and the bike route that took me back home worked great. I think there was only one intersection where I was left guessing a little. Portland's on to something with the bike route markings, for sure. Thanks to all those responsible!

Comfortably Damp; Blog Interrupted

2006-12-15T14:46:00.000-07:00

(We now interrupt the blog interruption to bring you a post. School, work, riding, writing; I had to pick three for a while. New ideas on the writing front, though, check back soon!)

I think it was Kent Peterson who first introduced me to the idea of being "comfortably damp." I didn't really understand it at the time. Living in a semi-arid valley in the Rockies, the little moisture we did get usually was either a) frozen or b) driven by violent thunderstorms. Neither a nor b really lends itself to being "comfortably damp." I filed it away somewhere in the mental bike bin and mostly forgot it.

And, then we moved to Portland. And, then, well, it was a whole lot like Missoula for a couple of months. And, then, well, I hear Portland had the wettest November since soggy people have been here and recorded their sogginess. I commuted my 12 mile round trip 20 days in November. One day, as I was wringing out my clothes outside the building entrance, the phrase "comfortably damp" whispered to me from my mental files. I wasn't that. My shoes would be wet for the next week and a half, and I smelled like a public bathroom floor that had been recently mopped, but not very well. I set out on my own quest for damp comfort.

Occasionally, I had caught a glimpse of someone who had completed his own quest. We would both smile, but this other person would just look so damply comfortable. Sure it was fun in that little kid sort of way to see how much water I could soak up. But, there was no Mom on the back porch waiting for me with dry clothes and a bath at my cubicle.

Observing the comfortable few, and reading rain initiates like Kent P., I realized that this had to be a personal quest. Some people I noted wore full rainsuits. I had tried that once and was already soaked with sweat before I had finished the pit zip disco maneuver, inside. I met one guy who just stripped down to shorts, cotton tee, and sandals, and then put his clothes on at work. My version of this ended about halfway in to campus one blustery day along the Willamette River when I put on everything I had in my saddlebag.

I was getting somewhere, though, with these experiments. I now knew I was shooting for that narrow zone between shiver and sweat, with the secondary goal of shedding as much rain as possible. Oh, and with a budget constraint of about a hundred bucks of new gear.

Monday dawned dry but threatening, 45 degrees. I had the morning off and headed for Washington Park, hoping for every bucket of the forecast rain. Someone had waved in the general direction of the West Hills and said, "Just follow Jefferson up. You can't miss the park." I know I was on Jefferson, and then I was climbing past a small reservoir on my right. And then a concrete divider appeared on the four-lane highway. Highway? And then a sign said "Non-motorized vehicles prohibited beyond this point." Now, I'm all for taking signs like this as "informational," but I've never found much good beyond this particular sort of sign on my bike. Right then, no kidding, the skies opened up and began dropping the first of many buckets. I made some clothing adjustments and rode against traffic a little ways until I found the unmissable turn I'd missed.

I started the long climb, zigzagging up maybe 800 vertical feet to the top near the zoo. The whole time the rain pounded, the gutters filled, I climbed. I passed another cycler. I smiled. He grimaced, and gave my goofy outfit a double take. We both knew it. I'm no master of rain yet, but I had achieved a state of damp comfort.

It may not work for you, but here's my getup for 40-50 degrees and rain that falls in drops (most credit to Kent P. and some new friends here in this, um, rain blessed country):

helmet
cotton cycling cap
Rainshield O2 cycling jacket ($35, actually breathes fast enough to climb in, for me)
Duofold 2-layer wool/poly shirt ($23, I think they call it Insulayer now, look for the wool content)
Windsor Wear thin wooly shirt
WoolyWarm knee warmers (rivbike.com)
SmartWool microweight skivvies
MUSA pants (rivbike.com, shorts work fine, too)
Rainlegs nylon chaps from UK (I've been told the dork factor is high. These things really work. Your call!)
Smartwool Mountaineer heavy wool socks (or two pair lighter wool socks)
"river" sandals (Chaco, Teva work well, needs to grip the pedal and dry fast)
[Edit 12.17.06: Forgot the hands!]
Ragg wool gloves
OR rain claw mitts (Just the wool gloves keep me comfortable, but it's no fun putting them back on after riding in a downpour)

And (this is why the sandals work) a dry pair of socks in the cubicle's file cabinet.

P.S. If you have trouble finding the O2 jacket or anything but the rivbike stuff and the rainlegs, you can get it through the Mountain Turtle Market's Amazon portal and benefit a real live cycler at the same time! Just type the names into the search box there.

P.P.S. Just one more question. Where the heck is the damp drizzle?

Another recipe for fun with a bicycle

2006-10-22T14:49:00.000-06:00

Sunrise with Bicycle

Ingredients:

* 1 big hill near you where all the really nice houses are
* 1 insulated container of hot water, seasoned to taste
* 1-2 bready products
* 3-4 warm items of clothing
* 2-wheeled contraption (tandem good if doubling recipe)
(optional: 1 or more volcanic peaks, dormant or otherwise)

Rachel and Joe's procedure (adjust based on local conditions):
Set alarm clock for 5:30. Wake up frightened by loud reggae music. Heat water and season with tea leaves in insulated container. Add to tandem with the 1-2 bready products and 3-4 warm items of clothing. Pedal all ingredients except big hill and volcanic peaks over the Sellwood Bridge and up into the hilly neighborhoods to the west. Park bike on suitable corner, deploy warm clothing, tea, and bready things. Wait patiently for sun to rise. Oggle Mts. Hood and St. Helens. Enjoy!

My new commute

2006-10-14T14:39:00.000-06:00

I wish I could explain why the six miles from our apartment to downtown Portland put a silly grin on my face twice a day. But, those that would understand already know, and those that don't understand, well, just wouldn't. In person, when I tell people more or less what my commute is, they either nod and smile immediately, or ask the unanswerable question: "That must get old, huh?"

My schedule varies, but most likely I'm loading up the bike in the early afternoon. From gurgling Johnson Creek, I climb up through city streets and descend to the river. I consider the wind, my mood, and how presentable I need to be in half an hour before nudging the downtube shifter into a gear for the ride. The Springwater-on-the-Willamette bike trail takes me the next 3.5 miles or so. The trail is smooth asphalt with a center dividing line and only one road crossing the whole way. There's ample time to watch for herons, listen to the woods, or just ponder the whoosh of tires on pavement. On a nice afternoon, I may meet or be passed by 20 or so other cyclists, an even mix of exercisers and travelers.

At the trail's end in a cement yard, I connect with the Eastbank Esplanade--a wide sidewalk, more or less--that ferries me under the roaring I-5 bridge and ramps onto the more sedate Hawthorne Bridge. The bridges are tricky points for cyclers in Portland, but this is one of the better ones. Wide sidewalks on either side are lined (with textured paint that won't get slippery) for bikes on the left and peds on the right. After taking in the views from the bridge, I ramp down to a bike lane on the street, and then ride the last mile or so in city traffic up the hill to my bike locker (more on that later).

I reverse the trip starting sometime between 7 and 9:30 at night. The trail is nice during the day, but I especially appreciate it at night. One of my pleasures in Missoula was riding dark, quiet roads at night. I get the same experience (minus potholes and occasional pickup trucks) on the trail. The section through the Oaks Bottom Refuge is especially haunting on the night leg. The bluff pushes the road away up above and leaves just the damp air and river sounds in the bottom. Slicing through this stretch on a smooth six foot ribbon of asphalt--often with no one for a mile in either direction--it is hard to remember I'm in a city of a million people. Even harder to imagine why half the city doesn't get to work and back this way. It is good to see those nods of understanding from other cyclers, though.

More to come...

In other news

2006-09-12T17:57:00.000-06:00

Rachel is back blogging and doing most of the work on the tandem (but, don't tell her that) at cyclerswife.blogspot.com.

Bike Friendly: a play in 3 acts

2006-09-11T13:02:00.000-06:00

Act I

[Scene: Sellwood Bridge--a gently arcing concrete span that joins two major arterial streets. Spotlight sweeps lone sidewalk on north side of bridge, narrow enough that passing pedestrians brush shoulders. Lone cycler approaches bridge from east, while a steady stream of cars trails behind.]

The two-lane Sellwood Bridge would be our obvious connection to the west side of the (Willamette) river. That is, if it hadn't been designed by some artist/engineer in the midst of his concrete minimalist phase. As I approach the bridge from Tacoma St., I imagine the designer in his workshop late one stormy night.

"No! Excess, excess! Too much concrete!"

[Hacks off both shoulders from bridge model]

"Better, but still too much!"

[Smashes south sidewalk, the pieces of which crash to the floor]

"Too much! Too much!"

[Pushes in from sides until the lamp posts actually protrude into the tiny sidewalk]

"Why must there be so much waste! Too mu..."

[Fortunately, the mad designer collapses from fatigue and is dragged away by his assistant, sparing us all from a bridge consisting of a single strand of fishing line supported by a stick.]

Oh, but back to our story. I pedal up the bridge approach taking the center of the lane. I may be going 20 mph. I glance back, and the angry swarm of cars are...slowing down. The lead car stays a couple of car lengths back for our crossing. By the time we're descending the west half, I'm comfortable enough to steal a glance at the view.

Act II

[Scene: Clearly from out of town, dorky cycler attempts to merge onto high-speed highway, not realizing the traffic light only stops traffic on one side of 99E.]

I become aware of the unfolding scene as I notice the two lanes of northbound traffic, including a Tri-Met Bus, aren't really slowing down, at all, nope. Meanwhile, my entrance route spits me out into a lane that quickly merges with the left lane of 55 mph traffic. With traffic in the narrow merge lane behind me, I accelerate to a glacial 25 mph or so and merge across two lanes.

No horns, no close angry passes after the fact. I won't do it again, but at least I'm alive to!

Act III

[Scene: Weird triple intersection at the northern edge of Laurelhurst. Possibly constructed by brother of Sellwood Bridge architect, and who maybe didn't like right angles. A tandem makes an awkward landing after diagonaling to the front of the intersection.]

Rachel and I are exploring northeast Portland by tandem and having a grand time of it until I miff this weird intersection approach. I realized too late that we needed to go straight(ish) through the light and so wound up too far right in the lane. Now there's a car behind that wants to turn right. I'm expecting one of two things to happen. Either the driver will be tentative and creep up looking agitated through the whole light cycle. Or, the driver will be aggressive and squeeze through the iffy gap, buzzing stoker Rachel. Or, I guess, there's the Portland option.

"Do you guys mind if I ease through here and turn right?"

The driver carefully pulls through the gap (hand on the outside mirror!). He stops at the light and shouts back to us.

"Thanks for riding your bike!"

Post-performance discussion

From what I've seen so far, these weren't just happy flukes but the result of lots of Portland cyclers riding smartly lots of the time. When drivers here see a cycler (usually me) doing something weird, they seem to think "whoops, he must have made a mistake" instead of "here's another one trying to make my life miserable." And, its not like we're coming from Albany (never been, hoping it's not super bike friendly, no offense and all that). Missoula ranks in the LAB top-10 for bike friendly cities.

What has surprised me the most is that Portland seems to have earned its bike friendly reputation not so much with a barrage of facilities but instead with a barrage of smart cyclers. The facilities I've discovered so far are good, sometimes very impressive, and clearly took an incredible amount of work. But, truth be told, Missoula may actually be bicycle friendlier in terms of facilities. For instance, four of five bridges in Missoula had bike lanes, and an additional three bridges were bike/ped only. The riverside bike trails were more contiguous, as well.

That said, after two weeks and a couple hundred miles getting lost around Portland, I have to say that the riding is easier here. Even if half of the bike facilities were destroyed in some freak planning disaster, I still think it would be a great place to ride. Portland is a poster child for the idea that paint and signs are no substitute for lots of cyclers riding well with traffic.

Portland

2006-08-31T17:57:00.000-06:00

Just a quick note that Rachel and I have landed safely in Portland. We've had fun exploring all of the cool neighborhoods from our home base in Sellwood. Yesterday, we looped over and around the east side of Mt. Tabor on the tandem, and today we rode my soon-to-be commute mostly on the amazing Springwater Trail.

Quick bike-related observations:

* We've been impressed with the number of obviously skilled cyclers. You guys are great to ride with!

* Not a single horn honk or rude gesture, even though we're a couple of lost tourists at times.

* The bike route direction signs are fantastic. I'm going to relay those back to Missoula for sure.

* There's still work to be done (in our neigborhood Sellwood Brodge, Tacoma). I was afraid it was already perfect :-)

Hop to see you on the road!

Carfree in Los Angeles

2006-08-15T10:51:00.000-06:00

Heard on NPR this morning (you can listen free here). Chris Balish went from Toyota Sequoia to carfree in L.A. and is writing a book about the experience. I enjoyed his positive approach, and he had some good advice for those considering.

Leonard

2006-08-13T16:55:00.001-06:00

The topography around Missoula sort of conspires against loop rides of any reasonable distance. I end up doing a lot of out and back rides when I have half a day to spare, and to keep it interesting I plan my turnaround somewhere I can fish, explore, or at least have a picnic. There is one popular loop ride that I hear about occasionally, though, "Ninemile-Remount." For whatever reason I've never ridden it--probably some combination of no riding partners and lack of map reading skills (I am not a navigational role model, to twist a Kent P. motto). Well, nothing like one week left in town to motivate me. I set off this morning to ride the loop.

I pedaled west out of town on familiar roads, enjoying the cool air that had me in a long sleeve wool shirt and knee warmers. With the sun warming my back, I had the shirt off after 7 miles and the knee warmers jammed down around my ankles. I've been wearing Smartwool microweight tees as jerseys lately and highly recommend them. I haven't found a lighter weight wool, and these have proven both tough and sun safe.

After about 12 miles, I turned onto new roads. The frontage road was a nice surprise, rolling pleasantly along the base of the north hills with no traffic. At the first interstate exit, another unexpected surprise, a paved bike path took off along the right side of the road. The path was mostly empty, but after a few miles I saw a slow-moving road bike approaching ahead. Since he didn't seem to be pushing it, I figured I might swing around with him and get some pointers to piece the loop together. I slowed and waved and shouted "Hello." No response. I slowed further as he approached. "Hi there!" I said. Nothing. The guy just motored by on the 5 foot wide path without a glance. I guess his contract with Pearl Izumi prevents him from breaking cadence on the Frenchtown bike path. A little irritated, I headed on. I had a rough map in my pocket that I'd sketched this morning, and from the hills rising ahead, I figured I'd get somewhere interesting, anyway. It was just about then that I first spied Leonard.

Up ahead, I saw what on first glance looked like a typical local bike path user. Pedaling bowlegged from a foot-wide saddle, the cycler appeared to be an older fellow out for a Sunday toodle. Occasionally, he would even weave edge to edge. Two things confused me, though. First, he was moving at a pretty good clip, and though the gap between us was closing, it wasn't closing very quickly even at 16mph. Second, despite the bowlegged style and too-low saddle, the cycler's form had a smoothness that suggested a lot of miles in those legs. The path ended and the road tipped downhill, and I picked up the pace a little bit worrying (foolishly, as it turns out) that my mystery rider might turn off and vanish at any driveway.

I pulled alongside and commented on the nice day. The cycler returned the greeting warmly and immediately straightened his course, accelerated, and rode more closely to me than I'd usually be comfortable doing. My suspicion about the miles in his legs seemed to be correct. The weaving side to side was apparently just for fun. As we chatted, I tried to take in the scene. Leonard (I now knew his name) was perhaps in his 50s. He rode an aluminum Mongoose mountain bike with knobby tires--the sort I imagine you'd go out and buy at the nearest pawn shop after losing your license. He wore cotton sweats top and bottom, a bandana around his neck, and an old mesh baseball cap on his head. A 2 liter bottle of water hung in a sling over one shoulder. White smears of sunscreen protected nose and ears. Makeshift bags held food, tools, and other essentials (I learned).

Upon hearing that I really didn't know where I was going, Leonard took me under his wing. He mentally confirmed that my hand drawn map was about right but pointed out a couple of intersections where I might have trouble. Overall, he seemed a little nervous about my whole endeavor. "You have water, right?" "Tubes?" "Food, sunscreen?" With "Don't forget the turn at that rip-off restaurant!" Leonard eased up and sent me on my way, telling me he'd go the opposite way around the loop and see me at the "big hill." I smiled as I rode off with renewed strength. Leonard was a real character, just the kind I love to meet on the road.

A few miles later, the road turned away from I-90 and up a green, narrow valley. At mile 27, the road turned to gravel at the base of a steep pitch. I climbed up into the shade of some pines and stole glances back at the little valley below. The ups and downs continued--the gravel keeping things interesting on the fast, sweeping downhills. The magnificent scenery to the north continued, too. I came to the first intersection. Leonard had described it as a "T," but it looked like a 4-way to me. Maybe he meant lower case. Anyway, a cluster of white buildings and a shady grove of trees caught my eye to the north, and I pedaled over to check it out.

The white buildings turned out to be the Ninemile Remount Depot. Built by the CCC, the depot once supplied all of the pack mules for the forest service in the Rocky Mountains. Apparently, the mules were called Rocky Mountain Canaries, and this resulted in one of the best historic signposts I've ever read (with lines like "The tenderfoot would often resort to a constant string of cursing to get his stubborn canaries over a high mountain pass.") I rubbed in sunscreen and stowed my overshirt more securely before returning to the junction.

Leonard had said left at the "T," but left looked hot, rough and washboarded. Right headed into the mountains. Straight looked most appealing, and my scrawled map showed this to be part of the loop I'd envisioned. Straight quickly became straight up, but the climb led to shade and I had some canaries to keep me company off the slope to my right. I crested and had a long, sweeping downhill to cool me off. I reckoned the temperature was mid-70s, but the sun was getting intense. Some miles later, I reached a junction which took me to the edge of my map. The road straight ahead looked inviting along the creek, but it would have to wait for another day. I turned left and began heading east on West Ninemile Rd., which was itself south of the creek and north of the river--I laughed out loud thinking someone like me must have named it.

I was back on pavement now, about 35 miles into the ride but feeling pretty good. My only nervousness came from not quite knowing how to complete the loop and head back toward Missoula. Lots of local kids were playing in the creek off to my left, and the sight of them made me feel a little hotter in the sun, too. I eventually came to a junction that didn't quite make sense. My map hadn't shown this one, and, of course, the roads lacked any signs. I went right and soon came to the river, which immediately told me I'd gone the wrong way. Correcting my course, I quickly came to that rip-off restaurant and was back on Leonard's map. I would just do his loop in reverse. Two and a half miles got me back to the depot, and now I was retracing my earlier route back to Frenchtown--and food, which I'd just run out of.

In Frenchtown, I topped off my bottle with 1/3rd apple juice and bought a few other provisions for the 25 miles home. Back on the road, I spotted a bicycle far ahead cresting a hill. When I'm tired, a rider ahead always boosts my spirits, and between that and the cold supplies, I moved through the rolling hills at a surprisingly decent pace. It wasn't until the last corner before the end of the frontage road that I caught a good view of the rider ahead--Leonard! I caught up, and, seeing me in his mirror, Leonard greeted me with a good natured "Hey, Joe, what'd you do, get lost?" "Me, never!" I replied. He seemed more inclined to think I was completely lost than that there was a fourth road at the "T." He said he couldn't figure out how we hadn't passed, since he'd come in from the freeway side and should have met me somewhere near the restaurant turnoff. We never did get it straightened out, each refusing to modify our mental maps, but we did agree that it was a lovely ride. Leonard apparently runs a self-help business and offered me a stress management tape on the house before we parted. I declined, telling him his friendliness had already done the trick earlier.

As I climbed the last steep hill into the valley, the reality of Leonard kept sinking in. This 50-something guy had just ridden about 70 challenging miles pedaling bowlegged on a $50 mountain bike, in sweats, and he's one of the happiest cyclers I've met on the road. I wish I'd asked him more questions. He might be another million mile Freddie, for all I know. He was riding the same smooth 12 mph at the end of the day as he was at the beginning. The only advice I got from him on riding (besides always carry water and a spare tube): "Ride in the rain. There's something about a wet road that bicycles just like. I think the resistance goes down. I don't even mind getting a flat if I can ride in the rain."

Here's to you Leonard, and all the cyclers out there who take the time to share their wisdom. Thanks for a great ride. I learned a lot.

Time trial

2006-08-11T13:01:00.000-06:00

Sometime last year, I realized that there were lots of times I had a free hour. After a few attempts, I pieced together a pleasant loop of a bit over 15 miles that I could reliably ride in an hour door to door. It wasn't long before I started checking my watch start and finish. Pretty soon I was jotting down times on a scrap of paper. I was on a slippery slope towards time-trialing.

I'm fairly certain no one actually KNOWS I'm time-trialing. I still wear sandals and floppy clothes. My Romulus always sports fenders and lights and usually a basket or bag or two. I don't even go very fast, and when the evening sky lights up over McCauley Butte, I sheath the hammer and sit up to watch. Let's call it stealth time-trialing.

It is loads of fun. Coming down the home stretch after the last traffic light, I really give it my all, wondering if I'll break my best time, or my best time with a headwind, or my best time in the dark, or the heat, or the rain, or whatever. At any rate, I thought I'd share a few tidbits from my scrap paper log.

Distance=15.15 miles
Average time=56 minutes
Average speed=16.2 mi/hr
Range of times=53-63 minutes

I'm not fast, and my log shows I'm not really getting any faster, either. But, I am remarkably consistent. I started thinking that this loop of mine would be the perfect laboratory for some pseudoscience. I started experimenting with equipment a little--some actual biking shoes I hadn't worn in ages, foot retention, taking off bags and baskets, riding primarily in the drops, tire pressures--and what I found is that none of these things made any observable difference in my ride times.

A couple of days ago, I finished up work on my #2 bike. It's a fairly heavy steel frame with flat pedals, wide tires, upright bars, metal fenders and baskets front and rear. It has two gears but can only be shifted at a stop. I knew what I had to do, even if it might disgrace every roadie I met on the way. I took it on my time trial loop. I wore my watch but vowed not to pay attention to it during the ride, lest I offend the scientific method even more.

I had a nice ride. I felt fast. I went 0 for 1 on returned roadie greetings. At the end of the ride, the watch showed 56 minutes on the nose. Here I tried to build a townie and ended up with another time-trial bike. When will this madness end? :-)

Ground transportation

2006-08-09T20:43:00.000-06:00

I just returned from a week on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. If anyone wants a disturbing image of car silliness for her upcoming peak oil/sustainable living/other arrangements Pulitzer piece, I suggest a trip over to Baltimore-Washington International airport (BWI). The expanse of parking lots is truly mind-bending, especially given that the public transportation seems to be quite good. Instead, it appears most patrons drive in thick traffic and pay a fair bit to park their cars miles beyond the terminal--only to then ride busses back to the airport itself!

The contrast between the BWI scene and my return to Missoula was incredible. Back in Missoula, I walked out of the terminal to my bike, which was locked up to a split-rail fence in the long-term lot. I stuffed my carry-on in the front basket, unpacked my helmet, stowed the locks, and pedaled home wearing a small backpack. It felt wonderful after several hours in planes, and the thirty minute ride into town gave me time to survey the valley I'd missed for a week.

This was my first flight in a couple of years, and, like most people I imagine, I'd never thought of using a bike as ground transportation. I have to credit a guy in a minivan for the concept. A couple of months ago, I took the trailer out to a store near the airport and picked up a suitcase for Rachel. Seeing the luggage strapped to the top, guy in minivan excitedly asked if I had ridden in from the airport. We seemed to be thinking just the same thing: "Cool idea!" I hear from a friend that LAX recently got bike lanes. Maybe it's catching on.

Would a gas tax be regressive?

2006-07-29T15:10:00.000-06:00

Jim over at OIFS is doing his usual good job of making people uncomfortable--in a good way. As the call for an increased gas tax builds to a loud whisper, Jim notes that opponents are quick to play the regressive card. Put simply, a regressive tax takes a larger percentage of income from the poorer than from the richer. A famous example would be a tax on food. Since poorer households spend a larger share of their income on food, a flat tax would necessarily affect poorer households more by the same measure. This is the reason most state sales taxes exempt basic food purchases. The opposite of a regressive tax is a progressive tax, which taxes something richer households spend a larger share of their income on, like a tax on second homes.

Jim's argument is that a lot of things stick it to the poor. If we avoided all of them, we wouldn't get much done. He offers a neat example that 25-35% of Interstate highway construction expenses are mitigating the costs to third-parties. Why not ask what it would take to mitigate the costs of a $1 gas tax to the poor and then get on with the discussion? Well, let's do it. I looked into the 2004 BLS Consumer Expenditure Survey (CE) to get an idea of the costs to the poor. I'll define "poor" arbitrarily as the lowest income quintile (roughly less than $20,000 pre-tax annual income). That should catch most poor and near poor households.

The first thing I found is the same thing Poterba (1991, paywall) and others have noticed--unlike a tax on food or housing, it isn't at all clear whether a gasoline tax would be regressive. Start with the fact that a full 1/3 of households in the lowest income quintile don't even own a car. Effects on those households would be only indirect via rising prices of other goods (food, mass transit). Then continue up the income ladder to find that the second and third quintiles actually spend a larger share of income on gasoloine than the poor. The two highest income quintiles do spend a smaller share on gas, but the dropoff is much smaller and more gradual than for food or housing. (BLS 2004)

Still, one could argue that even if a gas tax doesn't necessarily take a larger share of the poor's income, the share it does take may be more important (the eat or drive argument). Well, that's a separate debate, but if you agree that the burden is unfairly placed on the poor, then push for a gas tax with mitigation! What would it cost?

Again basing my numbers on the 2004 CE, the average poor household purchases about 400 gallons of gas in a year (1), about half the amount of the average household. Given an estimated 100 million total households currently (Census Current Population Report 1996), a gas tax that increased pump prices by $1 per gallon (2) would impose a direct burden on the poor equal to $400 (400 gal*$1/gal) per household. Since about 20 million households meet my definition of poor, complete mitigation would cost $8 billion.

$8 billion per year sounds like a whopping lot of money, but remember what those Interstate mitigation costs were? A gas tax of this size would raise about $125 billion per year (3). Compensating the poor would represent only 6.4% of the total revenue generated.

What about the effects on the other four quintiles? Well, I note that well over half of those households are college educated, and they spend more than the amount of the tax on "television, radios, and sound equipment" (BLS 2004). I'll bet they can figure something out.

(1) $730 spent on gas [BLS 2004]/$1.81 average 2004 price of regular [EIA 2006]
(2) This would represent a total tax of around $1.56/gal using elasticity estimates from Greene and Ahmad (2005) cited in Econbrowser (2006). This is because part of a tax would be absorbed by gas suppliers.
(3) Given an estimated long-run demand elasticity of -0.335, the tax would reduce gas consumption by about 9.5%, reducing average household consumption to about 800 gallons per year. 800 gallons * $1.56 * 100 million households = about $125 billion in total revenue.

Correction: I got so immersed in the household data I sort of forgot it was only part of the picture. Non-household purchases of taxable gasoline might add another 30-40 billion gallons to the quantity side (EIA 2006). Of course, that just makes the mitigation costs to the lowest income look even cheaper!

(Not) Like Riding a Bicycle

2006-07-28T22:23:00.000-06:00

I drove a car today. That was my big news on the phone to Rachel, and she asked, "Wow, how was it?" If the Feds were listening in on that converstation, they probably made a couple of tick marks in the crazy box and went back to watching the ballgame. It had been exactly 10 months since my last drive. Sort of unusual, but I really thought driving a car again would be like going home and eating chicken fried steak--not something I happen to do anymore, but still as natural as going right leg first into my pants. After all, it's not like I grew up in Manhattan without a driver's license. I figure I've driven around 100,000 miles in my lifetime.

Well, as it turns out, driving again was more like going into my pants left leg first. I immediately knew what I was doing and all that, but I was hyperaware of things in a way I sure don't remember. Maybe my first drives were like this; I don't know. This is what I noticed.

1) After a few people in a row gave me weird stares, I realized I was trying to make eye contact with every driver on side streets. If I couldn't, I would slow down and watch them intently, waiting for a move. On bike, it's instinctive that those cars are a potential danger and need to be sized up. In a car, sizing people up is just socially deviant behavior. But, really, who among us is really ready to pull off an evasive maneouver at 50 miles per hour? In a car, we learn to live with a lot of risk. I even hear people say, "Well, at least it would be their fault." On a bike, well, that'd just be stupid.

2) I saw a few (green) traffic lights way late. My eyes were focused low, watching to see what other drivers were doing, watching the curbs and crosswalks. I knew what color the light was by watching the intersection. Only after checking off everything else did I glance up at the light. At bike speed, this works great, and I guess it makes sense. Traffic signals and stopping distance are the least of my worries on bike. I've heard "bringing the focus down" as an argument for roundabouts instead of stoplights, but I only now understand.

3) Those blind spots we get used to as drivers are HUGE. I kept leaning around to see around the windshield pillars. And looking back? Sheesh. I'm definitely spoiled to the bike view.

4) I didn't stop for pedestrians at street corners. Twice. I often get annoyed when drivers do the same to me, whoops. A four lane through downtown with parallel parking is terrible for peds. Why hadn't I noticed that before. There is just too much information for my feeble brain to process, and I'm not that far down the curve. Bulbouts, road diets, lights, clowns on parade--whatever--crossings need something to make peds jump into the foreground. One of the crossings was where our friend Bill was hit. I'm going to be a lot more careful crossing the street.

5) I missed my bike. Maybe it's a sign that I'm a little off-kilter, but I was sort of let down when I crested the big hill and didn't get the rush of a descent. No sweating at lights only to get the cool breeze from moving again. No leaning into corners. It was interesting to drive again after the time off, but that was about enough for one year.

Be safe out there, there's one more nut on the road for a few days.

Parker House Rolls

2006-07-04T12:44:00.000-06:00

It's nine o'clock as I roll over the Blackfoot River and into Milltown. About a quarter of the 28 miles to Rock Creek are behind me, and I'm starving. I woke up feeling awful this morning, but the 7 rolling miles in crisp air have taken care of that, and now I need to make up for missing breakfast. I pull off at the little local grocery and gas and start grazing. Bananas, juice, one dozen Parker House rolls. It all makes perfect sense as I check out. Then I get out to the bike, finish off a banana and juice and think, "What is a Parker House roll?" and, more importantly, "Why did I just buy a dozen of them?" The answer to the first question is a sweet, cheesy roll which--according to the ingredient label--may or may not contain jalapeños. Hmmm. The answer to the second question will come in time, I decide. I stuff a roll in my mouth, one in my pocket, and the rest in the burgeoning saddlebag, and ride off.

The frontage road is familiar and really only interesting for its destination. My mind wanders with the miles. I snap an uninspired picture of the flat, straight road. The camera batteries die. Ten miles later, I'm sitting up eating a banana when two friendly roadies greet me as they pass. They are a neat sight, legs spinning 100 RPM in unison as they take turns in the lead. I finish the banana and decide to give chase toward Clinton to break the monotony. As it turns out, they aren't going as fast as they look and 20 miles per hour steadily closes the gap. I decide to hang back a bit but keep the gap steady, since I'm sure I couldn't keep up for too long.

As we near Clinton, I hear a truck approach behind--the first vehicle in a long while. It honks twice. Ever the dork, I wave and smile, figuring it's a student or someone I know from town or just someone who likes my flyrod-on-bike setup. As the truck roars past, I realize the driver's agitated. Ahead, the roadies have slowed and are chatting side by side. The truck keeps a straight line toward the cyclers and lays on the horn. The roadies pay him no attention. This isn't good, I think. The lack of response seems further to agitate the driver, and he accelerates toward the riders and blasts the horn. Just in time, the truck swerves out, gives another horn blast, and passes with little margin for error. The outer roadie flinches away a bit and seems confused. The truck roars away.

The roadies probably shouldn't have been riding side-by-side. The truck definitely had no business endangering lives for no reason. On a quiet, friendly frontage road like this, where's the harm in swinging around to pass a couple of bikes? I wonder if the driver pulls the same maneuver on farm equipment using the road. From my vantage point, there's probably a driver that now feels justified in his hunch that cyclers think they "own the road." He'll probably be even more hostile to any rider he sees in the future. From the roadies' vantage point, I imagine they think they were buzzed by another nut behind the wheel for no reason. I feel I've witnessed the world worsen just a bit. It's so hard to communicate when private autos are involved that social interaction can break down instantly.

After a hill, I peel off from the roadies to get on I-90 for the last quarter of my ride, and they continue straight on the dead-end frontage road. I hope that the truck isn't waiting in town for them. Without the rabbits, my pace slows to my usual cruising speed of 15 miles per hour. A couple of miles up the interstate, I spot a very animated hitchhiker. He follows through with the thumb on each passing vehicle, and then spins and throws up his arms in disbelief when each refuses to stop for him. When I drove, I never picked up a hitchhiker, but as I approach him on the bike, I realize I'm in a totally new social situation. Driving past in a car, the idea of stopping to say hello to a hitchhiker seems completely absurd. On the bike, the idea of sneaking past behind the guy without saying anything seemsequallyy ridiculous. It would be like walking past someone on my walk into work and looking the other way, pretending not to see them because I'm so enthralled by this tree bark. You know the feeling. So, I stop the bike right in the middle of one of his hilarious, dramatic spins of disbelief.

"Good morning. Where ya headed?" I ask.

"Headed to Deer Lodge [about a hundred miles east], man, but the miles are going slow. Where you headed?"

He's in his late thirties, long hair, but healthy and fairly clean cut. He could walk into any restaurant in Missoula without raising eyebrows. He doesn't have any luggage.

"I'm just pedaling up to Rock Creek to spend the day."

"Oh, man, I wish I was headed there. I love the creek. That's a fine place."

"Doesn't look like you're having much luck out here."

"No, man, I've been out here two hours and can't get a lift. Hundreds of dollars in my back pocket [pats back pocket], and I can't get a lift. I don't understand these people, man."

I think to myself that those people he's raising a thumb to don't understand him either. Anyone who's walked or bicycled on a road shoulder realizes all too well how much autos insulate against the noise and pollution outside the glass. Standing on this interstate shoulder, I realized just now that the price of that insulated comfort is isolation. In an auto, we're reduced to interaction by impotent horns, lights, mimed gestures, and occasionally threatening each other with two-ton contraptions we actually can't afford to damage. The agitated truck driver earlier attested to that. Autos turn public space into private. Because it's so normal to most of us, I think we've come to view it as a good thing. As in, "Thank goodness I don't have to deal with this nut on the side of the road." This guy really made my day, though. And, I now had the answer to my question.

"Say, I just bought way more rolls than I need. Would you take half a dozen from me?"

"Sure, man, what's in 'em? Maybe some mushrooms? A little hashish, huh? That's what we need."

I laughed and passed him six rolls, which he stuffed in his pockets and began eating. We wished each other luck and parted ways. As I rode off, he yelled after me.

"You know, I should get me a bike. Hey these rolls are good!"

The world had just gotten a little bit better. I flatted on a staple a little ways up the road, but it was an easy fix. I had a wonderful day of fishing on the creek and a beautiful ride home in the cool of evening. The travel time for the 60 miles or so was about four times what it would be in a car, but as usual, it was worth every minute. And, I had every reason to stop for ice cream halfway home.

Car Talk and Gas Taxes

2006-06-28T17:25:00.000-06:00

In this world of contradictions, I remain a Car Talk junky. I was surprised to hear the call for a graduated $3.00 gas tax coming from Car Talk's Ray Magliozzi. Today, I was pointed toward the mail received from listeners about the proposal. The responses are perhaps not surprising, but I find them engaging reading anyway.

A common response to an increased gas tax (or any increase in the price of driving) is that it is unfair to those who have to drive. "Have to drive" usually doesn't mean either "I use my vehicle for work" or "I am physically unable to get around any other way." It usually means the person commutes a long distance or lives in a rural area. "What am I supposed to do?" In a recent survey by a student of mine, a respondent noted that he had to commute 30 miles each way to his job. How is he supposed to use less fuel?

Don't I remember from middle school geography that the U.S. is really mobile? Well, what happened? Why is it that moving closer to jobs/schools/grocery stores is out of the question? Too expensive? Maybe in some cities, but expensive cities are usually the ones with decent mass transit. Not to mention, saving 60 commuting miles per day would give a family a couple hundred dollars more each month for mortgage or rent. Unfair? Smokers pay more taxes than the rest of us, but no one seems to ask "What are they supposed to do?"

Comments welcome.

Just a kid on a bike

2006-06-21T20:51:00.000-06:00

I glance behind to see a tractor trailer pushing a wave of water along the swamped highway. One, two, three, I count traffic cones until I make my move between four and five to the outer edge of the shoulder.

Storms have been pushing through this skinny valley all day. I rode the twenty miles here to flyfish a local stream, and I'd been rewarded all day with beautiful skies as I hiked and fished. When I returned to my bike around 8:00, another band of clouds had moved overhead and promised to do more than pretty up the sky. A strong tailwind pushed me out ahead for a mile or two, and then a drenching rain caught me.

The shoulder on this highway is only about 3 feet wide, but that's usually adequate given the sparse traffic. Just to prove that bureaucracies have a sense of humor, though, MDOT had chosen today as a fine day to restripe the road. To cover their handiwork, the crews placed traffic cones at regular intervals to encourage drivers to keep off the paint. The wind and some accuracy issues left most of these cones well off the line and onto the shoulder, which meant I had to pick the inside or outside. When the road was clear behind, I stuck to the inside, avoiding the cones and the occasional crumbled shoulder edge. When traffic came behind, I would time a gap where most cones were out of the way and dodge to the shoulder. The simple maneuver was made less simple by the fact that any steering movement set off a mighty shimmy in my load. You see, using my tried and true put off testing things and then go ride forty miles, in a storm, on the highway, with traffic cones, technique had revealed a minor problem. In fact, overloaded Rubbermaid totes with gear lashed on top make tall road bikes handle funny. Who knew?

Something about flailing around on a bike where I shouldn't really be while sopping wet brought back the most vivid memory. I remembered a similar day growing up in East Tennessee. I had ridden my little red BMX bike a couple of miles from home with my mini garden tools to mine quartz in the woods. A storm hit and I got mud and clay soaked. I had to ride the bike home holding these muddy garden tools because I didn't want my backpack to get dirty, and it turned out BMX bikes don't handle so well with garden tools on the handlebars. I don't really rememeber the rest, but I must have made it home, and I seem to recall having some fun on the way.

So, remember the truck closing in behind me? Well, I made it safely onto the far edge of the shoulder well before it passed. A head-high wave of water completely drenched me and the bike and all my stuff. And, you know what? I sort of hoped another one would come and do it again. I was just a kid on a bike.

[First photo: looking downstream after a wave of clouds passes; Second photo: a Westslope Cutthroat trout from the stream; No photos of the road home because the little pencam refused to work after getting wet but is fine now]

Notes

2006-06-18T23:10:00.000-06:00

Rachel's blog is on hold while she travels the midwest with Missoula Children's Theater. It is a grand adventure for her, but the change of pace is shocking from bicycling everywhere to driving a little red truck 6,000 miles. She'll resume her blog in September, but not from Missoula...

We've learned we'll be moving to Portland, OR (of all places!) in late August for the next few years. We can't really imagine living in a place with such an established bicycle culture. I look forward to meeting you Portlanders or Stumptownians (or whatever you call yourselves) and to riding some new roads in your beautiful corner of the world. I've lived in a semi-arid valley for 8 years now, and I've been riding in Thunderstorms lately to try to recall my rain sense.

It will be odd to live in a place where just riding bikes isn't an identity in itself. Here, we are Joe and Rachel, that kooky couple that bikes everywhere. From what I've heard/read, we may not seem that kooky in Portland (well, at least not for cycling).

I apologize for the post drought here lately. Between sending Rachel off, teaching summer school, and soaking up as much of this corner of the world as I can before leaving, I've had some full days. I'll try to start making up for it.

Flats

2006-06-02T09:27:00.000-06:00

I guess it's fitting that bicycle flats seem to come in "cycles." I'm in a definite upswing right now. Yesterday, I rode down the highway to a favorite trout stream for the afternoon. I was off the water at 8:30, bought some fuel (Choco Sticks and PBR crackers) at a gas station, and started the hour ride home in fading light. The ride was uneventful until I hit a traffic light on the outskirts of town, accelerated away on green, and was bouncing all over the shoulder. A rear flat.

I happened to be right near a Wal-Mart, which is about the second best spot to be with a flat (after home). Yes, Wal-Mart has everything a cycler needs for a pleasant flat fixin': clean grass to relax on, overhead lighting, and even a bathroom to wash up in if you forgot to replace the latex gloves you tore on the last flat. Shoot, they probably even have latex gloves!

As I took my time changing out the tube, Wal-Mart shoppers gave me their full attention. As I assured them I had what I needed, didn't need a ride, didn't need to use their cell phone, etc, I wondered why some of these same folks show so little concern for cyclers on the road. There's something about being face to face and remembering we're all just human, I think. Or, maybe I should ride with flat tires.

When the new tube was inflated, chain tensioned and the tools and old tube stashed, I sat in the grass another few minutes to watch the early summer light fade. Riding home, I decided that as long as there is no highway shoulder, rain, or complete darkness involved, fixing bike flats is actually pretty fun. May all your punctures be pleasant!

Sometimes there are mountains

2006-05-09T22:30:00.000-06:00

We're blessed with a fair number of mountains in western Montana, but it really doesn't matter. Even if there are 100 peaks in sight, the human mind will find the one to focus on. Whether it's the lowest, highest, craggiest, or the one no one else has noticed, it becomes the white whale of whoever's gaze it fixes. Mine happens to be called Blue Mountain.

Blue Mountain rises from a river just 8 miles west of my door. From there, a rocky dirt fire road climbs about a dozen miles and 3300 feet to the top. It is not particularly high, or majestic, or snowy--at least, compared to those peaks it shares the horizon with. For me, though, Blue Mountain is perplexingly, wonderfully, indomitable.

I first wanted to ride the mountain 3 summers ago. It caught fire. I returned the next spring. The road was closed for salvage logging. I was back the next fall. My rear axle bent. And, the next fall? Halfway to the top, I reached for my second water bottle. Empty.

I'm a stronger rider now. My bike's in excellent repair. I triple checked my water, food, and tools this morning. I've been biding my time this spring, waiting for the last traces of snow to disappear from view. Today I rode again toward my mountain.

It was 50 degrees and sunny as I left the apartment. A gentle headwind nudged against me as I rode west. I hit the dirt road and begin the climb, struggling at first but slowly finding a rhythm that will take me toward the top. Up through 4,000 feet, spring is evident. The forest floor is green, birds are abundant, and now and then some little woodland creature scurries across the road well ahead. About 3 miles up I hear a diesel roar behind me. Looking back to see the logging truck, I'm surprised to see instead a yellow school bus--a geology field trip, I later find out.

One hairpin turn after another, now in the cool forest, now exposed on a ridge I climb. Not that I'm usually fast, but even for me this is a slow climb. The loose dirt and rock kills my feeble attempts to nudge past 6-7 mph. We mortal cyclers can't rush a climb like this, but we can relax and enjoy it. In the forest, I focus on the moist, cool smells that drift over to the dusty road. On the ridges, I try to spot landmarks in miniature down in the valley. I wish I could identify more of the birds and flowers I see--something to work on. The beauty of climbs to me is the freedom of a wandering mind. Once I settle in to my pace, there isn't a whole lot to do on the bike besides keep my legs turning. At 6 mph, there are few pressing concerns on a bike, and there is time for every smell, and sound, and sight to linger.

Every few miles, my train of thought is broken by an urge to eat or drink, and I stop to snack and hydrate. On the road, I usually eat and drink on the move, but in the woods I've settled on stopping. It doesn't seem to slow me down in the end, and I love rolling to a stop and having all human sound stop with me. Today, my 40 miles will be powered by a toasted bagel, fig bars, and a Clif Bar. Human-powered bicycles may be the ultimate flexible fuel vehicles.

This is my longest sustained climb with drop bars, and my hands quickly show their preferences. The tops by default; ramps for bumpy sections; hoods for the steeps. I'm using downtube shifters, which suit me well. On a climb, they encourage picking a gear and sticking with it. The result is that I have to vary my effort if I want to stay upright as the terrain changes. This style works better for me than shifting to maintain a constant effort. I rode primarily single speed bikes for the last couple of years, and this is one of the things I learned from them.

I pass a Forest Service truck and its owner, who appears to be collecting vegetation samples. We agree that it's a nice day not to be inside. Around the next bend lay the halfway point beyond which I'd never been. So far, the day was without incident, and it seemed likely that I would just ride to the top, enjoy the view, and ride home. Although, there was something on the wind whispering that the mountain might be up to something. I quickly brushed it aside and went back to turning the pedals and enjoying the climb.

After a sharp right-hand turn and a sweeping view of the valley, the road steepened to start what my map showed as the last 3 miles. The road was now on the north slope of the mountain, and patches of snow lurked ominously in the shadows. The warmth of the day made them quickly forgotten, however. The road suddenly emerged into a clearing with about 2 miles left to the top, and I stopped to check my map and eat and drink.

The last spur road climbed steeply along the northern face with heavy (unburned) timber to the south. After about half a mile, I hit light snowpack. Progress slowed, but I could still ride. The snowpack deepened but stayed firm. One foot. Two feet. CRUNCH. My front tire broke through, augering a foot or more into the snow. I yanked the bike free and started hiking gingerly--every once in a while post-holing into the snow up to my knees.

I had one and a half steep miles to go to the top. I figured I could hike half of it this way but any more than that would do me in. My hope was that one of these bends ahead would open up to a sun exposure and allow me to ride again. Of course, even if this worked out, I still had to get back down. My plan had been to take the mountain bike trails down the south slope to the highway, but now I wondered what sort of shape the steep, wooded trails would be in. Meanwhile, my mileage counter slowly ticked over.

After a half mile of hiking, I got back into the sun, but the snowpack persisted. Now, the conditions were even worse, and I made an easy decision to abandon the climb. I pushed and carried back down to clear road and returned to the junction a mile behind me. From there, I climbed the quarter-mile to the saddle and was treated to an incredible 360 degree view as I finished my food and dried my socks and shoes in the sun.

The fact that this mountain had stopped me short of the summit again hadn't sunk in yet. Part of the reason was that I was still a little nervous about the descent on the road bike. It isn't a horrible road, but there are enough rocks and loose corners to make it challenging for me on 700x32 road tires. After a mile or two, I began to adjust to the bikes handling and relax into the descent. By the time I passed 3 mountain bikers about halfway down, I was probably grinning maniacally.

About 1 mile from the end of the dirt, I was congratulating myself on the descent, and I think the mountain may have heard me. In the next moment, a dog came lolling onto the road from a side trail. I dodged easily and said hello to the owners. Then, all of a sudden I heard horrible noises from the rear and had to wrestle the bike to a stop. For some reason, my instinct was that I had picked up a stick with the rear wheel. Things seemed fine now, and I started back down the road--oh, wait. I had flatted the rear tire. Inspection showed an inch long gash perpendicular to the tread. In my moment of inattention, I must have found the sharpest rock in the road.

I booted the torn tire with the world's only fully refundable tire boot--a dollar bill--and after a couple of false starts, got it to stay in place as I carefully inflated the tire to a rideable pressure. I limped home after another great day of losing to the mountain.

I suppose we all have challenges in life that we make into mountains. Perhaps it's just human nature. For some of us, though, the mountains are real. And, for all of us, would we really want to conquer them all? What would we tell stories about then?

Carrying Things (part 3, Plastic Tote)

2006-05-08T16:41:00.000-06:00

Not so long ago, Kent Peterson posted a picture of his new Kogswell fixed gear bike with a custom looking blue trunk thingie on his rear rack. Like most things Kent-ish, what looked like a custom doo-dad was really just $5 at the hardware store plus a little ingenuity.

Now, I may well have a problem, and maybe you've already guessed this, but when I see a new way to carry stuff on a bike I think "Cool!" When I find out that that something is $5 at MLHS (My Local Hardware Store), I think "Hmmm, a ride to MLHS sure sounds nice this evening!" What can I say? When someone asks me: "Any ideas for carrying [insert object here] on my bike?" I like to have an arsenal of responses, especially cheap ones. Kent's Rubbermaid tote idea was a slick answer to a question I hadn't ever gotten around to asking. I put one on my empty front rack, and have been riding around figuring out that question ever since. It's also my chance to play bicycle gear reviewer, so, here you go...

This afternoon, I was faced with an interesting situation at the office. I had my road bike out back and a 15 pound box of files plus a stack of loose papers to get home. Oh, and it was starting to sprinkle.

Now, I'm a huge basket fan, but rain and loose paper exposes two of a very short list of basket shortcomings: weatherproofness and small-loose-stuff-proofness. Both of these are easily overcome with a bag in the basket. Sometimes, though, the nearest bag is 8 flights of stairs carrying a 15 pound box of files away. Well, one time it was, anyway.

Luckily, I had my Kent-inspired basket accomplice on back, a 3 gallon Rubbermaid Roughneck Tote. The box-o-files went up front in the basket, and the stack of loose papers nestled down into the tote, locked in and safe from rain. I think I'm beginning to find the question to my answer!

Here's the comparison chart. It would be fit for Bicycling magazine 'cept I don't think they do anything available at the local hardware store. But we do!

3 gallon Rubbermaid Roughtote + 30" Bungee + Rack
Cost: $5 + $3 (+$15 for the rack, if you don't have it already)
Size: 14" x 10" x 7" deep at the top, tapering to the bottom
Weight: Lighter than an $80 rack trunk
What'll it carry: 750ml wine bottle, large onion, 3 large potatoes, quart of yogurt, lock, and saddle cover inside, plus a jacket on top. Basically, anything that will fit in it or bungee on top. I've also found you can overfill it and then bungee the top on like a rain hat. 2 bungees are better for that.
Compared to just-a-rack: Things stay in it. Things stay dry. You'll love it!
Compared to panniers: pluses--more aerodynamic, almost impossible to hit your heel on while pedaling, tougher, no need for expensive rack, quicker to load/unload, a great place for reflective tape and stickers, way cheaper and less theft prone; Minuses--smaller than even one pannier, hard loose objects sound like a Carribean drum band
Compared to basket: pluses--rain proof, small things don't need their own container, slightly lighter and cheaper; Minuses--less room for creative packing, not as sturdy, wet things won't dry.
Max per bike: 2, one rear, one front, but it's more versatile as a basket accomplice
Where to get it: Local hardware store
Attachment: 4-6 big zipties through holes you drill or poke in the bottom plus a bungee or two for top security and lashing
Made in China?: Yep, and I bet the factory smells just great

It seems like it would be great for a change of clothes with shoes in a plastic sack bungeed on top. I haven't tried it, but it seems like the ticket if you have that sort of gig.

Spring Night

2006-04-28T22:14:00.000-06:00

After a long day at work and then a great presentation by Jim Sayer of Adventure Cycling ("How Bicycling Can Help Save the World"), I was itching to get on the bike. I walked home as the sky colored and then quickly faded in the west. A quick change out of work clothes and into a couple of thin layers of wool; pistachios and fig bars in a cotton sack; wool beanie, gloves and a light jacket in the basket, and I was rolling through the neighborhood.

In waning light I headed north and west to climb my hill on the edge of town. The back streets were vacant, and I abandoned the shoulder for the center of the lane. As darkness filled in around me, I transitioned to night mode. Night riding for me is a completely different experience. As my vision switches to subsistence mode, other senses shoulder in. Smells, and, for me at least, sounds make up most of my night ride memory.

Past the railyard, which is bustling at this hour, I hear the clanking of railcars rolling through the yard. One group gets a shove and rolls to a stop down the tracks closest to the road. I'm overwhelmed with the smell of . . . telephone poles. Or, some treated wood very much like them.

Past the cemetary, which sits low and always gives off cool breezes. The air is still and rushes past with little resistance. Through the industrial yards and smells I can't quite identify. Clankings and whirrings. Then the gas stations, and finally the eerie quiet of late night by the interstate interchange.

Underneath, past the the gas stations and hotels, the bright lights are a quick breath that parts the smokey dark. And, now night folds around me again. A swollen creek rushes past on the left. On the right small scurrying things are busy in the brush on the bluff's edge. I turn left, over the bridge and into the hills.

The hill I push up is steep, but my legs have never been as timid as my eyes. Only the patch of my headlight is visible now. Cool drafts swirl down the gully that separates road from hill. I switchback, and again, and now make the final short climb to the old dirt path. Impressive homes snake up nearly to the top, but they've yet to conquer my little grassy knoll. The little track is badly rutted from spring, and I walk the bike up the last bit.

I sit in the thick grass, munch my snacks, and ruminate on the views. To the southeast, the Missoula Valley spirals out in a hundred ribbons of light. The sky is a faded orange. East, directly across the little drainage, only a few lights dot the immense black bluff. If I turn my back on them and the city, there is nothing but stars and layers of mountains.

Eventually, a chill creeps down the hill behind me and nudges me back onto the bike. I descend the rutted track carefully. Then, I'm back on the road, winding down. Descending a dark road at night is the closest I've felt to dreaming awake. The rush of air and the pull of the hill is surreal when my eyes can't detect a slope. The cold air starts to seep into my gloves and through my layers, but it's no longer a winter chill.

Night riding season is here. Find a quiet road, and give it a try. Don't fight for vision. Let it slip off to the wings and ride with your nose and ears for a change.

Festival of Cycles

2006-04-22T19:54:00.000-06:00

I just returned from Missoula's Festival of Cycles. The festival is a yearly celebration of cycling in Missoula. It's all-volunteer and all-free, spearheaded by Missoula Freecycles. Folks can build up one of a couple hundred donated bikes with tools and expertise provided by local volunteers. Music, food, and all sorts of fun cyclers and their bikes make for quite a scene in the park.

Hard to explain, really, and maybe it's better you just take a look!

Small town

2006-04-20T21:15:00.000-06:00

Who should I run into at the bathroom sinks today but Mayor John himself! Well, it wasn't a total coincidence, since we were both at a town meeting. I told Mayor John I was looking forward to his Carfree Challenge on Monday. He told me he was a little worried. He has a council meeting Monday evening, and if it runs late as usual, he'll miss the last bus home. He had contemplated sharing a ride but worried that might be cheating on his challenge. Mayor John had even contemplated a ride on the University's late night downtown shuttle (unofficially, the "Drunk Bus"). I pointed out he could always borrow a bike. He responded, "That's excatly what I need to do, get a bike!"

All right! If nothing else, it illustrates how much we can learn by stepping outside of our comfort zone. And, how neat to live in a town in which bicycling is considered a viable option, even by a non-cycler Mayor. Good luck to Mayor John and everyone else who takes up the challenge Monday. Towns Missoula's size fight an uphill transportation battle with current development patterns. I really believe that bikes and a little encouragement can help. I fully withdraw any cynicism from the last post.

For those of you thinking of starting your own challenge this spring, Kent P. has a great post today that any bicycle commuter can learn from.

Mayor's carfree challenge

2006-04-18T09:40:00.000-06:00

Each year, Missoulians celebrate the end of hibernation with "Bike, Walk, Bus Week." Each day, different events are scheduled, businesses give away goodies to non-drivers, and squeaky-chained bikes are everywhere. This year, the mayor issued the "Try it for just one day challenge:"

"Missoula Mayor John Engen pledges to get everywhere he needs to on this one day without a car, including riding the bus to and from work. Mayor John challenges all Missoulians to do the same, on this one day."

I get a sort of weird vibe from this, but Rachel tells me I'm just paranoid, and she's usually right. Still, why the addendum, "on this one day." Is Mayor John worried that someone might try it on Tuesday, too? Or, Wednesday? Or what if a family went carfree for six months--egads! And, "a challenge" necessarily implies that it is harder than using a car. Mayor Joe would have fashioned it:

"Mayor Joe invites Missoulians to discover how much fun it is to get around without a car. On Monday, let's leave the keys at home and saunter around under our own power. Think how friendly our streets will be! I bet you'll want to go carfree every Monday this year."

I have to admit, though, a mayor who proclaims to love his Mini Cooper but sponsors a carfree day--awesome! Rachel's right, way to go Missoula.

Copenhagen

2006-04-09T11:07:00.000-06:00

Most engaged cyclers have heard, seen, or read about the culture of Dutch cyclers. It is a wonderful system, to be sure, but the short trips, slow speeds, and separate bike paths make it easy for naysayers to shrug the Netherlands off with an "It's not like that here."

Enter the Danes. In this 20 minute video, Copenhagen's incredible culture of cyclers is unveiled. One-third of commuting trips are made on bikes here, and planners want to increase that. What struck me most, though, was how much Copenhagen looks like the US. Cyclers ride a mix of mostly modern bikes at a much faster pace than the average Dutch. Commutes are longer. Facilities are complex, but primarily seem to be onstreet.

"Effective Cyclists" should be warned that Copenhagen cyclers would make John Forester cringe at times. Helmets are rare, and bikes obey slightly different rules than motorists (they even have their own miniature traffic signals!). But, I think Forester would agree that Danes seem to have taken the most important step in creating a positive cycling culture. Cycling as transportation in Copenhagen has the respect of motorists, planners, and the population at large. This is in evidence throughout the video and in the cycling budget: a staggering 20-25% of the entire city transportation budget.

Download the video, and when you have 20 minutes to spare, have a look. There is much to be learned here. Tell me what you think.

Spring Suffering

2006-04-08T15:13:00.000-06:00

The weather is beautiful. The mountains are still snow capped, but the valleys have the unmistakable scent of spring. A perfect time to put on a light wool shirt, toss jacket and snacks in the basket, and amble around on two wheels. At least, that's the idea spring gives me, and I put it into practice with another 25 mile "grocery run" around the valley.

The weather is beautiful. The mountains are still snow capped, but the valleys have the unmistakable scent of spring. A perfect time to slip on a black skin suit, toss some GU and a CO2 cartridge in the jersey pocket, and suffer while staring at the pavement. At least, that's the idea spring gives cyclists in this valley, and they put it into gut wrenching practice today in record numbers.

I saw a record number of bicycle riders for the season, and only one would have looked out of place having a root canal. Expressions ranged from exhaustion to hostility. No gazes ranged to the mountains. Why is it that the second scenario above wins out 99 times out of 100 with cyclists these days?

The one exception was local triathlete Jeanie. Strecthed out on her aerobars, she flew along smiling at a speed my cycle computer probably doesn't understand. She gave a big "Hi, Joe!" as she whizzed past. Riding hard is Jeanie's thing. I'm pretty sure it isn't the thing for most of us, any more than climbing Everest is the thing for most hikers.

It's my opinion that there will always be a few who are incredible, inspiring, superhuman at any given activity. But, wouldn't the rest of us be better off just enjoying the ride?

Why do I care? Because a humble cycler can get lonely out there. Because I'd love to fall in with someone who's enjoying the day on his or her bike, exchange greetings, and agree that it's a nice day to be enjoying a bike ride.

Grocery Run

2006-04-03T20:56:00.000-06:00

Sometimes life just works out. On a beautiful Saturday, I found myself on a grocery run with 2 extra hours to burn. I must have had a hunch, since I had half of a Clif Bar, a bag of GORC (good ol' raisins and cashews), and an extra layer in my pack. A warm tailwind blew me past the grocery store, and blue skies drew me into the South Hills.

For some reason, I had never climbed the steepest route into the hills. It doesn't come with bragging rights, but the first half mile is a sustained 10% grade. I fumbled with the shifters, but they just made the climb longer. I kept rolling forward up the hill, but I think I'm sliding back toward a single gear in my mind.

After winding through the hills, I came to the rapidly spreading edge of developed Missoula. What used to be empty fields that caught light for local painters now looks--in Rachel's words--"just like southern California." Houses sprout mushroom-like from these hills. There is pressure from developers to build a new bridge over the Bitterroot River to provide an outlet. I think only windows will be left to reflect the light if the bridge comes. I enjoy exploring the edges of town, but I wonder if there will come a time when there are no more edges?

I sail down the north side of the hills, descending to the valley, and follow another road up into the next hills south. Here, newly finished luxury homes perch on a once lonely ridge. Across from them, a construction equipment yard provides an eerie foreground to the peaks of the Rattlesnake Wilderness. The hills are for sale.

I finally crest and follow a twisting descent down to a dirt road that stops 50 feet from the river (Private Road. Keep Out!). I stop to watch the river and eat my snacks before the climb back out. Two sets of hills, a dozen miles, and worlds away from the city, this is the paradox of urban sprawl to me. These houses wouldn't be here without the city, but the city would be here without these houses. New development gets the diversity of jobs and services that only a city can provide, but what does the city get from new development?

It's good to have tough questions to ponder on a long climb. My spirits rise with the ascent, and this time I'm able to focus past the foreground and onto the wilderness beyond. Some edges aren't going anywhere, and as long as I can pedal to them, I'll be happy. After all, this was just a trip to the grocery store.

A Cycler's Day Off

2006-03-29T08:22:00.000-07:00

Before I was a cycler, I was an avid--OK, addicted--flyfisherman. For me, there is nothing quite like hiking up a small stream in search of trout. I used to worry that bicycling and trout pursuing would be competing interests, but I quickly learned that the two go well together. Like so many things, it turns out that bicycling enriches my days fishing.

Yesterday, I pedaled to Rock Creek--a stream that is deservedly famous--and enjoyed a long afternoon on the stream. When I first started riding to streams, I had the same two thoughts that everyone else does: Wouldn't it take a long time? Wouldn't I be too tired to fish? As with most things living carfree, we tend to think of things in the wrong terms. We worry about loss and are completely oblivious to gain. Pedaling to a stream is not just a slower, more tiring way to get there anymore than bicycle commuting is a just a slower, more tiring way to get to work. It is an entirely different experience.

What I notice on the bike is not that my speed is slow but that my time outside is long. The transitions from travel to stream become seamless in a way opening and shutting a car door can never be. Sitting on a padded seat in a sealed chamber, doing no work while moving 75 miles-per-hour, and then stepping out into quiet woods is jarring to say the least. It lacks something real, like watching television, and our minds only follow easily after acclimation.

It took two hours to reach Rock Creek yesterday. Two hours of wind rushing past. Of sun warming my face. Of clouds moving up valleys. Of spring scents. Of impossible rock formations. Of winding rivers. Of ups and downs that registered in my lungs and legs. Of memories that will bring smiles next year. Of course, it would have only taken thirty minutes by interstate.

As I stood in the sun by the stream, my bicycle leaning up against a tree and a soft breeze drying my brow, a game warden leaned out the window of his truck. "That's a neat way to fish. You from up the creek?" "Nope, up from Missoula." "Missoula? That must take a long time." I decided to keep my little secret this time and gave him the short version. With a big smile, I said, "Yeah, it sure does."

We humans are masters at valuing potential loss. But we are rank amateurs when it comes to valuing potential gain.

Riding off to fish. Waders, boots, rod and extra layers are in the big saddlebag (a Rivendell Baggins "Hoss"). Food and other essentials are in the lumbar pack which sits in the front basket. The ride is a little over 50 miles, round trip. To answer another common question, I've only had someone mess with my stuff while fishing once. The thief carefully removed and took a $25 headlamp from my $50 helmet. I'm not too worried.

Cycler's Wife

2006-03-17T10:55:00.000-07:00

Rachel now has her own blog, riding because i can. In her words, "Very few women I know bicycle [. . .] and I think that could change if more women knew how to be comfortable, safe, and stylish on a bike."

Comfortable, safe, and stylish isn't a bad way for guys to ride, either. A link has been added over in the Other Cyclers sidebar.

New bike, only bike

2006-03-14T16:30:00.000-07:00

This winter, a chain of events sent a used Rivendell Romulus frame my way. It's much nicer than any bike I've had before, and the bike just sort of hung around in the living room corner for several months. I really didn't know what to do with it. I'm not the type to build up a special occasion dress-up bike. Finally, an earth-shattering thought came to me: maybe I should just ride it.

While I was selling off parts to get more parts and build up the frame, the annual "just one bike" theme surfaced in discussions I haunt. Hmmmm. I sat down and made a list of things I needed a bike to do without sqwaking. It seemed to me the Romulus was as good as any and better than a bike that doesn't fit.

So, now I have one bike (plus half of the tandem, I guess!). I'm comfortable on it, but I'm not quite comfortable with it. While it never quite fit, the old Surly had seen me through a lot. We had fallen together, gotten lost down logging roads together, half-frozen on mountain passes together. I trusted the bike to do its job, and I trusted that no one else would pay it much attention. Bikes aren't alive, but they do become a real part of memories.

The Romulus is different. It shines. It makes tiny noises that I don't know yet. Other people notice it. They even notice things about it that I haven't yet. Can things absorb human experience? I almost think they can. Years from now, when the shine has been traded for memories etched into the paint, the bike will be a friend. For now, I can only say that it's a very nice bike.

For those interested in such things, I took a few pictures the other day. You can see them at Cyclofiend Jim E's excellent website. Special thanks to another Jim at Hiawatha Cyclery for taking time to put together a lighting system that won't die in the cold.

Rachel

2006-03-11T11:36:00.000-07:00

I receive a fair amount of email from other cyclers who'd like to give up the car or at least go as "car-lite" as possible. About 1/10th of the time the obstacle is "roads too dangerous." About 4/10ths of the time the problem is a long, difficult commute. Surely there are impossible cases, but most of the time those 5/10ths of the obstacles can be overcome. At worst, it may be time for a move. This leaves the other 5/10ths of the cases: wife/husband/partner is not willing to give up the car.

Having had only 3 years of experience, I'm in no position to act as marriage counselor. My typical response is something like "There are many more important things in life than being carfree, and a spouse/partner is way closer to the top of that list!" That said, living without a car in the US is a huge experience, and I really can't imagine not sharing it with Rachel. Helmets off to those of you who live the carfree/car-lite half of a marriage.

When we first went carfree for a winter about 3 years ago, Rachel had only ridden in traffic for about 6 months. I remember one of our first outings--Super Bowl Sunday--during a fiercely cold night with blowing snow everywhere. Challenging conditions for anyone. Rachel noticed how the streetlights glowed through the snow swirls. She gave a big laugh at an intersection as we accelerated easily, quietly, while the truck next to us spun itself in a slow, helpless circle.

She's had falls that would make grown men whimper, but she's always back on the bike the next day. This winter, she slid out on an icy curve in traffic. Seeing a car sliding toward her, she yanked her bike out of the way and then comforted the frightened driver, who had been following too closely and only saw Rachel and the bike disappearing behind her hood. They hugged and Rachel rode on in to work.

Rachel is my bicycling hero. While I worried, she took living carfree in stride. She transitioned from practically zero bicycling to the most graceful cycler I've ever seen. No one spins as effortlessly through 3 miles of rush hour traffic, carrying a basket full of gear, and then shows up looking like nothing happened. Messengers maybe, but they don't wear skirts and heels. Rachel commutes on her bike year-round in all weather, rides home in the middle of the night after performing at the local theter, and generally makes it all look fun and easy. I love bicycling, but I sometimes complain and hem and haw about equipment, or the cold, or the wind. Rachel just rides.

I hope to get Rachel to write some guest columns here to share her commuting secrets. I'm too proud to ask her directly, and maybe I can read them here and show up places looking less like a hobo. Yeah, maybe.

How to impress strangers

2006-02-16T21:50:00.000-07:00

The weather line reads

16 Feb 2:30 pm
Temp: 12
Wind Chill: -7
Wind: ENE 23mph, Gusts to 36mph

as Rachel and I bundle up and ride a few miles to get lunch and run some errands. We must have gotten half a dozen comments on our bravery. I'm sure having been acclimating to the cold all winter didn't hurt. But, the truth is, riding a bicycle just isn't that hard.

Don't go telling everyone, though, it is sort of nice to get all this attention.

Another upside to bicycling year round is this: Nobody matches a cycler for having the clothes to handle wind. After all, we face 25 mile per hour gusts on every ride just coasting downhill. I was the only one smiling on my walk into work this morning.

Trailer improvements

2006-02-11T15:12:00.000-07:00

Weeks have been busy lately. It's during these times that I most appreciate being carfree. In the past, when school and work were hectic, I never rode. I would take the car for groceries or downtown to save a few minutes. Now that it isn't an option, I really appreciate getting to take a bike ride, even when life's pace is frantic. Slowing down is seldom a waste of time.

Several have asked about our modifications to the Bicycler Evolution trailer. Well, they aren't much, but it really makes a difference! Most bicycle cargo trailers strike a trade-off between enclosing cargo and handling bulky loads. The BikeRev trailer--based around a large plastic bin, favors the former. The lid of the big Rubbermaid bin is reinforced, however, and would make a great load platform--that is, if there were a way to lash loads down.

A trip to the hardware store netted four stainless eye bolts, four rubber seal wahers, four fender washers, four nylock nuts, and four acorn nuts. The rubber seal washers sit outside between the eye and the bin and seal up the holes the eyebolts pass through. The acorn nuts go on last on the inside of the bin to cover the protruding ends of the eyebolts. This keeps cargo from snagging.

Attaching large loads like a full size bike box requires only a couple of bungee cords "X-ed" over the top. While sturdy, the bin sides are not super thick plastic, and I wouldn't recommend ratcheting tie-down straps. Overtightening might stress the plastic. For your Christmas tree, recycling, bike box, and toilet paper cube needs, though, this is it. Just remember to load the inside of the bin first :-)

You'll also notice the stick-on reflectors. Some reflective tape would also be a good addition. Next on the agenda: fork mounts and wheel carriers for towing bikes behind the trailer. Yes, I'm becoming one of those trailer guys. It's addictive in a mostly harmless way. Try it!

More Maxshopper

2006-01-29T13:13:00.000-07:00

Thanks to a reader, some further info on the Maxshopper is available. It's not in English, but it weighs in at about 15 pounds and retails for about $225 with bike hitch or $170 without. The photo above shows it in "shopping cart" mode.

It's nifty in that uniquely Swiss way, but there's no need gnawing nails until someone imports it. BicycleR Evolution, Burley, Bikes at Work, and others have you covered for now.

Rachel and I have been testing the BicycleR Evolution Heavy Duty trailer for a couple of months now. Two days ago, we hauled 60 pounds of groceries behind the tandem with no problems whatsoever. We recommend it highly, but all of the trailers above (and others, no doubt!) are great, too. It's a good time to be a cycler who wants to carry stuff.

Maxshopper

2006-01-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

I recently received an email blurb about a Swiss product called Maxshopper. The concept is elegant. Maxshopper is a handcart that quickly converts to shopping cart or bike trailer. What it takes to go from cart to trailer is not immediately clear, but the idea has potential. Here is the blurb and a link to a video outlining (in a strange way) the concept:

---------------

MAXSHOPPER - A SWISS POP-UP PERSONAL SHOPPING CART

In a recent note, Nick Thompson wrote, "Centerlines readers will be
interested to know, Whole Foods Market is setting up to test the
'MaxShopper transport system' in 4 Southern California locations as a
tool for people to reach stores on foot and by bicycle. The
'MaxShopper' is a pop up personal cart designed both for use walking
and as a bike trailer. Developed in Switzerland, where 6,000 have sold
in 18 months, the product rolls through the aisles, and checkout,
carrying 4+ bags of groceries. This project started when the managers
at the Whole Foods in Pittsburgh saw me ride into the parking lot
pulling mine (obtained via Vancouver, Canada because there is no US
distribution.) From there, Becky McLucas, with the company's Green
Mission initiative, picked up the concept as "something our customers
may really appreciate."

"My hope is to remove a few automobiles from our roads. Truthfully,
even drivers can use it stowed in the trunk to save the hassles of an
empty traditional cart. Product testing on LA sidewalks and streets
begins in February. Other regions in the Whole Foods chain are
interested. Progress depends on consumer reactions." (NCBW Centerlines Newsletter, #141 Friday, 01.27.06) [video]

------------------

I haven't had any luck finding a written product description, but I'll try to dig up something more concrete. In truth, the Bicycler Evolution trailer we have pretty much has us covered. But, the more the better for clever cycler gear, I say!

The Black Box

2006-01-26T10:45:00.000-07:00

In addition to teaching this semester, I'm a student again. I'm enrolled in a Transportation Planning class in the Geography Department. It is fascinating to gain more of an inside perspective on how plans are developed. For those interested, a nice, non-technical primer:

A Transportation Modeling Primer

More to come, I'm sure.

Reconnaissance

2006-01-20T23:12:00.000-07:00

My eyes follow the road up into snowy mountains I've never been to before--captivated, transfixed, almost failing to notice the German Shepherd coming on hard from the left. I had left home in worsening weather with a basket full of wool and bread to fend off the cold. I stopped by the shop to tell Rachel where I was going ("Up Butler Creek until the snow or cold stops me"). At the north edge of downtown, I circled a roundabout and rolled onto a brick-paved street along the tracks.

To my left, a bicycle caught my attention, and then the cycler, and I waved a hello.

"I like those handlebars," shouted the cycler.

I slowed and looked around, but there was so much to like about this fellow's bike that I couldn't seem to pick just one to compliment.

"I like your whole bike!" I replied, as he rode up alongside.

The smiling cycler rode a deep green Waterford adorned with all of Rivendell's finest: Boxy Bag and a Little Joe, Noodle Bars, bar end shifters--not the sort of bike one sees every day here. We chatted about Rivendell and the nice riding weather as we ascended and descended the spiral rise and fall of the bike/ped rail yard crossing. Usually, the expansion joints clang with each tire pass, but today it was silent.

"You can tell when it's cold when they're quiet," he noted. I had never put that together before.

We parted ways, but the cycler's friendliness set a warm tone to the grey afternoon. Riding along the northern edge of the valley, the usually stiff west wind was only a breeze, and the miles passed quickly. Past a school, I turned right, passed under the interstate, and felt the excitement of a road not yet ridden.

The valley opened up around tiny Butler Creek. Each bend surrendered expanding views of the snow-covered mountains the road led toward. I would only get to look today. I wanted to know whether I could access the National Forest from this valley, hoping to come back in warmer seasons to camp and explore those hills.

The road narrowed, and a few small ranch houses dotted my peripheral vision. It was then that the dog broke my eyes' trance. There would be no outrunning this dog up a grade in my low single gear. I was weaponless, carrying only a stowed mini pump today. One of the lesser known skills a seasoned cycler develops is a keen sense of canine intentions. I haven't developed it yet. I hopped off the bike to starboard, placing it between the two of us.

"It's all right, buddy; it's OK. Just passing through."

The dog was not convinced. One thing most dogs never develop is a keen sense of cycler intentions. With much noise and violence, the dog seemed intent on herding me up the road, which was exactly where I wanted to go. I tried remounting. He closed in. I dismounted. Just as things were becoming comical, an SUV approached.

The driver tried to mediate the situation. He tried to maneuver between the dog and I, which worked for a piece, but when the dog fell behind and saw through the diplomacy, he redoubled his efforts to catch me. I dismounted. Now there were three of us in this dance and if anyone was watching from the houses, or if the dog had a sense of humor, it must have been hilarious. The SUV jerked, I mounted and dismounted, and the dog ran from one end of the SUV to the other to make sure I wasn't pulling a fast one.

Finally, the dog looked around, seemed to realize how far he was from home, and gave up the chase. The driver caught my eye, and we exchanged laughs. He turned in a driveway, and I went back to pedaling and staring up the road. The pavement ended, and I began to hit some patches of ice and snow in the shade. The valley closed in and gathered creek, road, and trees close together. A couple of steep climbs winded me. The road continued gaining altitude.

Another steep climb, and the valley opened up now to the right. Right near the top, as I slowed to a walking pace, a sign read "Slow Down!" I tried desperately not to follow instructions. Soon after, the road split, and I took the fork that didn't have a Dead End sign. The sign was somewhat redundant as any road leading through those mountains ahead seemed unlikely.

More climbing and finally a sign explaining that the road squeezed through private land to access the National Forest. Success! And, just in time, as snow began to deepen on the dirt road. I continued for another mile to the gate my map had shown. I rolled up to the gate, pulled out a rolled up pancake I had tucked away, and imagined what lay up the steep road and ski tracks beyond. I'll be back.

Cycler Friendly New Orleans?

2006-01-12T13:37:00.000-07:00

I was surprised to see this recap of Mayor Nagin's plan for rebuilding New Orleans. The new city would seem to be a dream for cyclers and other car-lite/less folks. The skeptic in me wonders what will get cut in budgeting. The optimist remembers a past visit to New Orleans--it is a special place and great at bucking trends. If it happens--and works--who knows? Worth a look!

9 things that are better on a bicycle

2006-01-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

dawn
the top of a hill
tailwinds
leaning into a curve
flat tires
sweating
traffic jams
snowflakes
moonlight

Cyclers use fossil fuels, too

2006-01-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

In our economy, cheap energy rules, and it really doesn't matter who you are--Hybrid Driver, Cycler, Walker. I did some quick hunting after Michael's comment about cyclers requiring more calories. Well, Bicycle Universe has a feast of thought provoking statistics (Note: If it's not clear from the site name; the site has an obvious bias). While some of the underlying methods are a bit suspect, thinking is almost always a good thing! Here are a few selections that beeped my cycleradar (references available at the site):

1) Bicycling actually uses fossil fuels, if you consider the fossil fuels that go into producing the food to fuel the cyclist. Eating meat is most wasteful because of all the energy required to produce animal foods, while eating fruits, grains, and vegetables is more efficient.

2) The energy and resources needed to build one medium-sized car could produce 100 bicycles.

3) Bicycling is 117% more efficient than walking.

4) Traffic congestion wastes three billion gallons of gas a year.

5) [Private] Cost per mile is $0.517 [. . .] One interesting thing we can do with the car costs is convert the car costs into time. The average American earns about $17/hr., or $14/hr. after federal taxes. So $7,754 in annual car costs takes 554 hours to earn. That's over three full months of work each year. [We spend about $1200/year on bicycles, which with our hourly income, takes us 92 hours to earn -joe].

6) Average all-day urban automobile speed is about 25 mph, but slower during peak hours.

7) Thirty percent of morning traffic is caused by parents dropping their kids off at school.

The truth is that it's hard to make the case that cycling is hit-you-in-the-pocketbook cheaper than driving. I think it can be, but the logic to get from here to there is not going to convince many. I don't know if you can really convey to non-cyclers the real compensation for riding, which is. . .it's so much more fun!

Perceived Transportation Costs

2006-01-06T16:46:00.000-07:00

I am teaching a small winter session class here in Missoula. Students divided into groups based on how they get to campus most often. The groups were to list things that would be most likely to change their transportation choice. The hope was that they would begin to understand how different factors (costs, substitutes, income, tastes) affect their decisions as "consumers" of transportation.

The discussion was lively, and, as usual, I found it very hard to understand the rationale of the group that drove and parked on campus (though it follows other findings). Fuel, maintenance, depreciation, insurance and most other car operation costs were not seen as affecting the decision to drive. The three things most likely to change the decision to drive were parking costs, parking availability, and the need for a car before/after classes. An $80 increase in parking costs per semester would change all of their decisions, as would missing class due to no vacant space. The (perceived) need for a car to get to and from work or daycare/children's school was also an important component in the decision.

When asked to clarify why fuel, maintenance, etc were not weighed in the decision to drive to campus, the response was unanimous. Since the tank is filled, maintenance done, and insurance paid already, use is essentially "free." This corroborates the idea that the perceived cost of operating a car is much lower than the actual cost. And, this includes only direct private monetary costs, leaving out private nonmonetary costs (health), indirect costs via taxes (roads), and social costs (congestion, pollution). It also demonstrates why density (tough parking) is so much more conducive to alternative transportation.

For the curious, only 2 out of 25 students used bicycles primarily. Weather was the main factor in their decision.

Something new

2006-01-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Rachel and I had some money left over from selling our old VW van. We decided to do something special with it, something to signal our commitment to living carfree. After lots of wild ideas, we settled on a very special tandem.

One month ago today, our Tandem Two'sday arrived from Eugene, where it was custom built by Green Gear (the Bike Friday folks). It wasn't until Saturday that the last of the parts came together. We couldn't wait, and rode in the new year Friday night. We took it for groceries and to visit some friends yesterday. This morning, we did something really fun.

I had the day off, and Rachel was running late for work. We decided to take the tandem. Wow, what fun! If there were any lingering (positive) memories of a car, they were of riding and talking together. Well, the tandem ride was fast, and we could talk the whole way at a normal volume. Wonderful.

We pulled up to the door, and I dropped Rachel off before pedaling the tandem home. I'll pick her up this evening. Thanks to Paul C. for the idea. My sense is that American tandeming has gone the way of road biking. Most tandemers we asked advice from assumed that we wanted to go faster than we could separately. We imagined grueling tours through the desert with matching plastic jerseys and laughed. We just wanted to ride together. Tandems make great utility bikes. I think ours will see a lot of use this year!

(Re)cycling the Tree

2005-12-30T11:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I've posted before that most utility cycling can be done with bags and baskets. I still believe this, but I admit I have enjoyed the trailer on occasions like this one. And, "cargo stunts" surely entertain people, but I'm still skeptical about their ability to get people into riding.

Our landlords left town just before Christmas and gave us their tree. Here it is on our trailer in transit to the city's recycling pickup. I installed four tie down points on the trailer bin's sides, which makes lashing odd things to the top very handy.

The Edge of Town, a ride report

2005-12-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

There's no way around it. In the US, being a cycler shoves one to the edges of things. This isn't always a bad thing, though, as in the edge of the road (or the edge of sanity, in the minds of many). As a cycler, I've come to see beauty in the edges of things. Often, they're the neatest places to be. And, just as often, I have them all to myself.

It's not so much that a bicycle is less suited to being in the center of attention. It's that a bicycle is so well suited to taking in the margins. Being able to comfortably move at ten miles per hour and requiring only about 2 feet for passage makes a difference; that's for sure. So does not being surrounded by the thing transporting you, as Todd F. timelessly captures.

Perhaps it's the dreary weather, but I've been focusing too much on the negatives of being pushed to the edges of things (the road, specifically). But, usually, it's a privilege I wouldn't give up easily. John, who has a great blog Bike Year, noted how things we could drive past forever without notice suddenly become the focus of our attention on a bike. Scraping a windshield is scraping a windshield, but a cycler picks up on the edges of seasons long before the frost ends or the sun bakes.

As I made my way home from the office yesterday about 3:00, a thermometer gave the temperature as 33 degrees, and the sleet stinging my face gave the rest. Still, there was something in the air--was it a smell or a feel?--that gave me the oddest sense of warmth, even as the sleet coated my sweater and beard with icy dampness. Finally, my mind found the page in its journal. Last year, in weather just like this, I'd been riding around the valley trying to find a road that would lead me up. Ice and snow kept turning me back. Finally, I'd found a perfectly plowed road that climbed up and up and, eventually, ended at the most remarkable edge. "We're going to ride there, right?" a voice in my head seemed to say, "Right?" What separates us cyclers from everyone else is that we tend to say "Yes" to those voices.

I raised my pace to a very brisk walk and smiled through the sleet on my way home. Once there, I slipped on a second sweater, heavier mittens, a helmet, and packed a windshirt and a water bottle on the bike. I stuffed dried figs, pistachios, and a headlight in my pockets, and I was off. Even with traffic downtown and the long climb at the end, I should be able to make it to the hilltop before dark.

The clouds producing this sleet were leaden and low, draping the hills and trapping foul exhaust in the valley. Still, my legs felt good as they warmed up, and the promise of a memory made the crisp air sweeter. I'm on the singlespeed today, geared low for plowing through snow and toting loads. Even so, I keep up with traffic downtown and race green lights for the other side.

Soon, I'm climbing the bike/ped bridge over the railyard that marks the northern edge of downtown. At the top, I look out to the west where a break in the clouds reveals some of the sprawling new development that is slowly engulfing the valley. My hilltop perch was the edge of a particularly brash one of these developments, knifing its way in a defiant spiral of luxury homes up a tired old mountain. I got the sudden sick feeling that my remembered edge might now be reduced to a center, of a house, of a driveway, of a manicured lawn. May have been rendered unfit for a reverent cycler to sit upon and shell pistachios. But, edges can still be tenacious even in the "new" west, and the barbed wire I remembered had marked this one as a fighter.

I rode as if the sod or foundation or no trespassing sign might be laid any minute. Past the clanking railyard on my left and the silent cemetery on my right I rode. Winding unnecessarily but pleasantly--the way old roads can do without pretense--I began watching for the hill as it came into view. I tried in vain to see my spot in the breaks between clouds there and traffic here.

With two last defiant flourishes, my old road conceded to the new, straight, six lanes of smooth asphalt. I darted into the bike slip lane between waves. No time to look at the mountain now. A headwind slowed my progress, but I soon passed under the Interstate. The road narrowed quickly. Four lanes, two lanes. And steepened. I took the second left, from memory, and rode up to a . . . dead end. This entire neighborhood had gone up in a year and completely fooled me. Like a plane flight, some progress is so rapid that it disorients the mind. Picking my way through slushy, icy patches, I carefully descended to the main road.

The second left revealed roads with names more familiar--Klondike, Prospect, Miner, Bonanza. A tangled web of cul-de-sacs and pretentious curves. After two more false climbs into squid-like dead ends, I found the right road. I sweated pleasantly up a long series of curves. The sweeping views changed with the curves. Now I was looking long into the wild northern hills. Now at rolling high pastures. Now at the neatly planned imperfection of a modern housing development. Now back to the city at rush hour, but moving so slowly at this distance. Always moving up.

Finally, I rounded the last curve. A huge new house was nearly finished, and two more were underway. But, the end of the street looked the same. A lone, unmarked gate played sleeping watchman to my treasured hillock. I dismounted at the gate and pushed my bike up the short stretch to the top of the hill.

Amazingly, things were just as I had found them last year. Right down to the ten foot circle of soft, bare grass in the middle of the patchy snow where deer bed down for the night. Twenty feet in any direction, I'm encroaching on someone's claim. Yards to the south, a posted water tank to the east, and barbed wire to the west and north. But, I don't need half the space that's left, this tiny margin separating past from present is plenty large for a humble cycler. I lay my bike carefully on its side, sit down, and shell pistachios as I take in the view.

I smile at everyone below making their way hurriedly in the middle of things. I'm content and happy that they leave the edges to characters like me.

MOMs

2005-12-23T17:37:00.000-07:00

We're fortunate to live in bike-friendly-ish Missoula, and we only occasionally have less than pleasant run-ins with motorists. Three strange ones recently, though, left me trying to figure out the mindset of a certain group of drivers. I've come to the conclusion that they're just MOMs (MOtherly Motorists).

Scene 1: A bathroom line at the local dance hall. Two middle aged guys in front of me discuss cyclers.

Guy 1: "You still riding that bike everywhere?"
Guy 2: "Oh, no, it's up for the winter."
Guy 1: "Good! The problem is some of these people don't know when to put them up!"
Guy 2: "Yeah, it's getting pretty bad out there."
Guy 1: "These bikers think they can just ride all year. They don't realize how dangerous they're making it out there."

Huh? The bicycles are making the roads dangerous? This is MOM syndrome. Motorists take it as their motherly duty to "protect" cyclers (from themselves, I guess) by keeping them off the roads.

Scene 2: I'm riding home from the grocery store on a snowy evening. For one stretch, I have to ride the right tire track, since the shoulder is piled with plowed snow. A pickup has been following closely for about 3 blocks before passing about a block from an intersection.

Pickup passenger (rolls down window): "You are NOT a car!"

I wish I'd come up with the witty comeback this line was asking for.

Scene 3: Yesterday, I was riding home from a pleasant day of fishing. I was on a busy but familiar road, keeping an eye on traffic but focusing mainly on the waning light on the mountains. I had noticed a pickup behind me was hesitating to pass, but, since we were just a few blocks from a stoplight, I decided to hold my line a foot out from the snowy shoulder. The driver finally passed, slowed down, and--I thought--started waving at me. I assumed it was someone I knew and waved and shouted "Merry Christmas!" The driver then became more animated, and I realized he was actually motioning violently toward the "bike path" 10 feet off the road. He finally sped off toward the light, and I raised my pace in hopes of catching him there to explain a few things (no, really, I'm the peaceful type).

Mainly, it isn't your decision where I ride, MOM. If there were time, I would explain that the "bike path" here is just an asphalt sidewalk and extremely dangerous. It leads across several hospital driveways and sidestreets in the course of a few blocks. It then dumps a bicycle into the rightmost turn-only lane of a four lane intersection. I needed to go straight.

Fittingly, just as I rolled up beside him at the red light, the driver made an ill-advised screeching pullout, causing cross traffic to brake behind him. Oh well.

Very rarely do we feel comfortable telling complete strangers what to do. Usually only in the case of children doing something dangerous. I think (a very few) motorists imagine every bike being ridden by a child. I did get a chuckle imagining telling motorists where to drive. Can you imagine riding alongside a car and gesturing wildly, while screaming "Interstate!"

MOMs are a little unsettling to me, though. Are they really concerned that they might swerve four feet to the right at any moment? There are many less predictable things along an uncontrolled roadway than a bicycle: actual children, deer, dogs, other motorists. If a driver truly feels uncomfortable keeping a vehicle four feet from a bicycle, I would argue it is the motorist who needs to get a bike and keep it on the bike path.

I hope eventually to have a conversation with one of these drivers. Maybe I'm way off on their motivations. It is interesting that 90% of these interactions occur with men driving trucks. For now, I'll just assume they're harmless MOMs. At least I know they see me.

Snow riding for wimps

2005-12-21T11:09:00.000-07:00

I'm a wimp, mostly. People seem to think riding down a busy highway, or on snowy trails, or in the cold, or 80 miles up a mountain pass means I'm tough as nails. No way, never will be. I have arthritic fingers, toes and knees. I'm a thin guy that grew up in the south and can't tolerate cold. I've fallen 4 times in the past 4 years (only once in winter), and I didn't like any of the four in the least. There I was, though, bombing down a snowy road at 20 miles per hour in biting cold here yesterday. What's my secret?

The dirty little secret of wimps like me is this: riding a bicycle is ridiculously easy. The part I'm good at is the part that trips most people up: getting outside and on the bike. Nine times out of ten, conditions that seem impossible when you first plant a tire in them become a lot easier in 5 miles and fun in 10. I even enjoy riding a stretch of Interstate now and then.

Most astounding to eyewitnesses, though, is a cycler riding on snow and ice. So, if you're actually a closet wimp like me, here are some winter riding tips you probably won't read in Bicycling's forthcoming "20 Hot Tips for Cold Rides."

1) Practice is more important than equipment. Just because you can't afford those studded tires, get out there anyway. I've ridden a month of snowy days this year without special tires and without a spill. It's hard at first but gets easier fast.

2) Snow isn't pavement. Once things get bad enough to slide out on pavement, you're in big trouble. Having a tire slide out on snow is different. Your tire is actually still gripping the surface. It's just that the surface isn't gripping itself. It's normal in some conditions for wheels to slide 6 inches or more in either direction before catching. As long as there's snow, the slide will stop before you fall. At first, you'll fight every one of these diversions, and your arms will ache after a mile, but you'll be warm! Eventually, you'll learn to ignore the minor diversions and relax your grip on the bars.

3) More snow means more effort but less chance of falling down, and vice versa. Six inches of fresh snow will pretty much hold a bike up on its own, but it's a workout to ride through it. You'll learn to find your comfort zone in this continuum.

4) Traffic is (mostly) friendlier. In most places, you have at least 5 minutes before that driver behind you comes to grips with the fact that you're riding a bike in the snow. During that time, you'll never get honked at. If conditions demand you ride the right tire track for a while, don't sweat it. Think of the show you're giving the cars behind you!

5) You'd think hard braking would mean instant death on snow and ice, but your two skinny tires are actually translating a lot of force to the surface. Ride up and down a quiet street braking each wheel until it just skids. Contrary to popular belief, locking the front wheel won't instantly crash you. Remember, everything slows down in snow. Now--if you want to--practice locking up the rear and finishing out a skid. Think of the rear wheel as a sled runner. Now--if you want to--lock the rear wheel and lean the bike to bring it around like you're driving a car in the movies. Useful? No, but I'll bet your smiling now.

6) To get re-started at messy intersections, get your weight on top of that saddle, and choose a relatively high (hard) gear.

7) The best way to warm up is to ride somewhat harder. I used to really pootle around in the winter because there are so many neat things to look at. Alternating pootling with more effort has done more than anything else to keep me warm.

8) If you have a commute with heavy traffic and lots of hills and ice, you're probably going to need studded tires, but 1-7 still apply--well, maybe not the 180's!

Tell me about your rides.

Driving and Productivity (and a book)

2005-12-15T10:20:00.000-07:00

A while ago, I asked my students to analyze the economics of bicycle use. Most had no trouble figuring out the cycler's private benefits: fuel savings, parking savings, health benefits. A majority also recognized that other members of society benifitted from spillover effects from the cycler's decision--reduced congestion, easier parking, cleaner air. Finally, the students were to consider whether there might be any negative spillover effects of an individual cycler's decision. The answers I had anticipated focussed on straining of the bicycle infrastructure. Once facilities become crowded, a cycler choosing to ride may negatively impact other cyclers, who are competing for the same racks, bike lanes, trails, and bike space on the bus. I expected students to be intimately familiar with these problems, since campus bike facilities themselves are overtaxed in nice weather.

I wasn't surprised that many students confused private costs with social costs. This is a common mistake, and expected, too, since few of us consider the full social costs (or benefits) of our private actions. What did surprise me were the number of answers along these lines: "If too many people choose to ride bikes, people will be less productive."

I realized I had to accept the answer. After all, I had only asked for potential negative effects. If increased bicycle use truly did decrease productivity, it certainly could be seen as detrimental to society.

All of this came back to me as I read Tom Lewis' Divided Highways. The book is an entertaining, historic account of the development of the interstate highway system. It has much to recommend it. Having lived my entire life after the completion of the Interstates, I had never seriously considered what cities, landscapes, and communities were like without them.

I was particularly taken with a description of Claiborne Avenue in New Orleans before it became I-10:

Claiborne Avenue had once been a thriving black district of the city, filled with families and small shops. Typically a black entrepreneur operated a business on the ground floor of a building fronting the avenue and lived with his family in an apartment above. Claiborne Avenue had once boasted the longest single stand of oak trees anywhere in America. There impressive branches reached forty feet into the sky, a leafy shelter from the sun and heavy air. The shops and homes lining the avenue abounded with commerce and life.

I-10, according to Lewis, transformed the district into a dead zone with little commerce, low property values, and high crime rates. The tree-lined boulevard was replaced by an elevated expressway where cars zipped through at 50 miles per hour. I can't vouch for the accuracy of Lewis' descriptions. But, I cannot imagine how I-10 could possibly have made Claiborne Avenue
more productive. Perhaps it increased productivity at an exit 10 miles away but did that make up both for the loss of Claiborne Avenue and the cost of the interstate?

Does increased traffic and average speed really increase productivity? There remains, of course, the larger question of whether--if driving more and faster does increase productivity--it is worth it. But, I'm interested in the question we seem never to have answered. From the beginning of road expansion in the US, we have heard that roads will expand the economy. Even today, many (my students included!) argue that reduced driving will decrease our productivity and decrease our standard of living.

I'm unconvinced. Is a car really like a pocket calculator, a telephone, or electricity? For me, time spent in the car seems like one of the least productive things we do as a society. I certainly don't feel less productive without a car. I teach more students and am paid more this year than last. I haven't stopped doing anything productive. Does giving up some driving really mean a reduced standard of living? Or, have the costs of reducing driving been trumped up just as the benefits of increasing driving were?

Carrying Things (part 2, big loads)

2005-12-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

Nineteen trips out of twenty, a basket or two is all you'll need to tote a nice load on your bike. I've said before that I think people sometimes go overboard on capacity in this country. I see several commuters regularly who have either a full set of panniers or a cargo trailer with just a backpack in it. I don't begrudge them their space, but surely they're a lot less likely to take the long way home on a pretty day, and that's a shame.

One trip in twenty, though, or fifty, you may need to carry something too big or weird or precious for a basket. In those cases, it can be fun to have more capacity because in those cases, that's what the ride's about. People love to see bikes carrying crazy loads, and they'll stare and honk and wave sometimes.

If you do have big things to carry by bike, you picked the right time. There are so many clever ways to carry things bigger than your bike nowadays. The XtraCycle Free Radical is a practical headturner. If you have an old mountain bike to spare for big load duty, it might be just the ticket. Otherwise, there are a number of neat trailer designs, all of which are worth a look. Bikes at Work, Burley, and BicycleR Evolution all make smart trailers that cost less than a couple months worth of gas and last a lot longer.

Rachel and I recently received a BicycleR Evolution "Heavy Duty" Trailer. Our 1 in 20 usually invloves toting a guitar, hand drum, or four grocery sacks worth of recycling. The trailer is an incredibly smart design and so simple I find myself trying to think of reasons it shouldn't work. It is based around a large (5 grocery bag sized) rubbermaid type bin, 2 16" wheels, and an ingenious hitch based on an air hose coupling. The trailer literally just snaps on and off of the bike with one hand and zero effort. The whole thing stores upright and out of the way on our tiny front porch.

Here are a couple of pictures of Rachel pulling the trailer on a grocery run. We came up with a silly long list just for fun, five bags worth, and the trailer performed well. I don't anticipate using the trailer often, but it's certainly another fun thing to do on a bike!

Brief Encounters

2005-12-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

It's easy to remember the one lousy driver that cuts you off. It's easy to remember the one lousy cyclist that cuts you off. Focus on such isolated events, and it's easy to have a lousy day.

The temperature was falling through the twenties, light snow was adding to the six inches on the ground, and I was on my bike. It was a spurious trip, unnecessary in every way. Just the trip for a bicycle. I set the grocery store as my target.

Cutting through neighborhood streets designed by a planner with a definite artistic streak added time to the ride. Pleasant time. My tires cut through fresh snow and sent tiny pellets flying in all directions through the crisp air. A car passing opposite was illuminated under a street lamp. The driver waved, laughed, and shouted out the window to me, "You're on your bike. That's great!"

In the checkout line, the cashier greeted me as usual.

"One paper sack?"

"You've got it, but I think I made it tough for you this time."

"I like a challenge."

She fit the groceries in as if the package would be up for a building inspection. It would have taken me ten tries to do it.

"You're getting good at this."

"It's fun! Have a safe ride."

At the bike rack, another cycler was spinning his front tire.

"Enjoying the snow?"

"Oh yeah! I just got some studded tires."

We discussed them for a minute, and he rode off, grinning, into the snow. I set off, too, cutting through back streets toward home. A middle aged lady, walking, waved me down with a big greeting.

"Isn't it hard riding in the snow?"

"It's not as bad as you might think. And, it's a lot of fun!"

"I may have to try it. I've been walking since the snow."

"You'll do great. Just remember not to lean, and take it slow."

"I think I'll try tomorrow."

Scientists say that much of our happiness depends on positive interactions with others. If so, chalk up another one for the bicycle. And, if you're hesitant about riding in the snow, give it a try. It's not as bad as might think. And, it's a lot of fun!

How Green Thou Art

2005-12-03T16:51:00.000-07:00

On a snowy ride today, I was reminded of an old Maynard Hershon article: "How Green Thou Art." I must have first read it years ago in a Bridgestone catalog when I was researching the purchase of my first mountain bike. I say "must have" because I honestly don't remember it at all. Nevertheless, in those days not a page escaped my eye.

I happened to read it again a couple of years ago. It is a provocative piece. For those without time to read it (you really ought to; it's short), the point of interest is that only bicycle trips that replace car trips are truly "green." We kid ourselves when we ride for fun or drive to trailheads or fly to tours and then look smugly down on non-cyclists. I mostly agree. Bicycles do many things well, but surely their greatest potential lies in efficient, sustainable transportation.

I would add to Hershon's point that--once car trips are replaced--any further transportation on a bike is essentially costless, both to the cycler and to society. Rachel and I do not drive, and our quality of life is at least as high as when we did. Therefore, we can say that we have mostly replaced our 8,000 car miles per year with bike miles. But, would we be meaningfully improving anything at this point by trying to keep our bike miles under 8,000? No! Most would agree with Hershon that driving less is imposing fewer costs on society. Few would agree that biking less does so.

In many ways, the bicycle fulfills the empty promise of the automobile: transportation independence. Year round bicycling is the rugged individualism car ads pretend about. Bicycling is alternative energy. Hershon says it best: "Riding bikes does no harm."

Text of the article is available on Sheldon's site here. More good Maynard here.

A snowy trail ride by fixed gear

2005-11-27T20:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, you just have to keep pedaling. Weather and a cold has kept me confined to utility riding lately. An icy fog set in the week of Thanksgiving, shutting down the airport and generally getting people down. One of the great things about not having a choice is that we wind up riding in odd conditions like these. And, you know, an icy fog is fun in an unusual sort of way. It certainly keeps traffic down, and any light at all is diffused and amplified to a brilliant degree.

Still, a cycler needs a change now and then, and I admit that I was ready for a change from trips to the store in the icy fog. Finally, the fog lifted, snow fell, and just as quickly I was on the fixed gear with food and clothes enough to ride out of the valley.

I pedal downtown to drop off some cider at Rachel's work. Then, I point north into the Rattlesnake for the first time on a fixed gear. The mountain scene ahead is irresistible--endless peaks capped by fresh snow.

The Rattlesnake has been my bike lab for several years now. This was the first place I rode a road bike on trails, and the first place I rode a singlespeed up and down hills--both habits that haven't left me. It's only fitting that I first ride a bicycle that doesn't shift or coast in snow and on trails. I had already decided that if the trails or snow were too sketchy, or if my cold bothered me, I'd just ride the road up to the top and head back. Not that I expected trouble. I'm mostly past worrying about whether things are doable on a bike. Now I mostly wonder how much fun it's going to be.

Those are the thoughts running through my head until they're displaced by the first looming hill ahead. Oddly enough, this is the hill that decided my one gear. I followed the advice of the ancients and figured out the highest gear that I could climb my toughest hill with. Well, and then I added a little because someone told me that I would be able to climb better with a fixed gear. I hadn't really given it another thought until now. Hmmm...

At the base of the hill is a turnoff that rolls through Greenough Park and winds up more gradually. I found myself steering for the turnoff. I caught myself in time and pointed back up the hill. It's always better to know, right? The first half went well enough, but then two-way traffic obliged me over to the shoulder. The gravel, slush, and broken pavement killed my spin and had me laboring up the last half. I made it, though, panting, but I know that confidence is more important than leg strength for most cyclers, and this hill would be easier next time.

First trial over, I was free to spin along and begin the gradual climb up toward the mountains. It's hard to believe I can tell the difference from 10 miles away, but the first snow of the year always lays prettiest on the mountains here. I'd vouch for it to anyone.

A piece further and I come to the community farm, my turn, and the day's second trial. A little further is a steep dirt hill that cuts over to the pedestrian bridge over Rattlesnake Creek. I usually walk this hill when things are frozen, but I feel very confident sensing traction on the fixed gear. I ease to the top and commit. Down I go, standing and controlling my speed by resisting the pedals. I doubt it looks like this to a passerby, but I feel in complete control, gliding down the hill with an uncanny feeling of connection with the bike. Less eloquently, it feels like I'm walking down the hill.

Either way, I arrive safely at the bottom, roll onto the bridge and prop an arm against the wooden railing to ponder the creek. It's still running clear and free. In another month, this will be an icy chute with the creek flowing silently beneath. I watch a chipmunk nervously making his rounds and probably imagining the same scene.

Crossing the bridge, I merge into sparse traffic heading up the main road. Still climbing steadily, I duck into a neighborhood where the spur trail, and my third trial, await. The snow here is getting steadier, and my rear tire tells me that there's a nice layer of ice underneath. Nervously, I round the corner and ease downhill toward the trailhead.

I've found that there are lot of things to think about before riding a fixed gear somewhere new but very few things to think about once I'm riding it there. I pedal and steer but mostly pedal. I imagined I'd be fretting about whether each rock was going to strike my pedal, about whether I'd make it up this steep hill or down that one. Nope, just pedal. Pretty soon, I found it was a lot like riding a singlespeed here the first time. And a lot like riding a road bike here the first time. The bike makes it kind of neat, but pretty soon I'm staring at the woods, the tracks in the snow, the creek, and I've mostly forgotten that I'm doing something new.

I will say I was pleasantly surprised by the traction I had slogging up hills and the braking control I had going down them. Mainly, the bike didn't make the ride any less fun, and probably even added a bit.

I soon reached the short piece of somewhat more challenging trail. This took a little more concentration. About this time, an older couple came walking up the trail. I slowed and moved aside for them.

"Kind of slick for biking, isn't it?" The older man asked.

"A little slick, but mostly fun." I blurted out without thinking.

I heard the man tell his wife as I rode off, as if remembering his own youth, "It's the challenge of it, that's what keeps you going."

I would tuck this wisdom away to ponder later. Right now, there were some rocks to deal with. As my confidence grows, I pick up speed and start flying through the woods. Too soon, I pop out onto the road again and pause to eat and let my fingers warm up before the descent. I was pleased but not surprised that I could ride the trail on a fixed gear in the snow.

As I spun home down the long, 5 mile hill that leads to town, I pondered what the old man had said on the trail. What is it about humans that makes us love a challenge? So much of what we do for fun is for the challenge, and I don't think it's just a modern invention. Sports, hobbies, even travel. Who's ever heard of "Europe on $500 a day!"? I realized that part of the joy in cycling is the constant challenge. Sheldon Brown probably puts it best in talking about the unlikely idea of touring on a singlespeed:

"[S]inglespeed touring is not as goofy an idea as it might sound at first blush--if you're not in a hurry and value simplicity and reliability, a singlespeed is eminently tourable. Yes, you might have to get off and walk up a few hills, but that's hardly a tragedy, in fact sometimes it can be a nice change of pace! If you are in a hurry, why are you on a bicycle?" -Sheldon Brown

He's right, of course. There are easier ways to do almost anything we do on bicycles, including getting up to the top of the Rattlesnake on a snowy afternoon. But afterwards, sitting at the keyboard with a cup of hot cider, I sure wouldn't have much to write about.

Bicycles on Ice

2005-11-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

After "How do carry things?", I'd say "What do you do in the winter?" is the most common query about bikeliving in Montana. Well, last night, for instance...

Rachel and I had gone to a play on campus. We walked outside at 10:00 and were greeted with an incredible scene. The freezing rain that had just begun when we went inside had evidently continued, covering everything with a glossy layer of ice. Our bikes, locked up together on a rack that more resembled an ice sculpture, absolutely glimmered. I checked my front brake, which functioned, but the rim was frozen completely. No matter on the fixed gear as I could just brake the rear wheel with my legs. Rachel's rear brake was workable, and so we decided we could ride home safely.

As we pedaled onto the roadway, we were pleased to find that--being a bit warmer--the surface had frozen into a crunchy, icy crust instead of a smooth sheet of ice. There are excellent studded tires available for bicycles, but we've found them unnecessary in Missoula, which is relatively flat and not as snowy as most imagine. I could feel the occasional grab/slip/grab that gives a cycler continuous feedback about traction as we pedaled easily out to the main road.

In my experience, most car drivers seem to imagine bicycles in winter by thinking of their car with two wheels and no balance. In a modern car, the driver is so isolated from the road itself, that winter driving is really more a test of faith (in technology and/or a higher power) than of skill. A cycler has the distinct advantage of feeling the available traction and controlling power and braking to a remarkably fine degree. It's not something you have to "read up on." It just comes naturally the first time you ride a bicycle in snow and ice.

Cyclers have a more tangible advantage over cars as well. An average car weighs maybe 3000 pounds and rolls along on four 8 inch wide tires. An average road bike with rider weighs maybe 200 pounds and rolls along on two 1 inch and a quarter wide tires. I don't know how the physics works out in theory, but in practice, any bicycle has a huge traction advantage starting and stopping.

As we roll up to the intersection, the results are predictable. We stop easily. Although they have the right of way, we know that the cross traffic will probably stop for us. Car drivers in Missoula are absolutely paranoid when they see bicycles on slick roads at night, which is just fine by us most of the time. As expected, the car to the right stops short with the metallic sound of studs grabbing ice. The car to the left is not so well equipped and skids for a shockingly long distance, through the pedestrian crosswalk, and stops leaving just enough room for us to navigate the intersection. Behind, we can hear the spinning tires of the lefthand car as it attempts to get moving again.

We're on deserted neighborhood streets now, and the icy night has frozen every sound. Every light source is amplified, and headlights are unnecessary as we glide through the glow. Tires crackle as they break through the icy crust on the road. We talk about the light and sound, about the play, and about how nice it is to be cyclers tonight. Too soon, we're carefully rounding the corner of our block and roll up to the front porch.

Failed Carfree Attempt

2005-11-23T17:04:00.000-07:00

For those of you interested in such things, there's an article by a writer who attempted to do without his car, somewhat enjoyed it, but eventually gave up. It's fairly entertaining and hits on some key points of the learning process. I'll address a few points here.

After two weeks of riding my bicycle everywhere, I'd gotten used to people treating me as if I were somehow not right in the head. Store clerks ignored me, old men gave me the hard stare, soccer moms avoided eye contact. After all, almost nobody in America rides a bike if they can afford a car.

This has not been our experience at all. Most people are exceedingly friendly and certainly don't ignore us because of our bike helmets. Granted, we wear normal clothes and live in a better than average bicycle town. At any rate, we get far more waves and hellos and less rudeness from others on bike than we did in our car.

I think the author's view typifies the "car replacement" mentality I've discussed before. The straw that breaks this cycler's back is a sudden urge for canned soup at night when he comes down with a cold. One small change we've made is switching from canned to powdered broth. It seems silly, but small things like this add up, and they only come with practice. Certainly, it's no sillier than driving a 3500 pound car 6 miles for a couple of cans of soup.

The best point the author raises is that forcing a bicycle to replace a car instantly is challenging. The author had made a lot of decisions already that worked against his venture's success. He lived in a rural suburb, six miles from groceries. He had little experience riding for transportation. He had a fleet of bikes optimized for racing and recreation.

Given the long odds, I think he did pretty well. I'll leave you with this quote, which I think will lead the author back to bikes for transportation someday:

Still, by the end of that first shakedown week, I was growing to enjoy my bike-bound, self-propelled life [. . .] By necessity, I chose less-traveled roads, which led me to some interesting local discoveries, like a natural-foods market run by the Amish that stocked wild salmon and bison steaks. In fact, I looked forward to longer trips, like a 10-mile jaunt to a local college library. The fresh air and exercise kept me alert during the afternoons, and after humping an Oven Stuffer Roaster up a 2-mile grade, there was certainly no need to go to the gym.

Why won't we spend money on bicycles?

2005-11-22T13:30:00.000-07:00

If I learned one thing in my year at Freecycles, the local community shop, it was that people are extremely reluctant to spend anything on their bicycle. There is a common (mis)perception that most transportation bicycle riders are extremely poor. In fact, it's a common misperception of Rachel and I since selling the car. It is--at best--a half truth. Bicycles are the mode of transport for the very poor in town, but I'd guess they make up less than half of the year round transport cyclers in town. Some of the folks that would come to the shop arrived in their car, but then had to be arm- twisted into a $1 cable. Many rode without locks and lights because of the expense.

This week, Missoula has been socked in a fog that just won't burn off. This has made it even more apparent how few riders have adequate lighting, which could be had for $20. Fortunately, they're no danger to me as I can hear the creaky chains and squawking hubs blocks away. As transportation costs go, bicycles are unmatched. Why, then, are people reluctant to pay the equivalent of 1 oil change for a set of lights? At the extreme, why would people be completely unwilling to pay the price of a beater car for a nice, new bicycle? No wonder bike shops struggle and stock so little practical gear. There's no market!

The "bikes are toys" argument works to explain why people don't view bicycles as legitimate transportation, but it doesn't work here. Most Americans happily spend whopping sums for "toys," including, ironically, bikes suited only for road racing and extreme downhill bicycle slaloming. While at the local bike shop, I've seen customers balk at $6 to change a flat, including a new tube! Solving this puzzle is a key, I think, to more effective promotion of practical bicycling.

I wonder how we would react to German-style requirements for, for instance, decent bicycle lighting systems on every bike. Would many just stop riding, or would they continue to pay just what they were required to?

What determines your bicycle budget? Ours is $100/month, for maintenance on 4 bikes and "essential" upgrades, including lighting. Adding in new bike purchases and related "nonessentials" probably doubles that.

Comments welcome.

You've got to admit...

2005-11-18T19:11:00.000-07:00

it's getting better! Cycler-friend Kent P. has accepted a post as Commuting Program Director for the Bicycle Alliance of Washington. Check it out at his blog.

Kent replied to one of our first queries about living carfree. His life and writings have been an inspiration ever since. Tonight, I ride happy!

Carrying things (part 1, baskets)

2005-11-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

American bicycle riders are stuck in a rut when it comes to carrying things. When folks learn we do everything by bike, a common first response is "But how do you carry things?" Our response is "We're glad you asked!"

Carrying things ranks right up there with going places for a cycler. One of the most satisfying feelings is figuring out how to carry something on a bike. With a car trunk or hatch or pickup bed, challenges are rare. But, on a bike, one gets to solve puzzles daily.

For some reason, mountain bikes made popular the "Blackburn-style" rear rack. If you've ridden, you've seen them. Black aluminum with two support arms and a skinny platform on top. A bungee or two is standard in these parts. A bare rack like this is for emergency use only, in my opinion. Any load much over 6 inches wide or 5 pounds or squirmy or round will have you screaming for your car trunk in short order. Unless you're the kind that laughs a lot and takes life easy, and then it may be kind of fun. But, you'll leave a thing or two on the roadside as you laugh your way along, bub.

For "serious" cyclists, the American-style touring scene brings us high tech bag systems called panniers. Think horse saddlebags designed by modern mountaineers. These high tech gems require stout racks and an ability to throw money at things with deadly accuracy. A good rack and pannier setup is a wonder of technology and priced like most wonders.

So, what's a load toting cycler to do? This series will talk about some other ways to move things around on your bike. First up is the lowly wire basket. A fellow who admired our baskets said he wanted to put one on his wife's bike, but "They're just so colloquial." One definition of colloquial is "informal, conversational style" (dictionary.com). That is a first rate description of baskets. A basket is humble, easy, workaday, free of pretension, and extra useful as long as you aren't trying to impress the coat 'n tails crowd, and why would you be?

Rachel and I use our baskets every day, at least twice I'd say. We love our baskets because they're so flexible, in the load carrying sense. We can put bags right in them, even if they don't quite fit. When we get where we're going, we can take said bags right back out again, leaving only an empty basket for thieves to see. And, we have our stuff with us. Rachel carries a waterproof shoulderbag in hers everyday with her purse, food, water, extra clothes, things like that. We also grocery shop with them, and I use mine on long rides to quickly stash and retrieve clothes as the weather changes (I always keep some on, don't worry).

A couple of posts down, I described a fun shopping trip in the snow. On that trip, I had a 3/4 full grocery bag in my rear basket and could have done more, easy. In heavy rain, I would have used a garbage bag to keep things sogfree, but light snow is nothing to a paper sack. What can you fit in a 3/4 full grocery bag? I'm glad you asked!

(*note: we aren't vegetarian, we're opportunistic)
1 lb Tofu
2 lb Broccoli
1 lb cornstarch
3 lb rice
3 lb granola
ginger root
1/2 lb broth powder
big mushroom
green pepper
tortilla chips
1 lb stuff to spread on toast
1 lb greens
(wine went in bottle cage, but I didn't sip as a rode)

It took about 10 seconds to put the grocery bag in the basket and 5.3 seconds to take it out at home. If you find a pannier that will beat that, then it's the kind that your ginger root can bounce out of!

Here's the comparison chart. It would be fit for Bicycling magazine 'cept I don't think they do baskets. But we do!

Wald rear basket + net + cheap rack
Cost: $18 + $8 for the net (+$15 for the rack, if you don't have it already)
Size: 15" x 10" x 5" at the top, tapering a little to the bottom
Weight: Not enough to notice
What'll it carry: Anything up to three times it's size, and more if you're clever. As long as you can get one corner of the thing into the basket, it'll go! This basket is "in its element" with a full paper grocery sack, a bundle of heavy clothes, fishing waders and boots, a large shoulderbag or medium backpack, or a large pot of food for a potluck. If you're clever, you can carry up to a full sized guitar (this requires extra straps).
Compared to just-a-rack: Things stay in it. You'll love it!
Compared to panniers: more aerodynamic, almost impossible to hit your heel on while pedaling, tougher, no need for expensive rack, quicker to load/unload, more room for creativity, UV light OK, will not absorb water, things dry in it; requires a garbage sack for waterproofness, really small things need their own bag (marbles), hard lonely things will rattle, one basket doesn't have the capacity of two big panniers, and people with panniers may think you're a hobo, or worse, colloquial!
Max per bike: 2, one rear, one front
Where to get it: Rivendell Bicycle Works or maybe your local shop
Attachment: 4-6 big zipties or something cleverer, but it's hard to outclever a ziptie, even if they are plastic
Made in China?: Nope, Kentucky, way different! (The net is not made in Kentucky)

Happy basketeering, cyclers! Let me know how it works out for you.

Update: Every two hours

2005-11-15T12:39:00.000-07:00

The local paper finally picked up Bill's story. The driver was intoxicated, and his youth and apparent sadness make the story all the more tragic. Bill was a unique and wonderful person, and I hope you all will take a minute to read about his life. [Update: the article has disappeared from the paper's archives]

Car-less and Carefree

2005-11-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned here before that Rachel and I are currently without a car. When other people learn this, the typical reaction is one of sympathy, which is exactly what we feel for those who are stuck with their car(s). Let it be known that we do not despise, look down upon, or otherwise hate car drivers. In other words, we aren't the carfree types that make for exciting blogs! We realize that we are fortunate to have an opportunity to make a decision about owning a car. We have no kids, are in good health, live in a walkable/bikeable community, and have commutes to work of 2 miles or less. Still, I'm convinced that many others in similar circumstances don't even realize "no car" is an option, and a huge number would enjoy using cars a little less. So, an important observation for the interested...

Now three months into our second go-round living carfree, we've learned to approach things a little differently. The first time around we followed the obvious route of trying to replace the car with bikes. Over time, we learned that, while a fun exercise, we benefit more from replacing car culture with bike culture. To anyone who is interested or curious about using a car less, this subtle distinction is worth considering.

Two years ago, we were in full car replacement mode. We had had it with cars and were out to prove we could do everything by bike. We stacked the odds against ourselves by starting this rebellion in the middle of winter. I remember my first act of rebellion. Hands freezing, I heaved the bike and BOB-trailer out of the snow drift and rode headlong into blowing snow. It was about 20 degrees out, and the bike lane was covered with a layer of crusty snow, sand, and ice. I bought 70 pounds of groceries (the trailer's stated limit) and loaded them into the enormous drybag on the trailer. By the time I loaded, my hands were numb. I soon found the trailer didn't handle very well at capacity, and I had to stop a time or too when the wobbling turned my frame into a rolling tuning fork. I got home exhausted, cold and still had the onerous task of unloading 2 weeks worth of groceries.

I thought about that ride as I rode to the store yesterday in the first snow of the year. I pedaled a bike with a small basket on the back. The snow felt wonderful as it brushed my face and coated my wool mittens. On back streets and untracked snow I rode two miles to the co-op. A few intersections broke me out of my trance, but only momentarily. I could be wrong, but it sure looked like those faces behind scraped glass weren't having much fun. On the back streets, I waved to two other cyclers either commuting or out shopping. One had to interrupt catching snowflakes on her tongue to say "hello."

Arriving at the store, I parked under a covered awning by the entrance and looked over my list. From experience, I knew it would more or less just fill a single grocery bag. Either Rachel or I make these trips 2-3 times per week, unless we find excuses for more (ice-cream, brownie mix, etc). We supplement these with walks to the bakery for bread once a week, where we can sit and eat free slices and talk.

That sounds like a lot of trips to the store, but each one is extremely pleasant. Bi-weekly trips in the car were decidedly unpleasant for us. Cars and the infrastructure for them just aren't well suited to frequent short trips. And, a "one-bag" trip to the store is wholly unlike a four bag trip. I am not a shopper, but I really enjoy these trips. I had a pleasant ride home on a bike that just felt like a bike and even looped around to see the northern mountains with fresh snow.

The less we try to replace the car and instead replace the culture that goes along with it, the more we find we are gaining instead of fighting not to give up. There's nothing wrong with pushing the limits of the bicycle, but it isn't necessary to decreasing car use. Much like wearing bike specific clothing isn't wrong, but neither is it necessary to ride a bike. I worry that the "feats of strength" and rebel image of many utility cyclists put off newcomers in the same way that lycra does.

If it seems like "making do" with less car, the problem may just be one of approach. Instead of trying to beat the car, play a different game now and then.

Every Two Hours

2005-11-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

Imagine that there were a group of people in the US that killed a pedestrian every 2 hours. Surely the nation would be up in arms, demanding swift punishment and fundamental changes to make sure such a group would never form again. The statistics are real (according to the NHTSA), and the killers are drivers. Every 2 hours, on average, a pedestrian is hit and killed by a car. Killed by a car, not just injured, killed. It is unclear whether cyclers (or "pedalcyclists," as the NHTSA terms us) are at more or less risk.

I generally keep this blog upbeat and leave the ranting to those better at it. Sometimes, though, the world stirs even quiet souls to action.

Yesterday evening, I met Rachel and the rest of the cast of the local production of "Paint Your Wagon" for the cast party downtown. The casts in these community theater productions quickly become family, and we had a wonderful time celebrating the show's success after 7 weeks of work. At about midnight, the party was interrupted by lights and sirens outside on Broadway. The street was blocked off, and no one could get any information about what had happened. We rode home sobered and somewhat worried. Missoula is not a large enough town that we've become immune to tragedy.

This morning, Rachel rode in for the show's final day. She called me shortly after. A cast member had been hit crossing Broadway last night, and he died this morning at the hospital. I am overcome by the sadness of such a tragic loss, and I can only imagine what the cast must be feeling as they don costumes and try to entertain two more crowds, somehow.

Most of us realize the benefits of automobiles every day, but the costs usually ring up silently. I refuse to forget Bill, and I am dedicating the future of this blog to all of those--like him--who bear the costs of an auto culture that takes away too much life and too much of life. In other words, I dedicate Cycler's Life to all of us. We can do better. Bikes can help.

I'll continue to work to my strength, which is highlighting the positives of cycling. There will still be ride reports, but I also plan to post something at least every other day. Some tiny encouragement for all of us to enjoy life with a little less car and a little more bike. If you don't like the idea, then just read the ride reports, but do give it some thought. Think about what's not included in the price of a gallon of gas.

Over and out.

Circling Missoula

2005-11-12T18:56:00.000-07:00

If Missoula had been built about 15,000 years earlier, it would have been under a lake about half the size of Lake Michigan. Pretty lousy spot for a city, all in all. Glacial Lake Missoula left its legacy in a smooth valley floor, weird old rocks, and high water marks on the rounded old mountains east of town. Except for the water, it turns out that a glacial lake bed is a lovely place for a town.

Missoula lies mainly in the smooth, flat lake bed--an important reason we have such a thriving bike culture at our latitude. The city is bounded on all sides by impressive mountain ranges of various ages. Kindly, aging grandparents of mountains, the Sapphires, rise in the south and east. The Sapphires almost meet the bitterroot Range and its solid, craggy front that rises to 10,000 ft peaks behind in the west. To the north, the nearly impenetrable Mission complex protects a thousand hidden lakes and a vast wilderness.

There are only four narrow escapes from the valley, one in each direction. For most of my rides, I have to pick an exit, making loops nearly impossible. Today, though, I was riding my newly built fixed gear bicycle. Essentially, it's a bicycle that doesn't shift or coast. Since I hadn't tested the bike much yet, I was hesitant to take it out of the valley. I instead took the opportunity to do something I'd always wanted to do but never got around to--circle the valley.

I left in the afternoon after packing a small bag with early winter necessities: heavy mittens, an extra wool shirt, extra lights, a wool cap, camera, lock, and the all important PBHR. The PBHR is a family secret energy food that has yet to be seriously rivaled by "energy bars" in any category except squish resistance. When the temperature drops to freezing, there is no bar that can top a Peanut Butter Honey and Raisin Sandwich.

The weather was promising, if by promising one means portending wind, cold, snow, and great skies. Our little apartment happens to be a couple of blocks from the Sapphires that rise east of town. I ride those blocks and begin following the contour of the mountain's foot. I have to pause and track down a rattle, which turns out to be loose bottle cage bolts. Working on bikes--and especially building them--tends to make one hyperaware of anything out of place. Bolts tightened, I pedal north.

It doesn't take long to run out of roads in this direction. I turn west on an old, mostly forgotten road between I-90 and the railroad tracks. A brisk wind is now in my face and soon begins sending tiny ice pellets bouncing off my helmet. I turn the gear over slowly and begin looking at the valley ahead.

I know the southern half of the perimeter well, but I rarely ride the northern side. I don't know exactly how I'll get to the western edge. Being unusually bad with maps, I've more or less abandoned them for riding. I have a good sense of direction, and when that fails me, I follow the Dirk Gently model of navigation--just follow something else. Today, I decide to aim for the plume of smoke above the Pulp Mill. Dirk commented that he didn't always get to where he was going, but he always wound up where he needed to be. I agree.

Riding the northern edge of the valley brings to mind a theme that seems to tie a lot of blogs together these days--the potentially abrupt end of cheap oil. The edges of cities are a good place to see those things that every town needs, and no town wants to actually see much of. I pass a bottling plant, the landfill, and then begin rolling past a strip that is almost entirely devoted to transporting goods. Huge, identical warehouses with a staggering number of loading docks. Even on a Saturday, trucks are loading up to take our goods elsewhere or else unloading elsewhere's goods here. Diesel truck sales, repair, a UPS depot, and behind them all the Montana Rail Link yard. On a daily basis, most of us see maybe 1 percent of the work that goes into just shuttling stuff around. Not owning a car, Rachel and I seem less exposed to rising fuel costs than the faces on the news, but the truth is a bit less reassuring.

Fortunately, at 26 I still have a lot of kid in me, and I don't dwell on serious matters for too long. I'm riding a bike after all! Pretty soon, I'm mesmerized by the big trucks and railcars shuffling around to get their loads. The scale is almost hypnotic. I'm snapped out of my trance by North Reserve Street. This road was a small, mostly desolate two-lane affair when I moved here 7 years ago. Now, it's a hundred feet wide with glittering signs and flashing neon in either direction. It feeds a thousand or more new houses up Grant Creek, at least a 10 mile drive from downtown Missoula. One has to wonder if we know what we're doing. Are we just building stone monuments to the gods?

I have to ride over to the sidewalk and hit the pedestrian crossing button to change the signal. Once across, I'm on a pleasant road cutting through an industrial wasteland ("Demolitions, please check in at main office, thank you," a sign reads). Now farms begin to intersperse with industry--not exactly pastoral, but if they ever need anything blown up around the farm...

Finally, I hit a "Road Closed" sign. No matter. This happens even more often when I use a map, and, besides, these signs are rarely terminal for a cycler. I ride cautiously around the sign and stop at a three foot drop-off down to the railroad tracks. The road picks up like nothing happened on the far side, so I shoulder the bike, ease down onto the tracks and cross three tracks to the far side.

It seems my luck has run out for the moment, and I concede the fight, riding the broken shoulder of Highway 10 out toward my guiding star--the distant rising puff of acrid smoke. Eventually, I reach the crossroads with the northern route out of town. A local bike club used to put on a huge supported tour that went up that way but had to change the route as the road became more dangerous. The smoke leads me west, and I follow.

I start to get the feeling that I'm where I need to be today--on a quiet country road that belies the fact a huge mill lies at its end. I've been thinking a lot about the contradictions inherent in our modern lifestyle, and this road and that mill and the mountains rising behind them all state it more concisely than I ever could. Several large trucks pass with loads of fragrant logs heading for the mill. They're unusually friendly, giving me the whole lane as they pass. I wave, breathe deep and continue. I've always been a sucker for the smell of freshly cut wood. It brings back fond memories of chopping firewood with my dad when I was little.

I pass the Missoula Trap and Skeet Club, a strange compound that looks like a movie set; boy, I have been missing a lot in this part of town. I cross a creek or irrigation ditch; I can't tell which, and I stop and snap a picture of the mill backed by picturesque mountains.

Despite the fact that there is absolutely nothing else around, the pulp mill straddles the road, and employees are walking from one side to the other in large numbers. I ride through slowly, underneath huge pipes and conveyors. To the right is an unfathomably large pile of wood pulp. On the left is a huge vat collecting drops of black sludge. The air is acrid and smells vaguely like a huge room full of cardboard boxes. Were Dickens riding with me, he would doubtless stop now and start scribbling earnestly in a little notebook. The mill makes the cardboard containers that ensure I have a steady supply of raisins and peanuts for my sandwiches. Moving stiff around constitutes 10 percent of US GDP and 1 in every 7 jobs (according to the BTS). How many jobs like these are indirectly part of the industry? Not much need for boxing something up if it isn't going anywhere.

Now the mill is behind me, and I've turned south to follow a new perimeter. Right now, the Clark Fork River is in my way, but I'll cross it in about 7 miles and start following the Blue Mountain complex. I haven't mentioned the bike much yet (It's a 1978 Trek; for those interested, some pictures are here). In fact, that's precisely how I would sum up riding a fixed gear--pleasantly invisible. On a geared bike, you have three main options just riding along: pedal, coast, shift. A singlespeed, which I've ridden a lot of lately, knocks that down to two: pedal, coast. A fixed gear makes the last choice for you and leaves you with: pedal. I always thought it would take a steely concentration to keep myself from accidentally coasting, but it really isn't that way after about 5 miles. You sort of steer the bike, drink, eat, and let your legs do what they have to down there. In fact, the riding itself requires so little thought, that a fixed gear is my new favorite "thinking bike." Although, if you've made it this far, you've probably already figured that out, gentle reader.

I roll through the river bottom as the sun sets, and a damp coldness creeps over the fields toward me. I mentally put off adding a layer. Soon, I'll be on familiar roads and climbing the biggest of the day's hills. The hills will warm me up. Sure enough, I approach a familiar road from an unfamiliar direction, turn west, and cross the Clark Fork River. I pass a large yellow real estate sign in a field proclaiming "Busy Intersection! Heavy Traffic!" Well, not yet, but I guess there are always dreamers among us. I hang a left and begin skirting Blue Mountain. Soon, the river crowds the road and forces it to climb upslope. I stand on tired legs and pound out the rhythm of the climb--OK, so it's not a rhythm so much as a wobbly spasm, more like modern music. At any rate, I pause at the top under pretense of snapping a photo of the dying light over the valley. I enter the woods, and the light is gone. When I re-emerge, the moon is out and easily overpowers my cold headlight. I switch it off to save the dying batteries for traffic later.

In the moonlight, I spy two young whitetail bucks who have the nervous look of hunting season in their movements. They recognize my bike as non-threatening, though, and resume their uncomfortable feeding. The moon reflects off the river and makes ghosts out of the slender birches. I notice an odd shape off the side of the road ahead and slow down. It's a highway patrolman, watching for speeders, I guess, and not negligent cyclers riding by moonlight. He lets me pass, or doesn't see me! I crest the hill beyond him, and the valley opens up in a glittering vista below. I lean the bike against the deep ditch, climb a little hill, and sit to enjoy the last of my PBHR and the view.

A few minutes later, a large truck barrels up the road. From behind, I hear the screech of tires and sirens. Whoops. The truck is pulled over 20 yards up the road from my bike. I decide now might be a good time to make haste, as much as I'm capable. I remount, switch on lights and quietly roll by the unfolding scene, bound for home. I skirt the south hills until they turn north and follow the base back home. It has been said, "You have to know where you are to know where you're going." It's true and not true, like most things. That said, I'm enjoying learning more about where I am. You can enjoy life where you are and where you're going, especially on a bicycle. Now, go out and circle your town, and write me about it. There are things to be learned on the margins.

A few more photos are here.

Fig Bars and Weather Fronts

2005-11-02T19:42:00.000-07:00

I got out of an afternoon meeting early and was riding around waiting for inspiration to strike and coax me out of the valley. Thus began a completely unplanned and unforgettable ride up Deer Creek. Following is excerpted from an email I sent to a cycler friend:

Two furious weather fronts were battling it out from east and west, locking horns in
Hellgate Canyon near town.  I was riding around town and had an extra wool sweater
and a couple of fig bars with me.  I decided to roll right into the canyon, pushing into
the oddest swirling winds. 

There's a neat little dirt road that leads north out of the canyon and up a
couple thousand feet along Deer Creek.  After a mile or two climbing, the wind
calmed suddenly, and completely.  Then a wave of warm, amber light slipped down
the ridge.  It was like someone slipping a yellow filter over a flood light.  I
stopped to watch what would happen.  Directly above, there was a narrow slit of
the bluest sky opening up.  To each side of the opening, the clouds were
peeling back, bending away from each other like two waves that had just crashed
together.

I could only guess that the two fronts had sized each other up and decided
neither had the advantage.  The yellow light lasted the rest of the way up the
mountain as the two fronts receded.  More and more, I enjoy just pointing my
bike somewhere and seeing what the world has to show me.

A Ride up Lolo Pass

2005-10-11T12:18:00.000-06:00

We all have heroes. Heroes do things that we thought were impossible. They achieve these feats usually not because of unusual talent, but instead because of unusual courage or tenacity. My heroes are inspirational cyclers--especially, randonneurs. Randonneuring is a French tradition of self-supported riding, epitomized in my mind by rider's like Kent P. (over in the links column).

There are no organized randonneuring events in my neck of the woods. That's alright; I'm really not an event sort of person, and bikes are so useful that they don't require an event to enjoy. We no longer have a car, and that has freed up a lot more time to explore my little corner of Montana, randonneur-style. In late October, I took my first ride in the randonneur spirit. It was a difficult enough route that I truly wasn't sure if I could make it, self-supported by a $10 bill and with no easy way out if things got rough.

After taking care of some obligations, I was pedaling south out of Missoula. The morning air was crisp, but the first small hill pushed warmth all the way to my toes. Excited about the day, I slipped south and watched the sun bob intermittently above the low peaks of the Sapphires to the east. Those wrinkled old hills catch the light in a gentle, confident way that shows they have nothing left to prove. I try to follow their example and move at my own pace up and down the steepening hills that separate my valley from the wide Bitterroot flood plain to the south.

I've ridden primarily a singlespeed bicycle over the past year, but I have recently started riding a geared bike again. All bikes are fun to ride. In my experience, differences only highlight how adaptable the human body is. I have no doubt I could do this same ride with one-gear, or two, or thirty. Today I have fourteen, though I primarily use two of them. The only time number of gears matters to me is when they detract from the ride itself. If I were a cycler because I liked shifting gears, I could save a lot of money by mounting a shifter to my work desk and fiddling with it.

Fourteen must have been the right number today. I don't remember shifting gears, but I do remember how the sun felt when it first hit my left side.

The outskirts of Lolo snap me out of my reverie and back into road awareness. I make the right turn onto Lewis and Clark Highway and immediately duck into the Super Stop for supplies. I decide on a ham and egg biscuit and a palatable looking energy bar, pay, take a bite of the biscuit, shove the food into my Hobo Bag and pedal off. I figure I can resupply at Lolo Hot Springs, which I remember as having a gas station/convenience store. I'll someday learn not to trust my memory.

I'm easing west now, sun at my back, with improbable Lolo Pass somewhere far ahead in this northern jut of the Rockies. I should know this stretch of road well, having driven it at least 50 times and having hiked sections of it, but I quickly realize how little I know. Even walking pales to bicycling for appreciating a road and its contours. Only on a bicycle does the world glide by on an even keel, view and senses unobstructed.

On my right, the sun is beginning to warm the brown hills that guide the ancient Lolo Trail. On my left the creek winds its way toward the Bitterroot River, eventually to meet up with the Columbia and find it's way to sea. Creeks are a bit smarter than the average cycler and always find routes that are all downhill. Beyond the creek, Lolo Peak looms over the valley, snow capped but somehow friendly this morning.

Very few cars are heading toward the pass, and with good reason. It's a long ways to anywhere this direction. Fortunately, I don't have anywhere to be, and so I decide I'm probably on the right road. My roving eyes catch on something unnatural in the landscape, glowing yellow-green. As I close on my eyes' new interest, I recognize cycling jackets, and then cyclers, and then loaded bikes. A pair of tourists stopped at a pullout! I wanted to stop and chat, but my legs were just warming up, and since there's only one way to go from here, and I don't ride very fast, I assumed we'd see each other again. They didn't hear me coming but cheerily returned my "Good morning!".

By now I'm used to other riders looking a bit cock-eyed at me out on the road. I freely admit I'm a bit of a sight. Probably, there is neither rider nor bike quite like me and mine anywhere, and I'm comfortable with that.

A few miles ahead, a bald eagle swoops out of the trees near the creek and passes right over me no more than 30 feet in the air. With wings extended, the bird looks cartoonishly large, and I can hear the wingbeats as it heads down the valley. On my right is a tiny, whitewashed school on a hill. It looks as though it's been here a while, and kids are swinging out front in the cool morning air. I immediately wished my own kids could go to a school like that someday instead of the heavy brick schools and blacktopped grounds so common. Surely these kids do better starting the day in the crisp, sweet air of this field. I'll bet they remember it, anyway.

I decided this spot might do me some good, too, and stopped to finish my biscuit and shed a layer. While I ate, the tourers passed by on the road and we waved. I was glad they had such a beautiful last day of riding in Montana. I watched the kids play until the first bell signaled them inside, and then headed off again up the valley.

A few miles up the road, I passed the tourers' bikes propped up on the road but saw no sign of the riders. I assumed they were having breakfast on the creek and left them to their meal. A lazy hour went by as I followed the creek closely and felt the valley slowly close in around me. After the first bit of steeper climbing, I stopped at a pullout for a break. A sign explained one reason that the valley here was comprised mostly of small landholdings. The rights had been checkerboarded, with alternating pieces earmarked for private, public, and railroad land. The land granted to the railroad was in hopes of encouraging a line through here. Hopes of a railroad persisted despite the 1854 assessment by Lt. John Mullan of the land's suitability:

"It is thoroughly and utterly impractical for a railroad route [...] an immense bed of rugged pinnacles and difficult mountains that can never be converted to any purpose for the use of man [...] I have never met with a more uninviting and rugged set of mountains."

To Lt. Mullan's assessment I would add only "and a lovely place for a bicycle ride." Lewis and Clark had a less pleasant trip through these mountains almost exactly 200 years before mine. Native Americans had used the trail and country for centuries before that. History quickly put my insignificant ascent in perspective. I ate the remainder of my energy bar, my map showing I was only half an hour from the Hot Springs and more supplies.

The climb steepened until I emerged in a high grassy meadow. A strong headwind slowed my progess and gave the place an ominous feel. Perhaps because I wasn't raised in mountains like these, high meadows always have an unsettling effect on me. I can appreciate their beauty, but I don't feel invited to linger. I linger more than planned, but eventually push through the headwind and round a bend out of the meadow. According to my map, I should be just about to that store I remember.

I round another bend and enter another clearing with a desolate looking campground to the left and a few low buildings off to the right. Well, I guess there isn't a gas station there after all, but I didn't need that sort of fuel anyway. I poke around outside a motel and small cafe, but no one seems to be around. I decide to ride on up the pass, which by my map should only be 4 miles away. I remember vending machines at the Idaho visitor center. You'd think I'd learn.

The climb is tough, and the ruggedness around me makes it feel tougher. Wind seems to funnel down right at my bike as I slowly ascend. Despite the effort, I have to stop to add a layer as the wind picks up some bite. I'm getting hungrier and colder and beginning to wonder if I'll make it, when I notice that I should be a mile away at this point. Spirits up, I push a little harder toward the top. Then for some reason I notice a mile marker--"4." It takes a minute for my oxygen-deprived brain to process the meaning of this. If the pass is at the state line, and the state line is mile "0," then I have 4 miles to the top. My cadence dips with my spirits. I somehow had miscalculated by 3 miles. Six extra miles in a day won't sound like much, but at this moment 3 miles was unfathomable. My legs balked. I stopped the bike, downed my water, and searched hopelessly for some food in my pack.

After a minute or two, I felt a little better, and since climbing sounded warmer than descending, I decided to keep trying for the top. Painfully slowly, the miles slipped away, I saw the sign welcoming me to Idaho, and I coasted into the visitor's center, 44 miles from home. I immediately went inside and asked where the vending machines were. "Oh, we don't have any vending machines, but we do have hot coffee!." "Aaaaarrrrghhh!" I thought, if thoughts have sound. At this point, I was in a bit of a daze from the climb and lack of food, and I started to find the whole situation kind of amusing. I read a sign about Lewis and Clark arriving here, tired and hungry and worried by early snow. How funny my situation was in comparison. I imagined Lewis or Clark turning angrily to his guide and saying, "What, no vending machines at the pass! And this after the cafe was closed at the Hot Springs!! Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhh!!!"

Smiling such that people started giving me funny looks, I filled my bottles and took off down the pass, confident that the Hot Springs cafe would be manned by now. The descent was a blast, even on an empty stomach, and as I swept down the turns I passed the two tourers, who must have made great time given their loads. The Hot Springs came quickly, and I began nosing around for food. I went into the interpretive center by mistake, but a nice lady told me there were vending machines just inside the doors of the cafe. I let my cravings choose as my hand deposited dollars, and out came a chocolate bar with almonds, a bag of chips, and a bottle of sports drink. I mixed the drink with half a water bottle, downed it, and tore into the snacks.

Feeling much better, I continued my rapid descent toward home, making one more stop for an apple danish at a gas station. On familiar roads again, I mused about how much better I understood the road to the pass I had so often driven, and how much more I appreciated the experiences of those who traveled Lolo Pass before the road, before maps, and, especially, before vending machines. I could not think of a better way to spend 8 hours of a fall day.

A few photos are here

Sometimes it's the little things (part 2)

2005-09-26T21:57:00.000-06:00

Went for an evening ride to the grocery store to pick up the makings for dinner. On the way, I rode in high gear, baskets, bags and all flying at over 20 MPH. I'm not sure if it was the big grin or the big helmet, but folks gave me lots of sidewise glances in the store.

On the way back home, the sky over the mountains exploded with color. It was right in that spot that you can only catch shaky glimpses of in your car's sideview mirror. So, another great thing about being a cycler: Year Round Convertible. Oh yeah!

Sometimes it's the little things

2005-09-26T18:25:00.000-06:00

Saturday morning, we were riding downtown to meet a friend for brunch. Riding in the bike lane, we passed a line of angle parked cars. A truck began backing out, and I kept riding and tried to make eye contact. I did. The driver glanced at me and immediately turned back around and continued backing directly towards me.

I had to brake to a stop while he completed his maneuver. It wasn't close or really even dangerous, but it's these little occurences that sometimes add up to a sense of non-belonging for everyday cyclers on the road. It would be nice to think we're all watching out for each other, motorists/cyclers/pedestrians, but it seems instead to degrade into a survival game. As a little guy, a cycler sometimes spends too much time trying not to get squashed.

The motorists who just don't care are somehow more disheartening than the overtly aggressive. The loudmouths are empowering, make me feel like I'm still in the fight. The quiet ignoring ones send the message that I've already lost.

How dangerous is cycling?

2005-09-21T16:41:00.002-06:00

I've been meaning to write up my latest fun use of bicycles: bikefishing! I'll get to that soon, including my 99 cent fly-rod carrier. Meanwhile, as I biked the 12 miles home, I found myself musing about the relative safety of my transportation. Much of my route home follows the major north-south highway, which is known to be the most dangerous (for cars) in the state. When I tell people where I usually ride to fish, they generally answer with some variation of, "You must be crazy. I'd never ride that stretch!"

I'll admit the first time or two I was a little tense, especially when wedged between a guard rail and 4 lanes of high speed commuter traffic. It has become one of my favorite rides. The scenery is absolutely beautiful, and the terrain is varied and fun to ride. The next bit sounds made up but is entirely true.

I was riding along happily, watching the sun set on another lazy evening of fishing on my favorite small stream. I was thinking that I felt perfectly safe on this shoulder and was hard pressed to think of any remotely probable event that would undo me here. At that very moment, two semi's pulling tall loads of hay passed me. Usually, truckers are especially courteous to me on this road. This time, though, one was passing the other, and this precluded the near one from giving me any extra room. The near truck was too close for comfort, and the combined air disruption (plus probably my own reaction of mild panic) really knocked the bike around.

I was fine and continued on, but it did start me thinking about just how safe a visible, competent a cycler is. Jeff P. of OYB fame has been musing lately about how things are foolishly flipped around bewtween motorists and cyclers. That is, people in cars are really the ones at great risk, but it's cyclers who are always getting the safety rundown (helmets, anyone?). My gut feeling is that he's right, that motorists ought to have the helmets and 4-point harnesses, and cyclers ought to ride and not worry so much. It's hard to directly compare, though, given the HUGE difference between bike hours and car hours on the road. Of course we hear of and actually witness many more car accidents.

Has anyone seen a study that directly addresses risks to bicycle riders per hour ridden on roads? What would a good survey look like? The late Ken K. did a preliminary survey of this type in 2001. In his (small) sample, riders went about 1600 hours between injuries, which acording to Ken's comments suggested a rider is at more risk of injury than a motorist. The caveat, of course, is that the severity of injuries might be much less, on average, on a bike. This seems especially plausible since few of the reported injuries in his survey were the result of a car/bike crash (most were falls).

I agree with Jeff P. that a larger component of perceived risk is just that--perception--and does not correlate directly with statistical reality. I feel at greater risk on my bike in situations like the trucks' passing closely because I sense my vulnerability. Part of it may also be social conditioning. While I'm often told that I'm cycling dangerous roads, I'm rarely told that I'm driving dangerous roads, etc. I'd welcome your comments on this.

A Ride Up Blackfoot Canyon

2005-09-19T19:07:00.000-06:00

A light rain settles in for the evening, and high, lead grey clouds hurry toward the canyon. It's the sort of scene that beckons a cycler. And few others.

I zip past stalled traffic beating a dreary path home after the football game. The damp faces are eerie, peering out curiously at me from steam soaked glass. I start thinking of the procession as some sort of zombie march. I also wonder what they're thinking of me: a lone cycler in the rain, riding through Hellgate Canyon, now turning north into that ominous scene in Blackfoot Canyon with three hours of murky daylight to see him through. If there's something to be learned as a cycler, it's to become comfortable being the crazy one.

By the time I crest the small hill that climbs away from the freeway overpass, the rain has moved off ahead of me. A wide valley's worth of storm pushes and squeezes its way into the narrow canyon ahead. Without the cooling rain, my layers are a bit much. I stop to zip the sleeves off of my first piece of "high tech" cycling gear, newly acquired. I vastly prefer riding in muted colors and quiet, natural fibers. However, I finally decided that a bright, windproof layer might be a good investment in safety for an often solo cycler. I tried on a few jackets at the local shops and settled for the Pearl Izumi Vagabond. It was by far the quietest of the plastic cocoons I tried. It was shield-your-eyes yellow, which is the only color approved by dreary drizzle expert and internet friend Kent P. over in western Washington. And, it was made in Macau, which I think means I can still sleep at night.

Sweating, on the shoulder of a busy highway is probably not the time to learn how the sleeves of my new high tech windshirt detach. Four zippers, four velcro patches, and an embarrassing number of minutes later, I have a vest! I roll up and tuck away the sleeves, think "Wow, those would be easy to lose," and head off again toward my shrouded destination.

Tucking and grinning down a steep hill, I descend to one of my favorite stretches of road down along the Clark Fork River. Here, as it should be, the road has to narrow and tiptoe between the rock bluff on the left and the river on the right. The constant scent of the river compensates for the narrow shoulder, and I break my rhythm to breathe deep a moment before pedaling on.

A few miles more down the frontage road, and I hang a left past the sprawling Stimson Lumber mill. Not so noticeable in a car, but from a bike the sheer scale of the place is humblingly apparent. Even at this hour, steam still pours out of one of the stacks and the steady hum of machinery echoes around the yard. Mesmerized by the ghostly scene, I almost forget the railroad tracks, and I have a scary moment going too fast over the wet rails. No slips, though, and I spin along past the row of mill houses. Hardwood trees in a tight canopy line the street and conceal the mill. They're out of place here in western Montana, but in some ways in just the right place as they drip with rain and irony. We share a laugh, I think.

As the canopy opens, the roiling Blackfoot River appears below the road as both wind into the canyon. The rain and wind are back now, each wave of the storm waiting its turn to blow upcanyon. I enjoy the cooling effect for a few miles and then stop to zip on the sleeves of my windshirt. I spin on, gradually climbing between rock and river. The rain picks up, but the wind is still generally behind me and helps cancel the slope of the road.

The river, perhaps fifty or a hundred feet below me, seems to move past in slow motion. I can concentrate on a current swirl and follow its sinewy path downstream. Going slowly is much more than not going fast. The rock walls of the canyon have currents of their own, or at least memories of them. Undulating seams of rock, now level, now folded, rising and falling like the photograph of a moving river. I ponder how long ago this or that unusual layer was deposited, when it was pressed down, when it was heaved up. Transferred memories of those events make me wonder at the present tumult in this canyon. The rocks must chuckle at little rainstorms.

I join the rocks in a laugh, too. Sometimes I think we feel the same way tucked into our homes or cars or offices, oblivious to or uninterested in anything but extremes of weather. On a bicycle, senses are reawakened, the smallest of breezes felt, and even a little canyon rainstorm becomes an adventure. A cycler is quickly reminded how fragile he is, how dependent he has become on protections from nature. But, the heightening of senses is addictive. It easily overcomes any discomfort, especially in memory, and leads to cyclers riding off into dark canyons for an evening fix.

Miles slip away as I ponder all of this. Eyes back to the road for a narrow bridge, a cluster of cars passes. Their passing in this narrow canyon can only be described as violent. My shoulders tense as each wave of noise creeps up the canyon wall behind me and overtakes. Perhaps part of our dulled senses is adaptation to the noise of our machinery. Or, maybe those are just musings borne from tired legs.

Just beyond the bridge, a lone car closes in from the opposite direction. As it gets close, a hand waves out the window and a voice shouts something positive. Encouragement? Solidarity? Mistaken identity? Whatever, the human interaction is somehow encouraging, and my legs find new purpose up the long hill ahead.

The canyon is a remote place. Up here, the thought that an hour and a half on a bicycle could get one to a modern city seems laughable. The fact that I know it's true doesn't make it more real. Houses here seem braced for something in the old style. Nothing sits exposed. The few buildings are as humble as the rocks are proud. It's a place that whispers of short springs and autumns and long winters. Summer seems a memory even now in mid-September. I haven't seen any services in twelve or fourteen miles. The rain picks up and the wind whips behind me. I pick a point at the top of the next hill, climb there, and pull off to munch a hard bagel and listen to the wind.

Immediately to my right is a fenced compound that apparently raises wolves. The thought of them fits a day like this, but I'm secretly glad not to be here at night. Those howls in this canyon could scare a cycler right off his saddle. The bicycle lets me visit this world, but it doesn't let me belong here. Those wheels always want to keep moving, however slowly, toward the place I fit, a place I may never find but that I'm always happy to look for.

Now they're rolling back towards home, and warmth, and food. But, heading into wind, and rain, and creeping darkness. I spin slowly towards home. On the bicycle, I alternate between trying to cheat the wind and sit up into the brunt of it. It's a balance many of us modern outdoorsmen seek to strike with nature. We want to enjoy nature headlong, on its terms, every day a new story to tell. But, who among us hasn't felt the smug satisfaction of subduing nature, just for a minute, and meeting nature on our terms with plastic windshirts cutting through the overmatched air. If I were to look down just now, I would see my old cyclecomputer telling me that either way I'm going too slow to beat the darkness. The little bit of wired technology itself has only the power to tell me that I'm always on nature's terms.

The absurdity of a tiny cycler pushing alone against a canyon full of wind cartoonishly fills my mind. I pedal hard in a 52-inch gear to maintain nine or ten miles per hour downhill. The rain is getting colder and stinging my face. About then I notice my latest handiwork out in front of the handlebars. Perhaps as penance for my indulgent new outerwear, I had whittled a thick, dry stick into an elevated light mount before the ride. I left it roughly finished, the scalloped wood giving my hands something to feel and my eye something to wander across. Every bike needs a little warmth like this. Grant P. at Rivendell calls it "organicalizing." This carved stick in the woods would be nothing. Among the steel, aluminum, molded rubber and plastic of a bicycle, though, the piece of wood is unabashedly beautiful. Maybe that's how one should view this canyon. Is it more beautiful because its beauty has survived the roads and houses? Would the river's sound be lost without the contrast of whirring machines? I don't know, but I'm happy to be riding here.

I saw no other bicycles on this popular road today. Usually a few sleek riders whiz by, but this was a day for cyclers. This is, after all, what we train for.

A Ride on Red Shale

2005-06-23T14:14:00.001-06:00

Rachel and I wake up early. There really isn't any other choice. There are so many songbirds in these woods that sleeping has to fit into their schedule. The unsolicited wakeup call is worth it, though. Aside from our winged chorus, the woods are completely silent. The sun is beginning to rise over a rosy pink bluff in the east. After two days of rain and snow across Montana, it is a most welcome sight.

I cook oatmeal, while Rachel packs up and starts airing out our soggy supplies. Morning finds us in Custer National Forest, back of beyond in the mostly forgotten southeast corner of Montana. We are worlds away from Missoula and enjoying the solitude of less populated parts of our state.

A ride this morning is a given. We need airing out, too. As we poke along (driving) through alternating patches of pine forest and open high plain, we both spot the little road at the same time. Brilliant red against the spring green grass, the little crushed shale lane winds intriguingly up a red shale butte and disappears behind it, leading into some place we've never been but definitely want to go.

I pull my bike off first and watch as what must be a pint of rainwater pours out of the chainstay vent holes. Rachel's bike either pre-drained or else is better sealed. We load a handlebar bag with camera and fig bars and head up the hill. We push some half-wild grazing cattle up along the road as we climb, and they are as out of breath as we are by the time they wise up and cross the road to get away from us.

Cresting the hill, we pause for water by the massive shale outcrop, pink and rounded by the weather. The view is incredible for what it lacks. We can see miles in every direction, but there is no sign of human settlement save the road and a few lines of barbed wire here and there. This is the Big Sky Country of the tourist brochures--blue, green, and pink in perfect contrast, a 360 degree canvas of color. Ironically, tourists don't see this part of Montana often.

We fly down the backside of the Butte--reward for the climb--and begin to twist through a series of high meadow postcards, wildflowers just beginning to show after the recent rains. Another month and we imagine that all of this will be brown and crisp, but the imagining is hard right now. The evaporating rain makes the air almost unearthly, heavy with moist scents of spring growth. We pass any number of tantalizing trails leading up cozy little draws, but time and my too-skinny tires keep us on track. Eventually, we come to a fork, and, apparently, pick a steep one.

The road narrows, ruts, and snakes through a narrow valley as it climbs up towards a pine stand. It's cool and fragrant in the trees, and we welcome relief from the sun, which is beginning to win the day here in Custer. The climbing ends with a flourish, a long hill that has us both in our lowest gears, but is happily shaded by a shale cliff to the east. I slip a time or two on loose shale in the steepest sections. The top rewards us with a view of the next little valley, where the little shale road narrows further. Though we've come far enough this morning, it's nice to know there's more waiting for us someday. We return by the same route and pedal hard for the shade before noon.

On the road (off the bike)

2005-06-07T12:57:00.000-06:00

I apologize for the lack of posts lately. Between defending my master's thesis, moving out of our apartment, and beginning our summer road trip, I haven't had any free time to write here. We're criss-crossing the country this summer--for better or worse by car--seeing family and recharging in the woods. We have 2 bikes in tow (tough decision!) and plan to get plenty of riding in as well.

As soon as we make it to our first big stop in Maryland, I'll catch up on some ride reports. I have pictures back from my early spring passhunting expedition up Miller Peak, as well as a great ride in an obscure corner of Montana.

Since I didn't have any time for riding for "fun," I filled the void with lots of utility trips around town getting the onerable business of moving done. We had simplified our life to such a degree that, aside from commuting, errand riding was all but eliminated. I'd forgotten how much fun it is and will have to make an effort to ride more around town next fall.

Oh, and an interesting bike story from the trip thus far. On our way through the Black Hills in South Dakota, we came upon an out of commission tandem. We pulled off and walked back to meet the cheerful team, who were reattaching the drag brake cable. After ensuring they had what they needed, we drove ahead a few miles before pulling off for the night. An hour or so later, the team rode past and waved, the stoker now sporting a helmet with bridal veil. Cool honeymoon (I assume), and a wonderful couple! I wish them well for the rest of their adventure.

When deer are the biggest things on the road: a night ride

2005-05-09T11:09:00.000-06:00

2 AM. A spring breeze spills in the window. I'm stuck at the office grading student projects. I still don't have my helmet back, and the prospect of a night ride is a little daunting. The prospect of not getting out into that night air, though, is unbearable. I'm off.

I roll quietly across campus, greeting a few late night studiers and a few early celebrators. I feel stiff from the sitting and am winded by the short climb up the river bridge. A light breeze whips up at me from the river, bringing with it that moist smell that says "river" in every language.

I zip smoothly down the other side, starting to get my wind and legs, until a traffic light with a bad sense of humor changes to red. I stop right on the sensor, wait a full cycle as a couple of cars straggle through from other directions, and then motor on through the red light. The city paid a ridiculous amount for these new buried detector loops that were supposed to pickup bicycles, but many of them still can't detect a Harley. What are the odds of getting 7 odd pounds of alloyed steel noticed?

I head north under the expressway and decide to take it easy up the hill. I notice that, out of habit, I'm hugging the guard rail, even cringing a little as I anticipate a downshifting car to roar past. I laugh at myself, let my shoulders relax, and edge out into the lane.

By the end of the half mile climb, I'm riding mid-lane. Freed from car detection duty, my senses start to focus on the night. The air is still and heavy, not the oppressive weight of a humid summer night, but the comforting heft of a blossoming spring. Even as I speed down the backside of the hill, the air only whispers past. I can hear the low hum of the tires, the steady throb of the chain, and not much else.

The moon lights my way, augmented poorly by a small LED headlamp. I switch the lamp off. This road is one of my favorite night rides, and I've already hit every bump and crack without incident on rides past.

I stop pedaling and let the bike roll as I near the bottom. Just for fun, I stay off the pedals and let the silence close in around me as the bike coasts to a stop. I dismount and marvel at the quiet. If there's a positive to the noise of our modern lives, surely it's our fascination with silence.

Back on the bike, I glide up the long, gradual climb to Strawberry Ridge. Climbing is easier at night. It's harder to judge grades and impossible to see anything imposing up ahead. I think I'd be a better climber if I wore a blindfold. Well, straight climbs, anyway.

I approach a farm that moonlights as a white-tail deer feed lot. Sure enough, a soft clatter of hooves around the corner alerts me to the herd, the most hazardous thing on the road tonight. The deer up here are still wild, farm fed or not, and they will bolt at a dog bark or a person on foot. At my bike, though, they only show an annoyed sort of curiosity. Do they think I'm a deer? Some other odd animal? A harmless fool riding his bicycle in the middle of the night? I often get the feeling it's the latter, and I never abuse the trust. I weave carefully through the snorts and glancing eyes. Incredible, what gifts are held for cyclers!

I climb out of the herd, and they continue feasting on the roadside grasses. Dessert at the farm tonight, I guess. An owl has taken up residence on a higher part of the hill, and he (or she?) almost always seems to detect my presence. I like to think I'm being hooted a hello, anyway.

The night sky opens up to the east, now, and moon and stars are abundant enough to drown out scattered porch lights. To the west, Waterworks hill blocks out the main city, only the soft glow of lights over the ridge reminds of Missoula. Straight ahead used to be nothing. Well, nothing bothersome, just the peaks of the Rattlesnake Wilderness rising up in the dark. Now, seven years since my first ride up here, a few houses have cut their foundations into the hillside. I don't mind them awfully, but I wish they'd not flood their yards with light all night. Off to the right and well below, Rattlesnake Creek is audible. It won't be in a couple of months, once spring run off has ebbed. Hearing a creek I know is always comforting somehow, even when it's hundreds of feet below.

I dismount at the top of the hill and roll the bike through the public access gate. I hike another 200 feet or so up the hill, lie the bike carefully on its side and stretch out in the tall grass to watch the stars a while.

The creeping chill of the air off the ridge behind me finally spurs me to action. I roll the bike back down the hill, through the gate, and remount on the road. I slow down for the deer, but they seem to have moved on toward the farm and the creek, leaving the road entirely to me. I ride the middle of the lane again down the long descent, up the short hill and then down the steep, short hill that spits me out into town again.

Take a late night ride down a familiar road sometime. Especially if life's been hectic, or traffic's been heavy. Take away the noise, and the cars, and all of the smells of a city. I'm not saying they're always bad. But, I will say that the opposite is always good.

On Losing My Helmet

2005-05-07T15:08:00.000-06:00

It's kind of embarrassing to admit, but, I used to be a helmet pusher. I absolutely would not ride without one. I absolutely did not want my wife riding without one. I positively did not want YOU riding without one.

Last fall, my wife Rachel told me that sometimes it just takes the fun out of riding. I didn't admit to anything, but conceded that it would be OK occasionally, for her. Then one day we were riding out by Blue Mountain, on a perfect, warm day, on a perfect, winding road by the river, and I did the unthinkable. I took off my helmet. I rode. I didn't suffer even minor brain damage. A car passed, but I survived. Worse yet, I had the helmet lashed under the saddle, in plain sight! Everyone knows a helmet doesn't do any good unless it's on your head, right? Right?

I was on a slippery slope now. Soon, more often than not, my helmet could be seen dangling from the bars on long climbs. Two days ago, I lost my helmet. I was running a bunch of errands downtown, and I already had a load on the bike. Carrying the helmet from place to place, I must have set it down somewhere, but where? The truth was, I didn't care any more. I haven't even been to look for it.

I LOVE not wearing my helmet. I'm more alert. Everything is quieter. It's cooler (I know what "they" say, but my head knows it's cooler). My neck hurts less. I don't have much hair, but if I did, it would look better. I feel friendlier. Cyclers are friendlier to me. I ride a little slower. I see a little more. If there were any doubt left, serious cyclists know I'm not one of them.

When I teach introductory economics, I tell my students to beware anyone who has a plan that involves only benefits. Everything has a cost. I pushed helmets purely on their benefits, and I still firmly believe those benefits. If your head hits something hard, it will be bad. A helmet makes it less bad.

Helmets have costs, too. For lots of cyclers, they take some of the fun out of it. Easy and nice as they are these days, putting on a helmet and hopping on a bike is not the same as hopping on a bike.

Yesterday, I recreated my "perfect ride" on the roads and trails of the Rattlesnake. I almost fell a time or two. My chances of serious, paralyzing, don't-even-want-to-think-about-it injury were slightly increased. But, it was a warm spring day. The wind was rushing over my head. Pine boughs brushed through my hair instead of clattering over plastic.

I realized that my helmet was the last carryover from days as a "serious" cyclist. It's just one more reason that more adults don't ride for fun. For commuting, most people can get past helmets. They just don't wear one. I don't think, though, that I've ever seen someone riding out of town for fun without a helmet (usually an expensive one) on.

I'll find or replace my helmet soon. I still think they are useful things. But they aren't essential to being a cycler. I realize that now. Sometimes the costs outweigh the benefits. And, sometimes, just maybe, NOT wearing a helmet is essential to the experience. At least for me, at least sometimes, I think it's true.

Jammed Chain and Local Bikes Shops

2005-05-04T15:45:00.000-06:00

As I was out for a walk in a pleasant spring shower during my lunch break, I saw a stranger than usual sight in the university district. A middle aged woman on a panniered mountain bike was kicking her way down the street, 4-year old style, pausing in each empty parking space to catch her breath.

I eventually caught up with her (progress was slow). Before she could kick away again, I asked kind of hesitantly if she needed help with "anything."

"The chain jammed a ways back," she said. Which made perfect sense of the strange situation. I wondered just how far she had persistently kicked along.

Closer inspection revealed that the chain had overshifted the smallest cog and wedged forcefully between cog and seatstay. Fortunately, it was a quick release wheel, and I showed her how to loosen the wheel and slide it out to free the chain. I mentioned that she should also have someone adjust the derailler as soon as possible.

Working at a community cycling shop, I've seen many bikes simply retired to the garage for this sort of behavior, and bike commuters become drivers again. Usually, it happens to people who would have no problem paying for repairs. Many bike shops are intimidating, though, that's for sure. They must seem especially intimidating if you have an old MTB commuter with a jammed chain. That's not what an average bike shop wants to see coming through the door. Maybe it should be?

I don't understand much about the bike shop business. As I understand it, most aren't doing very well. If that's the case, why doesn't the model ever seem to change? All I see are lots of highly specialized bikes for competition, few useful accessories, and very little reason for a non-competitive cyclist to come in the door unless their bike's hopelessly broken.

I wonder if commuters/weekend pootlers (hey, I'm one of them!) aren't as well received at some shops because there just isn't much to sell them? The jump from commuting/path riding to a road racing bike is absurd, to be sure. The jump to a current suspended mountain bike isn't far behind on the absurd-o-meter. What makes the current bike shop model unprofitable, and could a better model include a wider audience like commuters, non-competitive enthusiasts, and utility riders?

Is there a market for cyclers? If so, I wish one of our 5 local bike shops would give it a try. As it is, I have a gift certificate to one of them, and I still can't get excited enough to stop by and spend it! I'll probably just buy 20 tubes or something.