The Deep Cuts to Life

Urban Dictionary:  Deep Cut

A song by an artist that only true fans of said artist will enjoy/know. True gems that are found later in an album, a b-side. Rarely if ever played on the radio.

     Greatest hits are shoved down our throats constantly.  Turn on the radio, and if it isn't "Hotel California" on a classic rock station, it's that same old Katy Perry song from a few years ago on the pop station.  It gets old, and it gets stale.  Don't get me wrong, greatest hits are fine.  They're great.  But they are not the end-all.  Personally, I have a fondness for the deep cuts, the less known songs that flesh out a good album and give it substance.  The same can go for other parts of life.  The unusual, uncommon, and out-of-the-way places in our lives can be just as important to enjoying life as the obvious aspects.

Trail pic from the Sandy Ridge system.
Taken September 16, 2015

     Concerning mountain biking trails, there are obvious "greatest hits" in every area.  In Tucson, there's places like Fantasy Island and the Sweetwater trails which could be considered "greatest hits."  Up here in Portland, the "greatest hits" are fewer and farther away.  The Sandy Ridge trails are a great example of a purpose-built bike park that everyone who rides knows about, and it gets talked about a lot.  I rode it last summer, and it was really fun.  I liked it.  But it's not the end-all.  I want more trails, I want less contrived trails, I want to go out and get lost.  I want deep cuts.

     At the end of last summer, when I was trying to wring the last drops of mountain biking out of the warm weather, I decided that I needed a new bike.  I had been riding my dad's mountain bike, his Quintana Roo, since I started exploring mountain biking as an adult.  It's a great bike.  It's light, really light.  I've had a few people pick it up randomly and then comment, unprovoked, on how light it is for a bike of its age.  It has a lot of older but top-of-the-line parts.  It's been a great bike to ride.

     But it has it's shortcomings.  First, the front suspension is terrible.  It's a 1997 or 1998 RockShox Indy SL fork, with a whopping 63mm of travel and it uses an elastomer spring.  What that means is that there's a hotdog sized and shaped piece of old, dried out rubber in each stanchion of the fork that provides the suspension for the fork.  To put it mildly, it sucks.  I wanted a bike with a nice, modern suspension fork.  A common starting point for the amount of travel on a modern fork is 100mm, already a lot more than I was riding.  Also, I knew from my days of test riding bikes at REI that I wanted a bike with an air shock--one that uses compressed air to supply the suspension.  It's lighter, smoother, and much more responsive.  Also, I could adjust the air pressure and control how the shock felt, which was enticing.

     Second, while my dad's bike has Shimano Deore XT linear pull rim brakes, they are still rim brakes.  Virtually all modern mountain bikes are running disc brakes, with now even lower end models coming equipped with cheap hydraulic brakes.  Rim brakes just cannot compete in stopping power, especially in wet or muddy conditions, which are more common up here in the Pacific Northwest.  I know that I had, at several points in Tucson, swore I would never own a bike with hydraulic disc brakes, but I finally realized I had to eat my words and get with the times.

Father & Son
Taken on April 27, 2016

     Lastly, I wanted a bike that just felt more modern.  My dad's mountain bike has a very outdated frame geometry--it has a top tube parallel with the ground--and it uses 26-inch wheels.  26-inch wheels were the standard and just about the only option in the beginning and for much of mountain biking's short life, but today is rarely found on brand new models.  Although I've been able to ride my dad's bike fairly comfortably, I knew it could be better, and I wanted to experience that.

     Also, I wanted to become more intimately familiar with a lot of these newer technologies.  I had brushed against them, sometimes often, while working at the REI in Tucson, but it's different to actually own and use something than to just read and follow directions on a piece of paper.  I wanted to learn firsthand the little tricks and nuances of these things that are fast becoming the norm, as the next wave of next generation technology hits the shelves.

Fully built, ready to ride, pre-dirt.
Taken on April 26, 2016

     I'd had my eye on the Soma B-Side frame for a while, mostly because I liked the bright orange paint job and because it's a chromoly frame.  The B-Side is named so because it is designed for using the 650B wheel size, now slightly more commonly known as 27.5-inch.  The 27.5-inch wheel size is the most recent size fad, coming a number of years after 29-inch wheels became popular and generally "accepted."  But, interestingly, Soma was one of the few companies making production quality mountain bike frames for 27.5-inch wheels long before it became the latest fad.  What was once a very uncommon bike, a deep cut or b-side, if you will, has now become very common and popular.

     I did have a little bit of a dilemma concerning the notion of building up an awesome new bike... that was a chromoly hardtail.  Most people would undoubtedly look forward to getting a sweet full suspension bike, maybe even breaking the bank further by wanting a carbon fiber frame.  Sure, if I were to go that route, I'm sure I'd have a ton of fun.  I've noticed a lot of the trails up here around Portland cater to bikes like that.  Gravity.  Enduro riding.  Trails that have some climbing but when it comes to the bread and butter of the riding, it's with tires pointed downhill and rocketing over gnarly roots, rocks, and obstacles.  Hardtails can handle a lot of it, but at a slower and more concentrated pace.  I was wondering if I was making the right choice by ignoring what was around me and stubbornly saying "No, I want good ol' cross country riding", even if that wasn't around me in great abundance.  But after several nights of scouring the internet and other sources, I began to realize that there actually are lesser known, older trails sprinkled around the area that don't get a lot of publicity.  I decided to put the headphones over my ears, and flip the record to listen to the b-side of mountain biking.

     So one day, at the end of summer and the beginning of fall, I began piecing together a build plan for a new bike.  Originally I started with a pretty straight forward build, spec'ing almost exclusively Shimano Deore parts and a RockShox Recon Gold fork, which was basically the starting point for an air-sprung fork with a tapered steer tube.  The total cost of the bike, using my discount at work, came out to a very do-able and manageable amount for us.  Excitedly, I let that spreadsheet sit untouched for a few months.  Our plan was to start building it in the spring, using our tax refund as a springboard to begin the parts buying process.

     But then I started to notice something.  I have a subscription for bike magazine, the only mountain biking magazine that I really care for, and I noticed that a lot of the bikes that these people were riding were using SRAM parts instead of Shimano parts.  Sure, the Shimano stuff was there, but I was a little surprised to see so much SRAM.  I began looking at what was on these top-end bikes, and noticed that SRAM was really pulling out all of the stops in developing new avenues for bike parts, instead of just rehashing the same thing sleeker and lighter each year.  I made a decision to try something a little different for me, and chose a SRAM GX 2x10 drivetrain.  I figured if I didn't like it, sometime in the future I can always go back to Shimano, which I know is reliable.

SRAM GX 10 speed rear derailleur,
mounted to a Paragon Machine Works
sliding dropout for a 12mm thru-axle.
Whew.
Taken on April 27, 2016

     Then I got to thinking again.  I realized that I was building this bike up from nothing--I could do whatever I wanted!  There were not many limitations--mostly what the frame allowed, and my new frame would end up having some surprises in store for me.  I began pondering the notion of getting a fork that used a thru-axle system instead of a traditional 9mm quick release axle.  I played with the spec again, and settled on the RockShox Reba RL fork.  It was only a little more more expensive to do this, although the fork actually ended up costing a little more than the frame, which just goes to show how vital it is to invest in a reliable and adequate suspension fork.

    Shortly afterwards, I got thinking again.  I had a front thru-axle... why not a rear thru-axle?  The Soma B-Side is a little unique in that it uses sliding dropouts.  I imagine the main reason this was designed into the frame was to allow for single speed drivetrains, be it true single speeds or internally geared hubs such as the reputable Rohloff 14-speed hubs.  But it dawned on me that these sliding dropouts were actually a separate part that could come off the bike.  I did some research, and of course, discovered that there were after-market dropouts that fit my bike that could fit 12mm x 142mm thru-axle rear wheels.  It wouldn't cost that much more... I had to do it.

     Reaching the maximum amount allowed by my wife, I had my plan set and all that was left was to order the parts week by week as we saved back money from each paycheck.  After the last parts came in and were installed, I rode it for the first time in the parking lot of our apartment complex.  I had been nervous for weeks that the frame would not be a good fit; it looked so small compared to all of the other frames I had.  I knew it would be different... but it's hard to judge something that is different.  But the moment I pushed off with that first pedal stroke, it felt right.  It felt good.  The fit, which I'll undoubtedly dial in over the summer, was exactly what I imagined it would be.  As I rode around the parking lot burnishing the new brake pads in, I couldn't help but smile and feel that I'd done it.  I'd bought and built up my first completely new bike for myself.

     I couldn't wait to go find the deep cuts.

Parked next to an old box car on the Deschutes River Trail.
Taken on April 26, 2016

Specs, for those interested.

Frame:  Soma B-Side V.3 18.5"
Fork:  RockShox Reba RL 120mm
Wheels:  Shimano Deore M618 Center-lock hubs laced to SunRingle Inferno 27 rims
Tires:  Continental Mountain King 27.5 x 2.4"
Brakes:  Shimano Deore M615 hydraulic disc brakes, 180mm rotor front, 160mm rotor rear
Shifters:  SRAM GX 2x10 shifters
Front Derailleur:  SRAM X.7 double
Rear Derailleur:  SRAM GX 10 speed
Chain:  SRAM PC-1031 10 speed chain
Cassette:  SRAM PG-1030 11 tooth to 36 tooth 10 speed cassette
Crankset:  GX 1000 double crank, 175mm x 36 tooth x 22 tooth
Bottom Bracket:  SRAM GXP threaded outboard bearings
Pedals:  Eclypse Cutting Edge platform pedal, sealed bearing
Seatpost:  Origin-8 Pro-Fit alloy post, 27.2mm x 400mm
Seatpost Collar:  Salsa Lip-Lock 30.0mm
Saddle:  WTB Speed-V (ok ok, so this is an old saddle... planning on getting a Brooks Cambium!)
Headset:  Cane Creek 40 ZS44/EC44
Stem:  Used Profile Designs 100mm reach, probably 35 degree (gonna buy a new stem once I get the fit dialed)
Handlebars:  Used RaceFace bars (might hold onto these, they were a good deal at work)
Grips:  Ergon GP-1L grips
Dropouts:  Paragon Machine Works sliding dropouts 12mm x 142mm

I Feel A Change Comin' On

     For the most part, this blog has been focused on my personal bike projects, be it the repairs and builds of my current bikes, or reminiscing about repairs and builds of the past.  My connection to my father, whose passing somewhat inspired this blog, also had a great impact on what I wrote.

     For the most part, my absence from writing on here has come from a lack of inspiration.  I've had some bike projects, sure.  In fact, a lot of my personal projects have gone unrecorded on here.  To be upfront, it's kind of exhausting to photograph the steps and then translate that which I inherently know and understand so well into written word, especially when I really want that written word to be easily understood by all.

Our last mountain bike ride in Arizona.  At Honeybee Canyon
with our friends.
Taken March 23, 2015

In the end, my passion for writing about these toils died.  But in the void it left behind, another passion had long been blossoming and bearing fruit:  mountain biking.  Keri and I fell in love with mountain biking in Tucson, and when we moved to Portland, Oregon, we were expecting to find a place teeming with good riding.  Unfortunately, we began to realize that the city that virtually always gets number one on any "bike friendly city" list is primarily focused on pavement riding, with commuting being a primary "discipline" of riding found here.  Sure, there's mountain biking trails to be found... there's just not a lot of options close to the city.

What has made this even harder is a resounding lack of information about what trails there are around here.  MTB Project is probably our number one resource, and it's great... but it still feels lacking.  A lot of the trails seem to be represented on there, but there isn't always a lot of information or even pictures, leaving a lot to the unknown.  We also have one Falcon Guide for Northwest Oregon mountain biking that we bought shortly after moving here... but, like so many other printed guides, it is a time capsule from the nineties.  The information isn't always up to date, and it undeniably misses the newest additions to the meager trail systems up here.

My dad's Quintana Roo up at the top of the Sandy Ridge Trail system.
Taken September 16, 2015

     This winter has been rough.  I guess part of life is meeting new challenges to learn more about oneself, and the challenge of our first Pacific Northwest winter has confirmed a long held suspicion of mine:  I don't like the wet.  You might think, and I don't blame you, "You just moved from the desert you big dummie!  Make up your mind!"  Well, we moved from one extreme to the other.  I want to be somewhere in-between.  I want the moisture and greenery to be there, but not up in my face.

From our mountain bike trip to Bend on our anniversary last year.
Taken September 20, 2015

     Back around Thanksgiving we had two days of clear skies and no precipitation--a stark contrast to the near constant rain and drizzle of the winter up here.  Those two days were significantly colder than most other days this winter, and had that familiar cold snap feeling that is so synonymous with Midwestern winters.  I welcomed it.  It invigorated me.  The constantly swampy, marshy conditions throughout most of the grey season is depressing.  Some people like it.  Not me.  A lot of people may say that proper clothing and rain gear will combat this, but for a mountain biker that's not true.  You cannot, in good conscience, ride on a muddy bog of a trail.  I can't, anyways.  The Pacific monsoons have kept me off the trails since last October.  That is way too long.

     So this spring, summer, and fall, Keri and I are going to hit the trails every single chance we get!  We recognize we will probably have to wait a while into spring before the trails dry out, and that fall will probably end our riding season sooner than later, but damnit, we are going to do our best!  We have two trips to Bend, Oregon planned this summer, and we intend on exploring as many of the trails at our disposal as possible.

     And so I'm going to be putting a new spin on this blog, switching its focus to our mountain biking endeavors in the trail-lacking wasteland that is the northwest corner of Oregon.  I plan on recording my impressions of trails we've ridden, and I hope to bring some more current information on the trails that are up here.  That's my hope.

     To go hand-in-hand with this goal is something that is almost as exciting... we are each getting new mountain bikes!  Well, Keri has already gotten hers, and I have begun buying the parts for building mine.  I had to build mine up from scratch, of course.  Through a prodeal at her job, Keri bought a 2016 Diamondback Lux Comp--Diamondback's nicest ladies specific hardtail mountain bike.  Normally a $1200 bike, we got a really good deal on it.

Keri's brand new Diamondback Lux Comp.  It's a huge upgrade from her old GT Aggressor.
Taken March 1, 2016

     As for me, I will be realizing something I have been thinking about for a very long time.  With our tax refund, I was finally able to pull the trigger and ordered a Soma B-Side frame.  The Soma B-Side is a chromoly mountain bike hardtail frame for 650b sized wheels.  The front triangle is Tange Prestige butted chromoly tubing, and the rear triangle is more non-descript butted chromoly tubing.  Tange Prestige is nice stuff.  I've had my eye on this frame for a very long time, and after piecing together an affordable but awesome build that is within our budget, I got the green light to go for it.  So far I only have the frame and seat post, but in a few weeks I should be able to buy the fork and headset, and then a month after that I will be able to buy everything else.

My brand new Soma B-Side V3.  I am so excited to build this up!
Taken February 27, 2016

     Our first trip to Bend this year is at the end of May, so I have plenty of time to build and dial in the bike.  I'm overwhelmingly excited for this new bike.  It will be my first mountain bike ever that is entirely of my doing.  Both of my previous mountain bikes came from my dad, through two very different avenues of life.  But this one will be one hundred percent mine.  I know that, wherever and whatever he is, he'd be excited for me.

Out of the REI and into the CCC

     In my last post, I neglected to shed very much light on a huge change in my life.  Back in April my wife Keri and I finally realized a long-held dream:  we unfurled our figurative sails and left the American Southwest for the Pacific Northwest.  We saved our money diligently for a year and were able to secure jobs at the Hillsboro REI, one of the four REI's in the greater Portland area.

     For four months we both worked at that REI, and although it wasn't necessarily bad, we weren't extremely happy with our new jobs.  For both of us, it was time to move on and stretch our wings and minds and grow a little.  The storm broke, and the same uncanny luck that carried us northward in the first place rewarded each of us with new jobs.  My wife got a job at Oregon Mountain Community, a high-end outdoor retailer focusing on skiing and back-country adventure.  She really likes her new job, and to be honest, the enormous bump in pay that came with her new job is unlike anything we've experienced.  We aren't making bank, but by our standards... we're making bank.

     I, on the other hand, got a job as a mechanic at the Community Cycling Center, a non-profit bike shop and organization that is a pillar of Portland's cycling community.  One day I wanted to go check out the shop, as I heard it is the place to go for used parts, so I ventured to the web site and noticed a "We're Hiring!" link, and something inside of my head clicked.  The Community Cycling Center is a bike shop unlike most bike shops out there.  The focus is on helping people with their bikes.  The focus is getting people on bikes as appropriately and effectively as possible.  The focus is not selling shit that people don't need.  A lot of the little burs that had been causing friction in my career at REI suddenly seemed they could--just maybe--be smoothed out.

     I applied.

     I interviewed.

     I got the call.

     As of now it's been a few days less than a month since my first day at the Community Cycling Center.  The transition has been overwhelming.  Although confident in my abilities and knowledge, there is always something unknown to know.  My usual creed of "I love old bikes" has shoved my foot into my mouth.  I have realized just how much I don't know about long-forgotten brands and styles.  Whereas before, old bikes were my specialty, I've found now my specialty might lay more with the modern stuff that doesn't come through the shop as much.  We'll see.

     Since I sold my Fuji I had been commuting on the mountain bike I inherited from my dad.  It got the job done but I was wanting to get a beater bike, something I didn't care about so I wasn't a nervous wreck when I took it on the train or locked it up somewhere.  My dad's Quintana Roo is valuable beyond words to me so it didn't make sense to take it everywhere with me, especially into a city as big as Portland.  Luckily, the answer lay in the GT Borrego frame I bought in Tucson over a year ago.

     It was time to build a bike.

Sayonara, Fuji-san

     Some people just like to have things.  For these people, the simple state of possession fills them with a satisfaction that is easy to achieve and hard to let go.  I am one of those people.  Fortunately, my wife is not one of those people, and so the compromise is that I can have things but only the most important of things to me.  Although I am resistant most of the time to part with these possessions, I mostly agree afterwards that it wasn't that big of a deal.  The act of letting go is usually more difficult than the period afterwards where you simply don't have the item.

     Some time ago I came to the hard realization that keeping my beloved Fuji S12-S touring bike just wasn't the best idea.  This was mostly brought on by the very slow-coming realization that the bike was just not comfortable to ride.  I have known the bike was too big for me for a long time.  My "fitted" frame size is 58cm... the Fuji is a 62cm.  Too much of a jump.  But I could still throw my leg over it and pedal it around, and in ideal circumstances it wasn't that big of a deal.

     But in less-than-ideal circumstances, such as logging miles on the side of the road alongside traffic, the bike became too much.  Away from the safety of the secluded bike path, the too-large frame was a little too unruly.  Too much of a reach to the bars, and too much of a reach down to the down tube to shift gears.  I stopped enjoying the ride.

     I also began remembering my time on my Cannondale when I first got it.  That bike felt so alive under me!  I would go out and just ride it for the sake of riding it--something I never ever felt compelled to do on my Fuji.  A couple of months ago when Keri and I tried out a bike path to the west of Portland, I thought about riding my Fuji--and decided against it, opting for my mountain bike.

     In an ideal world, Keri and I would own a house.  We would not feel compelled to move for several, several years, if at all.  And I would have space to store the Fuji, to occasionally pull it out, dust it off, and pedal it around for old times sake.  But this isn't that ideal world, and space is scarce.  The next time we move, I don't want to box it up again.  I currently have two bikes that are still boxed up from the move to Portland, simply because they take up less space in a box.

     So I let the ole Fuji go.  I posted an ad on craigslist for $350, and today I met up with a young gentleman who gave me the full $350 for it.  It was kind of hard letting it go but it was just time.  I had some good times riding it and better memories working on it.  The bottom line is that one day I realized I was more attached to it as simply a "thing" or a machine, and not as a bike to be ridden.  And a bike that isn't ridden, isn't really a bike.

     Sayonara, Fuji-san

The last picture I took of it, the one I used in the craigslist ad.  I had left everything on the bike except for my Brooks Saddle (of course) and my nice MKS touring pedals.  What you see here are the originals.
Taken on July 15, 2015

The bike's final rendition under my care, minus the addition of toe clips on the pedals.  Sure was pretty.
Taken on December 14, 2014

The day I bought 'er, in all of her 1980 glory.
Taken on August 12, 2011

Common Sense; or (Why You Should Wear a Helmet)

     I am genuinely ashamed in the growing number of articles I have seen in the past year or so that have been spreading the message that riders should not wear a helmet.  I've been noticing it for a while now.  Articles and "studies", everything from opinion-laced blogs to quasi-reputable news sites, have been citing a new collection of statistics and "expert conclusions" suggesting that one doesn't need to wear a helmet while riding a bicycle.  Some have even said one shouldn't wear a helmet.

     I find it sickening, and am thoroughly amazed at the nonsense these articles have been spewing.

     But in general I tend to try to be quiet about things that bother me.  However, the other night I spied an article on the extremely reputable Outside Magazine website that rustled my feathers too much.  This is one of the few things that I feel needs to be said.  I encounter it ever so occasionally in my job, but if this brainless dribble is being spread through a stream of advertisement as large and revered as Outside, something has to be said.  Hopefully my voice is joining the cacophony of like-minded individuals.


     Let's get one thing straight:  you should wear a helmet.


     The key word there is should.  I understand that it doesn't always happen, but the lesson resonating within our heads should be that when it makes sense (which is often), we should be strapping a helmet onto our head.

     Why?

     Well there are a lot of reasons, and they may be the sort of thing you expect.  But, there is one overwhelming thing that I feel doesn't get said enough.


     There is absolutely no good reason you shouldn't wear a helmet.


     There are plenty of articles--and real people--explaining all of the reasons we should wear a helmet.  I will try to not focus too heavily on that.  Instead, I want to zero in on something more subversive, something that I feel is doing far more damage.

     Most of the people who oppose wearing a helmet are of course concerned primarily for themselves, and their choices affect, most directly, only themselves.  Although loved ones can and will get pulled into that, at its core it is a personal choice.  What gets my blood pumping is people suggesting to other people that they should not wear helmets.

     I've noticed statistics to be the main ammunition used by these irresponsible articles.  There seems to always be a slew of statistics for all of the deaths of helmet-wearing cyclists, and how many living cyclists don't wear helmets.  There seem to never be statistics for how many people are able to hold onto their life thanks to their helmet, or even how many people sustained less severe injuries because of a helmet.

     Statistics are everywhere in our modern world.  We are constantly bombarded with a doomsday sized arsenal of numbers and figures attempting to legitimize everything under the sun.  I bet you could pick any topic, and find some kind of statistic that is at least partially relevant to said issue.  It is important to remember that so few of these research agencies and the studies they conduct are 100% un-biased and neutral.  Additionally, it is even more important to remember that statistics are not conclusions; while they are (usually) objective, they do not completely represent the fact of the matter.  They are instead a guide, a sign on the path of discovery.

     What's that common joke, often interpreted as fact?  "n% of statistics are made up."


     Bottom line:  statistics can be used to justify just about anything.


     Instead, let's rely on something that just, well, works.  Good ole common sense.

     First, let's lay out some real facts:

• A bicycle is a vehicle that will allow a rider to almost always travel at a higher speed than walking and running.
• The human body is both resilient and fragile.  Our bodies are not guaranteed to be safe at faster-than-human speeds.
• Everything in life is overwhelmingly dynamic.  We have complete control over so little of it.

     Now, let us apply some common sense to those facts.  Sounds like there are situations where protection could help prevent an injury, and yes, even death.  That's not always the case, unfortunately.  But if people only partook in ventures that had a 100% success rate, well, we wouldn't be doing very much would we?  Helmets are a lot like insurance after all.  It's the best thing in the world if we truly never use it!  But if we get caught without it, well, that's almost never a good situation.

     Now, let's get some of my opinions out there:

• I don't necessarily believe in helmet laws.  I think they are a waste of time, both in creation and execution.  Our country (and much of the world) is too content to make rules.  The true solution is education.  Teach yourself, others, and humanity's children, if you really want to enact change.  Good ideas always trump laws.  I often get asked if the local helmet laws require a helmet.  I don't know.  The law is completely irrelevant to me, because I value my well-being.  Do you need a law to instill that in you as well?
• I've read some sources saying that helmet requirements discourage bicycle use.  In my humble opinion, if wearing a helmet truly discourages someone from riding a bike, they probably weren't going to like it or stick with it anyways.  Try other avenues of getting someone on a bike instead of attacking helmet use.
• Another often cited reason we shouldn't wear helmets is because a lot of European countries, usually the Netherlands, don't have helmet-wearing populations and they are the best cycling countries in the world!  That's great.  There's one problem:  we aren't a European country.  What I mean is, the US is not ready for that.  Every time this is cited, there is a picture of some street filled with pedestrians and people riding casual commuting type bicycles.  The bicycle environment in the US is not like this in most places.  Instead, bicycles are often operated side-by-side with cars and trucks that are often blind to anything but other vehicles.  The American population and infrastructure aren't there yet.  If we ever get there, great.  In the meantime, protect yourself.
• If you're paying over ~$45 you are spending too much on a helmet.  Yes you can find cheaper ones at department stores, and those are going to technically be just as safe, but that "starting point" for bike shop quality bike helmets of about $40-$45 is in my opinion the best place to be.  You are a weenie if you are spending over $100 on a helmet.  I'm sorry.
• It's not the end of the world to ride without a helmet.  Sometimes.  Again, common sense comes into play here, but I do feel it is most important to strap a helmet to your head if you are going fast (or trying to go fast), and if you are riding in a high risk environment.  If you're mountain biking, riding BMX in a concrete park or riding hard in traffic (be it commuting or riding athletically), put a damn helmet on.  If you're strolling at low speeds on a bike path or taking a spin around the block, you'll probably be ok.  Probably.  Life isn't black and white, and one decision shouldn't dictate everything in your life.  Play it by ear, and be smart about it.  But remember, there's absolutely no good reason you shouldn't wear a helmet.

     The last thing I want to say is this:  my dad always, always, always told me to wear a helmet.  A story I still recall when talking to people who whine about using a helmet concludes with a family friend keeping his life because he had a helmet on his head.  It was a vehicular accident--he was not at fault at all.  His completely destroyed and shattered helmet went on display in our bike shop as a lesson to all.  Even as a small child, I remember making the connection in my head that those dozen or so pieces of styrofoam could have been his skull.

     Whether I was riding my bike or my motorcycle, if my dad was around I put my helmet on.  I didn't always, as rebellious teenagers are guaranteed to do, but the lesson was still there beneath all of the bad, angsty decisions.  In the early days of my teenage motorcycle riding years, my dad said something that always stuck with me:

     "You will wreck.  Everybody does."

Aluminum Triangles, Part 2

     I can't really remember exactly when I decided to turn my Cannondale back into a true road bike.  I had been working at the bike shop for several months, I know that much, and I can only imagine I eventually felt the need to do the bike justice and return its drop bars.  Over the following several months I made small modifications to the bike, experimenting with my craft on my own vehicle instead of those owned by others.  New parts, old parts, different parts, all came and went on the frame as I played.  I will just explain what I did to bring the bike to its final form while still in Indiana, before we moved to Arizona.

The bike in its final form while still in Indiana.  Truthfully, it has been a solid bike no matter what I put on it.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     I returned the drop bars and stem that came with the bike.  The handlebars are bare of any markings, except for those from use and abuse.  They are quite narrow, even for their age.  The stem is a Nitto Technomic, still highly polished.  For a while I used the brake levers that came on the bike, Dia-Compe AG-C250 drop levers.  They are spring tensioned, a feature originally pioneered by Dia-Compe.  Eventually, I got my hands on an old bike equipped with some Shimano Dura-Ace components from the early eighties.  I decided to swap some of those parts over to my Cannondale, the first being the Dura-Ace brake levers.  Those levers stayed on my Cannondale until very recently.

Front of the bike.  Note the Dura Ace levers.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     The brakes that came on the bike are Suntour Cyclone side-pull single-pivot calipers--the norm for their day.  Sadly, this design does not have as much of a mechanical advantage as the dual-pivot calipers that are found on most road bikes today.  What's more, they are a little different to adjust, and I will admit that I was not quite sure how to deal with them at the time.  So, I swapped them out with a pair of brand new Origin-8 Pro Pulsion Comp calipers.  Truthfully, I can say I was always very happy with the new calipers.  They looked sharp and performed well.

Origin-8 Pro Pulsion Comp dual pivot road calipers.  Grey.  They have served me well.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     I wanted a road bike crank but my dad's immediate disapproval of the Shimano Biopace crank that came on the bike drove an unfounded bias into my mind, so I sought a new crank.  I settled on the Shimano FC-2300 crank.  The 2300 series was Shimano's absolute lowest end starting point for road bike specific components.  That being said, the parts still came at a decent price and quality level--Shimano's road componentry starts at a much, much higher level than its mountain componentry.  2300 has recently been renamed "Claris", although the price point and quality level remain similar.

Shimano FC-2300 crank.  Probably the best choice--at least economically--that I could have made for a new crank.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     As I stared at the bike in my new repair stand at home, I wondered why we had changed the rear derailleur.  The one that had come on the bike--a Suntour Cyclone 6000--was still in great shape, from what I could tell.  The Shimano Tourney derailleur that had hung on my bike ever since I started riding it looked cheap and crude next to the smooth polished aluminum of the twenty-six year old Cyclone.  I remember after work one day I asked my boss what was different between the two derailleurs.  He looked at each one, and explained "capacity" to me, and told me with a smile that I should probably use the Cyclone.

Suntour Cyclone 6000 rear derailleur.  Sadly, the markings had always been illegible.  They are completely gone now.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     Capacity, when talking about derailleurs, basically talks about the ability to handle the difference in the size between the smallest and largest gear.  It applies to both front and rear derailleurs, and for both types it is measured using the size of the cage.  On a rear derailleur, the cage is the lower pivoting assembly which houses the two pulleys.

     A short cage means that the derailleur will only work with a gear cluster that does not have a large range of gears.  This is typically found on road bikes, and tends to be a little more common on the more serious and performance-oriented road bikes.  A great example would be a 12 tooth to 25 tooth freewheel or cassette.  The "low" gear is only 13 teeth larger than the "high" gear.

Example of a short cage.  Note the relatively short distance between the two black pulleys.
A Falcon rear derailleur, year unknown.
Taken on August 20, 2014

     A long cage means the derailleur will work with a cluster of gears that has a much larger difference.  Usually that means something like a 12 tooth to 32 tooth freewheel or cassette.  There are 20 teeth inbetween those sizes.  Those sizes are typically found on, well, every other kind of geared bicycle:  mountain bikes, hybrids, touring bikes, and the like.

Example of a long cage.  Note the distance between the two black pulleys and how much greater
it is than the picture above.
A Suntour GT "Raleigh" rear derailleur, 1980
Taken on August 20, 2014

     Mechanically, what the size of the cage translates into is how much slack in the chain is displaced when in any given gear configuration.  When the cage is long, it can displace more slack in the chain, which means the chain can be longer, which means it can work with a larger range in gears.  Note that capacity does not talk about the number of gears.  That is rarely an issue, despite what the companies try to convey to us through labeling derailleurs as 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 speed.  It tends to only be relevant with the highest end componentry, which is made a little differently than the rest of the "crap" we plebeians get to use.

     So, I mounted the Suntour Cyclone 6000 rear derailleur and have had almost no issues since.  I also remounted the Suntour Cyclone down tube friction shifters.  This marked the first time a bike of mine used either downtube or friction shifters.  I would come to hold these types of shifters dear.

     Finally, I bought new wheels for the bike.  The wheels that came on the bike were a solid build--Shimano 105 hubs and some variety of Mavic rims.  However, they had been damaged at some point and I was constantly battling the spokes.  There was always a wobble in the rim, and it got worse the more I rode them.  The spokes that broke and earned me my job and career were no doubt an early indication of this.  So eventually I dumped a mound of cash and ordered some prebuilt wheels.  I know, I know.  But I was still a bit of a baby at this time.  Ha ha.

     The wheels I bought are defined by their SunRingle M13II rims.  Anyone who has actually been reading this blog knows I have an affinity for SunRingle rims, and this is where it started.  The rims had something of a vintage look to them, between their boxy profile and highly polished surfaces.  However, they also had machined sidewalls, which allows for greater braking power.  The hubs for these wheels are unremarkable, branded Quanta.  Despite that, the rear hub does have sealed bearings, which is nice.

Nothing terribly remarkable, other than the sealed bearing that is visible.
Taken on May 4, 2011

     I road the bike like this for seemingly at least four months--effectively the summer of 2011.  I had a lot of fun on the bike, venturing farther and farther on the Cardinal Greenway of Wayne County, Indiana.  I recall one afternoon specifically, when I ventured north on the bike path by myself.  I went the farthest I had ever gone that night, rolling around 27 miles total on silent pavement.  I also took the bike to Philadelphia for the Fourth of July, and got to ride a little over there.

     Just before we moved to Arizona, I got my hands on my Fuji.  After arriving in dreadful Bullhead City, I didn't really ride my bikes very much at all.  None of them left the porch.  They got covered in dirt and dust, blowed in by the gailing winds trailing south out of the Grand Canyon and over Hoover Dam.  I did take one--just one--pleasure ride in Bullhead City.  Several months in, I had enough and ventured out onto the shoulderless pavement of that barren town for a quick ride--on my Cannondale.  When we finally moved to Tucson, I took to riding my Cannondale to work for a few weeks or maybe a month.  Eventually I got on my Fuji, which I had barely ridden at all, and took to loving it.

     The Cannondale then sat unused for months and months and months.  The wheels I had bought were being used on my Fuji, and the Cannondale hid leaning against the wall neglected.  Finally, I decided to start cleaning it up.  Several months after starting that, I finally got to a position where I could finish it, and now its back.

     And I still like riding it.

Aluminum Triangles, Part 1

     Of all the bikes in my current stable, I have had my 1985 Cannondale SR500 the longest.  I got the bike in the summer of 2009 after telling my dad that I wanted a road bike.  He actually had a lead onto one, and reclaimed this bike from my uncle.  My dad had received the bike as payment for some machining work he'd done, but having no use for the bike, and it being too small for his 6'5" frame, he gave it to his oldest brother.  Luckily for me, my uncle hardly rode it and didn't seem to put up a fight when my dad took it back.  Lo and behold, I got my hands on it and looking back I consider myself extremely lucky for that.

     It is a 58cm frame, which is the "perfect" frame size for me according to a bicycle fit kit that I used to measure myself.  Personally I have my doubts, but maybe that comes from riding my monstrous and certainly too-large-for-me 62cm Fuji.  Aside from that, the bike has a very aggressive riding geometry.  This is most easily distinguished by the very small wheelbase.  The wheelbase of the bike is the measurement from axle to axle.  Although the frames differ quite a bit proportionally, as a comparison the Cannondale's wheelbase is roughly 99cm.  My Fuji is about 106.6cm.  7cm may not seem like a lot but if you consider the "size" of the frames are only 4cm apart, that may help convey the difference.  Hopefully this photo below will help illustrate that.  Looking at the gap between the rear wheel and the seat tube is a quick and easy way to get an approximation of just how "aggressive and twitchy" or "long and stable" a frame is.

Left:  The Fuji.  Note the gap between the edge of the tire and the seat tube.
Right:  The Cannondale.  Wow that's tight isn't it?  Quite a difference.
Taken on August 16, 2014

     I don't normally speak too much about frame geometry because, well, I have a hard time detecting the differences between frames.  It probably comes from the fact that I am not much of a rider, but personally I'd like to think it comes from my "deal with it" attitude.  Frame geometry is definitely something some riders like to complain about when they think the machine is holding them back.

     But I mention it with the Cannondale because, well, I notice it.  This bike is very zippy and accelerates quickly.  This is a characteristic of the wheel being so far forward and under the saddle and rider, which is made visible by the very small gap between tire and seat tube.  I also mention it because it was something even my dad had noticed shortly after we started working on the bike, and it stuck in my head.  Maybe it was because I was intrigued by the notion that all bike frames aren't identical, or maybe it's because I was impressed that a man who hadn't worked on bikes professionally in nearly 15 years could recall something so seemingly abstract.  Just a fun little nugget of nostalgia.

     It's kind of funny because I can remember saying "I want a road bike, but I don't want road bike handlebars."  My dad probably wondered what I was thinking, but he agreed that "road bike handlebars" weren't for me so we set out to turn the bike into what he kept calling a "city bike."  First stop, Ike's Bikes, the local bike shop that would eventually hire me.  This first visit to the bike shop was undoubtedly my first stepping stone towards my current career.

     I remember standing there quietly as my dad spoke with the man who would eventually become my boss, asking what was available to order and what would work with the bike.  I was surprised that my dad was asking for help.  He knew vaguely what we needed, but he wasn't able to walk in and say "I need this exact part."  That was unexpected to me.  Afterall, my dad used to run a bike shop!  He used to work on bikes all the time!  How could he not know exactly what we needed?  Well, the fact is that he had been out of the industry for a long time.  He forgot things, and things changed.  After we got everything squared away, we got back in the car and I'll never forgetting my dad saying "I like the guy who runs that shop.  He really knows his stuff."  That recognition would probably go on to subconsciously serve me a year later when I was employed there.

The earliest photo I have of the bike in it's "Frankenstein" phase.  This was taken behind Ike's Bikes, on the first day I rode my bike into work.  I got there about 20 minutes early so I decided to take a picture of my mount.
Taken on May 8, 2010

     My dad decided a lot had to change on the bike for it to be the "city bike" I wanted.  We of course replaced the drop bars with flat bars, but we also replaced the downtube friction shifters with some low-end Shimano handlebar-mounted lever shifters.  We put some interesting mountain bike brake levers on the bike which had extensions for climbing bar-ends.  The crank was my introduction to Shimano's Biopace, which were non-circular, elliptical chainrings that Shimano produced for a number of years in the 80's and 90's.  My dad promptly had us remove it.  We replaced that crank with a much newer Shimano LX mountain bike crank that he had lying around.  We also replaced the Suntour Cyclone 6000 rear derailleur with a modern Shimano Tourney rear derailleur.  Although the Suntour Cyclone 6000 seems to have been reviled a bit back in the day, it is certainly nicer than the sheet metal and plastic Tourneys of today!  My only guess as to why we replaced it was to accommodate a larger freewheel, effectively creating a mountain bike drive train on my aggressive road racing Cannondale.  My dad's affinity for mountain bikes must have run deep.  We saved the wheels, thankfully, and mounted a pair of brand new Continental Ultra-Sports.  In the end, what I had was quite an ugly frankenstein bike, but it was my bike and I thought it was great.

The second earliest photo I have of the bike.
Taken on June 20, 2010

     I had the bike like this for quite a while.  It was a bit of a revelation for me, because I had never spent a lot of time on a real road bike before.  Most of my riding up to that point had been on knobby mountain bike tires, on both pavement and dirt, and I didn't really know anything different.  Having the ability to roll so smoothly, and on larger wheels, really helped me feel fast and nimble.  I rode it for the rest of the summer, but decided to leave it home during my great trip West that year.  I reasoned a mountain bike was truly all-terrain and may benefit me where a road bike would not.  I was right.

     After I came home and weathered a miserable, unemployed winter, I got back on the bike in the spring.  One day, while riding with friends on the local bike path, I heard an odd twanging sound.  Lo and behold, I had broken a spoke!  Looking back, this would be a precursor to the problems those wheels gave me until I chopped all of the spokes off and saved the hubs, but for the time being it had another purpose.  I went to my dad, who told me that we needed new spokes.  "Go down to Ike's and hand him your spokes.  He'll measure them and give you the right ones."

     Nervous and timid from a winter locked inside, I reluctantly drove down to the bike shop.  With spokes in hand, I opened the door and was met with a shout.  "That young man right there!  He is the one I need to hire!"  Confused and bewildered, I timidly walked up to the counter, behind the customer who was currently being helped.  I had applied to the bike shop in the fall, but hadn't heard from them.  No wonder, as a Midwestern winter is not the time to ride bikes for anyone but the most dedicated and crazed of people.  The man in front of me finished his business and left, and I stepped forward.

     "Um, I need some spokes," I said as I awkwardly thrust my hand out, handing the spokes over.  The expression on his face changed a little, and he takes them.  Walking into the back, he said,

     "So, would you like to have a job?"