Bikes of Bygone Days, Part 2

   I normally enjoy riding down at the shore, but the wind here has been really whipping up, pretty much wrecking the benefit of the pancake-flat terrain! Of course, it is the first rule of cycling that the wind will always be worse on the return leg of your route.
   I'm excited about the start of the Tour de France this weekend, but it's time to continue our look back at some of my past bicycles...

   The 1989 Cannondale ST400 was purchased at Genesis Cycles (still a great shop) in Easton when I knew that it was time to upgrade from that heavy steel Ross frame. The Cannondale had that cool oversized tubing, a relaxed fit and plenty of gears for climbing. I loved the blue color and always kept the bike spotless!

   I rode a couple criterium races on that great bike and my first 1000 mile summer, which seems like a comparatively small achievement now. I particularly recall two 50+ mile rides during vacation in western New York State, one on the hilly roads around Letchworth State Park and another in the beautiful Finger Lakes region, one of my favorite areas of the country.

   I also rode my farthest (at that point in time) one-trip distance on the Cannondale, a 67-mile ride from Philadelphia to Mays Landing, New Jersey, to benefit the American Cancer Society. Incredibly, I averaged over 20 mph on that ride, being lucky to hook up with a group of cyclists who rode regularly together and formed a fantastic paceline to share the work along the way!

   That bicycle was wrecked beyond repair in 2008 when a driver made an abrupt right hand turn into me. I was able to salvage a bit of the bike and my memories of it by turning its frame into wheel aligning tools (see article here).

   I purchased a 2008 Trek 1.5 Triple after my beloved blue Cannondale was totaled. It had perfect gearing for the larger hills and a really comfortable fit, which is why I had it hooked up to my windtrainer during the winter months.
   When I bought my new Cannondale and converted it to compact gearing, it became my "big hill ride" and the Trek's role changed. I added cyclocross tires to this bike for cycling on rougher, unpaved trails.

   This was a 1991 Diamondback Centurion Expert TG that had belonged to my younger brother. I rescued it from the floor of my parents’ garage and used it for the bike mechanic classes that I took at Bikesport in Trappe, PA. During the classes the bike was completely taken apart and overhauled, including repacking the bearings in the bottom bracket and wheel hubs! Considering that my brother did very little maintenance, it ran like a dream after I worked on it.

   One thing that caught my attention right away when riding it was the big honking chainrings, pretty much a setup for criterium racing at high speeds, definitely not for the hilly terrain around Royersford. I was stunned to think that Mark was on this bike when we rode up to my uncle’s place in the Poconos, and I remember he was climbing with a mushy rear wheel (more on the flat tires later) up one of the steepest roads as well! When I mentioned this to him, he winked and flexed his muscles at me – yeah, he was just being funny, but I was really impressed, and quickly found the need to change to a smaller set for more comfortable spinning.

   I’m usually not a big fan of the splash graphic bar tape, but I thought this black and white version looked pretty good with the marbleized paint around the front fork/head tube and rear stays on the bicycle. Besides, I was able to purchase two sets of this top-rate Cinelli tape super cheap! The bike also had white brake lever covers, which I never understood because they get cruddy, so I replaced those with a black pair. I also added a new saddle and some Look pedals.

   Logos on the bike said “Avenir Equipped”, and I have no idea what that actually meant because the components were mostly Shimano. It also had a set of Mavic wheels, which are usually high quality, but developed a tendency to flat. Frequent pinch flats were solved by a little extra shot of pressure in the tires, but there was a problem with the machining of the nipple holes inside the rim, which had sharp edges that also caused occasional punctures. I took a needle file to those trouble spots and had the rim tape replaced, which seemed to finally solve the problem. However, I was so frustrated with this process, and knew the wheels had some value, so I sold them and bought a new pair of Vuelta rims with bladed spokes of a lower count.

   I used this bike mainly at the shore or on flatter routes, but when I was looking to raise some funds for a Colnago purchase, I planned to sell the bike. I wasn’t happy with the way the Bontrager rims on my Trek would flex when I turned the bike at high speeds, so I switched them out for the Vuelta wheels when I eventually listed the Diamondback on eBay.

   I enjoyed the high-end performance of the 2001 Colnago Dream Lux, an aircraft aluminum speedster with full Campagnolo components. I’ve discussed this bicycle and its role in my current collection of bicycles in a blog entry earlier this spring (see article here).

   My final "bike of the past" is the Motobécane Mirage, a repaint of a mid-1970s road machine. I converted the bike to a cyclocross setup to take advantage of the numerous unpaved rail trails in this area of the country. It was a sturdy steel bike (a bit too heavy, leading to my decision on its sale) with some quirky vintage details. You can read about this refurbish job, beginning with the “Start up” article on this page.

Bikes of Bygone Days, Part 1

   I’ve been reading a book called Bike Snob, in which the writer describes some of his early experiences on bikes, before his love for cycling fully blossomed. I thought it would be entertaining to share images of my early machines and some stories to go along with them. Some of these tales may have you wondering why I didn’t give up cycling completely before I was truly “hooked”.

   Although this is not the bike on which I first learned to ride, it is very close. I can’t remember the manufacturer or anything, but this is the same type and color.

   I remember my parents taking me out on a small alley near our apartment in Allentown, and when I had enough confidence to go off on my own without them holding on, I promptly ran into a curbside sewer drain and wiped out. A couple years later, although my skills had improved somewhat, I encountered a car speeding through an intersection in front of me. I had little time to apply the coaster brake (the backpedal kind) and plowed right into the side of the car. I remember a boy sitting in the passenger seat, just looking at me lying on the street as his wonderful mother just sped away, leaving me there. Although I was badly shaken and had some major scrapes, I was glad that the bike was still in one piece! The paint eventually faded to an almost pink color and Dad kindly repainted it a sparkly blue, installed more upright handlebars and a banana seat for my younger brother – VERY cool!

   My second bike was a red Kia (same Korean company that eventually made the cars), similar to the one pictured, except with a black seat and bar handles, and without the whitewall tires.

   My middle brother had a yellow one which disappeared one night, along with mine, from our back porch – I assume that they were locked, but can’t remember for sure. We heard that some shady characters had been seen unloading bikes from the back of a pickup truck behind a housing development in one of the less desirable sections of Allentown’s East Side. I don’t know if we were crazy or just that angry about our bikes being stolen, but we convinced Dad to take us on a drive in our Volkswagen bus to just “look around” the area.

   Incredibly it didn’t take long for us to find a boy, maybe a couple years younger than I (eight years old at the time), riding my bright red Kia on the sidewalk near his apartment. Again, I don’t know if I was crazy or angry, but I simply walked over to him and said, “That’s my bike.” The boy knew it wasn’t his and just handed it over. I started confidently walking the bike towards the van, and then I heard a screen door open and a deep voice behind me.

   I have to explain that by midsummer my skin was darkly tanned, because the boy’s father shouted, “Why are you letting that Puerto Rican kid take your bike?” I can remember vividly Craig sitting in the van with the sliding side door open, waving for me to hurry up. I sprinted the short distance, swung the bike up and jumped in as he slammed the door behind me, and Dad accelerated away. We never found Craig’s bike, but I think at that point we would have been pushing our luck!

   I was saving up paperboy pay in order to buy my first real “racing bike”, a Ross Gran Tour II that I picked out from a catalog my father brought home when he heard of my planned purchase. The bike description listed the color scheme as Cognac and beige, which sounded really classy to me! My parents surprised me on Christmas by wheeling the assembled ten speed into the living room. I remember feeling a bit confused when they explained how they paid the remaining funds, and I found my saved cash gone, but it was all good in the end.

   I ran that bicycle into the ground! Ross didn’t feature top end components, and my mechanical skills had not yet evolved, so eventually the derailleurs failed.  I was riding it primarily as a single speed during summers when I was home from college. Again Mom and Dad (they really are the best!) came through, had the gearing completely redone and delivered the bike to my dorm at the University of Maryland. I rode all over the greater Washington, D.C. area when I wasn’t in class, and even entered a couple criterium races on campus.

    My wife Sue and I started dating during our sophomore year, and we started riding together when she purchased the Schwinn that our son Carrick now rides (see refurbishing story here).  She remembers very well the shock on my face, and steam possibly coming out of my ears, when a new junior year roommate borrowed my bicycle without asking, and later said, “I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Looking back, he really only knew me a few weeks, and wasn’t a cyclist, so I suppose he just wouldn’t have understood my feelings towards the bike.

   More "Bygone Bikes" next week…

New Jersey's Columbia Trail

   Getting in rides this spring has been a bit of a challenge with thunderstorms that have been popping up nearly every day. Late morning/early afternoon rides have been routine, but I don’t feel like I’m getting much out of them. Perhaps it takes me a bit of time to shake out the sleep, or I really need the breakfast energy to kick in, but I’ve never been much of a morning rider. I felt really sympathetic for Sue having to get up at 5:30 for a 7:00 triathlon start on Sunday – she did very well, by the way, but that definitely wouldn’t work for me!

   Last Wednesday my father and I lucked out with just enough of a weather break to fit in a ride on the Columbia Trail, about a 22 mile round trip between the New Jersey towns of High Bridge and Long Valley. The route was a former New Jersey Central Railroad line that mostly follows the easy grade of the South Branch of the Raritan River through Dover and on towards the Hudson River ports. Several points along the trail feature historical markers, including one that describes the 1885 wreck of an iron ore train that occurred on one of the bridges (photo left). The trail bears the name of the engine Columbia, that derailed and crashed into the river below.

   Dad hadn’t been riding as regularly as he had in the past, so he wasn’t in top shape, but he did fine. I pointed out to him that I always enjoy taking break from the typical “ride myself into the ground” pace. I found out later when I examined the trail’s profile on MapMyRide, that its course actually had a climb of about 220 feet, but it was so gradual, it was hardly noticeable. Well, let’s just say that I noticed less than my father did.

   The scenery in the first few miles was fantastic, as the trail cuts through the Ken Lockwood Gorge. It was a cool morning, but I bet the thick forest cover overhead would keep the temperature comfortable anyway. The area is known for excellent trout fishing, and we saw several folks with poles trying their luck during our ride.

   The town of Califon, about halfway along the trail, has over 170 buildings of Victorian architecture on the National Register of Historic Places. Legend has it that when the neat little stone train station was built, the sign painter ran out of room for the town's original name of California, abbreviated it somewhat to fit and the name stuck.

   Scenery beyond the town was quite different, but still pretty in its own right, as the trail crossed through farmlands (photo right). Unfortunately frequent horseback riders have taken their toll on the cinder surface, and the constant bumps felt like someone was trying to shake our bikes apart! About 8 miles out, Dad had enough and decided to take a butt break in a nice little area with a bench near a bridge over the river. I took the opportunity to “let ‘er rip” for the remaining few miles while he rested for the return leg.

   I appreciated the comfortable position and more cushioned ride of the mountain bike during our previous trip together, but I had the ‘cross bike this time around. Its racing bike geometry is more built for speed - perfect for the flat cinder track. I always tell Sue how much I like riding with her, getting warmed up before I do my regular workouts, and I had a similar feeling in this case, as it seemed like I covered the remaining six miles in no time!

   On the way back we noted how few people we had encountered during our ride. It may have been because it was early afternoon, midweek during the school year, but another factor is probably that the trail only intersects really small towns. While the remote location is an attraction for us, unfortunately such instances result in a lack of upkeep, and I would hate for such a wonderful site like the Columbia Trail to be neglected.