Bro'd Rage: My ugly encounter with a dangerous young driver. PART II- making contact

In Bro'd Rage Part I, I left off with my trip to Hartford Police Department HQ to file a report. I later sat down and wrote a detailed description of the incident, a version of which became yesterday's post, and more detailed, names-naming version of which I emailed to a selection of HPD and College officials first thing on Monday.  On that morning's commute, I had noticed a few security cameras along Summit Street where the  took place, so I asked to see the archived camera footage for the appropriate time period.

If Big Brother is watching, he oughta help a small brother out once in a while, amiright?

I heard back from both Campus Safety and an HPD officer the same day. I visited CS headquarters and saw footage of the Green Toyota Tundra turning right from a campus parking lot and heading northbound on the wrong side of the street. It then disappears from camera view, followed a few seconds later by me pedaling southbound. Less than a minute later, the Tundra reappears, heading southbound at a high rate of speed. A different camera captured the moments where the truck pulls up even with, then in front of me, its brake lights ablaze as I veer toward the left. This not only validated my report, it actually made things look a bit worse than I had thought. I was told they would share this with the HPD and with the Dean of Students Office for review.

This was encouraging, not only because it seemed like Campus Safety was being much more proactive and transparent than before, but also because this was verifiable proof of my account of the incident. In addition, it occurred to me that this video would be great to incorporate into the next Traffic Skills 101 class I'm co-teaching with Tony. I asked for a copy of the video, but was told (not at all surprisingly), "...it's the policy of the institution to only release our reports and video to the administration."
So much for transparency.

Later on Tuesday, I took a look at The Trinity Campus Safety Daily Crime Log for the Friday of the incident, which was posted sometime Tuesday afternoon. This above screen shot, taken at that time, shows my disappointing discovery. There is no mention of this incident, despite my having reported it to Campus Safety and followed up with them multiple times since then. It appears that I am officially less important than two computer monitors and a cell phone. My brief flirtation with optimism for the college's administration's response was fading away rapidly.

More developments as they come in Bro'd Rage Part III
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Bro'd Rage! My ugly encounter with a dangerous young driver. PART I - The Incident

The Trinity Admissions Gate: area of my initial encounter with the wrong-way driver.

Last Friday morning, I was commuting to my job at Trinity College here in Hartford, riding my Yuba southbound along Summit Street as usual. Suddenly, I was startled to see that a dark green Toyota pickup truck had completely crossed the double yellow line and was heading northbound, directly at me, in my southbound lane. I yelled, "YO!!!" as loudly as I could to alert the driver of the truck whilst swerving to avoid a head-on collision. Collision avoided, I continued southbound on Summit, a good sight more shaken and annoyed than I had been moments earlier.

Trinity's Hamlin and Mather Halls overlook the scene of the verbal abuse and brake-check

I continued southbound toward the south side of campus and my office. Just south of the College Terrace intersection, I was startled anew to see the pickup roar up by my left side. The driver of the truck, a white male around 20, shook his middle finger and screamed obscenities (unintelligible but for the many F-Bombs) before pulling ahead of me, swerving toward the right and slamming on the brakes. I veered left, avoiding another potential collision, pedaled hard and caught up enough to get the license plate number and a better look at the truck. Having apparently turned around specifically to harass and threaten me with the truck, the enraged bro sped off heading southbound.

I immediately called the Hartford Police Department to report this incident upon arriving at my office. An HPD officer meet me a bit later at Trinity's Broad Street Gallery, where Studio Arts majors' Senior Thesis shows were being critiqued (I work in the art department). I stepped out of the Gallery and gave him my account of the incident. At this time, a Campus Safety officer was driving by on Broad Street, and the HPD officer motioned him over. He parked and joined us, I repeated my story and description, and shortly thereafter rejoined my colleagues in the gallery so as not to miss any more of the critiques. Both officers seemed friendly and efficient.

I called Campus Safety after lunch to follow up on the case and was told that HPD did not file a report, opting instead to let Campus Safety "handle it" based on the truck's description (NJ plates and a Trinity decal) making it likely the truck's driver was a student. The CS officer I had originally spoken with said that the truck had not been registered with the college (which is required), so they didn't know whose it was.

I was outraged. It was pretty clear to me at this point that this case would go nowhere if I didn't pursue the matter. My report of a Class D Felony was poised to go nowhere fast, and there aren't enough "Oh, Hell No"s in the world to describe how willing I was to accept that. Unfortunately, I had a wake to attend on Friday afternoon (this was kind of a lousy day), so I was unable to follow up until the weekend.

On Sunday afternoon, I spoke with an officer at the Hartford Public Safety complex on High Street and filed a report. Now I had a case number and a List of things to do first thing on Monday. I let you know how that went soon in Bro'd Rage Part II

NOTES:
This incident took place at approximately 9:45 AM on Summit Street in Hartford.
Dark Green Toyota Tundra extended cab pickup truck with a Trinity College decal on the rear window of the cab. White male driver, approx. 20 Y.O. New Jersey registration M91-CXN 
If you have any information to share, call the Hartford Police Department and reference Case# 14-13179

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Gut Check

Before: My bike was oh-so-sleek.

It seems my heavy hoisting ways have caught up with me, in the form of a pair of inguinal hernias. This has been far more disconcerting than painful, as I find the notion of torn muscle and rogue bits of intestine conceptually bothersome. Fortunately, said breaches are small as these things go, and I have managed to go about my business and ride my bike as usual for the most part without making things worse. In the wearier/achier moments, I've taken to sitting as bolt upright as possible, maintaining tenuous contact with the aft end of my handgrips with my fingertips. This is not the best arrangement, control-wise, so I purchased a stem raiser.

With a few minutes' labor, the part was installed and the bars had reached new heights of both altitude and dorkiness. The “Delta” brand name on the extension has a cool factor more in line with the eponymous bathroom faucets than jetliners or the home of Mississippi blues. The silver linings are: 1) the looping cable routing I had previously done to accommodate the Yuba's front rack meant the cables were plenty long as-is, and 2) said rack's vertical capacity just increased by a few more inches.

Tomorrow, I go under the knife, or laparoscope, more accurately. It's fairly routine, as surgeries go, and I should be just fine, if a bit sore for the first few days. I will be able to wrench on bikes sooner than I can resume riding them (reportedly in the 2-3 week range), so I hope to get caught up on a few project bikes, including something substantially lighter than the Yuba for my first days back in the saddle. I'm waiting on a few more parts for the oddest of these, which will combine elements of obsolete English utility with recumbent part oddity, old school BMX toughness and a dash of modern road bike. I'll fill you in on that soon enough. Read more!

Ewe Deserve A Break

At around 1PM on Sunday afternoon, I had serious need for a break, a chance to get out of the house and two events that sounded appealing. To the west, West Hartford was hosting its inaugural Wheel Fun Day, which ended at 2 PM. To the east, Beckett Farms beckoned with a Hootenanny. slated to wrap-up at 3. While trying to catch a bit of each event was theoretically possible, the necessary scramble needed to reach both places by bike would have undermined my whole quest to unwind a bit.

The Hootenanny won because, well, hootenanny for one thing. Phonetically, it's hands-down more satisfying to say than the somewhat hokey Wheel Fun pun. Also, my week was heavily front-loaded with bike-centric things, between the last gasps of the DOT Flower Street reconsideration hearing (which sucked, but which I won't get into today) Bike To Work (which was fine, aside from the presence of some the two-faced personnel who made the aforementioned hearing suck as badly as it did) and my Saturday afternoon stint of attempted helpfulness with the LCI class that took place in Hartford over the course of this weekend (which was good). Riding my bike to something not bike-related sounded like a nice change of pace.

A steady drizzle fell as I pedaled over to Glastonbury by way of the Founders Bridge. I made it to Beckett Farms by 2 to find the Hootenanny calming down for its final hour. There were still people and vendors about, so I had a nice food, coffee and conversation break. I was satisfied with my choice of destination-- it was nice to visit a farm. There were sheep being shorn and freshly-shorn sheep bleating up a storm. I asked around to see if anyone knew if the ferry to Rocky Hill was running and got a few probably positive maybes to justify pedaling southward to the ferry landing.

This was my first ferry ride of the season, and it made me happy. I meandered through the Rocky Hill meadows and Wethersfield Cove toward home. The rain got a bit harder as I reached Hartford. When I reached home and dried my glasses, I found that the raindrops had been temporarily photo-imprinted on my self-tinting glasses.

Sometime this Monday the Flower Street decision is supposed to be announced. I'm going to savor this Sunday and do my best to not think about it until then. Read more!

Two Months, Two Wheels

On the evening of October 9, I drove my 1996 Buick Regal to East Hartford, handed over the title and keys and left with my registration and a small handful of cash money. The next morning, I rode my bike to the DMV in Wethersfield to turn in my plates and became officially car-free. Today marks two months.

Not long before that day, on a late September Sunday evening, I drove the Regal to the Mansfield Drive-In with Schleppi for their last show of the season. We saw Premium Rush and Finding Nemo. The bike movie was a fitting choice. Beyond that, there was something particularly satisfying about sitting at a drive-in theater in an American car with a bench seat, a dying breed of machinery standing proud in its vanishing natural habitat. It was a fond and fitting farewell to the car I had inherited from my father in 2009. The Buick's residual sentimental value was sky-high, but that only goes so far. It was time to let go.

I liked my car. It was smooth and comfy, but I have little use for sedans and I drove it very rarely. Eventually, the battery died and wouldn't hold a charge. The car sat through the spring and summer as I prioritized paying the mortgage and other bills with my then part-time wages over resurrecting a car I didn't seem to need. It was vandalized in my driveway. When the insurance lapsed, Geico ratted me out to the DMV and I was fined $200 for failing to insure an undriveable car as it accumulated dust and pigeon droppings. It had become a compounding burden in my life.

A new full-time job at the end of August was the final push I needed. I bought and installed a new battery, repaired the damage wrought by vandals and others, changed fluids, touched-up, buffed, waxed, and detailed the paint until it shone and looked half its age. I insured the now-operable car for road use. I knew I wasn't going to profit from this final investment of time and money in a modest, 16-year-old sedan, but I had to feel like I was doing right by the thing. I needed to allay the guilt I felt about giving up that which I never stopped calling "Dad's car." The sale itself was unsatisfying, but it was done. The Yuba was my car now.

On that October 10 morning, It rained. A shard of glass on Wethersfield Avenue penetrated my flat-resistant rear tire AND the flat-resistant tire liner within it, popping the tire in the middle of the busy Airport Road intersection.
 

The tire change made me late for the DMV and subsequently late for work. The rain soaked through my jacket. My first official day as car-free transportation bicyclist was a cluster of setbacks, irritations and discomforts.
And it was fine.
Good, even.

Everything worked out. An empty strip mall portico provided shelter from the rain for me to change my tire. A previously forgotten energy bar in my pannier provided me with a timely snack and a wrapper-boot for my breached tire. The DMV visit took less than ten minutes. My tardy, dampened arrival at work was met with sympathy and hot coffee. I called Geico at lunchtime and saved hundreds on my car insurance with one immensely satisfying cancellation (though I still have the lapse fine to pay, eff you very much). The modest proceeds from the sale of the Buick covered the month's mortgage payment, a practical and necessary use of funds that would have likely met my pragmatic father's approval. It was the right thing to do, and I don't regret it.

A few days later, I rode out to Trader Joe's for an evening grocery run. My own procrastination meant I was running out of everything, so I ended up piling two bags of dog food, a cooler full of perishables and a couple of bags of canned and boxed goods into the Yuba's bulging panniers. The bike looked a bit ridiculous, and probably outweighed me at this point. I pointed close to 300 pounds of bike+rider northward and began the 5.5 mile return trip.

I rode home, unburdened.




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Chris is a Richard.

Not really.  We love Chris.  But I did take a compromising picture of him on the way back from Middlefield.  Although we didn't have the promised breakfast at O'Rourke's in Middletown, we did meet up with a fascinating group of ladies from the New Haven area at the orchard and they gave us cider donuts to avoid the bonk.  A stop at the Blackbird Tavern provided the fuel for a trip back north.

Note.  The Yuba (loaded with Chris's 20lbs of miscellany) is not the best bike to take on a hilly 60 miler.  Quite capable on dirt and train tracks though.  I couldn't decide which train track photo I preferred. Your thoughts.  Maybe we could do a long river ride before it gets too cold to enjoy it properly.  I really enjoy the out of control feel of floating on leaf litter.

And then my sister came to Hartford.  We rode bikes, marched in parades (as a Dragon and Foot), and danced until we nearly collapsed.  Kristen knits and I tried on her hat.  It made me evil.  Maybe Kristen will come back and stay a while... All in favor?

I woke up late for the Bike Walk CT Traffic Safety 101 course on Sunday, but one of the instructors, who I insulted in the title, gracefully let me sneak in.  I've decided to take this course because I'm an incorrigible scofflaw and need re-education.  That and being a League of American Bicyclists Cycling Instructor seems like something I could use in the future once I tire of silly jet engines.  One poor fellow managed to endo during the emergency stop exercise - no permanent damage though.

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Bonus Sunday philosophy post: Is Cycling a Constitutional Matter?

Dario sends this along to be posted:

Dear Tony,

Thank you for posting my response to the NPR segment dealing with bicycle culture in the U.S. ("NPR and Velosophy", August 4, 2012). And thank you to those that posted comments. If I may, I wish to respond and to elaborate on those comments because each commenter posed an interesting problem or perspective. My aim is to promote further discussion.

I wish to respond to what I see are two main issues in the comments: conceptualizing cycing culture (excuse the alliteration) and the relationship between consumerism and cycling. I will also try to respond to your (Tony's) three recommendations for improving cycling culture, I asked you, "If you were king for a day, what three things would you do ...?" and you responded succinctlty. I wish to discuss your recommendations. I'll limit this post to discussion of the first point (about conceptualizing cycling culture) and deal with the other topics in subsequent posts if that is all right with the blogs' editors.

Gabriel Sistare in his comment to my "post" writes that the mayor of Bogota, Colombia, Enrico Penalosa, has taken an innovative position about cycling. It would seem that Penalosa's view about cycling (vis-a-vis cars) is far reaching. Can you imagine taking Penalosa's view and informing American drivers that the right to park is not constitutional? Car drivers often behave as if it is their right to rule the road. Asphalt roads were created for driving cars, in fact. So, drivers must rule. But between the two, cars and bicycles, the mayor of Bogota has rightly deemed that bicycles are the more ethical means of transport because (I'll assume) they occupy less space, do not cause pollution, and are overall safer for the riders and other citizens on the street. And they reduce urban congestion. The one thing I disagree or, rather, wish to challenge Penalosa (and Gabriel perhaps) is on whether or not cycling is a constitutional matter. They seem to think not. I differ. I will make a case (likely an extreme one) for cycling being a constitutional issue.

Bicyles and arms (guns, forget about swords) have a lot in common. The BeatBikeBlog is based in Hartford, historically the city of Colt firearms and of Pope bicycles, two industries and two technologies that are intertwined. Guns are a polarizing topic. The bicycle, thankfully, less so, unless you live in NYC. The debate today about the right to bear arms has never been more heated and relevant especially because of recent tragic events. When the writers of the Constitution included the second amendment about the right to bear arms, they had a specific historical context in mind: to protect the citizenry against despots and tyrants and to be able to form militias against would-be usurpers of power. Our founding fathers had a lot more good sense than we do, so they didn't legislate transportation. They left that for us. Cars and bicyles had yet to be invented. But bicycles, like cars, are a sophisticated technology, not to the same degree as the automobile, but they are sophisticated because of the materials, design and construction. Cars, in particular, are arguably a weapon, not unlike guns. Whereas, fortunately, it is illegal for me to wave a gun around in public, there is considerable leeway in how I am allowed to use a motor vehicle. Road rage and indifference with mortal consequences (See Ken Krayeske's post about Mr. Harrison's death.) are just two instances of how the car is frequently a weapon in the hands of some people. Aside the occasional "scorcher" (the nineteenth and early twentieth-century term for rogue cyclists who terrorized the streets), cyclists rarely do harm. The bicycle is not technically a weapon because of its scale (speed and size) and because of its humanizing quality about which I talked in the last post, unlike many, especially, larger motor vehicles. Most cyclists are automobile drivers and would never think of their motor vehicles as a weapon. Most car drivers who don't cycle also don't think of themselves as engaging in a ballistics arms race when they drive. But how many drivers choose to purchase a vehicle for its defensive capabilities (the SUV versus the compact car in case of an accident)? That is a weapons choice, defensive, but still a choice about object/subject relations in terms of potential violence and harm. That is not generally how cyclists choose a bicycle, I think. When our founding fathers included the second amendment about the right to bear arms, they thought of protection. Hence, cars are analogous to, if not like, guns. Whereas the bicycle is not. Nonetheless, because cyclists and bicycles necessarily share the road … Well you get my picture. As I said, I'm trying to push the limits of discussion, but I don't think we can dismiss the argument entirely. What do you think? Read more!

38 Special

The other day marked my completion of 38 trips around the sun. While not the birthday party type, I'm more than happy to use it as a guilt-free excuse to clear my to-do list for a day and indulge in a bit of meandering on the bike. I started with a hearty lunch of "Texas Caviar" (a seriously tasty black-eyed-pea salsa) from the Urban Gourmet at Bushnell Park. From there I made my way toward the Connecticut River and followed the Riverside Park Trails to the railroad tracks by the Windsor line. From there I followed the newly-paved Windsor multi-use path north to the Bissel Bridge and crossed the river to South Windsor.

Keeping the river on my right (albeit mostly out of sight) again, I pedaled south through East Hartford to Glastonbury, where I visited the bike shops, refilling my water and lingering in their air-conditioning. I meandered along Southward toward the ferry, taking in historic homes, farm fields and unmanned honor-system farm stands along the way. I picked up some peaches, tomatoes and hot peppers (honorably) for my short-and-medium-term eating pleasure. I arrived at the east bank of the river and bit into the first of several peaches as I waited for the ferry to land and offload.
 

Edibles with a stern warning taste better.

I love riding the ferry.  This 350+ year old institution will never get old for me. For something so close to Hartford, it has a quaint, Brigadoon-like remoteness about it that makes me happy each and every time I use it. I'm going to make a point of taking more ferry trips this season. To that end, I prepaid for a special order part at Bicycles East, ensuring an easy excuse for a return trip this week. Note: the operating hours (10:30-5:00 every day) on the CT DOT site don't match the longer hours (M-F 7-7, S/S 10:30-5:00) posted at the ferry.







Back on the west bank, I hopped on the abandoned rail line near the Rocky Hill ferry landing and rode north into Wethersfield. There was more natural and man-made debris in the way than I recalled from the last day I spent along this stretch of track, but it wasn't that bad. With late-afternoon temps still holding in the 90's, the added effort of riding the traprock and rotted, uneven ties of the tracks made quick work of draining my on-board water reserves. I left the tracks in Old Wethersfield, where an impromptu visit with nearby friends provided snacks, water bottle refills and good conversation in front of a blessed electric fan. As dusk fell, I pedaled off refreshed, making my relaxed way through Wethersfield and the South End to home and a refreshing shower. It was a very fine day.

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Do-Over

For the second Tuesday in a row, we had another unseason- ably warm weather forecast, so I went ahead and followed the basic formula that had worked so well the previous week. Once again, I rode the Yuba something a bit shy of 30 miles, passed farms, got very hungry, consumed a lot of eggplant grinder, headed home, and finally got around to publishing a post about it one week later.


This go-around was more refined in nearly every way:
-This was a more thoroughly planned trip/route*- I was tabling for Bike Walk Connecticut's bike education programs at an all-day event in Cromwell. Their tabletop display fits nicely on the cargo bike, which made packing easy.
-More farm animals and equipment- There were goats, ducks, geese, chickens, and vintage tractors to be seen along the way.
-Superior eggplant grinder- my return through the South End made for a well-timed stop at my favorite grinder shop. So very good.

This was my first ride through Wethersfield on the packed gravel surface of the Heritage Way Bike Trail since last September. It was definitely more muddy and rutted this time around, but still passable on semi-slick tires. A good freeze would fix the mud issue in a jiffy, but who knows when that will happen? As nice as these rides have been, I'm finding these warm temps disturbing.


*which is not to say that thorough planning is necessarily better, just that it is more refined. Read more!

Ridden to Distraction

Last Tuesday afternoon greeted me with a combination of mild weather and several errands to run. I had some potential carpentry work to scout out in Farmington near the country club, after which I needed to pick up some groceries, pick up a new bottom bracket and finish assembling a bike.

I called around to locate a 113mm square-taper bottom bracket and struck out repeatedly. Mini-rant: The majority of the bikes I see being ridden have square-taper BBs, yet bike shops seem averse to stocking them because they are "obsolete" Grrrr...

I set aside the BB quest for the moment and made the time-sensitive Farmington visit the first errand on my list. I made it to the appointed location on time in one hour and 11 minutes, a personal triumph not because it was particularly fast (not even for a cargo bike), but because I had estimated one hour and 15 minutes. It's rare that I am even remotely accurate in my estimates, rarer still that I err on the expedient side.

Post appointment, I rationalized a less-direct route back to Hartford with an arbitrary quest. I was in Farmington off of Town Farm road and decided to see for myself if there was actually any farmland on this bifecta of agrarian naming. I headed north. There was a polo club, which I decided was too toney to count as a farm, but I had a bona-fide farm sighting just before crossing into Avon. Things were getting so rural, there was even a red-nosed reindeer crossing sign.


I eventually ended up north of Route 44 and found myself en route to Simsbury. I remembered that there was a bike shop on Hopmeadow Street worth checking out, though I couldn't recall the name. Also, Simsbury has food and I was feeling a bit peckish, having polished off the last of my on-board snack rations.
The Simsbury sojourn was a success. The Bicycle Cellar came through with the bottom bracket and I was able to refuel and top off by demolishing an abundantly large eggplant grinder at the pizzeria next door. Have I had tastier grinders in my lifetime? Yes. Did I care? Not a whit.


Happily sated, I looped around northward to cross the Drake Hill Road Bridge and rode over Talcott Mountain through Bloomfield and back home as night fell. It occurred to me a bit late that it would have been wise to wait a few more minutes between stuffing myself silly and doing a sustained climb on a heavy bike, but my stomach took it like a champ. I never made it to a grocery store, but I was too full to mind. My afternoon to-do list was in for some culling, but I chose to not beat myself up about it for one day. It had been a while since I had ridden any significant distance and I realized more and more how much I had been missing it. As the sky grew overcast and the temperature dropped through the afternoon, my head felt increasingly clear. I needed that.

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Knee Deep in the Big Muddy

This morning, I headed out on the cargo bike to run some errands, starting with a trip to the DMV office in Wethersfield to renew the lapsed registration for my rarely-driven car. Unfortunately, you can't do that any more. The asinine notion of not being able to renew a motor vehicle registration at the freaking Department of Motor Vehicles and the built-in delay inherent in doing so by mail left me in a moderately foul mood. While planning my morning loop, I had toyed with the idea of a side trip to see how the ferry landing area had fared in all of the flooding. Now, the mood-lifting power of an extended ride made it a necessity.

I rode through Old Wethersfield and under I-91 to the northern entrance to the meadows by the Putnam Bridge. Within a hundred or so feet, I saw the sun-baked mud of the high water line. Within a few dozen feet of that was the damp mud of a more recent water level. Within a tenth of a mile or so, my hubs were submerged in the gently flowing murky water. I opted for a U-turn when it it got knee-deep (roughly at the first break in the shade in the above photo). My panniers are rain-proof, but not fully submersible. I found myself wanting a 29er for the first time I can recall.

I backtracked to Ol' Dirty Wethersfield and picked my way southward through the local streets that lay between the Silas Deane Highway and the river until I came upon a trail entrance in Rocky Hill. Bicycles were not listed on the battered sign of prohibited trail users, so I forged ahead along what quickly proved to be debris-strewn singletrack. The trail had suffered a fair amount of downed trees and limbs-- some fresh, some older, and wasn't in the best of shape. A large, recently fallen tree eventually thwarted my southern progress, so I backtracked and followed another trail that eventually led me to the old railroad tracks, which I followed south until the ferry landing came into view. The Yuba continues to prove way more capable off-road than it has any business being, semi-slick tires and all. That said, riding the railroad ties made me wish my imaginary 29er had some suspension as well.

Not surprisingly, the ferry and the boat launch were most definitely closed and the Ferry Park parking lot was submerged. I headed home, wending my way northward through Rocky Hill and Wethersfield, following a quiet and scenic route through Mill Woods Park, Wintergreen Woods, Goodwin Park and the Trinity College campus. The morning's DMV disappointment was miles and worlds away. Registering the car doesn't seem particularly important any more.
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Mundo Gordos

The stock wheels on my Yuba Mundo had served me well for the umpteen months I had been riding the bike full time, and I had not been particularly gentle on them. Experiments with very heavy loads and a few impromptu off-roading adventures had put them through more than their share of abuse. They hadn't required re-truing since they were new, but the sweet muse of rationalization assured me it was time for new wheels.

I did have a few minor complaints about the wheels, the first being that the single-wall rims made tire bead seating annoying (especially with the O.E. Schwalbe Big Apple tires, which had "relaxed fit" beads) and that the loose ball-bearing rear hub seemed to need attention more often than I would consider reasonable. Also, the original Quando front hub, while perfectly functional, caused prolonged loops of Englebert Humperdink to play in my head as the logo flashed repeatedly into view when I rode slowly.

The primary reason I wanted to build new wheels for the Yuba was my epiphany on dynamo hub lighting during the darkest hours of September's ill-conceived Coventry trip. As long as I was building a new dyno front wheel, it seemed like a good time to upgrade the rear wheel to a 7-speed freewheel (it was 6 speed! Why Yuba, why?) and cartridge-bearing hub like the "V-3" Mundos have (mine is a "V-2") I chose my components, waited for sales and coupons to come up and accumulated the necessary parts over the next few months.

The hub choices were easy. I wanted a disc-ready 36 hole dynamo hub for the front. There were two choices: Schmidt or Shimano. With Schmidt hubs retailing for $300+, there was really only one choice. I bought a black 36 hole Shimano Alfine hub from Harris Cyclery. A Hartford expat friend who works near Harris picked it up for me and brought it to the Real Ride, saving me the time and expense of shipping. The rear hub is a Modus-branded Yuba-specific anomoly: 48 holes, 135mm O.L.D. with a 14mm solid axle, cartridge bearings and old-school freewheel threading. Short of custom fabricating such a beast from bmx parts and unobtanium, Yuba was the only source. Luckily, it was reasonably priced. Yuba has since introduced a disc brake version of this hub for the disc-ready V-3 Mundos which would make for better dishing.

It seemed that I had two choices for a matching pair of rims. The only rim brake compatible 26" rims I could find in both 36 and 48 hole drillings were the Sun Rhyno Lite and the Salsa Gordo. I later learned that the Velocity Chukker and Psycho were both available in 36 and 48 hole as well, though at a 50+% price premium over the Salsa. I had been running a 36 hole Rhyno Lite (with a lackluster generic hub) up front on the Yuba ever since I converted it to a front disc brake. I went with the Gordos to try something new (I hadn't built any Salsa rims before) and because they were available in black in both drillings, which matches the hubs and tends to look more presentable while dirty than silver rims. Since these are the wheels most likely to be around when someone inquires about wheelbuilding, I like for them to look their best.

I assembled the wheels using DH13s, which are Wheelsmith's heavy-duty double-butted baaad muthashutyomouth spokes. The 13 gauge elbows were a nice, snug fit in the Alfine dynohub, but downright loose and jangly in the gaping holes of the Modus hub.

I found #4 brass washers at the ever-awesome Park Hardware and bought 50 of them, knowing that I would inevitably drop one or two of them and lose them under the stove. I placed them on a piece of wood and gave them each a good whack with a tapered punch. The resulting dished washers made for a perfect fit.

The front wheel was a great build. Everything quickly and efficiently came into uniform truth and tension. Beautiful! The rear wheel took disproportionally longer than its extra 12 spokes might have promised. It ended up sitting in the truing stand for a few days getting finished in a series of 15-minute sessions of miniscule corrections until the truth, tension and dish were optimal. My bedtime breaks with a cup of tea and a spoke wrench made for a nice winding-down ritual in December.

My new wheels were pressed into service at the very end of 2010. It was a fitting New England baptism of some of the harshest conditions we've seen in years. They have spent the past few months slinging salt, grit and slushy snow and conquering a bumper crop of fresh potholes. I'm thoroughly pleased with the wheels and positively delighted with the dynamo lighting. I sprung for a new set of tires while I was freshening up the rolling stock, but I'll save the tire review for another day (ditto the light). Read more!

The Treacherous Pursuit of Safety

There was a lot of snow on my roof, with 3-4 foot drifts on the southern side. With the recent rash of buildings collapsing in Connecticut, I was getting nervous. My first attempt to shovel it on Monday afternoon was kind of terrifying, as the snow on the tarps currently covering some of the roof made me slip a couple of times. I cleared off the deepest drifts for a few hours and gingerly climbed back down the 40 foot ladder, determined to acquire some sort of safety harness before returning. Everything closed early on Tuesday, so first thing Wednesday morning I headed for a welding supply place on Murphy Road that carries safety gear. I chose the most direct route that featured major streets, as many side streets had not been plowed yet. Of the streets I rode, Park Street was the best and Wethersfield Ave was the worst. I had a pretty good wipeout on the latter street which left me with a sore wrist. Airport Road wasn't fun, either, come to think of it. It was a pretty sketchy ride that I didn't particularly enjoy.

I arrived at the store glazed with ice and soaked with sweat. They were already preparing to close early, and I was happy to get in under the wire. I bought an OSHA-approved harness and lanyard in a bucket. It was called "Compliance in a Can" which is my favorite product name since "Pope Soap on a Rope".

Having no desire whatsoever to retrace the route I had taken to get to the store, I followed Murphy Road to Reserve, past the regional market and Coltsville. The snow conditions were no better than the busy roads, but the minimal traffic made the return ride much better. I began to actually enjoy myself. The few cars and trucks I saw gave me a wide berth, and the only time I heard honking was a guy in an MDC truck giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I found myself calmed and entertained by the sight and sound of slush churning around the tires and oozing out the leading edge of the front fender. It sounded like a Slurpee machine. Mmmm, salty.

The Mundo has been handling better than I could have ever reasonably expected in the snow. The 26x2.0 Schwalbe Marathons I recently installed are fat and smooth, which should make them utterly useless in the snow, but they worked; not well, mind you, but they worked. The rear wheel had surprisingly good traction as long as I kept my weight on the saddle. The front wheel was prone to handlebar-jerking deflection and washouts in the deeper, more irregular deposits of snow, but could be easily corrected in all but one instance. The front brake grew stiffer and a bit grabby, but never failed to work.

I still dream of building the ultimate winter city bike someday, but I'm satisfied that the current configuration of the Yuba can serve as my four season workhorse. There are a few minor tweaks I'll make, of course. I do want to rotate the front fender rearward, for instance, as a substantial amount of slush was flung at my feet and the bottom bracket shell. Minor details aside, it got me where I needed to go and it got me home again. Most importantly in this case, it helped me safely clear a lot of heavy snow off of my house which took a load off my roof and my mind. Read more!