Bikes Outside: YES! (Postcard from Portland)

I have been back in Hartford for less than one day as I type this, having spent the past three weeks taking classes at United Bicycle Institute in Portland, Oregon. When teaching new languages, there are many who feel that full immersion is the best and quickest way to achieve fluency. I think full immersion would be an accurate term to describe my sojourn in Portland. My days were spent studying, disassembling, reassembling, riding, modifying and intently geeking out about bicycles to a hitherto unknown level in my life. It was pretty freaking cool. While I am far from fluent in the language of bicycles and bike repair, the past few weeks have made me a bit more conversant, or at the very least less effluent.

Pictured at the top is the sheltered bike parking area used by the students at UBI and the employees of Queen Bee, located one door down. Also, we have a random pile of kids' bikes, a ridiculously heavy-duty cargo-hauling reverse trike, and a forlorn red Radio Flyer that had its handlebar swiped. How shady do you have to be to steal components off a kid's tricycle?

I found bike racks to be in abundant, if not downright decadent supply in Portland. The sheltered ones were somewhat less common, but were much-appreciated during the first two rainy weeks of my stay. Many businesses had signs inviting customers to park their bikes inside. One bike shop had a remote switch behind the counter that held the front door open as you wheeled your bike through. I may have cried a little at that one.

I saw a lot of older bikes locked up and in use during my stay, with a surprisingly large amount of Chicago Schwinns and French-made road bikes among them (the second bike from the front of the pictured rack is a 1970's Motobecane mixte, for instance) This post would be crammed full of many more street-seen bike pics if my camera had not bitten the dust a few days into the trip. I took a few more with a single-use film camera from the supermarket, but it will likely be a while before those get developed and scanned, so you shall be spared. Thanks to Schleppi for picking up the Bikes Outside slack for me. I have procured a substitute camera for interim use, so your man-in-the-street will be scoping out some local iron once more. It's good to be home.


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Postcard: A Great Day in Harlem,or Some Days The Bike Rides You

After all the hassle surrounding my attempt to purchase a headset locally, the one I ended up with still didn't fit (the fork crown race had a too-small inner diameter for my fork) so there was no chance I was going to have the Trek together in time for Saturday morning. By Friday evening, I was tired and disappointed. My plans for the day had pretty much fallen apart.

The Blessing of the Bikes was not only held on the first anniversary of Dad's passing but a mere three blocks south of St. Luke's Hospital, where he spent most of his last days. The coincidence of all these things was too great for me to pass up. Besides that, I needed a day away from home and the weather was supposed to be fantastic. I decided I was going to New York no matter what, and the bike was coming with me.

Time for a contingency plan. As it happened, Schleppi was bound for Newton, Mass on Saturday, so I walked over to her house with the Trek fork and a note for the good folks at Harris Cyclery. I relaxed, confident that this matter would now be in competent hands. I grabbed the day pack I use for backcountry snowboarding and attached the bare bike frame in seconds. It couldn't have worked much more smoothly-- or looked much more ridiculous.

I caught a pre-dawn lift to New Haven from friends en route to catch a morning flight to Guatemala. I took Metro North to the 125th St station. Harlem's main drag was still sleepy and quiet as I strolled westward through Morningside Park to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. A steady stream of bikes were arriving at 9 AM and being carried up the Cathedral's massive front stoop. A charmingly stubborn older woman refused my offer to help carry her ungainly vintage Triumph 3-speed up the stairs. Her friend rolled her eyes and chuckled. The overall mood was warm and good.

The ceremony was fairly short, the perfect blend of lighthearted and solemn. Words were said, holy water sprinkled, dead cyclists memorialized, bagpipes played, many pictures taken. The ceremony concluded with a procession around the enormous Gothic cathedral, with much lingering and milling about afterward, both inside and out. I chatted with a bunch of people as I made my way to a bench to enjoy a bagel and a coffee in the late-morning sun. There were at least two other unrideable and incomplete bikes in attendance, so the yoke of ridiculousness was shouldered by more than just me.

I wandered the area for the next few hours, walking around Columbia University, Morningside and Marcus Garvey Parks, and savoring the food, culture and architecture that abound across 110th St. The chromoly frame strapped to my back was virtually unnoticeable to me as I walked, though I was asked nicely to leave it in the coat check at the Studio Museum. I made my way back to Hartford by late afternoon, but not before getting a bike permit for the Metro North train. It's not needed for a bare frame or a folding bike, but I will need it to ride the train with a full-sized bike. I ponied up the $5 fee as both an incentive and a promise to be back again soon. Read more!

a little Key Wierdness to warm your day

Handcuffs for bike locks are as common as rusty fenders here in Key West; but this awesomely strange combination of handlebar and bar ends is certainly not. I wondered who the rider was as I passed this bicycle going into the Bottle Cap Lounge as well as when I left. Perhaps the owner was sitting next to me? Perhaps they are seven or eight feet tall? Or enjoy riding standing up with good posture? I dunno, but bless them for making me smile!


Many people here simply do not have cars and use bicycles for everything; commuting to work, grocery shopping and towing their jet-skis! This dude prolly ain't getting into the large chainring anytime soon.


A fixie with a basket isn't too weird, but jumping sharks!?!? Really!?! Luckily we didn't have to dodge any this night during our pier tour. I bet a bite from one would mos def leave a bruise.


But...if a jumping shark had attacked us, I would have whipped out my sword and used my pirate skills to battle to the death! I have also found it to be very effective when drunk tourists stumble into the street in front of me while riding. A loudly yelled "ARRRRRRR" and a sword over my head usually sends them running back to a sidewalk of laughing bystanders. (yeah, go ahead and call me trash for not yet taking down my Christmas lights!)



We've all seen the Hartford messengers stacking their fixies on parking meters and poles in front of Mad Dawgs, Vegas and other spots. Well, down here in Key Weird, we hang our cruisers in trees when going out for swanky dinners. There's actually a second cruiser in the back of the tree and both are locked up in the branches.

a few more after the jump...




This installation, part of Sculpture Key West can be found at Fort Zack until April. Have a seat here in the shade if the sun and beach gets too hot for you.



Considering I took this during the Holiday Lights Bicycle Tour, it isn't really weird. There were also a few other bicycles with dogs, actually a lot, but only one trike with a dog and so many lights. Well done!


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Out with the old, in with the older

I spent several days in the greater NYC metro area of my youth catching up with friends and family. I drove down since Megabus has eliminated their super convenient Hartford service. While I wasn't particularly in any mood to drive, this ended up being a good thing for a couple of reasons. As it worked out, driving the car enabled me to deliver some bulky items I've been meaning to get rid of, and ultimately bring home just as many bulky items. Oh well.

One of the first things I realized upon arrival at my Mom's house was that I had forgotten my own backpack when I loaded the carfull of stuff I carted down. Not willing to milk that many days out of the clothes on my back, I made a Christmas Eve trip to a couple of thrift stores to assemble a few days' worth of wardrobe on the cheap. I scored some more wool clothes to expand my wintertime outdoor clothing options, which was a bonus.

At the second store, a longtime thrift institution of sorts in Paterson, I found a rack full of rickety bikes between the men's clothing and housewares. Most of them were battered department store quality bikes that were not very good to begin with and were far worse for wear and neglect, but two of them caught my eye. One was a Tyler children's bike, only the second example of this Polish marque I have seen in person.

The other thrift store standout was a vintage Firestone single speed cruiser frame with an assortment of newer used parts affixed to it.


The front fender was mashed up from the store's ham-fisted display method of hanging the bikes over an angle iron frame. The frame had a pretty head tube badge, but was otherwise slathered in many chipped layers of poorly applied paint. I was sort of tempted to adopt it and save it from such an undignified fate, but then I saw the asking price of $79! I examined the tag carefully, but found no decimal point or other factor that would point to a more reasonable price. The moment a thrift store thinks something is "collectible" is akin to a precocious child realizing or thinking they are cute. The magic is lost.


It was good that the ratty cruiser bike was overpriced, as it wouldn't have left enough room in the car for the two bikes that two of my friends gave me during the remainder of my visit. The first is a hard-luck case, a sorely neglected urban beater of a mountain bike that a friend's roommate abandoned when she moved overseas. It was homely enough that it was able to sit unlocked and undisturbed outside of their Jersey City apartment building, which is saying something. I was hopelessly charmed by the combination of a lugged Bridgestone frame with a Biopace crankset, so I dragged the seatless bike flat tires and all on the Path train and the subway to my Brooklyn crash space.


My friend in Flatbush has an amazing knack for finding really cool stuff for cheap or free. Limited storage space means he regularly passes his unwanted finds along to friends on equal terms, so it's only a matter of time before he re-homes something really cool that he can no longer justify keeping around. The other morning, he offered me an old folding bike he had sitting in a relative's garage out in Queens. We met up there and dug it out as I was heading homeward. I have been on a folding bike kick for a while now, so any old folding bike would have made me happy. That said, I was pretty well blown away to discover that this was a 1940's BSA paratrooper bike! It had been "civilianized" with black paint and chrome rims and fenders at some point in the past, but a few minutes of fingernail-scratching revealed the remnants of the original olive-drab paint and a WWII-era serial number. It's in rough shape now and missing most of its original parts (including the sweet "BSA" chainwheel), but I'm really looking forward to restoring this bike when time and money allow it. I found a couple of websites with pictures and info, so I can gather some information (and parts, if I'm lucky) in the meantime.



Happy New Year, by the way!



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Postcard from Glenwood Canyon in Colorado

Interstate 70 finds a way through the west side of the mighty Rockies via Glenwood Canyon, a beautiful drive many of us have prolly made driving cross country. This time, I noticed the multi-use path along the river and decided to check it out since I had my bike with me. Wow! This thing is a feat of engineering in which the builders really worked hard to preserve trees and the canyon and not just blast though....and it shows! If you ever find yourself driving through here and want a fantastic break, bust out yer bike or walking shoes and go exploring. I think there's about a dozen or so miles of path.
It's super fresh to see the tunnels for cars while gallivanting under the dang road! The road noise varies depending where the trail is in relation to the cars and trucks.


The trail moves from the sides of the Interstate, to under, to next to and all over again as the roads and trails meander through the steep, twisty canyon. Its sometimes awkward and noisy with speeding cars a few meters away, sometimes strangely peaceful and quiet, but always surreal. so very urban in many ways, but in a huge natural canyon.


You usually don't share a path with paddlers carrying boats in Hartford!


But then again, the Hog River doesn't have much great white water to paddle! Not that there aren't some great adventures to be had paddling in Hartford, or for that matter, under Hartford!


There's some artwork along the way including this memorial which was enjoyable and musical

more pics...

I wasn't the only cyclist enjoying watching the paddlers bob up and down through the rapids.


The scenery and break from driving made me quite happy!


so did an avocado after the ride!

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