Equipment - The Black Tsunami (pictures)

A bit bright, it seems, but on the camera it seemed fine. I didn't bother trying to edit the pictures. I'm putting them here as much for reference as anything else.

Some updates to the bike - the ISM saddle, it has a wireless SRM now, a not-visible-in-the-picture PC7 (wireless SRM head).

There's a rear camera on it, Shimano CM-1000. I'm not 100% on it yet but it seems to reliably turn on and record, so there's that.

I've had the Exustar pedals for a while now, although I don't remember if I have pictures of them on the bike from before.

Only notable thing is the front derailleur mount broke, probably today. The derailleur wouldn't shift into the big ring so I just manually placed the chain there and left it for the ride (I rode outside!).

With the training clinchers on them.

Jet 9 rear, Bastogne front. 700x23c tires.

With the race wheels.

Stinger 9 rear, Stinger 7 front. 23mm tires.

Equipment - Stem

One centimeter.

That's what I needed when I put on the new FSA Compact bars on the black Tsunami.

All the thought that went into figuring out a nice top tube length (so that I'd use a 120 mm stem with my bars - I feel that's about the ideal stem length for a standard bar so a rider will weight the front wheel enough), agonizing decisions made after painstaking calculations and geometry stuff, that all went away when I stuck the FSA bars onto the bike.

Suddenly the bike was too short.

I mean, I knew that going in, when I bought the bars. I knew they'd be shorter, that they didn't reach as far. That's the point with the compact bar, they're shorter in reach and shallower in depth.

Compact, in other words.

I bought them anyway because of two reasons.

One, I realized (and I haven't admitted to anyone until now) that when I finally got my black Tsunami frame, the 120 mm stem I had wasn't a 120 mm stem - it was a 110 mm stem.

Horrors.

Let me rewind. In 2011, building up the black Tsunami, I bought a stem for it. My goal was to have two identical bikes, two bikes where I could hop off of one, hop on the other, and all the contact points would be identical. I'd grab the bars instinctively, drop my foot, the pedal would be there, and when I sat down it'd feel like I was on the other bike, right down to the millimeter.

With that in mind, I bought a few stems for the two bikes. The original one, a WCS superlight Ritchey unit, was getting a bit old, and I was worried that it'd eventually fail. Therefore I ordered two or three similar 120 mm Ritchey stems (when I commit to something, I really commit), just in a slightly heavier model.

(I think I have three since I have two in boxes. Or do I have one? I don't remember and don't feel like looking.)

I pulled the first stem out of the box and thought, "Oh, they put a 130 mm stem in the 120 mm box."

The other ones seemed just as long.

So I measured it with a spoke ruler. Then with a tape measure. Then measured it again.

I looked at the old ("weathered"?) WCS stem, the one that was supposed to be a 120 mm stem. It measured 110 mm.

Looked at the new, unstressed, clean, and 10 mm longer stems.

Thought about all those super fast descents I wanted to do while I was in SoCal (because that's where I received the frame). Thought of the switchbacks, the penalty for a failed stem.

I put the new, unstressed, clean, and 10 mm longer stem on the bike.

And I went out on a long, long ride.

I have to admit that it felt okay, a bit stretched out. Long, yes, but okay.

I let the stem thing kind of slip to the back of my mind as the year started. It wasn't a good year on the bike, with a lot of my races lasting just 15 or 20 minutes. I won't blame it on the longer stem, but there were times when I thought it'd have been nice to have the bars just a touch closer.

Therefore the FSA Compact bar kind of made sense. Shorter reach, closer drops.

But they brought the bars back a good 20 mm, a lot more than the 10 mm I wanted.

I should point out that the FSA Compacts are the first 31.8 mm bars I bought on purpose. The 31.8 mm refers to the diameter of the center part of the bar - my regular bars are skinnier at 26.0 mm. All my regular stems are 26.0 mm clamp.

So why did I buy the 31.8 mm bar? Because that's the only diameter it comes in, and I already have a stem.

Let me explain.

The only bike we have here with 31.8 mm bars is our tandem. And would you believe this, I even bought a 130 mm stem for it (the tandem doesn't have a custom top tube and the 130 mm was the longest stem I could find at the time). I didn't really like the bars already on the tandem though, and I didn't want to buy a 31.8 mm bar as I'm kind of opposed to them in principle. I thought that one day I'll just put one of my regular bars on it and a 120 mm stem.

All this meant that for about 3 years, that 130 mm 31.8 mm clamp stem has been laying around the basement doing nothing.

I thought of that stem when I bought the FSAs. A brand new, very nice 130 mm reach stem that is 10 mm longer than my current stem, combined with 20 mm shorter reach bars, means a 10 mm shorter reach.

That's what I wanted.

When I finally put the FSA Compacts on the bike, I grabbed the for-the-tandem stem (I can't believe I knew where it was), put it on the bar...

Looked at it.

"That 130 mm stem looks a lot like a 120 mm stem."

And, lo and behold, it measured 120 mm.

Fricken frack.

Today I got a 3T something Team stem, a nice one. -17 degree angle (with a 73 degree head tube angle it is horizontal), 130 mm reach (for real), and it even matches the 3T Team fork on the bike.

3T stem on the newer Mac.
Them be Ti bolts.

The stem swap took about a minute. I didn't realize just how nice of a stem I'd bought for the tandem until I realized that both stems have titanium bolts.

Because, you know, they make such a difference.

They actually do, seriously. The biggest thing is that they don't corrode. Titanium doesn't oxidize like some of the more common metals. I mean, yes, it oxidizes, and when it does it's bad news if the titanium is holding your bars on your bike, but it doesn't oxidize under normal conditions.

(When it oxidizes it turns into a pure white powder. You probably have titanium oxide all over the inside of your house - it's used in virtually all white paint; it's the white pigment. My dad told me this when I was a kid. He revealed to me that he was involved in a project where they isolate titanium. Having just read about F-15 fighter jets and their titanium make up, I thought, "Boy, my dad helps make F-15s!". So I asked him what they did with the titanium. "They burn it and make it into a white powder. It's used to make white paint. It's very valuable." That's when I realized that adults were crazy. Hey, at least any white paint on the F-15 probably had titanium oxide pigment.)

White letters - I wonder if there's titanium oxide in them.
The bottles are empties. There's a whole slew of them.
The stem cap bolt is not titanium. It rusts.

When I finished the FSAs were a centimeter further away from the saddle.

My bike is dirty but you can get a sense of the stem's height relative to the front brake.
I'm still debating if I will keep the housing behind the bar.
Note the Nokon segments go all the way to the lever - no cheater spiral housing used (Nokon includes spiral stuff for under the tape).

I threw a leg over the bike (it's on a trainer), sat on the saddle, clipped in, and hunkered down on the drops.

Beautiful.

One centimeter.

Who'da thunk it.

Equipment - Tsunami (Orange) Updates

I got word that the frame that I (finally) sent out arrived at Tsunami central, out in the warm Arizona. I wanted to do this ever since I first rolled up a hill on the black Tsunami, with its ultra short 39 cm chainstays.

Geometry-wise the two frames are otherwise identical, with the same reach and such. But with the orange bike I found the rear tire chattering when powering through even regular 90 degree turns, and sharper ones sometimes became a bit "interesting".

The rear wheel didn't have enough traction because of the unusually long front end, determined by the long top tube and steep seat tube angle (which in turn were determined by my long torso and short quads respectively). The combination of sticking the front wheel out an extra 5 or 6 cm meant that I unweighted the rear wheel a bunch, enough so that normal pedaling through a turn resulted in the tire losing traction.

I contacted the builder Joseph about altering the orange Tsunami. To his credit he didn't say "just buy another frame"; instead he said he'd work with the existing frame.

(On a side note I didn't think the frame very saleable because of its odd geometry and the fact that anyone that fit it would have the same problem with the back tire skittering around in turns.)

With some idea of my requirements (I train on a 23c tire, I want minimal tire clearance, and aesthetics is a non-issue), Joseph demurred on any plans of action until he had the frame in his hands.

He did point out that he wouldn't be repainting the frame. This meant I need to figure out a solution to the finish thing - I'll probably take the easy way out and spray the rear triangle black. If he has to heat treat the whole frame, I'll paint the whole frame black. If I get ambitious I may try and recreate the candy orange, but from previous experience I know that only automotive paint comes out looking real good, and I don't do that stuff.

Since I'd partially built the orange frame as a spare, it wasn't a matter of just tossing the frame in a box. I got lazy and left the "disassemble the frame" task for another week, another month, and finally, when it came to "another year", I drew the line.

I spent all of 30 minutes disassembling the frame (including removing the fork), boxed it up, and sent it out. I was amazed at how much I beat it up - one fall at 30 mph (dent in top tube) and a slew of packing-chips, where a cassette or some other edge thing jammed into the frame.

And once again I taught myself that waiting to do something doesn't accomplish much.

This time I have no sketches, no unusual ideas; it's just shortening the stays.

Of course I didn't think of what needed to be done. I defined the goal ("shorten the stays as much as possible"). Joseph came up with the plan.

This communication worked well.

Oftentimes, at work, I'll have someone describe exactly what they think they want to get. When I delve a bit into their project goals, it sometimes becomes painfully apparent that they need something totally different. Think of it in bike terms.

"Hi, I think I need a new chain."
"Okay, let me write up a work order. What's happening with the bike?"
"Well, it shifts into the spokes."
"Um... when you ride the bike does it feel like it's skipping gears at all?"
"No."
"How old is the bike?"
"Couple months."
"It may not be a chain. It might be just an adjustment."
"Really? I figured it needed a chain."

This is where a self-diagnosis (chain goes into spokes) and troubleshooting (needs chain), communicated well (I need a chain), could be totally inaccurate.

Likewise I could have asked Joseph to execute step-by-step instructions, steps that I think he'd need to take to shorten the stays.

And what would have happened is that I'd have ended up with a frame where the rear wheel wouldn't fit.

Because when the stays get shortened, the rear brake bridge would end up too close to the wheel.

So the plan of action, as Joseph let me know, is to cut off the seat stays completely, cut the end of the chainstay off, reset the chainstay (i.e. bend it a bit), and weld on new seat stays, a brake bridge, and dropouts.

At some point I'll be getting back my frame, trimmed down a bit. And hopefully I'll be able to do it some justice.

Equipment - Light Wheels vs Aero Wheels

One of my big shocks in 2010 was my experience with heavier aero versus lighter non-aero wheels. Conventional wisdom, pushed hard by aero wheel companies, dictates that aero normally trumps non-aero, even with a relatively significant weight penalty.

Technically speaking aero wheels should offer advantages at all speeds, not just higher ones. This should make up for the low overall weight gain of the "aero" part of the aero wheels. When you consider a whole bike and rider (I'll use myself as an example) weighs in at a good 180 pounds or so, adding or subtracting a pound won't make a huge difference, even on a climb.

However, if you can reduce the amount of energy required to ride a given speed by a small percent, you get that benefit all the time. It's like interest on a savings account - for small balances it's a small benefit but it's measurable.

The question becomes, "Is it worth it?"

So for my savings account, if I make 0.5% interest, I may see a tangible amount of interest, a verifiable one. But if it's $5 a year interest on $1000 balance, or 42 cents a month, is it actually significant?

It may not be if the bank requires me to drive, say, 50 miles or so extra miles a year, which would mean I'd spend that $5 on gas alone.

Likewise, aero wheels, although they offer a tangible benefit, may be like my 0.5% savings account interest. Is it worth it?

Well, now I'm conflicted.

I used to believe in the blanket statement of deep rims all the time. But now... I realized something wasn't right last spring when I started riding on the tall profile, aerodynamic, and relatively heavy Jet6/Jet9 clincher set. I had a harder time making accelerations to match others, and found that although I could cruise once up to speed, my legs got a bit zapped when I did the actual accelerations.

TsunamiTwo with Jets.

After some experimenting with the Jets and the not-as-aero Bastognes, I found an interesting compromise.

TsunamiTwo with the rear Jet9 and a Bastogne front.
The front helped with stability but I got severely shelled on this day.

For "easier" training rides (17-19 mph solo, 20-21 mph group), I find my non-aero clinchers work well, better than the aero ones. I spend so little time at significant speeds (25 mph or higher) that the 1-2 lbs weight penalty to get aero benefits becomes significant.

I tried to compromise by using just the rear aero wheel, but it's still much less responsive on hills and when accelerating (responding to surges). The rear does help on sustained efforts though, especially if I'm already up to speed. This ends up my choice if I'm doing some riding in areas with cross/tailwinds and I think I'll see some sustained speeds (i.e. group ride).

Even for races I'll use the Bastognes because the accelerate much easier. I use a lot of my reserves accelerating hard to counter attacks and just get out of a corner. I used my aero wheels for a few weeks in early 2010 races at the Rent but got totally shelled because the third or fourth super hard acceleration just killed me.

(When I used aero tubulars which are lighter and more aero than my clinchers, I did fine.)

So until you go really fast in a group (25-27 mph avg speed) heavy aero wheels seem to be a disadvantage. A steady state 25 mph to me screams aero wheel. Jumpy races which average 25-27+ mph scream aero tubulars.

The issue here is weight. I'm not contesting the aero bit; it's the weight I don't like. HED builds the Jets as "faired" wheels - there's a whole structure there without the aero fairing, and then they add the aero fairing. I heard something a long time ago about race cars - everything needs to do at least two things. If a part only has one function, you're losing efficiency.

On the Jets the fairing acts only as a fairing. A separate rim acts as a structural member of the wheel. In contrast, HED's Stinger tubular wheels use the fairing as a structure as well as a fairing. This wheelset ends up really light. It's the whole "rim or fairing" thing.

This means there's light at the end of the tunnel- carbon rimmed clinchers which use the fairing as structural members. This includes wheels like the new Zipp 404 carbon clincher or the various Reynolds carbon clinchers.

(And, I hope, some wide rimmed HED carbon clinchers...)

Such rims normally weigh little. They spin up very quickly, allowing you to accelerate with low perceived effort. If you don't use them all the time they'll feel really, really fast when you do use them.

Where to draw the line?

The Jets I have (Jet6/Jet9) weigh about 1970g per pair. They feel like Mack trucks, or, based on my recent travel experiences, like a jet (you see how I did that?). They accelerate slowly but keep accelerating, eventually topping out at pretty high speeds. The front wheel catches more wind than a non-aero wheel, making the set up less than desirable for top speed truck drafting runs (anything over 45 mph).

The Bastognes, which I'd choose for most races over the Jets, weigh about 1550g per pair. That's about 430 grams less than the Jets, or just a touch under a pound difference. That's a lot for just rims. They feel pretty fast when I jump on them and they feel nimble when I'm tossing the bike around. They feel a bit limited in top speed. I should point out that they feel extremely stable in gusty drafting conditions, like following trucks at over 50 mph, but that has to do with the profile, not their weight.

My Stinger6s weigh somewhere south of 1400g per pair, and they feel fast. The tubular tires weigh less than clinchers so the weight savings increases that much more, maybe another 100g per wheel. I haven't drafted a truck on them because I use them almost exclusively for racing, but they're fine for 35 mph chases and leadouts as well as 40 mph sprints.

Therefore...

I think any wheelset under 1600g feels relatively light. Anything over 1800g feels heavy. 2000g, it feels weighted, not just heavy. I think 1800g is about the right limit for aero wheels as far as not compromising the jump.

I really like the Stingers and I'm happy with how they ride and accelerate. Of course I'd want a Stinger9 rear and a Stinger4 front, for more aero and more stability respectively. I'd like to have matching carbon clinchers (they don't exist at this time), weighing in at, I hope, somewhere around 1600g, less if possible.

Combined with the aluminum rimmed Bastognes I'd be happy if that completed my wheel inventory.

California - Day 9 Schooled

So there's this guy Jan who's been trying to get me out on some of the more infamous area rides. The two he likes are the Swamis ride on Saturday (which I've "done" before which means I was in the group for however long it took for them to pass me) and the Pendleton ride on Wednesday. We missed the Saturday invite so I felt determined to make the Wednesday one.

On Tuesday I did a ride out to the Wednesday ride start point, timing it, making sure I'd be on time. I mentally set out riding gear for a 42 degree start (7:30 AM), ignoring the 65 degree forecast by 10 AM.

But, to be frank, I felt pretty bad on the bike. I've been fighting this phlegm thing for a while. For a few days my left nostril's been like that ever-filled bread box or whatever. I'd blow my nose, think, "wow that's like half my brain!", and a few minutes later do the same thing.

I can tell you that cars give you a whole lane when you're doing the hakkalugi like that (okay, technically not a lugi but bear with me). When you start blowing snot around like that, suddenly everyone observes an 8 foot passing rule.

Anyway, I figured I was okay to go for today, Wednesday, not great, just okay. I was reasonably okay Tuesday, a little lethargic, but nothing major.

This morning, though, I didn't feel that great. Some chills while feeling hot. I didn't take my temperature or my blood pressure (I have all the stuff here to do it though); instead I had some leftovers, some coffee, dressed for 42 degree weather, and set off on my ride.

I realized quickly that things weren't that bad in the "cold". Having been spoiled by 75 or 80 degree weather, I typically shun 40-odd degree weather while I'm out here. But once I got rolling, like a mile out, I thought, "Hm, this is just like a beautiful Bethel!"

I stopped to adjust my saddle again - I finally got it right but it's been a bit distracting. It's interesting, the whole saddle height thing. Initially when it was high I felt like, oh, my legs are stretching soooo much. I dropped it and immediately started pushing back on the saddle, trying to extend my legs a bit more. Also I felt like the bars were "really high", like a comfort position bike.

Then I raised it a touch, then a touch again, and suddenly everything felt familiar. Bar drop good. Leg reach good. Slide back to stretch a bit, slide forward to get a bit more power and speed.

What's surprising is that all that adjusting happened within a centimeter of saddle height. Too high, too low, a little too low, just right. Just millimeters separated the last two but they counted.

I'd set off a bit later than planned so I worked some to get to the ride on time. A tailwind out to the shore helped a lot. I considered calling Jan when I was a mile away - it was just a minute or so to the ride start.

But my new phone is next to impossible to pull out of my pocket so I canned the call and rode hard.

I saw the ride start to depart just as I rolled up to a red light, 30 yards away. I had to "negotiate" that intersection (ahem) and presto, the ride and I merged.

About a mile later, as I filtered through the group, Jan found me.

"Hey! I didn't see you before the ride!"
"Yeah, I rolled up as you guys were leaving."
"Oh."

We rolled out easy, went up this one really steep hill just before Camp Pendleton. I heard some guys talking behind me.

"Did you see so-and-so last time? He rolled up in the big ring!"

I looked down. I was in the 39x23, and I was working.

"Yeah, and he was sitting."
"I think you get more leverage when you're standing."
"Well, yeah, you can get your weight into it more."

This exchange disarmed me. If some of the guys were talking about this stuff, I should be okay. Plus I was okay on the little hill, even if it was as steep as our driveway (and 5 to 8 times as long).

Disarming bunch, warming up on a shallow hill.

We rolled up to the entrance to Camp Pendleton. Out of respect for our military and yada yada yada I shut off the camera. I didn't want to even film anything that could reveal any military secrets.

Suffice it to say that everyone was body scanned, retinas checked, finger printed, and as we filtered through the wall of armored personnel carriers, machine gun emplacements, barb wire, and various observation and gun towers, I felt assured that we'd be safe here.

It took surprisingly little time to clear the gate (considering all that we had to do) and the ride proceeded.

We immediately stopped in a little parking lot. Apparently the ride used to start there but it got a bit crazy so now everyone rides in. We got a nice short lecture from a guy Brett about not being stupid out there. He also pointed out the wind blew from the east today (out to the shore) and that please keep that in mind when riding the narrow bike lanes. Give the next rider shelter by riding as far to the east side of the lane.

With that we set off.

Still disarmed by my overheard exchange, nothing for the next couple minutes gave me any hint that it'd be any different than any given "group ride". I figured it'd be kind of like a Cat 3 group ride, where I'd struggle on some hills, be good on the flats, and move around the group at will.

Right.

I kept having to ease and brake as the group slowed for various things, kind of normal when the front isn't riding hard. I'd then surge as the group accelerated collectively to close all those gaps.

The wind really affected me. I was on the east side of the group and doggedly stuck it out because Brett said so. But after about a minute of really high effort riding, I realized that I was cooking myself while everyone else spread across the wide bike lane in echelon formation.

Screw this, I thought, and I slid left to seek shelter.

But it was too late - I'd been working at something like 275 watts for a while (600-800 watt spikes followed by a bit of softpedaling, rinse and repeat), way deep for me, and had already pegged my heartrate.

Then, as the road kind of came out on an exposed plateau, that surge thing started again and just didn't stop. I surged but the gap didn't close. I kept surging, surging, surging, and the gap stayed constant.

Someone up front had just buried it and we were all scrambling to stay on wheels. My legs started to get really tight, a hateful feeling, one that screams, "Unprepared!"

At about this time I realized that I felt like I'd just inhaled a cork. I couldn't breathe well, at least not so I'd notice. I felt like I was underwater, holding my breath. My legs loaded up, I felt like my head would explode... and I sat up.

Yeah. Bye.
Wind from the east. That'd be the right side of the picture.

The group rolled away from me, over the top of a longish, gradual hill, hammered by the eastern wind. I could see the group kind of lined up because the road curved right, giving me a nice view of the pack.

(Remember the long gradual hill which curves right.)

A few minutes later one John Howard rolled by. He's the former world record holder in a gazillion things, land speed record on a bike (158 mph), 24 hour distance paced (514 miles?), did (won?) the Ironman, some other stuff. Plus he's won countless national titles and such.

I latched onto his group as he and his three companions looked like they were going nice and steady. I finally felt okay enough to take a pull, pulled too hard, and watched them roll away from me up a short steep hill. Just over the top we went through the exit from the base.

(Remember this, the short steep hill before the gates.)

Then cam some weirdness. A tunnel only for military vehicles and bicycles. Does that make a bicycle a military vehicle?

It says "Tactical and Government Vehicles Only".
That makes my bike a Tactical Vehicle (I prefer that to "Government vehicle").

Then a weird road in the middle of nowhere, complete with a bike path on one side. Massive road, but ending abruptly in the middle of nothing.

I knew the ride went out and back on the same roads so I twiddled along here. I tightened my front derailleur cable, debated whether or not I should take off my vest (no), ate a Balance Bar thing, and kept shaking my head mentally at the ease with which the group dropped me.

I'd see riders coming back in ones and twos so I knew I was in the right place.

I rolled back under the funny tunnel and up to the north gate (I figure it's the north gate since it's on the north end of the base). For those of you Googling information on Camp Pendleton for nefarious reasons, let me state that this gate also bristled with immense amounts of firepower, most of it hidden, and all sorts of anti-vehicle concrete barriers and such.

I stopped at the top of the short steep hill where Howard and company dropped me, tried to get the phone to a more accessible pocket (fail), straightened out my kit, and glanced back at the gate complex.

Riders poured through it.

Ah.

I got rolling and let the group engulf me.

Even suffering I noticed something. See the sign on the big military vehicle thing?
"Student Driver"
I chucked each time I saw one. Of course I got shelled shortly after this.

The same thing happened as when I got dropped before. No real surges, no real anything, just slowly cooking the toad in the water until BAM, it's boiling and you're dead.

It got strung out so I looked back to see if I needed to let anyone by me (so I wouldn't gap them).

I was last in line, another gapped line of riders a second or two behind me.

When I looked forward a gap had opened. I made an effort, out of the saddle, pitiful actually, to close a gap to the two women in front of me. Then they made a similar (but not pitiful) effort to close another gap as the front surged again.

I watched them ride away.

The women at the back, working hard.
I got back on after this one. Note everyone clinging to the right for shelter?

Worked me right off their wheel. Oh yeah.
Wind from the east. That would be the left side.

Jan rolled by me, powerful, but gapped that fatal gap. I got on his wheel but came off almost immediately. I watched him power off into the distance.

A little while later a guy rolled up behind me. He asked how I was doing.

"Slow."

We both chuckled.

We started talking - I learned at some point his name is, ironically, Fred. He asked a few things, like where I'm from, how long I'm staying, and where I got dropped. To the last question I had to admit that I really didn't know.

He described three critical points in the ride. The first was where the route dipped down into a little valley and then climbed out onto a plateau.

"Does the climb kind of curve right?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Well that's where I got dropped."

The second critical bit was a short steep climb just before the second gate.

"Oh, that's where John Howard and a few other guys dropped me."

Fred grinned. He must have been thinking, "Oh, man, this guy got totally worked over!" He continued on.

The third bit was this wide open area after the tunnel. It's windy, fast, and narrow. Devastating if you're not near the front.

Yeah I know that part. I sat and rode, alone, and thought, man, if I made it here, it'd have been ugly.

I told him that I feel like I got schooled. I mean if I go to a "shop" ride that has no racers on it, there's one level of expectation. If I go do a "group ride" like Gimbels, there's another set of expectations.

Swamis is a ride unto itself because I only ever saw riders like John Howard, Michelle something (world tri champion that year), and some pro women. And I only lasted like, oh, 30 seconds, so it doesn't really count.

The Pendleton ride, as far as expectations go, ranked below Swamis but not much different than Gimbels. Frankly I was shocked at the high level of riding exhibited by the group. They were, almost uniformly, extremely smooth, competent, powerful. They had the fluency to tap hips, even push them, without the obnoxiousness of a feeling of "I have something to prove".

It's kind of like if you're driving a car and Micheal Schumacher is next to you, and he absentmindedly says "Turn in a bit sharper" or "Hold the shifter lightly" or something like that. It's so ingrained in his head it's almost instinctive for him, but for you (and me) it still requires thought.

So, yes, I feel like I have a decent base of riding skills. But these riders, they were (with one exception which I won't identify) exceptional.

Compared to them I felt like a Cat 6.

And that's on bike handling!

So, since Fred seemed to know what the heck was going on, I asked him about the level of riding in the group.

"Oh, well, there are some good riders here. It wasn't like last week, when Chris Horner, some Jelly Belly and Type 1 guys showed up. But it's still pretty impressive. Brett (did the short speech at the beginning of the ride) is the national kilo champion and got second in the pursuit to Chris, who was here too (or Chris and Brett or maybe two other names). Brett got shelled so the ride was hard. So-and-So won the season opener last week. Of course you know John Howard. He mentioned some other names that escape me now.

What Fred didn't mention immediately (I had to pry it out of him, a normal thing for really good riders) is that Fred himself is current Cat 1 on the road and track, an ex-(domestic) pro, an ex-EDS Team track racer, and holder of multiple Masters National Championship titles.

"So," he concluded, looking at me, "You had some good company out there."

Yeah, for the brief time I rode with them.

I rolled back to home base, my legs starting to twinge. I actually ate and drank, so I must have ridden hard. I did ditch the vest at some point, and I did draft a truck at high speed (50+ mph). The front end of the bike felt stable, partly because I'd put the Bastogne up front (non-aero). It felt nice to have that secure feeling, no wiggliness, no uncertainty.

Bike with shadow after I got shelled.
Note non-aero front wheel. Really helped on the fast bits.
I stopped to tighten the front derailleur cable.

After the ride I thought about what happened. I had excuses of course. I haven't been feeling good. My lungs hurt when I breathe deeply. My left nostril is the never ending mucus factory (it's yellow, not green, for those biology people). I haven't been training much.

But it is what it is. Excuses don't matter. I thought of a surprising incident a month or two ago. My nephew came up to me at one of our visits to my dad and brother's.

He looked at me with the seriousness only a six year old could have.

"Do or do not. There is no try."

I looked at him with a surprised look on my face. Such deep thoughts from a young boy.

My brother laughed at my bewildered look and explained. "Yoda said that."

Oooh.


"Do or do not. There is no try."

Good words to live by, especially when you've just gotten schooled by some very good riders.

California - Day 8 - TsunamiTwo

I just like this picture so I put it here.

I finally got out on the bike. Finally.

Now I can't blame anyone but myself for a lot of it - I get distracted easily, so when I, for example, go inside to get a part for the bike, I may detour to the the coffee machine, grab a cup, nuke it (I know, it's terrible), then while it's nuking go and check email or something.

15 minutes later I realize, "Oh, hey, I came in to get the cap for the fork. Let me get that and get back out there!"

Anyway, I left just the chain, tape, the SRM wire, and minor adjustments for this morning. I finished the rest of the bike the previous night, at least in my mind.

It took me a while to get going (see "easily distracted" above), and when I finally did I did everything in the wrong order. I put the chain on, taped the bars, taped the Cane Creek Speed Bars, and then taped the SRM wire onto the bike.

My trusty SRM wire.
I've taped the two separate wires together to form one stronger cord.
My apologies for a poor picture.

The chain is, for now, a Dura Ace chain. Nice, shiny, and not packed in really sticky greasy stuff. I had to fight decades of habit and pushed out the pin so that I had two identical ends, the inner links, on each end of the chain.

For me that's usually disaster, but this time I did it on purpose - I finally bought some reusable links, in my case the KMC MissingLink (for Shimano 10s chains).

Chain box (I didn't take a picture of it when it had a chain in it), MissingLinks, and a sticker spot which shows that I used one.

It went together pretty easily and my mind decided that these things weren't all that bad.

I taped the bars after redoing some cable housing routing. It's different rerouting housing when it all runs in the frame, so the 10 second rerouting job ended up taking a lot longer. I'm still debating how I'll handle the housing in front of the head tube, but for now I'll let it be.

I did realize that my frame is really, really small, and, frankly, the housing affects a minute amount of area.

In other words it really doesn't matter.

I installed the SRM wiring harness and remembered a really nice thing about black frames - electrical tape disappears on it. I lay long strips of tape to hold the harness to the frame. Impossible to do discretely on a custom candy orange frame but easy on a black frame.

With the bike together, I took it for a short spin. I had to drop the post but since it was already bottomed out, I had to cut it.

I went out again with the post a lot lower, another 100 yard test ride. Everything seemed okay, I had to tighten some cables and fine tune the rear derailleur's cable tension, but I felt almost ready to ride.

I got my frame pump, tried to put it on the fork (where it's cool looking and usually out of the way). The newly taped Cane Creek Bars were just a bit wider, and that and slightly different cable routing combined to make it impossible for the pump to sit in my favorite spot.

I looked at the top tube.

No, I shouldn't. I didn't want to.

Oh, what the heck.

I popped it under the top tube and it fit perfectly.

So be it.

I also put two cages on the frame. I don't know why I didn't get two side loading cages because it works pretty well, but the pump under the top tube makes it a bit tricky getting one bottle out (the top load cage one naturally).

Finally I got the saddle bag on, with its various supplies. One thing I couldn't find was my multi tool, with all the different allen wrench sizes on it. I set off with a couple 5 mm, one 6mm, and not much else.

I rode, oh, about half a mile, and realized that my saddle height was all wrong. I rode a bit more and decided the delta was great enough to justify turning around.

I returned to home base, raised the saddle a lot (arbitrarily because, to be completely honest, I forgot if I have my saddle at 67 cm or 67.5 cm BB to top of saddle) and got back on the bike.

Nice!

I went out to the ocean, headed north into Carlsbad, looking for the Starbucks where a group ride meets on Wednesdays. As in tomorrow Wednesday.

It took me 45 minutes to get there without hurrying.

The bike seemed fine with a few teething pains.

Cables continued to stretch (and housing settle), making the shifting just a bit loose, but still within usable range.

The headset was a bit tight, and combined with gusty crosswinds and an aero front wheel, I rode a drunken line much of the time.

But what about the good stuff?

Well now.

The rear wheel sits noticeably closer in under my saddle. When I stand it feels like I'm right on top of the rear wheel. For the longest time I've stood and adjusted my weight distribution to force some weight on the rear wheel. Although it works and became automatic, it robs me of a little bit of... something.

It's like trying to run really fast on a balance bar instead of the track. There's an element of "I can't run as fast on a 2x4 as I can on a running track".

Likewise, my automatic rearward weight emphasis took some juice out of my jump.

Now I have to learn how to stand without adjusting my weight distribution, to use all of my jump to jump.

Handling-wise it's great. The bike wants to go where I point it. I see skateboarders around here all the time (Tony Hawk lives around here) and I realized the short chainstays make my bike feel like a skateboard doing a wheelie. On such a skateboard you are anchored on the rear wheel and can turn anywhere you want.

On my bike I'm anchored on the rear wheel and can do whatever I want with the front end.

The front end isn't special in any way. That's a good thing, by the way. I don't want a special front end - I just one that's stable at speeds over 50 mph and lets me slam the bike into turns. Stable yet responsive.

The 3T fork works fine, although I haven't done a 50+ mph descent to test rigidity. It feels nice and rigid when I torque the bike out of the saddle or carve S-curves on some empty stretches of road.

I hadn't taped my Cane Creek Speed Bars before - I wish I did. They feel so much better now. Before, on the bare bars, my hands would slip on them a bit, the coarse anodized finish not doing much for grip. With the tape, the increased bar diameter (they're already undersized at about 22 mm diameter) and better grip makes for a very secure feeling position.

I didn't use them that much though. I haven't been feeling 100% anyway so I didn't push too hard. I did a jump up the hill just before home base but I shook my head at myself and sat up.

Overall I give the bike a thumbs up. With the Jet 6 front and Jet 9 rear wheels, Cane Creek bars, the bike weighs 19 pounds even.

First weigh-in. 19 pounds.
Note no cages, taped Cane Creek bars. I had to cut the post a bit more.
Also note boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I have a source if you have a hankering.

It should lose almost a pound with the Bastognes, a bit more with the tubulars. I regret not bringing the heat treated 3T bars, as they'll take another 100g or so off the bike, and make the front end feel even lighter.

Kitted out for a training ride it weighs a bit more. Bag, two tubes, a little chain tool, extra dropout, two valve extenders, two full bottles, a pump...

24 pounds. Yikes!
It's fully loaded though.

Well 23.94 as the scale says.

That's a bit heavier than I'd like.

I'll redo the loadout to reduce weight a bit for tomorrow. I'll swap out the front wheel for the Bastogne. Double check all the nuts and bolts. Slip in a 4mm Allen wrench in there somewhere.

And we'll see how the ride goes.

California - Day 7...

I woke up today a bit bleary.

Okay, a lot bleary.

Last night I was up until almost 2:30 AM. That's local time; that means 5:30 AM back at home.

And when I went to sleep I had no bike to speak of.

My host did some analysis last night, theorizing that the welding affected the BB30 shell. When I finally got going this morning, I checked in brighter light, with a more clear head. I decided to check the shell's roundness by using a bearing for comparison.

We initially thought the bearings were being radially compressed. That means they were getting "shrunk" in diameter. Or radius, as the case may be.

That's really hard to do. Think about a round thing like a bearing. If you squeeze it, it'll tend to bulge out elsewhere.

Ovalize.

And that's what was happening in the frame. The BB30 shell, which I'm sure was perfect when it was made, warped a bit due to the welding. Problem is that it's hard to source BB30 facing tools (right now I think they're unavailable). This seems a bit ridiculous because any time you weld a BB30 shell it'll warp just a touch, and you need to be able to get it right.

Cannondale and other big manufacturers do their machining after the frame is built. A small outfit needs that option, but it's simply not out there.

Note "line" to the left of the bearing. That's daylight coming through a gap.

Neither I nor the host have a micrometer so I couldn't measure and file. Nor could I use a pre-existing tool to face the thing; we didn't have one of those either.

I used the "visual gap" and "rocking" method to see where I had to file. A gap meant no filing at all. If I could rock the bearing back and forth, the "pivot" areas needed to be filed.

I'd given up yesterday after many hours of checking, filing, testing, refiling. I stopped when I started getting delirious, unable to maintain coherent thought, forget about conversation.

Well, I should have kept going because it took only a few minutes and one test fit to install the BB30 bearings.

After judicious filing, I got the bearing in without much trouble.

The other bearing. Also in without much trouble.
You can see the c-clip limiting how far in the bearing sits.

Bearing shield (black thing) and spindle.
It's still stiff - note the crankarm's unsupported position.

There's still some compression going on because the crank doesn't spin at all. But it went in okay, it turns, and there's no notchiness (last year the bottom bracket was so tight that the crank arms "indexed" as they turned).

I decided that's the way it'll be and proceeded with "the easy stuff."

Rear brake mounting nut access is tight.

I brought my Torx tools specifically because I knew I'd have to adjust the brake shoes. I didn't think it'd take me 30 minutes to find the stupid tools. I stuck them in my backup pair of Sidis. Note to self: check shoes first next time.

Cables, housing, tape, optimistically laid out.

You can see the theme here. Black and blue.

Front derailleur test fit, with K-Edge front chain guard.

The front derailleur mount put the tail of the derailleur into the chainring teeth. I knew I'd seen this before and couldn't remember the solution. After letting the problem simmer in my mind, I realized I need to simply file the braze-on mount until the mount's angle matched what I needed.

15 minutes of filing and testing and, voila, front derailleur.

Nokon gold link, downtube cable housing stops.

Nokon sets get assembled at a factory so I had to remove the links to "right side up" the gold Nokon key link on the left side.

The segment thing is nice because you can match housing lengths right and left, and you know it's exact.

Ran the teflon liner thing all the way to the bottom bracket shell.

I ran the inner liner the full length of the cable whenever possible. I ran them down both derailleur cables to the bottom of the downtube.

The brakes both have full length housing (the internal one has no stops, the housing just goes through the top tube). No worries about liners there - just run them through the whole length.

I want the blue to show so I used the beat up silver and black Nokons to fill in under the tape.

Nokon supplies just enough segments to cover the exposed portions of housing. Since I like their functionality most, I now put Nokons under the bar tape (normally you use a cheater piece of housing, included with the Nokon kits).

I have 3.5 bikes worth of Nokons (a friend gave me half a kit a while ago), and I only have two bikes with Nokon housing. I can go the full length in Nokon, just not in one color.

Teflon liner poking out of the hole in the seat tube, allowing the cable to go to the front derailleur.

Since the opening in the seat tube has no liner I had to use a Teflon liner to prevent the cable from garrotting the seat tube until it split in two.

Almost done. Chain and tape and SRM wiring harness to go.

So, I've left the chain, bar tape, SRM wiring, and maybe a seat post cut for tomorrow. I'm just too tired now to do anything and I don't want to screw anything up.

Good night all!

California - Day 6 - Where's the Riding?!

Day Six. California. Training camp.

I've been under the weather, I got out for two rides, and... that's it.

Day Six didn't help things much, although I learned what I need to do. That's a big part of avoiding that feeling of helpless, knowing what needs to get done.

Today I decided to work on the bike. I thought of getting in a ride later, but when it rained, a kind of unusual event, I canned that idea of riding.

With the rain came the idea of committing to the TsunamiTwo. See, the one big thing to install on the new frame is the BB30 bearings and crankset. If they go on okay then the bike is fine.

If not, not.

First I did what I could without having to touch TsunamiOne - the fork.

Before that though I wanted to see what the bike would look like with a 90 mm tall rear wheel sitting in the dropouts.

I think about this time I mentioned to the host that I was glad I was building the bike here. At home I'd have rushed things, short for time, unable to spend too much time on any one project. Here, time stood still. I could spend 5 hours on the bike and still have 5 hours of daylight left.

Well, okay, I could spend 3 hours because I'm waking up later than 7, but you get the idea.

Wicked cool. If I glue some felt or hook and loop stuff on the seat tube it could act as a tire saver.

I should have pointed out that my host broke out the good camera. You can tell because the pictures are a lot better. Deep blacks, nice depth, yada yada yada.

Another look at the openings at the bottom of the seat and down tubes.
I wonder if they'll hum at all.

The blow-hole like opening for the front derailleur cable.
Note the pristine BB shell...

A nice look at the seat mast.

The narrow down tube. And the close seat tube.

Trial fit of fork, headset, and stem.

The 3T Funda Team fork is a lightweight (330g measured, cut, including sleeve) fork. It's a result of 3T's overhaul of its design processes, including the recruiting of an ex-F1 carbon fiber engineer.

(F1 is top of the level car racing, and the teams use carbon fiber everywhere.)

As the engineer put it, they were doing it all wrong. He went through the line and revamped pretty much everything.

This fork was one of those things.

The fork's important stuff.

The biggest danger to a fork isn't the huge pothole. Well, not directly. The weak point of the fork is the bit where the stem attaches. Due to overtightening of the stem, unseen damage after a fall, and probably a zillion other things, the stem/steerer-tube junction remains the most critical customer/shop serviced area. Cutting a fork, installing one, even adjusting the angle of the stem... they all rely on being able to consistently clamp the (if so equipped) carbon fiber fork.

3T now has a metal sleeve that you epoxy (two part epoxy) into place. A star nut sits in the sleeve, ready to pull the stem cap down.

First you cut the fork to the right length, then you file and sand the edges with very specific sand paper. In preparation for the epoxy, you need to wipe everything down with rubbing alcohol after sanding any rough spots. Finally a two part epoxy glues the sleeve in place.

Sanding the edges with 120g silicone carbide sandpaper.

Luckily most of the required items came with the fork. No nitrile gloves, no respirator, no file. But the sand paper, the epoxy, the Popsicle stick to mix said epoxy, all included.

Without epoxy, test fit.

Of course I cut the fork conservatively, 2 mm too long. I had fudged 2 mm because that's the width of the blade.

Properly schooled, I punished myself by passing out on the couch, sleepy like crazy. Then, a bit groggy from my nap, I went and promptly cut the next 2 mm off.

That's more like it.

With rain falling I decided to take the plunge and give the BB a shot.

You can see TsunamiOne in the background.
I'm optimistically installing the cranks on TsunamiTwo.

At about this time I ran into trouble. When I finally managed to get the bearings into the shell, they'd barely turn. I mean we had to exert a lot of force to get the bearings to go even a few mm. I tried to get the spindle in but even with some really good whacks with a heavy mallet, the spindle didn't go through.

I'd talked about how I was glad I was doing the bike here due to the time available here. Well, another reason is the detail oriented host. He'd find anything and everything wrong with the bike. The BB30 trials cinched it. If it were at home I'd have just gotten a bigger hammer.

Instead, with the analytical host thinking in overdrive, I now know the BB shell got distorted (probably during welding). It has to be re-created in round so that the bearings would work properly.

BB shell with circlips. The clips keep the bearings from going in too far.

Optimistically installing a bearing.

I took the bearings out later.

Several times.

Cleaning out some grease. Or adding it, I forget which. I did that several times too.

The problem was the BB shell distorted the BB30 bearings, causing them to go oval. My host noticed the bearings would rock back and forth one way but not another. He noticed that he could see gaps in the loose bits.

The bound up the bearings made it virtually impossible to insert the spindle or to even turn the bearings at all. The first time I almost got the cranks on, they'd pretty much stay where ever you turned them.

No spin at all.

The weirdness I experienced last year was because of the same reason (and I measured up to a 15 watt loss in friction, pedaling furiously in a tiny gear while coasting at 45 mph). It wasn't a fluke. I think it'd caused by welding a pre-finished BB30 shell. I think that the shell needs to be machined after welding.

Problem is that there aren't any BB30 facing tools that I know of. I heard of one or two coming out but I haven't seen them anywhere for sale.

Therefore I had to use a different facing tool.

Me.

I'm using a Mark 1 facing tool, with an infinitely adjustable cutting range.
It has two hands, glasses (in my case), and very dusty hands.

Because filing is like cutting a fork - you can always cut more but you can't add stuff back - I filed diligently and slowly. After a lot of trial fits and such, I had to give up. I felt as tired as I did when I took my midafternoon nap.

Except this time it was midnight.

My host captured the moment.

"Wow. I got nothing done."

Look, at least the pictures look better. And I was wearing my Expo hoodie.

As far as the bike goes?

Tomorrow.

Yeah, I know, I know. But I really want to get it done tomorrow. TsunamiOne is down so I have no choice.

California - Day 4 Shop and Ride

I had two items on my agenda: get the headset cups pressed in the new frame and go for a ride.

The first seemed pretty straightforward. Bring frame to local shop, a few miles away, get headset cups pressed in the new frame, and ride back home.

Then, because I'd be ready to ride, I'd just head out for a "real" ride. It'd be my first ride in FIVE days.

Horrors.

So I got TsunamiOne ready, brought the frame out, got everything else ready for the ride (helmet cam, SRM, remember gloves, etc etc etc).

I got outside, closed the door, and though, aw, it's such a nice day I should take a picture.

TsunamiOne with TsunamiTwo draped over the bars.

I tried to get going but realized that I couldn't even get my feet clipped in while holding the frame in one hand.

I puzzled over this for a bit and thought of a solution - wear the frame!

(This relates to an old Reader's Digest story where security prevented a passenger from boarding a plane with a lamp shade. Obviously the shade was very fragile and it'd be best to bring it onboard. Problem was the lampshade was a "carry on item" and the person already had one plus a personal one. Turned away, the passenger walked off. A few minutes later the passenger was at the front of the line again. This time the passenger was wearing a hat that resembled a lampshade. The passenger, and the lampshade, got on the plane.)

I tried to put the frame over my head but the helmet didn't fit through the small main triangle. Removing the helmet let me stick my head through, and I put my helmet back on.

I had this morbid thought where a passing truck snags the frame by a drop out or something and decapitates me as it pulls away, but I pushed this out of my mind. I didn't need any decapitations today.

I got lost on the way to the shop and had to navigate by looking at the freeway that I knew went right behind the shop. I'd turned west when I should have gone east. Whatever. I got there.

I got to the shop, Mike the Mechanic (seriously, that's his name) said he'd do it while I wait.

Cool!

It may have helped that the team kit has Trek and Bontrager on it, and it's a Trek Superstore.

(I should point out that I'm wearing version 2.0 of the kit, the Hincapie stuff. It totally rocks!)

Well whatever it was, he pressed the cups in and charged me a nominal fee. I padded the ticket by buying some energy bar stuff and a second Halo headband thing.

I got back to home base okay, dropped off the frame (no pictures), emptied out the stuff I got, ditched some of the cold weather gear I'd packed "just in case" (I was already hot and I just had a jersey and shorts on), found my long finger gloves (I try to wear them all the time), and headed out to the Pacific.

As in the Pacific Coast Highway.

I forgot how different it feels to ride outside versus the trainer. My glutes got tired right away, I tried to get aero a lot to beat the kind of strong wind, and... well, I worked hard.

My bike also felt small, like I dominated the bike. It's weird because it's set up how it was on the trainer, although I'd been trying a 13 cm stem recently and I built it with the 12 cm stem.

The saddle felt a bit low, giving me a lot of power lower in the pedal stroke. The bars seemed close, letting me really jump hard.

In fact a truck kind of obliged and let me test my jump and roll out. I ran out of juice after a while and the front wheel got a bit wiggly with the swirling wind behind the back tires. When I checked the ride data after the ride I could see why the front wheel, the Jet6, got a bit wiggly - I was going just under 52 mph.

My need for speed properly satiated, I focused on more mundane things.

A few more jumps let me get a feel for the bike once again. They also reminded me that the Jets accelerate slowly and require immense amounts of energy to jump "energetically".

For group rides I'll be using the Bastognes.

I rolled down the PCH past Cardiff on the Sea, out to where there's a Dog Beach (dogs allowed on the beach). I turned around there, just after two guys passed me (I was doing a lot of leg resting coasting and they kind of accidentally rolled by, then I had to ride kind of slow to avoid repassing them), and then headed back.

Of course the wind hit me pretty hard. Figures that I had a tailwind on the way out. But that was okay, I felt okay on the bike, surprisingly so. I rolled hard, focused on staying low, and realized that, once again, I felt more comfortable in the drops than on the hoods or tops.

I really like a bike that fits.

I rolled up to someone, tried not to pass, but eventually (after I stopped at two lights that the other rider ran), I decided I'd stop being polite. Look, the other rider was the one blowing the red lights. So I rolled by hard on one of the rises where all the surfers park, and he disappeared behind me.

When I stopped to swap the helmet cam battery, he rolled by just as I finished up. That was good - a few minutes gap in 15 minutes of riding.

At some point my legs just totally failed. No energy, no juice, and I spent a lot of time just stretching and stuff so I wouldn't have to pedal.

At one point, just before home, I did a trackstand (per usual) at a light. When I rolled away a CHiPs motorcycle guy said something to me. Since it wasn't "Hey, you!" or "Stop or I'll shoot" I kept rolling.

When I got about 30 feet away my brain finally processed what he'd said.

"Hey, nice trackstand!"

It was too late to acknowledge but it capped off a nice day. No decapitations, headset cups in frame, and I got a nice ride in.

Tomorrow, if things go as planned, I'll do one of the famous group rides in the area. Meet up with maybe a BikeForums rider or two. Hopefully not embarrass myself.

But first I need to eat. Oh yes. Eat.

California - Day 3 TsunamiTwo!

So, last night, finally, I got my TsunamiTwo frame. I'd started waiting at about 8 AM (the FedEx genie said the frame got on a truck at 7:10 AM).

I waited and waited and waited. I didn't dare do anything in case I missed the frame. I took the quickest shower in the world. I peed really fast. I didn't dare put myself in a situation where I'd be unavailable for 45 seconds and the FedEx guy would ring the doorbell, shrug, turn around, and walk back to his truck.

So I waited. And waited. And waited.

And finally, just before 5 PM, the doorbell rang.

I ran and opened it.

A guy in khaki slacks, white shirt, some brown/tan kind of tie, and fancy brown dress shoes looked at me.

I looked at him. Looked past him. FedEx truck. Looked back at him.

I started thinking, "FedEx really dresses up nowadays."

Then I thought maybe he was the driver's boss.

But then he asked for our host's daughter's friend.

Oh. It's her dad.

But what was the FedEx truck doing at the curb then?

I frowned, looking at the truck.

Watched a guy climbed out the back of the truck. He wore FedEx clothes. He had a big box in his hand.

Ha!

I quickly opened the box, with my host's son's help (he quickly retrieved a pocket knife from somewhere, a bit worrying since he's all of 5 years old). He respected the knife though and stayed away from it once I started cutting tape.

The frame popped out pretty quickly.

It still smelled of paint. It's all good.

With a 5 year old's help the foam packing stuff came off.

Padding off.
Grubby fingerprints courtesy grubby fingered but very happy new owner.
Note spare dropout. Also note bare 5 year old boy's foot in right corner.

I didn't realize why the string was there until I noticed it went between the two cable housing holes in the top tube. I'll be running full length housing in the top tube. I hope I have enough Nokons to run them through from end to end.

The dropout is a nice touch from Joseph. Since I had it shipped a little closer to his shop, his shipping costs shrank. He included (at my request) a spare dropout rather than us having to deal with refunds and stuff. I wouldn't be able to use a few bucks but not having a dropout could be bad news.

What's nice is that the dropout fits the Missus's bike too. They're good dropouts, secured by a chainring bolt. You can tighten it pretty well and not worry about stripping some wimpy allen head.

One thing that's noticeable is the frame's narrow tubing.

It's not as apparent as on other frames because the frame is so small, meaning small in height. But it's still noticeable.

(Although I plan on running no cages I will probably install a couple... but ideally I want to run with just a CamelBak, for "aero-ness". Along those lines I dragged the HED Jet6 and Jet9 wheels to California so I could run a "full aero" bike.)

Two things stand out on the frame when I hold the frame, at least to me.

Cut out seat tube.
Note the small hole below the front derailleur mount - it's for the front derailleur cable.

The first is the aero seat tube with the cutout for the tire. It's very nicely finished, any welds finished off smoothly and cleanly. I didn't expect that to be the case so I felt pleasantly surprised when I saw the smooth edges.

The second thing is the integrated seat post (ISP). It's kind of integrated - it's an aero seat tube with a round section of seat tube fit into the top of the front of the tube up front. It's welded in place with the welds so smoothly filed down that I couldn't tell where one tube ended and the next started.

There is a ridge where the seat tube ends, but for me that's just a character ridge. It's the ridge a few inches down from the top that runs around the front part of the seat tube.

I never thought of myself as an ISP type of owner, but when given the option by Joseph, I decided, what the heck. I decided to go with it.

The plan will be to have about 2.5 cm of post showing above the collar. I'd have a lot of room to drop the saddle if I got a sleek railed saddle, a short height clamp post, or even a low foot-to-axle pedal height.

Or all of the above.

If I go back to a 170 mm crank (I have no idea why I'd do that) then I'd raise it a bit.

I'd like to see if the collar from the Specialized frame will fit - it's Ti with a ti/aluminum nut/bolt. The ti collar would be a bit more sleek, if memory serves me correctly.

Ultimately, if this works out, and if Joseph can source an efficient tapered head tube with a 1.25" lower steerer tube, I'll be very aggressive with the next ISP. I'll run it within a few mm of the top of the usable post.

One big debate is what to do about a post. I don't want to have a full 400mm post in the integrated post area, so I'll cut a post down to minimal size. I decided when packing TsunamiOne that I'd cut the post on that bike - it's a full length post, not a 250mm post or whatever the shorter ones measure. There was a good 5 inches in my seat tube on the regular frame. There's a lot of post I don't need, so I'll be cutting my precious Thomson post later.

The integrated seat post.

A slightly different look at the seat tube.

You can see that it extends back between the chainstays.

Braze on front derailleur mount. Forces me to move away from an N-Gear Jumpstop.

I'd discussed the aero cable situation with Joseph during the planning phase. I knew how he'd approach the bottom of the downtube, but I didn't have solutions in place for the cables after that. Joseph had some creative ideas.

Note the open bit of downtube to the right.
There's also an open bit of seat tube to the left.

Joseph's solution? He brazed things so that there'd be a section of open tubing at the bottom of the seat tube (as well as the down tube). The cables come out the downtube, into the BB guide, and then head up into the seat tube (for the front derailleur) and out to the normal cable housing stop for the rear derailleur.

The cable entry points are nice and subtle. String hanging out of the top tube one.

The speckly paint is due to the pearl black. It's nice but doesn't like flashes.

A slightly better picture, this time of the right side.

You get an idea of the pearl vs speckle feel, meaning the paint is really black with a pearl coat, not a gritty dirty black frame.

A no flash shot. The bike looks "black".

Without a flash the pearl hides. The frame looks like it looks like in person. The pearl just glistens in the light. In the sun it ought to be great.

The BB30 shell is clean of any paint, ready for bearings.

Before I do anything I'll trial fit the wheels. Once I check that I'll go ahead and put in the BB30 bearings. I'm going to pay a shop to install the headset, then cut the fork myself. I'll be aggressive and cut it down to the bare minimum, just enough for the stem to grab. No spacer like the other fork (I didn't want to cut the fork in case I put it back in the aluminum Giant TCR, the frame that donated its Reynolds fork to the Tsunami.)

Then comes the commitment - I'll have to strip the TsunamiOne of its parts to build TsunamiTwo.

(I may start calling them T1 and T2 as typing it all out is a pain...)

The commitment comes from the fact that for a short time I won't have a bike to ride. Based on when I get the frame back I may do this Saturday or Sunday. By Monday I should be on T2.

At some point I weighed the frame. 1680 grams. 3.7 lbs. It's not the lightest but it's fine. It's about 500 grams (1.1 lbs) heavier than the Cannondale SystemSix, the lightest bike I ever had (15.5 lbs with tubulars). Since the components will be virtually identical to the SystemSix - they have to be since they came off that bike - I'm curious to see how the weight compares with the fork (should be light) and a cut down post.

If the bike gets under 17 lbs with tubulars it'll be close to the TsunamiOne. I'm thinking about this one saddle, I've used it before, it's about 100g lighter than the current one, about 0.2 lbs. I could go with the heat treated crit bars, also 100g lighter than the current bars I have.

That would be another 0.2 lbs.

Ugh. You can do this with almost any bike you have. I have to stop.

But I do own the heat treated crit bars, they're sitting at home. Maybe I'll do that later.

I've spent two days in California and have ridden, oh, maybe a quarter mile. I have some work to do.

Till then, ta ta.