Equipment - Bike Timeline, Part 1 - Early Years

A while back, someone on the BikeForums asked folks for their bike timelines. Although I posted some general info there, I figured I'd do a slightly more detailed version here. It's so detailed that it's going to be spread out over a number of posts.

First off, the early years...

1973, maybe? A blue 3 speed looking single speed. Probably 20" wheels. It seemed enormous to me, but I learned to ride it. This was in Holland, so it had whatever European version of 20" wheel exists there.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of this bike.

1976? A single boom banana seat bike, orange. Definitely a 20" type of bike, sting-ray like. I don't have any pictures but I know one or two exist. Still in Holland. My mom gave the bike away when we moved back.

Claim to fame - a "friend" (really just a kid in the neighborhood) wanted to try my bike. Rode it about 10 seconds, went along a trail next to a canal, and promptly fell in.

Canals, in case you don't know, are totally gross.

1979, used Schwinn Cotton Picker: After a year hiatus without a bike (when we moved back to the US), I finally got another banana seat bike, my Schwinn Cotton Picker. It has a 52 front ring, 14-28 freewheel (14-17-20-24-28), mated to a slick rear tire (slick like squared off hot rod slicks, not like "no tread 700c tire"). Up front it had a 16" front wheel on a drum brake hub. The spokes are about three inches long. It weighed over 50 pounds and rode like a squishy tank.

The "tank", as it is now, kinda sorta.

I actually kept a training diary with the Schwinn. My entries were a bit brief, like "Rode to Millstone and back". Millstone was the next road up from us, maybe half a mile away.

My main modification consisted of "lowering" the front end by removing the spring. This was totally rad but I liked watching the suspension move more than the chopper look, so I reinstalled said spring.

1980: Schwinn Traveller III, 19", red. My first 10 speed. I upgraded it with foam handlebar grips, toe clips, a rear rack, waterbottle, and a lock.

I learned how to double-shift on this bike, where you shift the front and rear derailleurs at the same time. I mapped out the gearing using a chart that had the chainrings as column headings and the freewheel cogs as rows. It looked something like this:

With a 52/40 x 14-17-20-24-28 (seem familiar?), I had to shift both derailleurs to follow the most logical (and marked) shift pattern.

Shift pattern of a 1980 Schwinn Traveller III. Numbers represent gear inches.

1981: Dawes Lightning, 21", dark green fade to lighter green. This was my first "enthusiast" bike. I swapped out pretty much everything on it except the headset, seatpost, and brakes.

I obsessed over gearing, drawing chart after chart, trying to optimize jumps between gears while keeping 8 usable gears (on a 10 speed you couldn't really use the small-small and the big-big, leaving you with 8 usable combinations).

The biggest thing I did was to install a 48/34 crankset (on a now ubiquitous "compact crank" 110mm bolt circle diameter). I also bought two custom freewheels, a 14-15-16-18-21 and a 14-15-17-20-23. I would change to the 14-23 for "hilly" rides, leaving the 14-21 for the "fast" rides.

Note the importance of keeping the smaller cogs close together. You'll see this in a regular cassette nowadays, but when you only had 5 cogs, it was critical. If you skipped a consecutive stp down in the small cogs you ended up with a huge gear jump.

This kind of decision affected not just mere mortals like me. Sean Kelly, after faltering in the sprint in the 1989 Worlds, said that he had to choose between two top cogs. When he reconned the course, the wind blew unfavorably, limiting him to a 13.

He decided to go with the 13.

On the day of the race, the wind changed direction. In the soaking wet finale, he couldn't come around a 12 tooth equipped Greg Lemond. Disgusted, he sat up, losing the silver medal to one of the new generation of Eastern Bloc pros, Dmitri Konyshev.



Luckily I never had such a significant outcome from my own gear selections.

I also put on 20mm wide Rigida wheels (700c), narrow 700x20 tires, went to presta valve tubes (with adapters in the rim), mounted a gold Sedisport chain (quiet and light), and swapped out pedals to get some Campy lookalikes. I installed some generic saddle because it looked cool and I got rid of the "safetey" levers, the extra brake levers that you could use from the tops.

I always wanted, but never got, gum hood covers for the levers. I'd wanted gum hoods forever but I always needed something more than the gum-hood-compatible levers.

I rode this bike in a Saint Jude's bikeathon, covering 72 miles in 4 hours. I even had a friend ride as a domestique, letting me draft him so I could rest a bit.

I also took this bike on a two week tour through Amish country. I discovered I really liked sprinting up all the hills, trying to pass the ride leader/s. Since one ride leader was competitive in a friendly sense, he worked pretty hard to stay in front of me (he had to, we weren't allowed to pass the ride leaders). I never beat him up a single hill, and he had a 50 pound Schwinn Continental and he carried the stove and fuel.

I should have realized right there that I should focus on things other than hills.

But I didn't, not for a while longer.

1982: Basso, 51 cm. My first race bike. It came with a mix of parts mounted on a Columbus Zeta frame. Zeta must be Italian for "heavy". Campy Nuovo Record shifters and derailleurs; Excel Rino cranks and seat post (remember Lon Haldeman?); Modolo Sprint brakes (below the Pro and Speedy models); and custom laced for me Mavic 32H GP4s on Campy Tipo hubs.

Picture of me on the bike, with in almost original state, albeit in a "reversed negative" state.

The field in my first race in 1984 at the Uniroyal Training Series (I guess the Uniroyal office was in this big huge office building.)
I was at the back. Bill W is the Laurel rider with the ultra flat back, dead center.

I only ever did the Uniroyal Training Series a couple times - this was my first and best effort. My friend Kevin F and I went together (his dad drove I think). I was too casual about getting ready and found myself scrambling to kit up before the race.

Hm. Sounds familiar.

Cornering at the UTS.

You'll notice my Brancale Giro helmet, modded by yours truly. Extra vent holes, stock ones enlarged, and some custom paint. I'll have to do a post on the helmet at some point. In those days you could do such things. Nowadays you're limited to decorating your helmet, not changing it.

4th? 5th? I forget. I waited until "my spot" and went. The guys that went earlier, on the uphill, were gone. Bill W destroyed everyone in the sprint.

Note: I swear that's my future teammate and mentor Mike H in the background. He had a black Colner ("Colner", not "Colnago", although the font was identical). I think it's his bike leaning up in the background.

I only had the GP4s, tubulars on the Basso for the first year, which I can't believe now - I flatted both tires a day apart at the end of the season. I never rode with a spare tubular, and when I finally got two tires and replaced the flatted ones, both tires popped off in my hands - they barely had any glue on them. It's a miracle I didn't roll a tire that year. After that incident I decided to always glue my own tires.

Gearing: 53/42 x 15-21 six speed (Junior gearing, limited to a 7.47 meter rollout, or a 53x15). Straight block plus a jump - 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21. Not bad.

1985: Cannondale red "SR" frame, 50 cm. I decided to get the new Cannondale frameset. I had friends who worked there (but no, I didn't buy stuff through them), and the shop was probably one of the first Cannondale dealers around.

The frames were crazy stiff. You could get a bare frame, lay it down on its side, and stand on the dropout. If you were, say, less than 200-220 pounds, the frame would flex a bit. If you weighed 100 pounds, you could totally unweight and bounce up and down on the dropout.

Crazy stiff.

Later I met one of the engineers behind the original frame. They had wanted to match a Columbus SL frameset, so, knowing the properties of SL's steel and the 6061 series aluminum, they simply used math to figure out the proper diameters and wall thicknesses.

However, they simply matched strength. Their approach resulted in a frame that was extremely stiff, extremely responsive, especially in an era where testing a frame's stiffness meant jumping hard in a big gear. If the frame flexed enough laterally to let out enough cable to allow the rear derailleur to shift spontaneously, you had a not-so-stiff frame. If the frame allowed a bit of cable out, just enough to let the rear derailleur protest a bit, you had a normal frame. Ultimate frame stiffness came when your frame flexed so little that your rear derailleur stayed planted.

Although virtually all frames nowadays fall in the last group, in the mid-80s only, oh, maybe a quarter of them did. Maybe a half.

Cannondale totally wrecked the curve. Now not only would the frame not flex enough to let the rear derailleur move, you could even stand on a bare frame (with no wheel in the dropouts).

So what did that mean for a racer? Well, for one thing, you could typically use at least one cog smaller for climbing. For someone coming off a flexy frame, two cogs.

Seeing as I still thought of myself as a climber (my sprint at the UTS notwithstanding), this was exactly what I wanted.

I planned meticulously, gathering parts before getting the frame. These included Super Record derailleurs, Gipiemme crank and pedals, Modolo Pro brakes, my all time favorite box tubular rims Ambrosio Cronos, Cinelli bar/stem, a Super Record post, and a tan Cinelli saddle. Once built up the bike was stiff and responsive, and the stiffer cranks and lighter wheels really made a difference.

Leading out my teammate at an early New Britain. Note the "backwards" direction compared to nowadays. I have red sleeves. He didn't win. But I loved working together as a team.

I had a set of G40 clinchers on Suzue high flange hubs, ones I had as spares for the Basso, but I preferred to train on my tubulars.

After a day of romping around on dirt roads. Low flange = tubulars.

I had red anodized Modolo Pro brakes, the nicest quality brakes I owned until 2008 when I got a set of Record Skeleton brakes as part of a Cannondale SystemSix bike.

Note also the Huret Multito, the O-ring based odometer on the hub. Painfully inaccurate but consistent.

Post dirt-road romp. Trainin' for the Classics. Note muddy shoelaced shoes under cranks. You can see the ping pong table where I played out many a WW2 skirmish with my 1/72 scale armies.

I managed to get up to 103 lbs for my personal weight before I went to school. Went to a 12T in the back when I turned 18 - my celebration for turning "Senior". Went bigger and bigger on bars, jacked the seat up, bars down, copying Greg Lemond.

In my dorm room. Bunks mean I was either a freshman or sophomore, I think the latter.

I started my long time use of Cinelli bars and stems on this bike. 66-42 bars (deep drop bars, 42 c-c). I think I had 66 style bars from 40-44 cm wide, 65s from 40-42, and a lone 64 (shallow drop) 42 cm, which I didn't like. At one point I had 66-44s, the deep drop bars in a 44 cm center to center width. I eventually settled on a 65-42 bar (crit bend).

Artsy dorm shot. 1987 or so.

You can see the Gipiemme half axle pedals in this shot. I wrote about some of the Gipiemme stuff earlier, and a race where I went up against a future pro.

And, yes, I lost. He, on the other hand, became a pro.

For a while I ran the brake cables along the bars, and I also taped just half my bars. I thought I'd be a pro in 3-4 years and thought that aero brake cables and losing about 15 grams of Benotto tape was supposed to help. Ha.

Last lap break at New Britain. We had 10 seconds. Helmet indicates first year of ANSI helmet requirements, so 1986. My friend Jim is the tall guy to the left. Teammate (a "Veteran", as Masters were known back then, and therefore too old to know who he was) is fourth man. And, yes, we got totally swamped on the other side of the course.

Next up: The end of the Red Cannondale.

Racing - I AM... h4x0r

From this post:

My 2010 license.

I lost my old license number in the reshuffle when I took advantage of the USCF's 13 month license. See, when you renewed your license, it was effective right now, and they counted the next 12 months as your license period. You could renew at, say, Bethel, in March, and your license would expire at the end of April the following year.

Then, in April, or May if you wanted to play it close, you could renew your license. Now it would be good through June.

I realized that I'd go about six years, renewing in March, April, May, June, July, August, and then I could skip renewing for seven months, waiting until March to renew again. After six years I'd get one year free, so to speak.

Since I plan long term, I decided that'd be my goal.

Six years later, when my license expired at the end of that one September, I didn't bother to renew. I'd get another license in March and start all over again.

Of course that's the year they switched to the B-series of license numbers (previously they were L-series). My L25664 became B31337.

I felt extremely disappointed that I lost out on getting a lower number. One of my teammates had an L number in the 1300 range, another in the 1900 range (they were racing when the USCF came into being).

For us long time racers our license number was a badge of honor. We could look at new racers with a 120,xxx number and know that they started racing only recently. My 25,xxx number wasn't that low, but it was low for a guy that wasn't doing Masters races.

(It was also something to look at when you're bored on a long drive to a race. I had two teammates that had consecutive license numbers but they got their licenses in different states. So, who out there is 31336 and 31338?)

My 31337 seemed awfully high. But as a friendly soul pointed out (in the original post), the number has a meaning.

Yeah baby.

It's a sticker I got for my computer in a fit of silliness. I got it here but apparently they don't sell them anymore.

Those case badges look kind of interesting though. I have a couple, plain ones, but the interesting ones... They could be used as seat tube badges.

Hm.

Story - Experiencing the Belgian Kermesses - Pictures

In a much earlier post I described an epic (to me) trip to Belgium. I wanted to race in the heart of the hardened Classics area, the Belgian-Dutch border. I don't re-describe most of what happened so you can read Part 1 and a much more brief Part 2 before you read this somewhat lengthy post.

The big addition here? Pictures.

Back at that post-posting time I didn't have the wherewithal to scan some hard-earned pictures. But now, with the new scanner we have here, it's not quite so difficult.

Therefore, I present... pictures from the Belgian trip in 1992.

First off, I had to get there. Thanks to the now defunct airline Sabena, I did just that.

I had a bicycle. And I'll have a nice flight, thanks!

It's interesting to see the progression of airline tickets. Now you have just a boarding pass, and your info is essentially electronic. Back then the ticket was like gold. You had to have your ticket. I was totally paranoid I'd lose the return tickets during my stay in Belgium.

I like the electronic stuff better.

Setting off on a training ride from home base. I think that red thing is a mail box.

My parents lived in Belgium, just south of the Dutch border. This was the instigating factor to the whole trip. We would have a home base, food, not worry about language too much (my mom spoke Flemish), and transportation.

Note the roof rack on the (US-spec) car in the picture? I brought that over in my bike box. The box contained extra rims, spokes, tools, two boxes of PowerBars, the roof rack, and all sorts of other miscellaneous stuff. It weighed 102 lbs. I can't believe the airline accepted it. I had no idea about any excess baggage charges - I wasn't charged any, and maybe at the time they didn't have them.

The kids in the area called the house the Christmas House. You can see why.

(My brother and sister were here for a bit, going to high school, so they had some insight based on a different viewpoint.)

Some wild chickens lived in the area.

They'd wander around on the ground during the day, then roost in trees about 10-20 feet up at night.

It was weird to see chickens in the trees.

One of the first streets we'd see when we left. Cobbles.

It's hard not to get entranced by the "romantic" Europe, the cobbles, narrow roads, all the hallmarks of the hard classics of the low countries. It's another thing when you have to race in all that stuff.

A posed shot.

We wanted to show how small some of the streets were in the area. John was on a 66 cm frame, with a mountain bike post at max height, so he naturally made the small road look even smaller. We were riding by this street and I had John ride up it. Then he turned around and we kept going down the regular, wider street.

We wanted to get the truck in the road but the driver expertly backed into the driveway too quickly for us.

Bike path going north into Holland.

We found this path by accident. Actually, we followed another rider there, else we wouldn't have found it at all. That rider popped out from between two trucks, probably out of a back alley (all the row houses have a back alley connecting them). We'd stopped to figure out where we were and the guy almost bowled us over.

When I realized who it was we put our maps away and gave chase.

I mean, we had to.

It was Adri Van Der Poel.

Second at Worlds behind Lemond. Classics winner. And leader of the Tulip team.

John on Adri's wheel who is behind a moped.

We quickly caught up to him, our legs used to the 55-60 kph efforts dictated to us in races. Van der Poel wasn't in quite the rush so it wasn't like he was trying to stay away. He latched onto a moped and we followed suit.

I remembered I had the camera and realized that if I didn't take a picture now, when I was fresh, I'd have no picture when I was exploded, out of breath, shaking, etc. So I debated internally. Should I sit up and take a picture, thereby losing the wheel? Or should I enjoy this motorpacing session?

After thinking about it briefly I decided to sit up. I fumbled with the camera for a bit, coasting down while I doing so, and managed to take two pictures. First the above one, second where you could barely pick out a flash of Tulip "celeste" kit.

This was the only picture I got of a pro on a bike in Belgium.

Of course there was the racing. This is how we figured out which race we'd do - check out the local "Velonews". Apparently I can't scan the cover, but it's called CycloSprint, and it's just like the Velonews of old. Amateurish photos of some famous riders (like a bewildered looking Indurain, or a weary-of-cameras Museeuw), pictures of stuff I don't know (old guys in suits with mics in front of them), and, in the back, a race schedule.

My mom got all the CycleSprints, including a "season guide", and sent them to the US. What's interesting about the season guide is that it had every registered rider's name and address (!!!). Plus teams, prize list breakdowns, and some other stuff.

Since we had a lot of time we studied all of this stuff intently in the US, then, when it became apparent what we didn't know, once we got to Belgium.

The handwritten stuff is the "district" or the area.

We looked under "Liefhebbers". That's what we were. And "Amateurs". This was based on my mom's recon missions to the local shops. They also had some group rides but we never had the courage, wherewithall, or the inclination to try and find them.

We needed to find local races because gas was (and still is) relatively expensive in Europe. Antwerp was the closest one, but Brabant apparently wasn't too far away.

The first number is the distance (110-120 km typically, about 70-75 miles), the second the prize list, and some other stuff.

Entry fee was always 100 francs, and you got 90 of them back when you returned your number. We didn't know that so we went to the races with a lot of money for registration.

You'll notice that most race listings have a "KLEEDK/VEST" address. One is a location for registration, the other is the "changing bar" (my term). It's where racers have to go to get changed. Apparently it's extremely illegal to change in your car, but we did just that for all the races. Well, my last race someone told me that I had to change in the changing room, so I did. Luckily we didn't get fined or hauled off to jail.

We briefly contemplated doing a longer race - the FIAC races, with the term "en ligne". That means point to point. Then, when we got shelled in a few minutes in our first race, we realized that doing a point to point race would be, well, pointless.

We came home from one of our races, turned on the TV, and watched Phil Anderson and Dag Otto Lauritzen smash legs in one of the "en ligne" races. We discounted them after that.

An "en ligne" race we briefly thought of entering.

The last race was the only one where I made it a lap. Based on the picture date stamp, it was April 4th, and I'm pretty sure I didn't "plan" on going - I just looked up the town, drove there, and that was that. By then I was experienced at getting to races. It was just the racing part where I had problems.

Because of my incredible success at this race (I rode three laps, 21 km, instead of my normal one lap), I decided that I'd take some pictures of the guys who beat me. Plus I had no pictures of any of the races, so I figured I better get something for my memorabilia box.

Red lead car approaching.

Group behind lead car.

Group passing me.

Our Cannondales got a lot of curious looks. This was before Cipollini, before Indurain used aluminum. We showed up with a Cannondale 2.8 (me) and a 3.0 (John - because that's the only way you could get a 66 cm frame). My bike had Aerolite pedals, 330 gram FiR Isidis rims, 28/32 hole, and brand-spanking-new Ergo shifters.

It was the equivalent of bringing a Cervelo with Di2 and Lightweights to a Cat 5 race. A lot of racers' fathers/coaches examined our bikes, mine especially. They frowned at the pedals and really disapproved of the "super light, for climbing only" rims.

And I was thinking of bringing 280s!

For most riders it was friction downtube shifters, 32 hole GP4s or similar, and a no-nonsense steel frame. I realized that the fancy stuff I had counted little because you just slammed it into your biggest gear and went as hard as you could. Nothing else mattered.

Back of group.

Chase group.

Note - when you're racing in the country, it's really bucolic. Most of the fencing next to the roads had barb wire, and the really sparse fences had electric current running through them. The ditches were full of old stagnant water, cow manure, and whatever else drained off the road. You really didn't want to fall into one. And you don't toss bottles because you don't dare pick one up afterwards.

Of course, you have to need to toss a bottle - I never got to take a sip from one so it's a moot point.

Last group.

A different vantage point. Close up of the lead car. I'm leaning into the barb wire fence to take this shot.

Lead group I think. Note crit bars on first bike visible - very common in that time. Also note the older style helmets. I have no idea who any of these guys are, none.

Consider this - about 200 riders started the race. They all seemed really, really, really strong. Like all of them. All the non-placers, 160 (or maybe it was 180? they only had races with 20 or 30 or 40 places) racers, got pulled in the first 21 km of the race.

I was one of the last riders pulled, but it wasn't because I was good. It was only because I went so slow on the third 7 km lap, I was just one of the last guys to get to the line to get pulled. Guys were blowing by me at 35 mph on cobbles and they were already shelled.

It's absolutely astonishing what the front runners were doing, just astonishing. I got totally and completely shelled in one 5 km lap in my first race. And get this. My max speed was over 43 mph (70+ kph).

And it was flat!

Flat!

Holy smolies and a dozen canolies.

What motivates racers to go so hard?

It's a rhetorical kind of question, well, sort of. Near home base stood this:

What awaited racers that failed (this is in Ghent).

Racing, at that time, in Europe, was a way out of a hard labor kind of job. It was a European version of basketball or baseball. Guys were really cut throat, very strong, and took things really seriously. I joke about the guillotine but the fact is that the one pictured cut the heads off of living people (creeped me out to see it actually). It was a brutal world there in the past, and I think part of the culture's toughness comes from their past.

No joking around.

Attack until you win, or collapse trying.

Promoting - Yehuda Moon

Yehuda Moon.

Equipment - "Bearings"

Before aerodynamics became the in-vogue thing, rolling resistance was a big thing. The original Campy Super Record hubs were modified to allow harried mechanics to inject oil into the bearings, dissolving the grease, and letting the bearing sit in a nice, light oil bath.

The perception back then was that a free spinning hub, like one with oil in the bearings, was faster than a slower spinning hub, like one that had grease in the bearings. The oil port in the Nuovo Record and Super Record hubs were meant for "record" attempts.

(The Super Record just added a fragile titanium axle to further advance your "record" attempts.)

Campy also put loose bearings in their derailleur pulleys in order to keep rolling resistance down. Again, loose bearings felt faster than the brass bushings normally used in pulleys.

Note the emphasis on the word "felt".

At some point someone started putting sealed cartridge bearings in bike parts. I distinctly recall Suntour's Superbe Pro rear derailleur being the only OEM derailleur with cartridge bearings. I think they were one of the first ones to put cartridge bearings in their hubs too. Initially everyone turned their noses up at them. Real hubs had real bearings, and real bearings were loose. Cartridge bearings were simply a manufacturing ploy to reduce costs, and any real bike part didn't have such cheap bearings.

Cartridge bearings, though, work. They work well, they're cheap, and they're very predictable.

Eventually the bike companies caught on. A few companies started doing a lot of business with cartridge bearing pulleys, for retrofitting onto rear derailleurs without such pulleys.

Some purists clung to the belief that oiled loose bearings were faster than the "draggy" sealed bearings. At some point someone did an experiment testing the rolling resistance under load, a critical difference compared to spinning a pulley while totally unloaded.

Their findings?

The sealed bearing pulleys were better under load than the round bearing ones.

(For a more recent test, check out this article)

What this taught me was that "feel" didn't correlate to "performance". To compare products fairly, they had to be tested under working conditions. Pulleys, for example, don't spin unloaded - instead, they rolled while supporting a substantial amount of chain tension.

Then, with the advent of index shifting, the whole cartridge bearing pulley thing kind of died off. Shimano didn't like cartridge bearing pulleys, and their auto-centering pulley use an extra wide bushing, giving the pulley a few millimeters of controlled slop. No one else's pulleys worked as well, as evident by the fact that the "tilting" pulley (Campy) is gone. I can't even remember what Suntour did.

However, probably in interest of manufacturing ease and cost, almost all hubs (and bottom brackets) became cartridge bearing devices. Shimano, surprisingly, led the way for the major manufacturers, with cartridge bottom brackets.

Fast forward a few years.

I have a friend who worked at one of the boutique wheel companies. Like all wheel companies at the time, their product was a result of both marketing and engineering.

Alone, engineering or marketing gets you only so far in the hyper competitive wheel market. Wheels are arguably the most expensive thing most people buy for their bike, and they're the only things that riders buy in multiples. You may own one bike but you probably have two or more wheelsets.

Many people upgrade their wheels before their frames because they believe (rightly so) that wheel upgrades improves speed better than, say, frame upgrades. Wheel upgrades are also easy to install - no more difficult than swapping out a wheel.

As a wheel company you can market all you want, but at some point you have to show that you're producing a wheel that's actually better than the others. You know that saying, right? "Better, Faster, Cheaper. You can have two of the three - tell me which one you don't want."

("Faster" refers to delivery time, not to wheel speed.)

At first there were some minor attempts at proving aerodynamic differences between different wheel sets. I did my own set of experiments and came to my own conclusions, but that was a really rough thing, measured in half mph increments. Still, though, I could see some differences.

Anyway, like any other industry, a wheel company may choose to sacrifice some part of their engineering in order to satisfy their marketing (or budgeting or something else). You know, make "Cheaper" and "Faster" a bit more important than "Better".

I mean if Microsoft got away with it for all these years then so can other companies. I was going to say certain car companies but now that they're paying the piper I decided not to give them a dig. Anyway...

Said wheel company used sealed cartridge bearings. Cartridge bearings are great for a small wheel company - you decide the grade, you pop them into the hub, and presto, the bearings are done. No cup and cone adjustments, no proprietary bearing race configuration, races and cones are built in and replaced each time the customer replaces a bearing unit, none of that labor intensive stuff.

As I mentioned before, nowadays you'd be hard pressed to find a new (and smooth) bottom bracket without the cartridge bearings. They are that much easier to deal with.

The problem came when this wheel company's reps started reporting back from the field that the wheels "felt" slow.

"Felt" slow?

Pray tell.

The reps described how a potential customer would come into a well equipped LBS, pick up their wheel, spin it in their hands, then pick up a competitor's wheel, spin that in their hands, and decide that the competitor's wheel was better.

All this based on a "spin".

Engineers at the wheel company did tests and could prove unconditionally that the seals weren't affecting performance. But they affected perceived performance, and therefore they affected sales.

And sales, as you know, rule the roost.

The seals came off and the wheels sold again.

Ironically, because the bearings lacked seals, the wheels were worse than before. They wore a bit quicker, the bearings got contaminated quicker, and the rolling resistance didn't change any significant amount until the bearings got bad - and then it got much worse.

CyclingNews did a review on Williams Wheels. I read the review with intense curiosity because I'd contemplated the wheels. Ultimately I didn't buy them, but I did recommend the wheels to a best friend.

The review was generally positive. It's hard to find fault with a 1200 gram set of wheels (okay, 1222 grams) that costs a dollar a gram, shod with carbon rims, using double butted spokes.

But, interestingly enough, the review mentioned something about "lower grade bearings".

Say what?

This sounded a lot like the whole bearing discussion I had with my wheel company friend, and prior to that, the whole cartridge bearing pulley thing.

Bearing grade and smoothness and seal tightness have an imperceptible effect on drag. It's common knowledge that a beautiful grade bearing, if dropped or damaged, immediately becomes a less-beautiful grade bearing. Get your ultra smooth ABEC-10-zillion bearing equipped wheels, blast through a big pothole, and you have... less than ABEC-10-zillion grade bearings.

Those high zoot bearings are meant for high rpm applications, like hard drives or DVD players. Wheels, unless you're inhumanly fast, are low rpm devices.

So why use them?

So that the wheels feel smooth in the showroom.

It's useless to have better bearings in such equipment because, frankly, it doesn't make a difference. But the review stated otherwise.

"Williams also includes hybrid ceramic bearings in the hubs but we've no indication of their quality (as with any bearing, hybrid ceramics come in various grades). While these were nicely smooth out of the box, we've sampled more premium bearings that seemed a little speedier perhaps due to higher tolerances and lower-drag seals. Even so, they're probably at least as good as a decent stainless steel bearing (or so we hope) and replacing the stock units with more reputable units would still leave these wheels firmly planted in the 'super high value' category."

The wheel "review".

So what's all this mean to you and me?

Well, take reviews with a grain of salt. And any time the reviewer steps over a given line, like one where the reviewer can perceive differences in bearing quality "by feel", you should make a note of it.

And if you feel like your wheels have a bit more drag, well, consider the overall picture before you make any changes.

Just a thought.

Sprinting - One of The Last Tues Night SUNY Purchases

Some time back I'd mentioned the Tuesday night sprints at SUNY Purchase. The get together eventually stopped after a couple unfortunate incidents - one involved a pretty spectacular crash amongst the sprinters.

Actually a huge crash happened at one of the first SUNYs I ever attended. Carpe Diem Racing was a pretty big team, focused on the Cat 3s, and had an illustrious leader in Mike H. He poked and prodded us into training together, racing as a team, even dragging us down to the track in Pennsylvania for some "outside the comfort zone" racing.

On this particular night, this SUNY crash night, we had a full complement of team riders present. I think the full group included Mike H, John S, Bob D, Kevin R, maybe Mark R. We were doing yet another sprint, Mike H was leading me out as usual, and when a surge went up the side, Mike eased, I went, and things looked like they'd turn out fine.

Until two riders touched and fell, almost at the front of the large bunch.

Mike had drifted back just enough to be one of the first guys to catapult over his bars, but, incredibly, he just leapfrogged his bars, landed on his cleated shoes, and skated to a stop from about 30 mph, arms waving wildly for balance.

John, of the Belgium trip (Parts One and Two), wasn't so fortunate. He almost sliced his Achilles tendon in two, although he eventually recovered.

I met my friend Abdul that day, helping this still-unknown rider in his pale blue skinsuit get his bashed up bike back to the car. He had gotten torn apart in the crash, and I couldn't believe how much flesh he'd lost. And he was chatting like nothing happened. A few Tuesdays later we had dinner with him.

A whole slew of other racers were scattered on the pavement, bike equipment intermingled with the moaning riders. We all got up and escaped the area before anyone could call 911 (this before cell phones). But the damage had been done.

Another much worse incident was unrelated to the sprints - a runner was hit by a car (the was apparently out of control, harmonically swerving, and hit a runner while going 40 mph or so). This incident really put a damper on the loop, and eventually the local police started enforcing a 15 mph speed limit, two stop signs, and ticketed riders relentlessly until the ride faded to oblivion.

Before it did, we managed to make it out there. And Fred C was out there to take some shots. He gave out a few beer "primes", took pictures, and generally had a good time watching us sprint the 2 mile loop.

It's nothing compared to the crowd at the peak of the SUNY Purchases. The group used to be huge, and if it got too big, say, over 100-110 riders, some of the group patrons (usually the Triplets) would point and relegate riders to the second group. Teams set up massive leadout trains, with strong solo riders trying to break up the organized efforts.

Towards the end the rides got much harder, at least for me. No shelter, fewer moves, and riders much more willing to go from far out.

Fred came out towards the end, probably the last or second to last SUNY Purchase I ever did. On that day I had one teammate dedicated to leading me out, and another who, although riding a little more independently, essentially went with all the earlier moves, effectively discouraging them.

Brad looking back. John is marking him while Bob brings me up.

Brad didn't care, he launched anyway. The gap tells his effort.

Bob, though, pounced hard, and then moved right to set me up.

It's hard to beat a team setting up a sprinter when you have no team. I distinctly remember this day, and feeling bad for Brad. He was one of the few guys willing to fight.

Fortunately he doesn't hold a grudge, at least not for the team that kind of bullied him on the day. When we saw each other literally a decade later, he greeted me warmly, a big grin on his face, a firm handshake.

Brad, this is for you.

California - Flight Home

Today I go back home. This is a good time to sleep, think about what I got done while I was out west, and, at some level, what I could have gotten done.

The biggest accomplishment was the successful break-in of the Tsunami frame. Nothing like assembling a bike, riding it twice on the trainer, and then flying it out to do the toughest set of test rides possible. Two six-ish hour rides with 30 minute switchback-filled descents, 2 hour climbs, and lots of bumpy, sandy, and rocky roads between. A few shots up a steep climb requiring grinding out the bottom gear. A four hour day filled with all sorts of jumps and other efforts. And finally, the coup d'etat, an actual crit. Not just any crit, a new one, against totally unknown racers, in a totally unknown environment.

Through it all I ran into a few teething pains, mainly ones I attribute to the nut holding the seat down (i.e. me). But in general the frame turned out fantastic. The cumulative fatigue worked against me in the crit, but I think that once I recover from the hard week and change of training, I'll be good again.

Another huge test involved the team kit. I could wear the shorts fine for those six-ish hour rides (which means the shorts were good on all the shorter rides too). The jerseys worked fine. The vest, a bit baggy perhaps, but I ordered a size large, not a medium. Overall the kit worked well, fit well, and nothing blew apart spontaneously.

Finally, I got to do two helmet cam recordings. I have yet to edit them into anything presentable, but I got the recording routine down pretty well. I can think of one or two more improvements, but things went much smoother than before. I got the whole cam procedure down to a few minutes, with a pretty predictable and checkable way of getting the cam to turn on and off.

I suppose the ultimate upgrade will be to get a VHoldr, but that's not in the budget just yet. Two VHoldrs would be better, one each for helmet and bike, or even three, helmet + forward bike + rear bike. But that's all fantasy for now.

Unfortunately I couldn't test some new stuff because I haven't gotten them yet. I'm getting a new helmet to replace the one that saved my noggin in August, and I have yet to receive it. I'm also doing some major overhauling of the tires and wheels I use, and that, too, has yet to happen.

Of course there's the training. I found it difficult to work really hard on the hard days, even with good recovery time. I attribute part of it to lack of a replenishing diet (I was focused initially on calories) and part of it to inadequate amounts of said recovery time.

In the past I'd push through some insane fatigue, get sick, and lose lots of training days. This year I came with a plan. This included super-warm wool socks (knit lovingly by the missus) for walking around in the house; two hoodies for wearing while I sleep, with the hoodies up; and sleeping dressed as warm as possible. I suppose it helped that no one was sick here to begin with, but I managed to go the whole week without having to spend any time in bed.

I did miss a few things.

First, as I just mentioned, I never really pushed myself in training. In the past I wouldn't have had a way to express this, but with the powermeter I do. Specifically I lacked one minute efforts. I worked consciously on my jump every now and then, and I did a bunch of longer intervals. I joke my Palomars are 1x2s, i.e. one effort of two hours, not one of two seconds, and each Palomar requires 2x20 to get there and back.

Conspicuous in their absence? The sharp 1-3 minute efforts. I never worked on them because I was either going easy or going steady for a while. So I missed those efforts, efforts I made when I was less "careful" about my training, when I'd just go and try and beat checkpoint times (like 1.5 hours out to a certain intersection).

I also missed feeling like I was on fire. I never had a "good" day, where my legs felt awesome. I figure a big part of this is inadequate diet, as mentioned before, because of my initial focus on calories. Sometimes you gotta eat what you gotta eat.

But the other reason is that I didn't have to go as hard to go fast. I took huge chunks of time off my Palomar trip, and I wasn't necessarily going hard. The lighter weight allowed me to work at a lower rate on climbs yet still climb faster. I got lazy and let my effort level drop since my speed increased regardless. I'll need to do more mindless rides next time around.

Finally, if I race again while I'm out here, I'll warm up a lot more. My legs barely got moving in the race. My average wattage was only 187 watts, and it barely broke 250 in normalized power. I hit higher average wattages on my long rides, and during a few of those rides I held a much higher normalized power. I admit that I regularly hit 900-1100 watts during the race, but never felt like I was really drilling it. I would have raced better had I done a ride, say, at the beginning of the day, before I left for the race.

But overall I consider the trip a big success. No sickness for one. Decent riding amount, although nothing like the 3-5 hours a day I envisioned. And a successful adaptation to the new bike.

I got to work on other things too, and hopefully I see some return on efforts there.

This morning I was still zipping up bags when the shuttle came, but I managed to get out of the house okay. I don't think I forgot anything, but each year I think that, and each year I get a little care package from California proving that I was wrong. I hope that this year I managed to get things together a bit better.

Now to wait for the plane, and hope that my transfer, in Baltimore, isn't delayed by snow or lost baggage. One long flight back, one short one, a short drive, and then I'll be...

Home.

Racing - Red Trolley Crit

Today was the Red Trolley Crit. We drove down to the Miramar area, the Air Force base featured prominently in Top Gun, a totally classic movie. Seriously. You can't help but grin when you hear that song. So I looked around as we got closer, and, next to the hangers, we saw the control tower from the highway. You know the one.

"Negative Ghostrider, the pattern is full."

We got to the race venue. For those that don't live in the area, it's quite the intersection.

Registration was at this intersection.

Viper Way and Top Gun.

Welcome to California.

To put a damper on things I had to consider some of what I'd done in the last week. I'd never trained so hard just before a race. Nor have I raced in a foreign environment, totally out of my element, in a long time, pretty much for 20-odd years (Tour de Michigan excepted). I felt more nervous about this race than I had felt for any race in a long time.

First things first. I'm glad to report that I didn't forget anything. Helmet cam, bike, pump, kit, shoes, helmet, gloves, Atomic Balm, Action Wipes, I had everything I needed for the race.

Second, the bike worked great.

In other words, I had no excuses.

On the way I had my first In N Out Burger on this trip, some protein to fill the stomach, some Coke to jazz up the system. When I felt a bit queasy during the race, I regretted the second burger, but I don't think the food had much to do with how my legs felt.

We arrived and ended up parked next to a nice 7 series Bimmer. Ends up it belonged to someone who'd originally raced back in Connecticut.

Go figure.

I hit up the portapotties, like any good racer. No TP. So, like everyone else, I raided the paper towels from the handwashing stations. To be fair I should point out that the promoter sent someone regularly with yet another package of TP. I must have hit them at just the wrong time.

I registered, and that was a bit long. It took three trips to the desk - first to ask if I had to fill out a release if I was pre-reg (yes - huge advantage of BikeReg), second the guy told me I had to sign another form (something with AS at the top), and the third to get my number.

To be fair they were harried with a lot of international licenses (mainly Mexico, but remember, they had a pro race in a few hours). Personally I have no idea what they had to check for those licenses, so they were about as efficient as they could have been. Overall they ran the race really well.

When I got back to the car, who was there but KDU. I forgot to ask him if he had his aero brakes on. He was chatting, we said hi, and I learned he was in my race.

Doh.

I didn't get in a very good warm-up, almost forgot my number, had to get that pinned. That and a short bit to set up the helmet cam meant I went to the staging areas ("near the start line") with no warm up.

Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but with the mega-hours on my legs this week, I think that this really affected my legs. It takes a long time for my legs to come around right now. In fact, I'd debated back at home base doing a short ride to get the legs loose. I decided against it and now I regretted the decision.

Next time I end up in this kind of situation, I'll make the time to do a short ride before showing up to the race venue.

We did a recon lap and I lined up behind a pretty dense looking startline. After a short bit by the announcer, we were off.

I had no idea what to expect. I knew none of the riders. Well, save KDU, but I lost track of him right away. I didn't know who was strong, who wasn't, who was smooth, who wasn't.

I nervously patrolled the front for the first few laps, worried that guys would just drill it, it'd be 35 mph, single file, and guys would pop off like kernels in a bag of popcorn until ten or fifteen riders were left to contest the finish. You know, like Belgium.

Happily this wasn't the case. It was hard at the front, but sitting 10-15-20 back, sheltered from the somewhat powerful winds, it was fine. I hung out in the field, exploring the group's collective cornering habits, checking out the three turns.

Turn One was a normal right turn, but with a slight jog left just before, it could be a bit tricky. Turn Two followed shortly after, smoother with no odd jogs before or after. Turn Three was at the bottom of a short descent, with loose grit all over the place. The inside line was sketchy, the outside wide, and the wind smacked you in the face as soon as you got through the corner.

Once we crested the hill it was 200 or so meters, into a stiff headwind, to the finish.

I did notice that a significant subset of guys weren't very smooth. Strong, yes, smooth, no. They'd dive into corners without thinking of the guys to their inside, or slide up the inside without regard for the guys diving in from the outside. Or they'd swerve abruptly on the very wide hill. One actually hit my bars kinda hard when he suddenly swung left in the middle of the hill.

So when I found a nice, stable, wheel, I decided I'd follow it around for a while.

Sitting on.

After I realized that the Cat 3s in California are mere mortals, that we wouldn't be going 35 for the whole race, I decided it'd be safe to drift back a bit. Actually, I drifted right to the back of the field.

Tailgunning.

I started counting minutes, always a less-positive sign. Then, with my legs loading up sort of prematurely, I started thinking about how to approach the finish. The headwind on the hill made it hard, with the downhill just before. I figured that my ideal situation would be to tag along behind a leadout train, go through the bottom of the hill in 10th or so, sit until the top of the hill, then launch if I had legs left.

Plan approved. Now I set out to execute it.

I didn't drink very much, much less than I expected. I launched one of my bottles inside the last 20 minutes of the race, the second at two to go. After the second I moved up aggressively in the field, tried to get up to the front. However, at the top of the hill, when I should have been moving up, I found myself easing. I didn't want to go through that pain door.

And, on the last lap, on the back stretch, I realized that there were guys who really wanted this race. I came here an opportunist, someone that'd take advantage of a gift, maybe a powerful leadout launched from my right elbow, or a huge opening in the field beckoning me to slot right in.

But without any gifts, and guys really going for it on the downhill, I decided to back off. I thought for a brief moment that I could sprint around a lot of guys going up the hill. Then a guy went down hard on the inside, and I decided that sprinting for, and getting, 25th place wasn't worth it.

I sat up.

After the race I shut off the helmet cam. Someone came up and asked about the helmet cam, and where I post them. Youtube, SprinterDellaCasa, of course!

I used part of my recently received order of Action Wipes. Two wipes, some spray on a towel, and my Atomic Balmed legs were clean (and warm).

We watched the women beat up each other, then the Masters 35+ start. The Amgen team was there in force, with all sorts of former National Champions on the team. Thurlow Rogers, former Olympian and World Champion, was there too. So was someone with red, white, and blue sleeve stripes, but no stars. We decided to call him a former Dutch National Champion. Or French, but we liked Dutch better.

Anyway it was pretty impressive to see the team attack the field. When you can send a former National Champion with each break, well, it has to be pretty demoralizing to be on any other team.

I started getting a bit faint with hunger so we called it a day and left. Rahsaan Bahati was there in the parking lot with a few teammates. With that final California touch we were off.

Back to home base, the rest of the Super Bowl, and packing up for the trip home tomorrow.

First, though, some food.

I'm starving!

California - "Hollandaise"

I mean it "like Holland", not the sauce. Or the Netherlands, technically.

It always seems drizzly there, overcast, with sudden bursts of brilliant sunshine.

Today, California was Holland.

I woke up with a splitting headache, something I normally never experience. I took some Tylenol, a full dose even, and prayed it'd go away.

While I was waiting, I ate.

I also felt some pretty deep fatigue. Maybe not as much as on some other California trips, but pretty deep nonetheless. My lighter weight has helped with the longer rides, my "sleep with the hoodie" has helped me wake up each morning very warm (and not sick at all, at least until this morning), and I pretty much took yesterday off.

Riding a lot, though, still tires me out, and today I felt pretty tired when I woke up. Sipping coffee, reading the paper, I felt a bit woozy but started to gather myself. When I noticed that I could look around without wincing, I went and helped do some bike stuff.

My pet project ended up being modding my bottle cages so they'd fit better on the bike together, so the bottles would sit a little more securely in the cages. I filed the mounting openings a bit, filed away part of the cage where the front derailleur clamp has an "interference fit" with it, and put everything back together.

Result?

Good. Not great, but good. I left it alone. Ultimately I need a bottle cage that holds the bottle 10 mm below the lower mounting bolt. Right now the cage supports the bottle bottom 15 mm below that mounting bolt, 5 mm too much. The cage has to hug the bottle, like most carbon cages. It can't hold the bottle from below, like most aluminum cages, because there isn't room for material to curl under the bottle.

Any ideas appreciated.

For hours we hemmed and hawed, working on bikes, checking weather, wondering if we should ride. I wasn't feeling that great and I didn't want to end up sick just before a race.

Oh. Right. I should have mentioned - I registered for a crit tomorrow. 0.6 mile course. Uphill just before the finish. A California version of Bethel. A nice little break, a little test for the legs. So I didn't want to kill myself today on the bike. I wanted my legs to get that swollen, full of energy, haven't been riding too much feel to them.

So I ate.

Believe it or not, at least as of this morning, I've gained some weight since I got here. Now, this morning may have been an anomaly (I don't consider myself to be a particular range until I have three readings in said range), but I hope that it melts away when I return to a lower intensity workload type of life.

Finally the local missus showed up and "encouraged" us out onto the road. You know, the, "It's almost sunny out, why aren't you guys riding?" kind of encouragement. She was right, you know, and we decided to go for a shortish ride, a little over an hour.

With grim anticipation I kitted up in two long sleeve jerseys, a wind vest, and a rain jacket. Knickers, booties, long gloves, and a warm head cap completed the outfit.

My host looked with bemused astonishment. He, too, had gathered knickers, jacket, and vest, but only had a short sleeve jersey and arm warmers.

Who was the one used to the warm California weather?

Feeling very unflahute-like, at least as far as I was concerned, we headed off on the damp roads as my legs doth protested. I had to force my legs to move in circles, the muscles feeling like crunching concrete, but after a bit my legs started feeling a little more elastic, like, um, elastic concrete. Phew, kind of.

My booties and knickers made me feel a little better than not. More flahute-like, less wimpy.

An hour later, after checking some map things, we were at the top of Double Peak Park, shrouded in fog, visibility limited to maybe 100-150 meters. We'd gained 1450 feet in the climb up there, and I'd shed my rain jacket on the way.

Of course, the way back down chilled us pretty quickly and we stopped to put our jackets back on.

I tried to keep things mellow, making some efforts here and there. I wanted to keep my legs warm, try and get blood circulating to all the new sore places I had, and get blood flowing to carry around whatever healing stuff it carries around.

Tonight I'm making some pasta, sauce, and having a lot of veggies. It's just me and my roommate, with the rest of the household all out. So maybe a little Monsters, Inc., first followed by some Giro stuff. The former for my roommate, the latter for me.

Note: I just woke up, the whole household here but now asleep. My unbearable fatigue had caught up with me, and after watching Monsters Inc, the extras, part of the bonus disk, and then Salvodelli take pink on a mountain stage, I remember very little else. So I just staggered over to the computer, checked over the post, added this, and am heading upstairs. Less headache. More blood circulating.

And more of that unbearable fatigue. Legs feel like they're busy rebuilding. Hope things are good tomorrow.

Good night.

California - Off Day on a Day Off

I woke up today bleary eyed, fatigued, and a bit sore everywhere.

In other words, things felt normal.

The weather, for the first time this trip, looked less than spectacular. I thought hard about not riding, but I thought about what a zero hour day looks like. Right now it looks fine. In three months, when I look back at my training, I think, "What a waste."

I bought myself some time first. I took some time to snap some pictures of my Action Wipes order, which came in a day or two ago. I broke out the Sports Gel, rubbed it on my sore muscles, and sat there smelling like a recently-rubbed-down racing cyclist.

(Review coming soon, and, yes, I paid for the order.)

I motivated after reading a bike related email from SOC. I dressed warmly (it's positively chilly at 50-odd degrees with no sun), loaded up a little lighter than normal, and set off. I thought at worst I'd do an hour, at best about two.

My body rebelled completely. It pedaled like it really didn't mean it. Slow and slower. I rolled big gears up hills, because if I used big gears at 40 rpm, I'd go faster than if I used little gears at 40 rpm.

And going 4 mph up slight grades seemed ridiculous, even to my tired body.

19 minutes into the ride, a little warm (big ringing some of the hills around here will do that to you), I felt a rain drop. When I stopped at a light and looked at the pavement, I saw little speckles that weren't there a few days ago.

Rain drop footprints.

I begrudgingly rolled up the next hill, big ring, low rpm, and at the intersection at the top I made a flash decision.

I got into the left lane, made a legal U-turn (that's what GPS nav systems call it, a "legal U-turn"), and headed back.

41 minutes after I set out, I was off the bike.

I ate, again. Did some laundry. Updated some BikeReg entries. Tthe popular request right now - "Can you change my team? I forgot to update my profile before I registered for the races". When registration closes for each week's race the popular request is, "I was almost done with checkout when the time expired. Can you put me in for Sunday?"

And, can't forget the Monday requests after a race. "Hi, I was really sick Sunday, I couldn't race, can I get a refund?"

Okay, I usually get them Sunday afternoon, but you get the point.

Cynicism aside, the requests now are fine. They're usually from well organized people who made an honest mistake.

Then I ate some more.

I did commit to the Red Trolley Crit, and by definition, "commit" means "I paid for it". It's about as Bethel-like as it could be - 0.6 mile course, about a 100 meter hill, finish just after the top. I hope it works out.

But, right now, I have a slight tickle in my throat. I'm still weary down to my bones. And it's raining for real.