Kent's Bike Blog

Excuses to Ride

2009-11-19T06:59:00.000-08:00

Mike and meet up at Sandy's Espresso in the town of Carnation. It's a wet and windy Monday and I've been thinking about excuses. Excuses are interesting things, they are the way we structure our arguments to make it seem as if we are rational creatures, that we've weighed our options and made the logical choice. I'm sure there are people who actually work that way but when I honestly look at myself, I mostly use logic to rationalize a decision, not to make a rational decision.

I am, at times (like this one!) an instigator. I'm the guy who sends email saying things like this:

to: [undisclosed receipients]

date: Fri, Nov 13, 2009 at 7:48 AM

subject: Wet Monday Coffee etc mixed surface ride 11/16/09

Hey Folks,

So my pal [redacted] and I are planning a ride for Monday. Yeah, it's probably going to be wet, so we're meeting up at Sandy's Espresso in Carnation at 10:00 AM. I'll be leaving my place in beautiful downtown Issaquah at about 8:30 AM so anybody who wants to meet there and ride up to Carnation via trails, etc is welcome to do that. Or meet us at 10:00 at Sandy's. We'll hang out some at Sandy's and then head out (probably via trails) towards someplace. Probably up around Snoqualmie & North Bend.

Yeah, this is all vague and damp. At least one food/coffee stop after Sandy's will be in the mix. Fat tires recommended.

If you think you're in for this, let me know. If you want to forward this out to any like-minded folk, feel free or drag 'em along.

Kent Peterson
Bike Works
3709 S. Ferdinand St.
Seattle WA 98118
hours: 12-6 Tues - Fri, 11-6 Sat, 11-5 Sun, Closed Mondays
206-725-9408 x3
http://bike-works.blogspot.com/

By sending an email such as this, I'm on the hook. I've crafted an excuse to ride. I have to ride because I set the damn sequence in motion. Looking at the forecast for today, I knew it would be windy and wet and too damn easy to stay home if I didn't have an excuse. I'm counting on my friends.

I usually send these emails to the many and the few respond. The Monday thing is a major filter, weeding out the more conventionally employed and responsible who number among my friends. Some are silent, some send regrets and first round excuses with varying degrees of detail.

[Redacted] and I had hatched the vague plan that brought me here this morning but somehow a busted truck removed him from the day's activities. Various others had responded with notes containing words like "I'll try to make it" and "70% sure I'm there" but only pal Mike had listened to Yoda ("do or do not, there is no try") and said "Yea, count me in."

And now, at 10:00 AM on this wet and windy Monday, it's Mike and me. Mike buys my coffee and scone and we talk of his latest score, a $100 classic StumpJumper. We wait a bit for others we're mostly sure won't show and then head out.

We ride on trails I know that are new to Mike up to Snoqualmie and North Bend. Mike will tell you and I'll confirm that it was wonderful riding but if you were looking for a half-empty glass or a reason not to ride, I'm sure you would find it. Mike's fenders were half-done, half adequate and half-assed while mine are not fenders at all. The worst of the spray is kept off my butt (but not my back) by the coroplast trunk that a couple of my pals have dubbed "the cheese wedge."

Mike asks me about my total lack of front fender and I find myself telling him not of damp days or the clay that wedges solid into any fender that might try the epic mud of the Great Divide. What I tell him about instead is the scene in that great epic of dust and light, Lawrence of Arabia. Lawrence extinguishes matches by letting them burn down to his fingertips. His men try to emulate this, but burn their fingers. "How do you do it without getting burned?" one soldier finally asks him. "Oh," Lawrence replies, "I get burned, I just don't care."

We ride with some care, care that had us bring jackets and enough layers for some degree of comfort. Hot soup at Twedes, layers of wool and nylon, and the heat of motion are enough but perhaps the best excuse for riding in the wind and rain is that it's the only way to find out what you need and what you want enough to take with you, for riding in the wind and rain.

I'm home at 4:00 PM, thinking not of what more I need to carry, but what else can be safely removed. The trails are out there, every day. I'm working on my next excuse to ride.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Logic Doesn't Sell Newspapers

2009-11-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

The good folks at Bike Hugger pointed me to this wonderful example of nonsense in the field of headline writing by Tweeting:

Suspect headline of the day: Children prefer homework to bikes wazzat? http://bit.ly/lxQQ7

Following the link leads to this story in The Daily Telegraph headlined

Children prefer homework to bikes, new statistics show

Kinda makes you want to read the article, eh? And I'm pretty sure that's the point. Because neither the article itself, nor the study it cites, show anything that backs up the claim in the headline. The article does state that cycling was the only activity to become less popular in a survey of child activities but that it is more popular than riding a skateboarding, rollerblading, riding a scooter, or doing a craft or art activity. And kids spend more time doing homework, reading and surfing the internet than they do riding bikes.

Now problem is the use of the word "prefer" in the headline. I think I spend more time changing the litter in my cat's litter box than I do eating dark chocolate. Do I prefer scooping crap to eating dark chocolate? No, I do not. I spend more time on the cat litter project because it's something than needs to be done. Like homework.

Headlines sell newspapers. I'm sure the writer of the headline knows the meaning of the word "prefer" and prefers to get more readers with a snappy headline instead of a truthful one. Heck, it worked on Bike Hugger and me. I probably would've glossed over the article if it had a mundane title.

Help Val Fight Cancer

2009-11-13T19:59:00.000-08:00

Damn! I just found out today that my pal Val is battling cancer. Cancer sucks and Val is an awesome guy. Readers of this blog might recall Val from this post back in July but pretty much every bike person in the Seattle area has a great Val story to tell.

Some more details of how we can help Val out with his medical bills are at:

http://gurldogg.blogspot.com/2009/11/help-val.html

I just shot some bucks into the Paypal account (thanks for setting this up Aaron!) and I'm getting the word out here and on Twitter. If you can help out with any amount by buying a raffle ticket or sending some money via Paypal, please do.

Live strong, Val. You've got a lot of people pulling for you.

Kent

Kids, Books and Bikes

2009-11-08T20:33:00.000-08:00

Years ago, in the period after I burned out on the software business the first time and before my friend Kevin lured me back in with the phone equivalent of Herman Mankiewicz's famous telegram to Ben Hecht - "Millions are to be grabbed out here and your only competition is idiots", Christine and I managed a used bookstore in Duluth, Minnesota. It was wonderful, dusty work that ultimately proved to be incompatible with Christine's lungs and one of the few jobs where it was possible to make even less than I do currently in the non-profit bike world. But books, like bicycles, are wonderful things that kids take to when given the right encouragement and context. Our kids have grown up with both bikes and books.

Christine and I have written and spoken elsewhere about raising carfree kids and today I'm going to write a bit about a few books, old and new, that showcase the simple wonder of riding a bike.

One book that my mom read to me and that Christine read to the boys, is H. A Rey's classic Curious George Rides a Bike. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it's a wonderful tale of a somewhat irresponsible monkey who fails to deliver the newspapers he's supposed to. Of course, bad things happen to him (he wrecks his bike) but his skill at trick riding allows him to persevere and everything works out in the end. Hmm, OK, maybe that's not a great lesson (being cute and tricky helps you get along in the world!) but it is a classic book and you can tell George is having fun. I recall as a kid it not only got me interested in cycling, it turned me on to origami as well (George made the papers into origami boats instead of delivering them.)

The next book, His Finest Hour by David Neuhaus, is a wonderful "Tortoise and the Hare" story featuring Ralph, the fellow with all the latest whiz-bang stuff and Dudley with his old balloon-tired bike. The delightfully droll delivery and illustrations lovingly list all the gear Ralph brings to the race countered with the simple sentence "Dudley brought his bike." A great little book.

Super Grandpa by David M. Schwartz is a the true tale of 66-year old Gustaf Hakansson who, in 1951, was told by the officials of the Tour of Sweden that he was too old to compete. Hakansson did not take no for an answer and rode 600 miles to the start of the race and then rode and then unofficially rode and came in first on the 1000 mile course. This is one of those books that really is a great story for all ages of readers.

It seems that every generation decries "kids these days" with their loud music and funny hair, but I get to work with kids every day at Bike Works and I'm here to tell you that the kids are alright. Every Earn-A-Bike class we can offer fills up. Kids still want to learn and still get a thrill from getting places under their own power.

A couple of days ago I got an email from my son Peter (the little tyke you see in the pictures here is now in his twenties, doing his post-grad work in Ice Physics at the University of Alaska Fairbanks). The email starts out "Hey Old Man". Both our kids feel like they've grown up in an extended version of a Jean Shepherd story and always refer to me as "the old man." Peter goes on to describe how a friend of his is commuting and crashing on "a very old bike shaped object from Walmart with a completely shot to hell drive train that should never be subjected to everyday use by anyone." He wants me to keep an eye open at Bike Works for a suitable bike for his friend. The supply of decent bikes in Fairbanks is poor, so Peter and his pals have pooled some money and when Peter is back down here for Christmas, he's hoping to get a used bike that he'll take north with him on the plane.

As I said before, the kids are alright.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

My Three Coaches

2009-11-06T10:30:00.000-08:00

I often say that I don't train, I practice, but I've been thinking lately (mostly on long, wet, dark rides in the rain) that I guess I do train in my own way. I mostly don't think of myself as an athlete but when I ride brevets, race from San Francisco to Portland, ride to Minnesota or race the Great Divide, people tell me that these are athletic feats and ask me all kinds of questions about training and diet and coaches.

It seems to me that whatever abilities that I have when it comes to riding a bicycle for long distance have been honed over the years by three coaches. In this long-overdue blog post, I'll introduce you to them.

The coach whose been with me the longest is Coach No-Car. I've been with Coach No-Car since 1987. A lot of folks, when they learn about Coach No-Car think he's some kind of harsh task master, and while he is the coach that gets me out there when My Free Will Just Ain't Willin', he's also the coach who has taught me the most. Coach No-Car taught me how to dress for all conditions, how to ride in the rain and the dark, and generally get around safely in a world filled with big fast-moving, death boxes.

My favorite coach is probably Coach Long-Commute. Coach Long-Commute reminds me every day how fortunate I am to live and ride in this lovely part of the world. My daily three hour tour is the result of some smart choices I've made and even on the dampest days, the trip is interesting. Today, for example, the sky in Issaquah was the color of a funeral and the rain was pretty much a vertical river. But by the time I'd cleared the eastern slope of Cougar Mountain, I could see a patch of blue sky over Seattle and by now my jacket is damn near dry. Coach Long-Commute is gives me the mileage base on which I build my other adventures. Thirty-seven miles per day, five days per week adds up to thousands of miles in a year but more importantly, it makes 100 mile days basically easy. If I can ride 37 miles and work a full day, of course I can ride a century or more on my days off.

Coach One-Gear is the crazy old man of my coaching team. Coach One-Gear is a philosopher, something akin to a Zen Master. Coach One-Gear is the voice in my head saying "you don't need to downshift" when a hill looms up ahead and then I crest something like Irving street in Seattle I think that Henri Desgrange was right, it is better to triumph by the strength of my muscles than the artifice of a derailleur. Of course, I'm more Tao than Zen and now things run behind and now they run ahead, so sometimes I'm single speeding and sometimes I'm fixing. I've even been known to shift now and then but the bikes I stick with, the ones that see me through the best adventures seem all to loose their shifty bits somewhere along the way. It is not, as I explained once to my friend Brad, that I hate the gears, it's that they make me soft. Coach One-Gear keeps me honest and keeps me spinning down the trail.

There are other coaches, of course, like Coach I-Wonder-Where-That-Road-Goes? but Coaches No-Car, Long-Commute and One-Gear are the ones who keep me rolling every day.

Kent

Solar Bike Tail Light

2009-11-02T15:29:00.000-08:00

Long time readers of this blog know that I spend a lot of my time thinking about and tinkering with bikes and bike stuff. This time of year half my commute is in the dark, so naturally I think about lights. I've had good luck with and like Planet Bike Lights and I run rechargeable batteries in them. While I notice when the headlight is going dim, I tend to ignore tail lights and when I saw the solar bike light on Amazon last week, I thought "what the heck" and ordered it.

Now remember folks, I'm an Amazon Associate. If you buy something through a link on my blog, I get percentage (usually about 6%) of the purchase price credited to my Amazon account. It doesn't cost you any more and it actually it doesn't matter if you buy the exact product I talk about or some other product on Amazon. If you go to their site through a link on my site and buy anything on Amazon in the next 24 hours, I get a percent of the purchase price credited to my account. The amazing thing isn't that, I plug products on my blog, the amazing thing is that I don't just plug products on my blog. I do try to stick to stuff that I find interesting in the hopes that you folks out there at least find it worth the time to stop by. But remember, I'm not a neutral party in this.

Wow, that was dull, I was supposed to be talking about a bike light. Yeah, well when I talk about things some of you folks buy things and then I wind up with this Amazon credit and I have to spend it on something. So I got this tail light. So far it seems cool. Down the road I'll let you know if it holds up to the rigors of the commute and the trail or if it shorts out or anything. I made a shot a video review with my phone (which I use as pretty much everything but a phone, but that's another post). You can see the review here: Solar Tail Light Review.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

What Long Distance Cyclists Really Eat

2009-10-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

OK folks, I'm going to start with some disclaimers.

Although the various foodstuffs described here have worked well for me and my various high-mileage friends, I am not a nutritional role model. I'm pretty sure that holds true for my pals as well.

Despite all the glowing words I'm about to heap on the makers of Peanut M&Ms, PayDay candy bars and the various fine products made by the people at Reeses, I'm not sponsored by nor do I get any kickbacks from the folks who make those incredibly tasty, high-energy foods. This is not some example of blog-journalistic integrity on my part. This is, in fact, just a damn shame. If anyone reading these words has any pull with the makers of these wonderful products, tell them that Kent's Bike Blog is a great way to connect with hundreds of hungry cyclists and sponsoring me in the 2010 Tour Divide would certainly be a wise use of their marketing dollars.

I researched this article by riding a lot and eating a lot and also soliciting advice from randonneurs, ultra-distance mountain bikers and long distance bike tourists. For purposes of this discussion, Long Distance Riding refers to riding more than one hundred miles per day for days at a time. Most of these trips involve refueling at little gas stations and markets along the route, so much of the advice based around the items stocked in such establishments.

A decade ago, when I was first getting into randonneuring, my friend Mark Thomas explained the his method of fueling for a long ride. In this case, the ride was the Vancouver Island 1000K and Mark wrote:

You really can go and go on a long ride with powder for power. (I used about 12,000 calories worth of Twinlabs Gainers Fuel 2500). All you need are a scientifically chosen collection of supplements to the powder. Mine included a spanish omelette and bacon, bananas, a sausage and pepperoni pizza, ham and cheese sandwiches, chicken and cheese sandwiches, ice cream, mushroom soup, french fries, a salmon and bacon club sandwich, oatmeal, onion rings, grapes, a blueberry scone and other similar nutrients.

Mark is a Super Randonneur (yes, that's a real title) and I take his advice seriously. Mark is a rich source of rando-knowledge and knows many useful things like how many Starbucks DoubleShots can fit in a Zefal Magnum Water Bottle and how many miles those DoubleShots will take you. You don't learn those things from a book, you learn them late at night on the road.

Ken Bonner rides more than anyone I know. I say the odds are good that he rides more than anyone you know, unless you know Henry Berkenbos. Last year, for example, Ken rode 29,124 kilometers. When I asked Ken about what fuels his motor, he didn't tell me about wheat germ and yogurt. He did mention:

As a mental and physical energy booster on hot days, I recommend McDonald’s super-size chocolate milkshakes. Unfortunately, McDonald’s factory-made gourmet rando-food outlets are rarely placed on rando-brevet routes.

Another extremely accomplished randonneur, Jan Heine, offers up a great bit of wisdom when he advises "eat while riding, not stopped. That way there is plenty of time for eating." Jan also confesses that he's fond of "Dark chocolate. When no energy bars taste good anymore, and you happen to be near a half-way decent grocery store... I sometimes even take an 'emergency ration' in my handlebar bag."

When I posed my food question to rando-pal Mark Vande Kamp he responded:

I'm not at the "Great Divide" level but I have one "fake food" and one "real food" thing that each work for me. The fake food is straight maltodextrin. I bought a couple of 50 pound bags and split them up with some other randonneur types. I find the stuff bland enough to get it down almost any time and it is the best anti-bonk remedy I've used. It would be hard to take enough along for a multi-day adventure, but I've found that mixing up a concentrated gel in the blender, carrying that in a "food" bottle, and squirting/mixing that with water in a different bottle provides a steady source of calories in an easy to carry, easy to drink, and easy to digest form.

The real food is black kalamata olives. A small plastic jar of these is so much more tasty than salt capsules and it basically serves the same purpose. Little bits of super-salty, veggie-oil-saturated, tastiness -- what's not to love?

Mark brings up a key point, variety. Years ago, I heard John Stamstad talk at REI and he advised carrying foods with a range of tastes and textures. "Something salty, something sweet. Some crunchy stuff, some smooth stuff. If you have just one thing, you'll get so you can't stand to eat it." John, the man who basically invented ultra-distance mountain biking, also told me that he reads nutritional labels "backwards from the way most people do. I'm looking for the most calories per dollar." John's view of food is nicely described in this quote:

"Stamstad also believes in the restorative though as yet medically unexplained power of Mountain Dew and Krispy Kreme donuts. He argues in defense of Twinkies, Little Debbie snack cakes, and Pop-Tarts, noting that none of them freeze on the trail and all excel in calorie-to-cost benefit. (Little Debbie oatmeal-creme pie: 170 calories, at 11 cents.)" -- Outside Magazine profile of John Stamstad, That Which Does Not Kill Me Makes Me Stranger

Tough guy Moishe Lettvin confesses that "Ramen noodles, raw & straight from the package, have got me past a couple of fairly epic bonks." Elden "Fatty" Nelson probably doesn't strictly fit my "multiple hundred mile plus days" category, but he's raced Leadville at least a dozen times and one of his fuels is so good and so weird I had to include it here. He drinks Campbell's Chicken and Stars Soup cold, straight out of the can! I'd be proud to ride with Fatty any day.

If you are not racing against the clock or other people, you can actually take some time and cook food. Wayne Methner advises:

Buy a garlic and onion, a thing of dried salami and either a thing of couscous or Knorr brand Mexican rice dish... With a JetBoil or, in my case, a Colman Peak One, you saute the onion garlic and salami for about a minute, add the appropriate water and rice or couscous...meal-Dinner is ready in 10 - 15 minutes. Starter breakfast is Bread, avocado/tomato, left over onion and salami. Cost about $15, two people two meals including beer and wine. Ride 50-80 K and have a sit down breakfast...Milkshakes/lattes until you get to your overnight and dinner.

Jon Muellner offers up his favorite:

Mine is rice/beans/tortillas. Soak the beans and rice all day in a water bottle while riding. Pour them in a pan and cook them in camp that night and there you go. Make an extra for the next day.

Back at the convenience store, Jon claims that "nothing beats Coke and JoJos!" Tarik Saleh, like many of the folks who responded to my request for data, cites peanuts as being a great energy source:

My favorite convenience store food on long rides are 2 for a dollar salted nuts. The ones that come in the long plastic bag tubes. Usually one of salted peanuts and one of honey roasted peanuts. Occasionally almonds or others, but the old faithful is the peanuts. For planned mid ride lunch I usually have a peanut/almondbutter-honey and grapenut sandwich. It usually packs best if you make it the night before and the bread is slightly crusty and the nutbutter and honey have saturated the grapenuts and bread. Smear the nut butter on both sides of the bread, pile grapenuts on one side, cover grapenuts in honey, smash sammich together, place in one, or a double plastic bag.

Alas, I have found if I am too far gone on the bonk/effort, this is not a very good meal, but in the middle of a long ride it is great.

That and bananas.

Paul "Dr. Codfish" Johnson advises:

If a convenience store is at hand I find that those sandwiches of indeterminate age in the cold case suit me well for distance riding. You know the ones I mean: White bread, mystery meat, cheese-like food product and another slab of white bread. It’s the right ratio of carbs, fat, and protein for me (if you add the mayo and mustard-like food products). I found to my delight that there is a very similar rocket fuel in France when riding PBP: The Jambon et burre baguette (sometimes referred to as the ‘gagette’. Chew slowly lest you find yourself on the side of the road reaching frantically from the ditch for your water bottle).

If I plan ahead I‘ll put a zip loc baggie of salted nuts (almonds or cashews) and a baggie of dried apricots in my bag. These are usually tasty most anywhere along the time-distance continuum. They travel and keep pretty well.

Somewhere along the way in a multi-day event or with a sustained intensity level, I get a craving for a big glass of really cold milk. Otherwise milk is not on my list.

Back in my energy drink days I found I could make Sustained Energy palatable by adding a heaping tablespoonful of chocolate milk powder and another of Nestle’s malted milk powder. Instant chocolate malt on the go.

I also find that Ensure works well for me in almost any circumstance. Unfortunately you don’t get this in singles at the inconvenience store.

These ‘gummy sport’ bites seem pretty good to me. They give you something to occupy your attention on the long boring straight sections (or night sections) of rides.

That microwaved cup-o-noodles can bring a person back from the brink.

In the area of home brew stomach remedies, I have found that a cold 7-Up can often do wonders at quieting an upset stomach. It’s cheap easy to get and does not cost much.

Joel Metz, bike messenger, randonneur and organizer of the Raid Californie-Oregon makes sense when he says:

I - firmly in the category of "if I finish PBP in 89 hours, 59 minutes and 59 seconds, or less, I'm doing fine!" - live completely by two rules:

1. Eat early, eat often. (also works with drinking)

2. Drink water, eat food.

I generally don't touch any of the fancy-schmancy energy or recovery drinks, or much of anything in bar or goo form. I walk into an establishment that offers food, and get what my stomach says it wants.

If I'm packing in advance, I'm partial to the good ol PBJ; peanut butter/honey/banana sandwiches; dried and fresh fruit of various varieties; baguettes stuffed with a) tomato + avocado, b) brie or c) ham and butter; roasted/salted cashews; chocolate. If I could find a way to pack ice cream, I would. Seriously. I'll eat almost anything I can find along the way, and pretty much do. While I don't quite delve as deeply into the processed convenience store food as some do, I have a hard time passing up corn dogs, and again, if my stomach is demanding a certain item, far be it from me to question its judgment.

I'm "blessed" with a decade and a half of messengering, which means I have a greater than normal capacity to eat and run, or eat while riding. This helps with the whole "eating anything you encounter" thing.

Joel's "Eat what you encounter" philosophy mirrors my own, but a key part of this is having a sense of what you might encounter. I knew, from reading accounts of previous Great Divide racers, that there aren't a lot of Whole Foods Markets and fresh produce along the tiny trails that hug the spine of the Rockies. So for months before the race, I was eating lunches that I got from 7-11s and gas stations. I know what works for me.

Peanut M&Ms. God how I love Peanut M&Ms. Back in 1982, Peanut M&Ms got me across Wyoming. When it's hot, I need salt. Potato chips are good, Fritos are better. A great amount of calories for the weight.

Milk. Chocolate milk, regular milk, I don't care. The more fat the better. I don't carry it with me on the bike but washing a Hershey bar down with a pint of milk puts hundreds of calories into your system pretty darn quickly. And if you've practiced this a lot, like I have, you can do this in about a minute and be back on your bike.

The good folks at Clif will sell you Clif Shots and I know they work great but so do Gummi Bears. Or Gummi Fish. Or any other Gummi Creature.

Peanut Butter Cups. They are really good, but can get melty. Not an issue if you're doing something like the Iditarod or if you eat them fast. PayDay bars travel better in the heat, but lack the chocolatey goodness.

The common thread in all the responses I got and in the experiences we've all recounted is the importance of getting calories in, in finding a food you like that works for you.

As Chris Plesko, current Tour Divide single-speed record-holder wrote:

The Divide sure makes you eat weird food. I'm fond of all sorts of junk.

Reeses big cups and PB Twix are the best. Peanut M&Ms are a staple. Caramellos work awesome for before bed but not while riding. Same with Cheetos.

I also like any sort of little pastry item, lemon cake, cheese danish etc. Muffins work here too.

For savory, I'm fond of cheese sticks and peanuts and Pringles.

Starbucks DoubleShots are a gift to AM wake ups though I once hauled a king size GLASS Frapaccino because that's all there was.

Now I'm sure there is some favored cycling food that hasn't been mentioned here. And there might be one or two nutritionists who will have differing opinions as to what folks should be eating on long rides. That's what the comment section is for. What do you eat before, during and after long miles in the saddle? Let me know and keep on rolling,

Kent

photo courtesy of Brad Hawkins.

Autumn in Roslyn, WA

2009-10-23T16:52:00.000-07:00

Every person has a favorite season. Christine and I like autumn. It's when we met. It's when we wed. Each year, in October, when the nights are cold and the leaves are bright and falling, we get away together. While our lives are perhaps less action-packed than some, our days still can fly by too fast and it is good to reserve some time for slowing down.

This year, we went to Roslyn, a town smaller than Cle Elum and bigger than Ronald. A town where they used to mine coal and make a television show. They still do some things there: they still pour drinks every night at the Brick and they serve meals every day at the Pastime. Some nights of the week the pizza place is open. Every night, if you've called ahead, you can stay at the Huckleberry House. Don and Sibyl will take good care of you, making sure you have a cozy bed to sleep in each night, a good breakfast each morning and home-made cookies for snacks.

We brought our bicycles, twin Dahon D3s. Actually Christine's bike for this trip is borrowed from our friend Dave. Dave had bought his bike in an act of fashion-drafting after he'd seen mine and he's gladly offered it up for the duration of our trip. His rental payment for the days is a lovely blue carrying bag for his bike.

The bus takes us from Issaquah to Seattle and a shuttle van takes us to Cle Elum. The bikes take us the final distance. If we'd chosen to be purely pedestrian, the Coal Mines Trail is a lovely hike but the road is mostly well-shouldered and lightly traveled.

We spend four days in Roslyn and the surrounding area, hiking the trails, seeing bits of lives past and lives still being lived. Squirrels and ravens chatter in the trees. The deer slip between tree trunks silent as shadows. We walk in sun and rain. We read books in the afternoon or the quiet evening and, of course, we watch a few episodes of Northern Exposure.

Every autumn Christine and I get away somewhere to be alone together. Any place I'm with my wife is lovely, for she is the love of my life, but autumn in a small town is special.

Christine and I have been married twenty-five years now, close to half my life. Definitely the best half of my life. We have the gold of the sun on the autumn leaves, the silver of the water as it flows over the stones in the riverbed. More than what we need can be carried in small packs and we walk slowly, hand in hand, like lovers in love with a sweet, slow world.

Observation Affects Experience

2009-10-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

Heisenberg tells us that observing the universe affects the universe. In much the same way, blogging about a ride changes the ride. Take, for example, the picture above. Mark Canizaro has mastered the "take a picture of yourself while riding" shot and has captured both me and Mike Kearsley also taking pictures. And, of course, we're all taking pictures because, as I explained to Mike, "these blog posts don't just write themselves."

Mike is on this ride because of the blog. Mike came into my shop a few weeks ago and introduced himself as a reader of my blog. Now and then, at the shop or when I'm out riding, someone I don't know says "Hi, Kent" and I've finally learned to not wrack my brain thinking where I know them. I don't know them, but they sort of know me from the blog. Being blog-famous is not at all like being really famous, it's more like being a member of a really obscure indie band. A very small subset of people know who you are. Mike is in that subset and when we got to chatting and I found out that he can often get free on a Monday or a Tuesday, I added him to my email list of potential riding buddies.

My pal Mark had some mission requiring his presence in Port Townsend, so he proposed an up Monday, back Tuesday ride. I sent out email to the usual suspects and got back the usual declines from the folks with jobs, family obligations or boats but Mike said he'd meet us at the ferry terminal in Seattle on Monday morning. "Whose Mike?" Mark asked. "Some guy who reads my blog," I replied.

Mark knew he was staying with friends in Port Townsend, so he was traveling light. I had a bit more stuff than Mark, but my camp kit is pretty compact. Mike, on the other hand, is new to this kind of travel. Mike was ready for adventure.

The trip was a blast. Much coffee was consumed. Many stories were swapped. Mike told us how his daughter saved his life, "she called me a fat man. That got me thinking, that got me riding." In Port Townsend Mike and I wound up camping out in the living room of my friends the Muellners: Jon, Carrie and Peri. I kidded Mike that he'd lugged the tent all the way from Seattle and he really should set it up and camp in the back yard but all the Muellners insisted we stay inside.

Mike was very impressed with Jon's bike shed and basement shop as well as his collection of bikes (several Bridgestones, two Rivendells, two Herons, a pair of Merckxs and a 650b Tony Pereira.) "My wife thinks I have too many bikes," Mike enthused, "wait 'til I tell her about this!"

The threatened weather never really came in force, but what rain we got did convince Mike that his heavy rain jacket was, well, too heavy. The whole trip had him questioning the weight of his choices. I told him about the first day of my fixed gear tour back to Minnesota, passing a heavily loaded bike tourist struggling up Rainy Pass. I knew that fellow was bring all those things so he'd be comfortable. As I passed him I thought, but didn't say, "well, are you comfortable now?" Of course, we all find our own balance and these trips are where we learn what we really need.

Sometimes what you need is a trip with some old and new friends.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Bob's Bike Shop

2009-09-29T00:03:00.000-07:00

Note: the following is an award-losing bit of fiction I wrote for Dirt Rag's literature contest. If you want to read a better story than the one that follows, pick up a copy of Dirt Rag #145 and read the one written by Kevin MacGregor Scott. That fellow can really tell a good tale.

Here, for free, you can read my effort. I'm releasing the story under Creative Commons (see the license at the end) so feel free to pass it around. The story is totally free but if you want to toss some money my way, I won't argue. Any money I get from the story goes into my 2010 Tour Divide Race Fund. The little button at the bottom will let you send any amount to my Paypal account at kentsbike@fastmail.fm

Bob's Bike Shop

by Kent Peterson

Steve rolls up, five minutes before closing time with a seriously tweaked wheel and a sob story about a race tomorrow. I try to put him off, but when he offers to buy us all burritos, Tess and the boys out-vote me. Tess takes Steve's cash and the evening's bank deposit, promising to return with burritos for all. I pop Steve's wheel into the truing stand and the boys each keep working on the bikes in their respective stands.

As I turn my attention to the wheel, Steve asks an innocent question, "So, how did you ever get into the bike business, anyway?"

My younger son lets out a groan and his older brother turns to Steve and says "Oh man, why did you have to ask that?"

"What?" Steve says.

"Pay them no mind," I say, "they've heard this story a few times..."

"More like a few dozen times," the one with the smart mouth interrupts.

"Maybe a hundred times," the one with the even smarter mouth adds. "But now you've done it. Did you know Dad used to have a car?"

"Strange, but true." I say to Steve, "I used to have a car. Back when I was your age," I add, addressing my son, "I wasn't that bright..."

------------------

It took all winter and the first part of the spring, but by April I'd saved up enough snow-shoveling and lawn-mowing money to buy Tex's brother's old MG. The car was my British racing green ticket to freedom and in my dreams I'd give Cathy rides home after school, her blond hair flowing in the wind, her laughter like music as she chuckled at my latest observation of the human condition.

The car was great, with real dials and an honest-to-god rag-top but it had its quirks. The car had an unhealthy thirst for oil and it spewed smoke like Q had rigged a smoke screen that would let 007 leave any villains coughing in confusion. The electrical system would've been more at home in Dr. Frankenstein's lab than under a car hood. Excuse me, bonnet. When you own an MG, even if you've lived in Wisconsin your entire life, you start dropping British-isms into your speech and you wear one of those tweed driving hats. At least that's what I did.

I drove the car back and forth to school and I got a job where I learned to smile as I asked "You want fries with that?" My paychecks all seemed to go into gas, oil, big checks to an insurance company and fixing the latest and most drastic of the MG's quirks. The only times I got to see Cathy outside of the couple of classes we shared would be when she and big dumb Todd would stop by at Gordy's and I'd ask if they wanted fries with their order. I'd hear her laughter like music as Todd made some obvious observation of the human condition. God, how I hated Todd.

I was on my way to work when the MG broke down.

Again.

This time, some hose cracked and something leaked and a ton of smoke poured out of pretty much everywhere. I coasted to a stop in front of Bob's shop. Of course, I didn't know then that it was Bob's shop. I didn't know Bob and I'd never had any reason to go into his shop. Bob's place was a bike shop and what would I need a bike for? I had a car. Bikes were for kids.

I was still swearing at the car when Bob came out to ask if I need any help or a fire extinguisher or anything.

"A phone," I said. "Can I borrow your phone? I gotta call work and tell 'em I'll be late."

"Sure, sure," said Bob, and I followed him into his store.

The place was packed with bikes and smelled like old tires. There was stuff everywhere. Tires hung on pegs above the rows of bikes and there were baskets and bells and brightly colored shirts and a board with a bunch of gears hanging on it. Wrenches hung, each on their own hook, next to tools I didn't recognize above a workbench containing a vice and some gadget with a wheel clamped in its jaws. Posters advertising brands I didn't know flanked pictures of skinny guys I didn't recognize sprinting across some finish-line somewhere in Europe.

"What's a Molteni?" I asked, pointing to the picture of some dark-haired guy with big legs. I'd read the word off the front of his shirt.

"Molteni?!?" Bob paused, then followed my gaze to the poster. "Oh," he laughed, "some Italian company, I think they make sausage or something."

"Who's the dude?" I asked.

Bob shot me the look you get when you ask a really dumb question and then smiled broadly and said "Merckx. His name's Eddy Merckx. Don't you have to make a call?"

"Oh yeah," I said, as Bob pointed me to the phone. "I'm not looking forward to this. Gordy was so pissed the last time I was late."

"Gordy?" Bob asked. "You work at Gordy's? The burger joint?"

"Yeah, " I said. "I know you... Double Cheeseburger, no mayo, right?"

"Yep." Bob laughed. "I guess it's true, you are what you eat."

"I'm supposed to be at work in twenty minutes. I betcha Gordy fires me this time."

"Ride there," Bob said.

"What?" I said.

"Ride there," Bob repeated. "I'll loan you a bike."

"But - but it's too far," I protest. "And it's up a big hill."

"Geez!" Bob exploded, "Hand me the phone and I'll call Gordy myself and tell him to fire you! It's two miles at most!" Then he paused for a second and added, in a quieter tone, "Look, I ride there darn near every day and I'm an old man. You can certainly do it. You know, bikes have gears these days."

"I dunno." I paused, still holding the phone.

"Look," Bob said firmly. "You're burning time debating this. You can take my burger bike. It'll take you ten min..." he paused for a second, looked at me and quickly amended, "You can make it. At Fourth Avenue cut over to Maple and take it up the hill instead of Pine. It's a block out of your way, but it's not as steep."

"OK," I said, kind of relieved not to have to make the call. "But I've got a dumb question. How do I work the gears on this thing?"

Bob gave a half-roll of his eyes as if to say "Kids these days!" and then patiently explained the two levers that work the gears. "The lever on the left controls the front der... chain shifting thing. Moving the chain over to the smaller ring up front makes things easier. The right lever controls the rear derailleur, we call the shifting things derailleurs, and the back is the opposite of the front. In the back, the smaller gears are harder and the bigger one is easier. Oh, and you shift while pedaling."

"Where's the clutch?" I asked.

"No clutch," Bob replied. "Bikes don't have clutches. But they don't like to shift under load, so downshift before you need to. You'll catch on, it's easy. It's like riding a bike."

We agreed that I'd bring the bike back after I'd finished my shift at Gordy's.

"I'll leave my car as collateral," I said.

"I'd rather have something of value," Bob grumbled in response. "Bring me a burger and we're square."

I made it to work with three minutes to spare.

Riding back to the shop was easier than riding to work. The wind blew through my hair and for a few minutes at least I out-rolled the smell of french fries that clung to my work clothes.

The shop was closed by the time I get there, but I saw Bob inside. I knocked on the glass and held up the greasy burger bag. Bob opened the door and let me in.

He went back to working on a wheel that was clamped in what I'd later learn is called a truing stand. "You're working late," I said.

"I've got a lot to do," Bob said. "It's my busy time of year. So, how are you going to get that car out of my parking space?"

"Oh - I, uhmm..." I hadn't really thought this through.

"It's got a blown head gasket," Bob explained, "I checked it out after you left. You're not driving it anywhere for a while. You got money for a tow?"

"Uhmm..."

"That's what I thought. OK, I'll help you push it around back. I've got some space back there and you won't get ticketed. When is your next paycheck?"

"Friday, no, a week from Friday. Crap."

"You're burger-based career plan seems to have gone slightly awry, my friend. How are you getting to work between now and next Friday?"

"Maybe I could bike there?" I ventured.

"My generosity has its limits, kid," Bob grumbled, but then he went on. "Look, you need wheels and I can use some help, so here's what we do. You keep the burger bike for the next couple of weeks, but you come here before and after your shifts at Gordy's. You don't seem that bright but you can probably get the hang of sweeping up and putting away parts and things..."

And so I rode for the next couple of weeks. I swept and shelved and Bob decided that maybe I could learn a few more things so he showed me the differences between brake and derailleur cables, how to adjust brakes so they don't squeal, how to lube chains and true wheels. I listened as he debated the merits of drilling out brake levers and derailleurs with various customers.

"How much is Gordy paying you?" Bob asked one day and when I answered he followed up with "Heh, I guess the burger business is every bit as lucrative as the bicycle business. If you want, you can keep working here and I'll match what Gordy's paying you. Your hands will still get greasy, but at least you won't smell like fries."

"But - but," I protested, "Cathy never comes here."

"Cathy?" Bob asked and I told him all about the goddess with the golden hair and the lilting laughter and that someday she'd see that she would be much better off with me than with big dumb Todd.

Bob nodded sagely and said "Let me see if I have this straight: you're working at a job you don't like, to pay for a car you can't afford, to impress a girl with an established track record of liking big, dumb guys. Right?"

I admitted that it sounded kind of stupid when he put it that way.

"Oh no," Bob countered. "The plan will work. You've got the dumb part down and you just have to shoot up another six inches and she'll fall for you like a ton of bricks." He dropped the sarcasm from his voice, shifted gears with just the slightest pause and went on, "Look, kid, I'm sure she's a looker and hell, maybe she's the one for you. And when I was your age I was probably twice as stupid as you are now. But there are lots of gals out there, some that are pretty and some that are smart and a lot that are both. I'm sure you don't believe me, but it's not worth settling for a woman who will settle for dumb. And you know," he added, "some cute gals come into bike shops, too."

I gave notice at Gordy's the next day. When school got out for the summer, I started working full time at Bob's.

I learned a lot that summer and some of it was about bikes. Bob helped me replace the head gasket in the MG and then I sold it to Todd's little brother. I used the money I got out of the car to buy an old Peugeot PX-10. "Oh God," Bob said, "going from a British car to a French bike. You must be one of those guys whose not happy unless he's got something to tinker with."

Bob taught me how to tinker with a lot of stuff. Sometimes in the busy season we'd stay late, after we'd closed up the shop just to catch up on repairs. At night the skip off the ionosphere would let the shop radio pull in the blues station from Chicago and we'd listen to B.B. King and John Lee Hooker and Billie Holiday.

One night after work Bob popped a tape in the VCR and we watched a documentary about Eddy Merckx. The guy came in second in some race and we watched as his shoulders dropped and he looked sadder than any blues song I'd ever heard. He wasn't pissed, he was just sad. And then he went and rode. In the rain and on rollers next to his washing machine. And he rode and he rode and he rode. And he won. "See that?" Bob said. "You keep going."

And Bob kept going. He was twice my age and twice as fast on a bike. As I got to know Bob, I learned his story. He talked about his wife a lot, even though she'd died a few years before, a victim of a hit-and-run. I thought maybe that was why Bob hated cars, but that turned out to be one of those simple and wrong conclusions that kids jump to some times. Bob kept talking about Martha because he still loved her and he didn't stop loving her just because she was gone. He told me that she was pretty and smart and that she'd been worth waiting for. And he didn't work all those hours in the bike shop because he hated cars, he did it because he loved bicycles. You find someone or something to love and you stick with it. Bob didn't hate cars, he really seemed to enjoy himself when we were working on the MG, but he never loved cars the way he loved bikes. I think Bob was one of those guys who was happiest when he had something to tinker with.

"You should go make something of yourself," he told me. "It's a big world, check it out." On Saturday mornings, before the shop would open, we'd go down to the long, flat Sawmill Road with bikes and a stopwatch and we'd time-trial. Thursday nights after work, we'd do laps out by the Airport. And at least a couple days a week, I'd do burger runs up to Gordy's. I no longer needed to go a block out of my way and go up Maple. I'd punch it straight up Pine, just like Eddy Merckx.

-----------

A knock at the window puts an end to my story. I slide the deadbolt and give my wife a big kiss as she rolls her bike through the door.

"Finally!" says Eddy. "We're starving here."

Tess shakes her short brown hair free of her helmet, her laughter filling the shop like music. "It's up a big hill!" she says, repeating one of our oldest family jokes. "Actually," she adds, "I've never seen the taco truck that busy. I guess the word has gotten out." She hands Steve's change to him along with the first burrito and passes a second one on to Eddy. Turning to grab his supper, Eddy notices for the first time that his older brother is getting red in the face while pushing on a big wrench.

"Hey, College Boy," he says "you'll never get it out that way. It's Italian. Right-hand thread on both sides."

My eldest son gets that "Doh!" look on his face and Tess and I exchange a half-roll of our eyes as if to say "Kids these days!"

My lovely wife hands me a burrito. "Miss me?"

"Every time you go," I say, "but you're worth waiting for." Turning to our son I add, "Take a break, Bob. It's burrito time."

Bob's Bike Shop by Kent Peterson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Travels With Tools

2009-09-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those guys who travels with tools. I basically have tools with me all the time, on my person and on my bike and since I actually do get asked about the stuff I lug around, I figured I'd detail it here. This is by no means an optimal kit, it's got quite a bit of belt plus suspenders redundancy. I also can't say it's complete. Tomorrow I may find some gadget that triggers my "ooh that would be handy!" reflex and I'll add it. Or I might go the other way and say "man, I'm lugging too much!" and purge something out. But as of right now, here's the kit.

First up, the stuff that I carry on my person pretty much all the time.

The little carabiner clips to my belt loop and holds my Swiss Army Knife and the two little Topeak wrenches. The wrenches came from a Topeak Survival Gear Box. Many of my tools have been picked from various kits over the years and my big tool box at home has many of the bits that I'm not currently using. Also, I tend to give away bits of kit I'm not using, which makes me feel OK with getting even more tools. And the cycle continues to this day. The knife is a Victorinox Deluxe Tinker and I probably use it at least twenty time a day. The thing on the right is a Topeak Hexus Bicycle Tool and even though I have a shop full of tools at work, a big toolbox at home and a bunch of tools in a bag on my bike, this is the thing that gets used at least as much as the Swiss Army Knife. When it's not in my hand, it's in my pocket. For me, the Hexus hits the sweet spot in terms of weight, function and ease of use.

Moving on to what I have on the bike, as I've mentioned previously, I use and like Topeak Morph pumps. The pump that I keep strapped on my Monocog Flight is the exact same pump I carried with my on my 2005 Great Divide Ride and it's still going strong.

The rest of my tool kit is contained in this bag which fits in the main triangle of the bike along with one water bottle.

Inside this bag, is this stuff.

That's two spare inner tubes, two plastic tire levers, a small bottle of chain lube, a patch kit and a little nylon bag with more tools and stuff inside. Yes, my kit has kind of a Russian nested doll quality. And yes, the Hexus contains tire levers so the levers in the on-bike kit are redundant. One might say that having spare tubes plus a patch kit plus True Goo tubes in my tires is redundant, but you have to remember that I GET FLAT TIRES ALL THE TIME. Remember that you read it here. When I do flat, WHICH HAPPENS ALL THE TIME, I typically swap in a new tube on the road side and patch the holey tube later under more favorable conditions with a handy, tasty beverage close at hand.

My patch kit contains lots of patches as well as sandpaper, glue and a spare battery for my cycle computer.

Inside the black nylon bag is this stuff.

A bunch of the little bits go inside a plastic film canister that has a layer of duct tape wrapped around it. In this picture you can see spare batteries for my lights, the film canister, a bit of chain and a SRAM PowerLink, some weird my multi-wrench that I freed from some random tool kit years ago. The neat thing about it is that the opening on the end is 15 millimeters, so it works for removing or tightening pedals or bolt-on wheels. The Park MT-1 Wrench, perhaps the most elegant multi-tool every made, can fit into one of the hex-shaped holes in the other wrench to form a handle for more leverage. Next to the Park wrench are 4, 5, and 6 mm Allen keys on a keyring (these can fit in some places the Park tool can't and can work in opposition to another tool in cases where that is needed). Below the Allen keys are some handy nylon zip-ties, a Topeak Chain Tool Head (yeah, it's redundant since the Hexus but I like being covered in case I lose the Hexus somewhere), a FiberFix Spoke, miscellaneous bolts, a spare Torx adapter, two sets of brake pads with brake springs and a brake cable.

Wow, that seems like a lot of stuff. And it is. But the whole kit is pretty compact and it's gotten me home every time I've needed it. If I know I'm going to be riding support on some event, I may add some Good Samaritan items like a derailleur cable and some different size tubes to the kit. Kits on my other bikes but often smaller, since they don't have quite the level of paranoia that I reserve for my Great Divide Kit. It's one thing when you break down a few miles from home in the city, it's a different matter when you may be hundreds of miles from the nearest bike shop.

By the time I go on the Tour Divide next year, I'll have posted a complete list of my stuff. I detailed the camp gear here and details of food, clothes, maps and electronics will be described in future posts.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent "Mountain Turtle" Peterson
Issaquah WA USA

Kinetic Sculpture

2009-09-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

This must be the week for odd human-powered vehicles to cross my path. I spotted this machine on my commute home along Lake Washington Boulevard in Seattle. I'm thinking it'll probably be up at Port Townsend in a couple of weeks.

You Don't See One of These Every Day

2009-09-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

(OK this post is pretty dang commercial, but you have to admit this is a cool bike. And the shop proceeds go to the children. For gosh sakes, someone has to think of the children!)

One of the many great things about working at Bike Works is that you never know what will roll in the door. Today, my friend Dave's daughter Wendy and son-in-law Matt donated this. At first, I thought it was a Counterpoint Opus Tandem, but Matt tells me he built it and later found out about the Counterpoint.

Whatever the case, it's a cool machine. We (Bike Works) are selling it for $500 and the proceeds will go to our youth programs. Christine and I have figured out that we aren't tandem people, so I think I'm immune to the lure of this beast, but a a couple of random thoughts did pop into my head besides using this as a tandem.

It would make an awesome cargo bike. Remove the timing chain, seat and front cranks and replace it with a platform. The bike is already set up to handle the weight of a person up front, that's a heck of a lot of groceries.

It would also make a really cool art bike. Keep it as is, but strap a full size skeleton to the seat and strap the skeleton's feet to the pedals, The front crank spins with the the rear crank, so you'd have a perfect ghost stoker. Just the thing for Burning Man or the Death Ride.

Anyhow, like I said, we're selling it for $500. If you've priced tandems or cargo bikes lately, I think you'll see that's a pretty sweet deal. I'm betting it's not going to stick around the shop too long.

Kent Peterson, Shop Manager

Bike Works
3709 S. Ferdinand Street
Seattle WA 98118

(206) 725-9408, ext. 3

Tuesday thru Friday -- Noon to 6:00 PM
Saturday -- 11:00 AM to 6:00 PM
Sunday -- 11:00 AM to 5:00 PM
The shop is closed on Mondays.

Trip to Lost Lake

2009-09-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

Weekends are the busy days at the bike shop, so my virtual weekend is Monday and Tuesday. Since my days off don't mesh with the days most folks have for adventuring, I often take off on solo trips. But my pal Mark Vande Kamp managed to shake all of Monday and much of Tuesday free, so we plotted out our trip. As is our custom, we had a general, not a detailed plan and we were headed someplace neither of us had been.

In this case, it's Lost Lake. There are probably dozens of Lost Lakes in Washington, this particular one is south of Snoqualmie Pass, 3,000 feet up in the Cascades and just west of Tinkham Peak. Mark and I leave from my place in Issaquah at 8:20 AM and we ride a mix of trails, small roads, a bit of freeway shoulder and then Tinkham and Denny Creek roads to Snoqualmie Summit. We've both managed to pack enough riding into this summer that the climbing doesn't really slow our conversation which ranges from books to philosophy to economics to science. While I'd read the report from the Cyclos Montagnards ride, it's far better to get Mark's straight matter-of-fact recounting. "You know, at the end you wouldn't have bet I'd be the one in the ER. Sure I was throwing up in a trash can, but Ryan was the one on the ground twitching uncontrollably." Damn shame I missed that ride!

After a quick stop at the summit, we follow the frontage road toward Hyak. Mark turns right one turn before I usually do to connect with the John Wayne Trail but I say something stupid like, "This'll be fine, it has to intersect the trail." The little road goes west and up and gets smaller. Consulting the map, we figure out that we crossed over too close to the summit and we had in fact crossed the trail but it was the portion of the trail encased in the closed Snoqualmie tunnel. But this road will get us where we are going.

While the John Wayne Trail overlays the flat old rail bed along the western shore of Keechelus Lake, the tiny road we're on climbs the ridge and follows the power line. One of the things Mark and I had been talking about was the blog cliché of ride reports that have the "I was doing this thing and then this random song came up on my iPod and it fit perfectly!" and how that's more a function of the human brain finding patterns than anything else. Neither of us ride with an iPod but as the road gets higher and less like a road and more like a trail, I can't help but recall the line from the Dar Williams song The Easy Way that says "I never took the easy way, so why don't you take it a little easy on me now?"

Eventually the tiny road tops out with a spectacular view of Keechelus Lake and a look back at what Mark calls "just how stupid we were." Fortunately, the descent that connects us to Forest Road 5480 is mostly rideable and the climb up 5480 seems positively civilized.

At Lost Lake I comment that if a place is called "Lost Lake" it really shouldn't have a sign and porta-potties but this Lost Lake has both. It's an odd bit of federal land with no formal camp sites or fee boxes but not the pure back country experience either. From the looks of things it seems that the folks who bring guns and beer out into the woods aren't big on practicing no-trace camping. Mark and I find a pretty place on the northwest shore of the lake, a place that I think would be prettier without the beer cans and empty rifle cartridges, but the little cartridge Stonehenge is kind of interesting.

We have enough of the afternoon to do a hike around the lake, something that is just possible because the water level is low enough to expose a mostly clear perimeter. In the course of our orbit we encounter a bunch of neat rocks and drift wood, a fraternity of beer cans, one decidedly non-chatty fisherman, a family camping with loud, friendly curious dog, four unpaired socks, and a small raft of loons.

Back at camp Mark cooks up dinner on his beverage-can stove. Part of my Divide practice includes going faster and lighter in the gear department, so my dinner includes Fritos, bean dip and Spam on an English muffin. As I've often noted, I am not a nutritional role model.

Mark's latest bit of gear is what may be the niftiest sleeping bag ever, an Exped Wallcreeper. This compact sleeping bag can become kind of a long coat, letting Mark poke his arms and legs out. "I can get up and pee in the middle of the night without getting cold!" Mark explains gleefully. Damn clever. Mark's ultralight pillow is also clever, a recycled bladder from a box of wine.

In the morning, Mark makes oatmeal without needing to get out of his sleeping bag. I'm perfectly comfortable munching granola bars and wearing my puffy jacket, so I don't think I'll be buying an Exped anytime soon, but if I was building up a camping kit from scratch, I'd sure give the Exped serious consideration.

We're rolling at 7:30 AM, taking the faster roads and trails home. After stopping for a quick coffee at Snoqualmie Summit, we wind our way down Denny Creek Road, follow the freeway to Edgewick and then small roads and trails home. We're back in Issaquah by 12:30 PM.

Bicycle Diaries by David Byrne

2009-09-13T06:28:00.000-07:00

David Byrne is a smart, funny, artistic sort of fellow whose talents, inclination and curiosity have led him all over the world. A few decades back, David discovered folding bicycles and since then he's ridden his bicycle along the side and back roads of many cities, riding, thinking, chatting, living life and seeing how it's lived in a wide range of places. His view of the world seen from a bicycle saddle gives him "glimpses into the mind of my fellow man, as expressed in the cities he lives in." Now, his meditations on people, places and the various ways we get along and get around are collected in his new book, Bicycle Diaries.

Bicycle Diaries is the best kind of art, a work that brings the reader along on the artist's journey. Bicycle Diaries is a physically beautiful book, hardcover with no dust-jacket, yellow embossed letters cheerfully identify the title and author while a black silhouette of a rider draws the reader forward. An observant reader will notice a tiny bicycle peeking out from the spine at the bottom of page 11 and on each odd page thereafter the bicycle has makes more progress. Fanning forward through the pages sets the tiny typeset bicycle free, racing across the pages in the oldest style animation, persistent vision holding tight to the bike while the pages blur past. Ever the artist, be it in music, lyric, print, or type, David remembers that a book can be more than just a file on a Kindle.

The tiny animation is just one example of the playful digressiveness of this book. While he casts a loving and critical look at the world, David is always conversational. He ponders, rants, muses and marvels. He reflects on how our cities reflect our minds. We build what we value, but our shaped world shapes those values. In an age where it seems that every celebrity has a publicist and a book that screams "look at me", David is instead riding his bike down interesting streets and pausing now and then to say "Hey, look at that!" He profiles interesting buildings, streets, people, cities and artists. He's structured the book as a series of chapters each concentrating on a city such as Berlin, Buenos Aires, Istanbul, Sydney or New York, but the book is not a mere travelogue. In Manila, he uses the life story of Imelda Marcos as a springboard for contemplation of the way we each build the mythic stories of our lives. In Buenos Aires he considers geography, faith, death, music, art, unemployment, sex, the pack behavior of dogs, politics, football, gentrification, nightlife, and worker ownership. In every place he rides, he finds the unique and the common and connects the local with the global.

Bicycle Diaries is an intensely human and humane book, a book that echoes in print the sense of "My God, how did I get here?" that David expressed years ago in the Talking Heads. To an interesting person like David, all places are interesting and he consistently reminds us just how interesting humans are. We are the ones building the human world -- we don't just travel the world, we make it. David's work takes him out in the world, a world he shapes with songs and images. As he's ridden more, in more places, he's become more of a cycle activist, using his talents to shape the world to be friendlier to humans and bicycles. He's designed and installed bike racks in New York City, he thinks about helmet design and he works with transportation planners. And most importantly, he's written a wonderful book, a book that reveals the simple delight of riding a bike through an amazing world.

Best Jersey Ever!

2009-09-12T20:22:00.001-07:00

Even though I usually favor wool jerseys, when I saw a picture of Dave Nice sporting a totally rocking jersey from Over The Edge Sports in Hurricane Utah, I knew I had to have one. I mean, I am the Mountain Turtle, after all!

Huge thanks to Dave for hooking me up with the jersey, socks and stickers. Dave, you totally rock. And stick to drip from now on! I owe you big time and one of these days we'll manage to be on the same trail at the same time.

$1.18 Dahon Carrying Case

2009-09-06T07:14:00.000-07:00

The Internet had told me that the big blue shopping bags sold at IKEA would work as a Dahon carrying case, so last night after work instead of heading straight home I piloted my fun little red bike south to the Renton IKEA. On this Saturday night the store is packed with people, many of whom look like college students getting entire dorm rooms worth of furnishings. My mission should be a quick in & out to get a couple of the fifty-nine cent bags but even though the bags are right by the entrance, I have to weave my way through the giant money-shaking rat maze of a warehouse store. It's easy to resist things too big to lug on my bike, but gadgets that pack flat and have terse umlaut-laden names beckon at every turn. I mostly stick to my original, frugal plan of attack, waylaid only by the füd at the in-store restaurant. I'm a sucker for those $4.99 meatballs and 99-cent choklad nöt bars.

Eventually, I break free from the this florescent shrine to global capitalism, buy my bags and head back out into the night. It's a lovely night and by shifting a block or so off the main roads, the roads clogged with all the folks seeking the fastest way home, I meander in the moonlit night. My headlamp picks out a raccoon couple who I'm sure know far more than I ever will about what can only be seen clearly in the dark.

These pictures attest to the success of my trip. Two fifty-nine cent IKEA bags make an excellent case for a Dahon Curve D3. The second bag upside-down forms the cover to keep the bike safe from prying eyes. It's not a bike, it's just a bag of stuff. Nothing to see here, move along. Perfect for the Jedi Mind Trick of getting my bike into all kinds of places.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Trail Work Is So Rewarding

2009-09-01T21:27:00.000-07:00

We all know it's fun to ride on mountain bike trails, but those trails don't just happen. I belong to a great club, made up of great folks, who, among other things, make trails. This afternoon I was part of an Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance work party doing trail construction up at Duthie Hill. When Bob lifted up a log, he found this little guy staring up at him. After I took these pictures, Bob relocated the little fella to a damper, safer place off the trail and we got back to work.

It sure is fun to zip down the trails, but in the slow work of building something you get to come face to face with this wonderful world.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Bike For Pie 2009

2009-08-30T18:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we can love something too much. Take, for example, the annual Bainbridge Island Pie Ride. This is, in my opinion, the greatest cycling event ever. Folks ride around a beautiful island and there is PIE. The Squeaky Wheels folks have been doing this for six years now as a volunteer-run event and it's wonderful. Sure, it's tricky to gauge demand and sometimes the weather can be kind of threatening but in past years they've managed to force extra slices of pies onto riders who don't protest too much. This year, the weather turns out to be perfect and even though the Squeaky Wheels predicted that they might get twice as many riders as last year, they got blind-sided.

There were at least triple the number of riders this year. Maybe quadruple. You give away pie and word gets out. It doesn't help that some idiot with a blog wrote about the Pie Ride here and here and then emailed a bunch of his friends and used that stupid Twitter thing to say:

"My favorite ride of the year is this Sunday: http://www.squeakywheels.or..."

The ride was fabulous. The Squeaky Wheels did a great job. The pies were great and disappeared quickly. A police escort was used to secure more pies. Every pie on Bainbridge Island was secured and consumed. Pies were brought in from Poulsbo. Those also vanished quickly.

Plans are already underway for next year, plans involving advance registration and incentives for folks to bake and bring pies to the ride. The bond between pedaling and pie is a strong one. The Pie Ride will go on.

News from the Poetic World

2009-08-27T16:11:00.000-07:00

It would be simpler, I suppose,
to live in a world purely prose.

When I was younger I believed that everything could be explained, should be explained, in a purely rational and logical manner. Kurt Gödel, Lao Tzu and a universe that places duct tape where it needs to be, convinced me that the world is more complex than that. So I live and love in a world where I've learned some facts through fiction, where the real news comes from poets instead of pressmen and I've learned that there are some things I must constantly relearn, some things I must unlearn and many things I'll never know.

William Carlos Williams tells us that "it is difficult to get the news from poetry" and Christopher Morley noted that "the bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets." And it is on my bicycle that I find the time to think, to explore, to see the world at a pace that suits me. For I am still an impatient man, an unreasonable man, whose not quite willing to accept the purely pedestrian pace and range given me by bipedal locomotion. I take both a lesson from and issue with Priestley as I ride my graceful gadget to the wild places, the roads less traveled by that make all the difference.

Every trip brings something to my attention, or removes something from my attention that I've been paying too much mind to. And I never know what lies around the next turn in the trail, even on trails I've been down dozens of times and that, perhaps, is why I keep returning to some familiar places, to see the changes in the world and in me. But other days, like this day, I'm drawn to some place old to the world yet new to me, where I can be at least a bit lost as I follow my wheels where they seem to want to go.

Today, this morning actually, it's the old roads up the west side of Rattlesnake Ridge. There are no rattlesnakes on this side of the Cascades but the name is more evocative than "rattling seed-pod ridge" so that is what's stuck to this chunk of rugged terrain.

My map, as always, is not the terrain, but it is enough to draw me here, to this wonderful network of old logging roads and powerline cuts and winding gravel tracks that lead up to towers that blink day and night and relay voices up and over the solid stone. I pass by the gate that bars the cars, pause by the rusting remains of a once-powerful machine slowly being returned to the earth it once moved. The blackberries are thick here and heavy with fruit. My second breakfast is free for the taking.

I'd told Christine this would be a three-hour tour, but possibly three hours in the Gilligan-sense, so I might not be back until noon. I'd left at seven, it's close to ten when I turn around with many trails left unexplored.

It is down and fast and the way home, like the way up, involves one exit's worth of freeway riding. One exit is enough for today's lesson.

And that lesson is one I've known and forgotten and of which, apparently, I need to be reminded. For when you live in a poetic world, a world of duct tape miracles and soul-freeing beauty right in your backyard, you must remember that there are certain rules, rules not of logic but of poetic justice, which should not be ignored.

"The first rule of flat club is that nobody talks about flat club." Or something like that. If Tyler Durden was a cyclist, I'm sure that's what he would have said.

What I said, stupidly, I said yesterday on this blog. I said (wrote actually) "I hesitate to write this, lest I rouse the wrath of the tire gods, but I've had zero issues with these tires. None. No flats."

"Thwack, thump, thwack, thump." My dad would call the sound coming from my back tire "a hell of racket." A rationalist would call it the screw I'd just run over. I call it the universe sending me yet another wake-up call. I know how the world works, but I forget sometimes. I just have no idea why it works this way. But it does.

The screw keeps the air in until I make it off the freeway. At Preston I stop, fix the flat and take pictures. As soon as I remove the screw, the air wooshes out. I think this is the kind of flat that True Goo would do a good job of sealing but my two brand new True Goo tubes are on my kitchen table back at home.

And now I'm home, reminded again that I live in a strange and wonderful world. I have a tube to patch, some hail Remas to mutter, some balance to restore.

I get flats all the time. Remember that, you read it here.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Barely Broken In

2009-08-26T06:00:00.001-07:00

See the tire above? It's the front WTB ExiWolf Tire that came stock on my two month old Redline Monocog Flight 29er. If you look close, you can still see that the knobs are still crisp. The matching rear tire shows only slightly more wear. These tires (and the bike) have 2027 miles on them as of this writing. Mountain miles. Dirt miles. Singletrack miles. And a bunch of pavement miles, as I've been commuting on the Flight pretty much every day since I got it.

I hesitate to write this, lest I rouse the wrath of the tire gods, but I've had zero issues with these tires. None. No flats. No inconvenient losses of traction. None. Gravel, mud, roots, rocks, pavement, curbs, litter, these tires just roll over it all.

See this saddle? It's the stock WTB Rocket V that came with the bike. Still a little flashy for my tastes, still perfectly comfortable after a couple of thousand miles, still comfy at the end of long days.

I don't have pictures of the brake pads in my Avid BB5 brakes or the chain or pedals or all the other parts of my bike that are still going strong after the first couple of thousand miles, but they are going strong and I'm damn pleased with the Redline. Simple. Strong. Reliable.

And did I mention that the bike is so darn much fun to ride? It is.

I've got some upgrades waiting for someday when the stock stuff wears in a bit more. A less flashy Rocket V. WTB Nano Raptors will replace the ExiWolfs eventually. (A set of Nanos is 12 ounces lighter than the Exis, and the Nano is still tough enough to be the most beloved tire on the Great Divide Route). Kool Stop brake pads will eventually go into the disk brakes and the Nanos will have also have TrueGoo tubes in them.

Eventually. Once I get around to wearing out the stock stuff on this bike. Which seems to be happening quite slowly now. Things will wear quicker when the rainy season comes.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Adrian Short is a brilliant observer

2009-08-25T00:25:00.000-07:00

I usually try to avoid helmet wars and while this post is the probably the idealogical equivalent of a pint of petrol, a dry wind and a spark, it's too good not to pass on:

http://adrianshort.co.uk/2009/08/24/456/

Thanks to Adrian for speaking sense and my formerly large friend Scott for pointing me to Adrian's words.

The Compact Comforts of Home

2009-08-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

My camping kit has evolved over the years and I get asked about it from time to time. I decided this morning to document just what it is that I lug around in that red stuff bag on the front of my bike. By the way, these pictures were shot at a spot in the woods that is a fifteen minute bike ride away from beautiful downtown Issaquah. I live in a rather nice part of the world.

The stuff sack itself is a medium Granite Gear Compression Drysack, which I attach to my bike with a couple of nylon straps. The bag rubs a bit against the head tube of the bike, so I've layered some duct tape on the head tube to cushion against the abrasion.

Here is the contents of the bag, all laid out. From left to right along the bottom of the picture there is the compression bag, an REI Minimalist Bivy, a Small ThermaRest ProLite Pad, and my MontBell #5 Down Sleeping Bag. In the upper left corner of the picture is a Space Blanket cut in half and rolled up around 4 tent stakes, an Equinox Ultralite Poncho/Shelter, and an REI Spruce Run Jacket/Vest.

While in the past I've used a variety of fine camp gear, such as the Hennessy Hammock or Henry Shire's brilliant TarpTent, I've found that for my fast/light/camp anywhere trips, the bag plus bivy plus poncho/tarp gives me the greatest versatility together with the fastest and simplest set-up and take-down.

If I'm not expecting heavy rain, I often don't bother deploying the poncho/tarp. Conversly, if it is raining, the tarp is the first thing pitched and the last thing taken down. I can pitch it with only a single raised tie-point, but the bike, a slender branch, a fence-post or darn near anything can serve to secure the tarp.

The bivy is bug and critter proof. On warm nights, I'll sleep on top of the sleeping bag and use the Spruce Run Jacket as a pillow. In colder times, I wear the jacket to add warmth to the bag. The combo of the sleeping bag plus jacket I count as one of my brighter ideas. Having a light camp jacket is so nice in the morning and cool evenings and it extends the comfort range of my sleeping bag down below freezing.

That's it for the camp gear. I don't have a precise scale, but my bathroom scale says the whole thing weighs about four pounds. Some time in the future I'll cover what I carry in terms of repair tools, food and other stuff.

Keep 'em rolling,

Kent

Petzl Tikka XP

2009-08-17T07:55:00.001-07:00

For years I've used and recommended the Princeton Tec EOS as a bike or helmet light and while I still think it's a darn good light, my two EOS lights both conked out a few months ago, after giving years of faithful service on many a dark road and trail. Interestingly, both lights failed in the same manner, they refused to shut off. I tried swapping batteries, I tried whacking them, nothing. As a failure mode, it's a good one, much better than being stuck in the dark. I think the switches finally just wore out.

While I strongly considered just getting another EOS, I took the opportunity to see what else was out there in terms of a similar light. I've been using Planet Bike lights on my bikes for the past few years, but I really like having something on my helmet. The helmet light is handy while riding since it shines on what I'm looking at. Please, if you use a helmet light don't look straight at others and blind your riding companions, convenience store clerks, other road and trail users! But the helmet light really shines, so to speak, when hunting out places to camp after dark.

Like many folks these days, I Googled around looking at options. This favorable review of the Petzl Tikka XP together with many favorable reviews on Amazon prompted me to buy the Tikka XP. I've had the light for over a month now and here is what I've found.

The Tikka XP is almost the exact same size and weight as the EOS and shares the one annoying feature of the EOS, it uses 3 AAA batteries. Batteries are sold in even numbered packs and most chargers charge an even number of batteries, so devices that use an odd number of batteries bug me. But I haven't found a good helmet light that uses an even number of batteries, so I've learned to deal with this. I have a small Planet Bike Tail Light that uses just one AAA cell, so when I charge up cells, I charge the three cells from the Tikka XP together with the single cell from the tail light.

Like the EOS, the Tikka XP puts out a good bit of light and has multiple brightness settings plus a flash setting. The flash is a bit higher frequency than that of the EOS and, in my opinion, a bit more useful. The Tikka XP has a few added features that I've found handy.

On the side of the light is a little recessed LED battery indicator that blinks green, orange or red depending on the state of your batteries. Batteries last a really long time (see this review for discharge curves) and the brightness of the light is good enough that I mostly run it on one of the lower power settings.

The controls are easy to work by touch. In addition to the primary button which cycles the light through it's various modes, the Tikka XP has a boost switch, which makes the light kick out a brief, ultrahigh-powered beam, just the thing for the "what the hell was that?" moments when you here the rustle in the bushes just outside of camp.

The final useful feature of the Tikka XP is a beam diffuser. This is a textured plastic bezel that slides in place to morph the beam from a sharp, narrow spot light to a softer, broad area light. I use Tikka XP as a spot light while riding but when walking around, setting up camp or reading, I use the light with the diffuser slid into place.

I was able to thread the straps of the Tikka XP through the vents of my helmet without modification to either the light or the helmet and the pivoting mount has proven to be solid and nicely adjustable.

After a month of use, I have to say I'm very happy with the Tikka XP and I'd recomend it to my pals.

Note: I am a member of the Amazon Associates program. Whenever you go to Amazon via some link on my blog and buy ANYTHING within 24 hours, a percentage of your purchase price goes to me. It doesn't cost you anything extra, but some of that money does go to me and I use it to do things like buy helmet lights or Peanut M&Ms and next summer I'm planning on racing the length of the Great Divide on my bike. And that costs money. So thanks. And, obviously, it's not in my best interest to give bum advice and talk you into buying something that is of no use to you. So I try to be fair when I talk about stuff and up front about the fact that I make a bit from my online ramblings.

Petzl Tikka XP Headlamp

Forest Road 6700

2009-08-12T05:50:00.000-07:00

It was another little red line on a map that brought me here, a tiny series of dashes on page 72 of my Washington Road & Recreation Atlas. Here is Forest Road 6700, a spotted serpent on the map that promises an adventurous alternative route down off Steven's Pass.

And so I pack 280 miles into two days of riding. I carry too much stuff, of course, but that is part of the learning. My camera proves its worth again, while my GPS only tells me useless things like "you are here." I know that, that's why I'm here.

The mountains and the trees are huge, the roads are small and sparse. A view from some summit shows a tiny, sand-colored line far below, the path ahead. It loops back to home eventually.