The mountain is impossible to ignore. I see it from my window first thing in the morning and last thing before the light fades - nearly at midnight on a summer's night. I see it when I ride to and from town, and when I ride in loops around the countryside. No matter where I go and what I do, the mountain is always there, an enormous living, breathing thing, looming over the landscape.
At 1,263 feet, Binevenagh (pronounced "be-NEvna") is actually quite small. But it cuts a dashing figure on the Limavady landscape. It stands alone, outlined crisply against the ever-changing sky. Seen from the seashore, it resembles a crumpled old hat (or the snake that ate the elephant drawing from the Little Prince). From other vantage points, a jagged edge protrudes. Steep on all sides, it is topped with a large lumpy plateau, covered with forests and meadows.
Gazing at the mountain everywhere I went, all I could think of was climbing it. I hesitated at first. It felt so special I did not want to rush it. But finally one morning I woke up and knew it was time. The atmosphere was festive.
The road up Binevenagh starts directly from the house. But a friend suggested I take a detour - swinging around the coast, then turning onto another road to give myself a bit of a warmup before the climb. "Even with that frying pan of yours, you'll need it!" He was referring to the 11-36t cassette my bike was decorated with.
The ascent is relatively short and steep: 1,045 feet of climbing over 3.5miles. It is continuous climbing, much of it at a 10%+ grade, the road steepening, letting up, then steepening again. Right off the bat, the pitch was tough. I went at a good rhythm, but after a mile stopped to take a breather at a crossroads. Most of the mountain continued to tower ahead; I had hardly chipped away at it.
But when I turned around, the evidence of the mile I'd already done was in plain sight: A sharp dip, and the hills of Donegal spread out behind a shimmering sliver of water. Still narrow from this vantage point, the Lough Foyle is a saltwater inlet that separates the western part of Northern Ireland from the northwestern tip of the Republic. The border between the two nations is rather picturesque here. Climbing Binevenagh, the view becomes more breathtaking with each push of the pedals. And the sheep become more frequent.
How to describe this climb... The pitch was doable in my low gears. But the continuous steep grade made it tiring. I switched between my 3-4 lowest cogs and stood up occasionally (something I've finally learned to do), and tried not to get overwhelmed. I ignored my legs and focused on the scenery, aiming my eye at the top.As I kept going, the sheep were like loyal spectators. They looked at me with sympathy, understanding, encouragement. I was not miserable on the climb; it was a peaceful and oddly calming experience.
For some time, the sheep were my only company. Until, out of nowhere, a man in blue pulled up next to me. Even as I spotted him in my peripheral vision, I knew he was a Cyclist. Slender and agile, he moved so fluidly, it looked like liquid pouring uphill. Riding next to me, he matched my pace effortlessly as we talked. He lived nearby and loved to train on this mountain. He was an endurance cyclist, and rode in the Race Across America last year. Before we parted ways at the top, he introduced himself: Joe Barr.
I watched him disappear down the other side of the mountain, as beautifully as he climbed. Later I learned he was a retired Irish pro-racer.
The top of Binevenagh... The plateau covers a large area, and the highest point is somewhat uneventful. A painted bridge over a stream, a scraggly meadow with Queen Anne's Lace and buttercups, a forest in the background, and lots of sky with very distant views of water. From here on, there are several options for descending. One starts right away and is fairly steep and twisty, consistently throughout. Another is further down the plateau. It is longer and gentler most of the way, until it ends in a sudden, sharply winding vertical drop to the sea at the very end.
To start with I chose the first descent. The steep, narrow, winding road pushed my comfort zone. I was in control around the bends, but had to work on myself to keep calm. I did breathing exercises to keep from shaking and destabilising the bike. Descending on the left side of the road felt intuitive; my brain had already switched over.
This descent was a heavily shaded one, winding its way through a forest.
But after every bend, a view opened up, each more beautiful than the next. If it is possible to feel both cautious and relaxed at the same time, that is how descending this road felt.
Cars passed me up the road occasionally, the drivers waving, friendly - something I am still getting used to here. Toward the bottom, one driver was trying to communicate something urgently, which I did not understand - until I saw a row of pointy brown ears up ahead. Quickly I stopped, dismounted and clambered up the side of the road to let the herd of cows pass.
The final winding stretch dumped me onto the coastal road unceremoniously.Feeling sad it was over, I repeated the loop, then crawled home, spent and drunk on mountain air.
Several days later, I climbed Binevenagh again to try one of the other descents. The road along the plateau offered wide open views of both the Lough Foyle and the North Atlantic.
I rode through a dreamscape of hot-pink sheep grazing upon neon green grass, as the sun came out over the hills of Donegal.
At the far end of the plateau stood "the boat man," as the locals refer to him. He isManannán mac Lir, a god of the sea - a new statue the local council has erected just in the past week. Facing Magilligan Point (entrance to the Lough Foyle on the Northern Ireland side) - the mythical wood-carved figure spreads his arms over land and water of the bordering nations.
Standing there, I remembered being at Magilligan Point, at the ground level, and looking up at the mountain from there. Some form of symmetry had been achieved.
The descent was long, tame and idyllic, rolling through farmlands. But at the end came the stretch I had been warned about: This section winds tightly, down a steep grade.I was advised to either walk or ride the brakes once I saw the crumbling rocks sign.Over the course of two loops, I tried both methods. Riding slowly with good brakes is actually a bit easier than walking the bike.
After some S-bends, another sharp bend follows before a vertical drop onto the main road across from the water.
The spot is Downhill - defined by the magnificent view of the Mussenden Temple - a round structure at the edge of a cliff, which a nobleman had built for his niece... with whom he may or may not have had an affair with. The niece died before the temple was finished, infusing the story with an extra air of tragic poeticism.
I looked back at the road I had come down. I was not as shaken as I thought I'd be by the descent. But with the rush and the beauty of it over, I felt lost - so much emotion can build up along these stretches, and it has nowhere to go. Maybe that is why the cliffs looked especially beautiful in the evening light. And maybe that is why I put all my remaining energy into the 10 miles home along the flat coastal road. Big ring, small cog, setting sun, burning legs, cold air, sprays of water, and Binevenagh towering over it all. Turning the pedals madly as I raced home, I already longed to be up there again.
Last weekend we finally picked up my Francesco Moser fixed gear roadbike from Harris Cyclery, where it sat most of the winter after getting its bottom bracket replaced. I haven't been on this bicycle since December, riding the slightly-too-big-for-me Bianchi instead. And now that the Moser is back, guess what? It feels small! I was warned that this would happen once I got used to a larger frame, but it's still hard to believe. How can I feel cramped on a bike that felt "perfect" last year?
In addition to having a shorter top tube than the Bianchi, the Moser is also set up with a shorter stem. The difference between thetotal distance from the seat post to the handlebars on the two bikes is 3cm - which seems like a small number, but feels quite otherwise, at least to me. The handlebars on the Moser are also set quite a bit lower, which I think contributes to the cramped sensation. Combined with the lower bottom bracket, I almost feel like an adult on a miniature pony when I mount the smaller bike after the larger one.Would a longer stem alone solve this, or have I "outgrown" the frame itself?At the moment, both myBianchi(with a 55cm top tube and 8mm stem) and myRivendell(with a 57.5cm top tube and 6mm stem) feel just right, but how can I trust that "just right" feeling when it keeps changing?
It is said that preferences in bike fit "evolve" over time. But does there eventually come a point when they stabilise? How many times in your cycling history has your idea of comfortable bike fit changed?
Velorbis Scrap Deluxe, spotted in the wild in Cambridge, Mass.! This bicycle is absolutely gorgeous, and I especially love the pairing of the silver frame with the cream tires and the warm brown leather of the saddle and grips. I like a bicycle that will look good when dirty. This one looks 
Here we have a Biria Classic, parked in Harvard Square. A very stylish bicycle that can be had for a fraction of the price of imported Dutch bikes.
And the same Biria Classic, only in red, for sale at Cambridge Bicycles. The price tag says $450. Next to the Biria is an orange Batavus transport bike. Very cool, and I bet that stands out in traffic!
And what do we have here? Yes, it's is the Rivendell Betty Foy, casually displayed at Harris Cyclery. Each Betty Foy is finished according to customer specification, and it is interesting to see the differences between the floor model at Harris and Dottie's beloved Betty at Let's Go Ride a Bike. I like Ms. Foy best when she is fitted with fenders, a rear rack, and brown leather saddle and grips -- but I absolutely love the red brake cables that Harris put on her; they are the perfect touch!
And finally, here is my Co-Habitant's Pashley Roadster again, in the glorious greenery of Boston Commons!
Talk about the kindness of strangers... Even as I announce this I find it hard to believe, but here goes:A reader ofLovely Bicyclewishes to donate a Bella Ciao "Superba" to a woman who cannot afford a nice bike. The bicycle has already been pre-ordered and paid for, and it will be available as soon as the Superba bicycles arrive in May.The idea was the donor's, not mine, and I was as surprised as you probably are by the offer! Please read on for the details:
Meeting Coralia was one of my beautiful experiences in Havana City. I personally think that she is a heroine of the city. In her own right of course. She is Havana’s famous and affable street sweeper and she does her job exceptionally with flair. Such enthusiasm, superb grace and flower fashion that I have never ever seen before. Not from someone who sweeps the city streets while singing the whole day every day.
Coralia here in action with her broom and dustpan, and of course when she sees a camera nearby, she poses right away!
Blondine and I with Coralia, the friendly and flower power street sweeper of Havana. She is definitely a Havana street icon.
"Should I wear padded bicycle shorts?" is one question I get asked a lot by women, especially since photos occasionally reveal my wearing them. As with most comfort issues, there is no straight answer here. Everybody is different, and the best I can do is provide feedback about my own experience.
I have owned several pairs of cycling shorts so far. The first one I bought was by Pearl Izumi. Everyone kept saying to me "But how do you know that you can't wear synthetics? These high-tech fabrics have come so far!" And so I tried. You won't see a picture of the Pearl Izumi shorts here, because they made my legs look like overstuffed sausages and it's just too traumatic for me to share that. But the bigger problem is that I really do have a sensitivity to polyester and wearing these things gave me a disgusting rash along the back of my legs. Also, despite Pearl Izumi's promises of being wicking and temperature regulating, they were nothing of the sort. Sweat pooled in every skin fold, and words can't describe what an unpleasant experience it was to wear this garment. I got rid of them a month later, struggled with my cotton leggings again for a bit, and then finally bit the bullet and bought a pair of wool Ibex cycling knickers.
I have been happily wearing the IbexEl Fito wool cycling knickers since last August, and have since also bought a pair of their Seree shorts.I think the version of the knickers I have is last year's model or older (I bought it from a discount retailer), because the currently produced version features a new pad design that is less noticeable from the back. In both the new and the older design, the padding is minimalistic and feels comfortable. Overall, I am happy with theIbexshorts and knickers, and I alternate between them depending on the weather and on which pair is clean.
Now let's be honest: no cycling shorts are flattering unless you are super-slender with sinewy thigh muscles. But all in all, these are not nearly as horrific as other cycling shorts I've tried and the "sausaging" effect is very slight. At least I am willing to post pictures. A wider and softer waistband would make them more comfortable around the middle, but that is my only real complaint. The wool does not feel especially thin to the touch, but I can wear these things in 95F heat and they feel wonderful. No skin sensitivity, no pooled sweat.
More recently, I got a pair of Harlot Scarlet X Tech knickers via a trade with the manufacturer. These knickers are stretchy nylon and spandex (to which I am not sensitive), and are meant mostly for mountain biking. I thought they could work nicely for touring because of all the pockets and the relaxed tailoring.
The elasticised waistband is soft and comfortable and the styling is that of casual capri pants. They are formfitting throughout the hips and upper thighs and loose around the knees.
The padding is not visible. There is a meshy panel that runs along the inseam, providing ventilation. Decorative white piping runs along the outside seam (more pictures here).
As I see it, padded cycling shorts and knickers are one of those "If you need them, you'll know it" things. If you are comfortable without them, I think that's just fine and there is no need to question yourself just because other cyclists are wearing them. And while cycling shorts can look silly, they are designed that way (tight, padded) for a reason, and changing that design in order to make them look like regular pants can also reduce their functionality. That's my take on it at least, for the time being.
After our visit there, we ate at an overpriced restaurant that we are still talking about. On the way home we played 20 questions. I love that the guys are still able to be entertained by such simple fun things. I hope they never outgrow that. Living the life in Florida!
From snow on Monday and temperatures in the 30s, to glorious sunshine and 60s today! Wow, I am soooo ready for warmer weather.
