Handmade Bicycles at Interbike

Some say that Interbike and NAHBS (the North American Handmade Bicycle Show) have begun to overlap in the past couple of years, and that was certainly my impression last week. I saw lots of handbuilt bicycles at the show - some familiar, and others by builders whose work I had never seen in person before, which was pretty exciting. But the funny thing was that most of them were being used to display components and accessories, rather than shown off in their own right. I admired an unusual bike by Signal Cycles, only to learn that its purpose was to demonstrate a motorised lift. I examined an unfinished frame, and was grimly told it was used to demo polishing tools. Nonetheless, as a lover of handmade bicycles I took the opportunity to photograph the ones on display and would like to share my favourites.



I could not believe my good fortune when I spotted the Shelly Horton mixte by Bilenky Cycles. Made for a collector, this mixte has an interesting story.



The mixte was part of a Phil Wood display, featuring their stunning custom crankset, bottom bracket, hub shells (housing Rohloff guts in the rear and Schmidt dyno up front), cogs, toe cages, etc. - all made as one-offs especially for this bicycle.



The custom Italian wheel rims feature actual wooden inlays. Pretty much every part of this bicycle is a one of a kind.



And then, of course, there is the art-deco inspired lugwork.



Though I would not choose this colour scheme for myself, it works well to set off the intricate lugs.



Custom stem, lugged and painted to match the frame.



Seat cluster. And notice the Columbus "Donna" decal.



What do you think, would you ride this bike to the grocery store? Having read all about the Shelly Horton mixte, but never expecting to see it in person, finding it at Interbike was a wonderful surprise.



But now for something completely different, allow me to introduce "the pencil bike."



On display at the Kryptonite booth, this is a lugged wooden bicycle made by Sylvan Cycles. I cannot help but think of it as "the pencil bike," because - well, the faceted wooden tubes resemble pencils. It's a good thing; I think the bicycle looks friendly and approachable.



The Townaround is their hub-geared city bike model with upright handlebars.



Having briefly written about Sylvan Cycles earlier, it was a real treat to see one in person. It looks great and I understand the frames are very durable: One of their bikes was apparently ridden in the D2R2!



Close-up of the stainless lug sleeves. The tubes are maple.



One of the interesting things about this model is that it is a belt drive, which I would love to try in of itself.



The curved chainstays are elegant, almost delicate-looking.



And the socketed drop-outs are just beautiful as well.



Will it fit fenders?



From the faceted maple frame to the belt drivetrain, the Igleheart fork and the handlebar setup, I like everything about the way this bicycle is built up. Maybe some day a shop in Boston will carry a demo model. And I would love to see people riding them on the streets.



Finally, I would like to tell you about this bicycle at the Ritte booth. It is a handbuilt trackbike by framebuilder Megan Dean (Moth Attack!), and she made it for her boyfriend, Jack Lindquist.



Megan and Jack are from LA and I met them at Cross Vegas the previous night (yes, I went to a cyclocross race!), where they were introduced to me as a framebuilder and a track racer. They are both so modest and low-key, that I was imagining something small scale (to be fair, half the cyclists I meet in Boston either race or build frames at least on occasion). In fact, Jack is a sprinter for Ritte Racing and Megan builds bicycles that crowds gather around in worshipful swarms.



I mean jeez. When I heard that "Megan's frame is in the show, you should see it!" this was not what I pictured. This thing gave out a glow and energy that rendered spectators speechless. There were so many people gathered around the bicycle that getting a clear shot was almost impossible, but I didn't want to drag it away from the appreciative audience.



The frame is fillet-brazed steel, with a carbon fork. The joints are so smooth, they look liquid.



The process of making frames with tubing and angles like these is completely alien to me, and I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that this was built by hand - especially since everything looks so flawless.



According to Megan, the frame was not difficult to build overall, except for the tricky seat stay attachment.



Not difficult! My hat's off to you, Megan.



Although Interbike was not about handbuilt bicycles, the ones on display undoubtedly stood out against the backdrop of mass produced wares, and I felt it only right to honor them. Handbuilt bicycles inform industry trends down the line, and the influence of custom randonneurs, mixtes, and other unique creations exhbited at NAHBS earlier could be readily observed in booth after booth at Interbike. Should we expect a line of "pencil bikes" from one of the big manufacturers in the near future? Time will tell.

On Weddings and Bicycles

[image via BEG Bicycles]

We are going to a wedding this weekend, where I don't expect to encounter any bicycles. But increasingly, bicycles and weddings are becoming an iconic combination - seen on wedding photographer and bicycle manufacturer websites alike.What is it about weddings and bicycles? There is, of course, the ever-popularDaisy Bell song, which keeps the association alive. Plus, the start of "cycling season" corresponds with the start of "wedding season." And while I put these in quotation marks, because both getting married and riding a bicycle are things that can be done year-round, any wedding photographer and bicycle shop owner will tell you that they get most of their business in April through October. Spring symbolises renewal, optimism, and a fresh start - which is appealing to cyclists and newlyweds alike.

[image via Retrovelo andVelorution]

Would you believe that in I received half a dozen emails from readers asking for bicycle suggestions for their weddings? One couple was looking specifically for a vintage tandem, others were hoping to find matching cruisers, and one inquiry came from a wedding planner who was looking to rent several dozen bicycles, so that the entire wedding party could ride them. A wedding peloton? Would love to see that. I even know of a couple who are planning to purchase a black roadster and a cream lady's roadster from the same manufacturer. They will ride them for the first time at the wedding, then continue to use them for everyday transportation. I think that's an exceptionally cute idea - but then I love "his and hers" bicycles.

[image via Arnout Groen Photography]

Last May, I tried my hand at professional wedding photography. It was a large wedding, but I would be working with two other photographers, so how difficult could it be? Well, oh my goodness! Without exaggeration, I was on my feet from 12:00 noon until 12:00 midnight with a 15 minute break for dinner. By the end, I was dehydrated, delirious, could hardly see straight and nearly sprained my wrists from holding up the heavy camera with enormous telephoto lens and flash unit. Things were spilled on me and my toes were stepped on. I dealt with drunken guests. I dealt with screaming children. I dealt with drunken guests holding screaming children... In short, yikes. The photos came out well, but I learned that I am not a wedding photographer - at least not of the sort of large and tightly choreographed weddings that have been popular in the US over the last couple of decades.



[image via Sheldon Brown]

But an interesting trend I observe, is that over the past years there has been a move away from the exuberant, stressful weddings and toward something simpler, more spontaneous and more tranquil. To some extent, I am sure this is due to the economy. But I also think that the trend reflects a change in priorities: It's the same desire for the simpler, the more natural, and the more genuine that we see across a wide range of lifestyle choices, from food selection, to interior design and home decor, to transportation. This May, an acquaintance of mine will be getting married and I happily agreed to be the photographer. It will be a tiny, unscripted ceremony involving a tandem bicycle, and I can't wait.

Bellavista on 3.5 limbs

Cold but happy climbers after Bellavista. Photo: Alan Cassidy (you should read his blog, it’s really good)




Before my ‘long shot’ trip to Bellavista with Alan Cassidy, I had a small hiccup. I was leading Hold Fast, Hold True (E9) in Glen Nevis a week before we were leaving and didn’t quite catch a hold right after the crux, slipping off and decking out from rather higher than one would like. I got away lightly, with quite nasty whiplash and a sprained left ankle. I was able to walk, well, between the kettle and the couch anyway. So I felt it wouldn’t be a problem for the upcoming trip.




I left it 5 days and then tried to get a couple of pre-trip training sessions in TCA before we left. To my dismay, I discovered that I couldn’t even nearly get a rockshoe on my fat, bruised foot. I had a session of one-footed traversing anyway and then went for an X-ray since things seemed to be getting more, not less painful. Sure enough, a couple of bone spurs that have restricted my left ankle dorsiflexion ever since I broke it in 1997 had broken off and are irritating my ankle joint. Some day surgery awaits. I’m quite looking forward to a couple of weeks of Beastmaker abuse during the Lochaber monsoon next month.




By the day we left for Cima Ovest, I’d managed to walk round Morrison’s, take Freida to toddler group and lie on my side in bed without taking Tramadol first. Things were looking up!













Alan trying to get the psyche to rock climb in winter climbing conditions




As I wrote in my last blog, we then proceeded to spend most of the trip being hammered by crap weather. The route was soaking, it rained, snowed, snowed a lot more and then got windy and freezing. We tried to climb on the 8c pitch anyway, but both of us knew we were getting absolutely nowhere. We became totally set in the viewpoint that having been soaking all week, the chances of it drying out a bit in our remaining three days were zilch.












Being practical, or venting wet weather frustration? You decide.




But it didn’t quite work out like that. On the third last day, I went out for a look on the 8c pitch first. The first half was still wet, but the second half was nearly dry, and I could link it to the belay straight away. Quite good. Alan went for his go and was also feeling like he could get to grips with the pitch a bit more. But then, as he was out of sight near the end of the pitch, I heard an “AAAAAGGHHH!”. The rope jerked momentarily tight, then suddenly slack again. Another loud scream and Alan appeared into view, dropping through space. He stopped, dangling at least 15 metres down in the void, with quickdraws sporting ripped pegs spinning down the rope towards him.




He was just sitting on a peg, brushing another damp hold when it ripped and the previous one ripped too. It must have been an exciting journey into space! After having a good laugh about Alan’s trip, we had a think about where this left us. There was now a big section near the end of the pitch with no gear in it. We were on budget flight mode and hadn’t been able to bring any pegs or aid gear in case we needed to re-equip.












In the end, we managed to borrow a hammer from the lovely folk at Rifugio Auronzo and I set up a tension traverse to back-aid and free climb back along from the next belay to the bit that needed re-equipping. I managed to get a sketchy cam in a pocket and gingerly sat on it and proceeded to fail to get the two ill fitting pegs to go in somewhere other than where they’d been before. After an hour, I had it sorted and the route was back online.




However, we had one day left. I just wanted to get the gear back and get home. Everything was wrong and I felt a bit fed up to be honest. My ankle hurt on the walk-in, I couldn’t do certain movements with it on the rock, I’d had my fill of climbing wet rock or frozen rock, we’d not had even one good day to try it properly. Worst of all, it was baltic.










Shall we go climb an 8c north face route today?




We’d not seen a single other party climbing on the north faces all trip. I’m not surprised. On the last day we wandered up, both of us ready to strip it and get on our plane home. Alan climbed the first three pitches (7b, 6c+, 6a+) in one big pitch again. He was clearly struggling to get any feeling from fingers and toes. It was well below zero and blowing a bitter wind. Seconding him, I felt like a frozen robot, clawing up the rock with zero feedback from my digits. Leading the next two pitches (7a, 7a+) I still couldn’t even get my core warm despite climbing in myArete jacket. However, by the time a freezing Alan joined me, the wind had dropped a bit and I was feeling more myself with the full belay jacket and trousers armoury on.




I went out along the start of the 8c and was most surprised to find a special scenario of feelings come over me that doesn’t happen every day. The pitch was the driest it had been all trip. First, there was the sudden rushing feeling of being confident flowing through the moves rather than constantly expecting to ‘ping’ off wet holds. ‘I can still climb!’ Second, the ‘last day’ go for broke mentality clicked into place. When all the preparation has gone so badly, what do you have left except to see what can happen if you just don’t care anymore and go for a good fight with the pitch? Finally, I knew I was going to have one link attempt, so I might as well get it over with as quickly as possible and get home to see my family.













Alan drying holds on one of the 'warm' days




So after the five minute warm up burn, I blasted off at full tilt, through the crux and onto the weird back-and-foot rest at the block above. I wasn’t that pumped. So get going! Up through the mono move and onto the big traverse. I was breathing hard but forearms were absorbing the hit so far. At the undercut move I decided to start really trying and grunted through. But I was able to rest each hand on every hold. I got down to the move before a rest at a huge ‘Hueco’ pocket. My sequence is to fling my feet up into the hole first, have a rest in the bat hang and then flip round and throw my whole arm into it. My ankle was so weak I couldn’t pull up on the toehooks and nearly fell off. I took a few seconds more to figure out what to do, before resting my left foot once and then trying again. It worked and Ihung from the arm-bar for five minutes, breathing slowly calming down. The final ten metres was a pure exercise in relaxation. I knew I could get to the belay if I didn’t make a mistake. The only way I’d make a mistake would be if I started to anticipate success. So I just switched off and pneumatic-ed through the holds with no emotion until the belay suddenly appeared in front of me.




Switching off completely means that when you do wake up and realise it’s done, it’s quite a shocker and the emotion comes flooding back. Alan wasted no time in gathering every down garment we had assembled at the belay and jugged up to join me, already shivering. I thawed out a little in the duvet while Alan cruised the 8a pitch above. I still had to jug up the rope and be lowered back down to do it myself, just to get the blood moving. The wind just kept cutting through me and in the next two pitches (6c+, 7a) I got really pumped on what should be easy ground. There just seemed to be no blood going through my forearms. We both had to second the remaining pitches to the Cassin ledge in the big jackets and duvet trousers! Never done that before, even in mixed climbing. There was just time to strip our gear out of the roof as it was getting dark and made it down to the base to find everything was frozen solid. We packed, rushed back to the car, then Venice for three hours sleep before boarding our flights back to Scotland.




It was really interesting for me to share the experience with Alan, who hasn’t done a great deal of mountain big wall climbs. Failing when the route is hard is something most climbers can deal with pretty well - why else do we try such hard climbs except to feel pushed and feel uncertainty? But failing through not being able to properly try can get under your skin. I certainly still find that creates a lot of restlessness in me. Last week I channelled it into finishing a draft of my book while the blizzards raged outside. Alan took it all really well and was able to keep turning on 'mission mode' all the way on the last day redpoint, despite the scary fall the previous day. His blogs through the week are a nice illumination of an adventure unfolding, the final twist coming right at the last hours before the flight home.




Even now I can’t believe that came together.

The Least Daunting Option

Well, it seems that we've been having one of two weather conditions in Boston lately: (a) blizzard, or (b) in between blizzards. When it's the latter, I have been riding my bike - sort of. To be honest, I would not be doing it if I didn't have to, because the road conditions are pretty bad. But the bus makes me motion sick, the nearest subway stop is a 15 minute walk from our house(longer in the snow), and the sidewalks are slippery. So except on days when the roads are completely impassable, cycling seems to be the least daunting option. Still, "least daunting" doesn't mean "easy," and I've had to make a number of adjustments to the way I ride a bike, in order to be able to do it at all.



For one thing, I cycle much slower than usual, because I am scared of hitting not only ice patches, but those mini-mountains of hard snow that seem to pop up when I least expect them, like some treacherous obstacle course. Cycling slowly allows me to see them in time to either brake, or figure out how to go around them safely (I am a slow thinker when it comes to spacial rotation tasks). Happily, there are almost no other cyclists on the roads, so there is no one to get annoyed at my crawling speed - I've found that I can go as slow as I like, and no one seems bothered. I guess to cars, it's pretty much the same whether I am cycling at 7mph or 20mph: Either way, they are faster than me and will have to pass me eventually.



I also simply accept that I will have to get off my bike and walk a lot - across impassable stretches of slush and even over snowbanks. Sometimes I'll walk for a quarter of a block, then get back on the bike and ride for a couple of blocks, then get off again, and so on. It's annoying, but still better than walking the entire way - at least to me. Warmer and faster.



Finally, I've been having to get really creative about locking up my bike. Most bike racks have been made inaccessible by the surrounding knee-deep snow. So I will usually chain my bike to a fence, or whatever is handy - often having to rest it on top of a snowbank.



While all this is kind of miserable, I also find it pretty funny. I am not a "hard core" cyclist by any means and I am extremely risk averse. "Wimp" would probably be the appropriate word. And yet I am one of the few people out there on a bike, which does make me question my sanity. But I guess there is no better motivator than having no other choice - or at least no alternative options that are less daunting. Cycling in slow motion through a winter wonderland is not so bad, after all, when I compare it to feeling nauseous inside of a stuffy bus, or slip-sliding along icy sidewalks.

The Round House

It is no small task to describe the entity that is "Camberville" - that serpentine Somerville-Cambridge city line with its mazes of pocket neighbourhoods, unkempt grapevines, mysterious alleys lined with crumpling garages, and grandiose structures tucked away on sleepy side streets. Wandering through a neighbourhood you think you know, it is not unusual to encounter something wholly unexpected - perhaps a sidewalk treehouse, an enchanted forest, a small castle, or a warehouse-sized artisan incubator.






Very possibly I have cycled past the Round House before without taking much notice. The once-grand structure is not difficult to miss, now only a shadow of its former self. A lusciously overgrown garden torn out some years ago, a grass lot and chainlink fence now surround its bare walls, stripped of trim and embellishment. A thicket of condominiums stands in what was once an open space, blocking the house from view in certain directions.






But on this ghostly-quiet afternoon, I noticed it straight away. It was one of those humid days when the air stands still and the scent of flowers is sickly sweet. The weekend's explosion of lilacs was making me lightheaded. I cycled up a steep hill, and as I turned the corner onto a tiny one-way street the house appeared like a hallucination -backlit by the waning sun and tilting slightly to the left.






Stopping to have a look, I was distracted by the prominent signs discouraging trespassing. They struck me as so insincere as to almost be playful.





I was intrigued further by the curious discrepancy between the siding - which appeared newly installed - and the foundation, which seemed on the verge of collapse.






And then there was the bulging wall.






Strange to think that a Victorian-era locksmith is responsible for this cylindrical wonder. Inspired by the idea of octagonal houses floating around at the time, Somerville resident Enoch Robinson decided to take things one step further and build a round house. Constructed in 1856, the 3-story single family residence housed generations of Robinson's family.






It is not clear why the Round House was vacated and stood empty for so long. But by the 1980s it had its windowsand ornamentation removed, had suffered water damage and faced serious structural problems. There was talk of tearing it down, which, predictably, riled up residents who saw it as a landmark of historical value. Thankfully, it never came to that. Several years ago, the house was purchased by a developer with experience in historical preservation. He plans to restore the house and place it on the market as a single family home.






The Round House was created on a whim, to satisfy a personal interest - possibly an obsession, judging by the limited information I found on its creator. Yet by virtue of existing in a publicly visible and visitable space, it is also a communal resource, and will continue to be as ownership changes hands. How will the new residents feel about that, I wondered, eying the awkward battlements that surround the top story. I hope they plant a nice garden. Maybe some lilacs, dogwood and pines, against that stark beige facade.

A tweaked German Breakfast and looking for Hansel and Gretel

Breakfast in Germany is more exciting than in the Netherlands, well at least from a variety and aesthetics point of view. You see I am a visual person and will always be. I made the decision not to take our breakfast at the hotel because I want to taste Berlin, smell the city and devour culture along the way.

We stayed at an allegedly typically Deutsch hotel in Mitte, Berlin—Grimm’s, from the Brothers Grimm fame. They are the author of many fairy tale stories we all grew up with such as Cinderalla, Snow White, Golden Goose, Rapunzel and many more. However, sad to say, the hotel did not live up to the fairy tale theme. Our room is supposed to be the ‘Hansel and Gretel’ room but there was no trace of the witch or of the 2 kids, just a poem written on the wall.

Where are you Hansel and Gretel? Are you hiding from the witch? Don’t worry please, I am not the bad witch, lol.

So on our first morning we walked to Alexanderplatz and before reaching the square we chanced upon this charming outdoor cafe terrace, ‘Cafe Kaffeestube Restaurant’ in Nikolaiviertel (Nikolai Quarter). I could not help it, the ambience looked so inviting so I announced to the Dutchman that we will have breakfast here. The cafe restaurant is located beside the Nikolai Church on a corner street facing the main thoroughfare but cosy enough to have a bit of privacy from the busy traffic.

I think we did our best to order the typically German breakfast but interestingly they tweaked it a bit and included a slice of Brie cheese with chives. Sometimes you just have to give in to the French, nicht wahr?

This pretty Deutsch breakfast is 4 stars out of 5.

This is much better than sitting in the breakfast area of the hotel.

Moi here in the hotel. They have nice bathrooms though. And the Hansel and Gretel poem in Deutsch on the wall, the only evidence I could find that this is indeed the Hansel and Gretel room.