Another Season... Another Vintage Bike?

Posting this at the end of April Fool's Day might raise suspicion, but I promise it's true: I have another "new" bike. The Co-Habitant and I were returning home from some errands and minding our own business, not even remotely entertaining the possibility of new bike acquisitions...

...when we saw a striking, if slightly decrepit, cream and black Mercier mixte outside of a nearby bike store. This was not the typical mixte we tend to see in these parts, so we got curious. After trying the bicycle I was amazed at how wonderfully it rode - despite the slick 20mm tires the bike shop chose to fit it with! The poor, lonely Mercier was for sale at a very modest sum.

Half an hour later, I was pedaling it home (after paying for it of course), and now the Mercier is mine!

Mercier was a well-respected French bicycle manufacturer in the 1960s and 70s, competing with Peugeot, Motobecane and Gitane. Mysteriously, almost no information is now available on the original Mercier (even the wikipedia entry has been deleted). Though a new company now exists under the same brand name, it has no relation to the original manufacturer.

I don't know where to start describing why I like this bicycle and feel that I must have it. For one thing, there is the attractive lugging. Here is the seat cluster with pinstriping detail on the top of the stays.

Split headtube lug for the twin lateral stays - something my Motobecane mixte does not have.

Headtube lugs, fork crown, and pinstriping on the fork. Downtube shifters (which I do not find particularly attractive, but can easily replace). Overall, the lugwork and other aspects of the bicycle's "decor" are charmingly eccentric compared to other mixtes I have seen.

The components seem to be a mixed bag of lower and higher end. The stem, which I find beautiful, is an AVA stem, which Sheldon Brown described as follows:

"Many higher-quality French bicycles of the '70's came with AVA brand bars and stems. These have a reputation for failure, and should be replaced if the bike is to be ridden hard or fast."

Hmmm... "higher quality" and "failure" in the same sentence? Should I interpret this to mean that as long as I don't race on the bike, the AVA stem will be okay? That is how I would like to interpret it. Advice welcome.

The handlebars are a narrow version of North Roads (what I imagine Nitto's "Dove Bars" are like) and seem original. I prefer narrower bars and love how these feel when I ride the Mercier: they give me a great deal of control and my hands don't seem to grow tired.

The beautiful Lyotard pedals feel great.

Simplex front and rear derailleur, as well as Simplex dropouts. Classic 10-speed gearing.

From what I understand, this rear Simplex derailleur is not good. I am pretty sure it's plastic. The spoke protector ("pie plate") is also original and stamped "made in France".

Mafac "Racer" centerpull brakes, which I believe are pretty good. However, the bike has steel rims (bad for braking), so I need to think of a solution to this.

"Beacon" pleather sprung saddle. Feels comfortable so far, but I imagine that after a long ride it will not. I will probably replace it with one of my vintage B72s - but first I want to ride on this one down Beacon Street.

This Mercier is a 20" frame, whereas my Motobecane is a 21" frame. This is visible in the heights of their seat tubes, but oddly enough their head tubes and stems are about even - despite the fact that the Motobecane has a modern, extended Nitto stem. The Co-Habitant thinks that this is because the Mercier's virtual top tube is upward-sloping, allowing for the handlebars to be higher in their standard position. Whatever the reason, the Mercier does not feel like it is too small; it feels just perfect and is extremely comfortable to ride.

Here is another side by side comparison. Though they are both French mixtes from the 1970s, I find the Mercier to be a considerably more comfortable ride than the Motobecane. What elusive aspect of the bikes' geometries and/or components account for this I do not know, but it is so. The Mercier was a pleasure to ride from the first moment, whereas the Motobecane required "taming" and is still a bit too "racy" for me even with the many changes I've made in attempts to make it more comfortable for everyday cycling.

So, I am considering doing one of the following:

A. Cannibalizing the better components from the Motobecane (derailleur, shifters, and - is this possible? - wheels) and building up the Mercier as my perfect vintage mixte. Then sell off the Motobecane for cheap.

B. Converting the Mercier to a single speed, or possibly even fixed gear (you know, to practice for the velodrome). This should be relatively easy and unintrusive, given that it has clamp-on derailleur and shifters, and compatible drop-outs.

Any opinions and advice regarding these options would be much appreciated!

Surviving a Paceline Training Ride

[image via alharbiseye]



Well, I did it. I showed up at the weekly women's paceline training ride that is organised by a local cycling team. The very same one I've been talking about forever. It was the first ride of the season and I figured that I should just go, before I lose my nerve and spend every week telling myself "maybe next time" while the entire summer goes by. So I went, and apparently survived - though just barely. Let me tell you about it from the beginning...



It was overcast and threatening to rain all afternoon, but I checked the team's website before leaving the house, and the ride was on. The meeting point was in Lexington, MA - which is 10 miles from where I live. I rode my bike there, taking care to go at a leisurely pace so that I wouldn't already be tired upon arrival. I was so nervous, that I needed all of those 10 miles just to calm down.



I spotted the meeting location immediately. There was a crowd of several dozen women in roadie attire and as many bikes lying on the grass and propped up against trees. My heart sank as I saw them. I guess I had expected more of a mix: Some women on modern carbon fiber and others on old 10-speeds; some in clipless shoes and others not; some in lycra and others in gym shorts. But no: Every single person there had a super-light modern roadbike with "brifters." Every single person there was wearing clipless shoes. Not a soul had a kickstand, fenders or racks on their bike but me. Not a soul had a bag attached to their bike. No one else had, um, a twined stainless steel water bottle. And all wore lycra - the club-affiliated cyclists readily distinguishable by their team kit. Thankfully, at least I wore my wool cycling knickers and jersey and not something more casual. Reluctantly, I approached.



Greeted by a woman in team kit who looked like she was in charge, I was pointed to a bench where everybody was signing waivers. I made the mistake of starting to read the waiver, but the things described there were so horrible that I stopped and just signed it. When I returned to the spot I'd left my bike, two other women-in-charge were gathered in front of it. Was this my bike? Yes... The one I was planning to ride? Yes... They examined my Rivendelltouring bike as if it were a 100-year-old antique or a creature from outer space. There was some debate as to whether it would be allowed: My bicycle was extremely heavy, the tires were too wide, and I did't have the right shifters. I would have trouble doing the ride. Was this even a roadbike? Only roadbikes were allowed. Finally, the senior-most woman was called to resolve the issue. In the end my bicycle was deemed allowable, but I was warned that I might have trouble doing the ride; in the long run I would need a different bike. I tried not to get too intimidated by this. The group I planned to join was described as "paceline learning skills for beginners, 12-15mph." I could ride at that speed with my eyes closed (just a figure of speech, don't worry), so all I had to do was focus on the skills. So I stayed.



The crowd was split into groups and the beginner's group consisted of eight of us: six newcomers and two leaders. The leaders gave us a brief explanation of what it meant to ride in a paceline: The group cycles in a single-file procession, staying close to each other's wheels in a straight line. When the person in front gets tired, they move over to the left and drift to the back of the line, then merge with the paceline in the rear. This gets repeated every few minutes. One thing that makes perfect sense but I hadn't realised in advance, is that you cannot coast in a paceline. Whether going fast or slow, cyclists must keep pedaling at all times, because that is how members of the paceline are able to maintain uniform speed - they synchronise their leg movements. So, coasting is forbidden. Hard braking is also forbidden, as it can cause the person behind to crash into you. To slow down, you need to keep pedaling while "feathering" the brakes. Finally, there is a system of signals that members of a paceline must use - from the person in front indicating that they will move to the left now, to warning about potholes, to asking to merge into the middle of the paceline if you are drifting back on the left and there is a car coming. We were quickly shown all of these, and without further ceremony we set off on our 20 mile ride through rolling hills.



Apparently I am an extremely poor judge of my own strengths and weaknesses when it comes to cycling. I had thought that my biggest problem would be technique. I expected to experience debilitating fear when cycling 6" behind someone's wheel, to be dangerously clumsy at executing paceline maneuvers, and to be slow on the uptake whenever instructions were given. On the other hand, I expected myself to have no problem at all with the pace and terrain of the ride: I mean, 12-15mph? Please!



Instead, the exact opposite happened: I found the paceline training itself to be natural and had no problems with technique. I behaved predictably and signaled appropriately. I didn't coast and I feathered the brakes, modulating my speed smoothly (having ridden fixed gear made this pretty intuitive actually). I reacted quickly and calmly when instructions were given to me. I never once swerved or did anything crazy out of fear or incompetence. In short: all my worries about being poorly coordinated and getting flustered around other cyclists were completely unfounded.



On the other hand, keeping up with the pace proved to be challenging and I wishI could say it was the bike's fault. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it was the no-coasting thing that did me in, combined with the fact that 15mph was the typical speed on flats, with 12mph being the uphillspeed and 25mph the downhill speed (while still trying not to break the paceline). Anyhow, I felt extremely unfit on the uphill portions of the ride, huffing and puffing as I struggled not to lose the wheel of the person in front of me. On these occasions, the leader cycled alongside attempting to reassure me: "You see now?... You're at a real disadvantage with that bike... But you're doing well... Breathe... That's right... Good... Next time, different bike..."



Truthfully, I don't know whether it was the poor bike's fault or mine. All the other girls on the ride were athletes of some sort - runners or "spinners" (i.e. at the gym, on stationary bikes), looking to transition to roadcycling as a new sport to try. My background is very different. I am not an athlete and have never been an athlete. And I have done zero exercise all winter other than riding upright bikes for transportation. So maybe it's really a case of "next time, stronger leg muscles." I would be curious to try the same ride on a modern roadbike and see whether it's any less difficult, but I am skeptical.



There were other problems with my bike on this ride: Namely, the shifters, brake levers and possibly even handlebars. With my friction bar-end shifters, I was at a distinct disadvantage to the other girls, who could shift instantaneously thanks to their indexed "brifters." It was a little ridiculous actually. Moreover, moving my hand to the edge of the right handlebar in order to shift was problematic, because it is a similar gesture to the signal used for indicating pulling over to the left (you have to wiggle your right elbow). In that sense, using bar-ends in a paceline where no one knows what they are has the potential to cause an accident if the person behind me interprets my changing gears as inviting them to move forward. Do I want to be responsible for that?... As for using the drops: I cannot modulate my brakes well from that position because of how my handlebars are shaped and set up, and so I only brake from the hoods. When going downhill, the leader wanted us all to get in the drops for maximum "aerotuck." She kept telling me to do this, but I refused because it wasn't a safe position for me to feather the brakes from. So I stayed on the hoods, but bent my elbows so much that my chin was practically on my handlebars, achieving the aerodynamic positioning they wanted. They were okay with it under the circumstances... but it was yet more evidence of my needing a different bike - with shallow drops and with brake levers I could modulate from all positions.



If all of this sounds like a miserable, degrading struggle, then I've done a good job of describing it. It went on for an hour and a half as we cycled past farms, forests and highways practicing paceline maneuvers. But there were a few minor advantages to my bike as well. At some point it began to rain, and the group leaders grew alarmed - contemplating shortcuts back in case the rain continued. At first I could not understand what the problem was, but eventually realised that their bikes were prone to "wiping out" on wet terrain. Thankfully, that is one problem I don't have on my own bike. There was also a fear of sand. Sand on the road was signaled down the paceline as if it were a pothole to avoid. Not something I normally worry about. While these advantages were fairly minor compared to the disadvantages I experienced, they provided at least some relief.



We arrived back at the meeting point just as it was growing dark, and the girls began taking their bikes to their cars. When they learned that I had cycled from Somerville and now planned to cycle back, several of them offered to give me a lift. But I opted for a quiet ride home on the (now pitch-black) Minuteman Trail, to review the evening'e events in my head and relax. I cycled slowly as the lights on my bike illuminated my path. It was a beautiful night, and when the rain started up again the smell of the surrounding meadows grew pleasantly strong. I never, ever had to do the paceline ride again if didn't want to, but could just quietly cycle in the dark like this on my own forever. And yet?...

Anastasia State Park

I didn't quite make it down to the beach for the sunrise, but the sun was playing hide and seek through the clouds when I got there.

It was a chilly morning, but that is sand, not snow.

Surf and Sea Foam.

Sand and Sea Shells.

Wind-blown patterns in the sand.

Badlands :: An Incredible Landscape

Wednesday, August 24th - - Badlands National Park is comprised of the North and South Units consisting of 244,000 acres. The South Unit was added in 1976 and is managed by the Oglala Lakota Nation. It contains many sites sacred to the Oglala Lakota people as well as a great quantity of unexploded ordnance – the area was used as an aerial bombing range during the Second World War. The South Unit is largely undeveloped with few roads or trails; it is primarily a protected natural area.



The North Unit, sandwiched between Highway 44 and Interstate 90, is the one that the vast majority of visitors see, myself included. The main route through this section is the Loop Road.





I entered the Park on the northwest end, from Wall on route 240. After exploring the Sage Creek area (where I was engulfed by a herd of bison) I returned to the Loop Road and continued eastward.





The Pinnacles Overlook area.













The Ancient Hunters Overlook. This is where evidence has been found that the Ancient Ones stampeded herds of bison over the edge of the cliff and butchered the fallen animals.





Yellow Mounds Overlook.

The yellow and red layers in the formations are fossilized soils, called paleosols. Fossil root traces, burrows, and animal bones found within the soils provide scientists with evidence of environmental and climatic changes that occurred in the badlands over time.







Driving through the Conata Basin.



The Conata Basin. See the car on the road in the lower left corner?



Homestead Overlook.

According to a sign posted at the overlook:

Homesteaders poured into the Badlands when the Milwaukee Railroad completed track through the White River Valley in 1907. Most of the homesteads turned out to be “Starvation Claims” and were abandoned or sold. Starved-out homesteaders moved on to build towns and cities, or to seek another homestead in a land less harsh. Today the ranches of this valley are measured in thousands of acres, and heavy equipment does most of the work once done by callused hands. Even so, unpredictable drought and economic crisis test ranchers today as severely as they tested homesteaders yesterday.

Fossil Trail.



Exiting the park through Cedar Pass.

Mount St Helens :: 30 Years Later

At 8:32 am on May 18th, 1980 a magnitude 5.1 earthquake “shook the ground beneath Mount St. Helens in Washington state, setting off one of the largest landslides in recorded history - the entire north slope of the volcano slid away. As the land moved, it exposed the superheated core of the volcano setting off gigantic explosions and eruptions of steam, ash and rock debris. The blast was heard hundreds of miles away, the pressure wave flattened entire forests, the heat melted glaciers and set off destructive mudflows, and 57 people lost their lives. The erupting ash column shot up 80,000 feet into the atmosphere for over 10 hours, depositing ash across Eastern Washington and 10 other states.” - - from The Big Picture which has a fantastic collection of photos of the volcano and its 1980 eruption.

The western side of Mount Saint Helens as seen from the Visitor Center at Silver Lake, 46 road-miles away.

From a viewpoint on the north-northwest side.
Clouds covered the upper half of the volcano for the entire afternoon with an occasional break, which briefly revealed the peaks. This, and the remaining photos were taken from the Johnston Ridge Observatory. Named for David A. Johnston, a volcanologist on duty nearby on that fateful day. His last words were “Vancouver, this is it!”

The lateral blast exploded to the north toward what is now Johnston Ridge and, quite literally, destroyed everything in its path.

The mountains and valleys were tall old-growth forest. Now all that remains are a few denuded logs lying about like pick-up-sticks.

A park service sign nearby tells a tale of the blast as “spoken” by this stump: “Step up and look at me carefully. Notice my shattered trunk, my missing top. I once stood 150 feet tall, surrounded by a beautiful forest of green and growing trees. When the blast exploded sideways out of the mountain, it plowed through the debris avalanche and swept across the landscape, picking up and carrying large chunks of rock, ice, and splintered wood.”

“Within a minute, I was struck and scoured by the stone-filled wind. My bark and branches were stripped and scattered toward the edge of the blast zone, 17 miles away. As trees that had stood for hundreds of years crashed around me, my upper trunk strained, then shattered in the nearly 700 mph winds. Only a small part of me remains as evidence of the blast's power.”

Down in the valley, the blast dumped 680 feet of debris, filling Spirit Lake to the east with logs and ash.

Johnston Ridge was completely denuded. Spirit Lake lies beneath the far ridge at left-center and St. Helens rises up from the valley on the right.

The early evening light emphasizes the ridges and the gulleys now being carved out by the flow of water.

Another view of cloud shrouded St. Helens from Johnston Ridge in the early evening. All photos were taken on Sunday, September 12th.

The Johnston Ridge Observatory, which is 5 ½ miles from the crater, has some really nice exhibits as well as a 16-minute movie about St. Helens. If you've never been there, it is well worth the 60-mile drive off of Interstate 5 on State Road 504.

A couple of the many websites about Mount St. Helens:

• The many faces of Mt. St. Helens
• Mount St. Helens Visitor Guide
• Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument

Redefining "Shoe Tree"

Wednesday, October 13th - - Several times in southern Oregon I saw trees like this one - out in the middle of nowhere, miles from any town, with shoes strung through some branches and dangling from others. This “Shoe Tree” happened to be situated near a pull out so I could safely stop. It was about 50 miles east of Fallon, Nevada along U.S. 50 midway between the junctions of Nevada highways 361 and 372. Proclaimed on billboards in Austin and Eureka - the only towns in the 250-mile stretch of U.S. 50 between Fallon and Ely - as “the loneliest highway in America.”

The significance of it all? I haven't got a clue... but it sure is lotsa shoes! And, aside from the two towns, it was the most interesting thing along the way...