Sometimes you want to go. . .

Bicycle Cogset

Not my chain, but it might as well have been. (Photo by Dave Scriven, Creative Commons License).

. . .Where Somebody Will Clean Your Chain

Uncharacteristically I’m going coyly to slide past the obvious innuendo in the title and simply note that recently I had to take Gypsy Rose into the bike spa and it got me thinking about what I value in a really good bike store.

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Fuck You, GoogleMaps

Clouds in the Water

Experimental Solo Bike Tour, Day 4
Gettysburg to Antietam Creek
50 miles, 2200 feet of climbing

Rolling Resistance

One thing that has disconcerted me a little about this bike tour: it takes me an age to get all my gear packed up and ready to go.  I start getting myself organized, and then time abruptly compresses and suddenly it is an hour and a half later, 45 minutes after I was intending to leave.  I’m mostly at a loss to explain this.  I’m not sitting down and taking nap breaks although that is what the results would seem to indicate.  Furthermore I don’t have that much stuff!  The only thing I can put this down to is that there is an inverse relationship between the amount of stuff you are carrying and the time necessary for packing. When car camping, which is what I do mostly, you can shovel all your shit into the capacious maw of your vehicle, even if it isn’t perfectly packed, confident that you can roll to your next destination and sort it all out at the end.  But on a bike, although you have less stuff, it more or less has to be disassembled and then packed in the same order.  Practice should make perfect.

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Echoes of Battle

Honored Dead

Experimental Solo Bike Tour Day 3

Consumer Alert! This post contains some Civil War Geekery.  While every attempt has been made to keep such material to a minimum readers should enter at their own risk.

Today offered me the chance to do something I’ve wanted to do since I first visited the Gettysburg battlefield as an adult many years ago: ride around the battlefield on a bike.

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I Read the Book of Nature. Unfortunately it Turned Out to be the Old Testament

Experimental Solo Bike Tour Day 2
Catoctin Mountain Park to Gettysburg
27 miles, 1300 feet of climbing

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Solitary Refinement

Experimental Solo Bike Tour Day 1
Arlington to Owens Creek Campground, Catoctin Mountain Park
90 miles, 2400 feet of climbing

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Why do they hate us so much?

Cracked Helmet 1

Photo by Sam Kim. Creative Commons License.

Rage Against the Machine

In the Washington Post Magazine Concerned Citizen Athur Mason offered this thoughtful, well-reasoned response to an article about the growth of the DC Metro area’s biking infrastructure:

Leah Binkovitz’s article was one of the most biased I have ever read.  Let’s start with the picture on Page 20 captioned “Bikers wait for a green light.”  How long did you have to look for bikers waiting for a green light?  They never wait for the green light.  Anytime I talk to a D.C. driver, the subject always gets around to the lawless biking community.  Red lights, one-way signs, do-not-enter signs mean nothing to them.  They act like they are entitled to go anywhere on any street or sidewalk at any time.  Now wonder they get in accidents.  They have the politicians’ ear and laws passed making it an offense for cars to annoy them in any way.

October 13, 2013

Now I’ll be honest.  The cyclists not waiting at lights thing actually kinda bugs me too.  On an individual level biking for me is about trying to be a different kind of person; and with the remaining shreds of idealism that I have left, I’d also like to believe that biking is also part of the path to a different, hopefully better, kind of world.  You have to wait for 30 seconds at a stop light.  Oh.  My.  God!  The humanity!  Biking is supposed to be about not being the kind of jackass in a car that is concerned with getting from point A to point B as fast as humanly possible.  So if you are a cyclist, stop at that light.  Take a moment to get your head out of your ass and look around at your.  Don’t be a car driver.  So the letter writer and I have that in common.

Beyond that, however, we don’t have much in common because this person is clearly a tool.

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“I’m Not a Feminist, But. . .”

Marianne Vos

Marianne Vos, arguably one of the greatest cyclists, male or female of all time. Who would probably make more money flipping burgers.

Last night my partner and I went to see Half the Road: The Passion, Pitfalls, and Power of Women’s Professional Cycling, a documentary by Kathryn Bertine that describes the deliberate and systematic discrimination directed against women professional cyclists.  It is chocka with a who’s who of the women’s professional peloton (both past and present), the majority of them mightily pissed, and with good reason.  Despite the fact that women have been riding and racing bikes for as long as men, women cyclists are paid a fraction of what men are (and I mean a fraction; this is no debate about whether women make 70 or 80 per cent of a male wage; if women cyclists currently made even that much it would be a huge improvement), find it difficult to find sponsorship (and even harder to keep it), can’t usually get multi-year contracts, have fewer professional races (at any distance, often less than a third of the number of men’s races), and are actively prohibited from racing the same distances as men.

No, for those of you checking your calendars at this point,  we are not talking about something taking place in the 1800s.

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