Thirty quick ones up into Leverett and over Cave Hill today. I forgot to take the cell phone for photo purposes, which worked out well, because I soon decided I was going to time trial the whole route. Without the camera, I forced myself to take mental photos of some of the striking stuff I saw. Verdant fields in the misty morning, the life-green crops popping more than usual in the suffused light. Slight wisps of moisture daintily caressing the slopes of Mount Toby. Peeks of steely-gray Connecticut River through the trees along Route 47, north of Sunderland's historic center.
The blessing of all the suffering I did on Memorial Day is that it seems to have added to my overall endurance and strength -- instead of simply exhausting me for a month, as all-out, desperate efforts have in the past. So, I rode strong today, and that's better than caffeine or antidepressants for the mood. Of course, saddling up the featherweight aluminum racing steed made for a feeling of superpowers, after all my steel and wide-tired Vaya-riding.
I was hesitant to take on a serious goal like the Tour de Quabbin so early in the season. All that climbing and mileage, before I was really ready for it...? Now, I'm thinking it might have been just the thing. Having recovered well and feeling rambunctious, I'm thinking century... as in, "imperial." As in the big One-Zero-Zero. Old friend Kenny says we did one together on our AYH West Coast tour, back in um, er, cough, cough... 1980. (?!?) That would have been with seriously weighty panniers, a cheap steel bike, and probably standard gearing, not to mention California grades. Never mind: if true, I hereby declare it an accomplishment of another lifetime. I was 16, strong, and worry-free; literally anything was possible. I plan to be much, much more impressed with my 2011 version.
Any ideas for what to call it? A medieval century? The Second Century, A.D. (After Domestication)?
One important note I forgot from last week's gravelly 35: On my way up silent, beautiful Pratt Corner Road, I startled a deer immediately at the edge of the woods, not twenty feet from me. You should have seen, and heard, his white-tailed rump bounding over the bushes.
Showing posts with label Cannondale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cannondale. Show all posts
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sunday, December 6, 2009
So True
First snow of the season in the Pioneer Valley yesterday, and this a.m., the trees all glimmer and gleam against a cobalt sky. If it really does get up to 35 degrees, I’ll pop out for a ride to enjoy the beauty. Whether I’ll need the face-mask remains to be seen. (Don’t laugh, youngsters; as Mel Brooks, playing the Two-thousand Year-Old Man, said, “We mock the thing we are to become.”)
I’ve long since hauled out the winter bike, and have been enjoying giving it overdue TLC:
Some links in the chain were a bit stiff, but then, I guess you could say that about me, too. Also, the Giant and I took a fall a couple weeks ago, fooling around on the branch-strewn grass, and my wheels got out of true. That part actually made me happy, because I'd had real fun and suprising success truing the wheels on my main (cycling) squeeze this summer:
I’ve long since hauled out the winter bike, and have been enjoying giving it overdue TLC:
Stock photo of winter squeeze.
Some links in the chain were a bit stiff, but then, I guess you could say that about me, too. Also, the Giant and I took a fall a couple weeks ago, fooling around on the branch-strewn grass, and my wheels got out of true. That part actually made me happy, because I'd had real fun and suprising success truing the wheels on my main (cycling) squeeze this summer:
Decidedly non-stock photo of summer squeeze.
Of course, those are Ksyrium Equipes, with the low spoke-count; the Alexrims on my Giant have the traditional spoke-count and present a bigger challenge. Well… I did it, no problem, and on the bike, too. (I don’t own a truing stand.)
There’s something soothing about truing. It’s purely tactile, so different from the conceptual, high-pressure work I do day-to-day. I like the cold metal of the spoke wrench against my fingertips, the “ting-ting-ting” as I tighten and loosen, the zongg of the spokes when I pluck them to check the tension. Best of all, I love spinning the wheel and seeing the smooth, fractional gap between rim and brake pad when I’m done, and the reward of knowing, without doubt, that my task is complete. That's hard to find in this life, eh?
So here’s to trueness, freedom, and the cyclistic way.
And a warm winter.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Made in the USA
Happy birthday, Americans.
Some thoughts on this day:
1) As much as I love the Euro-roots of this sport (see previous post, and many others), I'm really pleased I can ride today sportin' this on my bike:
One of the finest bikes made in our fine country (for all its flaws, blah, blah, blah. And yes, I know C-dale doesn't manufacture in the U.S. anymore. Shut UP, 'kay?! I'm trying to do the patriotic bit, here!).
2) Happy Tour de France day, too. Let's not knock the Frogs just 'cause it's our day! They love their cycling, and hey -- without them, we wouldn't have podiumed in the Revolutionary War.
First, I hope for an exciting and clean race. After that, if an American could stand atop the podium, that would be pretty darn fun.
3) It's sunny out for the first time in nearly a month. I'm closing the computer right now and getting out there!
Enjoy your friends, family, BBQ and/or whatever you have planned. Use the comments to update us as to your thoughts/activities.
Some thoughts on this day:
1) As much as I love the Euro-roots of this sport (see previous post, and many others), I'm really pleased I can ride today sportin' this on my bike:
One of the finest bikes made in our fine country (for all its flaws, blah, blah, blah. And yes, I know C-dale doesn't manufacture in the U.S. anymore. Shut UP, 'kay?! I'm trying to do the patriotic bit, here!).
2) Happy Tour de France day, too. Let's not knock the Frogs just 'cause it's our day! They love their cycling, and hey -- without them, we wouldn't have podiumed in the Revolutionary War.
First, I hope for an exciting and clean race. After that, if an American could stand atop the podium, that would be pretty darn fun.
3) It's sunny out for the first time in nearly a month. I'm closing the computer right now and getting out there!
Enjoy your friends, family, BBQ and/or whatever you have planned. Use the comments to update us as to your thoughts/activities.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Roll On
I find it interesting how hard it is for me to ride the new Cannondale on my rollers. I'd gotten so used to riding the rollers on my Giant by this, my second winter on rollers, that I was able to watch a few movies, change settings on my iPod, grab a tissue and blow my nose, take drinks of water, and even completely zone out for a while. (I know: Not the point of rollers.)
Yesterday was my first extended roller session with the 'Dale, and I had to keep alert nearly every minute. I think the effects of the tighter, more responsive frame geometry are amplified by the rollers, which themselves make any bike respond to every muscle twitch.
I'm wondering if mastering the R1000 on the rollers will lead to greater (or faster) mastery of it on the road. Probably contributes at least a little.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
All Together Now
Spent a good half the day yesterday assembling the new steed, which was great. Even learned some new wrenching skills!
Of course, once it was done, I took it out for a ride. Generally speaking, it felt terrific (and looked even better). However, my impressions are watered down by a number of factors: 1) I've had a respiratory cold/infection for three and a half weeks, which I'm just now fighting down. I lost quite a bit of training time and fitness during this stretch, and I felt weak yesterday (though delighted to be riding outside). 2) Between the lengthy low temps, the snow and the illness, I haven't ridden outside in weeks. All riding's been on the rollers. 3) There was a major winter headwind/crosswind most of the way and a lot of ice and sand and general shmutz all over the roads. Add to this all the tiny questions buzzing around in my head like mosquitoes -- what's that noise? Did I adjust the derailleur correctly? -- and all the sundry new elements like geometry, saddle, major differences in drivetrain feel... well, there were too many things to parse out when forming an opinion about the bike.
It would have been nice if the first ride had blown me away, but this is a lesson I have learned from life: The best improvements usually reveal themselves layer by layer, over time. I really, really like this bike, but in order to appreciate its many benefits, to clearly hear its whisperings, to roll the improvement around on my tongue and savor its true bouquet, I simply am going to have to regain my fitness and clock a lot of miles in the saddle. One crisp day in April or so, I'm going to sit up in the saddle after a long climb up a familiar hill, or a screaming descent down a local mountain, and go, "Woah! Now I get it."
So, I just forgot it all and enjoyed the ride with whatever fitness and bike-fit was there for me. Things got much better after that!
For the record, the final assembled product is pictured below. (I'll take better pix later -- I wanted to get out and ride, not play photographer.) I'm already assembling a list of tweaks it needs, such as a more appropriate stem (also allowing a better seat-to-bar drop), pedals that aren't 100 years old, tires, and more. But for now -- don't it look sharp?
Later: Just got back from ride #2, and it's already sinking in on a deeper level. Felt a tad more peppy today, so stomped it over some rises, did a wee bit of time trialing, and a brief sprint. I know it's all been said before, but when I stand up and sprint, it genuinely feels like the beast is leaping ahead of me, dragging me along. How great is that?! And at time-trial speed, it was like the road was ribboning behind me, the machine hugged each tiny swell and dip -- I guess the best way I can say it is, it felt like speed.
I hope every ride continues to peel away the veil to reveal little moments like that!
Of course, once it was done, I took it out for a ride. Generally speaking, it felt terrific (and looked even better). However, my impressions are watered down by a number of factors: 1) I've had a respiratory cold/infection for three and a half weeks, which I'm just now fighting down. I lost quite a bit of training time and fitness during this stretch, and I felt weak yesterday (though delighted to be riding outside). 2) Between the lengthy low temps, the snow and the illness, I haven't ridden outside in weeks. All riding's been on the rollers. 3) There was a major winter headwind/crosswind most of the way and a lot of ice and sand and general shmutz all over the roads. Add to this all the tiny questions buzzing around in my head like mosquitoes -- what's that noise? Did I adjust the derailleur correctly? -- and all the sundry new elements like geometry, saddle, major differences in drivetrain feel... well, there were too many things to parse out when forming an opinion about the bike.
It would have been nice if the first ride had blown me away, but this is a lesson I have learned from life: The best improvements usually reveal themselves layer by layer, over time. I really, really like this bike, but in order to appreciate its many benefits, to clearly hear its whisperings, to roll the improvement around on my tongue and savor its true bouquet, I simply am going to have to regain my fitness and clock a lot of miles in the saddle. One crisp day in April or so, I'm going to sit up in the saddle after a long climb up a familiar hill, or a screaming descent down a local mountain, and go, "Woah! Now I get it."
So, I just forgot it all and enjoyed the ride with whatever fitness and bike-fit was there for me. Things got much better after that!
For the record, the final assembled product is pictured below. (I'll take better pix later -- I wanted to get out and ride, not play photographer.) I'm already assembling a list of tweaks it needs, such as a more appropriate stem (also allowing a better seat-to-bar drop), pedals that aren't 100 years old, tires, and more. But for now -- don't it look sharp?
Later: Just got back from ride #2, and it's already sinking in on a deeper level. Felt a tad more peppy today, so stomped it over some rises, did a wee bit of time trialing, and a brief sprint. I know it's all been said before, but when I stand up and sprint, it genuinely feels like the beast is leaping ahead of me, dragging me along. How great is that?! And at time-trial speed, it was like the road was ribboning behind me, the machine hugged each tiny swell and dip -- I guess the best way I can say it is, it felt like speed.
I hope every ride continues to peel away the veil to reveal little moments like that!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
The Newest Stallion in the Stable
There was a knock on the door at 3:55 yesterday afternoon:
Be still my beating heart...
Oooohhhh, baby.
The words I've been longing to hear.
My favorite design detail.
From an artsy angle. Observe the finely-tuned wishbone suspension.
Bling. The first gruppo I've owned at this level.
Bling bling. Wipe that drool from your mouth, boy.
Bling bling bling. Undoubtedly the finest brakes I've ever owned.
All of this prodigious velophoria for only $1035. (Did I mention that it's from a dealer, and it literally was never test ridden even once? Brand spanking new -- as of 2006.)
I'd like to thank eBay and the failing U.S. economy.
I was right about the red: In the eBay photos, I really didn't like it. When I saw it in person, I fell in love. The red of a ripe tomato bursting with life. The red of my blood jumping in my veins when I opened that box. The red of a harlot's fingernails. The red of a distressingly fast Italian sports car.
No... just the red of a light, fast, human-powered road machine.
Excuse me while I go put this baby together. Pics of the assembled beauty to follow.
Be still my beating heart...
Oooohhhh, baby.
The words I've been longing to hear.
My favorite design detail.
From an artsy angle. Observe the finely-tuned wishbone suspension.
Bling. The first gruppo I've owned at this level.
Bling bling. Wipe that drool from your mouth, boy.
Bling bling bling. Undoubtedly the finest brakes I've ever owned.
All of this prodigious velophoria for only $1035. (Did I mention that it's from a dealer, and it literally was never test ridden even once? Brand spanking new -- as of 2006.)
I'd like to thank eBay and the failing U.S. economy.
I was right about the red: In the eBay photos, I really didn't like it. When I saw it in person, I fell in love. The red of a ripe tomato bursting with life. The red of my blood jumping in my veins when I opened that box. The red of a harlot's fingernails. The red of a distressingly fast Italian sports car.
No... just the red of a light, fast, human-powered road machine.
Excuse me while I go put this baby together. Pics of the assembled beauty to follow.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A New Whip
A couple weeks ago, faithful reader No One Line dropped a comment on one of my posts asking me to to post about my bike – usually a pleasant ritual for cycling bloggers. I demurred at the time, and the honest reason is that I was a bit embarrassed by the low level of my bike in that silly hierarchy we create in the Western world for all things material.
I’m not embarrassed by my bike today.
Because today, I own a brand new bike.
And it rocks.
When I got back into cycling two Augusts ago, I was about to get married and complete my last year of grad school. Translation: I had very little money. I also knew next to nothing about bikes anymore; I knew what was cool 25 years before, when I last owned a bicycle, but that, of course, was woefully out of date. So, I did the best I could, knowing that I’d probably be buying another bike sooner than I wanted to. I bought a Giant OCR 3, which is actually a lot of bike for the money (and I got it way below retail, on closeout). The only one the LBS had in my size was a triple chainring model, so I went for it.
The OCR got me through roughly my first 4,000 miles (not counting endless roller hours). The granny gears did me good when I first moved to hilly Western Massachusetts. And the double-butted aluminum frame, done up in a spiffy black and silver paint job, might be a bit heavy, but it’s stiff in the right places and compliant in the right places. Not bad. It's not going anywhere now that I have a new one; I hope to start commuting once a week in the spring, and the Giant’s the rig for that. And if the new bike is too stiff for long-haul stuff over three or four hours, I always have my trusty OCR in the stable. Likewise if I decide to tour: Great bike for that, braze-ons and all. Finally, it will continue to be my winter bike, taking the brunt of the endless sand and slush on the roads out here.
A couple months ago, I decided that – even though we still have very little money, due to two new jobs at lower salaries than expected, it is time for me to own a bike that reflects my ever-deepening commitment and skills, not to mention my broadening quads. 21.5 pounds and a relaxed geometry are fine when I’m slow-pedaling myself into shape, but when the season hits, I want to be on something that will respond to me like I'll respond to it.
Since I had to buy used, and therefore smart as can be, I dove headfirst into research. My poor wife! My head was buried behind the laptop screen for too many Saturday mornings in a row. There was so much to learn – not just brands and models of bikes, but the various wheelsets that came with each, and all the other fine points. This was the education I didn't get before I bought the OCR.
After many weeks of reading and pestering my friends for opinions and information, I decided that the very best bang-for-the-buck in my very low price range would be a slightly used Cannondale CAAD frame hung with good components and a decent entry-level racing wheelset.
Though I’d originally had my eye on the Cervelo Soloist Team, a truly drool-inducing aluminum bike, I don’t actually mind riding a less sexy (and less-expensive) design, because this bike has a storied history and quite a lot of palmares. It's a highly-evolved descendant of the first aluminum frames the company built, back in the early ‘80s, when C'dale was an aluminum pioneer. When steel was still king, they revolutionized the industry with oversized alloy tubes featuring thinner walls, the combo of which increased stiffness and minimized weight. Over time, instead of doing the typical corporate-waste ritual, the company remained faithful to the CAAD design, continually advancing it through many iterations, making it ligher, stiffer, more comfortable. In that process, they incorporated feedback from top-drawer Euro-pro riders from C’dale-sponsored teams like Saeco; these guys rode the frame to victories in three editions of the Giro d’Italia (Signores Gotti, Simoni and Cunego consecutively) and four consecutive stages of the ’99 Tour de France (Il Gran Signor Cipollini).
Even better, I couldn’t find one substantial bad review of a CAAD bike in the many, many places I looked online. CAAD owners are sort of fanatical. The icing on the cake is that this internationally successful frame (at least until recently) was 100% Made in the USA, as the lovely lettering down the seat-stay proudly proclaims.
The CAAD might not be sexy – but it’s as proven and respectable as a bike can possibly be. I pictured myself feeling not the least scintilla of shame riding next to someone on the latest $6,000 carbon-fiber private jet.
Next came the really agonizing part: The waiting. I scoured eBay and Craigslist daily, passing up near-misses with gritted teeth, determined to wait for the one that met my specs. A few days ago it showed up, and I set my inner timer for ten o’clock last night, when the auction was to close. At the appointed hour, my wife and I curled up on the couch and watched as the minutes counted down: Just one other bid! How is that possible? And it was at the starting bid level. As the clock wound down to the final seconds, I slapped my cash on the barrelhead, and the other guy blinked. It was mine. Mine!
Okay, you’ve been very patient. Here are the pics and the specs. I promise to post some better photos once the bike arrives. (And don't worry, the dork disc and reflectors will be gone.)
From the eBay page:
And now I’m off to sit like a pining dog at the front window, waiting for the FedEx guy.
I’m not embarrassed by my bike today.
Because today, I own a brand new bike.
And it rocks.
When I got back into cycling two Augusts ago, I was about to get married and complete my last year of grad school. Translation: I had very little money. I also knew next to nothing about bikes anymore; I knew what was cool 25 years before, when I last owned a bicycle, but that, of course, was woefully out of date. So, I did the best I could, knowing that I’d probably be buying another bike sooner than I wanted to. I bought a Giant OCR 3, which is actually a lot of bike for the money (and I got it way below retail, on closeout). The only one the LBS had in my size was a triple chainring model, so I went for it.
The OCR got me through roughly my first 4,000 miles (not counting endless roller hours). The granny gears did me good when I first moved to hilly Western Massachusetts. And the double-butted aluminum frame, done up in a spiffy black and silver paint job, might be a bit heavy, but it’s stiff in the right places and compliant in the right places. Not bad. It's not going anywhere now that I have a new one; I hope to start commuting once a week in the spring, and the Giant’s the rig for that. And if the new bike is too stiff for long-haul stuff over three or four hours, I always have my trusty OCR in the stable. Likewise if I decide to tour: Great bike for that, braze-ons and all. Finally, it will continue to be my winter bike, taking the brunt of the endless sand and slush on the roads out here.
A couple months ago, I decided that – even though we still have very little money, due to two new jobs at lower salaries than expected, it is time for me to own a bike that reflects my ever-deepening commitment and skills, not to mention my broadening quads. 21.5 pounds and a relaxed geometry are fine when I’m slow-pedaling myself into shape, but when the season hits, I want to be on something that will respond to me like I'll respond to it.
Since I had to buy used, and therefore smart as can be, I dove headfirst into research. My poor wife! My head was buried behind the laptop screen for too many Saturday mornings in a row. There was so much to learn – not just brands and models of bikes, but the various wheelsets that came with each, and all the other fine points. This was the education I didn't get before I bought the OCR.
After many weeks of reading and pestering my friends for opinions and information, I decided that the very best bang-for-the-buck in my very low price range would be a slightly used Cannondale CAAD frame hung with good components and a decent entry-level racing wheelset.
Though I’d originally had my eye on the Cervelo Soloist Team, a truly drool-inducing aluminum bike, I don’t actually mind riding a less sexy (and less-expensive) design, because this bike has a storied history and quite a lot of palmares. It's a highly-evolved descendant of the first aluminum frames the company built, back in the early ‘80s, when C'dale was an aluminum pioneer. When steel was still king, they revolutionized the industry with oversized alloy tubes featuring thinner walls, the combo of which increased stiffness and minimized weight. Over time, instead of doing the typical corporate-waste ritual, the company remained faithful to the CAAD design, continually advancing it through many iterations, making it ligher, stiffer, more comfortable. In that process, they incorporated feedback from top-drawer Euro-pro riders from C’dale-sponsored teams like Saeco; these guys rode the frame to victories in three editions of the Giro d’Italia (Signores Gotti, Simoni and Cunego consecutively) and four consecutive stages of the ’99 Tour de France (Il Gran Signor Cipollini).
Even better, I couldn’t find one substantial bad review of a CAAD bike in the many, many places I looked online. CAAD owners are sort of fanatical. The icing on the cake is that this internationally successful frame (at least until recently) was 100% Made in the USA, as the lovely lettering down the seat-stay proudly proclaims.
The CAAD might not be sexy – but it’s as proven and respectable as a bike can possibly be. I pictured myself feeling not the least scintilla of shame riding next to someone on the latest $6,000 carbon-fiber private jet.
Next came the really agonizing part: The waiting. I scoured eBay and Craigslist daily, passing up near-misses with gritted teeth, determined to wait for the one that met my specs. A few days ago it showed up, and I set my inner timer for ten o’clock last night, when the auction was to close. At the appointed hour, my wife and I curled up on the couch and watched as the minutes counted down: Just one other bid! How is that possible? And it was at the starting bid level. As the clock wound down to the final seconds, I slapped my cash on the barrelhead, and the other guy blinked. It was mine. Mine!
Okay, you’ve been very patient. Here are the pics and the specs. I promise to post some better photos once the bike arrives. (And don't worry, the dork disc and reflectors will be gone.)
From the eBay page:
Fork Cdale Slice Premium carbon/carbon steerer, Headset is integrated, Stem Cdale Fire 31.8., Shifters Shimano Ultegra10, Brake levers Shimano Ultegra10, Saddle Cdale road saddle, Seatpost Cdale carbon wrapped, Crank Shimano Ultegra10 39/53, Pedals (NONE), Chain Shimano Ultegra10, Cogset Shimano Ultegra10 12/25 10spd, Wheels Mavic Ksyrium Equipe, QR's Mavic, Tires Hutch Top Speed folders700x23, Fr Der Shimano Ultegra10, Rear Der Shimano Ultegra10, Brake Calipers Shimano Ultegra10. The color is red. MSRP on this bike was $1999.99.Okay, here’s the best part: Total price? $1035. For full Ultegra and Mavic Ksyrium wheels. And a bike with under 50 miles on it. (Yes, you read right. And only $50 shipping.) A steal!
* * *
One final word: I owe buckets of thanks to three guys who were patient and extremely helpful as I endlessly plied them for their expertise. First, Suitcase of Courage, who has owned virtually the same bike for a few years and has nothing but good things to say about it, in response to my many questions. Next, my friend Rob, a talented local racer on- and off-road, who patiently fielded email after email containing multiple eBay links. Finally, a prince of a guy named Sean Brennan at Belmont Wheelworks in the Boston area, where I used to live. Sean gave me outstanding service back when I had fit problems with the OCR, and when I contacted him again out of the blue a couple weeks ago, was generous with insider info about Canndondale fit and general tips for my particular needs. If you need a bike fit, you can’t do better than this guy; other folks I know have confirmed this independently.And now I’m off to sit like a pining dog at the front window, waiting for the FedEx guy.
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