The Tweed Ride, A Personal View

The major and minor media having reported in, now it’s my turn. Sunday morning I was up very early to make sure the Roadster was ready. I adjusted the brakes, replaced the broken wire from the dynamo to the headlamp, and went for a test ride. A cacophony of noises rent the air. Roadsters are noisy anyway, but this was worse than before. The crank rubbed against the gear case. The gear case acted as a resonator to amplify every creak and chain rattle. I did what I could with the gear case and figured I would have to live with it. It would be like having loud pipes on a motorcycle. Most important, I found I could ride it with an acceptable level of elbow pain. This would be my first ride on an upright bicycle since the bike accident in June in which I had broken my elbow, and I was concerned about it. Given the condition of the bike and my arm, I chose to minimize the amount of riding to the event itself. I put the bike in my Volvo 240 wagon and drove it to a parking spot near a Metro station. That way, if the bike broke down or my arm started to hurt excessively, I could count on getting home. I have rarely taken bikes on Metro and finding the right elevators took some additional time. What with making sure the bike was ready and taking Metro on a Sunday, it was 12:30 when I reached the starting point for an event which had been scheduled to start at 11. Fortunately, I had seen a message from the organizer Eric that due to the large turnout, it would be run in groups over several hours. I arrived just as a group was leaving, registered, talked with people, took some pictures and had my picture taken, and was in what turned out to be the last group to go. Eric asked for leaders and I ended up as one of them, but I let my co-leader, who had done this sort of thing before, do most of the navigating. I found that the Roadster, which is not exactly a thing of blinding speed, was nevertheless so high-geared that even pedaling very slowly and coasting a lot, I kept getting out in front. At one point, not being used to riding in a group, I failed to notice I was crowding a lady behind me toward the curb, but did manage not to run her into it. Eventually I dropped back into the pack for a while. The ride was fun. The roadster’s loud bell received many compliments. The weather was really a bit warm for tweed, the best day we’d had in some time. We got a lot of attention and even some cheers from people along the way. At one point, a lady riding behind me commented on the noises my bike made. “When you changed gears, it sounded like your chain was falling off!” she said. I told her that the noises are what holds the bike together. I’ve gotten used to the many distinctive sounds that roadsters make. Actually I was pleased that the noise level was a lot less than it had been during my morning test ride. Inexplicably, the crank arm wasn’t rubbing on the gear case any more. I was having a great time and it was the perfect bike for the occasion. Roadsters are a hoot and a half. I can’t help grinning while I ride it. On arrival at Marvin, the venue for the post-ride party, we found that several hundred people had preceded us. The bike racks provided by WABA for the occasion were already full. Three of us locked our bikes together instead. I was so intrigued by the bikes parked outside that I did not get indoors where the party was for some time. The main party was on the upstairs deck. It was jam-packed. At the far end was some free food, if you could get there. Eventually I did. It was English muffins, eggs, grits, and English-style (meaning not cooked to a crisp) bacon—just the way I prefer it. The remainder of the day was spent in conversations, meeting new people, sampling Belgian ale and generally enjoying myself. I stayed longer than I thought I would have, and was glad I had made sure I had working lights for the return trip. I had also found that while my recumbent trike riding had maintained my stamina, I was no longer acclimated to a saddle after five months not riding an upright bike. This, however, did not become noticeable until the ride home. I enjoyed riding with a group (nearly all of my decades of cycling has been solo). I liked seeing the variety of bicycles and costumes. I especially enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie, that we were all in on something remarkable. I made some new friends and saw a few people I knew. Earlier in the day, one of the participants had been hit by a bus while riding to the start—fortunately she was not seriously injured and able to continue. At the end of the day, as I was getting ready to leave, I found out that a bike had been stolen from one of the participants. Because the racks were full, she had parked it separately from the main group, locked to a fence around the corner, where it was out of sight and easier to steal. It was perhaps inevitable that so large a food supply would attract predators and scavengers. Still, it was one of those things that takes a bit of the bloom off an otherwise perfect day. It’s a reminder that cyclists can never relax their vigilance for traffic hazards or theft. Those are the thorns on the rose. For some people, they are reasons not to ride. For others, they are occupational hazards that will not prevent them from enjoying the benefits. The rose smells sweet and looks pretty even with its thorns. Congratulations to Eric and his cohorts for a successful event, and I look forward to more great things from the Dandies and Quaintrelles.

Installing a Gear Case, or Is All This Work Really Necessary? A Pre-Tweed Ride Anticipation

When I heard about the Tweed Ride, I thought I might even find the time to swap the roadster's chainguard for a gear case I had acquired (from Yellow Jersey) but never installed. Gear cases, which completely enclose the chain (keeping it and the rider's clothes clean), were a normal feature of utility bicycles for many years. However, Raleigh often imported roadsters to the USA with a hockey-stick chainguard instead. According to Sheldon Brown, this was to avoid import duty on bicycles weighing more than 40 pounds! Supposedly that small difference in weight was just enough to put a roadster over the limit. Chainguards are also easier to install (especially if the bicycle was shipped partly assembled, as is usual) and easier to work around and keep clear of the chain. I've been debating whether to go to the bother of changing it since I got the bike in 2008. However, the Tweed Ride provided sufficient inspiration. I wanted to ride in nice clothes and keep them nice. This was exactly why bikes like this had gear cases. So on Saturday afternoon, I started to install it. My garage is so full at the moment that I usually work on bikes outside, so I needed good weather and daylight. It had rained all week until Saturday. It was now or never. I looked at the bike and considered that I could just as easily leave it as it was, and avoid the risk of having it not be ready for the ride. Then I started on it. I could always bail out and put the chainguard back on it if I had to. The first part was easy—remove the old chain guard. Next, remove the right side crank. This is an old-style steel cottered crank and normally something of a pain to take apart. Fortunately I had bought a crank cotter press from Bikesmith Design and Fabrication. This worked so well that I was able to reuse the same cotter instead of having to use a new one, as is usually the case—the cotter threads are usually destroyed in removing it. As new cotters that fit properly can be somewhat hard to get, I appreciated being able to save my spare ones. By the way, it’s a cotter, not a cotter pin. Cotter pins are those split pins used with a drilled bolt and castellated nut, to hold the nut in place, commonly used before the advent of nylon-insert locknuts. I considered taking the whole crank apart so I could check the bearings inside, but as everything seemed to work properly when I spun the crank axle, I left it alone. For many years, roadster bikes had an oil fitting on the bottom bracket, but mine, made in 1971, no longer had this. These bikes were made to be liberally oiled, and not much other maintenance was required. Mine does have the oil fitting on the front hub, thank goodness. “They like oil,” as the guy at Yellow Jersey told me. The next part was putting the main body of the case on. Raleigh provided mounting holes on the roadster frames for their gear cases. This one was a Chinese copy of a Raleigh case (after installation, I blacked over the name), pretty well made, but using two clamp-on brackets instead. Halfway through this part, I realized I would have to take the back wheel off for working room around the chain stay. This is something of a process, so I had avoided it. It took some trial fitting to get the case to clear the crank, and I had to bend the brackets a little. Too far right, and the chainwheel rubbed on the inside. Too far left, and the crank arm rubbed on the outside. Finally it was in place. Next, the chain has to go back on. The trick is to push it from the hub end, along the top of the gear case, until it catches on the chainwheel, and then turn the crank, pull the chain over and around until it can be pushed back toward the hub on the lower side of the case. At this point I had one end of the chain on the sprocket and the other just out of reach inside the gear case. I used a wire hook to reach in and pull the chain back and around the sprocket so I could put the connecting link in. I only dropped it twice. This description makes it sound easier than it was. I was already thinking that perhaps it had been a mistake not to leave the chainguard the way it was. By this time it had gotten dark and was getting colder. The temperature drops fast on these autumn evenings. I used my helmet light and pulled one of my clamp-on work lights out on a long cord. I just wanted to get the thing together enough to put everything back in the garage for the night. I could finish it in the morning. I got it to the point where I could ride it around the parking lot. The crank arm rubbed on the gear case and made a horrible noise. The gear case itself acted as a resonator, amplifying the sound. Well, I thought, it’ll warn the pedestrians. I wasn’t sure at all how well it would work on the ride, and I was rather embarrassed in advance thinking about riding something that sounded like that. But otherwise, I was rather pleased with the result. I could now ride without concern for my trouser cuffs, and I liked how it looked. It completed the bike, somehow. So about 9 pm I put things away and went indoors. The next morning at about 8, I was out again to see how it looked and finish up the adjustments. The case rubbed on the crank. I pushed and pounded on it until it mostly didn’t. I checked over all the adjustments. It seemed to be ready to ride, though the crank still rubbed on the case. So I changed into my ride clothes and set off. Oddly, the clearances seemed to improve by themselves and the crank no longer rubbed on the case. It reminded me of some of my antique cars of the same era of technology, in which the rule of thumb was to put everything together and let it work itself out. Overall, I’m pleased with it and glad I took the trouble. It will especially be useful when I use this bike in cold weather—it’s been my favorite bike for running local errands. I use it much as it was intended to be used, and it’s also a lot of fun to ride. I am, however, not at all looking forward to any occasion, such as a flat tire, in which I might have to remove the rear wheel!

Yes Indeedy, Let's All Go Tweedy

Washington, DC gets its first Tweed Ride on November 15th. That's only 9 days from now. No time to waste to get the roadster ready and find which of my tweedy clothes still fit me. What's a Tweed Ride? It's a deliberately old-fashioned event in which the participants, dressed in tweeds and other non-lycra, pre-modern cycling attire, ride old bikes, preferably of the English roadster or sports 3-speed persuasion. Tweed rides are intended to be fun, relaxed, and recreate the spirit of cycling of an earlier generation. Over the past year or two I have noticed a number of activities based on the English upright bicycle and its relatives and descendants. Notable among these are the Lake Pepin Three-Speed Tour in Minnesota, and various tweed rides in Boston, New York and elsewhere. Many are included in the links in the right-hand column of this blog. One thing all of them had in common is that they were happening somewhere other than where I was. At last, we have one here in our nation's capital. Let's get a lot of riders out for this. I've put it on my calendar and I plan to be there, suitably attired and riding my Raleigh Roadster. I have not ridden an upright bike since my accident in June, other than to stand over one and confirm that my arm still wasn't up to it. However, my arm is improving rapidly. The recumbent trike seems to provide a very good therapy for my arm without overstraining it. Accurate steering requires some muscle (trikes tend to wander side to side), but I don't have to support any weight on my arms. I've been anticipating when I might try riding a bike again. The Roadster is probably the easiest one to start with; with its great stability and very low balance speed, it's probably the safest thing on two wheels. If my test ride shows I can do it, I'll bring it along. If not, at least my trike is from Britain, (Cornwall, to be exact). So far as I can tell, the tadpole trike was a British invention. Plus, it's easy to ride in whatever clothes you like.

Trike Out, Trike In

Bicycle fanatics will have to excuse my writing about a motor vehicle today. However, if you stick with me, I think you’ll find it has some relevance. I’ve often commented on the resemblance between a recumbent tadpole tricycle and a Morgan Three Wheeler. What I’ve not mentioned here—indeed many of my friends had never heard it—is that I had owned a Morgan Three Wheeler, an example of the famous Aero model, since 1982. I sold my third (and last) Model A Ford to pay for it. The Morgan was a project car, a basket case (haul it away in baskets) that had been passed from owner to owner without ever being restored. So far as could be determined, it was built between October 1926 and March 1927, and thus it was a 1927 model, Morgan beginning their model years in October at that time. Morgan’s highest-production year was 1927—they built 1700 cars. Very few of that vintage survive. Three-wheeled Morgans were made from 1909 to 1952. Perhaps 1200 exist today, but only about 200 of the survivors are earlier than 1933. There are perhaps 50 to 100 of the Aero model in all the world, and I was very excited to own one of them. It was the only true vintage (meaning 1919-29) sports car I could afford, the price of 1920s Bentleys and the like having long been in a bracket with real estate. Morgan celebrated their 100th anniversary this year in England. Today they are the world’s one remaining traditional British sports car, the world’s only privately-owned car company, only family-owned car company, and perhaps the largest British-owned car company—on an average production of perhaps 500 cars a year. Everything bigger in the British motoring industry has been bought up by foreigners. The Aero fascinated me. It appealed to my fondness for light, simple, efficient machinery, which is also a part of my love of cycling. In the first few years that I owned it, I did a lot of work to restore it. I found all the rare parts and had them refurbished. But it stalled out, as many restorations do, at the low point when everything is apart and it seems a long way uphill to get it all back together again. There are perhaps more antique cars in that condition than there are in running order. Then my priorities, career, interests, financial situation, residence and other vehicles had all changed. Occasionally I got interested in doing something about the Aero, but generally it just sat in storage and nothing happened. Periodically someone would inquire about buying it, but never, it seemed, at a price I wanted to accept. But finally, this year, one of my friends in the Morgan club was willing to give me what I estimated I had spent on it. By now, with other life plans in mind, I was ready to part with it. And so on August 22nd the deal was done. It felt strange to have it go. Eager as I was to make the sale, I had moments of wanting to call it all off. But I knew better than to do that. I needed to get it out of my life, to lighten the load so I could proceed with my plans to move and enter new phases of life in new places. And I had a use for the money too, most of which was used to pay off debts. On August 24th, I took delivery of my Trice QNT recumbent trike. Trike out, trike in.

Cleared for Takeoff

On Wednesday, August 5th, I had my one-month-after-surgery appointment with my orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Gordon Avery. He set my "bionic" elbow brace to allow more degrees of movement, said I don't have to wear the brace when I'm at home, and told me to start physical therapy next week. I asked him whether I was recovered enough to ride a recumbent tadpole trike, showed him a picture of one and demonstrated how the arms are used for steering. He said, "that looks like therapy!" So I plan to order a Trice QNT this week--delivery time is about a week and a half. This is an act of faith that the money I have scheduled to come in around the end of August does indeed come in on schedule. An accountant friend had said a few weeks ago that the trike might even be deductible. That would be gravy. Now, having put off ordering it for months, I am impatient for it to arrive. I had planned to order it so as to have it by today (this being the soonest I might have been recovered enough to ride it) but I waited as I wanted to delay the expense and there was no need to have it sooner than I could use it. I was also finalizing my list of options on it. I missed my deadline to order it in a custom color (this adds three weeks to delivery time and I want to have it before the end of August) but the standard colors will do. Even though it will look like many others of the same kind, there aren't all that many of them around for it to look like. Sometimes I wonder if I will really use it enough to make the investment worthwhile, or if it is just too geezerly to ride it instead of a bicycle--which I can't do for another few months anyway. On Monday I saw a Trice being ridden in Alexandria, and I have heard from an owner in Falls Church through the Triceriders Yahoo Group (which seems to be mainly UK-based, as is Trice itself). The local dealer tells me they've sold a lot of them this summer. Friends report trike spottings. I am not alone.

The Bionic Bicyclist

"It's the Bionic Man!" seems to be the universal response to anyone's first sight of my new elbow brace. It's been decades since Steve Austin and the first use of slow motion to indicate movement faster than the eye can see, and people still remember. Presumably Steve still runs somewhere in the recycled wasteland of cable TV. On the few occasions when I watch TV, I simply get clear why I don't watch it. The elbow brace protects the repaired area and keeps my arm movement within safe limits--currently 20 to 75 degrees--while it heals. It is a lot better than the cast that I was told I might need. I have more use of my arm and I can remove the brace for showering. The worst part is putting it on myself one-handed, though this is improving with practice. My doctor has a great technique for preparing me for what may happen. He tells me the worst and lets me get used to it. What's actually happened has usually been better than what he prepared me for. I asked him what arm movements to avoid (other than what the brace won't let me do) and he said, "don't push." Sometimes I forget. The other day I tripped on something in my living room and put my right arm out to grab the couch and stop falling. That gave me some scary moments worrying I might have damaged the repair. My arm has been painful off and on. I am dealing with it with acetaminophen and grit. I'm back to work. My left arm has become strong and skillful. Cycling content (this is a cycling blog after all): I went to the trike dealer after I got the elbow brace. They can get a Trice trike for me in a week and a half, add three weeks for a custom color (I have been considering orange to match the Great Pumpkin). I'm thinking to time my order to take delivery at the time I could start riding it. I still have concerns about the cost. I'd like another home sale in the pipeline or to have sold off some surplus bikes before I commit the money to a trike. And I need to reconfirm that I'd be able to ride one sooner than I could ride a bike. While riding an upright bike requires more arm strength than a recumbent, because the arms are used to brace the rider on an upright, the underseat steering of a trike is still done with a push-pull arm motion. It's possible to push only with the left arm, but I'd have to remember never to push with the right until it is healed enough to use. Well, it's early yet. I've only had the brace for 6 days. It's another 17 to my next appointment. Time and patience are required to recover from this. Long-term recovery is the objective, more important than a few missed months of riding. That's what I tell myself every time a bike goes by.

Splat Update

Thanks to everyone who has sent me expressions of concern about my June 14th bicycling accident and good wishes for my recovery from surgery to repair the ruptured triceps tendon on my right elbow. Here is an update to my earlier article “Life Goes Splat” posted on June 26. The surgery was performed on Monday, July 6th and went well. My arm is in a splint for the first week. Next Monday I will have the stitches out and determine whether it needs to be in a cast. It will be immobilized in some manner for a further three weeks. Then I will have to limit use of it while it finishes healing. I will not be able to ride an upright bicycle for three to four months. However, my orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Gordon Avery, said I could ride an underseat-steering recumbent in a month, because it is easier on my arms—they do not have to brace me in position or support any weight. I’m committed to my fitness and will continue exercising in whatever ways I can while recovering. This week I am resting at home, taking the prescribed medications, and doing such work as I can by phone and online, between naps. Once the post-surgical pain has reduced to a level that I can manage without strong drugs, I will be back to work and the normal activities I can do with an arm in a sling. One thing I am also committed to is having positive outcomes from this experience that would not have occurred without it. One that has already shown up is that I had no idea how many people cared about me. I’ve always had it that I could disappear and no one would notice—that I’d be immediately forgotten. Indeed, I’ve had it that no one even thinks of me when I am not there, and that I have no influence on anyone. I’ve been proven wrong, and I’m glad of it. Thank you all.

Who Inspires You?

Take a look in your local bookstore and you might get the impression that Lance Armstrong is the only guy who ever rode a bicycle. In our spectator society, there are the few that do and the many that watch. The watchers think, "I could never do that," and maybe there are some who think, "I could do that," and even one or two who actually get inspired to get off the couch and do it. I'm not particularly inspired or daunted by Lance. Not to take away from his remarkable achievements as a cyclist, combined with his remarkable achievements as a cancer survivor. It's just that I have no particular urge to race bicycles; my interests are in other kinds of cycling. I do like to go fast, and I like to match the pace of fast riders when I encounter them--especially when they pass me in all their lycra-clad gaudiness. It's just that I am more interested in being able to ride long distances, going somewhere interesting, or in using my bike to go where I am already going, than in competition. I am certainly aware that others feel differently about it. A lady I know who has won a number of mountain bike races told me she had hardly ever ridden once she stopped competing. And for her, a racer like Lance is an inspiration. But today I want to tell you about some people whom I find inspiring.

 In today's Washington Post there was an article about an elderly gentleman, Larry "Curly" Haubner, celebrating his birthday in the assisted living facility where he now resides. The incident that resulted in his moving into said facility was a bicycling accident, in which he broke his hip. He was 102 at the time. The birthday he celebrated yesterday was his 107th. He is fit, healthy, mentally alert and highly articulate. He attributes his long life to good diet and exercise. His biggest problem seems to be that he has outlived his money, and lives in Virginia, one of eight states that do not allow Medicare to pay for assisted living. The article did not say whether he still rides his bicycle. I hope he does.

Then there's my friend Zoe. She is, to put it politely, a big girl--a very big girl. Not long ago she mentioned she had bought herself a bicycle and was riding it. Last night as I was leaving the seminar in which we are both participants, I saw Zoe and another equally large lady preparing to ride their bicycles home. They were wearing helmets, the bikes were properly set up (and in an appropriate gear) and had lights on them. Zoe told me she had already lost 20 pounds so far. She wants to add fenders, a rack and better lights to her bike. It's an honor to assist someone like Zoe to find them.

One of the great things about bicycling--one which made it suspect when it was invented in the class-conscious 19th century--is its egalitarianism. Bikes are relatively inexpensive, easy to care for and store, and rideable by just about anyone. They were the first experience of personal mobility--going somewhere other than on foot or by paying to ride in someone else's conveyance--that most people in that time had ever had. And I will never forget the feeling of freedom that my first bicycle gave me--a feeling I have never entirely lost. Just about anyone, you ask? What about those whose physical abilities are, we might say, limited compared to the rest of us? One afternoon on the bike trail, I was, with considerable effort, making my way up a long hill. In front of me was a man on a recumbent three-wheeler, who seemed to make light work of it. I could scarcely keep up with him. Not only did he appear to be quite a bit older than I was, but he was propelling himself with his hands operating grips in place of pedals on the cranks, which were positioned in front of his chest. He had no legs. He was outpacing me, up a hill, on a handcycle. Such a sight is both humbling and inspiring. I don't know who he was and I haven't seen him in a while. I hope he's still riding. So what's stopping you? You got a better excuse than they do? I don't really want to hear it. It's just a story anyway. Get out and ride.