Getting to Know You

As someone who is interested in experiencing a variety of bicycles and sharing my impressions with others, I find myself constantly re-examining the question of how long it takes to get a "proper" impression of a bike. When I test ride a bicycle, the experience is different on so many levels from when I own the bicycle and ride it in on a daily basis. There are discoveries I make about bikes months into owning them.

Also, when I own a bicycle - even if it's one of my "experimental bikes" and I know from the start that I will probably end up selling it eventually, there is something about the personal responsibility of ownership that makes me more comfortable forming impressions of its characteristics.

These are all reasons why I differentiate "bicycle reviews" - which I limit to the bikes I own, from "test ride reports" of the bikes I try. And I also mention how long I'd ridden the bike at the time of the review, so that the reader can factor that in. For instance, riding the Abici for an entire afternoon around the city and riding my friend's Retrovelo for a good portion of our long trip through the countryside, were quite different experiences than riding the Trek Belleville for 10 minutes on the side streets adjacent to the bike shop. And, riding my own Gazelle, Bella Ciao and Pashley were different experiences still, and my impression of these bikes takes hundreds of rides into account.

Ultimately, I feel more comfortable offering an opinion about bikes I have owned, however briefly, than on bikes I have merely test ridden or borrowed. And I am considering what that means in terms of Lovely Bicycle. Should I try to make it a point to own the bikes I feel would be especially interesting to review, and then later sell them, accepting the loss as part of the costs of running this blog? It's a neat idea, but probably not financially feasible. Extended borrowing would be the next thing, but there are all sorts of logistic and conflict-of-interest problems when it comes to that as well.

How long does it take you to get to know a bicycle? Is a test ride enough, or do you have to own it for a couple of months before you really feel familiar with it? When you read reviews and test ride reports, do you pay attention to how long the author has been riding the bike and factor that into your impressions? Finally, what do you think is the optimal time period to wait before writing a review?

When Does a Customer Turn Designer?

[image via OAC]

I want to tread carefully here, because it is not my intent to offend independent artisans, whose work I support wholeheartedly. But this issue is on my mind from time to time, and a couple of days ago I had an email exchange with a reader that brought it back into focus. Here is the gist of the story - and I don't think it's important who the players are, because the situation is generalizable:

Clyde the Cyclist approaches Alistair the Artisan, inquiring about getting a custom Bicycle Accessory made. Clyde has a very particular idea of what this accessory should be like. Alistair the Artisan says "Gee, I've never made one of those before, but sure, I'll give it a try." And he does. The Accessory comes out great, and when Clyde the Cyclist goes on a group ride, 200 of his riding buddies see it. "Hey, where did you get that neat Accessory?" Clyde the Cyclist tells them, and the cycling buddies contact Alistair the Artisan asking for the same thing. Several months later, Alistair the Artisan has a website where the Accessory is featured prominently and given a catchy name. He shoots a friendly email to Clyde. "Thanks man! That Accessory is my best seller!" Clyde the Cyclist feels taken advantage of and emails me to ask what I think.

Well, I think it's a tough one. On the one hand, if a product really is based on a customer's distinct design, an argument can be made that the "moral" thing to do, would be for the artisan to ask the customer's permission to use it, and to offer some compensation for the idea. On the other hand, if the customer made no stipulations to protect their design, it can be said that the fault is with them.

While this has not happened to me in the bicycle industry, I experienced a similar incident in a different setting a few years back and have since been more careful. If I think of an idea or design as "mine," then I'll approach the artisan presenting it in that manner from the start: "I have an idea for a product. Would you like to collaborate?" This establishes the relationship as a partnership, and fosters an acknowledgement of the fact that design input has real value. But unless that approach is taken from the beginning, it is bound to be difficult to backtrack and reframe a relationship that started out as customer-artisan, into one of designer-manufacturer.

To be clear, I by no means wish to imply that anyone ordering a bespoke item is a de facto "designer." It is only natural that the customer will give a set of requirements to the artisan as part of a custom order, after which there will be an exchange of feedback. For example, should "make it kind of like this one, only in red velvet and with larger buttons" be considered design input or just standard customer feedback? I think the latter. But if the customer has a concrete and clearly expressed idea of the item beforehand, and if the idea differs substantially from the other products made by the artisan, then both parties may want to consider the intellectual property implications of that - before proceeding with the order.

Step-Throughs: an Advantage in Traffic?

There was an interesting post on ecovelo yesterday, where the author compared how he uses his three transportation bikes: a Rivendell Sam Hillborne, a Surly Long Haul Trucker, and a Civia Loring. All three bicycles are set up with upright handlebars and decent load carrying capacity, but the Civia differs from the other two in that it has a fairly low stepover. And according to the author, the combination of its "upright riding position, step-through frame, and internal gear hub make[s] the Loring exceptionally confidence inspiring for riding slowly when in close proximity to pedestrians and automobile traffic." Initially, I read past that sentence with the kind of matter-of-fact acceptance that goes with processing what you already consider to be a given. But then later I mentally "rewound" and thought "Wait a minute, he is saying that he finds it more comfortable to ride a step-through in traffic than a diamond frame - Is this a generally accepted notion?" 

I used to think the reason I prefer step-throughs for transportation, is that I often wear skirts. But having read the ecovelo post, I realise that even when wearing trousers I feel better on a step-through in traffic. And, assuming that Alan of ecovelo mostly wears trousers, for him there must be other factors involved as well. Maybe for me it's the promise of the easy "hop off sideways" dismount should I need to bail, that makes me feel more secure. But to tell the truth, I am not sure what it is, and whether my preference is entirely logical.

All factors remaining equal (upright handlebars, ride quality, load capacity), what, if anything, would make a step-through bike an advantage in traffic?

Remembering a Man I Never Knew

[image via sheldonbrown.com]

Because I live in Boston and have been writing about Harris Cyclery from the start of this blog, I am sometimes asked whether I knew Sheldon Brown. What was he like? Did he inspire my love of English 3-speeds? But I regret to say, that I have never met him. The first time I walked into Harris Cyclery was just over a year after Sheldon Brown's death, the anniversary of which was last week. I was already reading his articles at that time (this was Spring 2009), but did not realise that he'd passed away. And then at Harris, there was this basket on the counter full of little flyers with his picture and "1944 - 2008" underneath it. Seeing the flyers was like a punch in the stomach. "Oh no, he died!" I blurted out without thinking. I remember the moment well, and particularly the disappointment and sadness of it. Somehow, this man's articles about bicycles had managed to fill me with enough affection toward him, so that his death felt like a personal loss - despite learning of it a year after the fact. 

[image via sheldonbrown.com]

Sheldon Brown was a bicycle mechanic, whose technical knowledge - particularly of classic and vintage bikes - was not only vast, but presented in the most captivating manner through a seemingly endless series of articles, glossaries and instruction pages. He shared his writing, including technical information, history, and decades worth of personal journals and travelogues, via a website he developed with Harris Cyclery, which continues to be maintained today. His writing was sincere, funny, wacky, and excellent in equal measure, and its influence cannot be overstated. I meet people from all over the world who will casually mention that they learned how to work on bicycles "from reading Sheldon Brown," or that thanks to his website they identified an old bike found in the cellar, or even that they took up randonneuring after reading his online journals and descriptions of France. Bicycle forums and news groups are replete with Sheldon Brown references and quotes.

But you can find a far better description of all this in his obituary in The Times, and the tribute on Bike Snob is worth reading as well. I don't want to attempt to paint a portrait of a man I never knew. But I do want to acknowledge his impact on me personally.

[image via sheldonbrown.com]

Like so many others, I stumbled upon Sheldon Brown's website while looking for information on vintage bicycles. And I believe it's what I found in his writing that turned what could have been a passing curiosity into the seeds of an obsession. I cannot put my finger on what it was exactly that drew me in: Maybe it was his easy relationship with technical and historical information, which made everything read like a story, rather than a boring manual. Maybe it was his open-minded curiosity about different types of bicycles and different aspects of cycling. Or maybe it was the way he embraced eccentricity, without trying to either downplay or justify it. It's hard to say, but whatever it was - it got through to me and engaged my imagination. I am just one person, but I am certain there are many, many others who would say the same. And that's quite something.

[image via sheldonbrown.com]

For the last several years of his life, Sheldon Brown suffered from Multiple Sclerosis and was unable to ride his beloved bicycles, yet managed to write an article entitled The Bright Side of MS. But the dominant image I have of him, is that of a young, strong man riding crazy bikes, as captured in his many black and white photos taken with a self timer.

Sheldon Brown was an avid photographer, and the above picture he took of himself has turned out to be chillingly prophetic. The impact he's had on "bicycle culture" is so strong, that three years after his death his presence remains vibrant. I am extremely happy about that. And I thank him for all the help and inspiration he has given me, despite my never having had the privilege of meeting him.

Turn Signals and Brake Lights: Can It Be Done, Elegantly?

[Steyr Waffenrad c.1925; image via radlmax]

I know that I am not the first to bring this up. But when I see details like this from 85 years ago, I wonder what it would take to develop a modern, elegant mechanism whereby squeezing the brake levers on a bicycle would activate a flashing tail light. And furthermore, what it would take to develop an unencumbered, easy to use system that allowed for turn signal lights to be displayed without the cyclist having to use hand signals - which, from personal experience, I know are not always visible to motorists and are not always possible to execute.

While various turn signal and brake light kits for bicycles already exist, they are not popular. And I suspect the reason, is that the currently available ones either turn the bicycle into a science project monster covered with a mess of wires and gadgets, or are just not convenient to use. But what about a simple, attractive design that would integrate with a classic bicycle seamlessly? a design that a "normal person" (i.e. not someone who is into gadgetry) would find appealing and easy use?  I find it surprising that various labs out there are developing  prototypes of all sorts of crazy futuristic bikes without drivetrains or spoked wheels, yet the idea of brake and turn lights does not seem interesting or useful enough for anybody to pursue seriously.

If I had the funds and influence to do so, I would love to sponsor a contest with precisely this goal in mind - but unfortunately, I don't think that knitted hats and the "honor" of being featured on Lovely Bicycle alone have sufficient pull to convince electrical engineers to spend their time working on such a project. If anybody in the industry is interested in getting involved as a sponsor, please do get in touch.

What are your thoughts on this? If designed to integrate with the bicycle seamlessly, would you find a brake light and turn signal system useful, or not particularly? And in the event that you already have one installed on your bike, which one is it and how is it working out for you?

A Monday Cocktail and a Cat in a Hat

In the time honoured tradition of celebrating aging, today I shall pry myself away from the internet, thus sparing you from the usual tediously long post. My cat advised me to follow this course of action, and when she has something to say it is usually wise to listen.

But lest you feel that your visit was for naught, I would like to share a recipe for a splendid non-alcoholic cocktail - in response to popular demand after an earlier post. This here cocktail is as refreshing as it is safe for work, and I myself shall be enjoying it throughout the day with abandon:

The Sober Cyclist's Delight 
. 4 parts mineral water (not club soda)
. 1 part lemon juice
. a sprinkling of brine from some Italian olives
. a handful of fresh cucumber slices, thin as they can be
. lemongrass as garnish, if you are so inclined
. and a brass bicycle bell

Place cucumber slices at the bottom of a cocktail glass and sprinkle with olive brine. Pour in lemon juice, followed by mineral water, and garnish with lemongrass if desired. Ring a substantially sized brass bicycle bell over the glass, until its vibrations cause the ingredients to swirl, their flavours mingling exquisitely.

Have a happy Monday and thank you for reading Lovely Bicycle. And for those who speak my native tongue: Soupytwist!

Skinny, Wide, or Stay the Heck Inside?

Okay, I promise not to make this another post with deep thoughts inspired by the snowpocalyptic weather in Boston. Because at this point, my bikes have reached a state that clinicians like to call "learned helplessness": The individual, convinced that no action on their part can alter their fate, just gives up and stops trying, possibly curling up in the fetal position and gently rocking back and forth. The snow won, dear readers. Oh yes, it won.

Yesterday, this was "the road" outside my house. Perhaps not surprisingly, last night I had a dream about this fellow. Though I am normally drawn neither to Surly nor to mountain bikes, I've had the hots for the Surly Pugsley since the first time I saw one a couple of years ago. I have no intention of getting one, honest. But part of me wishes I still lived in Northern NH, so that I'd "have no choice but to get it," you understand. I have seen pictures of that bicycle ridden through waist-deep snow, through soft sand, and crossing medium sized lakes. And something about the proportions seems just right to me, making the Pugsley an "ugly, in a handsome kind of way" type of bike. The Joe Viterelli of bikes, if you will.

But whenever I bring up the Pugsley with its 3.8" tires as an example of a dream "winter bike," someone inevitably replies that "bikes with skinny tires are actually better in the snow" - which, no matter how many times a proponent of that concept tries to explain it, does not make a great deal of sense to me. While I understand that skinny tires can supposedly pierce through the snow, I am skeptical. Doesn't that mean the bike could easily get stuck? And why do I see only mountain bikes when there's significant snow on the roads?

There is no doubt that my massively heavy, long wheelbase, 38mm tire Gazelle handles better when going over snow than the lighter and sprightlier 35mm tire Bella Ciao. But neither of them is sufficient when things get really bad. And oddly, on the worse days I actually find myself favouring the Bella Ciao, only because its easier to wield when acrossing enormous snowbanks. Poor bike, I look forward to seeing what the chain will look like under that nearly-but-not-quite-full chaincase after the winter is over...

If anybody out there is riding on streets that look like this, what bike are you riding and how is it working out for you? And if you say "skinny tires," I want pictures! As for me, I stayed indoors all day today - drinking tea, catching up on work, and daydreaming of crossing frozen rivers on a white Pugsley.

When a Bike Is Not for You, What to Do?

Regardless of how much time we put into looking for a new bike, how much research we do, how many reviews we read, and even how wonderful the bicycle seems during a test ride, sometimes it happens: We buy a bike that isn't right for us. Perhaps the handling ends up not being to our liking. Or perhaps the bike is too heavy, too aggressive, not aggressive enough... There can be so many reasons. And often, those reasons only become apparent after we get into the swing of using the bike.

And so there we are: As far as resale value goes, our new bicycle is now a used bicycle. And we feel excruciatingly guilty for having made the wrong choice.

Once we realise that the bicycle we so longed for is not all we had hoped, the question is: what to do next? We may try to deal with the situation by continuing to ride the bike even if we are not entirely happy with it, hoping that over time we'll get used to it. We might make modifications to the bike, in attempts to get it to handle how we want it to handle. Or we could admit defeat and sell it. Some of us tried the first two approaches, before ultimately deciding to sell. Others just cannot bear to sell the bike - either because of the monetary loss they will incur, or because of sentimental attachment.

It's a tough call which decision is best. It took me a while before I could bring myself to sell my Pashley, while an acquaintance sold her Batavus just a month after buying it. "Mama Vee" of Suburban Bike Mama has been struggling with her Sorte Jernhest cargo trike for nearly two years now and is still torn over what to do (in fact, she has just issued an exasperated plea for help, so perhaps someone can advise her!).

Not counting myself, I know of about half a dozen ladies in the blogosphere who either have recently sold, or are considering selling the bicycle that was supposed to be their "dream bike." We did everything right and the bike seemed like the perfect choice at the time. And yet it wasn't. If you've ever been in this situation, how did you deal with it and what was your ultimate decision?

Cycling Indoors: the Kurt Kinetic Trainer

Last month I asked for advice about bicycle trainers, but after reading all the comments decided not to get one after all. It was the promise of horrific boredom that dissuaded me: I didn't want to get a trainer and then end up never using it. But several blizzards and several yards of snow later, I once again found myself climbing the walls and thinking that any way to be on my roadbike would surely do. My birthday is coming up, and so I asked the Co-Habitant to get me a trainer as an early gift - requesting that he do all the obsessive gadget research himself, and just present me with it as soon as possible.

He was suspicious at first. "You want a trainer. For your birthday? Are you sure that's a sufficiently ...romantic gift?"

"It's a fine gift. Totally romantic. Just get it for me, please."

And so, since last week I have been the owner of a Kurt Kinetic Road Machine Fluid Trainer. The 2010 model was on sale at the Wheelworks in Somerville, MA (they had four left as of last week), and the opportunity was ceased. It is lime green and in no way blends in with any normal household decor. It is a good thing we have a "bohemian" apartment where pretty much anything goes, including a bike plugged into a neon contraption in the middle of the bedroom.

To set up the trainer, you have to attach the rear wheel of the bicycle using a special skewer, so that the tire rests firmly against the mechanism which provides resistance. I would describe the set-up process as somewhat tricky: You have to align the wheel just right and tighten everything just so.

As you pedal, the resistance from the trainer is similar to the resistance you feel when cycling on the road. Beyond that, I admit that I have no idea how it works, and am not particularly curious as long as it does the job. Some prefer to put a block or a riser under the front wheel, but I feel fine without it.

To me, using the trainer emulates the cycling experience realistically insofar that I am on an actual bike, and that the sensation of pedaling really does feel like being on the road. What's different, is that the bicycle doesn't lean, as would have been natural on the road, and - oh yes - that I am in my bedroom, staring at a wall and going absolutely nowhere. After the first time I used the trainer, it became clear that I needed visual stimuli - music alone was not sufficient to counteract the mind-numbing effect of looking at nothing.

So I rigged up this "tower" using two wooden chairs (don't worry, they are very stable), which allowed me to place my laptop at eye level.

Thank goodness for Netflix and enormous earphones. The trainer is fairly quiet to begin with (the sound it makes is a sort of low hum - not high pitched or annoying), and if I had a TV rather than a tiny laptop, I don't think earphones would even be necessary. But the nice thing about using them, is that they drown out the sound of the trainer entirely, making it easier to get absorbed in the film and put my legs on autopilot.

It took me a couple of days on the trainer to learn how to pace myself. I guess on the road, there are factors that control my speed - traffic lights, obstacles, turns, and even just fear. With these factors gone, I had to keep forcing myself to slow down, so as not to get exhausted immediately. Watching a movie helps, because my pedaling starts to sync up with the highs and lows of the film - slowing down during the quiet parts and speeding up during the exciting parts. At the moment, I am able to keep going for 40 minutes at a time before needing to stop, but I am hoping to make it an hour by next week.

I don't want to give the impression that the trainer is anything other than what it is - a device that allows you to pedal your own bicycle as it remains stationary. The experience does not even begin to compare to "real" roadcycling, which to me is much more about exploration than about exercise. But if I approach it from the other end, and start with the given of wanting indoor exercise that emulates cycling, this trainer pretty much fits the bill. Having never tried others I can't compare, but the Kurt Kinetic trainer does everything I imagined a trainer doing, and it is quieter than I had hoped.

I think I have to face it that something in me has changed over the past year, and I now feel that my body "needs" strenuous exercise. I never thought that would happen to me, and I don't understand human physiology well enough to know how that works. All I know is, that I've been on a roadbike every day for the past week and I am feeling a little more like myself again. It's indoors, it's stationary and it's not real cycling - but I'll take it.

Cycling and Statistics

As someone with a background in the social and natural sciences, I was "raised" on statistics by the academic system. If we compare academia to religion, then making claims without statistical evidence is akin to taking the Lord's name in vain. But even beyond academia, we have an inherent faith in statistics as a culture. We respect numbers and charts, and we turn to them for comfort at times of uncertainty. Consider, for instance, this beautiful bar graph:

Now, some of us may have suspected that diamond frames tend to be ridden by men, whereas step-throughs and mixtes tend to be ridden by women, but only numbers and graphs have the power to lift us from the murky waters of speculation. We can now say that, in a recent poll conducted by Lovely Bicycle, of the 221 respondents who claimed to ride mainly diamond frame bikes for transportation, 76% were male. Of the 95 respondents who claimed to ride mainly step-through bikes for transportation, 80% were female. And of the 39 respondents who claimed to ride mainly mixte bikes for transportation, 66% were female. This numerical evidence we can wield like a mighty weapon the next time someone contradicts these tendencies.

Of course the one little problem with Statistics, is that it's mostly BS. In the words of comedian Vic Reeves, "88.2% of Statistics are made up on the spot" - which may very well be the case. But numbers need not be maliciously forged in order to misrepresent reality. There are multitudes of ways in which a study can be flawed or biased from the start, set up so as to elicit particular responses. Often this is done unintentionally, or at least unconsciously, by researchers eager to find evidence for their pet theories. Other scenarios can include how data is processed, or even how the final results are presented. Statistics are highly prone to human error and bias, which means that they are inherently subjective. This, combined with the fact that we respect them so much, makes our statistics-loving culture susceptible to misinformation.

[image via NHTSA]

The idea of statistics and misinformation brings me to what I really wanted to talk about here, and this is something I've been trying to make sense of for a while. I am puzzled by the use of safety statistics in bicycle advocacy, and I am hoping that someone could explain them to me. For example, many bicycle advocacy talks and internet presentations stress that it is safer to ride a bike than it is to travel in a car. In support of this, they use statistics such as this data from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA), according to which there were about 30,000 motor vehicle traffic fatalities, and about 600 bicycle fatalities in the USA in 2009. These numbers are used by cycling advocates to point out how much safer it is to cycle than to drive. But unless I am missing something, the figures mean just the opposite.

Yes, the NHTSA numbers suggest that in 2009 there were 50 times more motor vehicle fatalities than there were bicycle fatalities in the US. But those numbers mean nothing until they are weighed against how many cars vs bicycles there are on the roads at large. If there were 50 times more cars on the road than bicycles, than the risks of fatal traffic accident would be equal for each mode of transportation. But I believe that in actuality, there are more like 1,000 more cars on the roads than bicycles... which means that the number of cycling fatalities is disproportionately high.

Obviously, I am not trying to prove that cycling is unsafe. But I do want to understand the reality of the situation. After all, if cycling advocates use statistics incorrectly, they open themselves up to some very harsh critique from unfriendly forces. Where could one go to obtain accurate statistics about the number of cars vs bicycles on the roads, and the number of traffic accidents for each?

The 'Lady's Bicycle': Descriptive, Offensive, or Merely Obsolete?

[an unsuccessful attempt at parody]

There has been some discussion lately about how appropriate it is to refer to diamond and step-through frame bicycles as men's and ladies' bikes. After all - gender roles are flexible these days, women are no longer expected to wear elaborate skirts, and a low standover height can be convenient for everyone. So why use gender specific terminology? Am I just intentionally being quaint?

Well, not exactly. You see, when a bicycle model exists in both diamond frame and step-through designs, the latter is usually not just about lowering the standover height. It is also about taking the female anatomy into account. For example, have a look at the pictures below and see whether you notice anything interesting.

[image via Gazelle USA]

These are the Oma and Opa versions of the current production Gazelle Toer Populair bicycles. If you look closely, you will notice that the Oma on the left has a considerably higher headtube than the Opa on the right. This is done in order to set the Oma's handlebars higher, so as to accommodate the typically shorter torsos and arms of female cyclists. The bikes are named "Grandma and Grandpa," because they are, in fact, gender-specific. The expanded headtube tactic is used by many manufacturers on their step-through models, while others use the alternative tactic of shortening the virtual top tube. Either way, more often than not the step-through version of a given bicycle model is designed for the female body. This is not to say that men cannot or should not ride step through frames, but only that step-through frames are typically optimised for female proportions.

Of course, one could ask: Why confound gender-based anatomical differences with preferences for standover height? After all, some women may prefer diamond frames, while some men may prefer step-throughs. That is where statistics and market research come in. Most manufacturers cannot afford to make two versions of diamond frames and two versions of step-through frames within the same model. And statistically, women are considerably more likely to wear skirts and are thus more likely to prefer a step-through transportation bike. Therefore, it makes more sense to optimise the step-through design for the female anatomy, while optimising the diamond frame design for the male anatomy. Naturally, there will be some females who prefer the diamond frame and some males who prefer the step-through. Furthermore, not every woman has a short torso and not every man has a long torso. But when it comes to manufacturing decisions, it's all about tendencies and probabilities - not about individuals.

And speaking of statistics, perhaps we could indulge in another poll (a weekly tradition?). No purpose for this other than my own curiosity, and possibly yours:



In my own vocabulary, I use terms like "lady's bike" or "woman's frame" when I am referring specifically to the bicycle's suitability for females - be it anatomically, or in terms of their ability to accommodate skirts. On the other hand, I use terms such as "step through," "loop frame," "mixte," and "shortened top tube," when I am describing frame geometry. And while some worry that referring to bicycles as "women's bikes" makes them seem inferior or less valuable, I am not on board with that line of thinking. After all, what is considered "standard" frame geometry in the industry, is in fact optimised for the male anatomy. We are female, we are wonderful, and we need bicycles designed for us. To me, that is neither offensive nor obsolete - it's just common sense.