Memories of an Italian Christmas

In the winter of 1989-1990, my family and I lived in Rome. It was an unstable and nomadic time for us. My sister and I - then aged 5 and 10 - were home schooled during this period and spent most of our free time in the nearby park. We picked up a bit of Italian from the local children and were able to play with them. But mostly we observed. 

It's funny, the things we notice as children. I remember being stunned by the presence of snow and palm trees in the same landscape. I remember being upset about how ugly the road around the Coliseum was. I remember a man pushing a fruit cart outside our window every morning, singing "Arance! Mandarance!" And I remember the sight of several glamorously dressed women sitting on a park bench with their infants, breastfeeding while smoking cigarettes with a synchronised rhythmic energy. I have since been to Italy a number of times as an adult, but these childhood impressions of Rome remain prominent.

And then, of course, there was Christmas - Natale! The lavish holiday decorations, the lights, the musicians on the streets and the general festive atmosphere, served as an antidote to the stress of being in a foreign country. We were living in a small apartment, in a building full of other apartments - and between mid-December and the first week of January, there was a constant stream of gifts (mostly cakes, fruit baskets, and beautifully packaged bottles of alcohol) left outside of our door by our neighbours. These were accompanied by "Buon Natale!" notes, but no names or apartment numbers. We did not know whom to thank, or for whom to leave return gifts. When my parents asked our landlord about it, she assured them that this was normal: "They know that you are foreign and don't want you to be lonely." We were impressed and cheered by this thoughtful gesture that seemed to be such a matter of course for our neighbours. Most importantly, we felt wanted in the country, despite being strangers to it.

And I think ever since that childhood Christmas in Rome, that has been my association with Italy: feeling welcome and comfortable, despite not really belonging there. (Kind of like I feel on my Italian racing bikes, come to think of it.)  I always remember Italy around Christmastime, and this year even more so - as I ride my sleek Italian beauties through the wintry landscape.

I have noticed that I tend to be most interested in bicycles whose country of origin holds significance for me. Their history becomes more relevant that way, and they evoke warm memories. Happy holidays to everyone and happy winter cycling!

Celeste e Bianca: Nice Day for a Ride!

Having finally nursed my celestial beauty back to health, I was ready to take her on a proper test ride... And the snow decided to pick this day of all days to arrive? It felt like the final act of an Italian tragicomic operetta. But since the forecast did not predict snow until late morning, I set off early in hopes of beating the odds. After all the drama with this bicycle, I was not willing to forgo a test ride!

For the past few months I had been patiently hunting for one of these, but having no luck finding anything in my size and budget. Finally, an online bike-friend found something that seemed perfect and I pounced on it immediately. When the bicycle arrived, it initially seemed that my worst fears about sight-unseen deals were realised and the purchase was a disaster: Not only did every single component seem to require work, but the frame was a larger size than advertised - possibly too large for me. I considered just re-selling the bike as-is to save myself the heartbreak. But after much debate and some outside mechanical help, things began to look up and I decided to keep it. Once the wheels were in ridable condition and we put the tires on, the moment of truth came: I did clear the top-tube sufficiently, and so continuing the renovations was deemed worth the risk.

And now here she is: a 54cm Bianchi "Nuovo Racing", circa 1983. Made in Italy, Columbus tubing, some Campagnolo components. When I got the bicycle, everything was original - right down to the water bottle, which I promptly removed.

We replaced the handlebars and brake levers with modern Nitto Noodle bars and Tektro short reach levers. (The original bars and levers were damaged. But even if they hadn't been, I have trouble using vintage ones and am only really comfortable with the Noodle + Tektro combination.)

The original Ofmega stem was 11.5cm long - which felt scary, since the bicycle was already larger than what I was used to. We replaced it with a 7mm stem.

The original 23mm tires were torn to shreds and we replaced them with 28mm gumwall Panaracer Pasela Tourguards. I might eventually switch them with the cream tires on one of my other bikes, but maybe not. The original Modolo Flash brakes on the bike were damaged, and for now we've fitted it with a set of modern Tektro brakes - but they are not an ideal fit, and I am waiting to get a set of vintage Campagnolo brakes from a bike friend which I hope to replace the modern ones with. That should look much better, so I am hoping they work out.

Otherwise, the bicycle is original, including - for now - the foam racing saddle, the shape of which feels surprisingly comfortable. The handlebars are wrapped with white cloth tape and covered in two layers of clear (not amber) shellac - which gives them a nice vintage-cream appearance. The end result is not "period-correct" by any means, but I don't think the modern parts look offensive either. It is subdued and evokes a sense of the early '80s, at least to me.

When you romanticise a particular bicycle and look forward to it too much, there is bound to be disappointment. For me, the disappointment was with the aesthetic aspects. I don't know what I was expecting, because I had poured over catalog pictures of this model before, so nothing should have been a surprise. But I guess, appearance-wise, the bike was more bland than I had anticipated.

I think that I hoped to see "Italian flare", and there simply isn't any. It's a very ordinary-looking early 80s lugged bike, painted turquoise, with a bunch of blue Bianchi decals. Well, that's okay, I thought: Now I know that there is nothing magical about these bicycles. I will either enjoy riding it, or not; either way, it will be a learning experience.

It was not until I rode the bicycle that I began to get attached to it. And make no mistake, get attached to it I did! - How could I have taken these snowy, romantic photos otherwise?  I first tried the bike a couple of days ago - with the long stem and faulty original brakes - for just long enough to determine that the stem was too long and the brakes were too faulty, but the ride quality was lovely. After having replaced the stem and brakes, I finally test rode the bicycle properly, just hours before the snow storm arrived. The Co-Habitant was worried about the bike's performance and about the weather, and so he extracted a promise from me to stay close to our neighborhood. And I did - riding for 45 minutes in loops until my hands went numb from the cold (winter glove recommendations for a road bike, please?) and the snowflakes started to fall.

First impressions: The ride quality is nicer than I had expected. There was no harshness at all, and the bicycle was surprisingly stable at low speeds for a racing-style roadbike. The 54cm frame feels large, but I like it - I hope that I will be able to go back to 52cm bikes after this! The lean, even with the shorter stem, is more extreme than what I am used to. But I think I am okay with expanding my comfort zone in this respect. I was able to use the drops and the downtube shifters without feeling too unstable. And most importantly, this bicycle has the same "smooth and comfy" feel that I love so much about my Moser.

Because I have now shown a preference for several bicycles with Columbus tubing, while not being as crazy about my Reynolds 531 vintage Trek, it has been suggested that I might be a "Columbus person and not a Reynolds person". I don't know about that - or at least, I don't think that I have enough experience yet to determine such a thing. But I do know that I will be keeping this Bianchi and that I will be selling the Trek in the Spring. I won't make sweeping generalisations, such as that "I like Italian bikes" - but I do very much like the ride on the Bianchi, so far. And as beautiful as the snow is, I do hope it clears up and gives us a chance to ride together again this winter.

Celestial Beings

[image via Spernicelli]

Depending on who you speak to, it is either the most over-rated vintage bicycle in existence, or the Holy Grail: The classic Bianchi in the legendary "celeste" green.

[image via Spernicelli]

The first time I saw a true vintage Bianchi was a couple of years ago, in Austria. It was many decades old and partially dilapidated, hanging in a dark corner of a stuffy bike shop - among dozens of other classic Italian bikes. Still, the Bianchi was the one I noticed. From across the room, I walked toward it with a flutter in my chest, my hand already stretching out to touch the lugwork. Amore.

[image via Mike's Bikes]

Started in Milan in 1885, Bianchi is described as the world's oldest bicycle company still in existence. Though it has always produced a wide variety of models, Bianchi is best known for its classic racing bikes - particularly in the distinct "celeste" shade that has become its signature colour. Of dubious origins (some say inspired by the Milan sky, but most likely a product of surplus WWII paint), the exact formula of "celeste" has varied throughout the years. But it has always been some magical mix of sage green and powder blue - offset by the seductive shimmer of Campagnolo components.  

[image via the Fixed Gear Blog]

As I stare at these images and sigh, I wonder what on earth attracts me to these bikes - Straight out racing bikes that two years ago I would not have even known how to mount, let alone ride. 

[image via theoelliot]

Bianchi even produced several mixte models throughout the years - But somehow, it's the classic racing bikes that really draw me in.  

[image via Steve Otto]

And while initially my interest in Bianchi was purely aesthetic, that began to change as my cycling skills expanded. Over time, I have transitioned from thinking of these bicycles as mere eye candy, to seeing myself riding one in future - most likely as my "wildcard" bike, to replace the vintage Trek currently occupying that spot.

[image via prollyisnotprobably]

One interesting industry development, is that the current Bianchi company is re-introducing lugged steel to its modern line-up as part of the Classica line. This began with the partly lugged Dolomiti roadbike in 2009 - greeted with some dismay due to its awkward mix of modern and classic features. The 2011 line up looks more promising, with the Tipo Corsa and the Pista Classica - both featuring chrome lugwork and fork crowns. Though the lugs look somewhat generic to me and the price is likely to be prohibitive, I am excited to see this and look forward to the models being released. Bianchi "celeste" is at its best when surrounded by lugwork, on a classic steel bike. 

Advice from Fixed Gear Experts? And a Look at MKS Stream Pedals

I have been riding my Francesco Moser roadbike as a fixed gear since July. I love this bicycle and ride it considerably more than I thought I would. For an aggressive roadbike, it is puzzlingly comfortable and easy. My bicycle handling skills have improved thanks to this bike and I have grown very attached to it.

But here is the problem - or rather what I keep hoping is not a problem, and would like your opinion about: The frame has a low bottom bracket. In our innocence, we did not notice this when we were building it up, and I don't even think the person who gave me the frame noticed quite how low it was. The bike originally came with skinny tubulars, but we fitted the frame with 700C wheels and 28mm tires - which raises the bottom bracket off the ground more than originally.

The cranks are 165mm, which is already as short as I can reasonably go with here, and just recently I switched the pedals (originally MKS "Touring") to the narrower MKS "Stream". All of this has helped ward off "pedal strike," but I still worry whether it is safe. A couple of people have taken one look and told me that I should get a different bike, with an expression of concern on their faces. Others have told me that it's not too bad and there should be no problem as long as I am not too aggressive on turns and don't take it on the velodrome.

So my question: Is there an objective way to tell? How high should the bottom bracket be off the ground in order for a fixed gear bike to be "safe"?  And "aggressive on turns" seems like such a subjective concept. I think of myself as a bad cyclist and I think of my speed as slow - but I am not sure how to quantify these things. Once I get going, I like to ride 15-18mph on this bike. But I am consciously very careful on corners and slow down on them due to paranoia over this issue.

So far, the MKS "Stream" pedals (purchased from Cambridge Bicycle) seem to have made a big difference, and I am keeping my fingers crossed that perhaps they solved the problem. This is what the lean of the bike used to be in order to get pedal strike, but the Streams have improved things considerably.

Here are the MKS "Touring" (left) vs the MKS "Stream" (right) pedals side by side. As you can see, they are very similar except for the size.

The MKS Streams are basically touring-style pedals that are the size of track pedals. They are comfortable and accept both toe clips and Power Grips. I was worried that my feet might feel cramped on them, but I have felt absolutely no discomfort so far.

Here is another size comparison.

And notice the difference in teeth. The Streams are more grippy.

The ride quality with the new pedals feels the same as previously, with the benefit of additional "room to breathe" on turns. But is it enough?  If I do need to start thinking about a new frame, I doubt that I can find something as good as the Moser (Columbus tubing, Italian quality) in anything resembling a reasonable price range. My best bets are probably to look into Mercian or to wait for the Rivendell "Simpleone".  And if you can recommend a vintage model that resembles the Moser in ride quality but has a higher bottom bracket, I am of course all ears. I do not want a new fixed gear roadbike. I love this one and would prefer to ride it forever. I just want to know whether that is a good idea.

Over the River and Through the Wood: the Season of Lone Travelers

Yesterday I cycled to a wooded area 15 miles away to take pictures for a backdrop for a painting I am working on. I needed some detailed shots of birch trees, and November is the perfect time to get them - With most of the foliage gone, the birches stand out tall and lean, every detail of their beautiful bark crisply outlined against the bare landscape.

All in all, this is such a quiet time. A deep hush has fallen over the forest as it braces for the fury of winter storms. There is even a particular sound that goes along with this state of things - like a very quiet ringing.

Now that we are getting into late November, the number of cyclists out there - especially outside of the city, on the hilly roads and on the trails - has dwindled down remarkably. And those who remain apparently feel a sense of comradery with their fellow lone travelers, as I have never gotten so many comments from passing roadies before.

First I was asked by a cyclist where I got my Moser and how I like the bike. We discussed that for a bit, with him concluding that he must find a vintage Moser frame for himself (he-he, I am such an enabler!). Later, another cyclist (of the "pedantic retrogrouch" variety) was indignant that I was not only riding an Italian racing bike as a fixed gear, but that I fitted it with "rando-bars" (a French style of drop handlebars with a curvature better suited for long distance touring). I did not really know what to reply to that accusation except "yes".

And later still, I was complimented on my "trackstand" at a traffic light, which made me question whether I understand what trackstands are. I was pretty sure that a trackstand is when you are actually able to stand still, as a sort of balancing trick. I cannot do that at all. But I play games at intersections, where I cycle so slowly that I am basically moving forward mere millimeters at a time until the light turns green. It may look like a trackstand to an unscrutinous eye, but I am definitely cheating. But anyhow, my point really is that I haven't had verbal exchanges like these with other cyclists until now - whereas yesterday alone I had nearly half a dozen. The few cyclists who are out there this time of year must be feeling especially lonely.

On the way back from my photo trip, I stopped by the Ride Studio Cafe that I wrote about earlier, when I saw through the window that their coffee bar was open. I just want to say one thing: If I could count on their in-house coffee shop consistently being open, I would go out of my way just to go there. They serve good coffee and hot chocolate - and they have back issues of Bicycle Quarterly! Once settled in, I had to almost forcibly pry myself away. Funny, because I remember reading Bicycle Quarterly last year and finding the articles difficult to understand, whereas now everything makes sense and seems terribly interesting. I should probably start subsrcibing to it.  And for those who have been reading BQ all along: Could you tell me in what issue I can find Jan Heine's review of a Rivendell? I am pretty sure he wrote one, but haven't been able to locate it.

As I needed to run some additional errands in different parts of town, I ended up spending the entire day on my bike  - which made me realise just how quickly both the temperature and the light conditions can change this time of the year. I am paranoid about getting stranded in the dark, so even for my sporty bicycles I carry at least some battery-operated lights that I can quickly attach to the handlebars and to my saddlebag. As winter approaches, I somehow find myself riding this particular bike more and more - so maybe it is time to find a more permanent and attractive lighting solution for him (bottle dynamo on a fixed gear, anyone?).

And it is surprising how much stuff my tiny saddlebag can fit, as long as I don't need to carry my laptop around. Perfect for a short trip by a lone traveler on a late November day.

A Cruel Transition

Particularly in New England, November has always struck me as a cruel month. At the beginning, the fiery foliage and the azure skies carry over from October.

The crisp, but still warm air is charged with just the right amount of electricity to gently stir our emotions. And we are lulled into a state of self-willed denial that soon it will all be yanked away from us in one fell swoop - replaced with desolate landscapes, freezing temperatures and perilous road conditions... for the next 4 months.

As far as cycling goes, I must admit the memories of how difficult last winter was fill me with dread. I am trying not to panic, but to be prepared instead. And part of that is just being mentally prepared for what's to come.

My biggest disappointment last winter was discovering that any kind of sporty cycling was out of the question after temperatures dropped below freezing, because I had trouble breathing at speeds over 10-12 mph. The science of that is still a mystery to me, especially since I can cross-country ski in the winter without experiencing the same problem. And I know that other cyclists have trouble with this as well - it might just be a genetic difference in how our lungs are structured, whereby for some it is a problem and for others not. This year I will try some tricks that have been suggested to deal with the breathing issue, but if it doesn't work I am prepared to accept things as they are and hang up my roadbikes until spring. Or so I tell myself.

But as far as transportation cycling goes, I do not anticipate any great changes in my routine. Last winter I was able to get anywhere I needed to go on my Pashley, taking it slowly and enjoying its stability and winter-proofness (wide tires, internally geared hub, full chaincase). This winter I am looking forward to seeing how the Gazelle and Bella Ciao perform in comparison. Most likely I will ride the Gazelle for local trips, and the Bella Ciao (after I get a rack and lights for it) for more hilly, long-distance trips. And the rest of my bicycles will be put away, including my custom mixte - which I just cannot bring myself to ride in the winter, yet.

But all this is still in the future. For now November has been good, and the increasingly desolate landscape  has a romantic charm to it that I hope it will retain for at least another few weeks. It's a cruel transition, but a trusty bicycle is a good ally to have.

Happy Feet

Today was the first time I felt well enough to ride a roadbike since having gotten sick last month. It was only 26 miles, but it felt great to have my full lung capacity and energy back.

Continuing with the Italian theme, I took Francesco - my fixed gear stallion. How happy he was, basking in the precious minutes of sunshine in between thunderstorms.

Riding a fixed gear roadbike is an experience that fills me with a special kind of enjoyment - I think because it combines the sensations of walking and flying (fly-walking?).

I was worried that I might be too out of shape to make it, but I had forgotten how comfortable Francesco is. The 26 miles of pedaling felt like a stroll in the park. Although, I have learned by now that even if I feel "fine" riding fixed gear while I am actually doing it, it does take more out of me than a free-wheel bicycle. I usually sleep longer after such a ride, and sometimes I am sore the following day.

One thing that has improved my comfort level with fixed gear cycling considerably, are these "fixie" Power Grips. I wrote about the standard Power Grips here, and since my initial review I have become addicted to these things. The fixed gear version differs from the standard model, in that it makes it easier to insert and remove your feet while pedals are in motion. I cannot tell what it is about the design that makes this possible, but none the less it seems to work. I insert my right toe at the starting position and start cycling slowly while nudging the left pedal with my left toe - then swiftly insert the toe into the left grip on the first stroke. After some practice this became a familiar and instinctive sequence of movements - though it definitely helped that I was already comfortable using this system on a free-wheel bike prior to trying it on a fixed gear.

Now that I am able to use foot retention on this bicycle, I am no longer apprehensive about cycling over bumps and potholes or going downhill at high speeds. The experience is pretty much perfect and very enjoyable. One thing in particular I have noticed, is how easy it is for me to ride "in the drops" - Francesco almost seems more stable when the handlebars are held this way than higher up. Is that possible?

And another interesting thing: I find it much, much easier to get out of the saddle and pedal standing up on Francesco than I do on my other bicycles. Is it the fixed-gearness that is facilitating this or the geometry? As I've mentioned before, I have a terrible sense of balance, and that is what I believe normally prevents me from pedaling while standing up. But on this bicycle, it seems not to matter.

It rained on and off for the duration of our ride, and the colourful leaves strewn over the trail turned into a mess of a slippery carpet. Was I so excited to be riding Francesco that I began to imagine things, or is it easier to ride in slippery conditions on a fixed gear bike? I have read comments about traction before, but I admit that I don't understand them. Could somebody explain it in layman's terms?

As I prepare for some more pruning of my bicycle overgrowth, it is clear to me that I "need" a fixed gear roadbike. So while I am now considering selling my Trek - which has been fun, but not essential - I will definitely be keeping the Francesco Moser.

In the long run, however - maybe a couple of years from now - I will probably want to replace it with a "real" fixed gear bicycle. Mainly, this is because the Moser's bottom bracket is not as high as it should be - and even though my lean on turns is not aggressive enough to warrant worrying about pedal strike yet, it would be better if this wasn't even a potential issue.

But for now, Francesco is my dashing Italian gentleman and I thank him for my happy feet.