tsl
12-27-07, 09:33 AM
Yesterday was a rare mostly-sunny day here in R-town. It was also relatively warm (upper 30s) and the winds were light. It had been weeks since I rode Yellow Bike, my '00 Trek 1000, so I dusted it off, pumped up the tires and suited up.
I couldn't bring myself to wear a jacket. With a little bit of solar gain, I figured I could make it with a baselayer top, under a black long-sleeved t-shirt and topped with a jersey. I chose my BikeForums Great Lakes Region jersey. It came a couple of weeks ago and hadn't yet had its inaugural ride. I also decided to forgo my winter cycling boots, and wore my three-season shoes with booties. It's an exaggeration, but it seems to save a kilo of each foot that way.
Yellow Bike weighs more than my Portland, and its 8-speed Sora drivetrain certainly isn't bling, but it's a fun, lively ride that always pulls a little more out of me than I expected. And although it's geared a little higher than the Portland, the lightweight custom handbuilt wheels I got for it last spring make it the better climber.
I pointed the bars at the rolling hills southeast of the city and took off. Whether it was the bike, the wheels, the summer shoes, or the absence of meaningful wind, heading out through the city, I had difficulty keeping it under 20. By the five mile mark at the beginning of the hills, I'd worked up an agreeable sweat.
This particular route (Clover St for those who know it) swarms with riders in-season. It was a long while yesterday before I saw two others. Strangely enough, they returned my smile and wave.
I tend to think of Clover St as a climb out of the city, but in reality, the next ten miles are rolling hills. But, they go up more than they go down so there's an overall elevation gain. All too soon I was upon the park. I turned for my usual loop through it. Cross-country skiers, sledders, tobogganers, even runners and equestrians seemed to wonder about the silly guy on a bike.
I was nearly out of the park when at the top of a rise around a bend I saw a bike, standing up all by itself in a snowbank. It was a road bike too. I pulled up and stopped just as its rider and another guy on a bike came out of the woods. Pee break, I thought.
We gave each other the business about being crazy people, and pondered whether half as many wheels as most people means half as many brains. Anyway, as it turned out, it was a dad and son. The son was around my age, so the dad was 70+. The dad owns 11 bikes and had one of his winter rigs out. The son was visiting for the holidays, and rode a beautiful old-school steel rig, with gumwall tires and fenders.
As required by cyclist protocol, we complimented each other's rides and told about them. The dad has had the old school bike (I never did get the brand or model) since 1957. It's been restored twice and was presently painted a startling, yet pleasing shade of electric lime metallic. Set off by the chrome lugs, fenders and other shiny bits, Brooks saddle and leather bar wrap, it was quite a looker. (Sorry, I left the camera at home.)
As nice as the ride was, it was that chance encounter that made my ride. And that both riders were 50+, made it that much better.
I couldn't bring myself to wear a jacket. With a little bit of solar gain, I figured I could make it with a baselayer top, under a black long-sleeved t-shirt and topped with a jersey. I chose my BikeForums Great Lakes Region jersey. It came a couple of weeks ago and hadn't yet had its inaugural ride. I also decided to forgo my winter cycling boots, and wore my three-season shoes with booties. It's an exaggeration, but it seems to save a kilo of each foot that way.
Yellow Bike weighs more than my Portland, and its 8-speed Sora drivetrain certainly isn't bling, but it's a fun, lively ride that always pulls a little more out of me than I expected. And although it's geared a little higher than the Portland, the lightweight custom handbuilt wheels I got for it last spring make it the better climber.
I pointed the bars at the rolling hills southeast of the city and took off. Whether it was the bike, the wheels, the summer shoes, or the absence of meaningful wind, heading out through the city, I had difficulty keeping it under 20. By the five mile mark at the beginning of the hills, I'd worked up an agreeable sweat.
This particular route (Clover St for those who know it) swarms with riders in-season. It was a long while yesterday before I saw two others. Strangely enough, they returned my smile and wave.
I tend to think of Clover St as a climb out of the city, but in reality, the next ten miles are rolling hills. But, they go up more than they go down so there's an overall elevation gain. All too soon I was upon the park. I turned for my usual loop through it. Cross-country skiers, sledders, tobogganers, even runners and equestrians seemed to wonder about the silly guy on a bike.
I was nearly out of the park when at the top of a rise around a bend I saw a bike, standing up all by itself in a snowbank. It was a road bike too. I pulled up and stopped just as its rider and another guy on a bike came out of the woods. Pee break, I thought.
We gave each other the business about being crazy people, and pondered whether half as many wheels as most people means half as many brains. Anyway, as it turned out, it was a dad and son. The son was around my age, so the dad was 70+. The dad owns 11 bikes and had one of his winter rigs out. The son was visiting for the holidays, and rode a beautiful old-school steel rig, with gumwall tires and fenders.
As required by cyclist protocol, we complimented each other's rides and told about them. The dad has had the old school bike (I never did get the brand or model) since 1957. It's been restored twice and was presently painted a startling, yet pleasing shade of electric lime metallic. Set off by the chrome lugs, fenders and other shiny bits, Brooks saddle and leather bar wrap, it was quite a looker. (Sorry, I left the camera at home.)
As nice as the ride was, it was that chance encounter that made my ride. And that both riders were 50+, made it that much better.