Quietly, I revive a dead blog.

Roughly a year ago, I installed a set of Velo-Orange Porteur bars on my fixie. Prior to that, I had been running a set of Origin-8 bullhorns that I had installed when I originally built the bike. I had not originally planned to run such an aggressive bar on the bike, but I was in the homestretch of the build and I bought what the shop had in stock. Since then I had silently pined for a set swept back bars. When I found the Porteurs in-stock at Portland Velocipede, I snapped them up and I was sure I'd never look back. I installed them with a slightly longer stem than I normally prefer, reasoning that if I put my hands on the bends I'd be in roughly as far forward as the horns on my previous bars, but with the added option of riding upright with my hands further back on the grips. It seemed to be an ideal solution for a troubled back and a craving for vintage aesthetic.

As of this weekend, however, I'm back to the bullhorns. What went wrong with the Porteurs? Honestly, I don't know. I know that I really wanted to like them, and I did like them. What I didn't like is what kind of cyclist they made me. The bullhorns pushed me to challenge myself, they put me in riding positions that encouraged sprinting and leaning into the wind. The Porteurs allowed it, but they made it clear that it was not their purpose. With my hands on the bends of the Porteurs, my wrists extended very uncomfortably with my palms straight down: A passable hand position for some instances, but not one that lends itself to intense riding. And on the grips, comfort abounded but the posture was far too relaxed. I never wanted to get out of my saddle. I found myself riding contentedly at incredibly sluggish speeds, feeling no inspiration from my bike to aspire to anything more.

I rode my bike today for the first time since switching back to bullhorns, and it felt like a completely different machine. I feel pretty secure in my choice. The Porteurs will find a new home soon (in fact I think I have one in mind already), but for my everyday ride, I'm glad to be back on a set of bars that inspires me, that welcomes a style of riding that excites me.

The Making of a Single-Speed: Part 2

I've got a pretty decent stockpile of parts kicking around. When it came time to choose a crank for this bike, I considering improvising a solution using some low end stuff I'm never going to use, but nothing really seemed up to my standards. So instead, I decided to go with this half-decent Sugino I got at the Portland Bike Swap. I only paid 2 dollars for it due to some pretty heavy but largely superficial wear. Anyway, I stuck them on the bottom bracket and this happened:

Note the distance between the chainring and frame. Now, there's nothing about this set up that's technically wrong, but for our purposes, we want to close up that gap as much as possible (I'll come back to the "why" of this a little later). Note how there is an impression in the frame to make room for a really close fitting crank. The goal is to move that chainring as far in as possible.

These are bottom bracket spindles. The one in the middle, I believe, is the one that we just had the cranks mounted on. The other two are spares I had lying around. The goal was to find one that was notably shorter than the others. Unfortunately, these were all pretty close to each other. So I went down to my friends at Port City Bikes and bought a new spindle that was basically as short as possible. Here are the results:

Compare the first photo to this photo. That chainring is now basically as close to the frame as it will get without rubbing. This not only looks pretty cool, in my opinion, but it also serves a purpose. You may remember in the previous post that the back wheel's hub was spaced very much off center. What that means is that in order to have a perfectly straight chain-line, we needed to get that chain ring as far to the left as it would go. And we got lucky...

Perfect! It's not always easy to make the chain perfectly straight like this. Many times, it requires the rear wheel to be respaced and "redished", which requires wheel truing skills that are not my strong suit. This time, we lucked out and the shorter bottom bracket spindle was all it took.

Because this bike is to be ridden by somebody who hasn't been on a bike in years, I deemed the drop bars unacceptable. Instead, I threw on these upright "three-speed" style bars I had lying around. Much more comfortable for casual riding. The brake levers were purchased at the Orono Bike Swap for $2.50. They appear to have, at one point, had shifters built onto them that were ground off. The price was right, though. It should go without saying that these bars will be equipped with grips, I just need to buy them first.

The (nearly) finished product.

Bike: $25

Handlebars: $13

Brake Levers: $2.50

Brake Cables: $4

Crank: $2

Bottom-Bracket Spindle: $10

Pedals: $5

Chain: $12

17t Freewheel: $15

The Making of a Single-Speed: Part 1

Like many other things that people are often afraid to repair or modify on their own, bicycles are often thought of with an undue level of mysticism. It is true that there are complexities in a bike's workings, and they are not without their little counter-intuitive bits. For the most part though, they are the same as any other piece of machinery in that the best way to figure them out is to just senselessly tear into them until you get stumped. That's basically how I learned, and how I continue to learn about these things.

Of the many projects on my plate right now, one of them is this cute little Univega, that I intend to build for my girlfriend. Having not been on a bike in a long time, she requested that I build her a single-speed so that she wouldn't have to worry about shifting. As a very enthusiastic fixed-gear bandwagon jumper, I am very happy to oblige.

So how does one go about converting a 12 speed road bike into a single speed? Well, it's not always necessarily an easy job, but it is essentially pretty simple. First thing's first:

See all this junk? This is a triumph of technology beyond what anyone could have conceived of in the early days of the bicycle. Basically, we need to destroy it.

The cone shaped thing covered with grease and teeth is called a freewheel. This particular one has 6 gears on it and it threads directly onto the hub, like a giant, violent, ratcheting bottle cap. At some point around 1990, the industry switched to a different system using "freehubs" and "cassettes". In either case, having several gears on the back is less than advantageousness for our purposes, so we need to unscrew it using some very specialized tool that you probably don't have any reason to own, unless you're like me and you've done this about a billion times. The little dangly thing is called a derailer, and we don't need that either.

Similar to our problems on the rear end, this guy up front is also a little overambitious. This is called a crankset, and more specifically, this one is a double crankset. That means, as you can hopefully assume on your own, that it has two chainrings, which further allow the rider to adjust his or her gear ratio on the fly. We don't need that. Technically speaking, we don't need to replace this part. I've built single speeds with double and triple crank sets before, simply by removing the front derailer and only using one chainring. However, that always looks pretty ghetto, and we don't want my girlfriend looking like a fool on a bike I'm building for her. She's too classy for that. So yeah, say goodbye to this crank.

Shifters? Pfff.

AFTER PHOTOS

As you can see, the 6 speed freewheel is gone. Our next step will be to thread on a single-speed freewheel, which is essentially the same kind of part, but with only a single gear on it. However, as the bottom photo reveals, we have yet another step ahead of us. Because the original freewheel was so wide, the hub is spaced far to the left to accommodate it. Our new freewheel will be much smaller, and won't need as much space. In addition to that, the new freewheel will want to be much further to the right than this set up currently allows, in order to keep the chain going in a straight line... We will deal with this in the future.

The crank arms are now removed from the spindle. The part that's now left, including the spindle, the bearings, and the associated hardware, comprise what is known as the "bottom bracket". This specific bottom bracket may also need to be replaced in the future depending on which crank is mounted to it. Spindles come in different lengths, and it may be necessary to have a more narrow one in order to keep our chain going in a straight line.

This is a wide shot of the bike with all the unnecessary parts removed, including the shifters, derailers, cables, and a few clamp on cable stops. The kick stand remains, for now. I always ditch kickstands on my personal bikes, but sometimes other people like them, so I'll leave that as an option for now.

These are all the parts that were removed in this phase of the conversion. Of these, the only parts that will be replace are the crankset, the pedals, the chain and the freewheel. All of them will be more lightweight equivalents than the ones in this pile.

Stay tuned for the next step... when I find enough money to make it happen.

The past few weeks have been an exciting time in Bike Land. Today was the Orono installment of the Great Maine Bike Swap. I had initially intended to leave with just a handful of parts and call it a day, but that didn't exactly work out. I'll keep this simple:

My 1962 Raleigh Lenton Sport

This thing hit me in waves. I don't recall what exactly it was that struck me first, but once this bike grabbed my attention it didn't let go. There is an article about these things on Sheldon Brown's website, but allow me to break it down for you in in accessible terms: This thing has a very serious case of old. Though the numbers stamped on the rear hub suggest this to be a 1962, the design of this bike is based on conventions dating back to the 40s and 50s. The weird stubby stem and vaguely track style drop bars are the first tell, and from there, it just keeps going. It's not too too uncommon to find an old bike like this, but to find one in ridable condition, and with all it's parts and accessories intact, well, that's something special. Especially if it costs 25 dollars. Hell yes.

Original Brooks saddle in what I would consider to be fair condition. Definitely capable of restoration.

This bike is a three speed, with a Sturmey Archer TCW hub featuring smooth internal shifting and a coaster brake. Internal hub shifting has a mixed reputation, but I'm a long time fan. They require almost zero maintenance, give a simple but usable range of gears, and maintain that smooth simple chain-line I've come to love.

...Also, those plastic fenders are probably worth something on their own.

Univega Nuovo Sport

Not much to say about this other than that it is fodder for a project. It's a nice bike that's a few sizes small for me. Aluminum rims, centerpull brakes, forged dropouts, and a drive-train that is soon to be tossed into my spare parts bin.

That isn't all of it, but it does complete this post. I also acquired a third bike and a handful of parts. All in all, a productive day that has rendered me fairly poor.

The Great Brake Debate

There exists a divide between seasoned bicycle enthusiasts and the casual rider. At the center of this disagreement is the front brake, and what exactly it's role is. It is the position of many expert cyclists that the front brake should be the primary brake to be used in the majority of stopping scenarios. Many more casual riders, by contrast, will tell you simply that the front brake's only purpose is to send the rider flying over the handlebars and into certain death*. So who's right? Well, let's break it down and look at the facts: The front brake has significantly more stopping power than the rear brake. This isn't an opinion, but rather simple physics. As you force deceleration on a bike, your weight shifts forward, off of the back wheel and onto the front. The back wheel loses traction while the front wheel gains it. It's testable and repeatable: All else being equal, a front brake will always slow you down quicker.

[* This never actually happens.]

But should it be one's primary brake? That's a little less clear to me. After two years of riding fixed-gear bikes with only a front brake assigned to the right (primary) hand, I was ready to believe that it should be. After all, I have come to many emergency stops on my fixies with a front brake and never had trouble. So when it came time for me to route the brakes on my touring bike, I made the bold decision to reverse the levers from the conventional standard, and put my front brake on the right, and the rear brake on the left. The idea, of course, being that my right hand is my go-to hand, capable of more strength and subtlety than my left, and that it should be assigned to my primary brake, my front brake.

So how'd that go, you ask? Well, on my first ride, I fell sideways onto the ground at an intersection. Less than ideal. I was going very slowly, riding the brakes and making a slow left turn to cross the street. My front tire hit a patch of sand and the bike when right out from under me. The reason is obvious, it's because my front brake was applied, and when the wheel locked up on loose sand, I lost control of my steering. Had my front wheel been free to rotate, it would have likely rolled freely over it at my intended trajectory. And it got me thinking, why doesn't this sort of thing happen to me all the time on my fixed-gears, with only a front brake? The answer is that although there is only a front brake on my fixies, it is not my primary means of deceleration and stopping. Rather, my legs are, and my legs affect the back wheel. That's why I could ride during blizzards on a fixed gear without problems, but wipe-out within hours on a bike with a freewheel and a front brake.

The late, great Sheldon Brown disagrees with me, stating plainly that the front brake is the primary brake and should be used in the majority of situations. I agree with a lot of his logic and practical experience. Him and I also agree that the front brake is dangerous when applied on slippery or bumpy terrain. The difference is that he seems to see such terrain as an exception to the norm, and not something that can occur unexpectedly at any given moment. All of my riding is on road bikes, on city streets and paved bike paths, but I still encounter sand and dirt regularly. In the spring time, in a region where the roads get covered with sand and salt in the winter, it is impossible to avoid it. And if one assumes that the majority of one's braking is simple speed regulation, and not emergency stopping, doesn't it make sense to keep the front wheel spinning freely, rolling calmly over unexpected obstacles? I ended up on the ground because I was using the front brake for just that, simple speed regulation, and not emergency stopping. The rear brake would have been just as effective, with the added benefit of keeping me upright and unbruised.

I do not debate the importance of a front brake on any bicycle that is to be used seriously. I go for entire long rides on my fixies without touching the brake, but I know it's there to stop me if I should need it. Whichever hand the front brake lever is on, I advise every cyclist to learn to use it effectively. But in all this front-brake celebration, let us not forget how useful and practical a rear brake can be. As for me, I immediately switched back the levers on my touring bike: Front on the left, rear on the right. I intend on keeping it that way.

This morning, I went out to the Great Maine Bike Swap at USM. The doors opened at 10am, and I was due into work at 10:30. Needless to say, I was a bit hurried and I didn't walk away with my arms quite as full as I'd done on previous years. That said, I did make a few key purchases. Perhaps more noteworthy than what I was able to get are the things I convinced myself not to. I was all ready to buy this weird orange Italian bike from the 60s, but I backed out literally at the last possible moment. Instead, I went to the tables and bought a couple discount parts that I have immediate uses for. If this is a sign of my bicycle enthusiasm maturing, then we can all breath a small sigh of relief.

Being outside on a beautiful morning, surrounded by bicycles and bicycle enthusiasts made me feel happy and slightly more awake than I have been all winter, even though I was running on two and a half hours of shaky acid-reflux sleep. It reminded me of this blog I'd started, and how I once had this ambition to do something with it. Well, here goes nothing. Is it a faux pas to draw attention to an inaugural post? I don't really follow these things. Among other things, the idea I had for this blog was to document various bicycle projects I involve myself in. I build at least a few bikes every year, and it's a process I love. I've got a lot of things waiting on the wings this year, so I don't anticipate a shortage of material.

PROJECT #1: Univega Gran Turismo (A.K.A. "The Touring Bike")

Last summer, I rode my fixed gear bike about 40 miles up the coast of Maine between Portland and Bath. It was the furthest I've ever ridden on a bike, and I did it in one constant gear ratio with no coasting. It's something I remain very proud of. While I am glad for the experience of having done it on a fixed gear, it made me aware in a very real sense just what the limitations of myself on a fixie are. Since I hope to go even further, I knew I wanted to get a bike that was made for these applications. As luck would have it, I stumbled upon this bike around the same time I was having those thoughts. It was in the living room of this guy while I was at his house buying some other bike. He had previously expressed interest in my Specialized Sirrus, so I offered it as a direct trade. I have little doubt that he emerged at the objective victor in that trade, but I came away from it with something much more suited to my priorities, not to mention, a touring bike that is nearly a match to my fixed gear commuter.

Despite being a very nice bike, it is nonetheless an old bike. The more one evaluates it's features, the more plainly apparent this fact becomes. Being a product of the mid-80s, it just barely (and quite frustratingly) predates a number of important shifts in industry standards:

• 27" rims (as opposed to 700c, which became industry standard somewhere around the turn of the decade)
• 6-speed Thread-on freewheel, 126mm spacing (as opposed to a freehub with a cassette, which became standard in the 90s. 6-speed was also an awkward transitional step, with many better shifting options available in the 7-speed era. 126mm spacing means that any modern hub would require the frame to coldset in order to fit. Not impossible or expensive, but a pain just the same.)
• Suntour friction shifters and derailers (predating Shimano's stranglehold on the industry. Not bad parts, but not as good as the Shimano stuff that would have been available just a few years later.)
• Non-aero brake levers (as opposed to, of course, aero brake levers.)
• Spacing between chainrings too wide for most modern chains, as it predates the shift to 7+ speed drivetrains.

It is not my intention to completely rebuild this bike. On the contrary, I've set myself the rather modest goal of making it work as well as I can with the bare minimum of necessary upgrades. It's an exercise in restraint that frankly I'm long overdue for. After spending nearly 500 dollars last year on a bike that I was given for free, I should prove to myself, and everyone else, that I can make things work on the cheap too. Having said that, I will not skimp on the things that need to be done.

Tonight I overhauled the "cockpit", as it's sometimes referred. That is, the handlebars and all things attached and directly associated. I'm notoriously good at forgetting to take before pictures, so you'll have to believe me that the difference is radical. After realizing that all my favorite bikes have sort of medium length stems, and that this one had sort of an excessively long stem, I dug through my spare parts and found one about an inch shorter, marked "Fuji" and originally found in a box full of bike parts beside the trash dump. I removed the original dia-compe levers (cool though they were) with a set of Shimano 700 aero levers that I acquired today at the Bike Swap. These are complimented with a set of Cane Creek Crosstop interrupter levers. I only got to test it on a quick, stupidly chilly ride as the sun was going down, but it's quite comfortable.