DROVES Diaries II: Loop of Defeat

It is Saturday night on Memorial Day weekend. We are in Vermont. And it is snowing outside. It is really starting to accumulate now. We take turns running out onto the porch to snap pictures. We do not know what to do with ourselves, other than look at each other with a helpless giddiness as if to say "This is really happening and you are my witness, right?" Surely twenty or thirty years from now we will each be telling some bored youngster in our family about that time it snowed on Memorial Day weekend. But what to do with these emotions now that it's happening? Well, there is always instagram.




The people I am with, they drink like Europeans - lots, as a matter of course, and, seemingly without getting drunk. There is also a great deal of eating. Tray after tray is passed around. I decline second helpings. I push half of my dessert onto a neighbour's plate. And still I feel close to being sick, while the others seem to thrive. I look around the table with admiration. I cannot eat like this, despite having ridden the same miles. Not that those miles seem like much to brag about in retrospect.




I slept straight through the night and opened my eyes at 8:30am. A heavy pile of comforters. Wooden beams all around. The air smells of outdoors and feels just as crisp. At first I marvel at how quiet it is. But then I realise that I'd simply grown used to the rain beating against the metal roof as background noise. It is raining as hard as last night, and it is almost as dark.




Downstairs, some of the others are awake already, quietly eating breakfast in different parts of the room. I step out onto the porch and see a watery mess in the dirt driveway. It is raw-cold out, and I duck back indoors. There is coffee and I pour myself some. I settle down with a bowl of cereal and listen to the rain.




Pamela is at the table with her laptop. Extreme weather warnings are in effect.She suggests that those who want to ride wait till mid-day, when the rain might ease up.And she proposes we do a short route - one that's designed as a half-day ride and is only 30 miles long, called the Victory Loop. Pamela and John debate whether the steep descent toward the end might be washed out and could be dangerous. They decide that today the route should be ridden backwards. "It is steeper in reverse, but safer."



I copy the route and glance at the metrics: 30 miles, 3600 feet of climbing. All dirt. I eat my cereal and don't allow the figures to register.




"The Victory Loop in reverse... doesn't that make it the Loop of Defeat?"




More people are awake now, but there is no talk of riding.




"I am fine right here," someone says. "Any board games in the house?"




The RSC boys continue to work on John Bayley's bike. They are now opening the bleed kit for the hydraulic brakes. Matt Roy - an immunologist and pro bike mechanic - is wielding the syringe picturesquely as we all take pictures.




But finally I am restless. Am I crazy for wanting to ride on a day like this?




At noon, Mo Bruno-Roy appears in a colourfully mismatched ensemble. She is going on a short mountain bike ride in the woods. After she sets off, I can take it no longer.




I go upstairs and put on my cycling clothes. Fleece winter tights, baselayer, long sleeve jersey, winter jacket, neck warmer, full finger gloves, shoes, and those fetishistic-looking booties I'd been too intimidated to try all winter. I walk downstairs and amuse everyone.




Before I can change my mind,I drag my bike outdoors and set off. The rain is like a waterfall.By the time I reach the end of the dirt driveway, my glasses fog up so completely that I must take them off.At the main road I turn right.




As it is later remarked, there is no foreplay in the routes around Burke, Vermont. "They begin to fuck with you right away."




The first climb happens immediately and it is 3 miles long, starting out paved and turning to dirt. One of those roads with the truck-on-triangle "Steep Grade" sign. I feel like someone hit me over the head with a hammer. I see stars.Blood rushes to my face.My mouth goes dry. My head starts to pound. And my legs feel like led.I grind in my 1:1 gear.I cannot climb like this starting at mile zero, I just can't.




The dirt roads are beige and gritty. It has been raining for days. But remarkably, it is not muddy. Streams of clay-tinted water over wet dirt, but no mud. The ground is soft though, not unlike tightly packed wet sand. It gives under the weight of me and the bike. My tires stick to it, sinking just enough to sap my energy. Crawling uphill, I feel like a caterpillar, a snail.




At the top I stop and take out my camera. But really I stop because I am out of breath and my heart is pounding and my vision is blurry. There is nothing to photograph here. A farm surrounded by fog. Dark clouds pressing down on the soaked landscape. A cluster of sad, broken lilac bushes. Rain, rain, rain. My legs are trembling from the climb; I cannot handle an entire route like this. What am I doing here?




I get back on the bike and hope to rest on a flat stretch, but immediately I start to descend. There are some ruts and washboards now. The bike starts bouncing. I stop and lower the pressure in my tires. That helps. Letting the bike go, I steer around the bends and feather the brakes.




At the bottom, I see that another uphill stretch awaits. But I go off course and take a different road, one that looks like it might offer some rolling hills. But no, that road goes up as well. I stop when my computer registers a 20% grade, turn around and ride back down. Later I will do the same several more times, with similar results. There are no gentle roads here. Explore all you want, but expect at least 1,000 feet of elevation gain for every 10 miles.




Back on course now, the road goes up again, but at a gentler grade than before. The rain eases up. I sip my water and spin, feeling almost energetic.




Now the directions say to turn onto Victory Road. It is a much narrower road, almost a trail, that runs though dense woods. It is gravely and rocky. The pitch steepens horrendously, almost comically. I put my water back in the bottle cage and keep pedaling, clicking through my gears until once again I run out. Then I grind. At this moment I can imagine few things more humiliating than grinding in a gear as low as mine. I don't belong here.




I am crawling up a wall of gravel.My mind wanders. I have imaginary conversations with myself. I can't feel my legs, but somehow rotate the pedals anyway. Water and sweat stream down my face.




Ahead, things get worse. I see that the sides of the road have caved in and are flanked by rushing streams of water.I remember that this is the road with potentially washed-out descent that caused Pamela to reverse the route. As I climb further, ravine-like formations begin to take shape down the center, with streams of water flowing through them. I pick a line to avoid them, but this becomes progressively harder, until finally one ravine intersects the other. I ride over this in slow motion at a 16% grade. I try to keep going, but now the road is truly ravaged. Gravel starts to spill out in clumps under my front tire and I slide backwards. The grade steepens still and I get off to push my bike the rest of the way up, barely upright. My arms and shoulders hurt from the effort. I space out until I reach the top.




The descent is not much better at first and I keep walking. I can't pick out a line; it is all rutted out, or in the process of caving in. But finally I get on the bike, launch it downhill and hope for the best. There are large, sharp rocks and I steer around them. It is a 4 mile descent. I am falling and falling and falling. A free-fall.




At the bottom I am suddenly jolted into alertness. Not by the end of the descent, but by the realisation that I am pedaling along a flat stretch. Having gotten used to vertical roads, it is downright disconcerting. And again, I feel as if my tires stick to the ground, as if I am riding in slow motion. The rain stopped. There is a lake - or maybe a flooded field - and I stop to take a break. I look at the time and see how late it is grown. I've added some extra miles to the route, but still have barely done over 20 so far, and it took me nearly 3 hours. I wonder whether the others, setting out to ride the same route later, might have passed me during one of the times I'd gone off course. I try to get a move on.




Next comes a long, winding paved climb with no end in sight. Once again I am crawling. Surely this cannot be called cycling, not at this speed. The grade steepens yet again and once again I consider walking. But just then I suddenly sense a presence beside me, and I see Ted. Pamela and Emily are not far behind. They tell me they left soon after I did, but I doubt that very much - it would not have taken them this long to catch me.




Briefly we ride together. Nearly breaking my knees, I push myself to keep up, but they gently slip away. And when I see them disappear, it is through a veil of snowflakes. At first I think I am hallucinating, but it is unmistakable. Snowflakes on my handlebar bag, on my gloves, on the sleeves of my jacket.




It is not a soft, fluffy snowfall, but a sharp and sleety one. When the next long descent begins, it hits me in the face like needles; it stabs me in the eyes. I try to put my glasses on, but they fog up. So I squint, resisting closing my eyes completely. My face hurts, really hurts. I can see where I am going only approximately. The road is winding and steep. It feels as if I get through it by putting my bike on autopilot.




Finally, a quieter, gentler road, and I am on dirt again. Tall trees shelter me from the vicious snow-needles. I check my computer and see I am 6 miles from the end. I pedal hard and try to get it over with.




Nearly home now, from the corner of my eye I notice a car slowing down beside me. There is no one else on the road but us, and for a moment I panic. A serial killer on the prowl, preying on slow cyclists. But it is John Bayley and Matt Roy. "Can we give you a lift home?" I am confused, then slightly outraged. "In the car?! Why?" They point at the sky. "We were worried!" I assure them I am doing wonderfully, and wave them away.Some minutes later I drag my bike into the cabin, to the sound of applause.




All this for 37 miles. But they were the hardest I've ever done. My legs are shot and my upper body is aching. I cannot imagine walking tomorrow, let alone riding. Feeling dejected, elated and utterly ridiculous, I go upstairs to wash and change for dinner. Out of the bedroom window I notice the snow again. Maybe I am dreaming all of this up.

The Stranger

A little while ago I locked up my bike in a neighbourhood I don't much like and left it there for a couple of hours. When I returned, there were objects arranged on my rear rack: an unfinished cup of coffee and a pair of broken sunglasses. I picked up the paper cup gingerly and threw it in the nearby trash. There was a stain and some crumbs stuck to the cup where someone's mouth had been. The cup was cold, but then the day was also cold; impossible to know how long ago the coffee drinker had left it there. I then looked at just the sunglasses alone on the rack. Reflective and cracked in several places, they reminded me of broken mirrors that could bring bad luck -I found myself not wanting to touch them, and just stood there looking at them for a bit. Finally I removed them from the rack and placed them carefully on the edge of a flower bed.

So... some idiot left some stuff on my bike. What is the big deal? I don't know.I guess I am prone to seek meaning in things where none exists, and sometimes these random ambiguous types of acts bother me more than something more obviously hostile would.I tried to imagine the stranger who left the cup and sunglasses behind.Was it an absent-minded thing, where the person was on their way to the trash bin and suddenly their mobile phone rang? Or was it intentional, and a coin-toss between that and slashing my bike's tires? Was it a message, however unconscious, or did it mean nothing at all?

It's amazingly easy to leave our mark on somebody else's world, and bicycles - being personal objects that we just leave around, exposed - seem to attract that kind of mark-making. Be it a flower tucked into the handlebars, or garbage left in the basket, the gesture makes us aware of those countless strangers among whom we move and most of whom we will never know.

Selling City Bikes: NYC Case Studies

While in New York City last week, I had a chance to visit two bicycle shops specialising in transportational cycling: Hudson Urban Bicycles (HUB)and Adeline Adeline. These visits were great, but they also evoked some envy. Why do we not have shops like this in Boston? Seriously, there is not a single bike shop in town catering specifically and exclusively to urban transport. A few shops do stock transportation bicycles, but the selection is limited. When I ask why they do not offer more I am told there is no demand. Baffling, because I know for a fact that both New York and Portland, ME(not to mention a number of online retailers) receive a steady stream of Boston customers because there is no local supply.



Based on my observations over the recent years, I do not think there is in fact a lack of demand. But it seems that bike shops that specialise in transportation may be in a better position to sell city bikes than bike shops that are diversified. Visiting Adeline and HUB in New York underscored this idea.






I would say that for shops selling transportation bicycles, location is key. Adeline Adeline is on a small and quiet street in TriBeCa. Hudson Urban Bicycles is on an equally small and quiet street in the West Village. In both cases, there are bike lanes literally just out the door, with protected greenways nearby. This sort of thing is absolutely crucial for beginners looking to test ride some bikes, which is precisely the category many potential customers fall into. They would like to ride in the city, but quite possibly they have never actually done so before. Their first cycling experience in ages might very well be this test ride outside of the bike shop. It makes a huge difference whether the space outside the shop is beginner-friendly.




When I was shopping for my first bicycle in the Spring of , I was not confident on a bike at all and could not yet imagine riding in traffic. I found it impossible to properly test ride a bike in almost any local shop, because the spaces outside were not beginner-friendly. While it's hard for established shops to change that reality, a new shop devoted specifically to city bikes can choose their space with access to infrastructure in mind.






Appropriately informed staff are important to selling transportation bicycles as well. In typical bike shops, most sales staff tend to be avid road cyclists, many of them racers. I have listened to quite a few steer customers by default toward cyclocross bikes with drop bars for commuting. I have also witnessed sales staff actively discourage customers from getting bikes with step-through frames or internally geared hubs, citing performance drawbacks. They did not even ask the customers how long their commute would be before saying such things.




While hanging out at HUB, I watched the owner talking to a couple who was new to cycling, and as they chatted I could see that couple grow more relaxed about the prospect of riding in the city. In shops that do not focus on transportation per se, I often observe the opposite happening: The longer a potential customer talks to a member of staff about commuting, the more concerned their facial expression grows. The "information" they are receiving is obviously scary and confusing. Bike shops that sell many types of bicycles cannot usually afford to hire separate sales staff to handle the city bikes.






No less important is the atmosphere inside the shop. The interiors of Adeline and HUB are heavenly microcosms - worlds where transportation cycling is normal, cool, intuitive, safe, and has an obvious place in everyday life. And the creation of such an atmosphere is a huge public service as far as I am concerned. Even if the customer walks out the door without buying a bike, they will still walk away with the impression that transportation cycling is fun and, above all, normal. They will be more likely to come back, or at least to keep cycling in mind as a valid possibility.When city bikes are mixed together with all sorts of other types of bikes on one cluttered floor space, it is impossible to achieve this kind of ambiance; it is impossible to communicate this message. I do think it's possible for diversified bike shops to present transportation cycling in a similar light by designating a special area to them, and then staging this area as if it were its own boutique. But in actuality this is seldom done.





Several members of the bicycle industry have mentioned to me now that it is easier to start a dedicated city bike boutique in a town that already has a dozen bike shops than it is to get existing shops to carry city bikes. And I have seen plenty of evidence to support this. Aside from the issues already mentioned, existing bike shops tend to err on the conservative side and stick with what they know. Even if they delve into city bikes, they are not going to start carrying 5 new brands right away; they might start with one or two. But that might not be sufficient to be truly effective. Hopefully, some brave entrepreneurs will start transportation-specific bike shops in Boston soon, as well as in every other city that is ready for them.





In the meantime, I may just have to keep visiting NYC for test rides. During this visit alone I test rode four bikes, and there were plenty of others to try. There were also other city bike stores to explore had I not run out of time, most notably Bicycle Habitat and Rolling Orange. For anyone visiting New York, I recommend having a look at those, in addition toAdeline AdelineandHudson Urban Bicycles (HUB).






Aside from bicycles, Adeline specialises in exquisite accessories the likes of which you might not find elsewhere: the latest in bicycle bags, jewelry, books, unusual clothing. HUB on the other hand, boasts an entire show room of vintage bikes in refurbished condition, including loads of pre-1970s English 3-speeds - some with original lighting! I enjoyed visiting both shops, and will be posting reviews of the Achielle, Retrovelo and Jensen bicycles soon.

Mmm, Cramberries

Ridden to Distraction

[image via Amsterdamized]

I have noticed that I feel a greater need to concentrate on the road when riding for transportation than other cyclists I know. This is not a criticism of others, but an admission of my own cognitive deficit: Whilein many ways I am a multi-tasker, this trait has bypassed anything that involvessensorimotor coordination, and sadly I am one of those people who has a difficult time chewing gum and walking at the same time. I am also a scary-horrible driver, never quite sure when it's safe to merge or at what angle to approach a parking spot.

When it comes to cycling for transportation, I am actually remarkably calm and collected - provided that I pay attention to the task at hand. For that reason I am uncomfortable chatting while navigating traffic, and no doubt appear rude to those who innocently attempt to socialise with me during their commutes. Sometimes another cyclist will pull up and start talking to me when I am on my way somewhere, and all I can think is "Oh my God, you're blocking me in and I need to make a left turn!" - not feeling very friendly at all. Needless to say, talking on the phone or texting is out of the question for me, and I am always stunned to see cyclists who are proficient at this - texting away as they execute complex traffic maneuvers in the most relaxed manner imaginable. Listening to music is something I can do on quiet country roads, but not in busy urban traffic. Drinking coffee on the bike? Forget it. I can sometimes rummage in my front basket for my sunglasses and put them on without stopping, but that is probably the height of my achievements.

Though I believe it is "dangerous" to perform sensory demanding tasks while riding a bike, I am aware that my views on this are influenced by my own inability to do these things safely.So, out of curiosity, what is your distraction threshold when you're cycling in traffic? And if you're also a driver, does it differ from being behind the wheel of a car?

Sherpa Peak

Sherpa Peak is a large bump on the east shoulder of Mt. Stuart. It does not get climbed near as often as Stuart. It was nice to climb something new in the range. Mark and Doug did it as a day hike.



Climbers near the false summit of Mt. Stuart. There was still a lot of snow at the end of June.




Mark leading the way up the West Ridge.






Doug working his way up.






Sherpa Balanced Rock is a feature visible from all over the Stuart Range. It doesn't get climbed very often. It looks like the wind could blow it over, but it is actually pretty well built. We couldn't leave without climbing it. Mark led the way up and Doug followed. It was nice to finally stand on top of that rock we have looked at so many times.
Sherpa Peak is the shaded peak on the right shoulder of Mt. Stuart as seen in this photo from Longs Pass. It was another memorable day spent above treeline!

High Wheel in Somerville

This cool Penny Farthing is often left locked up outside a local bike shop, and a couple of days ago we had a chance to investigate it. I was surprised at how large this thing is - nearly the same height as the Co-Habitant.

We debated whether it was antique or a replica, and it turned out to be a replica, made by Rideable Bicycle Replicas in California. It's funny that the bike is locked to an outside rack with a u-lock; that makes it seem as if at any moment somebody will come out, unlock it and pedal it away down the streets of Somerville.

But as you can see, no one is riding this thing anywhere - the tires are broken into pieces, and other components look aged and weathered, most likely from keeping the bicycle outdoors during the cold seasons.

Penny Farthings are fascinating, because they are so distinct and old-fashioned looking. They are direct drive, and I imagine that riding one is quite challenging. I am not even sure how to get on and off it - let alone how the ladies used to ride these wearing skirts. But they would definitely provide great visibility in traffic!

Lazy game cam

The game cam is triggered by heat, so when the air is warm there's not much action. These photos are from the last two months.



We thought this was a fox at first, but it's a reddish coyote instead. Here's how you tell the difference: Foxes have black "leggings" and ear tips, and white tips on their tails.¹



Other than bobcats, I think turkeys are my favorite game cam find. We get most pictures of them on dark cloudy days.



I love this photo of their tailfeathers! I'm always excited to find turkey feathers on the ground, but finding them still attached to the turkey is even better.



The weeds might be getting too tall for good critter pictures.



It looks like this deer has a tick in her ear.



The weeds are definitely getting too tall for good critter pictures.



Extreme close-up... the deer can evidently hear the trigger mechanism, and are more curious than you'd think.



Dang. The only spotted fawn game-cam picture ever, and he's already exited the frame.



Not-so-wild Deere and Bush Hog.

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¹You can look at the Red Fox wiki if you don't believe me.

The Summer Flowers

Dressguards and Chaincase: Do You Need Them?

Sometimes I get emails where ladies send me pictures of their bicycle and ask whether I think "it would look better" with dress guards and/or a chaincase. Ladies... You do realise that these things are not there for the looks, right? Although a set of dress guards and a chaincasedo lend a certain charm to a bicycle, aesthetics are not their primary purpose. So let me explain why I put them on my bikes, and then you can decide for yourself whether you need them or not.



The purpose of dress guards is to stop fluttery, loose clothing from flying into the spokes of your rear wheel and either getting ruined or causing an accident.The main determinant of whether you need dressguards is whether you wearthe sort of clothing that requires their protection - for instance: flared skirts, dresses, long coats, or flowing tunics. Once you have had something get stuck in your rear spokes or have seen it happen to someone else, you know that the possibility is real and that it can even cause injury. Personally,I will not ride a bicycle without dress guards if an article of clothing I am wearing is long enough to reach the rear spokes. And since much of my everyday clothing is in that category, it is a good idea for me to install dress guards on any bike I plan to use for transportation.



I have also been asked what kind of dressguards are better: netted or solid. There are probably differing opinions on this, but in my experience it does not matter. My vintage Raleigh(above) is fitted with very minimal dressguards that are basically just stretchy cords fanning out from the rear dropouts. For me, this has been sufficient; the cords - closely spaced - provide a perfectly functional barrier.The obvious advantage to dress guards that are woven, is that they are lighter (and usually more attractive) than plastic ones. The disadvantage is that they can be more expensive and more difficult to clean.



Moving on to chaincases, their purpose is two-fold: (1) to prevent the bottoms of your trousers from being caught in the chain, and (2) to keep the chain clean from street grime, especially in bad weather. Since I seldom wear long trousers, the first function is not that important to me. So while I do appreciate that the chaincase keeps my chain nice and clean, this accessory is not as crucial for me as dress guards, because it is a maintenance feature rather than a safety feature. I can still ride a bike without a chaincase for transportation.



Furthermore, while I have found dress guards to be effective in preventing clothing from getting stuck in the spokes, I have not found chaincases to be entirely effective on those rare occasions when I do wear trousers. A couple of times, the bottoms of my trousers have actually gotten stuck on the chaincase itself, which has only increased my bias for skirts once I started cycling. Don't get me wrong, I still love a nice, elegant chaincase. But I admit that this feature does not hold as much functional purpose for me as do dress guards.



Dress guards and chaincases are not affectations, but necessary accessories for transportation in everyday clothing. As the popularity of "city bikes" rises, I hope that more American bicycle shops will realise this, and start carrying these useful items.

Why Fixed Gear?

I have been riding fixed gear bicycles for about a year and a half now, and enjoy it so much that it is hard to talk about without getting embarrassed. Here in the Boston area, fixed gear is associated with a distinct cultural attitude and fashion sense, and I do not fit the mold. Seeing me on a bicycle with a fixed drivetrain often seems to surprise people, and I've been told on more than one occasion that I "don't seem like the type." While I suspect this is mostly used as a conversation starter by men, it still succeeds in making me self-conscious. What is it about fixed gear that I like so much and why do I "need" this type of bicycle?

I first tried a fixed gear bike in June . I was staying in Vienna and pining over the nearby velodrome's summer closure, and a friend offered to teach me to ride a track bike so that I could ride around the velodrome building (this seemed very funny at the time - around the velodrome, get it?). I was afraid to try it at first, but as soon as I got on the bike I didn't want to get off it. It felt so natural and intuitive. My friend ended up leaving the bicycle with me for the duration of my stay in Vienna and I rode it in the park after work every chance I got. Cycling slowly due to the lack of brakes, I must have looked like an idiot, but didn't care. I discovered that on fixed gear, my bicycle handling skills somehow improved. I could make tighter turns, cycle through narrow spaces, control my speed better, and just be more in control. It felt as if I suddenly gained a better understanding of how a bicycle worked. The custom Italian track bike made for a now-retired racer felt unexpectedly comfortable, save for the curvature of the handlebars. I could ride this thing for hours with a silly smile on my face. It became clear during those rides that I needed a fixed gear bike of my own once I returned to the US. A friend of a friend sold me a good road frame for fixed gear conversion, and I mailed it to myself in Boston before leaving Vienna.

Waiting for the road frame to arrive (it took over 3 weeks!) I couldn't stop talking about my experience with fixed gear, and just for the heck of it one weekend the Co-Habitant and I converted the Motobecane mixte I then owned to a single speed with a fixed/free flip-flop hub. Doing this was easy and inexpensive. We picked up a budget wheelset, modified the existing crankset, shortened the chain and that was pretty much that. I rode this bicycle around the city and out to the countryside, and it was great fun. But I mostly thought of it as a novelty. On an upright bike, I preferred a freewheel. This bicycle was a great hit around the neighbourhood though, especially when I fitted it with some colourful dressguards. The woman who later bought it planned to use it as a freewheel single speed, but liked the idea of having the fixed option by flipping the wheel.

Finally the vintage road frame I'd bought in Vienna arrived in the mail, and we quickly put it together. You might recognise this as the previous incarnation of theMoser I now ride as a geared roadbike. The tires here look huge, but they are 28mm Panaracer Paselas - the frame had just enough clearance for them if I did not use a rear brake. I rode this bike a lot, and particularly enjoyed it once it began to get cold. There was something about cold and dreary days on a fixed gear that was just magic.But while I loved riding the Moser, it became apparent over time that the frame was not really suitable for fixed gear conversion due to its very low bottom bracket. As my speed on the bike increased I started to get pedal strike when cornering on bumpy or uneven roads, and did not feel that this was safe. Last winter I began to look for another frame, which did not prove to be very easy given my criteria (lugged steel, horizontal dropouts, high bottom bracket, small size,and no toe overlap). I considered getting a frame from Royal H., but could not afford it. I considered the new SimpleOne from Rivendell, but learned that they would not be making one in my size. And that is how I came to be in possession of a Mercian.

By the time I ordered this bicycle from Mercian, I had a good idea of what I wanted in a fixed gear. I did not want a track bike, but a comfortable and somewhat relaxed roadbike that just happened to have afixed gear drivetrain. I wanted to fit it with 28mm-32mm tires for road and occasional trails. I wanted it to have tame handling without feeling sluggish. All of this was done. When I began to ride this bicycle after we put it together, it was just the feeling I wanted. It is comfortable, intuitive, has no toe overlap or pedal strike, and I can ride it for quite a long time without getting tired.

So why fixed gear and what do I like about it so much? If I have to pin it down, there are two distinct elements of this type of bike that I enjoy. First, I simply find it soothing and pleasant. The motions my legs make on a fixed gear feel different - more circular and rhythmical.In that sense it is really not about speed at all, but about being able to ride with smooth and regular pedal strokes and enjoying the state of mind this puts me in. I find this to be very relaxing when I am stressed out. Even just riding in circles around the neighbourhood, the magical sensation of the drivetrain never fails to calm me down and clear my head.

Second, I feel that riding a fixed gear roadbike helps me with technique. My movements feel more elegant and precise, and I can sense that I am developing a more intuitive sense of balance. I play games where I try to keep the bike going at all costs - slowing down to a crawl before a traffic light rather than stop as I wait for it to turn green. I also like to see how fast I can accelerate under different circumstances, and play "sprinting" games until I get out of breath. This is much more interesting to do on a fixed gear than on a freewheel bike, because once you get the drivetrain going it feels as if it "helps" you. All this may sound silly, but somehow I feel that things like this really help. Fixed gear bikes feel playful and very safe, which encourages me to try all this stuff that I would not normally try. Slowly but surely, I can tell that it improves my geared roadcycling skills - including the somewhat "duh" realisation that if I continuously pedal and feather the brakes instead of coasting, then I will feel more in control of my geared roadbike as well.

But all this talk of technique is probably beside the point. When it comes down to it, we do things that we enjoy and fixed gear is for me simply one of those things. I can't imagine not owning a bike like this. I begin to get fixed gear cravings if I don't ride one for more than a week. Luckily, that should not be a problem.