Zeitgeist.

Watch it. Think about it. Talk about it. Act on it.

Things I saw on the way to work.

Boulder field or sand at 100x magnification?

Ready. Still waiting.

Built to last.

The 3-Speed GT

After moving into a new house, my commute to work and into town changed a bit. It's three miles, with a slight grade, instead of a dozen blocks. I'm getting more mileage out of 700c road wheels than meaty 26" cruiser wheels. This fabulous GT Vantara dates itself by way of a one-inch headset, but came to me in perfect shape, not ever having been assembled. Biding its time in western Pennsylvania, thanks to the excellent pack-rat instinct of a fellow cyclist. It made its way here, tucked in the back of a Toyota motorhome, making the slow 7000 foot, 1800 mile climb back to Salida. There's always something brewing on a low flame in the back of my mind, and at this point the metaphorical kitchen timer went off. I've always been keen on internally-geared hubs, and three-speed hubs have been around for a long time. Since at least 1902. And sitting around at work, carefully saved, was a 1986 Sturmey-Archer 3 speed hub. Single speed and internal hubs tend to have a outer locknut measurement of 110-114 mm. They fit best into a frame where the rear dropouts, the part that holds the wheel by the axle, is a similar measurement. The Vantara, being from a more modern age and designed for external gears, measured at about 130mm. Now instead of having to bend the frame together every time I took the wheel off, I decided to do it once. "Cold-set" would be the technical term. "Crush gently with a set of oversized channel-lock pliers" is what occurred. Not bad; with a two-by-four wedged against the chainstay bridge, I was able to apply a nice parallel force to the dropouts, and arc the stays nicely. 4130 Chrome-Molybdenum is some beefy stuff, I've concluded. And the spacing lets the wheel drop right in. Without any clunky derailleurs, I could now mount the chromed Royal Enfield chainguard. From a 70's era Royal Enfield adult tricycle, believe or not. Mine was green, and during the Brooktondale Bikes moving/inventory reduction, it was last seen being ridden by three neighborhood kids having way too much fun. Unimpressive trike, but the chainguard was a keeper. The GT, being so gauche as to have no proprietary chainguard mounts, forced me in an extended moment of cleverness to attach it with rack hardware to the lower seat tube water bottle braze-on, and the bottom bracket cable guide bolt hole. Solid and rattle-free. And no rolling up the pant leg, or digging for an ankle strap. The GT shifts like an old pick-up truck; you have to coast between gears, and you have to wait for a clunk, or listen for the change in the gears clicking over, before starting to pedal. With the shift cable at proper tension, it becomes second nature. It's perfect.

Winter's Snowflakes

Wind, darkness, frigid temperatures and icy windshields are a typical start to my morning routine of leaving for work before the sun has rolled out of bed. When I think of winter, I feel the coldness creep into my bones. It's the summer sun, long days and dry, warm trails that I live for. Winter is about just making the best of it. And so, I do my best. Carving through a silent, powdery forest on my snowboard; walking the trail in our backyard with the dogs; dozing off in front of the woodstove--these moments of pure peace are the snowflakes glittering in the cold abyss of a moonlit night sky. In gratitude, I open my mouth and let them melt on my tongue, one by one.

The Last Fixer-Upper

No, this is not our new house. . .





This is the "workshop", one of four outbuildings on our place; our compound, ranch, spread, or "bikey commune" (See Team Velveeta 17 April 2007). This building was chosen because of the combination of 7.5' ceilings, electric, concrete floor, and heat. The other buildings either have sloping ceilings that challenge my 6' clearance requirement, flammable wood floors (can't be too careful), or most importantly: no source of heat. Having spent the end of last winter in an unheated small garage with an extension cord sawing, sanding and staining an entire one-story dwelling's worth of trim, this is the height of luxury. And from that point, "luxury" becomes a flexible term. From the "luxurious" light pink walls, with delightful salmon/lavender window trim. To the short plank I nailed up which is holding up a section of acoustic tile,which had been sagging from a leak in the roof and rodent romping. And the small number of outlets that measure only 5 volts, instead of something closer to say, 110? Why is this "Luxury"? Because over the years my wife and I have moved into actual houses in similar condition, while we fixed them up. Because 100' away is a house in live-in condition, with covers on all the light switches, and trim around all the doors. Actual flooring, not painted plywood. Now maybe none of this has been updated in 30 years, and maybe my wife finds that era's colors of brown and orange less soothing, but we only have to work on it if we want to! I'm not saying we don't need a new roof in a year or two, or that the hot water heater doesn't bang away like a bowling ball in a cement mixer, but at this single point in time, nothing is broken! And a lot of the house is quite nice, and amazingly well insulated. No chance of replacing a section of flooring, and finding rot all the way through the floor joists. Not here. I have informally dubbed this compound "The Last Fixer-Upper". I now formally retire from living in a house while I'm working on it, always managing to get most of it fixed up just before moving to another house, or another state entirely. From dragging over friends and family to share in the fun, and opportunity to put more miles on their reciprocating saws and wallboard equipment. Why do they do it? Because they're good people. And, of course, it's so much nicer to help out when it's someone else's house. But my oft-repeated bit of Asian wisdom "when a man finishes his house, he dies" comes to mind. That could be a metaphor, but I'm not taking any chances (Of course, with respect to that proverb, Sisyphus must of been around for quite a while. You can't be too careful). In the meantime there are plans for expanding porches, re-building the woodshed, taking out carpet and putting a wood floor in the living room. But for now, I'll throw some more wood in the stove, watch the thermometer creep up to 60 F (while it's 25 outside) and saw, stand, and stain to my heart's content.