riders collective - lifescycling.net · november 2010 1 ’ ’ ’ ’ riders collective ’ when...

riders collective

©Aggrezine™ Publishing LLC. All material used with permission and © original sources. Photo ©Eloy Anzola

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a cyclist’s sampling of some of the Web’s best blogs, ride reports, tips, videos, reviews, and photographs

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november 2010aggrezine

www.riderscollective.org november 2010 1

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When I engage the front door’s dead bolt, or remotely secure my car doors, I do it by habit, without much thought.

Not so with my bicycle: I need to remember the lock, bear the burden of its weight (a function of its invulnerabil-ity, increasing with a cycle’s worth and the crime rate around it), then find an im-movable object to which my bike can unbreakably bond.

As I uncoil the cable then shut tight the shackle, I’m fighting the forces of anoth-er’s temptation—and when walking away, I look back to see things as they might, betting that theft appears more trouble than it’s worth.

How lighter life would be if everyone were able to buy the bicycle of their dreams.

Paul S. Kramer,publisher, editor, designer, and cyclist r c ’

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introduction

Photo © Ryan Akers

going the distanceRemember, when it comes to challenges, it’s all relative.

Ride report: Rockland Lake 15K petite brevetby Keith Snyderkeithsnyder.wordpress.com/


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going the distance

t [ ["daddy, tell me again what we

don't want!""A dnF."

"Right, a dnF! I'm gonna try my

best to finish this brevet!"


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he weather in

Rockland County

was ideal for a

brevet, bright and cool,

verging on cold. Prep and

transport to the event start

ran long, but soon the

riders were fueling up,

asking for reminders of

route length, and getting

themselves psyched:

“Daddy, tell me again

what we don’t want!”

“A DNF.”

“Right, a DNF! I’m

gonna try my best to finish

this brevet!”

Bikes had been checked

and prepped in the hallway

before leaving home, so all

that was left was to have

brevet cards signed at the

first controle and weather-

proof them for the ride.

Into the saddlebags

they went, apple juice went

into bottle cages,

and we rolled out of

the controle onto a

route that would

comprise three full

circumnavigations

of Rockland Lake.

Total distance: 15

kilometers.

I didn’t see any

randonneurs besides the

ones I was riding with, but

my companions claimed

numerous sightings. So

either I just wasn’t noticing

things—always possible on

a challenging endurance

ride like this—or those

were just people out poo-

tling on their bikes.

The terrain of this ride

is varied, ranging from

long, level flats to fast

descents to challenging

climbs but the biggest

challenge was just the

sheer distance. Spirits

were sagging and a full

third of the registered

riders were seriously

considering abandoning by

the time we reached Con-

trole 2, the first indoor

controle on this route. As

usual on these rides, the

volunteers were ready with

food and encouragement—

though it was noteworthy

how much the volunteers

at each controle all resem-

bled each other.

The calories and the

short rest seemed to lift

spirits—but once we were

out on the route again, it

became clear that one of

the riders was suffering, lo

unto torture. How this

tormented soul managed

to press on so courageous-

ly, so enduringly, so loudly

in the face of unspeakable

persecution and utter

destruction, I will never

know. But by the time

going the distance

t[ The terrain of this ride is varied, ranging from long, level flats to fast descents to challenging climbs but the biggest challenge was just the sheer distance. [


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we reached Controle 3, he

was done—and his voice

was gone.

After a brief refueling,

my remaining companion

and I pushed off and

headed onto Leg 3, the

final stage of the Rockland

Lake ride.

Unlike the previous two

legs, this one took place

later in the day. Such

striking variety is the mark

of a thoughtful ride design-

er. Where before, we’d

been riding in early after-

noon, it was now late

afternoon. Where before,

there had been a tailwind

on the way out and a

headwind on the opposite

(East) side of the lake, now

there were crosswinds at

the North and South ends.

And where before, we had

enjoyed overhead sunlight,

now it was coming in at

more of an angle.

The Rockland Randon-

neurs are understaffed, so

this ride relies more on

information controles than

do most brevets of its

length. Here, a rider

double-checks how he’s

answered the

question “Who

are you riding

with?” before

remounting and

pushing toward

Controle 4, Ar-

rivée.

The rest of the

ride was an easy

lope, with good conversa-

tion, around a stretch of

lake that seemed somehow

familiar. My ride partner

kept having to stop as

people kept calling him on

his phone—his ring tone

sounds a lot like a five-year-

old going “Brrring!

Brrrring!”—so we barely

made it to the Arrivée

within the generously

unspecified time limit.

his being my

friend’s first

brevet, I ex-

plained the Lanterne

Rouge—the last finisher,

named after the red lan-

tern at the back of a train—

and asked how he’d like to

finish. Should he be the

Lanterne Rouge, or should

I? But he did me the

unexpected honor of

suggesting we come in

exactly together—so with

our front wheels lined up

precisely next to each

other, we rolled into the

Arrivée as one. And once

the brevet cards were

signed and ready for

homologation by La Ligue

Des Pères Allants À Vélo,

we were done. The

going the distance

[ And once the brevet cards were signed and ready for homologation by La Ligue des Pères Allants À Vélo, we were done. [

Rockland Lake 15K had

been completed.

Homologation is

unusually fast in La Ligue.

An award ceremony

proceeded immediately.

n in conclusion, the

Rockland Lake 15K is

a beautiful, challeng-

ing brevet through scenic

lake country, with terrific

organization and the

awesomest ride designer I

can ever imagine encoun-

tering. But it’s the riders

who really distinguish a

brevet, and in this case, I

have to say:

This ride outshines them all.

i1-877-4RAG-TOP

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The Strider bike has no pedals, cables, chain, grease, or sprockets to injure or tangle up your child’s feet and legs! The bike is propelled by the child pushing with their feet, and eventually running and gliding with their feet off of the ground.

portlandstriderbikes.comJanelle Scruggs, owner of Portland Strider Bikes, and her son at 20 months, when he became a strider rider.


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Tall in

the saddle by Jessica Reeder

on Uprooted, an eco/travel blog

Paul and James by doviende


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i

tall in the saddle

This is a tall bike

It’s pretty basic, really: you weld one bike frame on top of another, lengthen the chain, climb up and ride. Want to try riding one? You might need to lean the bike against a wall so you can get up. After that, it’s not too hard… oh, but now that you’re up, there’s one more thing: no brakes. And good luck getting down.

Why a tallbike? Because it looks cool. Because you can see over cars when you ride in the street. Because it makes a statement. Because it’s a challenge. Because we can.

In recent years, tallbikes have become synonymous with bike culture—and bike culture has flourished in every city and country from New York to Namibia.

CYCLIST V. BIKER

Not that bicycles ever went out of style: they have always been, and will always be, cool. I learned that a very young age from my dad, a cycling buff and long-distance rider. Thanks to Dad, I’ve always had wheels and known what to do with them. And at 60, my pops is out there riding a hundred miles in a single day, just for the joy of it.

Tall bike by doviende


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w

But even for Dad, cycling is a sport, a hobby, a pastime. That’s how it’s perceived in our culture these days: bikes are for fun and exercise, but cars are for getting around.

Which is why, if you use the word “cycling” around scruffy bike kids, you’ll receive a swift correction to the head. Cycling? Not a chance. We aren’t cyclists, we’re just bike riders.

What’s the difference? Well, cyclists have jerseys and aerodynamic helmets and $1000 bicycles. Riders have thrift-store clothes and bikes they bought for $10 or made with their own hands. Cyclists ride on weekends; riders go everywhere on two wheels. Cyclists are in it for the sport and health benefits; riders are more about the sociopolitical. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with cycling—in fact, it’s a great sport. It just doesn’t describe what bike kids do.

CRITICAL MOMENTUM

Truly, bike culture is more defined by what it does than by what it doesn’t. Bikers are involved in every facet of

the American underground: from art to music to political protest to charity and community experimentation, wherever you seek out grassroots social change you’ll find bikes.

So where did the

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Cycle Oregon 2008 by bryanpearson

Critical Mass, Vancouver, June 2007 by ItzaFineDay

HandleBrawww.handlebra.com

Durable so the wrap has lasting value

Can be custom corded

Real leather—feels fantastic!

Properly skived edges so

wrap lies flat.

Liquid repellent

“Yup, this Ellis is wrapped

in Black HandleBra.” —Dave Wages, Ellis Cycles, best of show,

NAHBS 2010


a

b

modern bike movement come from? Many would say it started with Critical Mass, that ongoing, decades-long celebration of bike culture. Critical Mass is a peaceful* protest against our car-centric world, a leadership-free international event that brings bikers together and gets them (and the automobile drivers they inconvenience) thinking about social change.

And why not? It’s tough to be a bike rider these days. Bicyclists are killed in the streets every day by careless drivers. In the city, bikers have to breathe dirty air and navigate unsafe intersections; in the suburbs, there are no bike lanes. And when forced to choose between cars and bikes, authorities nearly always side with the gas-guzzler. Critical Mass and other gatherings, while protected under the Constitution, are often interrupted by police (the old “you don’t have a permit to protest” bit).

But still we ride, and why? Like I said before: because we can.

Of course, bicycles are a faultlessly logical choice for transportation. Bikes are free to ride, and they create no pollution. They don’t require freeways, consume no fossil fuels, last for decades, and you can fix ‘em yourself. In some underserved communities, bikes are the only

means of transportation; even in America’s rich cities, bikes are equally available to the rich and the poor. Some ride because they choose to, and some because they have no other choice—but around the world, millions of people depend on bicycles.

Still, bikes in most areas are second-class vehicles, and their riders are second-class citizens. Which explains why they’re so beloved in the cultural underground. This is how bikes became associated with punk and anarchist culture.

BIKE CLUBS!

So back to the tallbikes.You’ve been practicing with

your tallbike, right? You know how to ride it now? Great, here’s a ten-foot PVC pole with a stuffed animal duct-taped to the end. Try to knock the other

guy off his bike before he gets you. Ready? Go!

That’s bike jousting—and this is is not my father’s bicycle club.

Black Label Bike Club is arguably the best-known bike club in America, with chapters in Minneapolis, New York, Reno, Austin and New Orleans. They’re a weird and fascinating mishmash of biker gang, artpunk collective, political movement and charitable organization. Their members are highly intelligent, extremely honorable, creative, foulmouthed, somewhat frightening punks who are

tall in the saddle

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Tallbike Jousting by megulon5

Bike ambulance prototype in Namibia, by aaronforest

Curing the Common Cold

don’t let cold hands keep you

inside anymore!

www.barmitts.com


u

no more afraid of social change than they are of shotgunning a beer and climbing on a tallbike to joust in a diaper and Mexican-wrestler mask (for example).

Free thought is the uniting force, and Black Label believe that free thought and freedom of expression are basic and unalienable rights—which is why, when they’re not jousting and making ends meet, they work with kids to teach them how to build and fix bikes. And Black Label aren’t alone: bike clubs from Chicago’s Rat Patrol to San Francisco’s Cyclecide to Seattle’s Dead Baby Bike Club are fiercely dedicated to expression both artistic and political. Most bike

clubs are involved in community and charity work, despite the fact that they’re a bunch of broke artists and punks.

Ultimately, groups like this will never reach the mainstream; however, their influence on popular culture is growing steadily as the world realizes the merit of their ideas. From the simple practice of riding a bike, to the ideas of sharing (even when you have nothing) and acting honorably (even when the world looks down on you), groups like Black Label are stirring up currents of change. And they are succeeding at passing on bike culture’s central tenet, the most important lesson we all need to learn: Do It Yourself.

Like that tallbike, do ya? It makes you look so cool, right? Want one of your very own?

Make it yourself. And then ride it.

Jessica Reeder is the author of Uprooted, an eco/travel blog. She is also the managing editor of Love and Trash, a DIY blog for people who do things differently:

“Love and Trash wants you to share your creations and inspirations. We know that you do tiny awesome things in your life that deserve greater recognition. We want to be the ones to recognize your achievements.”

Contribute your ideas at www.loveandtrash.com

tall in the saddle

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Old Bike Group, Bandung, West Java, Indonesia, by Ikhlasul Amal

888.732.7030 www.wabicycles.com


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Christianiaour

trikephoto ©

patrick bargertext and photos by Patrick Barber @ velocouture


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id you Build that yourself?” that’s the first question most people ask us about our Christiania cargo trike. this question is followed shortly by “how can i get one?” and lately, a lot of people ask us about it, as interest in bikes like this has become more commonplace.

of course, i did not build our trike; it’s a specialized piece of equipment whose design has been refined over several de-cades by Christiania Bikes in Copenhagen. But the naïveté of the question reminds me

that bikes like this are an oddity in North america. and it reminds me of how lucky i am to call this vehicle my everyday transportation.

the answer to the other question, of how you’d get one, has up until now been “you can’t.” But that’s just changed. Christianias are now being import-

ed and sold in the united states. through a collaboration with Boxcycles, the same Christiania trike that we use every day for our family is now available to North ameri-cans. here in Portland, the trikes are avail-able (as of today!!!) through Clevercycles.

We have owned our Christiania trike since

2004. We acquired it from a cargo bike enthusiast in oakland, California, where we lived at the time. When we got it, we were planning to have a baby, and we wanted a trike like this because it seemed like the ideal way to carry a child around.

CarGo BiKesChristianias are a kind of cargo bike. Cargo bikes provide a dedicated platform or con-tainer for your cargo, usually in front of the bike operator, centered on the bike in one big unit. it’s like a giant basket. there is no need to carefully ensure that the load is balanced. you just put your stuff in the box. there are three-wheeled cargo trikes (like our Christiania, and the Nihola, and the splendid old-fashioned Nijlands heavy cargo vehicle) and two-wheeled cargo bikes (like the Van andel Bakfiets, and similar vehicles built by Metrofiets, CetMa, human Powered Ma-chines, and other builders); they are generi-cally referred to as “cargo bikes” regardless of the number of wheels.

alan durning of sightline institute has

“Dour christiania trike

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Cargo trike faQswhat can you carry? Very close to anything you want. The trike is rated for a load of 100kg, which translates to a couple of kids and a lot of stuff, or one 220-lb adult. The box is deep and the standard canopy is waterproof, so you can load all the groceries you need, or pet food, or pet carrier, or building ma-terials. For carrying larger, bulkier items like ladders, boards, or other bikes, I’ve laid padding on the edges of the box and tied things across the top of it like a high platform. But a box bike is not ideal for this kind of cargo, so if your main cargo will be drywall or lumber or ladders, you should consider a cargo bike equipped with a platform instead of a box; or perhaps a heavy-duty trailer would serve your needs better.

what’s the range? It’s slow going, but I’ve taken the trike on 15-mile round trips to our CSA pickup, and the like. On a daily basis, I comfortably go five to seven miles.

what are terrain limitations? The Christiania is built for cities, so it’s not much good off-road. With the mods we made to the brakes and gear range, it ascends and descends hills very well, though.

what protection does it offer from the weather? The waterproof canopy that comes with the trike


© Elly BluE

© E

lly

BluE

just written a very informative post on cargo bikes, if you’d like more information, inspira-tion, and tons of photos.

if you are looking to replace your car with an equally useful, but much cheaper and more pleasant vehicle, a real cargo bike is a great way to go. Keep in mind that you will need to dispense with some of the things you may have come to expect from your bicycling experience: speed, nimble handling, “respon-siveness”, etc. this was not my experience, but i assume it is true for people who are accustomed to fast, lightweight bicycles. for my part, i have always ridden heavy, slow bikes laden with stuff, so using a 100-pound cargo bike was a relief: i could finally carry whatever i wanted on my bike without a struggle.

like a lot of cargo bikes, the Christiania is a fully-featured city bike. it has a chainguard to keep the chain from mussing your clothes; internal gears and brakes, which work well in all conditions and rarely need maintenance; metal fenders; wide, heavy duty tires; and, of

course, a convenient place to carry your things. i sung its praises as a city bike in an interview last summer, with BikePortland.org.

staBility aNd haNdliNGa common assumption about trikes is that they are inherently more stable than two-wheeled bikes. Cargo trikes are very stable, but in order to take advantage of their stability, you need to learn a new way to ride a pedal-powered vehicle.

on a two-wheeled bike, cargo or otherwise, you turn by leaning, mostly, and by turning the handlebars very slightly. your angle to the ground changes, and your contact to the road is strengthened by the centrifugal force that pushes the object (you and your bike) away from the center of the arc of your rotation, because that same force tightens the contact your tires have with the road.

on a trike, meanwhile, your turn is wholly dependent on turning the handlebars to change direc-tion, since you can’t lean the vehicle. the centrifugal force of the turn can cause the trike to tip to the outside of the arc of the turn, especially

our christiania trike

provides a dry, cozy compartment for our daughter and whatever else we need to carry. In the summer, we use a cotton sunshade that Holly designed and made. Both are easily removable while out and about, and the canopy and its support hoops store compactly in or on the cargo box, which is a great convenience (and an advantage over most other cargo bikes I’ve seen, whose covers cannot easily be removed and stored in the bike).

what’s it cost? Clevercycles is selling the trikes, complete with rain cover, for US$2690. Not bad for a family vehicle that requires zero fuel and nearly no maintenance. Aside from US$900 of upgrades, we’ve put about US$200 of regular maintenance into our trike, over the course of six years. Compare that to, say, one month of owning a minivan.

what are its storage needs? Christianias are designed to be kept outside: internal gearing, disk brakes, and a galvanized chain can withstand any weather. We used to keep ours in a garage, but we don’t have a garage any more, so we keep it locked to a bike rack in a covered alcove. The inside of the box gets a little damp from all the rain (this past spring, anyway), and needs to be kept clean, but other than that, the Christiania is happy to live outdoors.

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ewww.riderscollective.org november 2010 13

at higher speeds. to counteract this force, the operator must shift her weight into the turn by leaning.

once you learn to ride a trike, it’s a won-derful experience: very similar to riding a bike, of course, but with some interesting differences. the leaning into turns feels racy and fun. the feeling of “riding a bike — but differently” is similar to the pleasure of riding a fixed-wheel bike, in a way.

the great advantage that a trike has over two-wheeled vehicles is its ability to stand steadily when not moving. lock the parking brake and the trike will just sit there, no kickstand required. a trike is also easier to manage with stops and starts, for the same reason. the stability of the Christiania really shines at slow speeds, particularly when climbing hills. Because you don’t have to work to keep the bike upright at low speeds, you can just settle into pedaling slowly and

work on getting up the hill. it’s easy to ride with one hand on the bars, and on the flats, i can even ride no-handed and steer with my hips. once we were leaving a park down-town and i had a fresh cup of coffee. i was wishing i’d gotten round to installing a cup-holder (why don’t they come standard?

crazy danes!) but i found that i could easily pedal along, and even ascend the Broadway Bridge, while holding and sipping from my coffee cup.

our CustoM uPGradesour Christiania has been modi-fied significantly since we bought it. the stock model came with a three-speed internal hubgear with coaster brake (plus dual disk brakes on the front). the gear range was limited,

our christiania trike

What’s wrong with itIt’s true, I’m crazy about this trike, and would recommend it un-reservedly to anyone seeking a well-built urban cargo bike. But there are a few things that could be improved:

the front brakes The front brakes are mechanical disk brakes and both sides are controlled by one brake lever through a cable splitter. The brakes stop the bike just fine, but the pads are continually out of adjustment, one side wears faster than the other, and scrapey sounds are often heard emanating from there. It’s not a big enough deal for us to make the fix it would require (ahem...dual rollerbrake/dynohubs, powering twin headlights; now accepting donations), but it’s a bother. Other than the expensive upgrade I just described, I don’t know of a good fix for this, but if you do, I’d love to hear it. (Update: Thanks to this fellow’s example, we upgraded our front brakes to a higher quality brake system. Seems like a huge improvement thus far.)

lack of a pre-installed light-ing system This is a bike meant for daily urban transport, so a solid, waterproof, pre-installed generator lighting system should be a standard option. I may be speaking out of turn here — our bike is six years old

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and the coaster brake made it tricky to maneuver the trike in ways that i didn’t really understand until we got rid of it. also, the trike had the standard “shopping cart” handlebar, just one transverse bar attached to the box. these standard accouterments

were fine for making short trips on relatively flat ground, but going more than about four miles one way or climbing any kind of

hill (say, alameda ridge, where we live) made for tough going.

thus, shortly after becoming parents, we decided to invest in some improvements to the trike. We had a pair of city handlebars welded to the existing handlebar, to create a riding posture more like a standard bike. We upgraded the rear wheel to one with an eight-speed hub with a drum brake. and we had a lighting system installed.

these upgrades have greatly improved the usefulness of the trike. the wider gear range and smoother shifting make pedaling easier and more comfortable. Knowing we didn’t need to go fast on the trike, we had the lowest gear set at a mountain-scaling 19 gear inches, meaning that even with a load, i

can slowly but surely climb any hill i regularly encounter (Portlanders: even 19th avenue, going straight up the ridge. that was my benchmark). the handlebars make the handling much easier and more relaxed; i suspect this is because i can use my shoul-ders to guide the steering, rather than my elbows and forearms.

With these modifications, the trike is more than a great cargo bike; it’s the bike i choose more often than any other, some-times even if i don’t have cargo to haul. i just like the way it rides. a Christiania trike, modified as ours has been, can serve as an excellent family cargo vehicle.

to read Patrick’s conclusions, visit his blog, velocouture.wordpress.com, the companion to the Vélocouture group on flickr.

our christiania trikewww.riderscollective.org november 2010 15

and we didn’t get it directly from the manufacturer, so who knows, maybe there IS an option for a pre-installed lighting system. We had a custom front light mount installed, and have been using an LED light on a rechargeable battery; I actually installed a sidewall generator on the back, and a generator taillight as well, but I’m not so handy with the wiring, and I’m not a big fan of the sidewall generators in general, so we usually use the battery lights. We would prefer to install a dynohub wheel, but since this would go on the front, it’d ideally be both front wheels to avoid uneven wheel drag. But two new wheels, each with a dynohub (and rollerbrake!), is a prohibitively expensive fix.

the trikes should have an option for the custom handle-bar and rear hub upgrades that we gave to ours This is probably splitting hairs, but the custom upgrades we made to our trike, described above, have been instrumental in making it a viable option for all of our daily use, even on hills, even over longer distances, even while zipping along in traffic. I don’t pretend that this would be an easy thing for Christiania to add on, but it sure would be worth it, certainly for the North American market. Perhaps Boxcycles, or the shops that will be carrying the trikes, will see fit to offer these upgrades to their customers.

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ecstasyto

from

A collision with a truck left cyclist Tom Haig a cripple contemplating suicide. His road to spiritual recovery was the one that climbs the valleys of the French Alps.


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O

T

n a sunny sunday morning in Septem-ber, 1996, I stuffed a foam cheesehead

in my backpack and rode out to meet some friends at a sports bar in downtown Portland. The Packers were playing the Vikings, and the game wasn’t carried on any of the West Coast affiliates. I may have left Wisconsin, but no matter where you move, your teams come with you.

Sunday was my only day off from the bike shop, so I used it to go on long rides or tough mountain bike trails—but always after the Packer game. I rode out of my hood on N.E. 33rd St. and turned right on Sandy Bou-levard, one of Portland’s major arteries. In the past, I’d ridden Sandy Boulevard during rush hour through driving rain, but on this sunny, 75-degree Sunday morning, it was clear sailing. It was only a five-mile sprint to

the sports bar, so after a short warm-up, I dropped down on my handlebars and picked up my cadence like a time-trialer.

Sandy Boulevard makes a big left curve as it approaches the Willamette River and drops from the neighborhoods of Northeast Portland into the commercial/indus-trial dis-

trict along the banks of the river.

I’d out-pedaled my gears and got in a streamline crouch to drop the hill. I gauged the green lights, hoping to beat them all before hopping the Hawthorne Bridge across the river to breakfast and some Brett Favre magic.

Suddenly a sedan driven by an elderly woman blew a stop sign and shot into the middle of Sandy Boulevard. I swerved

left into the oncoming lane, and then jerked back, just avoiding the grill of a Mazda. I turned and screamed at the old wom-

an, then looked to the road ahead. The light

ahead of me was no longer green. It was red, and I was flying. A 24-foot delivery truck was entering the intersection at Stark street. I made eye contact with the driver, and we both hit our brakes as hard as we could. As he came to a screech-ing halt, I prepared to lay my bike under his front end. Just as I started my skid my rear brake cable snapped. My rear wheel slid out, and I slammed my head into his front bumper. My helmet and the cheese head saved my head and neck.

But my legs were toast. It wasn’t immediately appar-

ent that I’d fried my legs. In fact, I reached down and touched my thigh to see if I could feel it. I could feel it but the sensa-

tion was odd. Only when I tried to unclip my cleats did I notice something was wrong. There was absolutely no response. I reached down again for my thigh, and that’s when I real-ized that my fingers were feel-

ing skin, but my leg wasn’t feeling anything back. I slowly dragged my fingers

up my body until I got a response—just above my

waist. And that’s when I realized I was in for something bigger than I’d ever imagined. I looked down at my fingers and started playing guitar scales. They worked fine. I was still a musician, but not much else. I’d become a crip.

he scene around me on the corner of Stark St. and Sandy Boulevard

was chaotic, as some people tried to move me and others pulled them off. People kept asking me questions, but I couldn’t respond to them. I hadn’t passed out, and I wasn’t feeling much pain either. I was simply watching the first 35 years of my life vanish with every passing second.

from agony to ecstasy

I looked down at my fingers

and started playing guitar

scales. They worked fine. I

was still a musician, but not

much else. I’d become a crip.

I was simply watching the

first 35 years of my life vanish

with every passing second.

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S omebody had the sense to call 911, and the Portland para-medics came scream-

ing to the scene. My feet were still clipped into the pedals, and I was leaning on my backpack stuffed with the cheese head. A paramedic asked me if I could unclip my cleats, and I told him I broke my back. He looked at the situation, nodded his head and said, “Maybe, I think you might be right, but let’s not take any chances—this might just be a stinger.” He had hope, but I had none. Stingers come from the neck—this thing was right around my waist. I was trying to be positive, but my confidence and self esteem lay in a motion-less heap below my pelvis.

They loosened my cleats, which were attached not only by laces but by a Velcro seal. They slipped my feet out and pulled my mountain bike out from underneath me. Aside from the brake cable, there

was nothing wrong with the bike. I watched a policeman roll it along the street and toss it in the trunk of his car. The wheels were still in true, and the fork was as solid as ever. The handlebars pointed straight ahead, and the paint didn’t have a scrape on it.

Now it was time to move me. They laid me flat on my back and pre-pared to backboard me. I’d been a lifeguard for years and had done this drill dozens of times.

On the count of three, you lift the body and slide the board under the victim. Un-fortunately, nobody practices this well enough.

Over the next two weeks, paramedics, nurses, X-ray techs, and doctors boarded me over a dozen times. Not one of those times did a team simultane-ously lift me. The leader would

always say, “On three.” Then he would count, “One, two, three.” On “three” a few members of the team would start lifting. Then the leader would say, “lift.” Then the other half of the team would lift. Sometimes it was

one person lifting on “three” and three people lifting on “lift.” Sometimes it was two and two; sometimes there were only two people doing the transfer

and each one would lift on his own cue. And these were all professionals. You couldn’t ask for better people to do it, but they got it wrong ev-ery damn time. Getting my life into sync would be even more frustrating.

Once on the board, they slid me into the ambulance, and I

held on for the drive over the Willamette and up the switch-backs to the Oregon Health Sci-ence University in the Tualatin mountains overlooking the city. OHSU takes up some of the most expensive real estate in town, and its views of Mt. Hood and the Columbia Gorge are spectacular. The drive up the side of the mountain hanging on to what was left of my spinal cord, however, was harrowing. Everyone else on the road was on a simple Sunday drive but I was going on an adventure wilder than even a Napalese bus driver had taken me on.

When I got to the emergency room, a doctor ap-proached me and start-ed some sensation tests.

“I’ve got some horrible new for you, sir,” he said.

“I know,” I said, “they’re toast.” “Looks like it,” he said. I’ve always considered myself

a competitor, but surviving and recovering from a spinal cord injury is an ugly and compli-cated game that nobody wants or deserves to play. The object is to get back everything


Surviving and recovering from a spinal cord injury is an ugly and complicated game that nobody wants or deserves to play....There are no timeouts. You always play in pain.

You are instantly out of work

and out of money. There is

very little reason to carry on.

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GA NAGA

GAG

you’ve just lost. It’s you versus your new body. Your new body makes and changes the rules without notice. There are no timeouts. You always play in pain. You can no longer urinate or defecate by yourself, yet the new body has the option of dis-charging anything at anytime. You no longer have a car, and you can’t get into your house (or anyone else’s for that mat-ter). You can’t fuck. You are instantly out of work and out of money. There is very little rea-son to carry on.

fter my bones healed there really wasn’t any more healing to

be had, but I wasn’t anywhere near healthy. I was still in constant pain and confronted with frustration at every turn. Basically, I felt that my life had taken a giant leap backwards and I would never recover. The effort just to keep up was overwhelming, and I didn’t think I had it in me to defeat the constant barrage of obstacles. I really didn’t see why I should try.

lthough I hadn’t seen them in almost six years, Jeanine and Jackie

Couty from Les Avenières, France, remained two of my closest friends. A few months after my accident, Jeanine called to invite me to her

daughter Nadedg’s wedding. She offered to pay the airfare and all expenses. With one short phone call, Jeanine gave me something to live for. I was heading home. Back to good old Les Avenières.

The pain and frustration were still there, but for the first time since my accident, I saw a reason to live through it. I looked on the Web for travel hints for handicapped people going abroad, but I came up empty. The only person I’d heard of who had traveled abroad in a wheelchair was the National Public Radio correspondent John Hockenberry. I found his email address and wrote to him, but his reply didn’t

come until the day I left, and it was only a series of questions. I was going to have to do this thing on my own. I made the assumption that since there were handicapped people in France, I shouldn’t have to

bring things like KY jelly

for my catheters and loads of antibiotics. I also knew that the bike shops in France are better than those in the States, so I

wouldn’t have to bring a ton of extra chair parts. What I was going to bring, however, was a brand new hand cycle. The fund that the Nicolet swim team had established was originally set up to buy a racing wheelchair, so I decided to put it towards its original purpose. So far I’d only used the money for tuition and

putting hand controls in my car, but after trying a hand cycle at a handicapped fair in Eugene, I knew that it was the toy for me. It was a complicated piece of

machinery with a poorly written instruction guide. It took me five hours to figure out the

puzzle, but in the end I had a brand-new, lightweight hand cycle. A hand cycle has two small wheels in back and one regular size wheel in front. The seat is made of a nylon fabric and rides just six inches off the ground. The hand-pedals are

attached to a stem in front of the seat. The drive train goes from a ring connecting those handles to a chain

ring on the front wheel. The derailleur actually operates from above the free wheel, not below. It’s the complete opposite set up to any bike I’d ever seen. In order to steer, the rider leans slightly, and the two-piece chassis bends allowing for gradual turning. Two brakes are attached to


With one short phone call, Jeanine gave me

something to live for. I was heading home.

It took me five hours to figure out the puzzle, but in the end I had a brand-new, lightweight hand cycle. A

Awww.riderscollective.org november 2010 19

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arine cag

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the front wheel, with one brake handle on the pedal post and the other below the seat. The engineering was incredible. If they had only used the other half of their brains to write a decent assembly guide, it would have saved a couple hours of frustration. Once assembled, I took it out for a couple of short runs and was amazed at what it could do. I could crank it up to 20 mph on the flats, and the brakes were as responsive as any road bike I’d ever ridden. For the first time since wrecking in September, I was thinking like a bike rider. The big drawbacks were the hills. Climbing was incredibly difficult, and the three-wheel composition of the bike made the descents harrowing. On even slight climbs, I was down to the lowest gear, working really hard. That wasn’t the fault of the bike; it’s just the nature of the sport. Arms are about 60 percent as strong as legs. In my case, after years of springboard diving and cycling, I had huge thighs and

average arms. Even though my thighs had atrophied, there was

still a good chunk of

heavy muscle mass left. That muscle mass used to propel me over Alpine passes, but now it was all dead weight. Even though I’d been working out regularly in my chair in Corvallis, my arms were not in the kind of shape they needed to be in to go on long rides.

or the first time since leaving the States, my depression kicked in again. I was going to

have to go into town and tell my story over and over to old friends who would listen with crestfallen faces. As great as it was to return, I felt like crying every time I saw a familiar face. Jackie and Jeanine could sense my uneasiness, and they went beyond what I ever could imagine to accommodate me. Jackie built two ramps into the house and turned a big closet

into an accessible bathroom. Jeanine turned their living room into a bedroom. The fridge was packed with rich French food,

and they would get upset whenever I didn’t gorge myself. Their house was located on a ridge

high above the village, and the views from my room

were spectacular. To the east were the forested white cliffs that shoulder the Rhône and guide it through the Gorge de la Balme, splitting the Chat mountains, the first ridge of the Alps. To the south, I could look across the Grand Marée up to the rising slopes of Dolomieu, where I used to charge my Cannondale on

the way to La Tour du Pin. The only problem with those views is that they were just that—views. Pretty pictures. When I lived in Les Avenières, every mountain I saw was an invitation to conquer it. Now they were nothing more than fodder for my camera lens. I was living right in the middle of my beautiful France, but as close

as I was to it, it all seemed even farther away. But then Jackie and Jeanine gave me their biggest gift of all. My bike box had been sitting in the train station in Geneva for a week before Jeanine’s daughters picked it up and drove it to Les Avenières. When the box showed up, Jackie pulled out the pieces of the hand cycle

and went to town on it in much the same way I had in Portland. Jackie’s been riding ever since he could walk, and even rode on some tough regional teams. He knows a bicycle as well as any bike mechanic I’ve ever worked with. He pulled out the directions and said, “What is this shit? How are you supposed to figure it out from this?” I laughed and


FWhen I lived in Les

Avenières, every

mountain I saw was

an invitation to

conquer it. Now they

were nothing more

than fodder for my

camera lens

As great as it was to return, I felt like

crying every time I saw a familiar face.


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told him that it wasn’t a language problem. The directions were for shit—but the bike was great. It took us all afternoon to assemble the bike, but when it was done we were pretty damn psyched.

he next morning, I took off on my first tour of the area. I shot the long descent into

town, then headed east towards the river. I remembered a flat 30K loop that wouldn’t wipe me out on the first day. I felt great on the long, flat roads in the valley, but even the slight rise of the Rhône bridges forced me into my lowest gear. By the time I returned to the ascent up to the house, I was cooked. That’s when I realized how tough this was going to be. As I started up the short 1.5K climb, I was dropping one chain ring every two hand rotations. Before I was even at the tough part of the ascent, I was in lowest gear, pushing the bike one rotation at a time. I wasn’t even halfway up before I had to stop and shake out my arms. I’d never stopped on a climb before in my life, and I’d never

even considered this little ramp a climb before. Hand cycling was much, much tougher than I’d anticipated. When I got to the house, I was so beat I could barely transfer back into my chair.

The next day, I went for a longer, flat stretch to the north. Even though I was trying to stay along the valley floor, I still had some nasty hills to tackle. And again, I never even considered these things hills

before. They were just little bumps on the way to the big climbs. If I hit the hill hard and tried to keep up a tough gear, my arms would scream after just a few hundred yards. But if I geared down earlier and tried to keep up a cadence, I could last much longer.

or the next three weeks, my days were the same: Got up in the morning, went for a ride, and

made it back home for the Tour de France coverage. When I felt good, I’d drop down to the park to

watch the race at the Park’s ticket booth, but more often than not I was pretty dead. I started out at 40K/day, but that increased

to 50, then 60, then 70. 42 miles. As my arms got

stronger and stronger, I was able

to take on a couple of minor climbs. I bought a new copy of the Michelin map I had used when I rode the Cannondale. Every day I mapped out a course and went over the roads with a highlighter. The beauty of riding around Les Avenières was that there were so many roads leading to so many incredible views that you wanted

to take them all. Although some things had changed in my life, I still wanted to color in as much of that map as I could. Along the way I took in more of the passive rural French life that seemed to assimilate modernity without changing any of its time-honored traditions. Floral-scarfed women rode bicycles with baguettes in their panniers, and beret-headed farmers tinkered on tractors in the middle of golden, Van Gogh sunflower fields. Each small village had a fountain in front of an ancient

church, with cafés, tabacs and

boulangeries crowding tightly cornered streets. I never had to go more than ten kilometers between villages, but I rarely came upon a stoplight or stop sign. I kept riding, and France seemed to flow around me like a river. I was drowning in it and I didn’t want a lifeguard. By the time Jan Ullrich had won the Tour de France in late July, I’d eaten up all the flat roads and had to make


TF

For the first time since wrecking in September, I was thinking like a bike rider.

I kept riding, and France seemed to flow around me like

a river. I was drowning in it and I didn’t want a lifeguard.


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a choice. I could either stretch out my flat runs towards Lyon or point my bike to the East and start taking on some of the bigger climbs.

decided it was time to hit the big hills. I went for a couple of the bigger ones around town and discovered

that as long as I was patient and found a good rhythm, eventually I’d make it to the top. Climbs that used to take 20 minutes on the Cannondale would take over an hour on the hand cycle. But eventually I’d get to the top. The biggest climb in the immediate neighborhood was to the water tower overlooking the citadel town of Dolomieu. The road to the top was a 20K ride, with the last seven kilometers rising 500 meters. It was 500 meters above the valley floor, but there were two huge dips leading up to the summit putting on an additional 150 meters of climbing. With two strong legs it was a short, but demanding climb. On the hand cycle it was going to be a

bitch. I took off from the house with the water

tower of Dolomieu far off in the distance. I rode though Les Avenières, conserving all my energy for the climb and getting into a nice rhythm in the valley. I made my way up to the first dip three clicks (kilometers) into the climb, then shot into a small valley. The angle of the hill coming out of the valley was much more severe than that of the earlier part of the climb, but I stuck to my plan and dug myself out. Five clicks into the climb I dropped into the second valley and again had to dig myself out of a big hole. I kept to my rhythm, and soon enough, the city was in sight. During the climb, I had Patrick Chene, the Tour de France announcer, calling my progress in my head: “He’s just passed under the three kilometer banner—the city’s in sight—he can see the water tower—this will be his greatest victory ever!” As I wound through the tight switchbacks

that slithered through the town, I imagined the shopkeepers and

cafe dwellers

cheering me on. Everybody gave me strange looks as I ground up terrain in front of their homes, but only the town drunk, that I recognized from seven years earlier, actually cheered. Once through town, I had one last passage that was lined with farm fences and cattle. In my head, every curious stare from a cow turned into a roar from a would-be spectator. Finally I crested the hill at the water tower, and the glowing sunflowers at the summit gave me a hero’s welcome. I powered over a small flat on the top and started to drop down into La Tour du Pin on the opposite side. I was flying at 60 Kph, and my arms weren’t even burning. My training was dead-on for the climb, and I was reaping its rewards. As I floated along the long decent with towering Alpine peaks off in the distance, I felt like I was in an Alpine travelogue

video. I was living out a fantasy. For the first time since September, I felt alive. For the first time since September, I could actually feel the suicidal thoughts slipping into the abyss. I wanted to scream down Alpine foothills on a bike more than I wanted death. As much of a pain in the ass as it was to get to where I was, I wanted to get there as often as I could. I wanted to think of climbing and descending more than I wanted to think of putting a gun to my head. That was Jackie and Jeanine’s gift to me. They gave me the gift of hope and life. A truck on Sandy Boulevard had taken that away, but as I was dropping into La Tour du Pin, hope and life were given back to me. Those mountains weren’t just pretty pictures anymore—I owned them again.

Tom Haig is a former circus performer, business writer, and web programmer. He is the author of a memior, The Bridge To Venice, from which this is taken. He is a two-time winner of the Portland marathon in the Hand Cycle division. Visit his blog, captaincrip.blogspot.com. He can be reached at [email protected]


I

I wanted to think of climbing and descending more than I wanted to think of putting a gun to my head.


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Golden Globes’Ten-Year Cycle1950 1960 1970 1980 1990 2000 2010

Begun in 1944 by the Hollywood Foreign Press, the Globes kicked off their first full

decade by awarding The Bicycle Thief Best Foreign Film. Every decade since

then has similarly begun with cycle-sightings in at least one winning entry.


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ten-year cycle

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

1950

The Bicycle Thief (Italy)

Best Foreign Film

Everywhere but the brothel

Single-speed bicycle (rod-brakes, bottle-generator)

A man pawns his sheets to buy a bicycle necessary for work. The bike is stolen. He finds the thief, but without evidence he’s out of luck. Desperate, he steals someone else’s bike, is caught, isn’t prosecuted, but is left without work and in despair.

Best Film, Drama: All the King’s Men; Best Actress, Film: Olivia de Havilland, The Heiress

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

1960

Ben-Hur

Best Picture, Drama

Desert; Circus Maximus

2-wheeled chariot (plus horses at times)

Wealthy Judean Jew is sent to the galleys; saves Roman consul; wins chariot race; returns to unite with his mother and sister.

Best Film, Musical: Porgy and Bess; Best Film, Comedy: Some Like It Hot


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1960

1950

1970

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

Best Original Score

On the farm

Single-speed; coaster brake

Butch and Sundance rob trains; a posse begins trailing them. So they go to Bolivia. Bad idea.

Best Foreign Language Film: Z, Algeria; Most Promising Newcomer, Male: Jon Voight

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

ten-year cyclewww.riderscollective.org november 2010 25

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1970

donwalkercycles.com

Forged by hand. Driven by passion.

1980

Kramer vs. Kramer

Best Picture, Drama

Central Park

Banana bike

A married couple’s divorce and its impact on everyone involved, including the couple’s young son.

Best Actor, Comedy: Peter Sellers, Being There; Best TV Actor, Comedy: Alan Alda, M*A*S*H

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

1980

Breaking Away

Best Picture, Comedy

On campus; on the freeway

Single-speeds with coaster brakes, Masis

Four teenagers in Indiana college town who don’t know what to do with their lives; one takes up cycling.

Best Actress, Drama: Sally Field, Norma Rae; Best Actress, Comedy: Bette Midler, The Rose

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

ten-year cyclewww.riderscollective.org november 2010 26

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1980

ten-year cycle2000

Toy Story 2

Best Film, Comedy

While Ham is flipping thourgh the TV channls looking for Al’s Toy Barn

Juggling unicycle

Woody is stolen by a toy collector; Buzz and his friends rescue him

Best Actress, Drama: Hilary Swank, Boys Don’t Cry; Best TV Series, Comedy: Sex and the City

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners 1980

Kramer vs. Kramer

Best TV Series, Comedy

With Artie Abrams

Manual wheelchair

A high-school Spanish teacher becomes the director of the school’s Glee club

Best Film, Drama: Avatar; Best Film, Comedy: The Hangover

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners

1990

Cinema Paradiso

Best Foreign Language Film (Italy)

Sicilian countryside

Single-speed; rod brakes

A famous film director returns home to a Sicilian village for the first time after almost 30 years. He reminisces about his childhood.

Best Original Song, Film: Under the Sea, The Little Mermaid

year

winner

category

sighting

wheels

plot

other winners


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2000

1990

2010

cy

clin

g, o

n t

he

ro

cks

it’s a feat just getting to the start when you’re trying to acheive thefirst human-powered winter circumnavigation of lake baikal

text : christopher pike | photographs : Maikey Lopera | cyclebaikal.com

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first human-powered winter circumnavigation of lake baikal

the morning of February 25 we hauled all of our bikes and panniers

down 5 flights of a narrow staircase out into the courtyard of the Baikaler Hostel in Irkutsk, Russia to begin what we hoped would be the first ever human-powered winter circumnavi-gation of Lake Baikal. Opening the door to the outside was just like entering a walk-in freezer. The cold air looked like smoke as it poured through the rusted steel frame of the entry way and crept along the seams of the walls like a

hungry phantom. It is safe to speculate that questions arose in all of our heads at that mo-ment regarding the rationality of our proposed plan. There were many unknowns: the amount snow on the lake, the condition of the ice, the reliability of our equipment, and above all – the effect of sustained cold temperatures on our health. In the preceding three days I had met with many of my Russian friends and ac-quaintances who cautioned us to the dangers of Lake Baikal in winter. The ice of Baikal forms in plates and chunks of various sizes. These plates can press into each other and

splinter, forming fields of jagged broken ice miles wide. Or they can separate, leaving deep cracks covered by snow, areas of thin ice, or even open water. Several cars disappear into the frozen lake ev-ery year, and few passengers sur-vive. We were told that just a week before we left a driver had gotten out of his van to go to the bath-room. When he turned back to-wards his vehicle, it, along with its 3 passengers, had disappeared. The plate of ice which he had un-knowingly parked on had flipped over like a pancake due to the weight of the van upon one of its edges. The ice of Baikal moves at times as if it is alive. We were ad-vised to respect Baikal’s capri-cious and potentially dangerous temperament.

he day of our planned depar-ture turned out to be the

coldest day of a two-week cold snap. Daytime temperatures were around -38 Celsius. We were tempted to wait a day or two for warmer weather, but our sched-ule had already been compressed to 35 days and we couldn’t afford to delay any longer. We packed our gear and set out.

e had planned to ride 65 ki-lometers from the city of Ir-

kutsk to Lake Baikal along the frozen Angara River, reaching

the lake in 2 days. It had seemed plenty rea-sonable behind a coffee table back in Eugene, Oregon. It turned out, however, that this year had seen an unusually high amount of snow-fall, and the frozen river that I had easily rid-den my cyclocross bike on 5 years ago was covered with 2+ feet of snow. We rode in the ruts of a track carved out by automobile traf-fic, our panniers often bouncing off the snow walls, knocking us off balance and occasion-ally sending us to the ground.

On

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cycling, on the rocks

When h

e tu

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ack to

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ith its 3

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294 spikes for pleasure riding. see more on our facebook page

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KIDS & CARGO

HAPPYHOLIDAYS

ventually the track dead-ended at the mouth of an inlet and we made our first

camp, covering only about 20 kilometers.

s the sun faded into the horizon we could feel the temperature dropping. Several

questions came to our minds: “how cold will it get”, “will all this high-tech clothing keep me warm”, “What are we going to do if there is this much snow on the lake?” Battling the self-doubt that accompanies any significant endeavor we set ourselves to the task of pitching the tent and getting the stoves lit to make dinner.

t was at this point that we learned that in very cold temperatures liquid fuels such

as kerosene and gasoline do not give off enough vapors to be flammable. After holding my lighter directly against the kerosene until I burnt my thumb I was ready to toss the stove into the endless white and eat frozen bread for dinner. Fortunately, Eric was more patient than I, and after tossing a half-dozen slowly-burning matches into the pool of kerosene, the fuel eventually heated up to the point where it

gave off vapors, and ignited. Eric became the officially designated stove operator. After a dinner of freeze-dried chicken enchiladas we crawled into our down sleep-ing bags to await our first night in the Siberian winter.

hat night I slept in full cloth-ing: primaloft insulated

pants, primaloft insulated jacket, expedition down jacket, and hat – all cocooned in a -25 degree down sleeping bag. It was not un-comfortably cold, but I had to

cinch down the collar and hood of my sleeping bag to keep the cold air from stealing my heat.

he first thing I saw when I woke up was a small patch of

light at the end of the tunnel of down created by my cinched-down sleeping bag hood. Long and jag-ged ice crystals had formed around the rim and inner 5 centimeters of the down reminding me of the Ex-ogorth scene in The Empire Strikes Back. Emerging from the comfort of the down sleeping bags and fac-

ing the morning chores with frozen hands was a challenge. After every task that could not be tackled with mittens on we had to spend 5 to 10 minutes warming our hands back up. My preferred method was swinging my arms in circles rapidly while clenching my hands into fists at the top of every rotation. This seemed to work pretty well, especially if I swung both arms together and jumped up and down a bit to get my whole body working. As entertain-ing as this exercise was, it got old quick, and after a couple days my shoulder joints began to ache from overuse.

he amount of snow on the river made us reconsider our plan to reach Baikal via

the Angara River. From the inlet where we had camped we would have to push the bikes for 2 long days to reach Baikal. We decided to cross the river in order to reach the road on the north side of the river and ride the auto-mobile route to the town of Listvianka, the most accessible tourist destination on the lake. We pushed our bikes for 4 hours before reaching the other side.

EA

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ake Baikal is located in south-eastern Sibe-ria, not far from the Russia/Mongolia bor-

der. It is surrounded by disparate landscapes, varying from the famous Siberian tundra and jagged granite mountains to steppe, alpine meadows, and even picturesque sandy beaches reminiscent of the tropics. It is the deepest lake in the world with a maximum depth of 1637 meters, or 5,369 feet and holds 20% of the world’s fresh water supply. For comparison, the deepest lake in the United States, Crater Lake, is 592 meters deep or 1,942 feet. Lake Baikal is 636 kilometers, or 395 miles long, and 80 kilo-meters, or 50 miles across at its widest point. Lake Tahoe, by comparison, is 22 miles long, 12 miles across, and one-third of a mile deep.

The water in Lake Baikal is said to be the cleanest in the world, thanks to a small micro-organism that lives in the lake. The clarity level of the water is very high. It is possible to see 100 feet down and tourists that come to the lake in summer often get vertigo from the clarity of the water. Forty years ago, the clarity level at Lake

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Tahoe was about the same, but since then it has been reduced to less than 70 feet.

In the winter, the lake freezes by more than three feet deep, thick enough for cars to drive on the surface or even, in 1904, for train tracks to be laid across the lake during the Russo-Japanese War. Locals flock to the lake in winter to ski, ride bicycles, and hike on the ice reaching areas of the lake that are accessible only by boat in the summer.

The extent of biodiversity pres-ent in Lake Baikal is equaled by few other lakes. The lake is host to 1,085 species of plants and 1,550 species and varieties of animals. Over 60% of animals and 27 of 52 species of fish are endemic. The Nerpa, or fresh-water seal is the only mammal living in the lake, and can be found throughout the whole area of the lake.

Lake Baikal is revered by many Russians. The comparison is of-

ten made to one of America’s na-tional treasures, such as the Grand Canyon.

he road wasn’t exactly a piece of cake ei-ther. There were some tough hills and

with our 2-speed single speed set up it was often the smart decision to push the bikes rather than risk straining a joint or a ligament. Our equip-ment was also taking a beating. The welds on our front racks became brittle and failed. We lost several hours to gear modifications and re-pairs. At the end of the second day we had trav-elled only 25 kilometers on the road and had still not reached the lake.

he morning of the third day we arose deter-mined to reach the lake. We were very con-

cerned about the amount of snow that we en-countered on the Angara River. If there was that much snow on the lake our chances of complet-ing a circumnavigation were non-existent. Push-ing our bikes we could hope to cover at the most 25 to 30 kilometers a day. We needed to cover 60 kilometers a day. The success of our trip hinged on there being ride-able conditions on the lake.

e reached the lake in the early after-noon. The first thing we noticed was a

large body of open water where the Angara forms a basin as it flows out of Baikal. Along the edges of the basin we could see what looked like blue ice in the distance. We climbed up and around a long bluff before finally dropping down to the edge of the lake and earning our first look at the oldest and deepest lake in the world, Lake Baikal. Re-frigerator-size chunks of blue ice had stacked up against the shoreline and for as far as we could see the mirror-like surface of the fro-zen lake reflected back at us a confirmation of all that we had hoped for – blue ice! The expedition was now officially under way.

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tune-upWhen oobject.com set out to

compile a list of bicycle boom-boxes, could they have imagined a

motlier mix of cycle and sound?

The mobile soundsystem from The Friday Night Skate [lfns.co.uk]

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tune-up

From bakfiets-en-meer.nl (“City Cycling News and Opinions from Amsterdam”)Yesterday the New York Times ran an arti-cle about a gang of teenagers in Richmond Hill, Queens (NY) who build outrageous two-wheeled sound systems to cruise the streets. They “engineer” up to a couple hundred kilos of speakers, batteries and electronics and a few thousand watts of amplification onto BMX bikes and then DJ from iPods at deafening volume. Cool.

From biketrailerblog.com (“The Gallery of Bike Trailers in Use and in Development”)Bicycles and music are finding a union through bicycle trailers. In bike festivals and parades a wild variety of sound systems can be found perched on bicycles and mounted on cargo machines.

Rigging up bikes and bike trailers for tunes is an unmistakable asser-tion that the bicycle is your vehicle of choice above all others. One of the most impressive setups that I’ve come across is this setup chris-tened Beatrix. This bicycle beat box is a full scale sound system that has been mounted on a Carry Freedom Y-Frame Large Trailer.

www.drwillbar.com

buy a box of

24!

CO-RIDER.com MID/FRONT-MOUNTED CHILD’S SEATS

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From the-rotators.com (website of UJINO, Japanese sound / sculpture / performance artist)Hyung-nim Ride2003. Bicycle, speakers and mixed media230 x 200 x 80 cmUjino stayed in Korea and produced this. Over-driven amplified bike noise spreads out from Marshall speakers when an audience member drives the bicycle, the style of which is usually used in Korean market.

tune-up

Velo Transit is an Active Outdoor Design Team, designing and building high quality specialty outdoor gear. We manufacture functional backpacks with the most comfortable fit available. Our goal is your satisfaction.

Bicycle Packs, Bags & AccessoriesProudly Made in Seattle, WA

Velo Transit

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w.v

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it.c

om

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From neatorama.com (“Featuring new and neat stuff from the ‘Neatoshop’”)VH1’s Best Week Ever blog has com-piled a list of the craziest bikes ever. One of them is the boombox bike shown below, which also happened to be the subject of Nicholas Randall and Joe Stevens’ documentary Made in Queens.

tune-up

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From sustainableflatbush.org (“For sustainable living in our Brooklyn neighborhood’”)From Recife, Brazil, Bicycle Sound System: Cargo bikes are very big here, carrying everything from huge bot-tles of water to sounds for the party!

From urban75.org (“Independent site founded by a Welshman living in Brixton”)A day after London mayor ken Livingstone had mumbled some tabloid-pleasing nonsense about forcing cyclists to some-how fix number plates to their bikes, there was another big turn out for the London Critical Mass, all looking forward to relax-ing, pollution free amble around the streets of London. From our report:Here’s a mobile sound system with an enormous bass pipe attached

tune-up

My name is

Alex Ramon.The purpose of this site is to help people learn how to fix their own bikes. While I don’t work in a shop anymore, I still have all of my tools, so I might as well share what I know.

VIDEO TUTORIALS

Bicycle Aidfor Africa

www.re-cycle.org

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From travel.webshots.com (American Greetings Member Photos)Posted by infranceandlovinit: “Carnival in Nice! A clown on a bike with speakers blasting techno.”

tune-up

From nytimes.com (“All the news that’s fit to print”)A new biker gang is roaming the streets of Richmond Hill, Queens. The bikes roar, but the booming sound has nothing to do with engines —they are ordinary bicycles, not motor-cycles, although these contrap-tions look and sound more like rolling D.J. booths.

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pioneering new processes and technologies to create bicycle

components that you might not have imagined in carbon fiber

www.ruckuscomponents.com

“It’s pretty much the brightest rear light I’ve seen on a bicycle!”

—bikecommuters.com

www.flashbakonline.com

at the end, a look back’’

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ders

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lect

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Jure Robicd. September 24, 2010

A Slovenian cyclist and soldier in the Slovenian Army, Jure Robic� won the Race Across America a record 5 times between 2004 and 2010. He broke the world 24-hour road record by cycling 518.70 miles, won Le Tour Direct, a 2500 mile race based on a course derived from classic Tour de France routes, twice, and finished first in the DOS-Ras Race Across Slovenia four times. In his career he had won more than 100 races before being killed when hit by an oncoming car as his sped downhill on a forest road in Plavški Rovt during a training ride.

riders collective - lifescycling.net · november 2010 1 ’ ’ ’ ’ riders collective ’ when...

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