Purple Handlebars: My Invisible Bike

In May I test rode a titanium roadbike by local manufacturer Seven Cycles. Unexpectedly, this turned into my renting a demo model for the remainder of the summer, culminating in this review of the bike. After much hand-wringing and testing of other bikes, this Spring I got a Seven of my own. Both Seven Cycles and their sister bike shop Ride Studio Cafe sponsor this blog, which afforded me the opportunity to purchase the bike at a manageable price point. My new bike is a Seven Axiom S - their entry level titanium road/race model - fitted with a Campagnolo Chorus group. Other than submitting myself to an extensive bike fit process, asking for no toe overlap, and specifying my preference for a level-ish top tube, I did not get involved in the frame specs. "Just make it the same as the one I test rode, only in my size" was the extent of my input. We also went with the same components as the demo bike I rode last year. On Seven's advice, I bought the bike bundled together with pedals, shoes and fancy computer. The complete bike was handed over to me in ready-to-ride condition. I have not kept track of the milage properly, but I estimate it to be around 1,000 miles at present. The kind of riding I've done on it so far has includedsolo rides,club rides, some metric centuries, and one overnight imperial century - all mostly road.



It took me a while to write about my bike, and I am still not sure what or how to do it. The problem is that it feels so oddly natural, that it simply disappears from my field of awareness. I feel myself pedaling, but I don't feel the bike. And because I don't feel it, I don't think about it. I don't even look at it much. When I do look at it, I am riding it - so even when I try to conjure up an image of "my Seven" what I am really picturing is the cockpit view of the handlebars, wrapped in purple bar tape. The bike itself is just not there. How can I write about something I don't feel and photograph something I don't look at? It feels forced. And so that's been the dilemma.





But of course the bike is a tangible object. Titanium frame, carbon fiber fork. I watched the frame being welded. I know the guy who built it up with components. The bikeis real.As far as aesthetics, there are certainly those who are crazy about titanium, but I can take it or leave it. I don't hate it - and Seven's frames have some nice design elements that I particularly appreciate, such as the curvy chain stays and super clean welds. But I don't love it like I do brazed and lugged steel. While aesthetically I am neutral, functionally I have come to see benefits. I like the ride quality. I like the durability. I like the light weight. I am okay with feeling "aesthetically neutral" about a material in exchange for these benefits.



As is common practice with titanium frames, I left mine unpainted. There is no need, as titanium does not rust. If the surface gets scratched, I can simply buff the scratches out. Easy, and truly low maintenance. The unfinished frame gives the bike a matte silvery look that contributes to the neutral effect. There is nothing to see here: No colour, no lugs, but no ugly messy welds either. The welds are subtle, delicate-looking puddles at the joints.





A technically interesting aspect of the bike is Seven's proprietary 5E fork. The curved blades give it a more elegant look than the more typical straight forks, and, some would say, have a positive effect on ride quality. Even more interesting are the adjustable dropouts that allow for these forks to be made in a wide range of rakes (36mm to 58mm) - something that is not commonly done with carbon fiber forks. Among other things, this enables them to make small bikes without toe overlap.



There are different opinions out there about carbon fiber forks, one of them being that they are prone to sudden breakage. This was my own understanding of the situation initially. But over the past year I have read up more on the topic, have talked about it with a number of framebuilders (including steel-loving ones), and have come to the conclusion that it's not as simple as "carbon fiber is more fragile than steel." As far as anecdotal evidence, I personally know many more cyclists who have damaged or destroyed steel forks than I know cyclists who have damaged or destroyed carbon fiber forks. Carbon forks may not be pretty, but I believe the modern high-quality ones are strong and safe. One is not obliged to get a carbon fork with a titanium frame. But last summer I liked the way the Axiom demo bike rode so much, that I did not want to change any part of the equation, so I went with a carbon fork. I do not lose sleep over this. I don't notice it.







Since I first got the bike in spring, it has undergone only a couple of minor changes. I changed the saddle twice (from Berthoud, to Selle Anatomica, then back to Berthoud), trying to determine which one was more suitable for long rides. I also switched out the original 23mm tires (Michelin Krylion) to 26mm tires (Grand Bois Cerf) - mostly just to experiment, but I think I'll keep them this way for a while. Otherwise, the bike has stayed the same. I have several saddle wedges and bags that I use, depending on the sort of ride I am doing, so it usually has at least a tool bag underneath the saddle. Unlike some other road/racing bikes I've tried, it carries weight in the rear very well - including a large Carradice-type bag full of heavy stuff. I have not tried weight on the handlebars yet. As far as geometry, it is basically a 52cm x 53cm frame with a 2° sloping top tube, mid-trail front end, and a steep seat tube. The frame and fork will fit tires up to 28mm. The drive-train is 50/34t in the front and 12-29t in the rear. I prefer to stay seated and spin when climbing hills, and so far this gearing has allowed that for most of the riding I've done. The Campagnolo ergo levers feel extremely intuitive to use. The Crankbrothers pedals have been easy and problem-free.




As far as limitations, I have noticed only one so far: When doing a 100 mile ride, toward the end I wished the handlebars had roomier "shoulders" behind the brake hoods. I am still not sure what kind of rides I will mostly be doing on this bike, but if I end up consistently riding it long distance I will consider different handlebars. Likewise, I may want lower gearing, should I ever do the kind of climbs that call for it. This bike was not designed for racks, fenders, wide tires, and the like, and so it isn't really meant for touring, transportation, or off-road use. So far it has proven to be more versatile than I expected, but it remains at its best as a light bike for spirited local rides. It is then that the bike is at its least noticeable: It's just me then, flying through thin air.






To explain the disappearing bike phenomenon, maybe I need to go back to the day I got it. I showed up for a Sunday morning ride at the Ride Studio Cafe on my old bike, and when I walked in the door someone was pointing toward the back of the store excitedly, mouthing "your bike is here!" I headed that way and saw a small group of people, crouching and leaning over what was presumably my bike. They were discussing the unusual decals (made using a non-standard font) and the leather saddle. Feeling shy, I stepped aside and watched them all watching my bike. By the time the crowd dissipated, it was time for the Sunday ride, and it was somehow just assumed that I would ride the new bike instead of the one I arrived on. In retrospect, it might have been wise to test ride it at least around the block before a 30 mile club ride, but there was no time. I barely had a chance to look at it in its unridden state. We headed out and before I knew it, I was pedaling and panting and braking and shifting in a small group of other riders, the wind in my face. Only later, as I rode the additional 10 miles home at an easier pace, did the reality that I was taking my new bike home set in. How did it feel? I really could not say, other than that I did not feel it at all. And that set the tone for our relationship: The bike absented itself politely from my cycling experience. I can tell you whether I ride fast or slow, how many miles, how hilly it is, how tired I am in the end, what sort of things I see around me - but I don't know what to say about the bike itself.






In my review of the demo model last year, I was excited about how fast the Seven rode. Since then, I have ridden other road/racing bikes. They are fast as a category, and the Seven Axiom is just one of many excellent fast bikes out there. What makes this particular bike well-suited for me is the intuitive, weightless, painless feel of it in addition to the speed itself. I do not feel the rough roads. I get less fatigued after riding than I do on other bikes. The fit feels perfectly natural. The components are seamlessly integrated. It really is as if the bike isn't there. When asked to describe it, I draw a blank and what comes to mind are the purple handlebars I see while I'm riding. Not very informative, though in a way maybe it is.

Bike Wash!

We had big plans to go skiing over the long weekend, but they were derailed by 44°F temperatures and heavy rain, even up in Maine. So instead we "washed" our bikes.

It was the Co-Habitant's crazy idea (as you have probably noticed by now, he is much more fun than I am). We had just returned from our trip and were getting ready for a quiet night at home, when he looked out the window and proposed that the rain might be a good opportunity to wash the winter crud off the Pashleys. "Let's take them around the block," he suggested.

As we raced down a road heading out of town a half hour later, it became apparent that we were on a joyride. In a downpour. In 44°F weather. In the middle of the night. The bikes were clean and shiny when we got home, and we were soaking wet and shivering. Good times! And now for some hot tea...

Loopy Contemplations

As Justine remarked in the previous post, "There's no need to abandon your loop frame just because you get a nice road bike. Every kind of riding is different". I love loop frames and believe very strongly that the sort of bicycle described here is the best bike to ride for transportation in one's regular clothing - especially if you are a woman who wears skirts or business attire.

It is also best if you want to cycle at a leisurely pace and get the most out of the scenery - like the beautiful and fleeting spring blossoms.

These pictures were meant to have a "green on green" theme as a follow-up to the "blue on blue", but they were taken with a mobile phone and the green colour of the Pashley frame is completely invisible. But conceptually it is there: green grass, green sweater set, green Pashley. (Just imagine the bike looks green, okay?)

I long to have a "one and only," dependable, perfect loop-frame bicycle. Unfortunately, I think that the lovely Pashley might not be the one. For whatever reason, my vintage Raleigh DL-1 Lady's Tourist just works better with my anatomy. However, the DL-1 is not perfect either: lacking the Pashley's dependable brakes and all-weather capabilities. Over the past 9 months I have been agonising about how to resolve this and toying with different possibilities, but now I have finally taken action: I will be turning the Raleigh DL-1 into "superbike" by installing a secret coaster brake whilst leaving the rod brakes intact. And, assuming that this works out ...I will be selling the Pashley. Can't believe I just committed this to text, but there it is. I have not made it official yet or posted the bike for sale anywhere, but if you live in the area and think you might be interested, get in touch. Who knows - maybe you'll meet the loopy best friend of your dreams!

Once More with Feeling: the Return of the Winter Tire Dilemma

After last year's mild winter, this holiday season caught us off guard with a bountiful snowfall. My two ridable transport bikes at the moment are a Brompton and a 650B prototype mixte (more on that soon). The mixte sports 42mm Grand Bois Hetre tires, and so I thought it would be a great idea to ride it in the snow. After all, the Hetres ride so nicely over unpaved, uneven terrain. Crusty snow feels kind of similar. I took to the streets.




Here I will pause to admit, that despite 3 previous winters of cycling behind my belt, I had never before ridden on roads that look quite like what's pictured here. There was never a need to, since our neighbourhood usually gets plowed and salted pretty thoroughly. Typically the streets look morelike this-with snowbanks piled high on the sides, but the travel lanes mostly cleared. This time around, maybe on account of the holidays, they had not cleared the snow all that well. I got to experience the real deal.






The snow on the roads created terrain of three distinct categories. There was the even, packed snow. Riding on it felt similar to riding on post-rain dirt roads, nicely packed and kind of softish. The Hetres handled well there. There was the crusted-over snow, uneven and slippery at times, though not outright icy. This too felt manageable. And then there were the occasional stretches of deeper, slushier snow. I expected it to feel similar to mud, but it was way more slidey and my front wheel kept fishtailing. Still, overall I thought that the tires did fine. There were only a few stretches where I felt uneasy, and I attributed that to a lack of confidence.




So I got home and uploaded some pictures of my snow ride, planning to comment on how decently the Grand Bois Hetres handled. But promptly the pictures received feedback from others to the opposite effect, warning that these tires ride poorly in the snow. The fact that I happily rode them and felt they were fine strikes me as funny - in a concerning sort of way. Ideally, I'd like to be able to tell the difference between lack of traction and lack of confidence.






And so, once more the Winter Tire Dilemma is upon me. Naturally, everyone is suggesting studded tires. This is my 4th winter commuting by bike and I have yet to try them. Partly this is because they are expensive and I cannot seem to commit to a wheel size. I am riding 650B now, but in winters past I've ridden 26", 28" and 700C, and who knows what I'll be riding next winter. I am also convinced that getting studded tires and mounting them on my bike will activate the Umbrella Carrying Principle, ensuring that I will not need them.






Finally, the very fact of having gotten through 3 winters without them makes me question whether I really need studs. Winters here aren't really that bad, and tires with some tread seem to do pretty well. The Schwalbe Marathon Plus are the husband's favourite for city slush and snowy paths alike, and they are even available for the Brompton's wheel size. The performance-oriented Continental Top Winter IIs also come highly recommended. Knobby mountain bike tires are another popular choice. One issue, as I understand it, is that no tire is equally good for both snow and ice. Studded tires help with ice, but not snow. Tires with heavy tread help with snow, but not ice.This winter, my commutes cover longer distances and more remote areas than previously, so a good winter tire is worth considering ...though with all the choices and factors involved, I suspect spring might come by the time I decide.

Drop Bars!

With my horrible sense of balance, I did not think I'd be able to ride a "real" road bike, with drop bars and narrow tires -- but apparently I can do it! A complete review of Marianne coming soon...

Trends I'd Like to See in the Bike Industry

With Interbike coming up this week, discussions regarding what trends to expect have been coming up. Last year was big for transportation cycling, but where will it go from there? To be honest, I have no idea. At the small but influential New Amsterdam show earlier this year the biggest specific trend I could spot was an increase in casual reflective gear. Hopefully Interbike will surprise us with something more substantial.



Meanwhile, instead of making predictions I thought I'd list some of the things I'd like to see myself. In no particular order...




Transportation bicycles for long distance

Most transportation-specific bicycles on the market today are designed for fairly short trips over easy terrain. But for a huge segment of the population, longer commutes over hilly terrain are more typical. Granted, cycling is not feasible for everyone. But I believe that for many, undertaking a long commute by bike is possible without sacrificing personal style and enjoyment. With that in mind, I would like to see more performance-oriented yet transportation-specific bicycle designs. While road, cyclocross and touring bikes can be adapted for long-distance commuting, it is exactly that: aftermarket adaptation. For every person who goes through the trouble, there are probably 100 who will not bother. A transportation-specific design will both validate the possibility of long distance transportation cycling, and make it easy to actually do it.


Affordable, quality dynamo lighting packages

The options for bright LED dynamo lights and light-weight, no-drag dynamo hubs have never been better. However, that's the good stuff and it is very expensive. And the inexpensive stuff - particularly what tends to be bundled with typical city bikes - is not great. Consumers complain about the dim halogen headlights, the heavy, lackluster hubs. It would be good to have an affordable middle ground. Bike shops that specialise in fully equipped bicycles tend to agree, and some have taken to modifying stock bikes with upgrades. But to see an across-the-board improvement in quality of bundled lighting packages, the initiative must come from the manufacturers.





Decent cycling trousers

Normally I wear my everyday clothing when riding for transportation and do not feel a need for cycling-specific designs. One exception is trousers. As it stands, I ride mostly in skirts and avoid trousers, because the crotch seams on most of them - particularly jeans - cause me discomfort in the saddle on anything but the shortest rides. Considering the growing selection of cycling-specific trousers on the market, it amazes me that virtually none of them aim to address this issue (which I know others experience!), focusing instead on bells and whistles such as U-lock pockets and reflective tabs. Somehow the idea of a seam-free gusseted crotch either escapes the designers or does not seem important, but I hope to see this feature in future.


Easy to use mini-pumps

When I talk to women about self-sufficiency on the road, a lot of it comes down to finding the equipment physically difficult to use. This is particularly true of portable bicycle pumps. A few months back I attended a "fix your flat in 5 minutes flat" clinic, and most of the women present admitted they were unable to use the mini-pump they carried with them on the bike - telling stories of roadside frustration, ripped out valves and ruined tubes. In fact there is exactly one mini pump I know of that is agreed to be fairly easy to use, but the complaint is that it's heavy; few are willing to carry it on their pared-down roadbike. It would be great to see manufacturers come up with designs that are both easy to work and lightweight; it would be a game-changer for many.



Road component groups designed for low gearing

For those who prefer low gears on their roadbikes forclimbing-intensive riding,it is not easy to achieve a build that is in equal measure modern, lightweight, and perfectly functional. Road component groups tend to be optimised for racing and therefore geared on the high side. Setting up a bike with truly low gears (I am talking sub-1:1 here) usually means resorting to mixing and matching components and brands, switching out chainrings to non-native ones, installing mountain bike derailleurs, sourcing vintage parts, and so on. While I am sure some will disagree, according to my observations and personal experience it is rare that these hybrid drivetrains will function as flawlessly as dedicated component groups where everything is designed to work together. This year SRAM has begun to venture into the low gearing territory with their "WiFli technology" - lightweight road derailleurs designed to accommodate wider cassettes. I can't wait for others to follow suit.





Mainstreaming of 650B



There has been talk about the rising popularity of 650B for years, and I am looking forward to this wheel size finally becoming mainstream and unremarkable for both road-to-trail and transportation bicycles. Increasingly, cyclists are choosing bikes built for 650B wheels: Framebuilders are being asked to make more of them, DIY 650B conversions are all the rage, choices for 650B rims and tires are expanding, andsome fringe manufacturers are offering dedicated 650B models. There are benefits to 650B wheels, including wider tires and no toe overlap. But there is also concern about the longevity of the trend, as well as about mainstream bike shops not stocking relevant parts - which could pose problems for those experiencing mechanical issues on long trips. I hope it is only a matter of time before affordable and mainstream manufacturers normalise 650B and put those concerns to rest.



So that's my wish-list. I don't think anything here is especially radical or too much to hope for. Mostly I am guessing it is a matter of time, but hopefully sooner rather than later. What trends would you like to see in the bicycle industry in the years to come?

Grandpa Vic and Some Grandkids

A couple years ago, my uncle Bill Phend, sent a few photos he had scanned. Finally found where I'd put them on my hard drive. . . this is the only one that had Grandpa with us kids. Taken in August of 1949 at the home of my Aunt Phyllis in Columbia City. Looks like Grandpa and Kathy are the only ones enjoying themselves! That's me in front, cousin Tom, brother Doug (behind me), cousins Mike and Kathy, and Grandpa trying to keep us all in one spot.

Gunks Routes: Yellow Ridge (5.7)

(Photo: coming around to the stance beneath the off-width on the first pitch of Yellow Ridge.)



Often described as the best 5.7 in the Gunks, Yellow Ridge delivers a classic Fritz Weissner old-school sort of experience. An intimidating 5.7 off-width crack looms about 10 to 15 feet off the ground. The first belay traditionally follows directly above, and then the second pitch follows a path-of-least resistance 5.5 traverse up and left to a decent ledge. Then in the final pitch comes the glory: a thin traverse left to an arete and an improbable 5.6 haul through great jugs to the top.



The first decision confronting the climber is how to get to the off-width. Guidebooks have differed as to which approach is the original route; one can climb up to the off-width from the left, from the right, or directly up a nose from below. Dick Williams' latest guidebook suggests the approach from the right. This approach has the advantage of being the only start with good protection. When I led the pitch in March, this is the way I went, and I thought it was a bit strenuous for 5.7, but very secure and fun. The climb begins up a left-facing corner and then traverses under a low roof to the nose beneath the off-width. A good undercling crack provides great pro and hands for the traverse. The feet are quite smeary, however, and this part of the pitch really gets the pulse going, quite close to the ground. Then it's a fun maneuver rocking over the top of the nose to the stance beneath the off-width.



The off-width itself is kind of a letdown. I doubt even Fritz grunted up the thing. There are enough little edges around it that there is no need to use the wide crack to advance. I brought up a couple big cams just to see if they'd be useful, and it turned out they were totally unnecessary. I placed a gray #4 Camalot just above the piton at the base of the off-width. It wouldn't fit any higher. I suppose it had value in backing up the pin, but a #3 would have gone in almost as high. Then about half-way up the crack I placed the purple #5 Camalot, but right there a good horizontal also appears which takes a variety of different cam sizes. So leave the big gear in your bag, there's no point in bringing it for Yellow Ridge.



Traditionally there is a belay at the ledge above the off-width. I wasn't experiencing any drag, even though I placed gear both before and during the traverse beneath the roof at the start of the pitch, so I elected to continue through the easy 5.5 moves up and left to the final belay ledge. Here my partner Adrian took over for the 5.6 money pitch. I had been through this area before, but never from this direction. Instead I had previously done the final portion of Yellow Ridge by approaching it from the other side, through a link-up climb called Basking Ridge, which ascends the excellent 5.7 first pitch of Baskerville Terrace, then moves to the right and goes up a cool rising traverse around a corner to the right to join Yellow Ridge at the arete below the overhangs.



When I climbed Basking Ridge last year and came around the corner to join Yellow Ridge at the arete, I looked to the right and thought the Yellow Ridge traverse looked a little thin and intimidating. This year, Adrian made it look very easy, then moved up, clipping the pins that are the only pro for a while through the arete section. Then he started to move out of sight, but he paused beneath the overhangs. As I've mentioned before, Adrian is a recent transplant to the Gunks. He is used to climbing out in Squamish, where the cracks are vertical and the roofs don't tend to go at easy grades.



"Do you know where I'm supposed to go?" he asked. "There's nothing up there that looks like 5.6 to me."



"Straight up!" I said.



"Really?" I think I see a pin off to the left through this filthy gully..."



"NO! No! Straight up, man. You'll see, it's nothing but jugs and awesomeness."



"I trust you, but it doesn't look that way..."



"I've done it before, really, I'm quite sure about this."



"Okay, okay."



So Adrian headed upward, and after a short period of silence, he let out a great whoop, and yelled:



"5.6 in the Gunks!!"



And that's the magic, really, of a climb like Yellow Ridge, and of so much climbing in the Gunks. It looks like it's going to be absurdly hard, and it is actually quite steep, but the holds are so great it really is fair to call it a 5.6. Powering through these overhangs is a joy, a special kind of thrill you don't get anywhere else from such moderate climbing.



When I followed the final pitch I thought the traverse to the arete was nice but no big deal. A couple of delicate face moves and it was over. Having done the whole climb I had to conclude that Yellow Ridge is not the best 5.7 in the Gunks. Aside from a few nice moves at the bottom, the climb is just okay until the wonderful, outstanding final overhangs. I think that Basking Ridge, on the other hand, is a legitimate contender for the "Best 5.7" crown. Starting with the technical, challenging thin corner of Baskerville Terrace, it then offers an airy, rising traverse to the Yellow Ridge arete that is more exciting than traversing in from the other direction. You also arrive on the arete a little lower than you do when you come in from Yellow Ridge, which adds a bit more exposure as you move up to the pins and then the final overhangs.



And I have another idea for what might be the very best, and most direct, link-up that leads to the last pitch of Yellow Ridge. It would start with the classic first pitch of Fat Stick (5.8), which I've never done, and then climb the second pitch of Fat Stick Direct (5.10(b)), which I've also never done. This would place you just to the right of the belay for the final pitch of Yellow Ridge, which you would then do instead of the R-rated third pitch of Fat Stick Direct. This link-up would produce an awesome moderate climb with a well-protected 5.10 roof crux in the middle. If I get the guts to break into 5.10 this year, I'll definitely give it a try and report back!

Mt. Rainier, DC

Starting the climb in fresh snow.



Taking a break.
















Mt. Adams and the Tatoosh Range.







Tent city on the Cowlitz Glacier at Camp Muir.









Camp Muir above a sea of clouds with Mount Adams in background.




Sunrise with Little Tahoma on the right. Mount Stuart Range on the left.



Ascending Disappointment Cleaver.




The Ingraham Ice Fall.






Bethany's high point. The top of Disappointment Cleaver at 12,300'! Gibraltar Rock and Mt. Adams in the background.











Four of the finest on top of Rainier!(Jim, Mark, Theresa and Dave)




Descending Disappointment Cleaver. The tiny dots, at the top center, are tents at Ingraham Flats.

Along for the Ride with the Veteran Cycle Club of Northern Ireland

Over the weekend I rode with the Veteran Cycle Club of Northern Ireland, and am still re-living the experience. To say that there were rare bikes, stunning scenery, and a charming group of riders doesn't do it justice. Put it this way: It was certainly my most memorable group ride to date. The Veteran Cycling Club is a world-wide organisation that promotes riding and conservation of vintage bicycles, and the Northern Ireland section has been around for 3 years under the leadership of Chris Sharp - a vintage bicycle collector who is known worldwide thanks to the jaw-dropping contents of his flickr account.





When Chris learned that my stay in Antrim coincided with the date of the club's monthly ride, he honoured me with an invitation and I gladly accepted. I have never done a purely social group ride like this before, and did not know what to expect - other than, of course, a fleet of vintage bicycles that Mr. Sharp and friends are known for.





And so, on a fortuitously sunny Saturday morning, I found myself outside a rural community center near the town of Limavady, where 17 riders from all over Northern Ireland gathered with their fine machines.






The bicycles did not disappoint, though after some time my head began to spin from exposure to too many rare and never-before-seen bikes at once. I am easily excitable, I need small doses!





I was so stunned by it all, that I didn't even manage to get decent shots of some of the most interesting stuff!







Highlights included an all-original Lapierre Porteur, which I even had a chance to ride very briefly. It was so strange to see a real French 650B lightweight with original components, having gotten used to contemporary tributes with Velo Orange parts!






The owner of this bicycle (also named Chris) is gradually restoring it and trying to locate a couple of original parts - not easy with French threading and 650B.





There was a fascinating Gundle Work Bike. The manufacturer was apparently the predecessor of Pashley Cycles.





The huge front carrier on this bike is built into the frame, right into the lugwork.It is meant to house a boxy basket.






Keith enjoyed riding this bike very much, despite his racing background and penchant for roadbikes. I believe there was even a sprint finish involved.





Then there was the mystery bike - notice the peculiar frame construction.






The frame is unmarked and the owner, Andy, does not know anything about its origin. He built it up beautifully.Any ideas as to what this frame could be? I seem to recall seeing pictures of German or Austrian frames in this style, but can't be sure.





Rose rode a stunningly elegant and very tall 1933 Elswick loop frame that Chris had lent her, and she honoured it with an appropriate outfit.






And of course there were plenty of vintage Roadsters. This particular one is a Rudge.





The bicycle I rode (also on loan from Chris) was a 1941 Royal Enfield Sport Roadster. I have a lot to say about this bike and will save it for another post. But let me assure you that it is not as innocent as it looks - and don't let the rod brakes fool you either!






This seemingly normal-looking Humber is pretty unusual as well if you look closely: It has twin fork blades! Presumably, this was done as an experimental suspension fork, to dampen vibrations from bad roads.





There was more, much more - in particular the stunning details and the rarely seen components on the many pre-1940s bikes in attendance. But to list them all would risk turning this into a catalogue.





And so I suggest visiting Northern Ireland instead and taking part one of these rides yourself, naturally!





We set off around noon and pedaled along a route that was both beautiful and suitable for the sorts of bikes we were riding. There were a couple of hills, but vintage roadsters are not as ill-equipped for them as some think. Once we got going, our procession somehow naturally arranged itself into a fairly well-organised double paceline, and we would fall into single file when traffic called for it. Riding in a group like this really helped me become acclimated to the left-handed flow of traffic. As I followed the group on turns, it became more and more intuitive.






Let me tell you though... Riding bicycles on loan from Chris Sharp is not without its consequences. By the end of the day both Rose and I were referring to the bikes we were riding as "my bike." Chris almost began to get nervous, reminding us gently that we would be returning them after the ride. Thankfully, that is the only problem anyone in the group had with their bikes all day. All the bicycles present were impeccably well maintained by their owners!





The scenery we passed was out of this world beautiful. With green jagged hills ever present in the distance, we rode along the river Roe and to Lough Foyle - the body of water that separates the western part of Northern Ireland from County Donegal in the Republic of Ireland.





But the truly special thing about this ride was its destination. Around the halfway point of the ride, our group stopped for tea and pancakes in a traditional thatched Irish cottage. This cottage is privately owned, but by some behind-the-schenes magic they opened it up to us.







This cottage has remained unchanged through the centuries, which is a rarity nowadays. There was no heat or electricity, and so water was boiled on the open fire.





The fire mesmerised everyone with its glow and for some time we all just sat there, content to be warmed by it. It is amazing how quickly a fire can warm up the interior of a small house. We were all thankful, as the outside temperature was quite brutal.







Also as if by magic (my God, I can only imagine how much work went into planning this behind the scenes...), a gorgeous and delicate tea service awaited us inside the cottage.






Delicious pancakes with butter were served to the hungry riders.





The supply of both pancakes and hot tea seemed endless. It was not to be believed.





With all our bicycles lined up outside the thatched cottage, it was quite a sight and everyone around got a kick out of it. Even in rural parts of Northern Ireland vintage roadsters are a very rare sight nowadays - let alone a fleet of them, outside a thatched cottage.





It almost felt as if a festival was underway - which hopefully made it worth it for Michael to come all the way from Belfast to join the ride!





On the return route, we stopped by a couple more scenic spots and photographed the heck out of each other and our bikes in the afternoon sunshine. Rose and Andy were particularly picturesque in their period-appropriate garments.






I had considered dressing up, but the morning was such a freezing one that my body just said "no" and I wore about 20 layers of wool instead.






Once we were back from the ride, there was a great deal of trying out each other's bikes and discussing bikes, as well as discussing why and how we collect vintage bicycles. At this point, I am pretty sure my conversational skills had deteriorated to an incoherent babble as my eyes darted from headlamp to chaincase to porteur rack, to the beautiful green hills and baby lambs that surrounded us, unable to process it all as real.





By the time it was over, I felt drunk on tea, bikes, scenery, thatched cottages, and conversation. This was not a typical club ride, and not a typical club. It was not even a typical collector's society, compared to the others I've encountered. I do not know what to make of it, other than to say that I enjoyed it and would love to take part in more rides like this in future. Maybe it's time to consider a VCC membership? Thank you Chris, Susan, Keith, and everyone else I encountered for making me feel welcome. More pictures from the ride here and also from Chris Sharp over here.