Lather was sixty years old today
And Lather came home from his cage.
He looked at me eyes wide and plainly said
Is it true I’m no longer middle aged?
And I should have told him “No, you’re not old.”
And I should have let him go on…smiling…babywide.
— Apologies to Grace Slick
So I am officially old now, and to console myself and demonstrate that 60 really is the new 59, I took the day off and rode. I rolled up to Elkmont in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The weather was perfect and traffic in this most-visited national park is still relatively moderate in early May. The ride followed the Little River, which is a serious of cascades and pools carved into bedrock and boulder. There were also cascades of penstemon and maiden hair fern, and the mountain laurel was just coming into bloom. The odometer read 99 miles when I got home after about nine hours on the road, including a stop for pretty good burger at the Riverstone in Townsend on the return leg.
A couple of weeks later, a change of travel plans created an opportunity for a camping trip to Citico Creek.
So I loaded up the touring bike and headed out. The plan was to follow the proposed route of USBR-21 (with minor deviations) from Knoxville, south to Vonore. There, my route takes a left off of USBR-21 (which is on the wide shoulder of US-411 at this point) and onto SR-360. I went straight where 360 turns right, and it becomes Citico Road. This road rolls eastward for a few miles before picking up Citico Creek, which it follows into the Cherokee National Forest. The pavement ends at about mile 70 on this route, measured from my house. There are no major climbs, but it is all hilly, and there are some steep climbs.
Camping on the Citico Creek corridor is limited to areas specified by signs, and the two developed campgrounds have limited services. Most notably, they do not have water, so a bike camper needs to be prepared to filter a lot of water. If that does not sound appealing, Indian Boundary Campground is available further on down the road and up a significant climb. The bike camper can skip the Young Branch Horse Camp, where a premium is charged for the extra facilities to support horses. But I find it worth the $6 per night at Jake Best (mile 75) for a table to sit at, and the pit toilet beats finding fresh spots in a field of TP flags. I have been in this area on busy summer weekends when it was difficult to find a camping spot, so arrive early or visit at off-peak times if you want your choice of a spot.
The ride started with pleasant, cool temperatures, but there was some storm activity approaching and scattered showers during the day. I was not feeling that great, and after about 50 miles, I considered the alternative of a shorter trip to Abrams Creek Campground on the southern edge of the Smokies Park. I found a place where I had a connection on my cell phone (which was being charged by the dynohub). I discovered that, as I feared, Abrams Creek would not open until the next weekend (Memorial Day). So it was back to plan A.
The rest of the ride was slow but uneventful until it started raining lightly. For the last fifteen miles or so, there was a light intermittent rain, necessitating bringing out the raincoat. Being a wool guy, I was comfortable, even when a little soggy.
I set up camp mostly between showers. A serious thunderstorm came through at about 4:00 AM. I could feel a light mist through the rainfly of my MST Hubba tent at the peak of the storm, but I just got damp.
After the storm passed, the weather got very pleasant. I spent most of day 2 hanging around camp, including a short ride to enjoy the scenery. For the fluvial geomorpholy geeks out there, Citico Creek goes through the sequence of Rosgen A, B, and C classifications in about 10 miles.
Different route choices on the return trip on day 3 added close to 5 miles. The weather stayed pleasant but breezy.
I was remarkably slow on this trip. In the past, I could figure on a net average speed of about 10 mph, including stops. I was just over 8 mph on this trip. The weight of all the food I could eat in three days might have been a factor. I was not in great shape, and of course I am now old. This was the first time I have traveled with front and rear panniers, and the wind was against me in both directions — the wet weather was coming from the south and southwest and the fair weather was from the north. The bike handled the weight and the distribution of the weight well; it felt solid with no handling quirks.
Wildflowers, wildlife (deer, turkeys, coyote) and great scenery made this a wonderful trip for a long weekend.
I noted in a previous post that my old touring bike had some shortcomings. The following post goes into excruciating detail about the history of that bike, a history which might be interesting to a few bike-history obsessives, but likely not anyone else.
The Brown Bike was built in 1978 under the tutelage of Gary Hale, who was a fellow employee at Stu’s Bike Shop in Eugene. This bike was intended to be a gravel-road camping bike.
There is, of course, nothing new about riding a bike on surfaces other than asphalt. There were no good roads in the early days of cycling and a lot of roads remained unpaved into the middle of the last century. Stages of the TDF were run on gravel into the 1960’s and maybe later. But by the late 70’s, unpaved roads were retreating into remote rural areas and bike tires were getting skinnier and skinnier. It was common knowledge that wide tires were slow and heavy. An all-road bike in 1978 seemed downright radical.
Figure 1. Anquetil and Bahamontes, TDF 1963.
I think the seeds of the idea of an all-road bike were planted on a backpacking trip when I was about 8 years old. My memories are fuzzy, but I remember bicycle tracks on the back country trail in the Three Sisters Wilderness Area. One of the grownups teased me that we might meet up with the the ice cream dealer making the tracks at any time. As I got older and continued to enjoy hiking and backpacking, the idea of riding into the wild and remote places grew in appeal.
The seeds were watered by Cyclists’ Touring Club accounts of British rough-stuff riding (CTC Link) and the few references that I could find to French touring bikes with 650b demi-ballon tires. I also saw an “expedition” bike around Eugene that was made in Missoula (I don’t remember the builder) that was in the same spirit. The 650b tire size was not available in the US then, American balloon tires seemed too wide, and the British three-speed 26 x 1 3/8 seemed like the best available compromise.
Alloy rims for this size, triple cranks, and cantilevers were all pretty exotic in Oregon in 1978, and it took some looking to find the pieces I needed, but I was happy with the results. The bike rode well on pavement and on gravel, and the gears were low enough for long steep climbs.
I used this bike to explore the back roads, USFS and BLM roads in the vicinity of Eugene, Oregon. And I rode it on the longest bike tour of my life so far, from Nevada City, California to Eugene, up the crest of the Sierra and the Cascades. This trip was all on pavement except for a short segment of railroad shoulder (would have been shorter if I had not missed my turn the first time) to avoid getting on the freeway at Weed. And there was one particularly epic camping trip on jeep trails on the edge of the Waldo Lake and Three Sisters Wilderness areas.
A few months after the Brown Bike hit the road, Charles Kelly’s article about the nascent phenomenon of mountain biking hit Bicycling Magazine (Clunkers) . This article marked a turning point in bike culture and merchandising and made my attempt at an expedition bike seem a lot less radical. (And of course the more-recent development of fat bikes and the gravel-grinder fad makes this bike almost conventional.)
Later that year (1978), a young footloose man came through town. He tried my bike and loved it, and offered to buy it. I declined the sale, so he knocked out a copy in a few weeks in Gary’s shop. He then disappeared into the sunset only to appear again a year or so later on the cover of Bicycling. That’s him just right of center (under the second “i”) on the orange bike with relatively skinny tires. The scene is Pearl Pass and all the culture heroes of mountain biking are in the picture. I wish I could remember his name. He was obviously an interesting and dynamic person, and I would like to know where he ended up. (The Bicycling cover shot is from Charles Kelley’s site )
After a few years, and after a couple of seasons of road racing, I got the cyclocross bug. The only knobby ‘cross tires available in the early 80’s were sew-ups, which of course are the same rim diameter as 700c. I moved the cantilever studs (including heating the tubing to remove them and heating it again to add new studs) to accommodate the larger rim diameter, and it became a reasonably capable cyclocross bike.
During one cyclocross training session, I hit a big root (or something) buried under the leaves on a trail. The obstacle was big enough to stop the bike and launch me over the handlebars. The result was bent top tube, down tube and fork blades, but not so severely bent that I could not straighten it out again.
Some years later, long after my cyclocross days were over, the bike was again a utility and touring bike. The 700c wheel size limited the width of tire that could be mounted, and I mostly rode 28 mm tires; anything bigger was a problem with fenders. In addition, the extremely high bottom bracket with the larger tires was less than optimum under most conditions. By this time (2005 or so), 650b tires had become somewhat available, promoted mostly by Grant Peterson. In order to restore the bike to its original function, I again moved the cantilever studs and converted to the bike to 650b. This was quite successful, improving the ride and opening the tire options.
I originally designed the bike thinking about some fairly technical riding, and the BB is high to allow pedaling through rough sections. Frame angles are 71° parallel head and seat tube. I figured this would make the bike stable and cushy on rough surfaces. The chain stays are as long as I could get them with untrimmed Reynolds 531 stays and long Campi horizontal dropouts, and they come out to about 445 mm (17.5”). Of course the main reason for long stays is to get good weight distribution (and heal clearance) for a rear load, but the length of the stays also allows a reasonably wide tire between the plain round-oval-round stays. The original 1 3/8” (about 35 mm) tires fit fine. I can fit a 38mm wide 650b tire, but there is not a lot of room left for mud. The width of the fork crown also limits this bike to tire not much wider than 35mm.
The high bottom bracket is good for rocky trails, but it makes the bike feel less stable and grounded than would a lower BB. The head angle is okay, but the seat tube is too slack for a good riding position over the BB without sliding the seat all the way forward.
The fork offset produces a conventional amount of trail (60 mm or so), and I would prefer a little less trail. The offset is also small enough that, combined with the short top tube, I kick the front fender at low speed, which is not a critical flaw but it is mildly annoying, and one would think it could be avoided on a 60 cm frame.
The best I can reconstruct from my memory and the Proteus catalog (Proteus catalog link ) , it appears the frame was constructed with a .8/.5/.8 top tube, a 1/.7/1 down tube and probably .8/.6 chain stays, and it has a .9/.6 seat tube.
After 36 years of use and abuse, two cantilever conversions, one major realignment, and a moderate amount of rust (it never got anything better than a rattle-can paint job), the bike still rides great and serves on an occasional tour, but I felt like the bike might not reliable for the long trips I dream of, and it was relegated to occasional use and replaced with the new bike.
The usual assumption is that significant part of the ride characteristics of a frame is determined by its rigidity. An excessively flexible frame feels inefficient for power transmission and can be more difficult to control on rough surfaces or with a load. On the other hand, an excessively rigid frame rides harshly, transmits shock and vibration to the rider, and feels less lively.
Custom builders talk about the importance of using the appropriate combinations of wall thickness and diameters for a particular rider and the use to which the bike will be put (but they usually keep their design procedures proprietary). Jan Heine advocates for the improved ride quality and desirable flex in a frame constructed of extra-thin-walled traditional-diameter tubing (Jan’s blog). On the other hand, some influential figures in the business of building steel bikes downplay the importance of tube diameter and/or wall thickness to the ride of a bike (Sachs in forum discussion, Gordon link).
It is difficult to make an objective judgment about the influence of bike tubing. There are design fashions and fads, the power of suggestion, and the placebo effect. There are also confounding effects of frame angles, chain stay length, fork design, individual fit, and tire characteristics. And it is difficult to get a statistically significant sample size, both in the number of human subjects and the availability of bikes that are identical except for the factor being compared.
Without objective experiment, all we have is experience. For decades, the standard high-quality bike frame was made of Reynolds 531 tubing. The usual combination was a 1” diameter top tube with 0.8 mm wall thickness on the ends and 0.5 mm wall thickness in the thinner (butted) section in the middle of the tube (.8/.5/.8) along with a 1 1/8” diameter down tube with .9/.6/.9 wall thickness and a single-butted 1 1/8” .9/.6 seat tube. There might have been millions (I am completely making up a number here) of frames built with these specifications by Peugeot, Raleigh, Schwinn, and a host of competitors. A bike built using this tubing was responsive and reliable, and could win races, tour the world, or get the rider to work in the morning. The comparable Columbus tubing was a little heavier. The Columbus SL sticker designated tubing with .9/.6/.9 top and down tubes, and Columbus SP was 1/.7/1.
By the late 70’s, Reynolds advertised variations on the basic set of tubes with options for touring and larger frames. Heat-treated Reynolds 753 appeared in 1978, which was offered in wall thicknesses down to a .7/.5/.7 top tube and .8/.5/.8 down tube on road bikes; other tube manufacturers soon followed with their own heat-treated offerings. The mountain bike revolution created a need for steel tubes durable enough for the abuse of off-road riding, and larger-diameter tubing became available to fill the demand. Fat-tubed aluminum frames began to compete with steel. As tubing for mountain bikes and aluminum frames grew in diameter and this look began dominating the market, the traditional tube diameters started to look oddly skinny by comparison, and road-bike builders began to use oversize steel tubing partly to fit that new aesthetic.
We are currently in a golden age for the hobby frame builder. We can buy quality steel frame tubing for road use in three different diameter standards. Traditional construction, as noted above, uses a 1” diameter top tube and 1 1/8” diameter down tube and seat tube. Oversize (OS) employs 1 1/8” top tube and 1 ¼ down tube; double oversize (2OS) uses a 1 ¼” top tube and a 1 3/8” down tube. The default for all three standards is a 1 1/8” .9/.6 single-butted seat tube, but there are a number of variations available. Wall thicknesses of .7/.4/.7, .8/.5/.8, and.9/.6/.9 are available in all diameters and 1/.7/1 is available in some sizes, along with variations on seat tube, seat stay and chain stay diameter and wall thickness. Fork blades are available from light to stout.
In spite of all this variety, I have not found any analytical methods for helping choose tube diameter and wall thickness, or even any specific guidance on ride characteristics. Clearly, a heavier-wall tube is more rigid than a thinner-wall tube of the same diameter and same material, but how do tubes of different diameters and wall thicknesses compare?
In order to answer this question, I did some rough calculating. Deflection of a tube in bending is inversely proportional to the moment of inertia (MI) of a tube. The variable part of the MI is (D^4 – d^4) (where D is the outside diameter of the tube and d is the inside diameter). Using that as a basis, I created a stiffness ratio table (Table 1) for a range of readily available main tubes. It is common practice (and this shows in most Reynolds tube sets) to use a thinner-walled top tube than down tube, so there are nuances not shown in this table. However, this seemed like the clearest way to present the information.
Tube diameter is the most important determinant of rigidity, and there was only a little overlap in the rigidity of different diameters (less than I expected). Traditional 1/.7/1 is essentially the same rigidity as OS .7/.4/.7, and OS 1/.7/.1 is very similar to 2OS .7/.4/.7 (the butted section of the smaller diameter tubes are relatively more rigid, so calling these as ties is a judgment call). I might note that traditional 1/.7/1 is not readily available, probably because of that redundancy.
The heaviest 2OS tubing (1/.7/1) is about three times stiffer than traditional .7/.4/.7. In general, progressing from one rank to the next increases rigidity by 13% to 19%. The Bruce Gordon link above suggests that most of us would not notice a change in one rank level (although Jan Heine would disagree). I would speculate that it would be easier to detect a change in 3 ranks or more—traditional .7/.4/.7 should feel noticeably different than OS .7/.4/.7 with no other design changes.
A critical piece of information in choosing frame tubes is the frame size. Deflection is proportional to the cube of tube length (based on the equation for deflection where loading is applied to the free end of a cantilevered beam). This should be a conservative approach, since frame tubes are part of a truss and not really cantilevered and torsional deflection is proportional to tube length. However, we still are not including the effect of increased weight of the rider.
The following chart (Figure 1) shows the rank (from Table 1) of top and down tubes that would be used to match the ride of a frame made of traditional tubing of specified wall thickness (everything else being equal) using the cube of the ratio of tube lengths.
If the ride quality of a 58 cm traditional-diameter 7/.4/.7 frame is desired, it is easy to duplicate in larger frames, but smaller riders are out of luck. A lighter seat tube and perhaps a 1” down tube might get close. On the other hand, the ride of a traditional 1/.7/1 frame can be duplicated in the full range of frame sizes. Using oversize tubing means that there is no need for lateral tubes or double top tubes on large frames even for applications that require extra rigidity.
My touring frame is a bit long in the tooth, having been built in 1978. It was the first frame I built. It has never gotten a proper paint job and is suffering some from rust, although not as much as one might expect. Damage and changes over the years make it less reliable for a long trip. It also has a few design quirks that I would like to correct.
So I built this new frame. It has a standard touring design of 72° head angle and 73° seat tube angle. It has a fairly low bottom bracket for stability. Tubing is on the stout side for durability and rigidity with a load on rough surfaces. There is plentiful clearance for 42 mm tires.
The Rohloff 14-speed hub with Paragon sliding rear dropouts is one feature that is a little out of the ordinary, but the biggest deviation from standard design is the long chain stays.
Most production touring bikes have chain stays no longer than 18” (460 mm) or so (for comparison, a competition bike’s chain stays tend to be about 16” (406 mm) or a little shorter).
The longer stays on a touring bike allow the panniers to be mounted far enough behind the rider to provide clearance between the rider’s heels and a loaded pannier while pedaling without forcing the weight of the load too far behind the rear axle. It is possible to mount a rack and panniers on a bike with short stays in a manner that allows the rider to pedal without kicking the luggage on every stroke, but a load cantilevered out in space behind the bike tends to pick up the front wheel. This messes with the weight distribution, which results in vague, unstable, and/or wobbly steering. At best, this change in handling is something the rider has to get used to; at worst, it is downright dangerous. I would theorize that the tendency for Americans to try to tour on bikes with short chain stays had a lot to do with the shift in fashion from rear loads to front loads.
The 21” (535 mm) chain stays on this frame place the center of a loaded pannier about an inch in front of the rear axle. There is almost no change in handling when a 50 lb. load is placed in the bags. The stout Tubus rack also contributes to this loaded stability.
I went for a classic British three-speed aesthetic. Most made it to the US in black, though several other colors were available. A steel VO stem and a steel Campagnolo Sport crank (manufactured briefly in the early 1970’s) fit in with the “all steel bike” theme, as do the SPD pedals styled to look like rubber pedals. The road handlebars spoil the look somewhat.
The bike hit the road in August, 2014, and it has been in regular use as a commuter/utility bike since. I have ridden it regularly on weekend excursions and two camping trips. I am very happy with the design and, for the most part, the components.
More details than anybody cares about will follow.
Cades Cove on a bike camping trip last fall; a back road on an early spring day; and a new frame for Hayduke.
In the last year, I have had two significant career changes. In February of 2011, I was assigned to work on a nearby environmental clean-up project. I don’t want to be coy about this, but I don’t want to give the impression that I speak for my employer (now former employer), nor is this the appropriate forum to describe the internal workings of the project, since there are several law suits pending.
The project is located about 45 miles from home, so cycling to the site was out of the question, at least on a daily basis, so I did more driving than I have for years. Fortunately, I only needed be at the site two or three days a week and I mostly worked out of my downtown office. I eventually got access to an assigned car, and the ride to pick it up was an opportunity to add a few commuting miles.
Somehow this change in routine, along with the mental exercise of tackling work that I was not all that familiar with, took much of my mental energy. Blogging frequency suffered, as did other volunteer commitments. Even though I spent much of my transportation time thinking about writing, it seldom made it on the page.
The cleanup project was a great professional experience. I learned a lot and worked with some great folks. However, I was not that passionate about the work, and it was a temporary assignment. At its close, I would have to find a new niche and develop new skills to match.
This was not to be, as it turned out, because a new employer offered me a job with significantly increased responsibilities and an opportunity to work on issues that I really care about, and even to have significant impact on those issues locally. I started the new job just last week.
This job will consume my mental energy to a much greater extent than the last job change. I have lots of stuff to write about, including a frame building project and a bike camping trip, along with the new challenge of bike commuting to a coat-and-tie kind of job. But I suspect that the demands of the job will make me scarce in the blogosphere.
One of the original excuses for starting this blog was to pass on the experience of heart valve replacement and recovery. Almost two years out, I feel fully recovered, although my sternum still feels less than whole sometimes. Because of injuries and illness, I have not had a good season of training (to the extent that you can call what I do “training”) since the surgery, so I do not yet have a complete before-and-after comparison of speed and endurance. The best comparison I have so far is the fall century that I completed this year right at seven hours, about six weeks after the orthopedist let me back on the bike. The last time I did the ride before surgery, I did it in 7 1/2 hours. The surgery did not make me 25 again as I secretly hoped (I could have done it in five hours or so back then), but there is a definite improvement in performance and energy level.
The broken arm is not yet completely healed. I have full mobility and good strength, but the latest x-rays show that the bone is not entirely fused. I need to be somewhat careful with it, so the mountain bike is still off limits, even though there has been an incredible growth in trails available with connections only about a mile away from my house. A piece of advice here: don’t break your arm
My utility bike is a 1974 Schwinn Sports Tourer. It has a straight gauge chromo frame with fillet-brazed joints. The frame design could have come out of the Rivendell catalog: low bottom bracket, moderately long chain stays, and 73 degree head and seat tubes.
I bought it off Ebay in 2003 or so. I converted it to a 7-speed internal hub and added fenders and lights and other utilitarian stuff. It has averaged more than 1500 miles per year since then, commuting to work and running errands.
The bike has a few faults. One is that a 35mm tire is a tight fit laterally in the fork – the sides of the tires tend to rub on the fender and/or fork blades if everything is not set just so.
The second fault is that it rides harshly over bumps, even with 35 mm tires. I would ascribe this to the relatively stout straight-gauge tubing used in the frame. My sportier bike, with steeper angles, shorter chain stays, and narrower tires but built with standard-gauge butted tubing, is much more forgiving. It is unclear from the information out there whether the Schwinn fork is chromo, but the rear triangle is reportedly plain carbon steel.
And the third problem is that the bike cannot be ridden no-hands at any speed because of a serious shimmy. This shimmy damps out even with light hand contact on the bars, but it is a significant annoyance.
My theory (at least I have not found anybody who states it exactly this way) is that shimmy in bikes, at least in many cases, is a harmonic phenomenon something like a torsion pendulum, with the trail of the fork, which tends to make the bike go in a straight line, acting as the spring. In a torsion pendulum, the frequency of oscillation is determined by the stiffness of the torsion spring and the moment of inertia of the system.
Bikes are a little more complex than the simple torsion pendulum example, because there are two mass/moment of inertia systems influencing the oscillation. The first is the obvious one: front wheel, tire, any luggage on the front — everything that pivots around the steering axis. The second mass and moment of inertia system is not so obvious. Because the head tube moves side to side as the as the fork is turned, all of the mass of the bike that does not pivot around the steering axis pivots instead around the contact point of the rear tire. This means that the frame, rider, rear luggage, back wheel, and any other paraphernalia influence any oscillation, with mass closer to the front of the bike or extending behind the back wheel (and thus farther from the pivot point) having greater moment than weight directly over the back wheel.
In this conceptual model, shimmy occurs when the front (pivoting around the steering axis) moment of inertia/trail system has a similar natural frequency of oscillation as the back (pivoting around the rear tire contact point) moment of inertia/trail system. Since these two systems are so different, it may also be that oscillation will occur when harmonics are similar.
I don’t know a definitive way to test this theory, but if it is a good model, changing weight distribution should affect a shimmy, as should changing fork trail without changing weight distribution. I have had experiences when changing weight distribution seemed to cause or eliminate shimmy, though other times the shimmy seemed to be insensitive to changes. The Schwinn does not have racks or baskets on the front, so I can’t change loads there, but the shimmy does not respond much to a wide range of loads on the back. I have tried added damping by adjusting the headset too tight with no change. The shimmy persists with tires from 28mm to 35mm and different front hubs.
I decided what I needed was a new fork. The fork crown would be wide enough that there would be no problem with the 35mm tires. The blades would be mid-weight chromo to see if the over-bumps-ride ride would improve over the unknown material of the original fork. And I would try a low-trail design, as championed by Jan Heine of Bicycle Quarterly (here, for example).
Here are the results.
Problem 1: Solved. There is now plenty of clearance.
Problem 2: With the new fork, the bike rides only marginally better over bumps (based on subjective observation), even with the greater offset. Maybe a fork built with lighter fork blades would have enough more give to make a difference, but I think that would be inappropriate for a bike that gets this much abuse. Then again, maybe I will try it someday just to see how much difference it does make. Anyway, the bike got a new sprung Brooks saddle to handle some of the jarring, but that does not help my hands.
Problem 3: The finished fork results in about 25mm of trail, which is at the low end of accepted practice. Somewhat to my surprise, the handling did not change all that much. It feels quick and maneuverable at low speeds and it feels a little twitchy at downhill speeds, but it still in the range of what I would call normal.
The bike now has much less tendency to shimmy – reducing the trail seems to have worked in that regard. If the above theory is correct, increasing the trail should have also worked.
And for a bonus, I discovered that brazed-on centerpulls do indeed have a nice solid feel. But this mounting did not make enough difference in braking to make up for the trouble of making the mounting studs.