Here is my childhood bicycle, long-lost but never-forgotten, moldering quietly in my grandparents' basement, where she slept for nearly forty years.

I rode this when we lived in Vancouver, Canada, which would have been around 1970. The bike was likely bought in Canada, and may have been new, or maybe not, as we were pretty poor. Dad was a grad student on a post doc at the University. Mom was not in the picture. I was a 7 y/o boy, mostly a latchkey kid, entertaining myself with Star Trek re-runs, Legos, building plastic models, blowing those up in the vacant lot with my friends, and riding all over the city on my bike. I remember pedaling into downtown Vancouver to visit a shop that sold Hot Wheels. Perhaps on that trip, I also remember shoplifting a Hot Wheel, and then being so ashamed by my deed that I never stole anything ever again.

When we were kids, bikes were our magic carpets. How else could a little kid travel for miles, explore distant lands, experience speed, all far from his parent who in any case wasn't coming home until late that night? Of course, my friends' bikes were StingRays and they jumped and skidded them all over the dirt lots, while I watched glumly from my hopelessly uncool French ten-speed.

It didn't help that the bike was way too big for me. At first, I couldn't even stand over it, much less mount or dismount. I still remember how my dad taught me to ride. We went to the top of a hill in a local park. He placed me on the bike, gave me a push, and set me rolling down a winding asphalt path. My instructions were to coast down the path until it was about to end, then steer off onto the grass and JUMP OFF. Which I did, faithfully, bike and boy tumbling amidst a cloud of grass and dirt. Again and again.

How this taught me to ride, I have no idea, but somehow it did, and even though I still couldn't stand over my bike, I rode her everywhere for three years. Then we moved. The bike was shipped across the continent, and ended up in this basement, minus pedals and seat. Here she stayed, while a forest of old boxes, scrap wood, discarded pipe, and household junk grew up around it.

Forty years later, I pulled my old Peugeot into the light and wondered.

I wondered about shipping the bike home and restoring her for my son. But I had doubts. This bike wasn't a museum piece in NOS (new old stock) condition. I rode her hard and put her away wet.

Around that time, I also remember being in the habit of stuffing my G.I. Joe full of firecrackers and blowing his clothes off. He still guards our upstairs window, plastic rifle at the ready, but looks the worse for wear.

Heedless child, battered bike. The paint was badly chipped and flaked, leather seat missing, all the cables toasted. It was going to be a lot of work to restore to riding condition.

And what did the bike think about it? I couldn't tell. She was deeply asleep, wasn't speaking to me. Maybe she wanted to have another boy excitedly pumping her pedals and leaning through the rushing curves. Or maybe she was old and tired and just wanted to moulder away in her dark basement.

I packed the bike up and shipped it home, and have been working on it ever since.

My son and I just took a first ride through the neighborhood, around the park, and home. The bike worked perfectly. He figured out toe clips and bar end shifters right away. There was a tipover, with the inaugural mini-rash on the brake lever, but they were scratched up already and he was worried enough about "if he'd hurt his bike" that I'm thinking this little Peugeot's new rider will be a better caretaker than the last one was.

There was a moment. When my boy got up off the saddle, crouching in the drops, pumping the 50 tooth chainring and he and she were surging ahead. The bike woke, came alive, and was speaking again. Not to me. To my son. I was happy just to hear them.

In the park with a new bike!

Getting to know each other.

Just a little bling.

The levers are right, now we need bar tape.
He's asked for a blue and black "harlequin wrap".

I stripped the frame, had it cold-set to fit semi-modern spacing hubs, blasted and powder coated. Reproduction decals came from Australia. The original 1971 City of Vancouver registration sticker could not be saved, but I have photos to remember by.

I re-used the bottom bracket cups and bearings, the headset, and the skinny little seatpost. Nothing else was re-used. On closer inspection, the Simplex derailleurs were cracked beyond usability, the steel cottered crank was a boat anchor, and old steel rims make braking in the wet impossible. I sourced parts from the local bike co-op, eBay, my other bikes, and a friend gave me a perfect rear derailleur. I built the wheels, pieced together a drivetrain and gearing suited for his short legs and our local terrain, drilled and sanded incompatible components until they fit. Damn French and their idiosyncratic threading and diameters!

It was a fun project. I spent many hours in the garage, fitting and cleaning and assembling my old bike. She became prettier and more complete each week, but like Sleeping Beauty, ruby lips cold and still, she never woke, never spoke, until my boy was gripping her bars and racing her down the smooth gray asphalt, wind rushing and a child laughing.

In my 20s I dated a man named Gunnar Caylor. He was an Olympic hopeful cyclist with amazing calves. He was also a custom bicycle builder. His bicycles now have a cult following as collector items. And, no, I don't have one.

Eileen

I usually start out cruising, get warmed up, ride faster on the road that has synchronized traffic lights, swoop across the big street, a quick left-right onto the Burnside bridge, then stand on the pedals and sprint as hard as I can uphill to the crest of the bridge. I'm sure I'm flying, even though I'm probably barely touching thirty mph. Gasping and winded, I cool down on the other side of the span, then ride through downtown's dark streets to my office building. We have bike racks in the parking garage and a locked bike room with more racks, so theft is not a problem. Sometimes I bring my bike up to my office, it is technically not permitted but the guard doesnt care.

In the afternoon, the ride is a bit harder. Downtown is busier, with cars, buses and pedestrians. I sprint over the bridge, then ride standing for the next slightly uphill mile, riding fast so that my legs give up right at the end of the grade.

With more bike commuters at this hour, there's chances to lock onto the rider ahead, catch them, and blow past, leaving them for dead. My motto, which I plagiarized from somewhere: "just because no-one knows its a race, doesn't mean I'm not winning" Of course, sometimes I'll see a young guy with razor-sculpted calves and know that this time, this middle-aged commuter is going to be the one dropped for dead.

There are bike lanes in most of downtown, but drivers don't see bikes and the greatest danger is being "right-hooked" (run over by someone making a right turn, through the bike lane). So you have to stay alert. I write SWMBO's cellphone number on my helmet, and hope it is never called. A fresh rider is an alert rider, which argues against pushing too hard, but without suffering, where's the fun?

I like to find reasons for detours on the way home. Lately I've been riding to a new bike-shop-and-bar in town. VeloCult was a well-known shop in San Diego, that packed up and moved, employees and all, to Portland. In a big, funky space, they have mechanics stations, bikes and merchandise, some big tables with bike books and magazines, dozens of vintage bikes and jerseys on the walls, a blog and online bike museum, and a bar with local microbrews and, coming soon, Mexican food. Of course I find reasons to hang out there . . .

When it's not raining too hard, I ride my 1982 Peugeot road bike on this commute. This bike showed up in a Craigslist ad and I got it pretty cheap. An early 1980's PSV, it is rather well-liked among Peugeot cognoscenti for the light steel frameset and for being the last all-French bike from Peugeot. The tubing was Super Vitus 980, the best French steel of the day, brazed by French workers. The components were all French, the threads were French, even the tires were French.

After they discontinued the PSV, Peugeot sold Japanese-equipped bicycles for a few years, Taiwan-built frames for a couple more, and by 1990 the Lion had departed American shores, never to be imported in automotive or bicycle form again. The only Peugeot products we can officially buy in the US now are their (excellent) salt and pepper grinders.

Little by little, I'm fixing this bike up. I learned to do a "harlequin wrap" on the bars.

And I've fitted the bike with this steampunk contraption, called a "Retroshift". It is a mount that places the shifters on the brake levers, and is becoming popular among cyclocrossers. It is a local product, machined here in PDX.

In July, I'm doing a 200 mile ride from Seattle to Portland. I have a fancy carbon fiber bike I'm building for that ride, but if it isn't done - things aren't looking good - then I'll take the trusty Peugeot PSV. Old wine is good. Old chickens are good, in that old wine. And old steel bikes are even better than old chickens.

I can't imagine the work you put into the bike to bring her back from a deep sleep.

Good luck on your July ride. I'm sure it's much more scenic than our bike rides here in FLA.

Linda, my former boss rode in the RAGBRAI. She called the office to say "Iowa is NOT flat!.

John, I'm the guy that Lindac forwarded this to ... Her son. Fantastic article. First, a great story, and secondly, just a wonderful thing ... That I can totally appreciate.

Hanging on the ceiling of my garage is a 1976 Gitane Tour de France. In its day, this was a "top of the line" bike. Reynolds 531 frame, Shimano DuraAce headset and bottom bracket, Stronglight cranks, Campagnolo Record shiters and front derailleur, Campagnolo Super Record rear d�railleur, Weinmann rims and brakes/levers with Avocet Touring hubs.

I bought the frame naked/used from a friend who had outgrown it, then built it myself using a parts mix from my previous bike, a Schwinn Super LeTour, plus other parts... All during the years between Freshman and Sophomore years in high school. She went on RAGBRAI twice with me (fly friend had ridden the frame twice on RAGBRAI before) and in those high school summers, I probably rode 2000 miles each summer. Ah for the energy of youth.

I would love to rejuvenate her ... Although I think I will leave the Iowa Sunshine-faded paint in place. She needs new shifters, a new rear gear cluster and chain, of course all new cables and housings, repack of the bearings, etc. Totally can commiserate on the damn French threads. I think you have inspired a project! I will post an article and pics in the new few weeks.

~ Stew

Eileen, you gave up the car? Tell me more . . .

I also had a horse, which I frankly rode more, and one day my brother rode my bike, ran into a hay wagon and broke the front forks off the bike. Sigh.

And my brother taught me to ride the bike by taking me to the top of the hill in front of our house and pushing me down it. A time honored training method, apparently, I got halfway before I fell. IT was a gravel road, and it wasn't pretty...

How much fun that your son us riding YOUR bike, though, and that she's happy again, laughing with your boy.

Annie

Your Peugot reminds me of the Raleigh bike that I bought in Austin when I was getting my second degree in my 30s. I rode it to University during all types of weather, except when it would get too hot in the summer, which was most of July and August. I put toe clips on it also, and once I let my roommate from Hong Kong borrow it to go to the architecture lab one night, telling him he must use the toe clips, but when he brought it back, the top clips had been dragged on the pavement until they were almost worn through. I did not let him borrow it after that. I did trade him a pair of shoes for a jacket, however.

I like your orange and black handlebars! I'm not nostalgic about old bikes, however, and have a fairly new Cannondale Raven mountain bike with dual suspension and 36 gears, which are really necessary to tackle the mountain roads here. I have shoes to go with it that clip onto the pedals so that I can lift up on the pedals as well as push down. In Venice I lived two blocks from a bike path that went along the beach and around through the marina, and I do miss that now, although I do not miss the tired tourist trade that cluttered the paths. My favorite place to ride now is Sycamore Canyon, just past Malibu. It follows a creek from the beach with a lot of low water crossings, but is basically uphill from the beach and then downhill all the way back, which makes it easy for me to know when to turn around! I've seen deer on that path because it is easy to sneak up on them on a bike. The bike path I was on in Venice went to a dock in Marina Del Rey where I could catch a ferry to Catalina with my bike and then have it there when I got to Avalon. Do you have any experience with mountain bikes? I'm sure there are great mountain trails in Oregon.

I wish I could ride a bike to work - my house is only 1-1/4 miles from work, but I have to cross I-405, and the overpass scares me - plus the street has a fair amount of traffic and no bike lanes. I can walk to work in 25 minutes, but then I am not able to go home for lunch. I would love it if they would build a bike overpass over the 405! I still have my Raleigh bike that I brought from Austin, plus a cheap mountain bike that I bought as a spare, and Kevin has a beach cruiser with a surfboard rack.

Lars

As a side note, our bike was out of service March and April due to kite season. We turned the bike upside down, took the tire off, attached several rolls of kite string to the rim, and used the peddles to roll our kite out and back in. Dad was really into kites and made huge ones for us each year.

I'm sure he'll be jealous of your ride from Seattle. He's ridden the Hotter N Hell ride in Wichita Falls, TX, which doesn't sound nearly as nice as riding from Seattle to Portland. The Hotter N Hell ride takes place in August, and is a 100 mile ride. They have the option of riding 100 K, which is what he chose to do. Either one is suicidal as far as I'm concerned, as the temps are generally around 100 degrees during that ride.

Sally

He said he has a Peugeot that's almost as old as the one you gave your son, but he doesn't restore them quite to the extreme you do. He cleans them up and gets them ridable. He has a whole "herd" of bicycles he's gotten at garage sales, off the side of the street where people were throwing them away, and people have just given to him. To give you an idea of the hierarchy, his bicycles are in the garage while my Camry sits in the driveway.

Sally

Lindac, I'd love to see your son's project. A 1976 Gitane, wow.

sally2, the bikes and the car occupy the same locations in our house. Of course, in Portland the bikes would be rusted out and/or stolen if they were left outside.

Our garage is getting a little crowded, so I need to find other places for my bikes.

Indeed, we may come to a Rubicon here soon. I am getting a new frame soon. It is a 1986 Peugeot PY10FC. This was one of the earlier carbon fiber frames. Like my PSV, it was an all-French effort, using Peugeot's carbon fiber tubes, Vitus' aluminum alloy stays, built by Bador. From 1982-1986, this was the Lion's top of the line racing frame, ridden by their professional racing teams. The PY10FC was sold to the public, but in small numbers, as it was expensive (in 1986, a PY10FC bicycle cost around $1,700). Bike geeks refer to this sort of stuff as "grails".

http://www.peugeotshow.com/images/1986_2.jpg
http://www.peugeotshow.com/1983fr/1983fr_05.jpg
http://www.velocompetition.com/1983-peugeot-py10fc-art115.html

Here is a clip from the 1983 Tour De France. Robert Millar wins his first TdF stage on his Peugeot PY10FC. By the way, the first bit of the clip, starting at 0:15, is pretty much the definition of "leaving someone for dead" . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsjWOiBtQTc

Now, to my way of thinking, a grail frame like this deserves to be wall art, at least until I can gather the bits and pieces to build it up into a bicycle. There is a spot in the living room, above the piano, over an arch . . . I have not mentioned this to SWMBO yet, but I'm sure she won't mind at all, and perhaps it would be considerate to just hang it up there rather than bother her with the details, hein?

I got my first bike when I was about 8 or 9 yrs. old. It was a surprise birthday present from my parents and I loved it.

Forward to 1976, then-husband and I went to New England and road bikes on Martha's Vineyard - such a nice flat ride. I came home and immediately bought a Schwin red beauty. Rode with my Girl Scout troop and even rode many miles with son #1 riding along in his seat mounted on the rear. We had such fun!

Forward to 1990s and a biking trip with my friend to Vermont where we road over 100 miles (33 miles in one day) over Vermont's "upward trends" (aka mountains), through charming villages with white clapboard churches and village greens, over huge ruts made during the winter's snow and ice, across covered bridges - shouting "hello" to the many herds of cows as we went. What a fun trip!

Another forward to the present, I think about getting a bike but wonder if my knees can take it? I'd love to be able to ride through the local neighborhoods and up to the library and co-op only a mile or two away. I recently had a bad knee experience and had x-rays....not a pretty sight. Sigh.....

Teresa

I gave my car to my college-going daughter. She bikes around town but uses the vintage Volvo to go to her job as a riding instructor. Her other job is at a vegan cafe and she can bike or walk there.

I live alone. I can bring home via bike most of my needs (groceries and sundries) for one person in a back pack. My town is flat and the weather is mild. Bulky things like pool chemicals can be delivered with negotiation and a tip to the driver. Even groceries can be delivered. Safeway delivers and probably other stores as well. I rarely ask friends for rides but occasionally I will go with a friend and be able to stock up on things that come in gallon jugs or 50 pound sacks. If not, I can hire a helper via Craigslist or word of mouth or the child of a friend who needs a bit of cash. 10-12 bucks an hour is about standard. I always tip some extra cash for gas.

At 56 my knees are toast from earlier abuse from distance running and ballet classes as well as injury and age. Walking and standing causes more pain than anything else. I can cycle around town without discomfort. Anyplace I need to go here in town is a 12 mile round trip at most.

I ride a hybrid around town. It's slow but the fat tires are useful for riding on canal banks and over curbs. I have my eye on a road bike as I would like to do a century at some point.

To Teresa nc7: go to your local bike shop and get fitted for a bike and take a test ride. Tell them what you want to do. My knees are a disaster but biking doesn't cause pain. Of course, everyone is different.

Eileen

(1) means the seat has to be high enough that your leg is almost fully extended (straight) at the bottom of the pedal stroke. Put another way, if you place the heel of your shoe on the pedal, you should just barely be able to pedal without your heel leaving the pedal and without your hips rocking from side to side. Then, with the ball of your foot on the pedal as you would normally do, at the bottom of the stroke your ankle will be flexed a little and your knee will be bent just a little.

If your seat is too low, so that your leg is never able to fully extend, your knees will take a beating.

(2) means that you pedal at a higher cadence (like 80-100 revolutions per minute) in a lower gear. You're not straining your leg muscles, not putting a big load on your joints, and not pulling energy from your muscles faster than your cardiovascular system can replenish it. Someone once told me, "you want to pedal with your heart and your lungs, not with your legs", and it is pretty true.

If you pedal in a high gear, straining with every stroke, forcing the pedals slowly around (meaning 40-60 rpm), that is hard on the knees and you'll be exhausted quickly.

(A bit of trivia: when scientists first started studying bicycling in the laboratory, they thought 40-50 rpm was the most efficient cadence, so they had their subjects push big gears at this cadence, and the subjects were quickly exhausted. Your muscles only store a small amount of energy and can only get refilled with energy at a certain rate, the big effort required at that low cadence was quickly depleting the muscles' energy. Eventually the scientists used experienced cyclists or racers, and let them pedal at their preferred cadence. Then the cyclists were able to crank out more work for a lot longer.)

Another thing to consider is your seat. I had one I liked a lot that was stolen. Post and all. It took me several tries to find a new seat I liked as well. The first seat I tried made my feet go numb in spite of its hefty price tag. The next one was better but after 6 months or more I found that it chafed. I don't use padded bicycle pants for my daily short errands of 8 miles RT or less. I like a balance of cushion and narrow width for my use. When I buy a road bike I will go through the process of seat selection again.

I ride a comfort bike around town and use a seat post with suspension. Road bikes (where speed is the goal) do not use these. So you may want a suspension post.

I was running errands last night and another person commented on my bike seat height. He wondered how I got on my bike. I lean it over and make the bike come to me. It might look odd but my knees thank me.

Eileen

~Ann

I'm doing well right now with a cortisone shot to my left knee - that's the really bad knee, right knee looks so much better. I can get another shot in 3 months if I need it. Not only is there no padding in the joints, but I have 4 bone spurs in that knee.

We have at least 2 bike shops here so I might start doing some research.

Teresa

Surgery was on Monday afternoon, 4 pm. By 10 pm I was in Elery's recliner with ice on my knee. Tuesday morning at 8 am I was playing fetch in the backyard with Cooper. Wednesday we started to Ohio, came home Friday because Ashley was having an emergency appendectomy. I threw the crutches in the backseat but never used them and never went to physical therapy. I walked a lot and the doc said that was the best thing I could do. It was never really paintful, although I did take 4 of the Tylenol 3 the doc gave me (out of 50, sheesh, he must not have been that confident of his work!). Before I was having a lot of trouble, so much that I was going up stairs one at a time, right foot first, dragging the left foot up after, then repeat.

Now I'm back to taking steps two at a time and Robin and I walked miles in Chicago. No knee pain, just blisters on my feet.

If your ortho guy says he can fix it, let him. If I have any trouble with the other one, I'll do it in an instant. Be sure to keep ice on the knee for the swelling, though, that's important and helps a lot.

Annie

If you keep track of the time, the labor you put into restoring a bicycle will earn you no more than $0.25 an hour.

The lightest bicycle ($50,000?) is about 6 lbs. Why spend $10,000 to reduce a few oz of weight off the bicycle when the lunch you just ate weighs 2 lbs? and it's much cheaper for you to go to the gym and loss 20 lbs?

According to the law of physics, it take no energy to move an object perpendicular to gravitational force once the object is moving, regardless of the weight of the object.

Why do it?

The same reason as climbing Mount Everest; because it can be done and because it is there. It is all about romance, memories, passion, ------------------- it is spiritual.

A super moving story, john, chronicling an incredible journey of your personal endeavor. Very inspiring. Thanks for sharing.

I am planning to build an electric bike. Hopefully carbon nanotube fiber technology will be practical soon. I hope to have an electric bike that is super light, and can do max 50 mph speed and 50 miles range for each full charge.

dcarch

I also mentioned the '80's Peugeot carbon fiber frame I was getting, the PY10FC. It finally came, and I took the box into the back yard where she and I could be alone. Alone, for the striptease. First the tape was slit, then the cardboard opened, the plastic wrap unpeeled, and the foam tubes slipped, one by one, ever so slowly, from the lean limbs of my new velo frame. Suddenly SWMBO emerged from the house, caught us in flagrante delicto, me and my new carbon mistress.

"What's that? What are you going to do with that?"

"Um, I don't know, maybe hang it up, err."

"No way! You have to build that into a bike! It is sooo beautiful!"

I always knew I married well.

Actually this frame is going to be wall art for a while. I'm looking for a large, ornate, wood painting frame that I'll paint shiny gold. I'll hang the painting frame from the ceiling with clear monofilament fishing line, floating in air. The bicycle frame will hang inside the painting frame, suspended with monofilament, ethereal and weightless. It's not that far off, only 3 pounds of aluminium and carbon fiber and French pride.

Laurie, I am sure I was older than you are now when I gave up driving and started riding my bike. My town is not large and just about anywhere I need to go is less than a 10 mile round trip from home. It's flat as can be here and the weather is almost always mild so it's perfect for biking. Unfortunately, it's not a bike friendly culture. There are few painted bike lanes and those disappear and reappear on busy roads which is unnerving. The other day a big truck threatened to run me down in the cross walk while he was making a left hand turn. I gave him some mild grief through his open window. He apologized so maybe the culture is evolving.

In the meantime, the link below is my anthem.

Do you have a bike coop like that near you? If not, I can see what my local shop has in the box now. Contact me via the forum if you want to try that; you'll need to measure your spindle dimensions.

Alternatively Velo Orange sells a French thread square taper bottom bracket, about $60. They have an online store.

In a perfect world the spindle I got would have been a touch narrower (shorter). The VO part is available in various widths.

Sheldon Brown's (google it) website is pretty much the Bible for working on old bikes.

Post pics of your bikes, I'm interested!

I, too, can ride from 52 cm to 58 cm, but below 56 cm the top tube gets too short to be ideal. I'm starting to think about finding a frame with a longer top tube - the pre-Trek LeMond bikes come to mind.

Someday I'd like to take the UBI frame building class and make a custom frame.

The other day I was talking to the bike shop guys about that ambition. They asked 'what sort of frame would you make?' I was stumped, having always assumed I'd want a Speed Racer sort of frame. 'Why not a randonneur?' Err, why a rando? They explained to me that a lot has been learned about bicycles since the 1970s and 1980s. In the last few decades, wind tunnels, rolling roads, and other testing has shown that:
- Wide, low pressure tires have no more rolling resistance than narrow, high-pressure tires.
- Full fenders actually reduce wind resistance.
- Frames with a certain amount of flex frames are more efficient than very stiff frames.

I believe these discoveries have been popularized by the likes of Jan Henie and Bicycle Quarterly, which is where I will be starting my reading.

A combination of these new tenets and the retro-vintage movement has created the trend to randonneur bicycles, which is perhaps more correctly described as the return to randonneur bicycles, since many of the elements of 'A Good Randonneur Bike' (see link) were present in the classic French constructeur and randonneur bicycles of the 1950s and earlier.

I learned this stuff later. On that day, the bike shop guys pointed me to several of the rando bikes in the shop and suggested I take a ride. It was raining and 6 AM, but why not. Well, it was something of a revelation. The streets in that area are just average. Normally there is a constant vibration up into my hands, I'm always standing up at pavement ripples, and inattention is rewarded with a slam as my Peugeot's narrow tires crunch into a pothole. The rando bikes seemed to float over ripples and potholes, glide over buzzy pavement, and roll forever. One of them felt like if it had power steering, which was explained to me as the combination of race geometry and the load of a front rack. They all felt like bikes you could ride for a hundred miles without pain or strain.

Wow. I'm not all sold yet, but investigating these wide-tired throwbacks is moving up there on my priority list.

This topic came to mind because your Schwinn looks a little like this randonneuring concept. Can you fit wider tires on it?

http://www.universalcycles.com/shopping/product_details.php?id=48421

http://www.universalcycles.com/shopping/product_details.php?id=48420

This is a threadless cartridge square taper bottom bracket, retained by cups that come in every possible threading. Total cost $43. This place, Universal Cycle, is on my commute ride home, but is also a big online bike vendor.

The trip started today, Friday the 13th. A bit alarming. After four hours on a bus, I got to Seattle. The lady seated next to me was going on her 14th Seattle-To-Portland ride. She was an example of how some tattoos don't age well. I'm sure the coiled snake in barbed wire on her calf was smokin' when she was a hot blonde and twenty, but at fifty it looked like something to biopsy.

In fact, most everyone I saw on the buses and later at the University of Washington dormitory - convenient Friday night lodging - was on the older side. I'd say the 40s to 60s y/o contingent outnumbered the 20s and 30s group by 8 to 1. For young singles looking to meet and mate, road cycling looks like a loser activity.

Our bikes followed on a truck. There were six or seven buses and a like number of trucks. Most of the bikes were new aero monocoque carbon fiber machines. Cervelo, Felt, Trek, Specialized. There was one other vintage Peugeot on "my" truck. A 1980 PXN, which was a very high end model back in the day. The owner and I stood around and geeked out for awhile. There were also two very fast looking Bachetta carbon fiber recumbents. The rider of one was the owner of Coventry Cycle Works, the recumbent and trike specialist in town. She told me that coast-down tests show these bikes with their lay-down riding position are so aerodynamic that a fairing provides almost no benefit. I guess I won't see those bikes once the ride goes.

The buses dropped us at the University of Washington campus, from where the ride leaves tomorrow morning. I'd forgotten what a beautiful campus this is. Kind of like Cal Berkeley with ferns and rainforest. I found my dorm room to be pretty cute. Two beds, two desks, two closets, a view of the football stadium. The rooms are in clusters of five, each cluster having its own bathroom, lounge and balcony. In the hall there are tiny, closet-like rooms marked "typing" and "study". Pool tables, convenience store, big patio with seating and lounging. It looks like kind of a fun place to spend a year or two. I think I'll bring dear daughter up here for a college tour.

Tonight I get to eat dorm food! My room came with board, apparently. I'm sort of looking forward to it. I only brought one book, "The History Of Early Rome", a small paperback crammed with dense, dull print, guaranteed to provide reading material for a lifetime. Some all-you-can-eat D hall food will be a nice break from life on the Tiber.

A useful way to sight-see is to go looking for something in particular. I remember I spent a week in Madrid visiting every slot car track and slot car store in the city. This took me to lots of out-of-the-way places that weren't the Prado. Nowadays I go looking for a bike shop. Pull out the iPhone. "Siri, where is the nearest bike shop?" I wish Apple would let you change the name of their automated assistant. I'd call her Hal 9000.

Down by the marina, there is Recycled Cycles, which should be a Seattle institution if it isn't already one. At least a hundred used bicycles, including plenty of interesting vintage rides. An Eddy Mercxx, a genuine Raleigh Team Professional track racer (in the course of my search for one of these, I've learned to identify the fakes), a Schwinn Paramount, Colnagos (plural), a sweet Gitane, and more.

The bins of used parts were productive, yielding some brake parts I need. Someday, I'll take the train up here, arrive bike-less, and plan on buying a vintage bike to ride the STP on the following day. That would be a trip with just the right amount of randomness. A nice rainstorm would be cool too.

There were a lot of tempting ethnic food places in the U District. Korean, pho, sushi, gyros, ramen. By evening I was hungry! Hadn't eaten since breakfast. But I was saving myself for dorm food, and trotted back to the campus where I learned that dormitory dining halls are a lot nicer than when I went to school. This D Hall looks like an Olive Garden or similar. The food was pretty decent. Big salad bar, six different entrees, build your own pasta bar, pizza.

Back in the room, reading my book. "Traditionally Rome was founded in 753 BC but even in antiquity there had been many variant dates proposed, ranging from 814 to 729 BC, before Atticus and Varro established a conventional chronology." Oof. I can't believe this is the only book I brought.

Cool Raleigh! My first adult-sized road bike in 1976 was a '76 Raleigh Gran Sport. Here's my dad and I, 36 years ago, on the beach in Los Angeles, with my new lagoon-and-white Gran Sport. I'd been living in New Jersey with my grandparents, where it was cold and slush gray, and I was the outcast new kid in a kind of tough Joisey high school. Suddenly I was in sunny Southern California, with my dad again, shiny new bike and palm trees. I never lived back East after that.

One of my grail bikes is a Raleigh Team Professional. I've been looking, but these bikes are faked a lot. The best of the genuine ones - SB serial number, 753 tubing, Campagnolo SR - go for $2000+. Not really in the budget.

I got in with some one-day groups (i.e. people who were doing the full 205 miles in one day) for the first 50 miles, and made good time. Riding in a tight group is far easier than breaking the wind alone. Around midway, the one-day trains were gone, so the next 25 miles was solo and feeling good, still holding 19 mph. Last 25 miles was solo and getting tired, plus some headwind, plugging along at just 15-16 mph.

Self at mile 75

Trusty steed at mile 100

About the riding, I have only a couple of observations.
- Riding a long distance in semi-rural Washington state is pretty boring. If this were a solo ride, I'd have fallen asleep.
- The main distraction is the scenery. There isn't too much, but what there is, is pleasant. I mean, take healthy fit, ahem, people; dress them in tight shorts; put their behinds in the air; and have them pedal. It's a recipe for success.
- I would give my Taiwanese copy of a Brooks saddle a "B". On the positive side, I never needed the Chamois Butt'r (weird stuff cyclists smear on their bottoms). On the negative side, after mile 75 I was standing up to coast, for fear of becoming permanently numb. I don't think this damn thing is going to "break in" any more. I've been riding it every day for at least six months. I'm going to try fiddling with the angle and, failing that, will be in the market for a new saddle.
- There is one "big hill". It is only moderately hard, and just one mile long. The first-timers talked about it so much on the ride - are we there yet? How long is it? I hope I don't have to walk it! - it was like waiting for Jaws. Then he turns out to be fish and chips.

Okay, I specifically stopped at the 100 mile point in Centralia, against the advice of every STP veteran I talked to, because I didn't want to miss the beer garden and bottomless spaghetti feed. But I also was told to eat eat eat at every free food stop. But to not stop for more than 5 minutes, "or your legs will cramp up". So I stopped every 25 miles, gulped down as many bananas, Cliff bars, bagels, turkey wraps, and grapes as I could cram down my throat in 3 minutes, refilled my water bottle, and got back on the bike. I'd packed a beef sub sandwich and ate that while riding. I had a plastic cup of trail mix in my jersey pocket and ate half of it - while pelting wheel suckers with the other half.

Result: I'm finished the ride stuffed. Actually bloated. After burning 5400 calories, I was totally not hungry. 5 hours after arriving here, I was finally able to eat a baked potato and choke down a beer. My eating strategies need work.

Since this is the CF and food safety is always of interest, here is my dilemma. Before I left Portland, I made three beef sub sandwiches. Cooked and chopped beef, cheese, mayo, mustard, French bread. I had one on Friday. One during the ride today. I wonder if I dare have the third tomorrow. It's been unrefrigerated, in my backpack, in a hot truck and laying in the parking lot and then in my tent. Hmmm.

E

You should try riding around in North Texas. Then the ride through Washington might not seem so boring.

I'm enjoying your reports about the ride.

Sally

You look a lot like your Dad.

My neighbor buys, restores and sells old bikes as a hobby. He doesn't like me because I asked their dog walker to please not let their dog poop on my lawn. She does pick up but it invariably leaves a spot.

Anyway, enjoy the rest of your ride and keep us posted.

I am still using my old backpacking tent from college. Over 30 years is a long time for a tent, and this one is on its last legs. Ripped netting, a torn rain fly, split poles. I am impractical enough that I am considering having it repaired. The sensible thing would be to buy a new one, but wouldn't it be neat to say that I only ever bought one backpacking tent in my whole life?

Rickety tent aside, the overnight accomodations were excellent. Lots of food, a beer garden, free showers, free Internet, and breakfast the next morning at 4 AM.

Still, I didn't sleep more than a couple of hours. I didn't get any more sleep the prior night. It may have been excitement, or maybe I'm no longer used to sleeping on the ground. So the second hundred miles, like the first hundred, was done on three hours' sleep.

Day two was harder. There were no more fast freight trains of one-day riders to catch, a headwind blew all day, it rained for an hour, and, well, it was the second day. I rode 1 mph slower than the previous day, but worked more to do it.

At 60 miles, something in the back of my knees started to act up. I use clipless pedals and pull on every stroke, but in ordinary life your legs only really get used in extension (standing up, walking, climbing stairs), so perhaps the flexion muscles on the backside of my legs still aren't up to snuff. I had to switch around between gears, cadences, and pushing vs pulling, to keep whatever it was from getting worse. The dratted seat was doing its Novocaine thing again. I had to do some adjustment of the derailleurs to get back the big chainring and the smallest sprocket. But all in all, the ride went smoothly.

104.7 miles at 15.99 mph avg speed, and 5730 calories later I got to the finish line, in a park about 2 miles from my house. It was a big scene - live band, beer garden (of course), vendors, food, luggage being dropped off, families welcoming riders, and groups of riders drinking and recounting the weekend's exploits. Oddly, I felt like an outsider. SWMBO and family are out of town again (medical issue with her mother), I'd ridden alone, and I didn't run into anyone who I'd briefly paced or been pulled by, not that I would have recognized them in an upright bipedal stance anyway. I bought a quart of water, put on my backpack and rode home, then showered and rode to the bike shop to watch stage 13 (?) of the Tour.

Which was a really exciting, if discombobulated, affair. Peter Sagan, the Slovakian sprinter vunderkind, led a breakaway in an Alpine stage with two category 1 climbs. Something no one expects a sprinter to do. He not only hung with the climbers who joined his break, but on the final, incredibly steep climb - called the Wall, 18% grade - he left all but one of the climbers behind. But the veteran Spanish rider, Luis Leon Sanchez, timed a break with 12 kilometers to go and time trailed away from Sagan, who couldnt organize the other three to chase as quickly as he needed to. It was experience out-thinking youthful strength, and a great thing to see.

Meanwhile, in the main pack where the race leader, Bradley Wiggins, and the top contenders were, there was chaos. Suddenly riders right and left were getting flat tires, team cars were rushing up with new wheels and spare bikes, the race was being turned upside down. Cadel Evans, the defending champion, had a rear flat, waited a minute for his teammate to arrive and give over his wheel, that wheel went flat, and finally his front tire went flat. He lost three minutes, easily fatal to his hopes of defending his title.

Here something quite unique to road cycling happened. The custom is that if the leader or top contender has a mechanical or crowd-caused delay, the peloton waits for him to catch up. Wiggins persuaded the other riders to slow down and wait for Evans. A young French rider, who apparently didn't know what had happened, sped ahead. The Wiggins group resumed racing, chased him down, told him what was going on, and then they waited for Evans. They all crossed the finish as one pack, which means they all got the same time. In cycling lingo, Wiggins "neutralized" the stage.
It's a quaint and laudable aspect of cycling. Good show for Wiggins, and good luck for Evans.

The French authorities reported that someone threw tacks on the road. I expect the gendarmes are trying mightily to lay their hands on le responsable.

By the way, as of my arrival home, I was down 6 lbs from when I started the "Bachelor diet" thing three or for weeks ago. Of course I was dehydrated too. You'd think that after burning nearly 12,000 calories in two days, and not actually eating much more than normal, I'd have lost more. Aggravating!

That incident with the tacks made the local news here, of all places. What a mean spirited thing to do, They said one of the riders suffered a broken collar bone due to a fall caused by the flat he got.

Sally

I am fascinated by bicycles. It is poetry in pure physics.

The laws of motion, gravity, mechanical advantage --------all so elegantly expressed in simple geometry, which the human body and machine becomes one entity.

I have machined a few parts with French threads for friends' bicycles.

dcarch

In Tahoe this week. A friend and I rode our bikes around the lake. 74 miles, mostly rollers with two climbs.

His mountain bike had knobby tires, my mountain bike had road tires. We confirmed that the road tires give 2-3 mph faster cruise on pavement, than the knobbies, at the same effort level. By the way, a road bike gives another few mph faster cruise over a mountain bike with road tires.

Also proved, to me anyway, the value of riding with a rearview mirror. After the second climb, there is a long fast descent on Highway 50. This is a four lane highway, with no shoulder, just a couple feet of indifferent pavement to the right of the painted line, broken by drain grates, cluttered with debris, and after that the guardrails and drop off. My buddy, with no mirror, had to hug the edge the whole way, which is stressful at 40 mph. With a mirror, I knew when there was no traffic behind, and simply rode in the middle of the lane; then when I saw a semi coming up behind, I went over to the edge just long enough for him to pass.

Finally, I learned that I need to practice more on long grinding climbs. This one was 7 or so miles, not a big grade but just demoralizingly endless. I do better on short steep climbs. The long ones psych me out.

Vintage bicycle content . . . Well, my bike is a 1992 Bridgestone MTB. Kind of vintage, as mountain bikes go.

Because this is a gas pipe (low end) bike hung with steel cranks and lots of stuff, it weighs a ton (over 30 lb). But, being young, she can still get up hills pretty well.

This is, I think, a 1970-1973 (date uncertain so far, needs further research, but pre-1974 anyway) Peugeot PX-10 which was their top of the line production race bike of the time. It will need some elbow grease to be all fit again, but is complete, straight, and largely un-scarred by its' 40 years.

And here is an interesting bike. I know it looks tatty, but don't judge a book by its cover. This bike is older than me.

This is a 1961 or 1962 Bianchi Specialissima, which was Bianchi's top level race bike of the era, well maybe second to the Team bikes. I don't know exactly what "Specialissima" means - "special", I'd guess. These bikes were entirely chromed, painted with the chrome lugs exposed, fitted with all of Campagnolo's best kit, and not at all common in the US.

I bought this bike from a vineyard manager in central Oregon. Drove two hours in the rain to find his farm. He told me he'd bought it from a bike trader in Eugene, took $50 off the price when I pointed out a slight bulge in the downtube, and gave me a bottle of wine. Under the frame pump, I found a strip of Dymo label tape (remember that stuff?). It had a name and an address.

The address was in the Berkeley Hills, a couple of blocks from where I used to live. I became curious about the original owner. This is an old school race bike, made when men were men and legs were stout. The small chainring is 46 teeth, the largest cog is 24 teeth, that makes a "low gear" that most of us would only ride on flat ground. Yet fifty years ago, a man rode this bike in the steep hills of Berkeley, hills that I used to get winded just walking up.

I looked up the address in a reverse directory. No one of that name lives there now. But someone of that name lives not too far away from that address. I looked them up, a simple Google search. They are just barely old enough to have owned a fifty year old bicycle and at one point, lived in Oregon.

Hmm. Maybe I will be able to satisfy my curiosity about the history of this bicycle and the bionic legs that once rode it. I took out a sheet of paper and a fountain pen - when I have something important to write, I use my fountain pen - and wrote them a letter. Hopefully, not a creepy stalker sort of letter. Perhaps an addled dotty sort of letter. You know, they probably won't respond. But it was worth a try.

There can be a lot of history in an old bicycle. This one will be a significant project to restore, if I do it right. Early Specialissimas sell for $1500 to $2000, but I won't sell it, so there will be no monetary return on the $1000 and msny hours a restoration will consume. I won't do it unless I fall in love with this old Specialissima, with its ride and with its story. So I'm trying to learn that story.

Send me the information and see if I can find out more.

I have a set of very old (first ?) complete telephone/address directory of White Pages and Yellow Pages of the whole USA on CDs.

dcarch

She told me her husband bought the bike in the 1950s for some money and an old car. Her memory is probably faulty there, as I believe this is a 1961-1963 bicycle: it has Universal Mod. 61 brakes which were introduced in 1961.

According to her, he loved the bike and rode it up and down the Berkeley hills during a distinguished academic career. Three years ago, at age 79, he sustained a "traumatic brain injury" that left him unable to ride. She gave the bike to a thrift shop in Oregon, where they have a second home, to prevent him from trying to ride it again. He was very angry that she had taken away his beloved bicycle, and is reportedly delighted to have word of it again.

The husband, who must be 82 y/o now, wrote me a letter as well. It is garbled due, says the wife, to the cognitive damage from his brain injury. He told me that he bought the bicycle, that it was or had been - the time sequence is not clear, I can't tell if this happened before or after he bought it - ridden too fast down a hill and crashed into a utility pole. The accident damaged the bike and injured the rider. The bike shop told him the bike needed parts from Italy. The bike didn't work right on downhills after that.

The bike shows signs of repaired collision damage (slight bulge under downtube, paint removed from that area). I cannot tell when the repair was done. I wonder if the accident he is telling me about might have actually happened to him, and if it might be how he was injured? I thought about writing back to the wife and asking her, but I decided that would be too personal to ask. Instead, I promised to send a photo of the bike when I have it cleaned up.

I hope I'm still riding too fast down hills when I'm 79.

So maybe the boy isn't so unfortunate after all. A decades-old vintage ten-speed is better than a Walmart vintage 2010, I'd say. He doesn't even have to ride them as-is, fresh from the time warp. We modernize them a little :-)

His current steed is still the 1971 Peugeot G50 mentioned earlier in this thread. He loves "Leo", so-named for the lion badge, and rides it quite a bit on dry weekends. But he's getting too big for Leo, so it is time for a new bike.

Enter the Gran Sport. But first, a story.

It was late 1973 or maybe early 1974. I was living with my grandparents in New Jersey while my dad was in Southern California working at his new job. It was a pretty unhappy time for me. My grandparents were great, but even then they were old, and not so fun for a young boy to live with. The high school sucked, that was back in the day when H.S. was unpleasant and dangerous, kids beat each other up and stole money, there were hallways you couldn't go down and ways home you didn't walk. It was gray and cold and I walked in the freezing slush without any friends and missing my dad.

Then I moved to Los Angeles to live with my dad again. The summer of '74 on the Pacific Coast was warm and sunny, and so bright. My dad bought me the Gran Sport, and we rode on the beach bike path, from Redondo to Santa Monica, past the girls in bikinis, the musclemen in Venice, all the crazy colorful SoCal scene. We ate fresh crabs on the beach and in the fall I went to a new school with cheerful kids who became my friends. It was as if I'd died and gone to heaven.

I rode the Gran Sport through high school and into my first year of college at UCLA. Then, in '77 I think, I was tearing down a steep hill, probably doing >35 mph, when I hit a huge pavement heave and lost control, diving into the curb and then tumbling down the sidewalk. Because I was young, I just bounced, rolled and got up, bloody but otherwise unhurt. My Gran Sport was destroyed.

I carried its frame and parts with me for years, but I didn't know how to repair that level of damage (fork smashed, downtube bent). Eventually I carried just the Brooks saddle. About ten years later, that disappeared too.

Another Gran Sport has been on my bicycle target acquisition list for some time. They show up often enough, but often rather beat or too expensive, and anyway thr garage is getting kind of full, so I hadn't been hunting for a while. A few weeks ago, I started looking for a Gran Sport again, but this time in my son's size. Two popped up, a lagoon-and-white in Seattle and a white-and-lagoon in L.A. And here is the latter bike.

It will be fun to build this up. I am not sure if he needs it for this summer, or if he can ride Leo for one more year.

/tricia