Jones’n for a ride

Jeff Jones’ Steel Diamond bike.

The first wave of the Oregon invasion has landed: a Jones Steel Diamond.

Got the big-wheeled bugger yesterday and we’ve taken two short get-acquainted rides; call it two hours total.

As usual, I can’t say much before the paying customers get theirs, but I will tell you it’s an eye-grabber. A neighbor snatched it away from me at the end of today’s ride and went for his own short roll-around.

Tell you something else. With those wheels and tires you don’t much care what gets in your way, whether it’s a pothole in the pavement or a Prius in the bike lane. Pretty much everything just got demoted to speed-bump status.

Have a look around Jeff’s website for more on his bikes and related goodies.

BRAIN Farts: There and back again

Editor’s note: After some gentle prodding I’ve decided to post my “Mad Dog Unleashed” columns here at the blog, 30 days or so after their dead-tree publication (the folks at Bicycle Retailer and Industry News are paying good money for these things after all). Still, you can’t buy your own personal copy at the Barnes & Noble — BRAIN is a trade magazine, found near the toilet in all the better shops — and so the non-industry types among you may wonder what the hell is it that I do to pass the time when I’m not raving for free here. Speaking of which, this particular column had its roots in a blog post, so don’t be surprised if bits seem familiar.

If Bilbo had had a bike, he’d still be out there

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending!”
— Bilbo Baggins in “The Hobbit”

In mid-November, after an overlong stretch of working for a living, I decided to treat myself to an adventure.

I had planned to head for Arizona for some sun-splashed cycling. But then I thought about the driving there and back, and all the cycling I would not be doing as I motored along, enduring various NPR pledge drives.

And frankly, the weather was not too shabby in Colorado.

Old Pueblo Road, just south of Hanover Road.

So instead I equipped my Soma Double Cross with racks, panniers and about 25 pounds of things I would not need, and went for a ride. Call it “There and Back Again,” in honor of Peter Jackson’s overstuffed epic “The Hobbit,” though my trip took only three days rather than three films and cost considerably less money.

The Road goes ever on and on. The Adventure Cycling Association, for which I do a bit of work, has been promoting “bike overnights”, the idea being that not everyone wants or needs to cycle clear to the Lonely Mountain and back.

I first rode one in 2011, a simple 100-mile round trip, and I had been itching all year to do another.

There were two downsides: One, I was woefully unfit, having ridden the office chair more than the bike. And two, the first leg of my planned route, Highway 115 to Penrose, had for months been a quagmire of construction.

When a quick recon found the work nearly complete, I took a deep breath, tugged on my roomiest bibs and pedaled off.

Down from the door where it began. Day one was a rolling, 50-mile ride along the broad, winding shoulders of 115 to Cañon City, with a stop outside Penrose for a soak at Dakota Hot Springs. Rather than camp I spent the night at the Cañon Hampton — for free, thanks to Hilton Honors points.

Come morning I wolfed a complimentary hot breakfast; took note of a plump coyote trotting alongside a nearby creek as I wandered around, unkinking my legs and waiting for the temperature to rise; then kitted up for the ride east to Pueblo.

Once past the traffic signals I settled into a pleasant rhythm that eludes me on short rides around town. Highway 50′s high-speed traffic was a distraction, but so are the Internet, the telephone and the doorbell.

Now far ahead the Road has gone. Outside Pueblo I turned south toward the Arkansas River Trail. Despite the chill fishermen worked the river — one of them in shorts — and several folks were walking or cycling the trail, which was a pleasant contrast to Highway 50 in terms of traffic/noise volume.

Leaving the trail downtown I stopped for lunch at Hopscotch Bakery, where I learned they wished to expand their Bingo Burger operation to Colorado Springs.

Some uninformed contributions on this topic won me a free cookie, and thus restored I rode north through Mineral Palace Park and across Highway 50 to another Hampton (free bed, free breakfast, what’s not to like?).

And I must follow if I can. One great thing about travel by bicycle, even a short trip, is the discipline it enforces. If you skip that day’s ride, you don’t get to where you’re going. And it was a temptation to skip the final leg to Colorado Springs, which began with a few miles of Interstate 25 (yikes!) before veering east at the defunct Piñon Truck Stop onto a rough, rolling frontage road.

Still, “third time pays for all,” as Bilbo Baggins was fond of quoting. And once past the rest area, with another short stretch of I-25 behind me, I rolled through an underpass to the west-side frontage road and thence to Old Pueblo Road, which leads to the Front Range Trail and blessed freedom from infernal combustion until a few short blocks from home.

The trip was less Lewis and Clark than Martin and Lewis — old fat bastard on a bike to no particular purpose, dragging bags of superfluous doodads along the way a snail does its shell — but it was refreshing to leave all my other baggage behind for a few days.

And while no dragons were harmed during the making of this column, I particularly enjoyed giving a dope-slap to that remnant of lizard brain that likes to whisper, “You can’t do it, y’know.”

This column first appeared in the Jan. 1, 2013, edition of Bicycle Retailer and Industry News.

Take it to the bridge

Old Pueblo Road, just south of Hanover Road.

BIBLEBURG, Colorado (MDM) — Meanwhile, back at the ranch … Herself and I went out to dinner at Nosh to celebrate the return of the prodigal. (The prodigal was hungry after 144.6 miles of cycling in three days and there was nothing to eat at the ranch.)

My old Cateye computer developed a partial paralysis somewhere between Pueblo and home, but the mileage is right; I just lost elapsed time and average speed, neither of which were worth bragging about.

That final leg from the Pueblo Hampton north is a real hodgepodge of terrain. It starts with a couple of streets that have no business existing, were it not for a couple of underused strip malls, then segues into a few miles of Interstate 25 before veering east at the defunct Piñon Truck Stop onto a stretch of what the old hands would call “heavy road” — a rough, rolling chip-seal frontage road that may be the remnants of the old Highway 85/87.

After the rest area another short run on I-25 takes you underneath and across to the west side of the interstate, and that’s the last you see of the sonofabitch — before you know it you’re on Old Pueblo Road, which leads to Fountain, the Front Range Trail, and blessed freedom from infernal combustion until just a half-dozen blocks from Chez Dog.

Now I’m typing with the right hand while the Turk’ sprawls across my lap and onto my left hand. You may recall the tale of the wise man who cut off the sleeve of his garment rather than disturb a sleeping kitten — well, the Turk’ is no kitten, and better to surrender aspects of one’s keyboard than to lose one’s left hand.

I may not be wise, but I’m not exactly stupid, either.

They call me The Breeze

The Arkansas River Trail, just east of City Park.

PUEBLO, Colo. (MDM) — It’s hard to know what to make of all the traffic on Highway 50 between Cañon City and Pueblo. We could chalk it up to unemployment, but then how do all these people afford the gas?

Day two of my self-propelled getaway began with a free breakfast at the Hampton followed by a five-mile ride to the AT&T store for iPhone surgery. A very helpful young lady showed me how to reseat the SIM card using a paper clip (my preferred tool is a ball-peen hammer, but different strokes, etc.).

It was cool, in the lower 40s, with a brisk wind out of the east, so I made a few itinerary changes on the fly. I skipped a second visit to Dakota Hot Springs, reasoning that poaching my thighs just 10 miles into a 50-mile day might not be smart. And I likewise gave a miss to Lake Pueblo and the western stretch of the Arkansas River Trail, because Pueblo West has changed some since last I cycled through there and I didn’t feel like getting lost in some prairie-dog town hunting the trail. So I stayed on Highway 50 to Pueblo Boulevard, hung a right, and picked up the trail just west of City Park.

Despite the chill there were plenty of fishermen working the river — one of them in shorts — and quite a few folks either walking or cycling the trail, which beat the mortal nuts off Highway 50 in terms of traffic/noise volume.

I left the trail at Main Street and hung a left over to Union for lunch at the Hopscotch Bakery. Dismounting and walking the bike through a crosswalk I narrowly avoided getting center-punched — by a cop car! I gave the bluesuit the stinkeye, which is always a bad idea in P-town as these guys like to tase you before they shoot you. But still, damn.

If you’re ever in Pueblo make sure to visit Hopscotch and its brother op’, Bingo Burger. Locally owned, great food, better people.

The final leg of the day was up Main through Mineral Palace Park, over to Elizabeth and north to another Hampton (free stay, free breakfast, what’s not to like?).

Today it’s back home to Bibleburg on what looks to be the chilliest of my three days on the road. It’s just 28 at 8:40 a.m., so it may be checkout time before I actually check out. No need to hurry — some of today’s finale involves short stretches of Interstate 25, and I’d like to hit that sweet spot between hungover motorists driving to work and drunken motorists heading back home.

Rollin’ on the river

This little creek was burbling just east of the Hampton Inn in east Cañon City. While I was snapping pix a coyote ambled past.

CAÑON CITY, Colo. (MDM) — Enough, it seems, was finally enough. After too many consecutive days of working for a living (however do you people bear it?), I decided to hit the road.

I had considered blasting down to Arizona, where the sunshine is plentiful and the cycling excellent … and then I started thinking about the two days of driving there, and the two days of driving back, and all the cycling I would not be doing as I herded the rice-grinder through the American Southwest. Plus that shit costs money, and the weather was not too shabby right here in Colorado.

So instead I loaded up the Soma Double Cross and rode down Highway 115 to Penrose for a soak at Dakota Hot Springs, then continued on to Cañon City, where I spent the night at the Hampton for freesies thanks to banked-up Hilton Honors points. Fifty miles with 25 pounds of crap — not bad for an old feller.

My iPhone 3GS spazzed out en route, so this morning it’s off to the AT&T store to find out how come (I suspect the SIM card got jarred loose) and then I’ll head west to Pueblo via Lake Pueblo State Park and the Arkansas River Trail.

Maybe I’ll take another soak at Dakota en route. Fifty miles with 25 pounds of crap — not good for an old feller.

iBike 2012: Tools, not toys

The venerable Bianchi Volpe gets another makeover for 2013, including a nifty powder-blue hue and retro decals.

BIBLEBURG, Colo. (MDM) — The times, how they do change.

Once upon a time my bicycle sprang from sound racing stock — first steel, then aluminum and finally carbon fiber and/or titanium — and the gearing was as manly as the showers at Paris-Roubaix. 52/42 and 12-21 constituted the standard until I moved to Santa Fe, where I was informed that 53/39 and 12-23 were better suited to the hillier terrain.

The fabled straight block came out for pan-flat time trials, of course, and for truly insane climbs one kept a cogset with a 25 or even a 27 handy.

Tires, naturally, were 700×25 — sewups for racing, clinchers for training — though I kept a pair of 28s around for one race that involved a half-dozen miles of dirt-road climbing, and for no good reason occasionally used 19s in a race against the clock.

But this was long ago, and that man is no longer with us.

Today if the bike is not steel it’s probably not mine. And the gearing — good Lord, the gearing! — has devolved to 46/34 and 12-28 on some machines. Two sport triple-ring cranks and mountain-bike rear derailleurs.

Tires likewise have ballooned. 700×28 is now a minimum rather than a maximum, and the max has gone all the way to 700×45, though the sweet spot lies somewhere between 32 and 38.

And the coup de grace? Racks and fenders. Got ‘em on three bikes. Oh, the humanity.

There were lots of utilitarian machines like mine at this year’s Interbike show, from the likes of Co-Motion, Bruce Gordon, Yuba, Pashley, Velo-Orange, Bianchi, Opus, Volagi and others. And more companies are tooling up to hang useful bits on them, such as racks and fenders, panniers and trunks, bells and whistles.

What’s behind all this? Beats me. Maybe folks are sick of watching unrepentant dopers perform impossible feats on otherworldly machinery. Perhaps someone figured out that the Adventure Cycling Association has 45,000 members. And don’t forget Peak Oil — it might be nice to have something to ride to work when the last well starts farting dust.

All I know is, if this is a trend instead of a blip, I like it. A guy gets tired of staring up at lug nuts while inhaling a snootful of fragrant particulates.

Apple of my eye

At left, the 2012 MacBook Air. At right, the 2006 MacBook.

Well, shit. After railing against Apple in comments for relentlessly driving us toward machines we can’t repair, upgrade or otherwise alter without a visit to the Genius Bar and/or the Devil, I’ve gone and bought myself a 2012 MacBook Air, the top-shelf 11-inch model.

So, yes, I’m a hypocrite. But I’m also the new owner of a pretty cool mini-laptop.

Longtime consumers of the DogS(h)ite will know that I manage a road trip about as often as does Generalissimo Francisco Franco. Still, I do manage to slip the leash from time to time, and when I do, my companion generally is my most “modern” laptop — a 6-year-old, 13.3-inch Intel MacBook that has already blown one hard drive, smells worse than Mister Boo on a hot day and weighs as much as a WorldTour pro’s bike (with the WorldTour pro sitting on it).

I can wrench a bit on this old black MacBook. Change batteries, upgrade RAM, swap hard drives and perform other basic tasks. But it’s not exactly cutting-edge technology.

And as the road test dude for Adventure Cyclist (harumph), with Interbike looming on the horizon like a carbon-fiber meteor from Hell, I do have a certain responsibility to embrace new technology, no matter how ridiculous and/or expensive. Right? Right.

Plus I had the money and Herself said OK.

So, yeah. I have a new laptop. It’s bound to make me smarter, funnier, thinner. Ask anyone in Cupertino.

The road not taken

Life lately seems like an extended intervals session. I could really go for some LSD. And some long, steady distance, too.

Thing is, I’ve soured on all my usual rides. Like a lot of folks, I regularly retrace a number of short, well-worn paths dictated by time constraints. And familiarity, as usual, breeds contempt. There is a road not taken. I’m certain of it. And it’s out there, waiting.

By this time last year I already had one bike overnight under my bibs.

It would be refreshing to hop on a bike and just go somewhere. Ride until the legs complain, then stop for a while. Eat a meal prepared by someone else, sleep in a strange bed, take a bite of breakfast and the morning’s news in some java shop and then get right back after it.

Can you tell that “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” and “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” were among the first books I took to heart? Subsequent readings and re-readings of “The Grapes of Wrath,” “Travels With Charley,” “On the Road,” “The Dharma Bums,” “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” “Lonesome Dove” and “Blue Highways” have only fertilized my tinkerish tendencies, rooted in a military brat’s peripatetic upbringing and a perpetual short-timer’s attitude as regards traditional employment.

I had hoped to squeeze in a short cycle tour this summer. Nothing ridiculous, no cross-country excursions, just a few days spent rolling Colorado roads and trails to flush out the headgear, hit the reset button, reboot. But one thing or another kept getting in the damn’ way. Exploding toilets. Spousal travel. Veterinary issues. And No. 1 on the hit parade? Work.

As a professional paranoid I try to keep a number of revenue streams flowing — writing, editing, website wrangling, cartooning — knowing that the slightest change in the journalistic climate could transform one or more of them into a bone-dry arroyo. Thus, though I don’t have a job per se, free time is surprisingly hard to come by. It seems something always needs doing.

So between extended bouts of doing, I finally dialed the deal down to what the Adventure Cycling Association calls a “bike overnight.” Ride somewhere, spend the night, and ride home. I did one last year, right around this time, to Pueblo and back. The upcoming week or two seemed perfect. The Vuelta a España remains ongoing, but the Colorado State Fair is history, Labor Day will be done and dusted and I don’t have a print deadline until after Interbike.

Alas, as the Yiddish proverb has it, “Man plans, God laughs.” The last item in our downstairs-bathroom restoration is supposed to arrive on Wednesday, followed by the plumber on Thursday, and I have to work on Saturday and Sunday. Plus Herself has another professional road trip queued up that will require someone to assume responsibility for critter management. Guess who.

Ah, well. It seems I also have another bike inbound for review, an All-City Cycles Space Horse, so duty calls. The two of us may not see as much new country as Captain Call and the Hell Bitch, but I’m hoping to get bucked off and bitten less often.

Pull it, sir

Oh, Lord, is this ever looking like a long week. A deadline with one outfit, technical difficulties with another, and Herself dashing from one end of the state to another like a turpentined ferret, leaving me in charge of the menagerie. Plus I am not on my way to Sea Otter. Party time this is not.

That said, the forecast calls for more or less spectacular weather for a few days, so I’ll try to pedal a few pounds off the Large Irish Ass between chores. What the hell? It’s not like I’m gonna be doing any post-Pulitzer interviews on MSNBC. When the hell is that outfit going to devise a category for Gratuitous Use of Filthy Language In a Blog Devoted To No Particular Purpose?

How many miles per gallon, d’ye think?

All it needs is a hammock.

I think I’ve found the perfect RV for my summertime travels. Fill the front with beer and the back with me and just take off. Got an umbrella and everything.