The Return of the Camping Bike

The idea of bike camping has been creeping into our insular little bicycle culture for some time now, but I confess to being rather dismissive of the trend. Sure, some people go camping by bike. But so much so as to create demand for camping-specific bicycles? Nah, I thought. But seeing the decals on the new Velo Orange "Campeur" model at Interbike earlier this year really brought it home for me: Camping bikes are for real. The now in-progress long term review on the Gypsy by Trade blog has further fueled my curiosity. 

The camping-specific bike is not a new concept. The original French campeurs, popular through the 1940s-1960s, were designed for cyclo-camping - a variation of cyclo-tourisme involving shorter trips and heavier loads. Typically these bikes were built with 650B wheels and wide tires. Front and rear low-rider racks were standards features. 

Frames in larger sizes were often built with supplementary diagonal stays, to prevent flex. 

Today, Rivendell offers several "diagatube" bicycle models based on a similar premise. This is fitting considering that the current popularity of bike camping is in no small part due to Rivendell's promotion of what they call the S24O: the sub-24 hour overnight trip. The idea is that you set off after work, ride to a local camping spot, spend the night there and return in the morning. Whereas full-on bicycle touring requires considerable time commitment, even the busiest of people can manage the S24O. There are now blogs and a flickr group dedicated to the practice. 

So what is the relationship between bike camping and a camping-specific bike? In a sense, any bike that can carry camping gear comfortably will be suitable for the job. Beyond that, it mostly depends on the length and terrain of your route. Touring bikes equipped for wide tires, fenders and racks - such as the Surly Long Haul Trucker and a number of Salsa and Rivendell models - have made popular choices. There has also been a trend to convert vintage touring bikes to 650B wheels (for extra tire clearance) and use them in this capacity with the addition of front and rear racks. But a camping bike could also be a transport bike, even a cargo bike or a capable folder for that matter. There is no precise definition.

So what can we expect from a camping-specfic bicycle model? A number of features come to mind: robust tubing to accommodate the weight of gear, long chainstays for pannier/heel clearance in the rear, eyelets for front and rear racks, clearances for wide tires and fenders, and a reliable braking system. The VO Campeur is additionally interesting in its low-ish trail front end geometry, which some believe to be helpful for carrying a considerable front load. 

Will camping bikes take off? The concept of bike camping already has, so it's really a matter of whether the campeur is sufficiently distinct to carve out its own niche. I suspect the concept inspires and attracts a slightly different crowd from those who would go for a standard touring bike, and that's kind of interesting in of itself to observe. Personally, let's just say I am happy to live vicariously through others' bike camping adventures, while traveling light myself. But to the bike campers out there: What is your bicycle of choice, and do you see value in a bike that is optimised for camping?

Categories: bicycle industry, Interbike, racks, Rivendell, Velo Orange

Who Makes Your Bottle Cage?

So... do you know who makes your bottle cages? It might seem like a silly question. I mean, of all things, one is not about to seek out some super special artisanal cages, right? Well, recently I learned that mine were just that: made by Ron Andrews and crew, by hand, in Colorado. I feel a little embarrassed that I did not know this about King Cage bottle cages, but the truth is I didn't. I bought mine because they were available at local bike shops, reasonably priced and reputed to be good. I like them, but I assumed that like most things they were mass produced in Taiwan. Until there I was, walking around Interbike. And there he was, a guy wearing a crown and twirling around all manner of cage-like contraptions. Several minutes into our conversation, it finally dawned on me that this person actually makes my bottle cages. I also learned of his connection to the Fat City Cycles clan and our local New England framebuilders. He asked me how this guy and that guy were doing. I get ridiculously excited by encounters like this.

Of course it's generally impossible to be at the King Cage booth and not get excited. It is like a miniature circus. A wind-up monkey dances across the table, inserting a tiny water bottle into a miniature cage instead of banging cymbals. 

Items such as stop motion animation booklets and huge titanium back scratchers are demonstrated with enthusiasm. 

An under-the-saddle titanium cage, with titanium flask sporting an #OCCUPYBIKESEAT decal. There was much more, and the booth was a bit like a parallel universe. Soon I craved every crazy accessory made by King Cage. But I limited myself to snagging a set of titanium cages at special Interbike prices, before they were all gone. My roadbike was very pleased to receive these!

Ron Andrews started out making cages in titanium, and still offers these in addition to the more popular and affordable stainless cages. He also offers titanium tire levers, stainless toe cages, and top cap mounts (pictured above) that make it possible to attach a bottle cage to a bicycle's stem. All of these items can be bought from the King Cage website directly, as well as at many bike shops. 

Other than a Nitto cage I once received as a gift, all of my other bottle cages have been by King Cage. They are advertised as lightweight, non-marking and super strong, and after 3 years of use I have not experienced anything to contradict that. I use them with both plastic and (twine-wrapped) stainless steel bottles, and it's always a good fit. I can't fully explain why it made me so giddily happy to learn that these simple cages - widely available and relatively inexpensive - are made by hand by a friend of friends. Maybe it's precisely because they are such small accessories, and many of us don't give them much thought. It is heartening to know that somebody does, that somebody has made them their life's work with such dedication and panache. 

Categories: handmade, Interbike, product reviews

Bruce Gordon Was Nice to Me

I spotted him in the shadows, at the back of the exhibition hall. It was unexpected. This was Interbike after all, not NAHBS. But there he was, behind a big beautiful red bike with Bruce Gordon decals, underneath a banner with the mysterious word SOPWAMTOS (which, I soon learn, is the Society of People Who Actually Make Their Own Sh!t). A broad-shoulderd, slightly slouchy, gray-haired man with the face of a Soviet literary dissident circa the 1960s. I would give anything to have the writing skills to describe Bruce Gordon's facial features and expression. But alas, I must struggle. Coyly suspicious? Exuberantly grumpy? Playfully defiant? Something like that. 

If you don't already know, Bruce Gordon is a framebuilder out in Petaluma, California. One of the best, they say. One of those guys who has been at it for decades, one of the legends. At a loss for words from the bizarre charm of his physical presence, I blurt out something generic about being pleased to meet him. In reply he laughs with a bitterness that is masterful in its combination of sincerity and theatrics. "If I could go back and do something else with my life, trust me I would!" he snorts. "So... want a bike?" Out of curiosity I ask about the wait list. "I am all caught up," he says, "no wait list. You can go ahead and write that on your blog" (the last word is accompanied by a playfully-scornful - or maybe not so playfully, this is ambiguous by design - roll of the eyes. But who cares. Bruce Gordon has no wait list? Okay, I will write that.)

Next we discuss his famous Dangerous Pointy Brakes, which I'd recently tried on one of Pamela Blalock's bikes and discovered to be surprisingly functional (unlike most other cantis I've tried). He was pleased to hear this. For a small fortune the brakes could be mine. Alas I had neither the required sum, nor a bike on which these superior brakes could go. But yes, I would mention them on my "blog."

What can I say. I could have moved along at that point. But I don't know when to quit. And no, that's not even it. In truth, I was a little smitten. I wanted this man to keep talking. I wanted to study his face and figure out what or whom it reminded me of.  

So I stuck around, touched the bike, asked questions. He quickly grew suspicious of how much I seemed to know about frame geometry and such. "Oh don't tell me. You're planning to become a framebuilder!" I assured him that I was not, but confessed that I might be building a frame for myself shortly. Nothing serious. Just to give it a try. But becoming a framebuilder, no. I understand the amount of training that requires; I know that earning a living that way is next to impossible. "You're damn right it's impossible." And thus began a speech about the horrors and deceptions of the pipe dream of becoming a framebuilder that claims hopeful innocents of my generation by the dozen. Bruce Gordon's opinion on the matter is basically a more extreme version of this. "If I could save just one young person from becoming a framebuilder, I would die happy," he tells me. I believe him, and promise to never become a framebuilder. 

He eyes me with sadness and shakes his head. He asks what I used to do for a living before the tragedy of succumbing to bikes. I tell him briefly, and soon we are talking about bikes as one would talk about a disease. He tells me some personal stuff, I reciprocate. We commiserate. Before I know it, the conversation begins to resemble the sort of jaded, weepy, vodka-fueled exchange that takes place at around 3 in the morning. Except this is Interbike, high noon, and I am sober.

The following day, I walked by the booth again and gave Bruce Gordon an uncertain wave. I genuinely did not think he'd remember me; it was as if our conversation the day before had been something I'd imagined. But he did remember. And then he gave me this pin. It's a limited edition. The regular one reads "Bruce Gordon was rude to me." 

And that is my story of meeting Bruce Gordon. You should buy one of his bikes. I hear they are good and he's all caught up on his wait list.

Categories: framebuilding, handmade, Interbike

Spectator Sport

"So I hear you are into cyclocross," said Martina from Clever Cycles as we chatted on the second day of Interbike. I responded with genuine amazement. "Me, into cyclocross? What makes you say that?" And then I remembered that I'd spent the previous evening live-posting a continuous stream of blurry snapshots from Cross Vegas - "the biggest cyclocross race in America." I gave up two other industry events to attend this thing. I guess it did seem like I was pretty into it! But as I was quick to explain, I am only interested in watching, not racing. In fact, of all the forms of cycling out there, cyclocross is the one I am least likely to actually take part in (it combines every aspect of cycling I am terrible at!). Moreover, I had never before been able to tolerate - let alone enjoy - watching sports of any kind. So what makes cyclocross so appealing?

As it happens, Molly Hurford has just written a book that seeks to answer that very question. It's called Mud, Snow, and Cyclocross: How Cross Took Over US Cycling. Having borrowed a copy from the Ride Studio Cafe library, I finished it just days before Interbike. Aside from providing historical context, Hurford's book helped me make sense of my own feelings toward this bizarre sport. As race promoters all over the country have discovered, cyclocross is in many ways the perfect spectator event. And so I thought it might be interesting to describe it from the point of view of someone who is purely a spectator - and a fairly clueless one at that.

To do this, I will backtrack to last year's Interbike, where it all started. I had zero interest in attending Cross Vegas, but tagged along with Chris Kostman, who insisted I should at least stop by ("Come on, you can't go to Interbike and not see this!"). We drove to a giant field on the outskirts of town filled with tipsy people and flooded with electric light. In the distance I could see a colourful blur of bicyclists making their way through an elaborate obstacle course. As the sounds of cowbells and screams filled my ears, I remember wondering: "What am I doing here?" Five minutes later I was leaning over a barrier, ringing a cowbell and having a shockingly great time. And that's pretty much your typical "my first time watching 'cross" story. No one intends to like it, but inevitably they do.

This year we arrived to the spectacle of Elvis performing on stage before the start of the elite races. 

Visitors wandered around purchasing water, beer and cowbells. 

Cyclists rode around the grass warming up. Bicycles were being adjusted.

Before the crowds became too dense, I got the chance to survey the empty course. Winding around the grassy field, it did not look too technical, though there were lots of tight turns and a couple of short steep hills.

And, of course, these. I still remember how stunned I was when I first saw the riders hop right over them without breaking stride. How is this possible?

And then the race began. First the women's elite race; the mens would be next. Watching the hoard of riders charge cross the start line, the excitement of it all came back to me. I got goosebumps.

The thing is that at a cyclocross race, you can stand so close that you feel the energy of the riders wash over you like a wave.

And this wave is not some abstract poetic concept. It is very real, visceral. Even if you know nothing about race tactics and don't follow the background stories of any of the riders - just standing there and feeling so much human power and speed happening inches from your own body is a physical rush.

Watching track racing is more abstract in comparison, because the riders are further away. And with road racing you can only witness a small portion of the course at a time. But with cyclocross, all is laid out right in front of you in close proximity. The course winds around the spectators; it intertwines with them. There is a feeling that everything is happening everywhere, all at once.

Pressed against the barrier, I can see the riders' flushed faces, gritted teeth, twitching fingers, razor-burned legs. The physicality and rawness of it are overwhelming.

And then there are the technical parts that differentiate cyclocross from other forms of cycling. The obstacles, the vertical uphills, the dismounts and remounts, the bouts of running with the bike. No matter how graceful the rider, there is an intimate awkwardness to these struggles that makes us feel as if we are witnessing something private that perhaps we are not supposed to be witnessing.

Equally intriguing, is when a group of riders is so synchronised in their movements, that the dismounts and remounts appear to be done in choreographed unison - like a staged ballet.

And of course there are things like this - at which point it is the crowd's chorus of gasps that seems choreographed.

Watching first the women's, then the men's race, I noticed differences. The men stuck in larger, tighter clusters while the women were more strung out after the first lap. There were also difference in demeanor and body language - too subtle to describe, but nonetheless there. Watching the two races were separate experiences.

As the lead group of riders made its way through the course, spectators would rush to position themselves in different spots. This too was interesting to watch.

Through the elbows of others, I could see the anticipatory face of each rider as they crossed the finish line. 

What struck me was how much they seemed to be savouring the moment, rather than rushing through it. There was a performative, theatrical element to it.

Photographers were everywhere, capturing the action with impressive lenses and flash units. John Watson's Cross Vegas photos on Prolly is Not Probably are especially worth a look.

While my low-light snapshots are far from professional quality, they do reflect my experience of the event as a spectator: dark and chaotic, punctuated with bursts of light and blurs of colour. 

I am not sure whether any of this really explains what makes watching cyclocross fun. It is an evasive quality, but ultimately it is about entertainment - genuine entertainment. You don't even have to like sports or racing to enjoy it - though you might surprise yourself by developing a taste for beer and cowbells.

Accessible and awe-inspiring in equal measure, cyclocross strikes the perfect balance between a country fair, a bicycle race, and an alcohol-fueled block party. While the circus of Cross Vegas examplifies this more than typical races, it truly is the ultimate spectator sport.

Categories: bicycle events, bicycle industry, cyclocross, Interbike

Gunnar Bikes: the Accessible Waterford

Given the references to Waterford in a recent post, as well as the company's presence at Interbike (that's a briefcase full of head tube samples in the picture above), I wanted to bring readers' attention to a line of bicycles that I think is mighty nice: Gunnar Bikes. Made in Wisconsin, USA in the factory of Waterford Precision Cycles, Gunnar is the simpler, budget-conscious offspring of the famous custom manufacturer - named after a beloved pet dog.

Advances in steel tubing design led to the TIG-welded Gunnar line's 1998 launch, and Waterford has been producing them ever since. There are now 10 stock models available, including road, cyclocross, touring, and mountain bikes. The local-to-me Harris Cyclery is a Gunnar dealer, and recently I finally got around to test riding one of the bikes. 

The Gunnar I rode is the CrossHairs model: a cyclocross bike with cantilever brakes, clearances for 38mm tires and provisions for fenders and racks. The colour is described as "burnt orange." The 54cm floor model was slightly too big for me, but doable as far as getting a sense of the bike over the course of the test ride. My interest was mainly in the CrossHairs' potential as a road-to-trail bike - for which its aggressive geometry, fairly light weight, and wide tire clearances made it look like a good candidate. Others might also be interested in it as a randonneuring bike or even a commuter, given the rack and fender possibilities. 

The cleanly welded frame is fitted with a curved, steel fork with a brazed fork crown.

Eyelets for fenders.

Cantilever bosses and rack mounts.

This is the third SRAM-equipped bike I have test ridden this year (see the others here and here), and I am becoming pleasantly familiar with SRAM components.

The canti brakes are Avid Shorty, and they worked fairly well for me.

Alexrims B450 wheelset and 700C x 32mm Panaracer Pasela tires with black sidewalls.

On the 54cm bike there was no toe overlap for me (size 38 shoes, clipless pedals), with plenty of toe room for 35mm tires (but not if I were to add fenders). In conversation with Waterford, I learned that the toe clearance on the 52cm frame is nearly identical, so the same would hold true for one size down. For sizes smaller than 52cm, the clearance decreases.

Riding the Gunnar CrossHairs I found the handling familiar and intuitive from the get-go: Fast to accelerate, responsive to pedaling efforts, stable. No twitchiness and nothing weird about the handling, just an easy, fast, fun ride. The finish on the Gunnar looks excellent: extremely smooth joints, precise braze-ons, nice paint (some attractive stock colour options, as well as custom choices). Geometry can be slightly tweaked from the stock options as well, particularly top tube length. If ordering a Gunnar bike from scratch, lead time is about 4 weeks. 

The complete bicycle pictured here is currently for sale at Harris Cyclery (in West Newton, MA), retailing at under $2,500. Prices will vary depending on the components used. For a US-made, handbuilt bicycle with lightweight tubing, responsive but easy handling, clearance for wide tires and provisions for fenders and racks, the Gunnar CrossHairs is worth considering for road-to-trail riding. It's a handmade-on-demand, yet available and accessible bike - from the legendary builder Waterford.

Categories: bicycle reviews, handmade, Interbike, test rides