Saturday brought heavy rain and flash flooding to the city:
And, like any sane cyclist (a “sane cyclist” is still barely less than an idiot on the normal person scale), as the storm approached I was out for a ride, heading further and further from home as the situation became increasingly dire:
However, once the severity of the situation became evident, I did at least adjust my route so that I’d be returning along the commuter rail corridor in the event it started raining in earnest and I needed to abort–and I did need to abort:
In retrospect it couldn’t have gone better had I planned it this way from the outset–I got most of my intended ride in, I didn’t get wet, and the last few miles of a long ride can sometimes seem a bit funereal anyway, so spending them on the train instead felt refreshingly decadent:
With direct access to a train that runs along the Hudson Valley I should probably take advantage of it more often by integrating it into my rides:
Alas, that requires far too much thought, and so I generally stay within a 20-mile radius of my home, like a dog with a shock collar.
Even deciding which bicycle to ride requires too much thought for me these days, which is why I’ve just been riding the Craigslist Special.
Plus, there’s even more to bikes than just riding them; there’s also maintaining them, and Dealing With All The Stuff, and I’m currently in the process of culling my own stuff, which is something I’ve been putting off for years. I’m trying to be as ruthless as possible when disposing of things, though I will often find myself dithering over something stupid like an old frayed shifter cable, because, you know, maybe if I cut the end off it I can salvage enough of it for a front downtube shifter (this of course being the shortest shifter cable run). Then there are items that are largely sentimental, such as this:
That is the frame of a bicycle I referred to in the early days of this blog as the Ironic Orange Julius Bike, for reasons that are far too tedious to recount. This was the bicycle upon which I was commuting between Brooklyn and Manhattan every day, and it looked like this:
And yes, it had a fixed gear, though the fenders, front and rear cantilever brakes, dirt drop handlebars, and rack set it far apart from the bikes you’d typically come across during the Peak Fixie era:
As I understand it, the On-One Pompino (the word “Pompino” is Italian slang for a sex act and would never find its way onto a bicycle today) was common in the UK, but here it was something of a cult item–a racy singlespeed with 120mm rear spacing, canti bosses, generous (for the time) tire clearance, and rack and fender eyelets, it sort of split the difference between a Surly Steamroller and a Surly Cross Check.
Not only was this the bike I was commuting on when I coined most of what constitutes the modern urban cycling lexicon:
But I also used it in numerous prestigious cyclocross events, including the Singlespeed Cyclocross World Champtionships in Portland, OR:
[That’s not the Singlespeed Cyclocross World Championships in Portland, OR. I’m pretty sure that’s the singlespeed race at Staten CX on Staten Island.]
And just generally rode the crap out of it in all kinds of conditions for many years:
Which is why it now looks like this:
Last time I tried I couldn’t get that bottom bracket out, but maybe if I douse it with some sort of penetrant and double up on the elbow grease the frame will relinquish it.
Do I need a rusty old singlespeed frame?
No, I do not, nifty segmented construction notwithstanding:
If nothing else, I have a more age-appropriate and far less corroded singlespeed now:
Then on top of that there’s the Homer:
This is truly the Ironic Orange Julius Bike’s spiritual successor in that it’s become the bike I use for pretty much everything:
Which is why the drivetrain looks like this:
I’ve got a brand new chain and cassette waiting for it as I type–and yet the bike keeps shifting, and so I keep procrastinating. (This may be best and the worst thing about friction shifting: it just keeps working.)
All of this is to say I should get rid of the IOJB, or at least give it a Viking funeral by putting a pair of wheels on it, dousing it with lighter fluid, setting it on fire, and ghost-riding it down a hill.
But something won’t let me part with it–plus, given its provenance and place in cycling history, its monetary value is incalculable.
Though I’ll totally give it to anybody who promises to do something cool with it.