Hardly a bike can pass through my gaze without invoking a visceral reaction; admiration for a well-manicured machine regardless of it’s discipline, delight at a vintage gem or a diamond in the rough, anger at an owner who has neglected a beautiful machine, horror at an abomination of sensibility and taste.
When I see these machines my mind flies instantly to what it must feel like to climb aboard and turn the pedals, if even for a moment. I imagine how difficult it must be to move the rusted pedals of an old commuter; I might wonder at the smooth feel of easing the downtube shifter forward as the chain slips into the next cog; I cringe at the thought of grasping bars rotated too far up or down. It is our lot as Velominati to feel this way about a bicycle. To identify with it, to want to care for it, to make it free. On some level, to feel as though each bicycle has a soul, and that it must be cared for.
This same love leads us to always find room in our hearts to aquire another bicycle, however magnificent the other bicycles already own may be. Always, there is the Next Bike, be it in another material, for a different discipline, or a different purpose; the combinations of carbon, steel, aluminum, titanium, road, cross, mountain, and commuting quickly collaborate to fabricate the justification of bike number n+1.
But never is the next bike acquired simply for the sake of owning another machine, for a bicycle must be ridden if its soul is to find salvation. A bicycle that stands by in a corner, year after year, waiting in great anticipation for the Next Ride as the air slowly seeps from its tires is a tragedy beyond articulation. My three road bikes are from three different eras, and each is an enviable beauty. The Bianchi TSX hails from 1997 and represents perfect Italian style; my only lamentation is that I was unable to acquire aluminum Ergo shifters and had to “settle” for carbon. The Bianchi XLEV2 hails from the Pantani Period and, while it sports the same top tube length, is more upright than the TSX, has a taller head tube, and boasts a higher bottom bracket. The Cervelo R3 is 2006’s Roubaix-winning carbon fiber lightweight masterpiece of contradictions: light, stiff, and strong.
But more importantly, these three bicycles represent three eras in my own evolution as a Velominatus. The EV2 was acquired upon my return to the sport and was my first experience with a truly fantastic bike shop. I bought the frame and wheels from Grand Performance and sourced the rest from eBay; after months of collecting the bits, the sight of the complete bike was one that shall never escape the gin-infested cobwebs of my memory. The TSX tested my patience to curate the perfect steel machine, learning where to compromise classical convention for modern convenience. The R3 is the end result of a design process that started when Cervelo’s engineers decided to better the design of their R2.5 after Tyler Hamilton rode it to victory in the 2003 Tour de France stage to Bayonne. As it happened, my VMH and I rode the 2003 L’Etape du Tour, which happened to be over that same route. And we were on the course the day of the stage, and watched on television as Tyler Hamilton held the field at bay over roads we ourselves had suffered on only days before from a cafe called La Calamity Jane. Suffice it to say, each one of these bicycles means a tremendous amount to me, and every time I throw my leg over one or the other, all of that climbs aboard with me.
Invariably, however, one of my bicycles always feels better than the others. Somehow, a note is struck that brings a harmony to rider and machine that can’t be found with the others. Thus begins the endless pursuit of identifying the nuances that create the unique conditions which coax the maximum amount of (either) pleasure or The V from our beings. This pursuit, this quest to find what the Italians call la Posizione, is the true work of the Velominatus – to never be satisfied with “good enough”. The tape measure and the plumb line both show the setback on the saddle to be the same, yet it feels better on one bike than it does the other. The bars are the same distance from the saddle on both machines, yet one is a stretch and one is perfect. These are the differences that mathematics dispute but our bodies know exist.
For me, the mystery of the bicycle begins with the notion that I can ride two identically set up machines up the same climb on the same day and have one deliver me to a back ache and the other into the arms of La Volupté.
Vive la Vie Velominatus.
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Thanks to everyone thats helped with advice regarding bike fit... Frank I'll get a plum line and tape measure onto it asap. @ChrisO
Yeah I was fitted for the bike, also like you I am going to adjust my cleat position for my next ride and see what the effect is. They are currently as far forward as they can go, so moving them back a bit may help.
Haha yeah, Pommy= Prisoner of her majesty, or something along those lines. About as creative an acronym as the convicts could come up with. I get it a bit myself being a sports loving Englishman living down under.
Thanks for all the advice again.
I'm late to this conversation, so apologies if this has been covered. It was date night tonight, so wife and I have sunk two bottles of chianti, and I haven't been allowed to talk cycling for three hours. This may be somewhat cathartic.
Rule 12 is one of my favourites. N+1. Hmmmm (quote: Homer Simpson).
I let myself down with my first bike: I was young, impressionable, easy. I fell for the looks, the allure, the sexy, sleek lines, the speed. Frankly, I was punching above my weight. The Carbon racer... lugged frame, light, stiff, responsive. She is now my high performance steed that I use on special occasions with her deep section carbon rims and (largely ornamental) yellow brake pads... she does have pedigree though: Ventoux, Tourmalet, Galibier, Alpe D'Huez... we've ridden them together, and you never forget those early young rides: plenty of vim and vigour, not much finesse or style.
My second bike, I was better: I wanted a flat top tube, ambrosio rims, royce hubs, lots of spokes... built from titanium for winter training and the tour of flanders (sportive). I love her so much, she is so pretty, and harks back to a classic age when cyclists were gladiators, and the cobbles were their arena.... but even she isn't perfect. She may look classic, like she ran with the Prophet, Roger de V, Freddie Maertens, but no... titanium is too gauche, too arriviste, too unforgiving. I can never grow old with her, because she'll never grow old. In a thousand years, she'll still look exactly the same as she does today, whilst I'll be dust... I do love her, but I feel I'm settling.
That is why my third bike, currently being built, is from steel. It won't be the lightest, the strongest, the fastest. Neither am I, in my grupetto. This is the bike I wish I'd bought first, this is the one I'll do all my future road trips with, this is the one that will be my soulmate... no, it won't be the lightest, the strongest, the fastest. But, I like to think that like me, it will be the most stubborn, the hardest working and it will never, ever give in. And it will be my road companion for the next twenty years and beyond, before retiring, gracefully into grumpy, rusty and stiff old age.
I think I remember that TdF stage with Tyler Hamilton. I remember yelling at the TV, urging him on, willing him on. I could almost feel the rough ends of his broken collar bone grinding together with each turn of the crank, feel the reverberations of all fourteen of his molars vibrating around inside my head as he ground them down with the pain of carrying on, the effort of constraining the madness that lurked just below the surface of his personality, constantly straining for release. And staying ahead for 116km. On Compact gearing at some insanely high cadence on his 50x11 after the descent of the Col de Bargarge (sp?).
Love this article. N+1. I need to work out what my next +1 is. Hmmmmm.
p.s. BTW, I think STRACK would be a great name for a frame builder. I'd have one of them built. I can see it written in a compact, seraphed font on the down tube, probably italicised, definitely capitalised. Aggressive but comfortable geometry; fast lines; neat cabling. Only compatible with Campagnolo (pre-1993). A thoroughbred. There's no way in hell that this one would be built in China or Korea or Taiwan: where's the pedigree in that?
The weather over there must be shitty. Why else did you have so much time to read & write here? Beginning of October and I went for the first night ride of the CX season in the woods yesterday. Guess what? It was almost 20 °C (extended Rule #24) until midnight. Loooong Indian summer over here.
@Fredrik
Definitively need to re-calibrate my monitor. I know that green & black fit very nicely together; I have some green Chris King goodies decorating my black(/white) Seven. Still I would like to see your steel IF. (I own a IF (Planet-X Ti) myself.)
@DeltaMngo
Dork Disk - how do I remove this? Just cut it off?
The Dork Disk comes off most easily and enjoyably by removing the cassette and then taking said disk out to a large field and seeing just how spectacularly far those Mavic Dork Disks fly.
If you can't find a large field, simply chucking it over the short apartment building across the street will suffice, then go to the next block and look for it stuck in someone's head.
If you can't get the cassette off you can take a pair of diagonal pliers or tin snips and eventually get the thing off but it's a bit of PITA and I shouldn't need to say watch out for the spokes and hub.
N+1 is a dangerous rule, particularly if your VMH does not exactly share your passion for vintage italian steel. To paraphrase Hunter S, once you get locked into a serious bike collection, there's a tendency to push it as far as you can go...
I'm currently happy at three, though I can see a SS MTB in my future. Maybe in Ti...hmm....
@michael
Thanks for the tip.
@RedRanger
Agree. I'm a bit nervous cutting the head tube on my prized position. Time to get professional help. Might be non compliant for a little bit longer.
@DeltaMngo
Don't let fashion victims tell you to shorten that steerer until you are absolutely certain the height is where it's best for you. For maximum enjoyment of cycling your bicycle should be an extension of you, which means it has to fit you correctly, not a bunch of outside observers that can't even see you!
The ability to alter the height of your handlebars is as fundamental to the correct fit and, hence, function of a bicycle as saddle height is.
Your bike just cost you a no doubt considerable pile of shekels, so it's a no-brainer that it's better to show your investment the respect it deserves by ensuring it's at it's optimum in terms of customisation, than to disrespect it by rendering it less adjustable in an effort to make it fit some inane and irrelevant visual template.
After all, you can always cut a steerer down, but you can't cut it back up again...
@Oli
thanks for that Oli - I can feel comfortable now, to leave my spacers where they are - had been feeling self conscious as a newbie that I should be dropping my bars, but I am sooper comfortable where I am, so will leave it as it is - can't touch my toes so lower might not be better for me with lower bars - my back hurts looking at Frank's riding position!
Nice work, Frank!
My two main road bikes definitely feel different, one modern compact geo carbon & the other traditional geo steel. I love being able to either one down off the hook depending on the ride that awaits, my mood, my mindset. What a wonderful privilege to have choice between more than one fine road machine.
I live right near a college campus, the graveyard of bicycles. Most began as junk, but I still cringe when I see an unloved bike. No matter how ugly, a bike is a tool & a neglected tool is one that will fail you when you need it most.