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riders collective
a cyclist’s sampling
of some of the
Web’s best blogs,
ride reports, tips,
videos, reviews,
and photographs
©
aggrezine
december 2010
/by us/for us/about us/
©Aggrezine™ Publishing LLC. All material used with permission and © original sources.
Photo: Kay Tkatzik
www.riderscollective.org december 2010 1
As mornings in the Northeast become darker and
colder, with early rides
requiring lights and layers,
I take to my trainer instead.
With my rear wheel
suspended, spinning just
off the floor, I mindlessly
measure out the monotonous miles.
For some, this stationary
solitude is a study in sensory
under-load, like a yule log
on TV. But not for me.
Free from the dangers of
pedestrians, potholes and
passing cars, I enjoy meandering down roads of my
own devising, sprinting
beside perpetually secondplaced pros, and pretending
that it’s already spring, when
I’ll be as free as a bird—or
a rat let out of his cage.
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publisher,
editor,
designer,
and cyclist
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Paul S. Kramer,
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riders collective
introduction
Photo: Nancy Ward
riders collective
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(it’s not your uncle ralph’s polo)
Portland photographer Cecily Upton captures the burgeoning sport as only a fellow player can.
riders collective
(not ralph’s polo)
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by jessica reeder
SAVE THE WORLD, RIDE A BIKE
a visit to troy bike rescue
save the world, ride a bike
BICYCLE TRANSPORTATION ALLIANCE
riders collective
Opening minds to roads and bicycling
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Cycling is
a thing of
the past:
a sport, a
hobby,
but rarely
a mode of
transportation.
R
emember when
you got your first bike? Was it a
Christmas present, or maybe a birthday gift? Remember how much fun
you used to have on that bike, how
fast you went, how great it felt?
Well, these days, most kids want an
Xbox for their birthday; their parents
ride around in cars with seatbelts, talking on their phones. Cycling is a thing
of the past: a sport, a hobby, but rarely
a mode of transportation. But I’m here to
tell you: riding your
bike is still fun, and still
fast, and it’s the cheapest and most socially
responsible workout
you’ll ever get.
And there are no two
ways about it: if you
give a kid a bike, that
kid will ride.
In Troy, New York, I
met one Andrew Lynn.
He’s somewhat of a
one-man brain trust, and one of his
best creations is the Troy Bike Rescue.
It started in 2001, when Andrew
would ride around town pulling bikes
out of dumpsters. He started hosting
work parties with friends in his backyard, teaching them to fix their bikes
and helping them get started riding.
Slowly but surely, the circle grew and
Andrew’s backyard parties became
weekly workshops.
First Gear DVD
An Introduction to Bike Safety
First Gear is a fun and informative way to learn about bike
safety and includes flat tire
repair, helmet and bike fitting,
proper turning techniques,
road positioning, right-of-way
and much more.
Learn to be a predictable, safe
cyclist while having fun.
For ages 8 - Adult.
click here for more information
www.bta4bikes.org
Live free and ride.
© 2010 NEMO Equipment, Inc.
riders collective
WILLIAM KRAMER
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In Troy, New
York, I met
one Andrew
Lynn. He’s
somewhat of
a one-man
brain trust,
and one of
his best
creations is
the Troy Bike
Rescue.
W
hen Andrew decided
to leave town for a few years’ schooling in NYC, friends and cohorts took
over operations. By the time Andrew
returned, Troy Bike Rescue (let’s call
it TBR) had a life of its own. These
days it’s an established club, run by
volunteers and donations, turning
trashed bikes into treasures. Its influence now includes a legitimate downtown storefront; a sister shop in Albany (Albany Bicycle Coalition); movie
screenings and pro-cycling political
events; and a dedicated core crew that
keeps everything rolling.
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riders collective
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You can
pick out
your own
bike from
the stacks
and racks
of machines
filling the
space.
www.bikesbelong.org
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BR’s customers run
the gamut, from businessmen to street
kids to college students to families.
The one thing they have in common?
They get it.
This group understands the value
of a bicycle: more than just transportation, a bike is a statement against
fossil fuels. More than a toy, it’s an
equalizer that allows poor kids to
ride with rich. More than a hobby,
it’s a way of traveling
through the world that
lets you interact, use
your muscles, breathe
fresh air—all for the
cost of a free dumpster bike.
When I visited the
TBR shop, it was
packed with frames,
wheels, tires, gears,
chains, handlebars,
kids, and some anarchist art (the space
is being donated by
some supporters who are also anticapitalist activists).
TBR hosts workshops twice a
week. For a few hours, the doors are
open to anyone who walks in. Tools
are available, and volunteers will
help with advice and knowledge.
Parts can be had for a pittance, and
you can pick out your own bike from
the stacks and racks of machines filling the space.
Our mission is to put
more people on more
bicycles more often
riders collective
You too can
change the
world: all you
have to do is
ride a bike.
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T
he main focus of
TBR, however, is not selling bikes.
The idea is to give people a workspace and teach them how to maintain their own bicycle. Self-sufficiency
is a major tenet of the bike movement,
and Troy Bike Rescue is training selfreliant individuals of all stripes.
All around me, college students and
bike punks tinkered with their machines. An older man asked for tips
on tuning his racer. A young kid came
in to say his last bike was stolen and
he needed a new one (and, despite
Andrew’s stern reprimand that he
couldn’t just walk in every
week and leave with a free
bike, he did just that).
A dad came in with his
three kids, all of whom left
with snazzy rides—but
first, they all sat down and
worked on their new
wheels together.
And as we left at the end
of the workshop, a woman
walked up to Andrew. “I love what
you do,” she said. “I have a whole
bunch of bikes to give you.”
See, ultimately TBR is about more
than just bicycles. It’s about building
community, and triggering a quiet but
inexorable social movement. This is
not the world’s first bike collective; in
fact it’s only one of many that have
stealthily sprung up around America.
These collectives are not waiting for
change to happen: they’re creating it
through small, positive, peaceful actions. You too can change the world:
all you have to do is ride a bike.
Bicycle Aid
For Africa
re-cycle.org
A nongovernmental,
nonprofit,
advocacy
organization
www.ibike.org
www.riderscollective.org dcember 2010 12
locked in memory
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Ghost Bikes are small
and somber memorials
for bicyclists who are
killed or hit on the street.
A bicycle is painted all
white and locked near
the crash site. They serve
as reminders of the
tragedy that took place,
and as quiet statements
in support of a cyclist’s
right to safe travel.
Adapted from: ghostbikes.org
PHOTO: Darren Langdon
riders collective
July 21, 2010
St. John’s, Newfoundland
locked in memory
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PHOTO: MATT AVERY
riders collective
Chicago, December 9, 2006
The first ghost bikes were
created in St. Louis, Missouri
in 2003, and they have since
appeared in over 100
locations throughout the
world. For those who create
and install the memorials,
the death of a fellow bicyclist
hits home. We all travel the
same unsafe streets and face
the same risks; it could just
as easily be any one of us.
Each time we say we hope
to never have to do it again,
but we remain committed
to making these memorials
as long as they are needed.
locked in memory
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Manhattan, December 28, 2007
PHOTO: BETH HOMMEL
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Louisville
November 8, 2010
PHOTO: matt novak-zarate
riders collective
ghostbikes.org is intended to
be a site for the worldwide
cycling community. The site
was initially set up by the
NYC Street Memorial Project.
They collect information on
many other locations, but
for the most part only have
access to media reports.
locked in memory
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Lodz, Poland
January 6, 2010
PHOTO: MADZIA BRYLL
riders collective
They hope to create a space where those lost on dangerous streets can be remembered
by their loved ones, members of their community, and others from around the world.
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São Paulo, April 1, 2010
PHOTO: kiki isoda
riders collective
locked in memory
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They also hope to inspire more
people to start installing ghost
bikes in their communities and to
initiate changes that will make us
all safer on the streets.
Manhattan, March 4, 2009
PHOTO: ludovic bertron
riders collective
Valencia, Spain, February 1, 2010
PHOTO: jorge mata
locked in memory
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Portland, October 23, 2007
PHOTO: jason h.
riders collective
locked in memory
riders collective
PHOTO: retinal fetish
locked in memory
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Milwaulkee, June 27, 2010
If you are interested in participating by getting involved with submissions and corrections,
or maintaining your local area’s information on the website, visit www.ghostbike.org.
Saddle Roundup
riders collective
Western or English? It would
be a lot simpler if bicycle
seats came in as few varieties
as their horse counterparts.
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saddle roundup
Selle Anatomica
“This is a saddle
developed through
years of painstaking
hard work.” Supple,
waterproof leather.
Wide, cut-out channel for
flexibility. —selleanatomica.com
riders collective
Brooks Saddle
“It has been on the
market for over 100
years, being featured in
as early as the 1898
catalogue.” Hard saddle
leather. Needs breaking in and
kept dry. —brooksengland.com
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Selle Italia Gel Flow
“Recreational comfort at a
competitive weight.” An
anatomic, split-cut design
relieves pressure in the
pelvic area. Vanadium-andtitanium alloy frame.
— selleitalia.com/eng/
Electra Townie Hawaii
“Customize your bike with this
cool-looking, ergonomic saddle.”
The Hawaii sports a durablymade black cover with big
white flowers. Wide platform
and coil springs scream
comfort. —rei.com
‘The Seat’
“Solves the universal problem of
bicycle seat discomfort
with its patented,
ergonomic design.” Firm,
all weather seat with a
slightly larger sitting
area. — thecomfortseat.com
‘The Pump Seat’
“The only genuine air bicycle
seat since the early nineties.”
Adjustable air bladder.
Largest in the industry
supporting up to 500 lbs. Come
with a portable air pump.
—thepumpseats.com
saddle roundup
riders collective
‘Easy Seat’
“Brings the comfort and joy
back into cycling. Individual
padded cups support and
protect pressure points. Ends
the discomfort and numbness
caused by old-style seats.”
—campingworld.com
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‘Spiderflex’
“The patented noseless design fits the
anatomy of both male and female
cyclists. Cradles your “sit-bones”
to alleviate pressure points.”
Hornless seat installs easily
on all standard seat posts
and clamps. —
spiderflex.com
‘The BiSaddle’
“Designed to support riders
only on the bottom of their
pelvic girdle and not put
pressure on any soft tissue.
two individual surfaces that
have two points of adjustment
each.” —bycycleinc.com
‘Spongy Wonder’
“Dual-platform noseless design
which eliminates damaging and
irritating pressure to the
perineum, prostate, tailbone and
genitalia.” Closed cell material and
does not absorb water. Comes with
extra pads. —spongywonder.com
‘Horseshoe Seat’
“High density foam cushioning
and center cut-out design help
relieve pressure to the
prostate. Physician endorsed
design. The center cut-out
provides pressure relief to the
groin area.” —derri-air.com
‘Moon Saddle’
“Moon Seat’s design utilizes the
natural support system of the
skeleton and includes several anatomyfriendly features.” Can be installed
facing either forward or backward. Made
of self-skinning elastomer. Mounts to
standard seat-post clamp. —derri-air.com
riders collective
An epic drama of
adventure and exploration
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1001: a race odyssey
riders collective
Veronica Tunucci takes on the
longest randonnée in Europe—a
feat of endurance and strength
that challenges both her sense
of direction and sense of humor.
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H
ere I am
in Italy,
somewhere in
Italy, close to
the finish of
the 1001 Miglia
(a 1,001 mile
ride through
the regions of
Emilia Romagna, Lombardia, Toscana, Umbria,
Lazio, Liguria and Piemonte with a time
limit of 130 hours), with less than 120K
(75 miles) to the finish. I’m on my bike
following a police car with flashing
lights and being escorted to the shoulder of the Autostrada (Italian freeway
with speed limits of 80 mph). Another
encounter with the police, this time in
Italy. I’ve gone international. We all
stop, 3 Carabinieri exit their piccolino
carabinieri vehicle and all descend on
me in seconds. Is this really necessary?
Those machine guns are intimidating
alone without the intimidating attitude
and three guys surrounding me. Comandante Napoleon (never did get his real
name) is very angry. Comandante Napoleon’s English is limited as my Italian is.
He barks “no bicycles on the Autostra-
DAN BREKKE
da”. I reply, I’m trying to get off the
Autostrada. He threatens a ticket.
TICKET! That would add insult to my
already pathetic situation. He repeats
this “no bicycles on the Autostrada” and
I reply now with moving hand action,
that “it’s a mistake”. We have a reiteration of this same dialogue at least ten
times; “no bikes on the Autostrada,”
“it’s a mistake.”
It finally hits me that Comandante
Napoleon thinks I just rode my bicycle
on the Autostrada for some joy ride. If
only my adventures were that easy.
It took a great deal of effort and
The photographs on the following pages were taken by Rick Carpenter during his successful 2008 Miglia Italia finish. See the full set here.
riders collective
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determination to get to this
location. I then start to tell an
abbreviated version of my
story to Comandante Gentile
(kind). He understands more
English and has less attitude: I
arrived at the last control of
the 1001 Miglia at 1:20am, mile
926, 30 minutes prior to the
close of the control. The
control was at the Fausto
Coppi Museum in Castellania
Italy. I now had 75 miles to the
finish of the ride with 10 hours
and 40 minutes to finish. That
felt easily doable. Other than
feeling totally exhausted from
lack of sleep, I felt physically
great. No saddle sores and my
legs still felt pretty strong. I
was much better prepared for
this event than PBP 2007.
At this point, I was still
dreaming of stopping at a hotel
to catch a bit of sleep and
shower; the basic necessities
become really important in
these events. This control had
nice tents with cots to sleep on,
but at this time of night and
without warm blankets, I knew
I wouldn’t get much rest and
the extra time on the road
The dirt road ended at what appeared to
be a dark, run down large house which could
have easily been used for a psycho movie.
would probably serve me
better. The last 75 miles of the
ride, while flat, had many, a
destra (right) and a sinestra
(left) turns and the chance to
miss a road marketing in my
sleep deprived state was a
concern. I departed the control
shortly after checking in. I was
really tired on the road and
decided to take a brief rest on
the side of the road.
i
chose a place carefully to be off road and
then turned off my
bike lights to not
attract attention from
other cyclists. Not long
after I laid down a
couple of cyclists rode
by and panicked when
they saw me down. I
assured them I was
okay, but after they passed I
decided to move on rather
than cause that scene as
every cyclist passed. I rode
on. I tried to stop at various
times, but the grass on the
side of the road
was wet, really
wet. I finally
found a small
roadside mausoleum with a
small covered
concrete patch
at the entrance, no
more than
3'x3’. The only
dry stop in
sight. I looked
in the window. No body was
visible. A picture of the deceased man was there. I can’t
remember his name or birth/
death details. I curled up on
that small piece of concrete
for at most 10 minutes. I can
only guess that I performed
some breach of respect to the
dead protocol and I insulted
the remains of a departed one
by lying down before him
without giving due respect. I
can only attribute
the following events
to the curse of the
Italiano Morto (dead
Italian guy).
As I departed this
small mausoleum, I
somehow got off
route and off track.
I ended up on a
gravel road, and
then a dirt road. It
was dark and felt a
bit eerie. The dirt
road ended at what appeared
to be a dark, run down large
house which could have easily
been used for a psycho movie.
I had a strong feeling that I
didn’t want to meet the
occupants of this residence. I
moved quickly. Around behind the house off in the
distance appeared to be
riders collective
a road with moving car lights.
My first thought a road and
therefore, direction and
orientation. I headed around
the house in the direction of
what appeared to be a road
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off in the distance. I then
entered the backyard and
garden. This was no family
backyard vegetable garden.
This was an industrial type
field with huge industrial size
tire tracks. My bike shoes
sunk in the dirt. The tracks
were deep and the dirt was
extra soft. My bike wheels
would not move over the dirt.
I was forced to drag my bike
and me across this large field
as I continued to sink in the
dirt with
each step.
The lights
began to look
further
rather than
closer with
each step.
Was this a
mirage? I
look back.
Dark, deserted, the
psycho
house; going
back was not
an option. I
moved forward then
veered to the left a bit. The
lights began to get closer. I
wondered what night critters
exist in Italy.
My imaginative mind is in
overload. I’m now close to the
road. After all this trek, there’s
a fence that is as tall as me
Was this a mirage? I look
back. Dark, deserted, the
psycho house; going back
was not an option.
halfway up a steep incline
between the field and the
roadside. Not a welcome site. I
use a few choice words. And
that’s no country road over the
fence, but the dreaded Autostrada; no bikes allowed on the
Autostrada. I turn around.
and mad. I hurl my body &
bike up the third time and
grab on to the fence.
This is not going to be easy.
I need to get my body & bike
over this fence and this fence
is on an incline. The fence is
as tall as me with fence points
at the top. The thought of
here is no going landing on those points after
back at this
900+ miles of riding was not a
point. Total
pleasant thought. I picked up
darkness behind my bike and managed to
me. I would
throw it over the fence. Next
never find my
my backpack.
way back to the
I then had a moment of
dirt road I took terror. Everything I own is on
to get here. I
the other side of the fence,
attempt to
including money, credit cards
move me and
and passport. I have to get
bike up the incline to the
over this fence. I try to put my
fence. I slide back down in the foot in the fence. The openings
dirt. I attempt again. Again I
are too small for bike shoes. I
slide back down. More choice take off my shoes and throw
words and I’m really over this those over the fence too.
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I then had a moment of terror. Everything I own is on the other
side of the fence, including money, credit cards and passport.
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My shoeless feet are too big
for the fence openings too. I
try to pry the fence openings
wider to fit my feet. They’re
not budging. I try
them all. I find the
weak link. I manage
to stretch one
opening to fit my
foot in. It’s painful
to put my tired
900+ mile foot into
that small wire
opening. Less
painful than the
thought of being
stranded there
overnight. The
grand feat of my
1001 Miglia; I am
able to hurl my
body over that fence. I’m quite
pleased with this feat. I doubt
I could do that better at a kid.
And I do believe that’s probably the last time I tried hoping a fence.
I now have the final trek to
get the bike and me over the
guard rail and onto the
Autostrada. I can’t find my
bike shoes. I’m down on my
hands and knees feeling
through the roadside grass,
dirt and rubble for my bike
shoes. Found.
I’m now on the Autostrada
in bike shoes with bike and
backpack. No bikes allowed on
the Autostrada. I resort to
waving down cars. I am quite
experienced at this. I’m doing
dramatic big waves, both arms
and close to jumping up and
down. Numerous cars pass at
really fast speeds. No one is
stopping and I start having a
dialogue with myself. I do this
often in these times.
My conversation went
something like this: what are
you doing? You have a bike
right there, what are you
waiting for, get on it and
ride. So I did, I got on my
bike and rode and I find that
riding on the Autostrada is
not that bad. The shoulder
seems sufficient and I come
upon a sign 1500 meters to
the next rest stop/service
station. Rest stops on the
Autostrada are quite elaborate. Service stations with
attendants and really good
food and café; but no exit off
the Autostrada. I exit at the
service station. I approach
the service attendant for
help. His English is limited,
but he seems to understand
me. He wants to help me and
I can tell he really feels for
my situation, but I am causing him much stress, much
stress. I do believe this is a
first for him (and me!). And
he’s probably wondering why
this had to happen on his
shift. He does not understand
how or why I got here and I
have little energy to explain.
I try to find my last cue sheet
for the ride to help explain.
a
t this
point,
I
realize
I have
lost
my
final
cue sheet to the finish of the
ride. As I hurled that bike
over the fence, the final cue
sheet attached to my handlebars fell off. I told him I was
going to Nerviano
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(near Milan) and I could show
him my previous cue sheet
which ended in Castellania.
He pulled out his detailed
road maps. Where I came
from, Castellania was on one
page, where we were was on a
second page and Nerviano, the
ride finish, was on a third
page. I was more confused and
could not connect the dots. I
tried to find out how far the
next exit off the Autostrada
was. He was trying to find a
solution for
me to get off
the Autostrada, but at
this hour, no
one was
available to
take me off.
He wanted to
find me a ride
to Milan and
I tried to
explain that I
needed to
ride my bike
to the ride
finish. I just
needed help to get off the
Autostrada.
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his was not going
anywhere. He
wanted me to
wait and I didn’t
have time to
wait. The clock to
the ride finish
was ticking away.
I needed to be in
Nerviano by 12:00
noon. I again
started a dialogue with myself,
the same one. You have a bike,
get on it, ride on the Autostrada and get off at
the next exit.
As I started to do
this, I hear the
service attendant
make some derogatory statement
about Americani
and their impatient
ways, but I had no
time to wait and I
definitely couldn’t
wait until morning
until the Autostrada escort service
showed up. I headed off to ride on
the Autostrada. No more than
a kilometer down the road, I
I hear the service attendant
make some derogatory
statement about Americani
and their impatient ways,
but I had no time to wait.
heard the sirens and saw the
flashing lights. This has to be
the curse from the
Italiano Morto.
As I finished the
condensed version
of this story, Comandante Gentile
understood my
predicament better
and things seemed
a bit more relaxed
after that. I believe
I saw a bit of a
smirk on his face.
We all waited on
the Autostrada. An Autostrada worker was going to pick
me up and with the help of
the Carabinieri, escort me off
the Autostrada. Was this all
necessary? I had a couple of
quicker solutions. I could put
my bike in that back of that
piccolino Carabinieri vehicle
in five minutes and we could
be on our way. I could also
ride my bike off the next exit
with the escort of the Carabinieri. I refrained from
suggesting any of these
alternatives. I don’t think
they would have been appreciated and it was
probably best that I remain
quiet. The Autostrada has
protocol and I needed to
wait. We all waited.
It felt like a really long
time. Finally the Autostrada
van arrived. The Autostrada
employee put my bike in the
back of the van and I sat in
the cab. I was finally escorted
off the Autostrada with the
Carabinieri escort, flashing
lights and all.
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a
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t the
exit
parking lot,
I had
another
moment of dread. My backpack.
I had left my backpack on the
Autostrada. I was thankful to
not have to communicate this
to the Carabinieri. The Autostrada employee delivered
that news and the Carabinieri
set off to get my pack.
Again, I had to wait. By this
time, daylight was starting to
approach. The Autostrada
NORTH. That’s
his advice: Go
NORTH. Where
in the hell is
NORTH?! I’m
thinking to
myself, there’s
no north pole
flag here!
employee gave me my map to
the finish: a piece of paper
with the names of the following cities: TORTONA, VOGHERA, CASEI GEROLA, PAVIA,
MILANO. This was my map to
the finish. I wasn’t feeling too
confident.
As I departed the parking lot
exit, the Carabinieri warned
me at least five times: Autostrada- green/white signs, no
ride, blue/white signs, okay.
Everywhere around me had
green and white signs and the
blue and white signs seemed
to lead to the green and white
signs. I headed off in one
direction. I flagged down a
van for directions. I was
headed in the wrong direction. I followed his directions,
but they seemed to lead to
green & white signs. The
Carabinieri warning was still
very prominent in my memory; no green and white.
I was going in circles and
totally confused. No cue
sheet, the
name of 5
cities and the
clock ticking
away. This was
starting to feel
hopeless.
I took out my
cell phone and
called my
daughter. No
answer. I called
again. No
answer. I
texted “I need
help.” I called
my son, he picked up on the
first ring. Hi Mom in a cheerful, pleasant voice. Mick, I
need help, long story, I’ll tell
you when I get home and I
started giving him directions
to help me. Pull up a map of
Italy and pull up the 1001
Miglia website. I lost my cue
sheet for the last section of
the ride.
He pulled up a map of Italy
and then checked my location to Nerviano. Mom, you
need to go north. NORTH.
That’s his advice: Go NORTH.
Where in the hell is NORTH?!
I’m thinking to myself,
there’s no north pole flag
here. Mom, you need to calm
down. Good advice;
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Mick started to navigate me.
He’s back in California and
helping me navigate in Italy. I’m
thinking technology is great.
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he is the calm, level headed
person in the family.
Again, I started giving
directions. Mick, pull up the
last route sheet on the 1001
Miglia website. He found the
website, but had no idea what
he was looking at. I’m trying
to navigate him on the site
from memory. Look under the
ride, find the last route of the
ride. The individual cue sheets
between controls are called
tappas on the website. I need
the last tappa.
He found the last cue sheet.
The information was in Italian
and he had no idea what he
was looking for. I gave him
my present location and
mentioned I needed to get
back on course. I had started
this section at Castellania and
then got off course.
At this point, he determined
I was about 90k from the
finish. Daylight had arrived.
This was still doable.
f
irst I needed to
get back on
track and I had
no idea how to
get there. Mick
started to navigate me. He’s
back in California and helping
me navigate in
Italy. I’m thinking technology is great. He
leads to me a road. Mick, it’s
a dirt road. I’m panicked
again. Mom, the map doesn’t
say whether the road is tar or
dirt. You need to ride about
5km on that road.
I hang up and tell him I’ll
call back. I need both hands
on the handle bars to ride on
this stuff. I’m having a déjà vu
feeling from last night and
not feeling too confident.
The dirt road does lead to a
paved road. I call back for the
next directions. He leads me
down the road. I call back
about 5 times for each next
section and when I find I have
trouble connecting at times, I
leave the phone connected
and store in my shorts while I
ride to the next point.
I find I’m on track with his
directions and then I’m ecstatic when I finally find road
markings of the Miglia.
Mick then
asked
about my
phone
battery.
And not
long after
the question, I
started to
hear the
low battery
warnings.
He suggested providing me with
the city names from the cue
sheet/tappas on the website.
Did I have something to write
them down with? I remembered bringing a small pad &
pen with hopes of writing
down some of the details of
my visits and places of interest. Did I have it with me? I
did, YES.
I knelt on the side of the
road with pad and pen and
began writing down the city
names. Did all the cities have
to have seven or eight syllables? He had to spell each
one out for me. He had
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I was so amazed at how many do not know the names
of the surrounding towns in the local vicinity. Many would
recognize one name on my list, but wouldn’t know the rest.
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thirteen to pass along to me. I
managed to scribble the
names on 2 small pieces of
paper in order of
passage back to
the ride start of
Nerviano. This was
my cue sheet to
the finish.
He wished me
good luck. I hung
up feeling really
proud of him. He
remained calm,
helpful and thoughtful
throughout this mini ordeal
and helped me navigate back
on course, all from our home
in California.
By this time, I had approximately 80 kilometers to go
and it was still doable within
the time limits. I’m still feeling
hopeful. I tuck my list of cities
in the leg of my shorts and
begin to follow the Miglia
road markings with help from
the city listings from time to
time. I’m doing pretty well.
After quite some time, I hit
a rotary
and I’m
unable to
determine
which exit
to take. I
round the
rotary a
few times,
still confused. I
wait. A couple of cyclists
show up. I flag them to stop
and show them my list of
cities. They point to one and
indicate it’s quite a ways back
in the other direction. The
rest of the cities are unfamiliar to them. Another one is
familiar and it too is back
quite a ways in the other
direction.
At this point, I’m really
disappointed. How did I get so
far off course again. I
wouldn’t be able to make up
the time. I’m too tired, too
hot and really thirsty. I start
heading back. I reach the first
town and again take out my
list of cities for help. I was so
amazed at how many do not
know the names of the surrounding towns in the local
vicinity. Many would recognize one name on my list, but
wouldn’t know the rest.
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he first person I
asked for directions took me
through town,
with many a
destras (rights)
and a sinistras
(lefts). My eyes
started to glaze
over after the
first four or five
lefts and rights. I headed off
and then turned around and
headed back. I asked for
directions to the train station.
I found the train station, but it
was boarded up with a schedule that I couldn’t read. That
option was out. No option but
to ride to the finish.
I asked another man for
directions. His directions were
very clear: Follow this road
straight, take a right at some
location that was very obvious at the time. I found the
road. These were the flat
lands. I was surrounded my
tall grasses and most services
were closed. This was Sunday.
It was hot. I was tired and
very thirsty. I kept navigating
through the tall grasses. Quite
a few cyclists were out in this
region. More Miglia road
markings. Yes, I was on course
again! I finally came to a town
with some festivities going on.
I stopped at a very large,
mostly deserted café for
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food & drink. Five or six other
cyclists were there too (not
cyclists from the Miglia). I
waited and waited. I was not
being served and only one
woman appeared to be working (both
waiting the
tables and
cooking). I
left.
I crossed a
very odd
looking
bridge. Big
metal parts
with dangerous steep
angles and
wood
boards that
were loose.
I would find
out later this was a floating
bridge. Under normal situations, I probably would have
walked this bridge. I was too
tired to be worried about it
and rode across, however,
very cautiously.
The area surrounding this
was quite beautiful. White
stoned shoreline with a river
flowing through. On the other
side of the bridge, another
outdoor café with a person in
uniform at the entrance. I
asked if I could enter and he
was very friendly and waved
me in. The
help at the
café was
equally very
friendly and
the young
women
spoke English
very well.
I ordered
four drinks,
including
una birra
and un
panino. I
discovered
granita at
this café, the perfect finish to
a meal when the temperature
is high.
I headed back on the road. I
was feeling better about
navigating to the finish. Near
the finish, on the bike paths
near a residential neighborhood, I found a worn, wrinkled final cue sheet for the
He says, “Veronica.” I say, “Si.”
He says “Veronica” again,
as if he has found his long-lost
friend. I’m so glad to be found.
Miglia ride. I was so excited.
At this point, I was within 20K
to the finish, but it is so much
easier to hand a cue sheet to
someone to help with navigation.
Now, I’m down to less than
5K to the ride finish. I see
signs on both sides of the
road for Nerviano, the ride
finish. I head off at one exit.
It’s a dirt road in pretty bad
condition with ruts, scattered
clothing, debris, etc. I decide
this can’t be right and cross
the road to the other exit to
Nerviano. Again, dirt road,
same poor condition. I decide
this can’t be the way to the
ride finish. I ride up and down
the street, looking for another entrance to Nerviano. I’m
confused, tired.
An older Italian gentleman
on a cruiser with shorts,
sandals and very tanned legs
is riding across the street from
me heading in my direction. I
decide to once again ask for
directions to the finish. I start
to ride across the street in his
direction.
h
e says,
“Veronica.” I
say, “Si”.
He says
“Veronica”
again, as
if he has
found his
long-lost
friend. I’m so glad to be
found. He leads me to the
finish and down one of those
dirt roads. I’m riding through
the pot holes and gravel and
through narrow dirt
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I did feel very
sorry for those
who wanted
to hug me or
ride in closed
quarters with
me. I was
sweaty, dirty
and reeked.
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paths. We come to a gravel
downhill and I say “oh….no”,
I’m not going down that on
my bike. Stanca morta (dead
tired). I wouldn’t do that with
all my facilities and definitely
not at mile 1000+. We walked
down that. He then continues
to navigate me to what appeared to be some back
entrance to the ride start. All
the ride organizers were there
packing up. Everyone was
very excited to see me and
gave me such a warm welcome. I had no idea that
people would be worried or
looking for me. I was busy
trying to navigate back to the
ride start. I thought the ride
organizers would still be busy
with logistics. They had tried
to call, but my cell phone was
off (low battery). One organizer suggested it would have
been easier for me to get a
ride back to the finish. I
thought “easier to get a ride
back.” How could he suggest
that?
What
should
have been
a final
finish of
about 75
miles
turned
into 101
miles.
How
ironic to
finish the
1001
Miglia
with 101
miles. I
received my medal and my
official certificate signed by
the President. They stopped to
take several pictures of the
final finisher, more teasing
than serious. Everyone was
more than kind. I was offered
a ride back to my hotel which
at this point I greatly appreciated. I did feel very sorry for
those who wanted to hug me
or ride in closed quarters with
me. I was in desperate need of
a shower and soak in the tub.
I was sweaty, dirty and
reeked. Back at the hotel, I
showered, bathed and passed
out in bed.
a
t the
airport,
a
woman
came
up to
me
taking a survey about tourism
in Italy. She asked the question, how was I treated by the
people of Italy on a scale from
1-10, 10 being best. I immediately thought of Signore
Cazzo, who wouldn’t serve
me at the Dicomano control,
but then thought of the
countless other folks who
helped me navigate through
Italy. The man who left the
bar to provide a car escort for
me to follow when the directions weren’t clear, another
man who escorted me in his
truck late one night to keep
me on course and the countless others I asked for directions along the way. All were
more than helpful and friendly. I rated the people of Italy a
10. And I would rate the 1001
Miglia, a 10+.
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smelling the roses Finnish cyclist Mikko Mäkipää rode
the 2010 Miglia Italia’s 1001 miles at a relaxed pace—taking the time to capture
these beautiful scenes—and still finished in 123 hours, seven hours to spare.
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smelling the roses
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smelling the roses
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smelling the roses
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smelling the roses
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smelling the roses
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(For at least one rider, Shimano’s
electronic shifting works like magic.)
presto chango!
Nathan Rand, lifelong Campaphile,
put the new Dura-Ace Di2 electronic
shift system through its paces. He
found it works so well, he’s converted
to Shimanoism. Here, bike-blogger
Range sums up Rand’s detailed review.
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ne of the most
interesting
developments in recent
cycling technology was
the wide release of
Shimano’s electronic
shifting component group. While this
technology has been around for
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Shimano Dura Ace Di2
on a Pinarello Prince,
about 20 years, it’s only with
Shimano’s Di2 that things really got
interesting. This year, pro teams are
using Shimano Di2.
Since it’s the top of the line
component from Shimano, you’ll
naturally find quite a bunch of fanboys
gushing profusely about it. It’s hard to
decide which review is
objective and which isn’t.
For most of 2009, I was a bit
skeptic about this
component group. Even if it
could be found for the price
of Campagnolo Super
Record 11, was it actually
worth it?
This is where Nathan’s
review comes in. He’s a bike
enthusiast and a Campy fan.
This is what he says to do to
get the gruppo:
“Sell everything you own to make it
happen. I sold framesets, a Super
Record 11sp grouppo, a Chorus 11 mini
grouppo, multiple Campagnolo wheels
and cassettes to make it happen on 2
bikes for me. That’s saying
something for a lifelong Campaphile.”
Although the battery is mostly
placed underneath the bottle cage,
which I find awkward, some bike
manufacturers are placing them
underneath the chainstay on the
non-drive side of the frame. While this
might look good, it can get
problematic. Still, bike companies
reason that most Di2 users won’t be
doing cyclocross races with this, and
they’d be right.
Luckily, Nathan actually did put his
two Di2 component groups through
grueling tests. He used them
presto chango!
™
™
HandleBra
www.handlebra.com
Durable so
the wrap has
lasting value
Shimano Dura Ace
Di2 covered in mud
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in cyclocross races and
they performed
exceptionally well.
In addition, he’s currently
completing a TIME VXR
build where he has taken
the battery inside his
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Nathan’s
handiwork
as he splits
the battery
Can be custom
corded
seatpost. There is no
outside wiring. It’s all done
internally through the
frame and this is quite
awesome. The process
involves shedding a few
grams by splitting open the
battery and pulling the
apart. They are housed in
the seatpost and can be
easily recharged.
“Both of these are solved
by putting the batteries
inside the frame. That’s the
future of Di2 and what I did
to my rideinternalized the
“Yup, this Ellis is
wrapped
in Black HandleBra.”
—Dave Wages, Ellis
Cycles, best of show,
NAHBS 2010
Real leather—
feels fantastic!
Liquid repellent
Properly skived
edges so
wrap lies flat.
presto chango!
batteries. Don’t be
surprised if PRO starts
making a seatpost with
internal Di2 batteries. Look
for more system
integration here.”
“Its like the hand of God
reaches out to grab your
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Wiring internalized
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chain and place it on the
chainrings/cogs. I could
rave here but will spare you
and just say without a
doubt its the best shifting
groupset ever made. I’ve
had every top group out
there and Di2 crushes them
all in pure performance. No,
I don’t miss the natural
clunks or multiple shifts
with Campagnolo. Nor do I
miss the tin-feeling taps of
SRAM. Di2 is quiet and
works every time. I missed
maybe 2 or 3 shifts over
the course of this reviewboth were in muddy races
where I was cross eyed and
couldn’t click a mouse to
save my life.”
One of the points that
needs improvement is the
crank. It’s quite heavy and
not as performing as the
aftermarket weenie stuff
from THM Carbones.
However, I wonder if Di2 will
work properly with different
cranks and chainrings. From
everything that I have read,
it should have no problems.
What I mean, is that
without any loss is
efficiency. I put the
question to Nathan and
here was his reply:
“The clav’s [THM-Carbones
Clavicula carbon fiber
crankset] will be great with
Di2 as they gratly reduce
the weight of the group but
dont compromise stiffness.
The front shifting really
depends on what big
chainring you use and the
size. For example a 7800
46T shifts even better
than the 53 7900 ring due
to its smaller difference
between the
chainrings. There are
Don’t let
cold hands
keep you
inside
anymore!
Curing the common cold
www.barmitts.com
presto chango!
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so many aftermarket 110 or 130 bcd
big rings to try.”
On my weight-weenie bike I found a
Stronglight 50t with a 36 inner to be
not as good as 7900 but no real loss of
performance. It was a good compromise
between, weight, performance and
aesthetics. I don’t have a lot of miles
on the set up at all so it may be too
early to tell. I definitely wouldn’t go
with a Tune front chainring. Jason at
FWB said even the Fiberlyte rings work
well with Di2. To the contrary- there
are reports the carbon-ti rings shift
relatively poorly with Di2.
If you find the price a bit too high,
you’ll be happy to find out that
Shimano is working on an Ultegra Di2
component group. It might come out
this year. Needless to say that I can’t
wait to see SRAM electronic shifting
group and Campy, when they finally
decide to release them.
Alternatively, you can purchase the
Shimano Dura Ace Di2 Electronic
Shifting group, which will upgrade your
Dura Ace 7900 to 7970. These include
shifters, derailleurs, the battery and all
of the necessary wiring. These upgrade
kits can be found for between $2,0003,000USD.
If you are considering Di2, I
encourage you to read through
Nathan’s review. You can find it over at
Weight Weenies.
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888.732.7030
www.wabicycles.com
tears for gears
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Grant Podelco is an American
journalist living and working
in Czech Republic, blogging
about his cycling
adventures in and around
Prague. Here, he
ventures out on the
day after Pálení
Árodíjnic —
The Night of the
Burning of the
Witches
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tears for gears
BICYCLES FOR HUMANITY
INTERNATIONAL
e
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in April – a scheduled two-week holiday
that morphed into a third after Iceland’s
damn Eyjafikaklkahlfdlakullalildik volcano
erupted.)
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The witches were smoldering,
and my thighs were burning.
It’s a ride from which—three days later
– I’m still recovering.
I had agreed to meet my biking
buddies Mark Nessmith and David
Murphy at 9 a.m. on Saturday at the
pedestrian bridge over the Vltava near
Troja chateau. I don’t get a chance to
ride that often with Mark and Dave, so I
was looking forward to the ride. There
was a chance my old pal Stewart Moore
would join us, too.
First, though, I had to fix a rear flat I
suffered somewhere on my previous
ride—all the way back at the end of
March. (I took a three-week trip to the U.S.
Early in the morning, feeling slightly
fuzzy after being roughed up by a beefy
Chilean the night before, I found myself in
my garage, grease-covered, changing the
tube, checking the tire for thorns, and
then trying umpteen times to properly
thread the chain through the rear
sprocket so that it would sit properly.
I hate changing rear flats.
Usually, I don’t really eat breakfast. Just
a cup of coffee or two. But I had a feeling
that this ride might turn epic, so I made
myself some scrambled eggs on toast to
give myself an energy boost.
Turned out I’d need a lot more than
that.
I headed out about 8:15 or so to be able
to make it to Stromovka by 9. I’d sent a
few text message to Stewart to see if he
wanted to meet me in Roztoky and head
over to Stromovka together, but had
received no reply. I called, but his phone
was off.
“Hey, I had a bottle of wine last night,
too, you know,” I thought to myself.
Donate a Bike
Old bicycles are hard to part
with, they have so many good
memories. We hear it all the time
at collections, of the joy,
adventure and experiences every
bike has brought to its owners.
Now, rather than sitting in the
basement, garage or backyard,
bring that old bike to a bike
collection. With little pavement
in Africa, mountain bikes or fat
tire bikes are ideal. Also don’t
forget, old tires and tubes, tools,
really any bike parts, clothing,
helmets, shoes, it’s all needed
and very valuable. When we pack
a container, there is a lot of room
between the frames and this
space is ideas for shipping all of
this great bike gear.
bicycles-for-humanity.org
o
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On my bike on the woodsy path between my
house in Cerný
�
Vůl and Roztoky, I was feeling alive.
The forecast had called for rain (it had poured the
night before), but it was actually warmish and
slightly sunny. It felt great to be back in the saddle.
Along the way, I stopped, as I often do, to save a
snail or two from certain death. After it rains here in
Prague, dozens of giant snails suddenly feel the need
to cross highways and pathways. For some reason, I
have a soft spot for these guys and will stop and pick
them up and place them in the nearby grass.
In Roztoky, I got
an SMS from
Stewart.
“Running late,”
he said. “What
should I do?”
I suggested that
I meet up with
Mark and Dave at
Stromovka and
that we then head
up the east side of
the Vltava on the
cycling path and
meet up with
Stewart
somewhere in his
A vast field of post-Witches’
neck of the
Night trash in Stromovka park.
woods. He
suggested the village of R
� ež.
Cool. We had a fearsome foursome.
Mark (an editor at the TravelGolf Network) was
waiting for me on the bridge. Dave (director of the
Environmental Partnership for Sustainable
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tears for gears
Development) arrived a few minutes
later. I hadn’t seen either one of them in
quite some time – Dave on a winter’s
ride last year, and Mark when we both
went to hear Obama speak at Prague
Castle in April 2009.
w
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We hatched a plan to meet up
with Stewart in R
� ež and then treat Mark
to one of our favorite watering holes—
Marina Vltava in Nelahozeves, above
Kralupy nad Vltavou.
Wow. That path from the Prague Zoo
north along the east side of the Vltava is
so sweet. Smooth. Paved. Wide. Car-free.
Yes, it eventually deteriorates into a track
that resembles an ancient Roman road—
large, jagged rocks buried in the dirt that
will knock your fillings loose. But for a few
kilometers, it’s heaven on Earth.
Along the way, we passed the ashes of
a few still-smoldering bonfires. The
night before, you see, was April 30, and
in the Czech Republic, that means one
thing: Pálení Árodíjnic or The Burning
of the Witches (known as Walpurgis
Night elsewhere in Central and
Northern Europe).
The tradition is to light a gigantic
bonfire, roast sausages on sticks, sing
songs, and then to throw the effigy of a
witch—made from straw and old
www.drwillbar.com
’
CO-RIDER.com
’ ’
’
’
buy a
box of
24!
An idyllic scene somewhere in the
hills above Libčice nad Vltavou.
MID/FRONT-MOUNTED
CHILD’S SEATS
tears for gears
VIDEO
TUTORIALS
My
name is
Alex
Ramon.
The purpose of this
site is to help people
learn how to fix their
own bikes. While I
don’t work in a shop
anymore, I still have
all of my tools, so I
might as well share
what I know.
2OH;<F?!IG@ILN
riders collective
Weeping willows along the
bike path in Stromovka.
’
’ ’
’
’
clothes and rags—onto the pyre to kill off
the last vestiges of winter.
It’s basically an excuse to drink lots and
lots of beer, as evidenced by the vast field
of garbage—made up mostly of plastic
beer cups—I came across in Stromovka
park, the site of one of the largest
Witches’ Nights celebrations in the city.
We met up with Stewart at the
footbridge in R
� ež, teased him mercilessly
about his inability to get his ass out of
bed, and headed north, following the
treacherous trail that clings so
precariously to the ledge above the river
and which runs past Baker’s Falls, the site
of one of our greatest cycling adventures.
We still laugh and shake our heads
about that one.
The path from Kralupy to Nelahozeves,
on the west side of the river, is
2OH;<F?!IG@ILN
tears for gears
marvelous—a spongy, leafy,
up-and-down trail with the
river on one side and
dramatic sandstone cliffs on
the other.
surgically removed a sharp
stone of goodly size that
had wedged itself into his
tire and tube.
I also took time to check
A forlorn kiddie ride in Kralupy,
looking across the Vltava river.
inscrutable barn owl; and
an astounding, gigantic
Eurasian eagle owl.
My pictures didn’t come
out that well, except for the
kestral (see below), since
my camera focused on the
cage wires and not on the
bird itself. Apologies. But
they’re definitely worth
checking out if you’re in
the area.
riders collective
i
’
’ ’
’
’
At Marina Vltava, we
paused for much needed
refreshment (three halfliters each, to be exact),
soup, and genuinely puerile
and sophomoric
conversation. It was great.
Stewart took the time to
patch his own rear flat. He
out the large cages on the
grounds of Marina Vltava.
From what I gather, they
rehabilitate (or at least take
care of) injured birds. There
were four large birds in the
cages when we were
there—two lovely kestrels;
a huge raven; a gorgeously
I always find myself
with tons more energy for
the bike once I’ve had a few
beers. I feel like I’m flying.
At least initially. Until the
point when all the energy
leaves my body like some
form of exercism (pun
intended) and I can barely
pedal.
Stewart and I parted ways
with Mark and Dave in
Kralupy. We had to get
home for family stuff.
(Turns out Mark and Dave
had two more beers
somewhere on their way
home. Doh!)
I dread this part of this
route.
We cycle to Libčice nad
Vltavou and then to get
home have to climb what
Stewart has dubbed the
HUI (Hills of Unending
Incline). I don’t know
exactly how many meters in
elevation these climbs
represent in total. All I can
say is that my thighs ache,
that I can barely breathe,
and that I finally arrive
home transformed from a
once-sturdy cyclist into a
gelatinous heap of
whimpering goo.
I hate those hills with a
passion.
I was scarfing down
energy bars and tubes of
carbo-jam like there was no
tomorrow. I even inhaled
my emergency foil bag of
Pop-Tarts (frosted
strawberry with sprinkles),
wanting desperately to
spark some hidden reserve
of energy.
None was found.
I was hurting. Even
Stewart wolfed down three
Mars bars. He said he’d
been a bit shaky on the
road back.
I limped home, the worse
for wear, more jellyfish than
man.
I thought the matter over,
and concluded I could do it.
So I went down and
bought a barrel
of Pond’s Extract
and a bicycle.
riders collective
The Expert came home
with me to instruct me. We
chose the back yard, for
the sake of privacy, and
went to work.
’
’ ’
’
’
Mine was not a fullgrown bicycle, but only a
colt--a fifty-inch, with the
pedals shortened up to
forty-eight--and skittish,
like any other colt. The
Expert explained the
thing’s points briefly, then
he got on its back and rode
around a little, to show me
how easy it was to do. He
said that the dismounting
was perhaps the hardest
thing to learn, and so we
would leave that to the
last. But he was in error
there. He found, to his
surprise and joy, that all
that he needed to do was
to get me on to the
machine and stand out of
the way; I could get off,
myself. Although I was
wholly inexperienced, I
dismounted in the best
time on record. He was on
that side, shoving up the
machine; we all came
down with a crash, he at
the bottom, I next, and the
machine on top.
We examined the
machine, but it was not in
at the end, a look back
the least injured. This was
hardly believable. Yet the
Expert assured me that it
was true; in fact, the
examination proved it. I
was partly to realize, then,
how admirably these things
are constructed. We applied
some Pond’s Extract, and
resumed. The Expert got on
the OTHER side to shove up
this time, but I dismounted
on that side; so the result
was as before.
The machine was not
hurt. We oiled ourselves
again, and resumed. This
time the Expert took up a
sheltered position behind,
but somehow or other we
landed on him again.
He was full of
admiration; said it was
abnormal. She was all
right, not a scratch on her,
not a timber started
anywhere. I said it was
wonderful, while we were
greasing up, but he said
that when I came to know
these steel spider-webs I
would realize that nothing
but dynamite could cripple
them. Then he limped out
to position, and we
resumed once more. This
time the Expert took up
the position of short-stop,
and got a man to shove up
behind. We got up a
handsome speed, and
presently traversed a
brick, and I went out over
the top of the tiller and
landed, head down, on the
instructor’s back, and saw
the machine fluttering in
the air between me and
the sun. It was well it
came down on us, for that
broke the fall, and it was
not injured.
Five days later I got out
and was carried down to
the hospital, and found the
Expert doing pretty fairly.
In a few more days I was
quite sound. I attribute
this to my prudence in
always dismounting on
something soft. Some
recommend a feather bed,
but I think an Expert is
better. —Mark Twain
Excerpted from the essay
“Taming the Bicycle,” 1917

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