In Search of Bicycling Bliss

Bicycling Bliss is unlike any other single bicycling book. You might find one of the subjects of Bliss covered in some other book or a different subject in still another book, but you won't find all that this author's jammed in anywhere else in one place, and there is plenty here you just won't find anywhere at all.

I met the author, Portia H. Masterson, at the annual Cascade Bicycle Club Seattle International Bicycle Festival a couple years back. You know how you discover something by yourself without having been referred, and it feels more like your own? Silly, I know, but sometimes that's how it feels. Well, that's how it is for me with Portia and her book.

I stepped up to her booth and I discovered she had owned a bicycle shop in Golden, Colorado just after I left Golden. So, I connected with her on her Golden history, and bought her book. It is self-published and costs a whopping $29.95, but it is a goodie. I hadn't seen it anywhere else so I grabbed it. Since then, I've seen other good reviews including in Momentum, and it is now stocked in bookstores in which I hadn't seen it before.

Now understand that Portia is not a randonneur to my knowledge; the term is not in her index. However, just look at the photo below. Clearly she understands a thing or two about long distance cycling and certainly about not being self-conscious. Here's a cooling technique I think some randonneurs believe they've invented. Personally, I would have taken off my helmet, but maybe she's wary of falling rocks or...pirhana?

Here's how I describe Portia's writing: sensible, no-nonsense, caring, gentle, and determined. On the last point, she comes across as one of those folks who just knows that while some of her ideas are not mainstreamed yet--acupressure, meditation, journaling, breathing (I guess breathing is mainstreamed, we all seem to do it, so I'll say conscious breathing)--she's clear and unabashed from personal experience about what she knows. She isn't prone to the latest this or that, so her ideas are grounded in observation, logic, and years of listening to customers.

She also knows a fair amount about body mechanics and body geometry. There are pictures of muscles and anatomy as well as a pithy cartoon here and there as below.

She goes on to say that many cyclists pedal with their saddles too low, essentially doing to our knees what the knee-bending backpacker does.

Portia's also intrepid. When she opened her bicycle shop she didn't know how to wrench at all! Just learned it as she went. That takes some confidence.

But mostly, Bliss is thorough and it's a good book to come back to as you'll continue to draw out nuances. For randonneurs, she's all about comfort on the bicycle and long-term solutions. It's a randonneur's approach for sure.

So if Western medicine has let you down or you want to see how some of the less obvious strategies for wellness pay off if you commit, or even if you don't mind getting distracted by something you come across but weren't looking for, then Bicycling Bliss ought to interest you.

While the text is pretty dry, some of the graphics lighten it up. If the print is too fine in the drawing above it says:

"The unfortunate Timothy McTight is a high-mileage cyclist who has not committed himself to a daily stretching practice or to developing good riding form. Imbalanced and tight muscles limit his health and riding performance."

If you like a cycling book that focuses on the body, then Bliss is a comprehensive and I'd say unique find.

If you also like a book that throws in a two-page chart that outlines all the considerations for different bicycle clothing fibers:

• cotton
• wool
• nylon
• acrylic
• polyester
• polypropylene

according to:

• benefits
• drawbacks
• durability
• care
• best use
• avoid use
• common use,

then Bliss is for you.

If you like a book that respects its readers throughout all 473 pages, and that I guarantee you cannot devour in even several sittings, then what are you reading this for? Go get Blissed!

For more about blissful cycling from Portia herself, go to her Bicycling Bliss website.

Keep it Blissful (of course)

CurioRando

Critters, Conditions, Consumptions & Companions or The Oregon Randonneurs Alsea Falls 400k Ride Report

I'm betting you'd guess this is a picture of me AFTER the Oregon Randonneurs Alsea Falls 400k Brevet. Reasonable assumption given my countenance, but no, this is me right before our 6am start. I seem incapable of taking a photo of myself without blinking. I tried more than once. They all look like this.

My lids seem to want to protect my lenses from the light. Lenses are precious. They help us focus, to truly see. But they also eliminate the other in order to focus on the this. So for this ride report, I am choosing four lenses through which to view the Alsea Falls 400k: Critters, Conditions, Consumptions and Companions.

Critters

Oh, the critters. What a delight! Especially the night critters. I've camped out, backpacked, stayed up late, thrown green apples at bats to watch them invoke their radar, hunted until the sun set, played flashlight tag, and even fished once for most of the night for catfish, but I never penetrated the wild places through the night--awake all night long--before. The Alsea Falls route was really wonderful. While it wasn't the wilderness, it was for the most part forested or rural, and the wilderness creatures were present.

I saw all the usual--but each with its own charm--suspects: jays, herons, squirrels, hawks, deer, bunnies, butterflies, bees, and other unnamed-to-me insects. Knowing the names is important though. Check out this story about naming critters, about taxonomy, from last week's New York Times. One of the cited studies of taxonomy reveals that cultures worldwide almost invariably use two-word descriptions. For example, when the Mayans first encountered the Spaniards they called them village peccaries, for the Mayans were familiar with the pig-like peccaries and the peccaries provided a point of reference.

To further grasp the importance of naming, note that scientists have discovered that patients who have lost use of that part of the brain that names things, and hence know the names of no objects though their brains are otherwise fully capable, are wholly lost. As the article states, if you don't know a carrot from a cat, you don't know which to pet and which to grate.

That is the sad fate of the brain damaged, but what of our collective and voluntary naming atrophy? Carol Kaesuk Yoon writes in her story:

"No wonder so few of us can really see what is out there. Even when scads of insistent wildlife appear with a flourish right in front of us, and there is such life always — hawks migrating over the parking lot, great colorful moths banging up against the window at night — we barely seem to notice. We are so disconnected from the living world that we can live in the midst of a mass extinction, of the rapid invasion everywhere of new and noxious species, entirely unaware that anything is happening. Happily, changing all this turns out to be easy. Just find an organism, any organism, small, large, gaudy, subtle — anywhere, and they are everywhere — and get a sense of it, its shape, color, size, feel, smell, sound. Give a nod to Professor Franclemont (her Taxonomy professor of old) and meditate, luxuriate in its beetle-ness, its daffodility. Then find a name for it."

So as I was saying, I saw all the usual suspects--named and not--but I also saw some I don't see so often. I saw a few Vultures feeding on roadkill deer carcasses. Below is a photo of one--he is in the top middle of the frame--that I found feeding. I tried not to get too close, hence the poor photo, though really he wasn't obviously bothered by my approach. As I was taking this photo, a rider I had met but didn't know, Marcello (see Companions below), cycled by and we exchanged hellos.

I also saw a very large owl fly from a tree up into the top opening (for hay loading?) at the apex of the end of a barn. I'd sure be scared if I were a little field mouse and saw his shadow or heard his wing feathers whistling. I saw what I believe to be a Bullock's Oriole too.

And bats of course. Doing their best to keep the insects in check. But the highlight had to be the Bobcat that crossed in front of my path when it was fully dark. He bounded across the road on the edge of a small rise. Once he had crossed safely and was about to enter back into the foliage he stopped and stared back at me as I turned my bike and my lights lit up his eyes. Then off he went to do his/her Bobcat night thing leaving me to do my night thing.

Well, one of my night things turned out to be running over a critter. I had wondered about making critter contact earlier when I'd seen a deer cross my path a ways ahead. Having hit a deer once with my car, I got to wondering...what if I hit a deer with my bicycle. I've heard it has happened. What would I do?

Well, I found out what I would do. Not much. Tom (see Companions below) and I were riding through some backroads that snaked through farmers' fields when I heard a scrit, scrit scrit and at the same time saw a long, low critter entering the road from the brush alongside the left road edge. It just kept coming--scrit, scrit went its claws on the chipseal--until its trajectory met mine and bump went my front wheel. It happened so fast I'm not even certain whether I rode over it with my rear wheel too. I think not. I think it skedaddled fast!

It wasn't squishy. It was like running over a full fire hose: all muscled and tough. I first called it a weasel though the truth is I never saw its surprised face. Could it have been a pack rat? Also long and furry tailed (I've become all too familiar with them in Eastern Oregon). I certainly know what it wasn't. It wasn't a "regular" rat: no hair on the tail. It wasn't a porcupine: no flat tire! Not a squirrel: too small and are they nocturnal? Not a skunk: I wasn't stinking afterward any more than about 300k would normally induce. Not a mouse: way too small. Not a peccary: no tusks or villages around! Not a turtle: too fast and I didn't fall over from hitting a shell. Not a rabbit: it scurried, not hopped. Not a fox: no scampering, and besides no self-respecting fox would be so un-clever. Not a snake: no slithering. Not a cat: it was low to the ground. One indicator it wasn't a weasel is that it didn't go Pop! I went back to see if I could find it, and it was long gone.

I stayed upright, but it nearly upset my bicycle and me. And as a I said in my previous post, I doubt I hurt it much. From my experience running over my stepson's arm, it doesn't seem to do any damage. I also know from the recipient's point of view. I once had my foot run over by a car tire on a picket line, and despite only wearing tennis shoes I wasn't injured. So there you have it. Unless someone makes a better argument, I'm thinking it was something in the weasel family.

Other ideas?

Conditions

Starting off, I felt pretty darn good. In fact, I had enough in the tank as we approached the summit finish for the first controle that I surged ahead when another nameless-to-me randonneur called out "Eleven minutes!" as he rode past us indicating that the controle closed in eleven minutes.

I reminded him that the organizers relented to pre-ride protests that the controle couldn't be made in time due to the toughest climb being first up. The organizers replied that they'd not hold anyone accountable for missing the time limit on that mountaintop finish first controle. In short, there was no time limit.

He called back to me, between rhythmic deep breaths: "Do it honest!" And so I grabbed his wheel and hung on. I don't know if it was my Presbyterian upbringing and the call to honesty or a more base instinct like the predatory and unconscious but instant swat at a fly that happens by. For whatever reason, despite the voice in the back of my head telling me to pace, pace, pace, it is early, early, early, I stayed with him and we made it together at 8:40. Exactly on time with not a minute to spare as they do say.

The descent was a blast! A little while later I found myself really struggling. I attributed it to the wind and my foolish early push. Everything just seemed hard. At one point, I stopped to take off some clothing and as I pushed my bicycle back onto the road the rear wheel caught tight. Huh?

I noticed that my rim was rubbing the brakes. So that explains the difficulty. But why? Then it flashed on my mind and I thought my brevet was finished. The week before the ride I broke my freewheel on my 34 year old Fuji. My LBS replaced it with another used freewheel. They'd order a new one they said, but I'd forgotten to see whether it had arrived. Now I might be paying the price.

Investigating, I discovered that no, the freewheel was OK. It was just that the wheel was out of true. That accounted for the brake rubbing. It is at this point that the so-called "Curious Randonneur" wasn't so damn curious after all. I didn't seek out the cause of the untruthfulness of my wheel. I loosened the brakes to avoid the rubbing and rode on figuring I'd true up later.

As it got hotter, I felt tireder and listlesser, and the wheels turned slowerer and slowerer. I stopped to check whether the brakes were still rubbing--funny little sound--and at last I discovered the broken spoke. I also now recalled that funny big sound a while back that I attributed to a hard getting-into-gear but even then knew that it wasn't. That must have been when the spoke broke! Again, I hadn't been curious enough to check.

I was feeling less than self-congratulatory when I discovered the offending spoke, but all that soon changed. I reached into my toolkit and pulled out Fiberfix, a Kevlar-corded replacement spoke. The first words on the Fiberfix instruction sheet soothed my ego: "Remain calm and congratulate yourself for carrying Fiberfix in your tool kit."

Right. This isn't a crisis, this is a PBP preparation gold mine! I set up shop in a weedy but shaded gully. As I went to work other randonneurs popped in to check out the condition my condition was in as randonneurs are wont to do. Two, Brian and Dan, stopped to give me a few tips and graciously gave me some space too as there is nothing worse than performing bicycle surgery with more than a few helpful surgeons/chefs. In my haste, I failed to notice that the spoke was frozen to the nipple and I ended up driving the spoke through the rim tape and into my tube. Flat tire now too.

By now though everyone had passed me, or so I assumed. But I was rolling again with a new spoke. The picture below shows the Kevlar replacement in place but with the excess cord still uncut. Remarkable invention, Fiberfix is.

For the rest of the ride, my Fuji's condition was fine, and she got me through. My body was paying a price, however. Mostly little aches around the ankles, but also a deep pain in my left groin. I'd not had it on previous rides, but my physical therapist has certainly uncovered that weakness on her PT table so I wasn't surprised. Advil masked most pain, but I occasionally felt piercing pains there.

By the end of the ride I was tired. My groin hurt a good bit. But my spirits had remained pretty good throughout. I'd even thought up three jokes per my stepson's request (see Companions below) on the way to the first controle. Not great jokes, but you could tell they could be funny if you kind of squinted your eyes and cocked your head a little.

My true bodily condition was revealed after the ride. My outside right ankle, right on the bone that sticks out (Lateral malleolus muscle?) was bright red. Scarlet. So was my left front shin (Tibialis anterior muscle). My left groin was so weak I had to pull my left leg up by my hands, as when I got into a car. My pinky fingers were numb and tingly, and also up along the outside heels of my hands. Finally, I discovered butt welts that hadn't been bothering me. Especially on the right side, the side where I had a shimmed shoe. Perhaps I'm really getting some power from that right side now?

Today, a week later, all is good excepting residual tenderness on my left shin.

Actually, I think that's pretty good considering I had my bicycle fit pretty drastically altered just a week prior to the ride. I had two wedges installed under my cleat on each shoe to adjust my over-pronation. Also, it appears I have a cycling leg length differential (I'd suspected as much since my saddle rotates the post clockwise inside the seat tube). Therefore, my cycle fit physical therapist installed a shim under my right cleat. He also raised the saddle and moved it forward in order to close the cockpit. Finally, he moved my cleats forward to move my feet rearward on the pedals.

All together, quite a bit of adjustment. Just like you're not supposed to do. I will say though that my knees essentially did not hurt as they often do!

Consumptions

I'm a Perpetuem man myself. Mostly. I also take Hammer Nutrition Endurolytes for electrolyte replacement. Hammer Gels too. But I do get these salt cravings and I can devour potato chips like nobody's business. I don't eat chips regularly. "No Meats, No Sweets, No Frits" is my non-randonneuring mantra, but on brevets the chips fairly fly into my mouth.

I also took in some caffiene in the form of Hammer Gel and one cup of coffee at the Brownsville controle. I may have also done two Excedrin tablets for the caffeine.

I drink plenty of water I think. And I bought Tums for the first time, and took three or four of them. Oh yeah, and Advil. Too many, I'm sure, but it is tough to stay to the recommendation if you're going 24 hours without sleeping.

The other thing I tried to take in was the sights. I did stop at Alsea Falls after first riding right on by. I turned around chastising myself: "How could you ride hundreds of kilometers on the Alsea Falls 400k and NOT visit Alsea Falls?" It was hard to discern just how far from the main road the Falls were, but I coasted down and parked the bicycle. Walking down, then up the steep steps actually felt good. There was one couple cavorting on a log that spanned the river and another with two children who used their camera and tripod to take posed photos of themselves as in the one below. The Falls were beautiful and I'd have loved to pause longer, but my inner clock urged me on.

The photo below shows a covered bridge that I'm guessing all Oregon randonnuers know from their Covered Bridges 400k, but it was new to me. Oops, just learned this bridge is not on the Covered Bridges 400k!


Then there is this Victorian home I took in. I wasn't the only one. As I pulled up, two men stood back admiring their work. One was the owner--who wouldn't stand back and admire if you lived in such a fine home?--and he told me it was built in the 1890's.

I also took in much of the subculture of fast food stores and modern day mercantile shops. Folks were friendly and helpful, and the air was clean and honest. I passed by many great photo spots but regrettably didn't stop in my haste. A lesson learned for next time.

Companions

My first companions are Philippe Andre and Michael Wolfe, the mad creators of this route. See Michael's very desriptive pre-ride report here. It was much studied prior to this new route.

As others have noted, the idea that we'd talked ourselves into that all the climbing was over after the first major climb up Bald Mountain was folly. It was 13,000 feet of climbing all told I'm told. For me, that means this was the longest, steepest and darkest ride I've done. Bravo! Thank you Philippe and Michael. I'd also have to say this was the most beautiful route of any brevet to date for me. I'm told that Keith and Alex Kohan, Michael R. and Susan France also helped. Many thanks to all!

It was well organized with good spirit. What more could one ask?

My next companions were my wife, Pramila (aka DartreDame when she posts here) and her son, Janak, my stepson. They were incredible. They volunteered to join me for this ride just to be supportive, and I'm ever grateful. Pramila drove most of the five hour (backups out of Seattle, out of Portland, toward McMinnville, out of McMinnville) trip each way, but best of all was their planned food drop at the first controle atop Bald Mountain. Despite their getting lost and my getting there much faster than I anticipated, I only had to wait for them for about...five seconds. I topped the mountain dismayed to confirm (for they had not passed me) that they weren't there. As I was asking at the staffed controle how to deal with a later food drop, in they came. I delivered to Janak my three goofy jokes, and I was positively elated to be able to share with them my giddiness at not having such a bad time with what was the first and highest (3000 feet or so, I think) climb of the brevet.

Janak came out of the truck with a bottle of water for me in one hand and his stuffed animal (yet another Critter sighting!) in his other. They also gave me my three pounds of Perpetuem that I didn't have to haul up Eagle Mountain. Yahoo! This explains the secret of how I was able to push up toward the summit so easily.

I bid them a hasty farewell as I descended with many verbal good wishes tucked into my jersey pockets. Our good friends Aaliyah and Vesteinn (Vesteinn who completed his first century with Pramila) and their children Raisah and Kian had also made a point to wish me well because they knew how nervous (maybe grumpy is a more apt description?) I'd been. Their support carried me through the night!

Other than my critter companions, I rode alone all day and into the night. I can't remember where it was (somewhere between Monroe and Brownsville) that I once again met up with randonneurs. I recognized one, Marcello, whom I'd met at an earlier controle. When I Helloed them outside a convenience store he asked if I wanted to ride along. Boy did I! I can't convey how badly I wanted company.

His companion was Tom Russell hailing from California and relaxing on a recumbent. (Coming soon to this blog will be an interview with newbie recumbent rider but veteran randonneur, John Vincent, about his recumbent observations.) We struck out together, and it was a new ride for me. This is not to say, however, that I didn't enjoy the solitude. In fact, I did. And I was proud of my wayfinding in the night too. But I was ready for companionship.

As we started in I realized they were going a little faster than I would have liked. I made up on the hills as Tom on his recumbent naturally slowed there, but I've never been very fast on the flats. We rode along though pretty well until at one pont we were uncertain of our whereabouts. Tom volunteered to pedal back a half mile or so to double check while Marcello and I made small talk. He indicated he was wearying despite having just taken a 200mg caffiene tablet. He also had the resourcefulness to whip out his iPhone and verify we were in fact on the right road. Good going!

As we pulled into Brownsville, guess who we encountered? Pramila and Janak! What a surprise! Again with the water and the stuffy, Janak hugs and greets me. I had no idea they were planning to visit another controle. Turns out their Garmin navigated them to a small car ferry that was closed for the night, and they ended up driving around lost for hours!

Nonetheless, it was great to see them. Apparently, other randonneurs arriving before us had seen them too, and I'm getting the picture that randonneurs thought they were the "staff" at the staffed controle at Brownsville. Since randonneurs encountered them first, most ignored Keith and Alex who had in fact volunteered to staff Brownsville. Pramila told me of helping one randonneur remove his jacket because he was so spent he couldn't accomplish that simple task on his own. Turned out they were unbeknownst-to-them controle volunteers!

We rolled out of Brownsville with the end in sight, but Marcello was apparently still tiring. A little while later he told me he wanted to rest for "15 minutes". I turned around and there was no Marcello. Tom and I found his bicycle on the ground and Marcello is flat on his back on the side of the road, already half asleep. We offered to wait for him to finish his nap. We gave him a Tums tablet, but he insisted we go forward.

This was a new deal for me. Though I had read about randonneurs flopping any old where on the PBP and other long rides, I'd never done it nor seen it done. I had this odd feeling of deja vu when Marcello repeated he only needed "15 minutes" and then he'd catch up with us. It was as if Tom and I were buddies in the First World War overlooking our platoon mate who'd been mortally wounded. When our wounded pal said he'd meet us at Yankee Stadium for Opening Day next year we assured him knowing he wouldn't last another hour: "Sure, Marcello, we'll save you your usual seat behind the dugout old buddy."

I just had this sense that Marcello was done for. He couldn't finish, despite our acknowledging that we'd see him later on the route. Marcello had also told me of this other randonneur who had started late Saturday morning and was still behind us on the route. I was dubious, since I had been bringing up what I thought was the rear with my broken spoke delay, and surely such a randonneur would have caught up to me.

In the end, Tom and I pedaled off leaving Marcello on the ground somewhere just before the stop sign at the crossing of a highway.

Tom and I continued and I peppered Tom for some tips and lore. He gave it up. Randonneurs who commute every day to and from work, he said, had an edge. That constant riding, even if not long mileage, adds up and keeps you strong. He also believed that the R-12 program, riding a 200k or longer brevet every month for 12 consecutive months, builds the kind of strength a randonneur doing longer brevets needs. I logged each of these tips in my randonneur training memory bank.

When we reached the Salem controle, it became evident that we might finish in under 24 hours. Amazed though I was, I was also tired. I put it to Tom that if he wanted to push on at a sub-24 hour pace he was free to do so, but that I didn't think I could sustain it. He may have been disappointed, but Tom didn't show it. Instead, he graciously cooled his jets and stayed with me. Thanks, Tom!

Eventually, the dark was peeled away by a determined morning light. Instead of just hearing critters dart off in a rustle of weeds when they heard us pass, we could actually see the morning birds as well as hear their calls. Navigating got easier. Our spirits perked. And we made it in.

My first 400k! And with time to spare. Why was I rushing so much after all? Why didn't I cavort more at Alsea Falls? Next time, I kept thinking. Next time, I will stop to savor even more.

We checked in with Philippe and learned that indeed there was another rider out there: Bill Alsup who provides a crisp ride report here. I really like his report, and his pictures are excellent and remind me again what a great ride it was. Below is Tom on his recumbent as we cross the City line.

And what of Marcello? Of course he made it! Why had I ever doubted? Marcello is a veteran of four years randonneuring. He plans brevets. He finished with Bill Alsup and they had time to spare. Oh me, of little faith!

And this was my biggest lesson: no matter how you feel now, it can change, and better: you can change how you feel yourself. Marcello knew exactly what he needed and it worked. Now that I've seen a flopping randonneur with mine own eyes I just may have to adopt the strategy myself!

There are many lenses, and as a newbie each brevet is an overload of information. I learned a little about what I consume, and I'm learning more about conditioning with each brevet: body, mind and equipment. But most of all, I really delight in the Critters and Companions. Critters and Companions are powerful lenses through which to focus, name and take in this wonderous world.

Keep it flopping,

CurioRando

What doesn't go squish when you run it over with your bicycle?

One answer is my stepson's, Janak's, arm. The other is something I ran over at about 3am on my journey through the Oregon Randonneurs Alsea Falls 400k Brevet. I know this about Janak's arm because about two years ago we were riding in a nearby park and he fell over in front of me with his arm splayed out. I ran over his little child arm with my front tire...then my rear tire.

I was mortified. I assumed I must have broken his little armie (Where do generals keep their armies? Why up their sleevies, of course!). But I hadn't! He was well enough to crash again a few minutes later and fall into the blackberry bushes. That hurt!

So from experience running things over I don't think I hurt this astonished critter, and he didn't go "Pop"! Any guesses?

The answer to this mystery and more about the Alsea Falls 400k night mysteries to be revealed soon. Too pooped now.

Keep it rested,

CurioRando

Jan Heine Interview, Part 3: Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs

How do you like my picture selection? Doesn't it look like Jan is gazing out into the future of randonneuring? At least I hope that is Jan. He pointed me to some photos, but it could be one of his companions gazing thoughtfully. Hmmm.

Well, that's what I've asked Jan to do in this the final part of our three-part interview. Given that he is a student of our history, what are the trends? I am also unabashedly asking for advice for us newbies. I'll be attempting my first 400k tomorrow, the Oregon Randonneurs Alsea 400k, so advice solicitation is one of my forms of stress management.

Also, since the actual interview, Jan and two others embarked on the first official Cyclos Montagnards event. You can read about that inaugural trip here.

Since this is the final of three, I want to thank Jan for taking the time. Also for his responding to where the question needs to go even if I didn't pose it so. You can find more of Jan's writing at Bicycle Quarterly. Typically, I don't send folks to for-profit endeavors, but Bicycle Quarterly is a such a unique treasure trove of really informative articles I feel compelled to do so for any of the rare few who might not know of it yet.

The only "further ado" is this: the first interview with Jan, Part 1: Personal & Social History, can be found here. Part 2: Equipment is found here.

Keep it aware of our elders,

CurioRando

Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling
& Advice for Newbie Randonneurs

CurioRando: So how about the future of bicycle design, the popularity of bicycles, the popularity of randonneuring type bicycles in particular, your sense of that?

Jan Heine: Predicting marketplace behavior is difficult. If people bought products only based on what they need and what fulfills their needs best, I would say that the classic randonneur bike has a huge future. But it’s like so many things, marketing comes into it. Unfortunately, as I see it now, performance bikes are racing bikes which can be ridden only during daytime in good weather without carrying much. The alternative is bikes that don't offer much in terms of performance. We just tested a "performance commuting bike" with upright handlebars and a carbon fork. I can tell you that the carbon fork is not going to improve the performance enough to make up for the flat handlebars. I talked to the manufacturer, and he said the flat bars are easier to sell because most people know mountain bikes. But overall, I think randonneur bicycles in some form or another are bound to grow just because more and more people are exploring beyond their horizons. It’s just encouraging to see, especially the growth of randonneuring. People really want to go beyond what they know and see what is over the next hill and in the next valley, and they need the bikes to go there.


CR: Any particular equipment or design advances you foresee? You’ve written about electric shifting.

JH: I think we’ve had a tremendous revolution that might have almost gone unnoticed. And that’s the new LED lights and generator hubs. It’s amazing that now you can go downhill almost as fast at night as you can during the day. We did our fleche on the Olympic Peninsula and I suddenly thought: “Wow, here we are going 40MPH on a twisty downhill in the middle of the night with just a bunch of generator powered headlights.” I think that is a huge advance.


CR: What I like about randonneuring is uncovering limits and moving past them. What’s your vision of a world in which the bicycle is an integrated form of transportation today? Is that something you think about?

JH: You know, I’ve been thinking about that a little bit because as we all look at our environmental impact. As cyclists we are very very lucky because we can reduce our environmental impact while improving our quality of life. People who don’t ride bikes, who don’t like riding bikes…have a hard time giving up their cars. I recently dropped off a bike in West Seattle. It was a 70-minute bike ride, but a 2-hour bus ride back. And the bike ride took me across the Ballard Locks, along the water several times, I got exercise... The bus ride was boring by comparison. The more people we can get excited about cycling, the more the bicycle will become an integrated mode of transportation.


CR: Cyclos Montagnards got a little bit of—some people I talked to were reacting a little strongly to the notion. My take on it was that if folks want to introduce a new challenge for themselves that doesn’t unfairly change things for the rest of us, for those of us who are too slow to do those things just yet, so what? Why the fuss?

JH: Challenges are how randonneuring started. You know, the challenges are not just for fast people. The Cyclos Montagnards challenges are indeed challenging, because we see it sort of as a continuation of the Charly Miller Society. The Charly Miller Society is a challenge that Bill Bryant, the former Randonneurs USA president, developed. It honors Americans who ride in PBP in the same time or faster than the last American professional racer in PBP (Charly Miller) who rode it in 1901 in 56 hours and 40 minutes. It seems awfully fast, but it is doable for many avid cyclists with training and a little luck. It’s not just for the super fast guys like Scott Dixon who came fist in PBP three or four times. This is something that is doable.

But it’s probably not doable for a beginning randonneur, so I just encourage people to challenge themselves. Just pick some destination. Maybe you can try and ride from Seattle to Windy Ridge and back in 24 hours. Or if you’re a new rider, see if you can get from here to Stevens Pass and back in the daylight before the sun sets—of course, you should bring lights anyway in case you don't make it. Explore your limits! Without a challenge, cycling can get boring. I’ve done many brevets, I know I can finish them. Just getting another medal is not that exciting. So for me, it’s a way of exploring my limits, just like you were saying.


CR: Advice to beginners like myself for randonneuring or a long brevet like PBP or generally just starting out? (Or for me on the eve of my first 400k, about which I am slightly terrified?!)

JH: There are probably a lot people being successful for a lot of reasons—but I see people being successful who really enjoy riding their bike. And yes, it’s not always easy, but in the end, you are just excited to be out there. Successful randonneurs often are people who just have a real interest to explore, who always want to see the next thing. The brevet allows them to get away from their normal routes, to see something new. And that’s why I would pick routes that, even if they are challenging, are scenic, are interesting. So that you come around the mountain and you see something new, so that you say, oh wow, I’ve never been here, it’s really exciting to do that. Because if you are just riding your bike for 20-odd hours, it can get pretty monotonous. During the brevet, pace yourself and try to ride with other people. It’s really fun that way. And don't be intimidated. Most people can complete a brevet. It’s not as hard as it might seem. At first, it’s daunting, but it’s like anything, it’s only daunting because you are not used to it.


CR: Another question occurred to me watching the Tour de France this am. If I'm recalling correctly you've ridden with about 10 - 12 gear combinations total, arguing that more cogs create overlap, etc. I ride with a similar set-up, mainly because my bicycle is over 30 years old and won't accommodate more than 5 cogs. But watching the Tour riders, it reminds me that they might find the "perfect" ratio while I must adjust my pedaling to the ratios available. Isn’t there some value to greater ratio availability?

JH: I find that 2-teeth differences between gears work well for me in the mid-range. I used to ride a straight block (1-tooth differences), but it just led to lots of unnecessary shifting, breaking my rhythm. Then it just becomes a question of what gear range you need. When I started racing, I was amazed at how fast we went uphill and how slow we went downhill. As a racer, you don't really need that many gears... As a randonneur, there are no sprints, and on steep downhills, you are faster tucking than you are pedaling, so you can make do with even fewer gears. However, more cogs do allow some riders to get all the gears they might ever need, and that might be a good thing. For me, 10 gears are sufficient most of the time, and when I encounter really steep hills, I find that no matter how small the gear, it is hard work.


CR: Anything you’d like to add?

JH: It is sometimes hard to appreciate for the experienced riders how challenging these rides can be for a new rider. I remember when living in Texas, I visited a friend in Dallas from Austin, and a ride of 204 miles in a single day. I started at 3:30 in the morning, and when I arrived, I thought it must be the furthest anyone has ever ridden. Well, as a randonneur, 204 miles is 325 km, and you still have 75 to go during a 400 km brevet. And even the 400, it’s a challenge, but it’s quite doable. So I’m really encouraged by people who do seek out these challenges and see what they can do. And I want to encourage them. I think they deserve as much applause as anybody else.


CR: Thanks for your insights, for sharing them so deeply, with charm. I particularly appreciate your attention to the elders, pulling out our elders and elevating them to the status they deserve. We’re all here on the shoulders of other folks and I appreciate your bringing them forward.

JH: You know, that has been the most pleasant part of it all. I was in France in January and we had this lunch with Alex Csuka of the Alex Singer Club. I was sitting at the table with these old guys, one guy who had come first in the PBP in 1956; one guy who had ridden the fastest tandem that year; another guy who had been one of the newspaper carriers and a racer. And we weren’t even talking about bikes that much, but they were such a fun crowd and it is just so nice to be part of that. So often people who have achieved a mastery of something, they’re just really interesting, nice people to be around.

Acclimatization to the Heat. Adaptation to One Another?

Wikipedia says: "Acclimatization or acclimation is the process of an organism adjusting to change in its environment, allowing it to survive changes in temperature, water and food availability, other stresses and often relates to seasonal weather changes."

For Seattlites, last week's 90+ degree days (even over 100!), were hot, hot, hot! It was all anyone talked about.

I know. For those of you from states where it actually gets and stays hot, I can hear the "Sheezes!" already. Just so you know, I wasn't one of the complainers. That's not to pat myself on the back. In fact, my personal theory that my upbringing in Western Pennsylvanian summers prepared me for the heat is now borne out according to the theorists of such things. The news story below bears this out.

Truth is, I welcomed the heat so I could acclimatize for the upcoming Oregon Randonneurs Alsea 400k. On Thursday, my stepson, Janak, and I hopped on the Light Rail, me with my bicycle. I dropped him off at Fall Ball Little League practice (Fall Ball in July? Right.). I then proceeded to ride hard in the 95+ degree heat.

I came across the ghost bike pictured above on the long climb up the Renton Avenue Extension from Renton to the top at Skyway. I was inside my head on the climb, focusing on my pedal stroke and trying to keep my hands and feet light. The white bike entered my peripheral vision and I rode past it, stopped, then turned back for the photo above.

I'd driven past ghost bikes, but I don't recall riding by one, at least not as slowly as I did crawling up the hill. Ghost bikes are memorials to cyclists killed on the road. I didn't see a plaque, though there was the remnant of a bouquet of flowers. For whatever reason, the heat, the slow climb, I was strongly affected. I wanted to know how it happened, and I clearly felt more vulnerable.

You mean a cyclist was killed here? So that could happen to me? I'm on this hill. Who was killed? What were they thinking just before it happened? Did they have family that loved them and depended on them?

After connecting up with Janak and having dinner, we "Light Railed" it back home and after Googlizing I found that an unidentified 56-year old Seattle man was killed when he was struck by a car driven by a 79-year old Renton man at around 6:30am on December 11, 2008. The victim died at the scene.

Here I was trying to acclimatize to the heat, and I was confronted with how we're still acclimatizing to one another's presence: cyclists and drivers, that is. For the full story about this still anonymous cyclist's death, see the Seattle Times here.

So what about the original acclimatization? Well, once again the Seattle Times is the source, this time for a scientific story on how adaptable our bodies are to heat.

And the truth is we are remarkably adaptable. We're built for heat. With simple adjustments we do pretty well, and we can tolerate a fairly wide range of temperatures. Sweating, for example, is one of our chief strategies.

I believe we can acclimatize to one another very well too...if we so choose. The techniques are available. We're pretty darn adaptable when we decide it is in our interest. The trick is in the choice: we must make the choice that bicyclists and automobiles and trucks and pedestrians will each have to adjust a little, and we'll do fine.

And by that I mean education for all, laws that support the equal rights of all, infrastructure for all, and a commitment that all are equally entitled.

And if one investigates the nature of acclimatization further it becomes clear that acclimatization happens within an individual organism's lifetime. It is a temporary effect on an individual. Adaptation is the process a species goes through whereby it changes permanently--across generations as in Darwinian evolution--in response to its environment in order to facilitate long term survival.

In the short term, we need to acclimatize to one another, i.e.: not crash into each other accidentally because we take precautions against the circumstances that lead toward accidents. In the long term, we need to adapt to one another so that over the generations we become more loving to one another and less self-centered in order to facilitate our collective long term survival, i.e.: an injury to one is an injury to all.

Which leads to something I've always wanted to know: Is self-centeredness a species survival tactic we've been honing and polishing because it increases the liklihood of the survival of our species if at least a few ornery and selfish brutes survive? Or, did we start out really really selfish and we're gradually (but unnoticeably to each generation) evolving to becoming increasingly collectively oriented in order for our whole species to survive?

Or further still, if I recall my Darwin correctly, there can be two adaptation strategies in which different populations of a given species exhibit divergent strategies simultaneously. Eventually, one of them--in our case either self-centered strategy vs. collective strategy--wins out.

I can testify as one representative of the species that becoming less self-centered is certainly a struggle. But I am working on it while I root for the collective strategy.

Whew! Guess that ghost bike got me to pondering! Either that, or despite all my talk of acclimatization that darned heat wave has been getting to me!


Keep it sweaty,

CurioRando

Jan Heine Interview, Part 2: Equipment

We randos love our equipment. And why not? It can be simple. It can be elegant. Sometimes it can be just the right curve that catches the eye, catches the heart.

But for randonneuring, it also has to be reliable, safe, comfortable, and all to its purpose. Jan Heine has spent some time unraveling the mysteries of equipment. He's also put forth some theories that mystify some. He certainly is relentless about equipment.

Anyone up for a twenty-first century version of the technical trials?

Here's Jan, editor of the Bicycle Quarterly, on equipment. If you're searching for Jan Heine Interview, Part 1: Personal & Social History, look here. For Part 3: Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs go here.


Keep it simple yet elegant,

CuriRando

Equipment

CurioRando: Your interest in design. Obviously you’ve got a background and some expertise in design and materials and the science of design, as well as the aesthetics of design and utility.

Jan Heine: Well, it’s simpler than that. When I started racing, the classic racing bicycle was very clearly defined. In the late 1980s, I went to a pro shop in Germany. The guy said well, here’s the Columbus SL frame Bianchi, here’s the Campy group on close-out and you’ll be happy with that. I asked about click shifting and he said, you don’t need that. And so I was riding this classic racing bike, which was replaced after an accident by yet another classic Columbus SL frame. This material has been used by generations of racers, and it worked very well for me. I never thought much about the bike – as a racer, you worry about your body more than your bike. It was only in the last decade, when I started testing bikes, that I found some worked better than others for me. My interest in the French bikes started with the design aspect – they just look lovely – but riding them made me realize that they work as well as they look. And I so got interested in figuring out the differences between bikes, between different geometries and different tubesets.


CR: You write about the technical trials and as I read that, it occurs to me that part of what made them successful was there were a lot of bike shops in a relatively small geographic area and a relatively large group of folks doing riding…

JH: Actually it was the other way around. Technical trials came first, and the small bike shops and builders came as a result. In 1920s France (and elsewhere in the world), bicycles were very much mass-produced. There were some very nice bicycles by the standards of the day, but nice usually meant lots of features, not better performance. On some bikes, you could adjust the length of the cranks or the width of the pedals, and all kinds of stuff. But the bikes were pretty heavy and more related to what you might call the English three-speed than a modern high-performance bicycle. Even the Tour de France bicycles were pretty heavy, crude machines, and they still broke with alarming frequency. When you look at how many Tour de Frances were decided because somebody broke their frame or fork, you realized that the bikes weren’t that sturdy and not that advanced. In front of that background, a group of riders banded together and said: "This needs to change." So they organized these technical trials to showcase what could be done. They had rules which gave bonus points for light weight and for features like certain geometries with shorter rear triangles, better brakes, racks. Then the bikes were ridden over very, very punishing courses and this allowed the small builders, of which there were a few emerging, to showcase their talents against the big makers. You know, the small builders couldn’t take out advertising in the popular magazines, they couldn’t sponsor a Tour de France team, but here all they needed was a really good bicycle, a decent rider and they could show what they could do. And that’s how the famous names like Alex Singer, Rene Herse, all of those guys, got their start: in the technical trials.


CR: That’s a better segue than I had in mind to my actual question which is do you have a “secret plan” to re-initiate the technical trials in the US?

JH: We were thinking about it, but it’s a very, very difficult thing to do, because the ideal technical trial would be the one where the best bike wins. However, taking the rider out of the equation is almost impossible. So in the end, a mediocre bike with the best rider would have a very good opportunity to win. In the 1930s, they basically drew up a blueprint for the bike they wanted. They had specifications that tires need to be 35 mm or wider, chainstays can’t be longer than 470 mm, etc. Basically, whoever conformed most closely to the blueprint would win, provided their bike held up to the demanding course and didn't break or develop problems. Back then, nobody argued too much about the blueprint or if they did, they stayed home, and we don’t know what they were thinking. However, I would not be comfortable prescribing the design. I am amazed by the vision of these original organizers of these technical trials. With all we have found out since, the rules of 1934 with the addition of a front rack would still make a great randonneur bike today. You don’t have to add or subtract a lot. Nowadays there are many more differing views accepted than in 1930s France, so it would be very difficult to get people on the same page, and have them accept a similar blueprint.

One thing we are doing today is testing bicycles for Bicycle Quarterly. We are riding them on the same courses with the same riders, and compare them always to the same reference bike. It’s not the same as the technical trials, but at least the bikes are compared on equal terms. And since it’s always the same rider, the only thing people have to do is trust us that we can get the best out of every bike. When you see the bikes we have liked, including carbon bicycles and so on, it’s obvious that we’re not very biased. That may be the best we can do at this point.


CR: Your readers love your reviews. What if you organized an event where a bunch of riders were riding a bunch of bikes and they evaluated…?

JH: That’s a very interesting idea... but of course organizing events takes an enormous amount of time. If someone wants to do it, I would gladly support it.


CR: Planing. I’ve seen some online mocking, people attacking the notion of planing.

JH: For ages people have thought that stiffer frames were better. But when you look at what racers were riding, especially while steel was still reigning supreme – because with steel it was very difficult to be stiff and light so you had a choice... Most racers chose light bikes over stiff bikes even for flat stages. People have talked about "dead" bikes, which were usually the cheap bikes from heavier tubing, but these really were the stiffest of them all.

Our hypothesis is that we perform best on bikes when we get in sync with the bikes. This allows us to put more power into the downstroke because the bike isn’t pushing back. Instead, the bike is flexing. And then as we get to the dead spots of the pedal stroke, the energy is released and helps drive the bike forward. So basically we don’t push against an unyielding wall during the downstroke. It’s sort of like jumping on a sprung gym floor. It’s like bouncing a basketball up and down. If you are hitting the ball correctly, it takes very little energy to keep it bouncing. Tuning of the bike to the rider is difficult, and maybe that’s why in the past the rider was tuned to the bike. When you look at the average European racer who raced on the average European racing bike, the Columbus SL frame on which I raced, they usually pedaled at a 110 RPM, they usually had their handlebars two inches below the saddle. There was little variety in the peloton. It’s not like one guy was pedaling at 60 RPM and the next at 140 RPM. Eddy Merckx was a little more physical, Jacques Anquetil was a little more elegant, but overall there was a very very narrow range. And I suspect that was because that was how you could get the best of the existing bikes.

I find that with some bikes that I test, I need to change my pedaling stroke. It sometimes takes me a 100 or more miles until I really can make some bikes perform. And some bikes that are really so far apart from what I’m used to and what works best for me that I just can’t make them go very well at all. It’s mostly noticeable in acceleration when I sprint. It’s also noticeable during a brevet where you’re riding into a headwind for hours. You always have to pedal, it’s not like you get a free lunch, but on some bikes, it’s easier to maintain the cadence, to make the bike go, and there are other bikes where you have to remind yourself, pedal, pedal, speed up, spin, and those are the ones that I find hard to ride for long distances.


CR: Tread, or Q-Factor, is another thing that seems to be under appreciated.

JH: There are some people who need wider cranks. These riders do well on mountain bike cranks, but lots of performance riders seem to prefer a narrower stance on the bike. Overall the cranks have gotten wider in the past few decades, and some riders aren't happy about this. I definitely prefer narrower tread. It’s interesting that the Italians, Campagnolo, keep their cranks narrower whereas Shimano keeps them wider. I wonder whether there are some differences in style and culture. Perhaps one company has more feedback from traditional racers than the other?


CR: 650B tires: enough traction, if you will, for continuing success? Are they here to stay?

JH: Oh yes. Looking at how many bikes there were with 650B tires in the US five years ago, maybe a couple dozen, old French machines and a few others—Schwinn made a mountain bike way back when—but all of this was very obscure, you couldn’t find 650B tires anywhere. But now there are new tires coming out and bikes being made. They’re certainly here to stay and it’s probably only a matter of time before some big makers realize that the logical way for a racing bike to go is to put on some bigger tires so that you can take it on all kinds of roads. More and more, the best riding is on the least maintained kinds of roads because those are the ones that don’t have any traffic. And for those roads, the wider 650B tires are ideal.

Tandems of the World Unite! Is that Redundant?

My buddy and former coworker, Rob Gorman, promised to write a post about the Northwest Tandem Rally, and so he has. Rob is a wonderful man, and a great trade unionist. I'm proud to call him my brother. He and his wife Karole, yet another wonderful person, ride their tandem, and just last year toured Rob's native Scotland together on their Bike Friday tandem. Rob loves their Bike Friday.

Here is Rob's report on the Evergreen Tandem Club's annual jamboree. You might recall from an earlier post that I met Sheila Hoffman and Spencer Beard at the largest Health Care Rally in the country to date (in Seattle on May 30) with their tandem/billboard for Health Care Reform. They were co-founders with others of the Evergreen Tandem Club.

Here is Rob's report:

Six hundred riders on 300 bikes. That was the approximate number of riders and bikes that rode the Northwest Tandem Rally (NWTR) in Victoria, British Columbia over the 4th of July weekend.

My wife, Karole, and our fellow Evergreen Tandem Club (ETC) members and friends, Randall and Barb Angell, rode on Friday July 3rd from our home at Point Roberts, to the Tsawwassan ferry terminal (about 9 miles) on the mainland of Canada and sailed to Swartz bay about 25 miles north of Victoria. We rode to the University of Victoria (UVIC) where we would be spending the next four nights and five days.

The ride went smoothly until I took a wrong turn and we ended up going the wrong way to the University, and of course it went up hill! But we made it to our rooms at the UVIC after a ride of around 35 miles. Any one can stay at the UVIC for very reasonable rates from May to September; one caution: no air conditioning anywhere to be found. Otherwise it was a great location, with decent food and it’s close to the water.
On Saturday morning we kicked off the rally at 9am with around 300 tandems taking off from the University and heading out on our various routes. This is a sight to behold, all those bikes hitting the streets. We had three levels short (30’s) medium (50’s) and long (60’s) on both days. We decided on the medium rides, and kept our long ride for the optional ride on Monday.

The rides were well organized with good stops and plenty of food so everyone was well fed and the routes around Victoria were good, though Victoria is surprisingly suburban with lots of traffic. But once out in the countryside it was charming, quiet and a little hilly from time to time. The water views are spectacular, and certainly that alone is worth a visit.

The organizers kept the best till last. On Monday they had organized an optional ride; the ride is called the three ferries ride. The first ferry leaving Brentwood Bay could only take 30 tandems so we got up early at 6:30am and made sure we got on that first ferry which we did with only a handful of other tandems.

The ride took us north on Vancouver Island to Crofton where we caught the ferry to Saltspring Island. The riding was rural and exceptional, the hills were challenging especially in the rain on Saltspring. But we muscled through, catching our final ferry from Fulford Harbor to Swartz Bay for a total of 80 riding miles. Not exactly a brevet, but not a bad day for Karole and me.

So why ride a tandem when you can ride all those beautiful miles on your own? Well, we like to arrive together and chat along the way. I, a single rider from way back, love to ride solo but not that often. Why would I when my wife and I can ride together?

If you are interested in tandems and tandeming check out the Evergreen Tandem Club. Every spring the ETC has a Tandeming 101 class for those that do not have a tandem and are interested to see if it is something that they might be interested in.

Tandeming is not for everyone and on some rides couples disagree (though that never ever happens between Karole and I), but there is nothing that feels as good as arriving together at a destination, working together to make it happen. As someone more articulate than I once said “Wherever you are at in your relationship, a tandem will get you there faster”.

See you on the road.
Rob Gorman

Seems there is not a thing these tandemizers don't do together, though I still haven't figured exactly out what this anonymous couple is doing together. A jamboree leapfrog game, tandem style?!

And finally, this I filched from the Evergreen Tandem Club's website FAQ about why to ride a tandem:

If you were to ask club members why they like to ride a tandem, you would receive many different answers. The following list is not all inclusive:

• Riding a tandem is a shared experience, and we enjoy the sense of team work that it affords.
• Riding a tandem allows two partners of unequal strength to ride together.
• Tandems have some aerodynamic advantages. While you have the effort of two people, the frontal profile is only that of a single person. So usually, a team's speed on a tandem is slightly faster than their average speed on individual bikes.
• All of these reasons are in addition to the usual benefits of bicycling -- exercise, fresh air, and just plain fun.

Keep it United,

CurioRando

Jan Heine Interview, Part 1: Personal & Social History

Jan Heine is well known in randonneuring circles. I can absolutely say that it is largely due to his magazine, Bicycle Quarterly, that I am a randonneur, albeit a beginner, today. In addition to the Quarterly, Jan also wrote the text for The Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles. The beautiful photography is by Jean-Pierre Praderes. Jan's latest, The Competition Bicycle, also features the photography of Jean-Pierre Praderes. The Seattle Times recently ran a story about Jan that you can find here.

One of the best things Jan does is hold up our elders, those who built randonneuring and bicycling to what it is today. Shouldn't we also acknowledge those who continue that tradition?

In that vein, let's also take a moment (I will post on this in greater depth in the future) to acknowledge all who build our sport. Current and past officers of RUSA. Your local RBA's. The buddy you first rode alongside who pointed you in a certain direction. Controle volunteers. All deserve our appreciation. Dr. Codfish writes extensively in the RUSA Newsletter about the spirit and need for volunteers. He also posted about his experience staffing a controle. Jan is right there in that pack, in each case chronicling our adventure!

I'm grateful that Jan took the time to answer my questions from the perspective of a newbie randonneur. Old hands dive into the nuances, as well they should, but sometimes the basics need further explanation.

There will be three parts to Jan's interview: Personal & Social History; Equipment; and Future of Randonneuring and Bicycling & Advice for Newbie Randonneurs. Today we will feature Personal & Social History. Posts may not appear one after the other depending on what else pops into my posting brain of a more timely nature in the meantime.

To view Jan Heine Interview, Part 2: Equipment, go here. To view Part 3, Future of Randonnuering and Bicycling & Advide for Newbie Randonneurs, go here.

Keep it planing,

CurioRando

Personal & Social History

CurioRando: First, thanks a lot. I’ll skip a complete preamble but I just want you to know you’ve certainly inspired a lot of folks and got people on bicycles doing things they didn’t think they would do, including me, and I’m grateful for that.

Jan Heine: I like to share what I really enjoy doing.

CR: Your start in randonneuring…I know you had a racing career. I don’t know if that influences your randonneuring. How would you describe yourself to people who don’t know you?

JH: When I started riding seriously, I lived in Texas as an exchange student and racing was the obvious venue. There was no randonneuring in the US back then, at least nothing that was popular. When I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I really enjoyed races that were almost like randonneuring events. There was one called the Columbia Plateau Stage Race: You rode from town to town. In the morning, you put your luggage in a U-Haul van. Then you raced 60, 70 or even 90 miles to another tiny town. After the sprint on the main street, you went to the high school and showered in the gym. The U-Haul van was there and you pitched your tent on the baseball field and spent the rest of the day socializing with the other racers. I just had a wonderful time. To me, winning mattered less than working in a small breakaway and enjoying the teamwork on the bike. So when Randonneuring became popular, it was almost a seamless transition. In racing, I had come to a level where I either had to put in a lot more effort and time to remain competitive as a Category 2 racer, or I had to drop out. And the dropping out became so much easier when randonneuring offered similar challenges and similar camaraderie and similar beautiful rides.

CR: Why start a magazine?

JH:

That’s easy! I used to write for other magazines and one by one, they went under. There was the Bicycle Trader and the On the Wheel and so on. I had all these stories, these interviews, I had gone to Europe and talked to people and really had no outlet for it. I was writing a little for the Rivendell Reader, and I decided to start just a newsletter for a few friends, where we could share our research and stories. I was envisioning just 20-25 copies. When I announced this in the Rivendell Reader, I had 150 subscribers before I had put out the first newsletter. That’s when I realized I better do something a little more serious than a simple xeroxed newsletter, and that’s how Bicycle Quarterly was born.

CR: You talk about transport bikes just a little bit and it was enough to really intrigue me. And I have this vision of—and I’m new, so my objective in a brevet today is just to finish—a pack that is going at a clip in a group or a loose group and they arrive somewhere and want to do something together and then go back at a clip to where they started. I’m not sure if I got your concept right or not…?

JH: That’s exactly it…Back in the early days of cycling, bicycles offered a mode of transportation that just didn’t exist otherwise. A train would only take you to the city center so you never got to see the countryside. The first cars were so unreliable, you didn’t take them touring. You were lucky if you got 20 miles out of them. So you could rent horses, but the range of horses is limited. Suddenly, you had the bicycle, which allowed you to go anywhere you wanted. Any road, any path was open to you. Tourism really started with bicycles. The French touring club was called the Touring Club de France. It had hundreds of thousands of members, who were all cyclists. Once you’ve sort of explored around your neck of the woods a bit, you want to go further. And that’s where the transport stages came in. Riders from St. Etienne loved going down to the Mediterranean coast, so they rode really hard and fast, often through the night, sort of like a randonneur brevet, until they got to their destination, and then they spent the whole day or two days just looking around, visiting the sites, looking at churches, and then they headed back. The bikes became almost like the train, taking you there and back. And those were the transport stages.


CR: And do you know, do people organize brevets in a similar fashion today?

JH: Well, basically the brevet is a transport stage because you’re not going to dilly-dally while the clock is ticking. What actually happened…the brevets sort of started with these challenges where someone said, how far can you go in 24 hours and someone wrote in and said: “I went 420 km”, and someone else: “Well, I went 422”, and so on. Randonneurs weren’t really competitive, there weren’t really winners doing the transport stages. They were more just a group of friends enjoying riding together and riding fast, for sure, but not trying to beat the next guy. These riders were challenging themselves to see how far and fast they could go. And that is how randonneuring started.


CR: You also mention the Popular Front and the impact on the French working class and leisure time. And I’m just getting involved in a movement called the National Vacation Summit that is taking place in Seattle August 10 - 12 that is working toward federal legislation to create a minimum two-week holiday for all workers in the U.S. There’s a lot of interesting connections, and I just wanted to have you expand a little more on the popular front.

JH: It was basically France’s answer to the (Great) Depression. The Depression wasn’t as hard in France as in the U.S. for a variety of reasons, but there were still a lot of people out of work, and the inequalities between rich and poor were seen as excessive. So there was an uprising, general strikes, workers taking over factories and so on. A Socialist government, the Popular Front, which united the center-left parties, was elected in 1936. The result of that was that a 40-hour work week and 2-week vacation became mandated in France, so every worker had the right to have weekends off and paid vacations. But people still didn’t have much money because wages were low. You have to imagine that people didn’t have cars. People may have lived only 30 miles from the ocean, but had never seen the sea. If you’re working every day, there is no time to explore even the closest surroundings. Once they got leisure time, people were really eager to explore—the 1930s in Europe also saw a back-to-nature movement, in Germany and everywhere. And so in France, a lot of people took up bicycle touring. They bought bikes, the kid was put in a trailer, some couples bought tandems... They set out to explore, often camping because they couldn’t afford to stay in hotels. That’s how bicycle touring got a huge boost. There were tens of thousands of French couples who took to the roads during the summers of the 1930s.


CR: You’re talked a lot about the social history of cycling, particularly from the 30s to the 50s as you just described. There’s a time before that has really intrigued me, I don’t know what it is, but I’ve just got this hankering. And that’s the time of the high wheelers. Do you know much about the social history of that period?

JH: A little. High wheelers were very expensive because they were all handmade, no mass production. Riding a high-wheeler was very much an aristocratic pursuit for young, well-to-do men who rode the highwheelers similar to horses. A similar stature. You sat very upright on them, very high, you looked down on the other folk, you could impress the young ladies as you rode around the park. It’s interesting because early on, the horse and the bike were seen in parallel. There was a discussion among the cyclotourists whether it was appropriate for gentlemen to lean over the handlebars. When the safety bikes came out, people realized that if you want to go fast, you need to lean over to put out more power, but the question was: is that proper? I think that is just fascinating. In the end, the aristocracy lost interest in the bicycle when the safety bike came out, because suddenly, as a cyclist, you were no taller than a pedestrian. The bikes became more affordable, and the middle classes could buy them, when they were mass-produced. So the aristocracy looked toward cars and even airplanes as their play things, and the bicycle became a much more utilitarian tool.


CR: What do your readers not know about you that they would be surprised to learn?

JH: That is a tough question! There was once a person in the early days who walked into a bike shop, saw my bike leaning against the counter and said, “You must be Jan Heine. I had no idea you were that young!” This was about ten years ago, so yes, I was a little younger. I was 31, which tells you how old I am now. He had thought that since I was writing about old bicycles from the 1950s and things like that, that I must have had a long grey beard. On the other hand, I’m probably right in the middle of where my readership is. There are a lot of young people who are excited not just about history, but about technology, rediscovering old things, learning new things and integrating the bicycle into their lives.

That is why so many people are fascinated by the French cyclotourists from the 1930s to 1950s, because cycling for them was a way of life. It wasn’t like the racers who were only competing. These riders might have a time trial one weekend, perhaps even involving tandems. The next weekend, they went out for a picnic at some beautiful site. During the holidays, they took the train somewhere, then rode across the Alps. Their bike was basically their life. And to me, it was talking to these people, who are now in their 70s, 80s, even 90s—they are such joyful people even today, and their memories sparkle so much, it’s so lovely to see that. And that’s what I enjoy about cycling, the friendships we make. I don’t have much time to spend with my friends except on bike rides. So most of the time when we’re riding, we actually talk. Some people meet in coffeehouses, we meet on our bikes.