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.

A Sucker for Rural Bucolia

Oregon Randonneurs Alsea 400k, here I come!

Next weekend, August 8, you'll find me in McMinnville, Oregon where I plan to take on my first 400k. I've done one 200k and one 300k this year, but it's not like I've done a whole lot of brevets to prepare, so I'm a little nervous. I've never attempted a 400k.

The Kramer Blog's latest post has an elevation graph for the Alsea 400k that shows 8700 total feet of climbing with much of it in a nearly 3000 ft early climb. If I can get over that first hump, I'll feel confident.

I may have been lured in by the Oregon Randonneurs' Alsea 400k brevet description of "rural bucolia." Makes it sound dreamlike, doesn't it? Rural Bucolia...ahhhh.

DarteDame is planning to accompany me to Oregon as a supporter not a participant, which is kind of her. As you know from her July 26 post, she did her first Century, the Seattle Century! I'm very, very proud of her. She was strong, and her training paid off. A little coda: we learned from Kent Peterson's blog (Kent of Bike Works in Columbia City and more) that some pranksters (or anti-cyclists?) painted confusing signs that directed Seattle Centurions up a steep dead-end hill. Fortunately, there was a small gathering of head-scratching cyclists at the bottom of the hill when we got there, and they directed us to the correct route. Thank you, mystery cyclists. Boo on you, pranksters!

The pranksters had also taken down some of the signs warning motorists ("Hundreds of Bicyclists on the Road") about our ride. I find that less pranky and more irresponsible.

The sign switching though reminded me of a scene from Hogan's Heroes or some such where the goofy Allied troops spin the road sign in French rural bucolia, and it tricks the German tank brigade to go the wrong direction thus saving the day in a key battle. Actually, while visiting Greece in 1999, I read that Greeks did exactly that when they confused NATO convoys heading for Kosovo.

Back to Oregon: I'm excited and nervous which is good because it reminds me how DartreDame was feeling prior to her first Century. We all have our worries. Despite Darte's worries, she pushed on and is now--don't tell anyone I told you this--contemplating what a 200k might be like. Remember, mum's the word!

One of my worries came to an interesting fruition last evening. I was cycling home from work when my freewheel broke. Yep, I pedaled, the freewheel turned, but the wheel wasn't propelled. I could coast down hills, or push along with one leg on the road as I did on the flats, but uphill I was walking my bicycle. So I coasted, pushed with one leg, and walked my bicycle and myself down to Bike Works. Prior to the freewheel breakage, I was riding home "the long way" to take advantage of Seattle's heat wave for some hills-in-the-heat training. Could be hot in rural bucolia.

The good news is this didn't happen during DarteDame's and Vesteinn's first Century ride, and it didn't happen during next week's 400k attempt. It also may explain my chain jumping over the large rear cog and into the spokes breaking the derailleur as it did during my 200k this past March (see my June 6, 2009 post). Right before the freewheel broke, it kept jumping in the same way repeatedly, and it has been doing that now and then. Also, I had a scraping noise I had trouble eliminating by derailleur adjusting. Now, I believe it's because the freewheel was wobbling prior to breaking. Yahoo, I hope! I may have solved a mystery.

And you know what? The freewheel is the only part on the Fuji I hadn't replaced or refurbished. Randonneuring has an uncanny way of seeking vulnerabilities and exploiting them. I like that. Keeps me on my toes!

The pic is of DarteDame and me on the Link Light Rail, taken by Vesteinn. Officials told me that my bike and I counted as five in their passenger counting scheme. Darte was a one. Five minus one equals 4; I'm gonna finish my first 400k. I hope, I hope!

Keep it bucolic,

CurioRando

Guest Blogger DarteDame Steps Up to the Seattle Century

It was June 16, 2009 when I last posted here and declared publicly that I was going to do the Seattle Century—my first. It seemed like a good first ride, benefiting our local, wonderful, Columbia City bike shop called BikeWorks. (Kent Peterson, famed Seattle cycling personality, had assured CurioRando that it was a good one and he even marked the course.)

It’s hard to believe that it was just five and a half short weeks ago. I said then that the problem with words on a page is that they are permanent—you can’t pretend you didn’t say them because they will just stare up at you from the page. So putting down what seemed like a bit of a wild wish at that point—no training, no previous ride longer than 75 miles and that was almost 3 years ago—was risky at best.

I had five weekends to train, which was slim. Unfortunately, I hadn’t calculated for travel. I had done only a few 25 mile rides during the week after work in the week and a half before I had to leave for Colorado. During the following week, I rode a few times to work—a grand total of about 7 miles roundtrip each time—before I had to leave again for Pittsburgh. In Pittsburgh, I developed allergies to the cat which triggered my asthma. We got back from Pittsburgh on a Tuesday night, now only two and a half weeks left before the century. Given that conventional wisdom said you shouldn’t do a long ride the weekend before the actual ride, we realized that coming Saturday was the ONLY time we could do a long ride.

The days after our return from Pittsburgh were ridiculously busy with several very public events for me, early starts and late endings each day with a total of four or five hours of sleep. The night before our ride, I had the honor of being on a panel with Gloria Steinem and a number of other wonderful women and an audience of 900 people. It was a wonderful and also tiring event, and it was well past midnight before I finally got to bed. We scrapped the idea of leaving early and decided we would start our training ride around 11 AM the next morning.

The next day dawned hot. We had been joined by our good friend, Vesteinn, who was also doing his first century ride. (What I didn’t know at the time is that he had been biking to and from work about 30 miles each day for the several weeks before we rode together so he was in far better shape than I was.) By 11 AM when we started riding, it was in the high 80s. Our ride started in Redmond and traced some of the very same hills we would do on the century. I was tired from the moment we started and I could tell. We did 65 miles that day and for the last 20 or so miles, there were several times I thought I wouldn’t make it. It didn’t help that Vesteinn, who I thought might be in a similar state to me, had done perfectly well, riding up the hills with little problem. It was just me in the back, slowing everyone down the whole ride. I felt exhausted, wheezy, dehydrated and completely discouraged. I simply could not have gone a mile further. I was spent, completely spent.

I started thinking seriously about whether or not I could do the Century. I got grumpier and grumpier the more I thought about it. My shoulders and back got tense. Any words of encouragement that CurioRando tried to give me were met with sharp stares and perhaps a “you don’t understand” look. A few days after the fateful ride, I started to think about still going for it and just deciding that it would be okay to not finish. Not finish? I’m not really good at being okay with not doing something I’ve set out to do. Maybe, I was beginning to realize, this ride was going to teach me something whether I finished or not, willingly or not.

The weekend before the ride, we went out for another 55 mile ride around Lake Washington. We took it very slow, laughed and joked for a good part of the first half, had competitions to see who could go up the hills the slowest (Vesteinn won). I had decided not to feel guilty about being the slowest, and to measure myself only relative to me. I had hydrated well the week before and had good sleep the whole week. Even though the ride had more elevation than the week before and in less miles, it seemed far easier. When we arrived back at home, CurioRando asked us if we could do another 50. Vesteinn said yes, without hesitation. I stopped, thought and said I thought I could do 25 if there weren’t any hills. And if I could get to 75 on the century day, I hoped adrenalin would carry me through.

In the remaining week, I tried mostly to calm myself down. I was honestly terrified. Terrified that I wouldn’t finish, that I would embarrass myself, that I would be sick, that I would have to walk up hills. It was the hills that worried me the most. The distance didn’t seem so daunting, just the hills. But here we were, registered with purchased t-shirts and jerseys. I switched from thinking that I needed to be okay if I didn’t finish to visualizing myself finishing (CurioRando’s advice). Everyone offered advice and most of it was good. My physical therapist (a superb athlete and runner) asked me what the worst thing that could happen was and when I said, “Not finishing” she shrugged. “Well, that’s not so bad, is it?” And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t. But dammit, I was still going to finish! My son’s piano teacher, also a fine athlete and previously competitive swimmer, told me to get angry any time I started to get discouraged and to just keep pedaling one rotation at a time no matter how bad the hill was. CurioRando plied me with powdered vitamins and minerals and water. My assistant at work made sure my water glass was always filled and my finance manager at work shared her ultra-runner-daughter’s tricks for how to stay hydrated.

The weather was predicted to be unbearably hot, in the 90s. I sat and stewed before it even got hot.

The day before the Century, I was the grumpiest I had been in a long time. I got annoyed for no reason at work and at home. I had to give a speech in front of a few hundred people and couldn’t put myself into it. CurioRando had gone to pick up our numbers and course booklet at pre-registration. We spent the evening getting ready for the ride, with him trying to make me smile without any success. It wasn’t until after dinner when I sat down to look at the booklet that I realized the hills seemed easier than the rides we had been training with, even though the whole course was obviously still significantly longer than anything I had ever done. There was one hill that seemed to be about 1,000 feet of elevation and that scared me. But other than that, it actually seemed manageable. On top of that, the weather forecast for Saturday was far better than it had been, with highs in the upper 80s.

I smiled, even laughed! CurioRando was thrilled to see teeth. We calculated what time we should leave each stop to finish in about 10 hours—we weren’t going for speed, just trying to finish. This kind of analytical exercise helped me see that we should easily be able to do the ride in time. I went to bed more relaxed and ready to say that I had done whatever I could do, now I just needed to ride.

Saturday morning, we were up at 4:15, out of the house by 5 and at the starting point at Magnuson Park by 5:30. We saddled up at 6 and set out in the cool morning air. The sun was just beginning to ride high enough that it cast golden ripples on the lake as we rode by. The first 20 miles were flat, along the Burke-Gilman Trail and we rode mostly in companionable silence, not pushing too much, just getting our bodies warmed up. The stops were spaced about every 12 miles and we skipped through the first one and stopped at the second just before the climbing started.

Novelty Hill and Cherry Hill—both went by quickly, slowly up and then racing down with the satisfaction of having climbed another hill. We landed at the 50 mile mark at Remlinger Farms around 10 AM or so and I realized half the ride was done! I felt good, the beginnings of confidence that perhaps I could actually do this thing. I doused my head with a bottle of water—the heat was starting to rise up—and boldly declared to CurioRando: “I can do this thing.”

“What?” he said, almost not believing his ears.

“I can do this thing,” I repeated firmly.

He planted a giant kiss on me—“that’s my lovey!” he said exuberantly.

The next stretch might have been my favorite of the whole ride, through the Carnation Marsh. Giant trees filtered out sunlight and dappled the road. Swampy green on either side, rustling wind, wheels whirring, companionable riding in twos. We had been joined by another friend, Steve, a strong cyclist who had just completed the STP the weekend before. On the rolling hills, I had a little fun, boxed the guys in and sprinted up the hill, throwing my arm (only one—I would have fallen if I had tried both like the pro-racers!) up in the air for a victory sign. They goodnaturedly complained and then nicely didn’t tease me as I spent the next five minutes recovering,

The next leg was the big hill I had been dreading. We told Vesteinn to go ahead and CurioRando stayed back with me, even though I kept telling him to go ahead. He insisted he was fine staying back with me. As we twisted and turned, I kept preparing myself for more and harder. When we suddenly got to the rest stop and realized the hill was over, I turned to CurioRando and said, “That’s it?” in disbelief. He laughed. “Not so bad, right?” he asked. I nodded. Now I definitely felt I could make it.

Now we were at around 66 miles and the next stop was a good 18 miles or so at the Mercer Lid, which would put us back in familiar territory we had ridden numerous times. If there was a stage that was the hardest, it was that one. I had determined I could make it, finished the stage that seemed the hardest according to the book, and temperatures were at their highest, probably around 87 degrees or so. The stage went on forever. There were plenty of climbs, big and small. And though not one was as big as the one before, there were more of them, and it was hotter and later. My back, hands and seat were starting to hurt. I was tiring and could feel it. When we finally reached Mercer Lid, I gladly sank into a chair, threw another bottle of water over my head and rested for a few minutes—the first real stop beyond a bathroom break and water refill we had taken the whole ride.

But now on the last stretch and on familiar ground. We curved around Lake Washington, up and down through the Arboretum neighborhood and back around to the University. We realized the ride would only be 94 miles as the course was written. A Century that isn’t a Century? We weren’t going to have it! We determined to ride an extra 6 miles so that we could really do a full century and tried to convince some of the riders waiting with us at the light to do the same. They looked at us like we were crazy. And maybe we were—Century crazy!

We did our extra 6 miles and rolled into the finish line, a full Century completed in right around 9 hours, one hour earlier than we had planned to finish. I felt good, all over good, body, mind and spirit good. I was tired, yes, but not exhausted. I wasn’t sure I could have done more hills, I had lots of bruised spots from my seat not sitting quite right, and my left hand had gone weak enough from gripping the handlebars that I couldn’t muster up the strength to push my gear shift levers in. But all in all, I was remarkably good.

I treated myself to a 15-minute heavenly massage and let Kathy work out the knots in my upper traps. We retired to the beer garden, then got silly on endorphins, a few beers and a lot of sun and then went home.

When I woke up this morning, I felt good all over again. I’ve already started researching what other centuries there are, or even when there is a 200 km brevet that I can do. CurioRando is looking at me with a gleam of pride in his eye, but careful not to push because he sees that I am doing all the pushing myself that is necessary.

So, as I finish up this lengthy post, I’m raising a glass to a few things. First, to bicycling, for the freedom and the glory and the adventure that is possible on bike. Second, to our friend Vesteinn, for his companionship and inspiration. This was a bonding experience for sure and I’m already looking to ride with him again. Third, to CurioRando. If it weren’t for his obsession, his belief in me and his companionship, I wouldn’t have done the ride. Truth is, he had far more confidence in me on this one than I did. And his willingness—no, real desire—to ride with me, even though he could have torn ahead made it just so much more fun. He pushed me to push myself—and I am grateful for that. And finally, I’m raising a glass to me. I did it—my first Century.

Boy, do I feel good.

If I were the Bike Czar! Hear the song!

Note: be sure to listen to the song: If I Were the Bike Czar to the tune of If I Were a Rich Man. You'll find the link in green below.

Here's the cyclist-in-chief (actually taken by Brandon of the AP last July just after Barack Obama secured the Democratic nomination) leading by example.

President Obama is a cyclist it seems, and we know he's been putting his cabinet together so I got to wondering. He just appointed Gil Kerlikowske as the new Drug Czar. I know Gil--former Seattle Police Chief--so I thought if Gil could be our nation's Drug Czar why couldn't I be appointed by President Obama...to be the Bike Czar.

Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were the Cycling Czar?

If you want to hear what it would be like if I were the Bike Czar, listen here! Hint: if you minimize the audio player and go back to this page you can read along as you listen.

Follow the Bouncing Ball:

If I were the Bike Czar
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum
All day long I’d biddy biddy bum
If I were the Cycling Czar.
We wouldn’t have to drive cars
Ya da deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum
If I were the biddy biddy Bike
Yidle-diddle-didle-didle Czar.

I’d build a wide highway for bikes by the millions,
Just for (the) cyclists of the town.
Fine smooth lanes, no chip seal, glass or nails
There would be ten long bikeways just going up
And ten even longer going down
And singletracks for cyclists of the trail.

I’d set up shops with tubes and patches and glue
And pumps for folks to use for free
Cycling without flats, the wheels just whirl.
With each loud “ooh” and “mmm” and “ah” and “yeah”
We’d show how the cycle gives us glee
As if to say “We are a cycling world.”

If I were the Bike Czar,
Randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneur
All day long I’d pedal pedal pum
If I were the Cycling Czar
We wouldn’t have to drive cars
Randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneur
If I were the pedal pedal Bike
Pumping, pumping, pedal pumping Czar.

I see my bike, my Fuji, looking like a Bike Czar’s ride,
With a proper leather seat
Randonneuring dream, she’s my heart’s delight
I see her putting on airs and racing for the town signs
Oy, how the other bikes she’d beat
Riding all the brevets day and night.

The most important folk in town would come to fawn on me!
They would ask me to advise them
Like Velocio the Wise
“If you please, CurioRando…”
“Pardon me, CurioRando…”
Seeking cycles to return us to blue skies.
And it won’t make one bit of difference
If they’ve driven all their lives
When you’re Czar they get out of their cars!

If I were Czar we’d have the things that we need
To wash in the office place each day
We’d surely have some soap in the shower stalls.
And we’d slow down global warming with our pedaling
Getting stronger every way,
That would be the sweetest thing of all!

If I were the Bike Czar,
Randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneur
All day long I’d pedal pedal pump
If I were the Cycling Czar
We wouldn’t have to drive cars
Randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneuring, randonneur

Barack, who is our Prez and is our star
Why subsidize what is only just for cars?
Bicycles would really go so far
If I were the Cycling Czar!

Performed by Janak Jayapal Preston and DartreDame. Engineered and produced by Janak. Lyrics by CurioRando in collaboration with Janak and DartreDame. If you enjoyed their performance, please let them know by commenting. They'd be grateful.





Keep your fantasies alive,
CurioRando

Jan Heine Interview Coming! Read All About It!

Yep. The editor of Bicycle Quarterly, Jan Heine, will be here soon, and we'll get his views on randonneuring for newbie randonneurs, equipment, and the social history of cyclotouring and bicycles among other topics. Fascinating interview.

In the meanwhile, here are a few more bicycle-on-the-Link-Light-Rail pics.

Here's the scene from this morning's commute. See my bicycle hanging in the foreground on the left?

Here's a bunch of empty bicycle lockers at the Sodo Station. Interesting that you can see into them. What's the thinking there?

Bike Route alongside the station. Only goes one block the direction I went: South.

The Sodo Station art features a gateway comprised of a beam, a level (on top), a red "carpenter's" pencil vertically on the left, and a square on the top right!

Written on the pencil is: "Made in U.S.A. Union".

Back in my bricklaying days, we called those pencils "Brickie Pencils". Why give the wood butchers credit?

Just kidding! Just a little craft rivalry humor. Got ya!

In the end the joke was on me. I tried to pick up this hammer wondering whether it was left over from some construction project. Nah! This again, including the benches in the background, is at the Sodo Station in the industrial part of town. There are tools on the benches too. They don't move. They are art. Got me!

If you look carefully in the gateway photo, you'll see an arc "scribed" into the pavers by the pencil, much as you'd do to draw a circle with a compass. It all makes my little mason's heart flutter.

Keep it plumb and square,

CurioRando

Get on Board Cyclists: Link Light Rail Opens!

Waiting for the Train.

Our long awaited Link Light Rail trains opened Saturday to much fanfare and 45,000 trips. We Seattlites were giddy with excitement. All smiles, waves & gawking.


After Datre Dame, our friend Vesteinn and I completed our pre-Century training ride Saturday we hopped on board for our inaugural rides. What fun!

I tried to clip in while my bicycle hung from the hook inside the train car, but other passengers started to shoot worried, confused looks my way.

Seemed to me my bike and I would take up less room!

Vesteinn likes the train!

Me and my bicycle going for a ride...on the train!

"I see that train a comin'"

Sculptures in the Beacon Hill Station 160 feet below street grade. A beautiful station.

If you squint you can see Mt. Rainier. From the high rails just as you head into the Tukwila Station you get a fabulous view of our iconic mountain. Trains reach 56mph on that spot!

Demonstrating the anti-homeless butt-leaners.

Vesteinn and his new best friend.

Dartre Dame is tickled by the train!