In telling members of my family that I was headed to Monterey for a week—without my wife or son—there were, inevitably, questions about just what my justification was. How important could a bike event that wasn’t the Tour de France be? My response helped make fresh an event I’ve been going to for something like 15 years.
I told family and non-cycling friends that the Sea Otter Classic has more different types of racing in one place than any other event I’ve ever attended—nay, any event I’ve ever heard of. Early on, it was a mountain bike event. Then it added a couple of road events. Today, it’s much, much more. It’s easier to define what it doesn’t have than all that it does; other than cyclocross (which would be kinda silly in spring), all that’s missing is BMX (no track) and track (they did try running some events in San Jose a few years back, but that seemed to be a bridge too far). What really helped round out the festival, making it more non-racer friendly was the addition of two gran fondos, one on-road, the other off-road.
The real glue holding the event together seems less the racing than the expo. The Sea Otter was made in the mold of the season opener of the 1990s, the Cactus Cup and the old NORBA Nationals in Big Bear and Mammouth Mountain. Those events drew spectators in a way other races failed to achieve thanks in no small part to the expo areas they hosted. Today, Sea Otter is something of a spring Outdoor Demo. Companies like SRAM use it as an opportunity to launch products so they can achieve attention for products that either weren’t ready or might have gotten lost in the shuffle of Eurobike or Interbike. Sea Otter’s expo is so large that what you could easily get through in an afternoon 14 years ago can now require a methodical approach spanning three days.
Did I mention, it’s fun as hell?
Perhaps nothing has done more to cement in my mind the idea that the Sea Otter is one of the best events in cycling, an event that can draw anyone with even the slightest interest in things two-wheeled than the photo that leads this post. Last year I wrote a feature for peloton magazine about the New England bike industry and one of the most significant figures within it was mountain bike pioneer Chris Chance. I spent two months trying to find Chance. No dice. Then, as I’m talking to John Neugent of Neuvation Cycling fame, Chance walks up and says hi. I had no idea that John had helped Chris get his job at Witcomb Cycles working with Richard Sachs and Peter Weigle.
File this under “you can’t make this up”: Chance lives in mountain bike heaven these days. He’s in Marin County. And I’ve got his business card.
This year my role was a good bit different than in years past. While I still played journalist to some degree, checking out new products, much of my job was in support of our two ad guys, Roger Wotton and recent addition Nick Ramey. Nick has joined us to help land advertising for Charles Pelkey’s Live Update Guy. Rather than paying Charles a flat contributor fee the way most freelancers are treated, we’re treating him like the star that he is: we’ll be paying him a percentage of the ad revenue. Why do I mention this? Well, the companies that have expressed interest in advertising on LUG are interested precisely because it’s Charles. We hope you’ll think kindly of those companies once we are able to sign a contract or two.
The closest thing to a failing the event has is that sometimes the racing seems like a sideshow, or worse, a distraction when compared to the expo. It can be jarring to walk by the many tents set up and see some racer straddling a bike, clearly still out of breath from a recently finished event. But the image above really speaks to my love of the event. It’s a chance to bump into cycling (not just industry) friends. And Rapha, by the way, took the opportunity to use Sea Otter to introduce a few new products. I wore the brand new bib shorts and will soon try their new base layers. They also have a new series of casual shirts (it’s kind of insulting to call them T-shirts) that speak to the company’s love of the history of the sport. You’ll hear more about those very soon.
Then there’s the stuff you never expected to see, like this creation from Paul Sadoff, or the stunning Ibis Maximus. Sadoff rescued some S&S couplers from a damaged bike and then used a bunch of other scraps and orphaned parts to build up this bike for little other than his labor.
Unfortunately, I missed some friends and a few companies that were showing stuff I was really interested in because I had to skedaddle (only time you’ll hear that verb on this blog, I promise) for home and a book signing (no pictures, thank heaven) on Saturday afternoon. I’ll be honest, the LA Times Festival of Books was the only thing that could get me to leave Sea Otter early.
And this year was the first year I rode off-road at Laguna Seca … ever. What the hell is the world coming to? Stay tuned, I’ll tell you more.
The knock against Assos is always their cost. The Swiss manufacturer is famous for nothing so much as their pricing that makes Mercedes seem as affordable as Kia. Sure, they are known for their over-the-top models and pimped-out images of said models in their clothing, but the prices can make you forget the models, at least until you put your injured Visa away.
But here’s the thing: While everyone I have spoken with about Assos has exclaimed, “Dude, that’s a lot of f***in’ money for a pair of shorts,” everyone I know who has actually plunked down said money has rendered the same verdict—”Best shorts I’ve ever worn.”
The F.I. Uno S5 is Assos least-expensive pair of bibs. At $200 that’s a good deal more than almost all of their competitors’ most expensive bibs. This is Aston Martin territory, wherein every vehicle they offer is more expensive than anything Lexus offers. That can be hard to wrap your head around. It doesn’t so much redefine the term “luxury” as render it useless.
And while I’ve driven very few Mercedes and only ridden in a single Aston Martin, I have this suspicion that after a fortnight in a fine example of either, going back to my Subaru would be like drinking Two Buck Chuck after having spent a weekend in the Russian River Valley. You’d wonder what the point was.
That’s a bit like my reaction to the Uno bibs. My recollection is that the most I’ve ever paid for a pair of custom bibs was $120. The material was pretty good and the fit was good, but the pad was just so-so. (The best pad ever included in a pair of custom bibs, by contrast, was not the most expensive pair.) You’d hope that the $200 Unos would be better than that, right?
Well, the Uno bibs are unsurprisingly better. They are also so superior to most of the custom stuff I’ve worn that I wish they did my custom kit. But then I don’t suppose many people would buy it. Here’s the crazy thing: If you told me that Assos made only one pair of bibs and the Unos were they, I’d believe and would never dare wish for something superior; they are that good.
But Assos positions these as their all-purpose training and racing bibs. Which may undersell them, kinda like having a dressy tux and then a casual tux.
When I compare the Uno to other shorts in the $180 to $220 range, the Uno is the hands-down winner. Now, I can’t claim to have worn all of the offerings from Capo and Rapha out there, but against Giordana, Castelli and Hincapie, the Uno is the clear winner. That’s not to say I don’t like the others, but the Uno is just superior.
Take the pad in the Uno. It isn’t curved like that in the Mille, but it still fits very well. It’s also more comfortable than the pad in comparable shorts from Castelli and Hincapie. And the pad in the Giordana Forma Red Carbon? This is the same pad that Vermarc uses, the same pad that graces the powerful hindquarters of Philippe Gilbert. That pad? It’s too narrow for my ass. My sit bones fall beyond the thickest portion of the pad. I have no such trouble with the pad Assos puts in the Uno.
And how a six-panel short can fit so well and offer compression over an evenly distributed area is as surprising to me as a pharmaceutical with no side effects. As much as I love Castelli products, I think their shorts are cut for people with less caboose than me; as a result the fit just isn’t terrific; they are a bit tight up front.
Let’s consider for a moment that I’m discussing each of these products in relatively newish state. My experience with Assos is that these bibs, now eight months old, will still be in rotation in five years. I’ve never had a pair of shorts last as long from any other manufacturer. For that reason alone they are worth comparing against any similarly priced shorts.
But here’s the kicker: Had I never worn Assos’ Mille bibs or the T.607 thermal bibs, and only knew the Unos, you could have lied to me and told me these were the very best shorts out of Switzerland and I wouldn’t have had reason to doubt you. I’d like to try the rest of the comparable bibs out there, if only to test my belief that these are the very best value in shorts you can get for $200. Given what else is on the market in this price range, this is one time when you simply can’t knock Assos as too expensive.
Okay, let’s get something out there between us right away: Los Angeles and winter are as well acquainted Pat McQuaid and common sense. It’s not that one is hostile to the other, they’ve just never been introduced. It gets colder in Los Angeles during the months of December, January and February, but that doesn’t make it winter. Similarly, women race bicycles, but that doesn’t mean they deserve a minimum wage.
Wait … what?
Let’s move on. Winter. I’ve had this stuff for nearly a year. Why? Friends who had tried the Rapha Winter Embrocation told me is was spicy. Around these parts that’s code for “too much heat for the South Bay.” So I waited out our mild spring. And our unambitious summer. Even our tame fall.
I wasn’t presented an opportunity to even try this stuff until December. That was the first time temperatures dropped below 50 degrees. And this stuff proved to be warm. It did just the trick out on the road, keeping the legs both warm and shiny and smelling like a medicine cabinet from 1964. Heavy on the wintergreen with hints of lavender, cypress and juniper berry.
So how hot is this stuff? I’d give it a 6. It’s about the same as a Mad Alchemy medium, which is a good, all-pupose heat for most places that actually experience something like four seasons. The more I type, the more I destroy my own street cred. Step away from the keyboard, sir.
Frankly, all that stuff is just data. Here’s what makes the Winter Embrocation amazing. It’s a self-contained experience. Consider a time capsule in a cream. From the metal canister with the embossed screw top (which reminds me of the old metal film canisters from my youth) to the rich perfume, the embro evokes a bygone time. But that’s only part of the attraction of this concoction. While I respect that not everyone loves Rapha stuff (usually because it’s more expensive than a Fabergé egg), they do a remarkable job of conveying their obsession with cycling.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I saved packaging from something, but the box the embro arrived in is so cool I’ve been unable to throw it out so far. The pink seal on the box let’s you know unequivocally that you are beholding a Rapha product. But the seal bears a short note about Mont Ventoux, just as two of the four sides of the box are splashed with a photo of Mont Ventoux shot near the Simpson Memorial. On another side they reveal the connection of Mont Ventoux to the embro: The scent is taken from native flora in the area. All of the Rapha skincare products share this association with the flora of Provençe. You should try the soap. It’s like bathing in lavender itself.
Texture and consistency in embrocations doesn’t get discussed enough. I have to say that the consistency and feel of the Winter Embrocation is spot-on. It’s creamy enough to spread easily without having a watery feel. Unlike some embros, this one will travel well.
A 4.2 oz.tin goes for $27. While that’s a bit more expensive than some embrocations, it’s not so expensive as to continue to cultivate Rapha’s reputation as more expensive than everything else, save Assos. You can find out more here.
When I was a kid and I’d go grocery shopping with my mom, she’d drop me off in the cereal aisle. Just leave me there. I’d begin inventorying just which cereals had prizes that week. I’d cull all those with prizes and then begin the process of eliminating the most obviously lousy prizes. Invariably, I’d get the candidates down to three or four and reach near-paralysis. My mother would return to the aisle with a cart stacked our family’s coming week of meals. And she’d force a choice pronto.
Had my mother been involved in this, we’d have announced a winner a week ago.
I plead innocence. There were a dozen stellar names, at minimum. Sure, with some 80 entries we were able to eliminate a couple dozen the moment they arrived. But even among those we knew weren’t quite right, we were fascinated by the diversity of ideas. Those that spoke to the larger implication of the blog’s name were surprisingly gratifying—for instance the “Call to (Red Kite) Prayer” or “Red Kite Pull and Be Forgiven.” I mean, it didn’t seem like we could call the event that, but I loved the ideas.
The ones we struggled most to eliminate were the names that played on the racing traditions that inspire us. Entries that included words and phrases like “flamme rouge,” “ronde” and “flyer” were all instant finalists. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for “rouleur.” I keep expecting to see a trademark sign next to it when used by the folks at Rapha. They’ve done a remarkable job of making that term part of their brand. Nice job on that.
As it happens, one of the very first ideas I fired off to Robot was the Red Kite Rendezvous. I could easily have gone with that, but my gut told me that a tweak was out there, something better, something richer and that we ought to use the opportunity to give you readers a voice and some ownership in this.
What we arrived at nods to the RKP brand, is universal enough that it isn’t limited to just the geography of New England, conjures European racing and conveys the fun of a get-together, all in just three words.
Thanks to “A Stray Velo” for giving us: The Red Kite Rondezvous. For his efforts he gets a “Suffer” T-shirt, an RKP cycling cap and a discount on the Rondezvous, should he choose to attend. (I’m guessing on the whole “he” thing. I’ve no idea.)
We’ll be using this name for years to come.
As to the event this name will grace? We’ve nailed down most of the details and will be making an announcement shortly. Expect to see something the first week of the new year.
Saturday morning on Rapha’s Gentleman’s ride in Santa Monica rider Robert Hyndman died. Robert was descending Las Flores Canyon Road when he crashed. There’s been a fair amount of hand-wringing and Monday-morning quarterbacking about this tragedy and as a result, I’ve decided to weigh in, if for no other reason than my years of experience with those canyon roads.
Let me begin by saying that I consider Slate, Jeremy, Derrick and Gerben at Rapha all friends. Double for Alison and Steven at Bike Effect, the studio at which the ride originated. What I’m about to write is as much for them as it is for anyone who has never ridden the canyon roads of the Santa Monicas.
Of the many mountain ranges around the world graced with roads suitable to cycling, the Santa Monicas are unusual in that no other range of mountains has more magazine editors within 50 miles and had less written about them. I penned the only survey of those mountains I know to have been published by a bike magazine. A few years ago I wrote “Malibu: Heaven has mountains” for Road Bike Action. And yes, I declared that the Santa Monicas were my idea of heaven. I also declared that riding the canyon roads above Malibu is far more challenging than riding in the Alps or even the Pyrenees. I believe if you can descend those canyons, you can ride anywhere, even the roads of the Chartreuse and Vercors, which are themselves more difficult than the actual Alps.
Every year the event promoter Planet Ultra puts on a ride called the Mulholland Challenge. At roughly 110 miles and 12,000 feet of climbing it is one of the hardest rides I’ve ever completed. Say what you want about La Marmotte or The Tour of the California Alps (Death Ride), hitting a kilometer-long pitch of 17 percent at the base of a 7km climb once you’ve got 75 miles in your legs can humble almost anyone. Each year more than 700 riders enter the Mulholland Challenge. The event (it sits somewhere between a gran fondo and a century) has had its share of crashes, particularly on the descent of Deer Creek Road, but no one has ever died.
My sense of empathy suggests that Steven, Alison, Slate and co. may feel some guilt over Robert’s death. It’s hard to have a heart and not feel some burden of responsibility. However, the Gentleman’s Ride was not a bad route. It was not a dangerous route, though it contained some risk.
If we conclude that the day’s route was dangerous, the logical outcome of that is all future Rapha rides in Los Angeles will head north on Pacific Coast Highway and then turn around at some pre-arranged spot for the trip south. Believe me, it can be good riding, but it’s not the same as being in the canyons.
To be a cyclist is to live the balance between risk and danger. I define danger as something likely to end in a bad outcome. Mount Washington averages 12 percent; as a result, no one is allowed to descend it. Were you to try, the odds are that you’d crash from too much speed or blow a tire off the rim from too much braking; there’s no real room for a middle ground on that road. Risk, on the other hand, is what we face every time we go out for a ride. There’s always a chance that we could be hit by a car, wash out in a corner or encounter some other bad event. The difference is that with reasonable care we can avoid a rotten outcome most of the time.
Think of every road you’ve heard a cyclist has died on. It would be ridiculous to conclude that in each instance in which a rider encountered a mishap—nothing involving a car—that the road was too dangerous to ride on. It’s true that Las Flores is a challenging descent. It’s also true that Robert had considerable skill; the point at which he crashed he could not have reached without having previously exercised both skill and judgment. Corollary: Last year’s Gentleman’s Ride descended Tuna Canyon, easily the most difficult descent in the Santa Monicas, the most difficult descent I’ve ever encountered, the only paved descent that has ever scared me. We got down that without an inch of lost skin last year.
In criticizing the course of the Rapha Gentleman’s Ride as too difficult, as dangerous, two injustices are committed. First, we dishonor the memory of a strong and skilled cyclist. Accidents happen. I can’t say exactly what took place that day as I wasn’t there, but I’ve dropped down that road dozens of times and I can attest that there were days when I couldn’t have gone wrong and other days when I just didn’t have it and wished I was taking another route down.
The second injustice is the denigration of a spectacular land formation. If I were to define my idea of heaven with the terrain of one spot on earth, there’s no doubt that I’d choose Malibu. The views from atop its vistas rival anything I’ve seen. Better yet, I can ride there year-round. I’d hate to think that people would avoid the roads above Malibu because of one cyclist’s misfortune.
What I’ve learned of Robert’s family and friends is that they are taking solace knowing that he was engaged in the world, riding with family and friends that day, that he died doing one of his favorite things in the world. Though I never met him, the simple fact that he drove up from Orange County to do a Rapha Gentleman’s Ride means he was on the lookout for new adventures. This guy was certainly one of my peeps.
For each of us there came a point when cycling ceased to be just a way to have fun and became an expression of challenge, a way to embrace new difficulties and to elevate both skill and fitness.
A good friend of mine wrote that while people have lionized Robert for dying while doing what he loved, he thought dying on his bike was “a shit way to die.” I can’t disagree. I’m sure his parents ache for not having a chance to say goodbye. When I go, I don’t want to be on my bike; I want to be surrounded by my family. Ultimately, I think what resonates with people is that in dying while doing what he loved, his death illustrates that he tried to live his life on his terms, that he wasn’t some couch potato. The danger is that romanticizing this accident is no better than letting a fear of that road prevent us from riding it.
I’ve made mistakes before and crashed. I’ll make mistakes again. The last thing in the world I’d want my error to do is cause people to avoid exciting roads. I can’t speak for Robert or his family, but the example of his life suggests that he would endorse getting on with the business of living by putting ourselves out there and we achieve that electric thrill no one will ever get from the TV.
The greatest service we can do our fellow riders is to remember them accurately, to ride with the care that will keep us out there, to remain clear on the difference between danger and risk, and to keep that sense of adventure alive.
One of my favorite studios is Velosmith in Wilmette, Illinois.
I’ve always been a nut for great retail operations. In junior high it was hobby shops. High school and college was music stores and record shops. Next came book stores and bike shops. My love for them is the love of potential. Inside each of those places are models to build, books to read, records to hear, drums to hit, bikes to ride—good times waiting to happen.
I’ve gotten harder to please, though. Most record stores don’t carry much that I want to listen to, unless I’m in the mood to fill my back catalog of Led Zepplin or Deep Purple. Book stores? Seems all the titles I go looking for I can only locate on Amazon. As I don’t play the drums anymore (God, how I hear their siren call) and haven’t the slightest interest in building models, that leaves bike shops. And the bike shops that most excite me are the studio operations. Small in scale, precise in product lines, manned by consummate technicians and providing the ultimate in service. They are the purest example of what I was taught the best in bike retailing should offer. Pick your lines and go narrow and deep.
I’ve visited fewer than a dozen studios, though not for lack of trying. I simply haven’t made it to some of the markets where they exist. However, the studios I’ve visited, as different as they are in expression, they all sing the same song, and if you’ve ever heard Miles Davis’ version of Cindy Lauper’s “Time After Time,” then you know just how diverse interpretations can get.
First and foremost, I like studios because they’ve taken a stand. That is, they’ve drawn the proverbial line in the sand to say, “This is what we’re about.” Their product lines are few, their stock, light. Further, they usually don’t have the capital to deal with one of the big bike companies. They are retail insurgents.
Most studios I’ve visited have three, maybe four different bike lines, max. They have one or two clothing lines—three if they offer a shop kit. Same goes for shoe lines. The fitting area is always integrated into the overall layout of the space, rather than a corner of the shop where a rack of clothing can be rolled out of the way while one of the wrenches sets up a trainer. That’s one of the biggest signifiers of a studio—they celebrate optimal fit.
This weekend Bike Effect in Santa Monica celebrated its one-year anniversary. Derrick Lewis from Rapha came out to show two new films from Rapha, one “The Rapha Continental” which showcases the far-flung exploits of the Rapha Continental team, and the other on Dario Pegoretti, called “D’Acciaio” (of steel).
As part of the celebration surrounding the studio’s one-year anniversary and expansion into a neighboring suite, Bike Effect hosted a Rapha Gentleman’s ride. Unfortunately, on the descent of Las Flores Canyon Road, one of the riders, Robert Hyndman lost control of his bike and crashed. He lost consciousness in the crash and died a short time later at the hospital. His brother, who was on the ride, told Bike Effect co-owner Steve Carre that Robert died doing exactly what he wanted. He was an avid rider and loved riding the steep roads around his home in Orange County
Mentioning the death of a rider in a piece ostensibly about studios and not meant to be an obituary or other tribute to a fallen cyclist might seem a bit odd, but to me it helps to confirm one of the best features of studio operations. They don’t so much have customers or even clients as extended family. To succeed, they are required to help build community, however they define it. News of Robert’s death shifted the mood to a much more somber tone for the Saturday evening reception, but it got people talking about what they valued, how much cycling mattered in their lives and how many of them hoped they could be so lucky as to go doing their favorite activity.
Most people in attendance that night hadn’t been on the ride. I’d missed it because I’m still recovering from that damned flu. I’m well enough to be out, but the cough tells me I need to keep my feet off of pedals. And even though we hadn’t known Robert, if he was on a Rapha Gentleman’s Ride, then we had a certain measure of the man. He was one of us. Our hearts could wrap around his family’s loss and envy his brother for all the rides they’d shared. Somehow, we struck a balance, celebrating both a business and a life we believed in. Somehow, the intimate space allowed us to discuss how the possibility of death is a risk we accept every time we throw a leg over the top tube, but the tone was neither callous nor resigned. It was simple acceptance. As we often say: There but for the grace of God go I.
Because the ingredients that go into a studio are as varied as the books on a shelf, it’s impossible to say what is necessary to make such an operation a success. Is it the service? Certainly in part. Is it the knowledge base? It helps. Is it the coffee? Can’t hurt. I think the real key is what I just mentioned—community. In creating a space that caters to the lifers, we’re more likely to bond with it. Such a small operation is all-in. It’s a position most of us took years ago.
On Saturday night I kissed the wife and kids and rode off on my freshly tuned bicycle to a launch party for the Ride Studio Cafe Club. Ride Studio Cafe is, in essence, exactly what it sounds like, a high end bike/coffee shop. Studios are always high end. Otherwise, they just call themselves ‘shops.’ Regardless of the price points and the stylish marketing, what sets the Ride Studio Cafe apart is the characters behind the scenes and the approach they take to cycling (and coffee).
Rob Vandermark, the founder and president of Watertown, MA. based Seven Cycles, is the prime-mover on the bike side, and Jennifer Park, who operates two very successful local coffee shops,
heads up the cafe side did some informal consulting during set up.
Unlike other bike/coffee shops that simply merge the two elements into one, Ride Studio Cafe has sought to explore the top end of both businesses, decanting super high end bike frames and accessories as well as single source, artisan coffees.
Their website bills the Club (the reason for the party) this way:
The Club is a collaborative of friendly cycling enthusiasts and racers that congregate around all the positives aspects of performance cycling.
The purpose of the Club is to engage riders to be more connected to riding. To ride more often and to enjoy it more; to find riding routes—and routes to cycling—that are more fun and more challenging; to support camaraderie that brings out the best in us—on and off the bike.
It all sounds very genial and community-spirited, but I’m a skeptic. I was born that way.
Ride Studio Cafe is located in Lexington, MA, a wealthy Boston suburb surrounded by other wealthy suburbs. They sell Seven there, and Rapha apparel, and coffees whose origin can be described with reference to location, farm and roast date. One could assume, I think reasonably, that these people are some serious snobs. I walked through the door braced for pretentiousness.
I must confess that hearing Vandermark talk about “coffee cuppings” (tasting events) was my first exposure to the phrase, and I was surprised to hear a bike guy talking about java the way wine people talk about that grape juice they drink. Despite that (I am, after all, something of a Philistine), I found Vandermark able to speak humbly and passionately about what they’re trying to do. Repeatedly he acknowledged the high price of the products and services on offer at the studio, but explained that they really believe what they’re selling is the best of the best, and, in the end entirely worth it. There was no bravado or condescension, just a humble request to give it a try.
The Club presentation was made by Vandermark, cyclocross racer and photographer Dave Chiu and cyclocross/endurance rider Matt Roy. Chiu talked about the RCS race team and about the ability to move from the club rides and race events up into the full pro/am team. Roy talked about club-sponsored brevets and other endurance events, running from 100k to 200k, 300k, 400k, and 600k distances. An upcoming “dusk-to-dawn” ride was mentioned.
It all sounded like good fun, and Chiu and Roy both made an effort to welcome riders of every ability. There was beer. There was wine. I scored a cup of entirely potable coffee. Someone brought cupcakes. Everyone was friendly. There was even a group clustered around the indoor bike rack cooing over the various and sundry machines the attendees had chosen to ride in. It was, if you’ll forgive the phrase, a pretty sweet rack.
I began to think this might be a place I should spend more time. High end, low end, middle, um, end, these are bike people, and they want you to be bike people too. Highly caffeinated, merino wool-clad bike people.
And who among us is against that? For locals, you can read more about the club, and its benefits, here.
Image courtesy Gregory Brown
Correction: This piece originally stated that Jen Park was a part owner of the Ride Studio Cafe, which is not the case. She is simply a friend of RSC’s ownership group. See correction above.
Bike Effect is a new bike studio in Los Angeles (Santa Monica, technically), one of only two in the city and the only one on the west side. Owners Steven and Alison are also the place to find Rapha clothing in Southern California. On Saturday, they hosted Slate Olson and the Rapha Team for the first-ever Rapha Gentlemen’s Ride in L.A.
It was the perfect opportunity to see the full Rapha line in person. Pieces I’d only dreamed about were on display in every color available. With plenty of coffee and pastries (they had the best croissants I’ve had in L.A.), roughly 50 riders fueled up for the coming ride through the Santa Monica Mountains.
The big climbs of the day were Topanga, Fernwood and Saddle Peak, followed by the descent of Stunt and the climb up Piuma and Schueren and back over Saddle Peak before the final drop down Tuna Canyon.
Naturally, there was a bit of curiosity concerning just whether or not a ride on a gorgeous day in SoCal could constitute a Rapha ride. Those concerns were alleviated when it began raining on the descent of Stunt. Based on appearances, there were plenty of people used to wet, but not used to wet and downhill at the same time.
The handmade bicycle is enjoying a resurgence in popularity. The last time high-end hand-built frames were this popular … they were all that was available.
Don Walker’s North American Handmade Bicycle Show is the grand daddy of the growing number of shows. It’s still the biggest and best of them, and this year will be the biggest yet. Just today Don announced that the 2011 show, which will be held from February 25-27 in Austin, Texas, boasts an incredible 160 exhibitors, and there’s still some space left. It probably helped that Don selected a city to hold the event that resonates with cyclists.
With the fall-off in A-list exhibitors at Interbike (a trend that frustrates me but that I sincerely hope the organizers turn around), NAHBS this year will be the show I most anticipate attending.
I’ll be posting daily at the event, but much of the work I’ll be doing while there will be on behalf of peloton magazine. There will a bigger announcement on that coming soon.
As of this post, the following companies and builders will be displaying at NAHBS.
- ALCHEMY BICYCLE CO.
- ALLIANCE BICYCLES, LLC
- ANDERSON CUSTOM BICYCLES
- ANT BICYCLES
- ANVIL BIKEWORKS
- APRES VELO
- ARUNDEL BICYCLE COMPANY
- BAILEY WORKS
- BICYCLE FABRICATIONS
- BICYCLE FOREST
- BICYCLE TIMES MAGAZINE
- BILENKY CYCLE WORKS
- BISHOP BIKES
- BLACK CAT BICYCLES
- BLACK SHEEP FABRICATION, INC
- BOO BICYCLES
- BROAKLAND BIKES
- BROMPTON BICYCLE
- BRONTO MTB CO
- BURRO BAGS
- CALETTI CYCLES
- CALFEE DESIGN
- CANTITOE ROAD
- CHERUBIM BY SHIN-ICHI KONNO
- CHRIS KING PRECISION COMPONENTS
- CO-MOTION CYCLES
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Every now and then you ask a question that serves up its own seemingly obvious answer. Like the time I was in high school and called the local radio station to see what time they’d play the midnight album. The DJ hung up on me.
Stage 1 of the Amgen Tour of California was designed for the sprinters and to the degree that you prefer the obvious or unsurprising, Mark Cavendish of HTC-Columbia served up a win on schedule just like he’s been doing all season.
Oh, wait. Scratch that. He had a lousy spring thanks to an infected tooth and his teammate André Greipel bitched about being the better sprinter and being banished to the Giro when he ought to be the team’s chosen sprintmeister in the main event.
He’d probably have a case if he had scored even one stage win in Italy. As a result, the look of satisfaction and pleasure on Cavendish’s face looked … genuine. Having an adoring audience seems to matter to him.
You wonder if Cavendish won a sprint with no audience present if he’d celebrate as visibly. If a tree falls in the forest….
It’s hard to know how the land of chaos can transmit video while a sophisticated production in California can’t. Let’s just file this under “bygones” and go with the belief that it won’t rain again this week.
On to those catalogs.
Most of the love we heard for catalogs were for the old Bridgestone catalogs produced by Grant Peterson back in the 1990s before the Japanese manufacturer pulled the plug on its American bike operation.
Let’s try that again: For most of you, your favorite catalog hasn’t been printed in roughly 15 years. If I didn’t know better, I’d accuse each of you of being the paper equivalent of a luddite. But that’s not the case. Anyone who ever saw a Bridgestone catalog came to appreciate almost immediately just how insightful and involved the catalog was. It was created by people who cared as much about cycling as a means of personal expression as they did the bicycle as an extension of beauty.
The only present-day catalog that anyone expressed any affection for was Rapha’s. And while I had never considered the possibility that the old Bridgestone catalog had something in common with the Rapha catalog of today, it’s easy to see the parallel. Stylishly evocative imagery evokes less the perception of a premium brand than a particular outlook on cycling itself. Ultimately, you’re sold on your own love of the sport rather than just some cool piece of gear.
I suppose it’s not so much different from prostitution, which is generally sold on your imagination of the events to follow, rather than your attraction for the specific service provider. Between our increasing environmentalism and our desire to be sold on our own love, that may explain why the big mail order outfits don’t attract the same level of excitement they used to enjoy.
Oh, and for those of you who want to win some stickers, you need to step up your efforts; SinglespeedJarv nabbed them for the second week in a row.
Images: John Pierce, Photosport International