Golden Age

This is, my sister informs me, the Golden Age of Military Surplus. You can almost hear the capital letters when she says it. Laurie's got an IQ that makes mine look like a shoe size, and enough research time to fill those of us with day jobs fill with bile and envy. So if she wants to pass the pronouncement to me, I'll give it the proper emphasis.

Her logic runs like this: We've been at war for a decade now, and thousands of soldiers have cycled through training camps and combat bases. They use a lot of gear, but don't always use it up. Moreover, the army has switched from the green blotchy camouflage to what's called digital camo, which makes the leafy patterns our of quarter inch squares. It makes a uniform shirt look like a screen capture off a Jumbo-tron. That means all the old style has to be turned in, worn out or not. (They call them 'uniforms' for a reason.) And lastly, they've swithced from A.L.I.C.E. (All-purpose Lightweight Individual Carrying Equipment) to MOLLE (MOdular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment). While the ALice to Molle switch sounds a lot more interesting than it is, it means thaat the old stuff has gotten even cheaper. And a quick look at Ebay proves the point.

I used to ride a lot more miles than I do. Back before they had drugs to treat obsessive-compulsive disorder, I logged six hours in the saddle most days. And when the Paxil fixed that, and I didn't know what to do with myself, it was what my body expected and needed. So I still ride a lot, and think randonneuring and endurance mountain bike races are a lot cooler than they really are.

My first Camel-Bak lasted four or five years and a couple of restitchings before it got pilfered. THe second one made it two years, and the third I gave away because I couldn't stand its tiny capacity, crinkly nylon, and graphics that looked like a Mountain Dew can. Oh, and each of these cost more than a C-note each. My most recent one came from Palmer Tactical, a local cop shop, and is made for SWAT team use. It's black canvas, has all the little lanyards and lash points, and almost contains all my gear. But after two years, the shoulder straps are ripping out and it doesn't look repairable.

Laurie introduced me to the fave of the survivalist set, the army's tactical load carrying vest. It looks kind of like a photographers vest, only better ventilated. It adjusts for sizing with drawstrings, has pouches for ammo clips and grenades on the front, and ALICE straps on the back. It will accommodate a variety of packs, from overnight to campaign size, plus a hydartion bladder sleeve, and other pouches as you see fit to purchase. You can get them on ebay, used and marked with someone else's name, for 15 bucks. The hydration sleeve, made by Camel-Bak, is five. Even if I went back to my 1992 mileage, I couldn't wear this stuff out in a lifetime.

Now the GI Joe aesthetic is one I've never cared for. When you see a young man with a neat haircut and proud bearing in camo, you're proud to know him. WHen you see someone as dissipated and middle-aged as me, you either expect that I've got a bible with the entire book of Revelations highlighted, or else a self-written screed with the word 'manifesto' in the title.

Anyway, I'm going to test this new gear out, and report back.

Godamn kids

I rodde out from the house this evening, in a desperate attempt to get some after-work miles and maybe spend a day not getting any older. Neither one worked out quite.

A couple of miles from Stone Mountain, I noticed a couple on the side of the bike path, one bike turned upside down. I slowed down, as as is my habit, asked if they had all they needed. Most people, similarly stopped, are just resting or looking for that Heath bar in the backpack and send me on my way.

"Actually," said the young man, we don't." It turned out that Her rear tire had blown, and the had no spare tube. I always carry a couple of tubes, in the Forty Pound Camelbak, so fishing one out and handing it over wasn't much trouble. "Uh, do you have a pump?" They also had neglected to bring tire levers, not that I had any room to talk. Mine were still in the bottom of my suitcase, underneath the Dahon. So I showed Him the trick where you take out a QR skewer and pry the tire bead off with it.

While He struggled to tuck the tube in the tire and worry it back on the rim, I took a look at His bike. White Indy Fab, set up as a singlespeed. Paul's canti's, and DUgast sewups in 35mm. I looked closer. The Paul's angled upward, the arms pointing to 10 o'clock and 2, not the 3:30 and 8:30 that God and Mafac intended.

If you've read this blog before, you probably know that I've got an obsession with brakes. I went through a long study period with the early V brakes on my Bontrager, and eventually repalced them with very old style Dia Compes, and for one reason: the Compes work. So do Mafacs, and their modern Paul clones.

Th reason is the geometry. When the arms pointslightly below the horizon, then the pads move toward the rims quite fast as they pass through horizontal, and the long arms make them grip quite hard. When they're positioned above horizontal, the leverge just drops off the tighter they're squeezed.

My question is: who set up this bike? I haven't looked up Indy Fab's prices (and won't), but I doubt that even a very simple TIG frame runs less that a grand and a half, and just the two Dugasts are a couple of bills besides. So let's call the whole build a minimum of $2500. Who buys a bike of that quality and expense, and doesn't know how the brakes work? Who buys a singlespeed 'crosser and puts a cowhorn bar on it? Who needs a custom bike and has that little knowledge?

When I was a twenty-something, my dearest ambition was to be something like This Guy. I wanted the disposable incoome to ride a resepcted brand, and to have the sort of girlfriend that other riders undressed with their eyes. In those days, I was a shameless decal-sniffer, and honestly believed that because John Howard rode a Raleigh Professional, that I should too. (I didn't know then that John Howard actually rode an Eisentraut A, that changed its plumage every time Long John changed sponsors.) So I would have bought a boutique-corporate bike like an Indy, and set it up with arcane and less-than optimal parts. But I would have gotten the brake geometry right.

But what's going to happen to this guy when he catches a shard of glass in one of those high-buck tubulars? As much trouble as he had with a tube change, I can't imagine him regluing a sew-up on the road. And I sure can't imagine him restitching one. Hell, I can't imagine ME restitching one either, or at least not restitching one right.

So, after They got the tire changed, and thank yous and you're welcomes had been exchainged, I set off again. I rode my one lap of the mountain, then headed back. I never saw them, even though they'd said they were going the same way I was. I suspect that He pinched the new tube between the tire bead and the rim and split it, or that the piecce of glass that punctured the original tube was still inside the tire and killed the new tube as well. I realized this on the way home, after I'd taken a different route from the one I'd used inbound. They' were probably right in the same spot I'd left them.

And no, I didn't go back to look.

Day one in Austin

At least I got my miles in.

I probably rode 12 or 15 miles today. That's not counting the 811 aboard a DC-9, the forty or so of Laurie driving me to the airport, or the trips scurrying around in the truck this morning, mailing mail and accumulating the ephemera that any trip out of town seems to require.

Being a bike geek, and in town for a bike show, I would have felt foolish renting a car. THat would be like hiking the Grand Canyon on a Segway, or buying a ticket to Carnegie Hall and keeping your earphones in. It would have marked me as a faker, a charlatan, and even more of a loser than God made me. ANyway, the books aren't balancing so well on this trip, and parking at the convention center was roundly scorned online. So I brought a bike.

SO you think you've got it tough, bunkie? 'Cause it costs extra to check a suitcase, and Pan-Am discontinued its Clipper Service? Bicyclists have been taking it up the ass for years, and it's got nothing to do with those narrow saddles. Domestic flights charge as much as $250 each way to carry a bicycle as checked baggage, and they require it to be disassembled and boxed. Most of my bikes aren't worth $500, and like I said, the books weren't balancing too well to start with. So I brought the Dahon.

Dahon bicycles are a triumph of design over manufacturing, ideals over reality. Designed for Asian commuters, these Korean clown cycles feature 16" wheels, a band brake and a hinge in the middle. WHen the seatpost is telescoped, the bars turned down and to the side, and the frame catches opened, it folds into a package small enough to fit in the kneehole of a salaryman's desk. Or in a suitcase.

I had to buy a slightly bigger suitcase, after all, and sit on it to make the zipper zip, but it went in, along with a U-lock, patch kit, tube and pump. Delta body slammed it enough times between Atlanta and Austin that on arrival, the frame was tweaked just enough that the hinges wouldn't seat fully. Anyone who has ridden a Dahon for long knows that eventually it comes unlatched in flight. I generally try to slam it shut with a couple of hard turns, like you might with a car door that opened at high speed, except that it never works.

Bed time. To be continued