When a bicycle leaves you at a loss for words, is that a good thing? With hundreds of miles now on this Honey Cyclocross demo bike, I am leaning toward yes. Because I'm not exactly itching to give it back.
Last summer I was briefly without a suitable bike for dirt and gravel. When a local unpaved ride came around, a buddy lent me her Honey Cyclocross racing bike. I wrote about that bike here, then rode the Kearsarge Klassic on it successfully. And that should have been that. But months later, even as I happily rode my own bike, memories of that CX Honey kept haunting me. In my first impressions write-up I described how "different" the handling felt from anything I'd tried before. As a wannabe bicycle designer, this gnawed at me. What was it about that Honey? 
Enter geographical luck of the draw. Honey Bikes are local to me, the project of Rob Vandermark whom I know through the Ride Studio Cafe bicycle shop and Seven Cycles. Last Fall, we had occasion to talk about the cyclocross bike I'd tried, and I struggled to articulate why I found its handling so "different." 
At this time, a batch of Honey demo bikes was being prepared for the Ride Studio Cafe, and one of them was set up for me. The idea was a long-term test ride: I would ride the bike until it became familiar, allowing me to articulate what I found so striking about its handling. In particular, we discussed how appropriate a bike like it might be for unpaved rides, and how it compared to the 650B low trail model I was comfortable with.

The bike arrived just as a series of snow storms hit the Northeast, which made for some beautiful pictures of the "winter lilac" colour.

I should note here that the bicycle reviewed here is completely stock in everything from size and geometry to component group and finish. Honey bikes are not custom, but made-to-order stock bikes, available in a variety of sizes and option packages. This production method allows them to keep prices in the $2,400-4,000 range for complete bikes, and to offer quick turn-around. The bicycles are steel, with carbon fiber forks (though steel forks are also available). Models include road, utility, mixed terrain, mountain, cyclocross and more. All frames are handmade in the USA, the current series produced by Seven Cycles in Watertown, MA.

Honey bikes are offered in two types of finishes. The standard finishes are tone-on-tone, and so subtle that the logos and other markings are virtually invisible unless you stand inches from the bike or intentionally bump up the contrast in pictures to draw them out. For those who prefer a finish with visible logos, Honey also makes "team" colour schemes, where the panels and lettering contrast the main finish.
Like the bike I had borrowed last summer, this is a stock 52.5cm Honey Cyclocross frame - the sizing figure referring to the virtual top tube length. But because this bike was set up for me from the get-go, it fit me much better than the one I'd ridden previously. The handlebar height and width, the stem length, and the saddle position were configured with my fit in mind. The brakes were routed right=front, the way I set up my own. When I got on the bike, everything immediately felt natural. 
The bike was set up with a SRAM Rival group and TRP mini-v brakes. The brakes work excellently (more on that here). And while I have a Campagnolo setup on my own bikes, I am also comfortable with SRAM levers and have no problem switching back and forth between the two systems. 
As I see it, going with SRAM on a bicycle like this has several benefits. The main one, is that SRAM now makes it possible to use low gears with a road drivetrain and modern integrated shifters. Their new wifli system, despite the silly name, is extremely useful in that it allows for a 12-32t cassette. Paired with a 50/34t crankset, that almost gives you a 1:1 low gear, without having to do anything unconventional to the drivetrain. Unofficially, I am told that the wifli derailleur will also handle a 34t cog from a mountain or touring cassette, but I wanted to ride the bike with everything stock before trying out-of-spec configurations. As is, the SRAM Rival drivetrain has been functioning flawlessly ...which brings me to the other benefit of using SRAM - the value. While I love the feel of Campagnolo Chorus, I've been disappointed with their lower end groups in the past couple of years. At the lower to mid range, I have to admit that SRAM groups feel nicer. In particular, I find Rival to be the sweet spot as far as cost to performance ratio.  
The bike is fitted with Mavic Ksyrium Elite wheels and Continental Cyclocross Speed tires, 700Cx35mm. The tires were chosen for their versatility: The tread can handle most unpaved terrain, without slowing the bike down too much on pavement. I have found this useful, because nearly all riding around here is really mixed terrain and never just paved versus unpaved. Off pavement, I feel comfortable with these tires on dirt, gravel, reasonably shallow sand and mud. On pavement, I do find them slower than slick road tires, but it's not too bad and I don't mind working a little harder on paved sections. They are also great in the rain and light snow.
Speaking of snow... Though I did not ride a lot over this past winter, the little riding I did was mostly on this bike. Partly this was due to the tires: They handled unexpected patches of ice and snow on the road better than the tires on my own bikes. But partly it was also the handling. I will get more into this later, but when I got the demo Honey, fitted to my riding position, my first impression was that it felt like a toy - I was compelled to try stuff on it that I had not done on other bikes - like jumping over things and riding in snow. So I did, until eventually I crashed into a tree riding in the woods. My leg and hip were covered in bruises that took weeks to heel, but luckily the bike was fine!
Spring took a long time arriving this year. But finally by mid-March I started putting in some proper miles. As a way of ensuring I get used to the Honey's handling, for some time I rode it exclusively: Group rides, solo rides, paved rides, dirt rides, short rides, long rides - for 3 weeks straight it was all Honey, all the time. After that, I began riding my own bikes again (skinny tire road and fat tire dirt), alternating between the Honey and them.
For some time, I marveled at the handling every time I got on this bicycle. I am going to use experiential terms here. One term that comes to mind is "hyper hip-steerable." Maybe even "rear wheel drive." That is, the bike struck me as overly sensitive to movement at the hips, to the point that it almost felt like the front end was controlled from the back. For instance, let's say I was behind a rider and wanted to pass them. On this bike, I discovered a maneuver, where I could flick my hips ever so slightly while accelerating and "slingshot" past the rider in front of me in a tight, perfectly controlled arc. Maybe that sounds crazy, or maybe this is something everyone but me has been doing all along, I can never tell. In any case, it's easy and intuitive to do on this bike. 
But unless I intentionally fling it sideways, the bike has a "tracks straight" feel to it at all speeds. Even when walking it I can feel this: Using the gentlest touch, I can easily  steer it by the back of the saddle and the front won't turn or flop to the side. Riding it at excruciatingly slow speeds is easy as well; it really "wants to stay upright" and go straight.  
Hopping over bumps and roots is unusually easy. The first time it happened, I simply saw a huge root in front of me, and before I knew it my front wheel was sailing over it and landing on the other side. I was not conscious of having pulled up on the handlebars. I can now hop over objects on other bikes too, but it takes more effort.
On descents, initially I found that I could not easily turn and maneuver this bike using the same approach as on others I've ridden. But I quickly learned that changing my balance over the saddle made it controllable in these situations. I still do not understand this part entirely, but my subjective feel is that I almost hang off the bike to the side in order to steer it on turns. Possibly, this is my way of compensating for not being able to lean the bike itself sufficiently. 
All the characteristics I've listed become less noticeable the more I ride the bike. But if I go even as much as a week without riding it, I immediately notice them again when switching from my own bicycles. It's not a matter of better or worse, but just a "Hey, this is different!" kind of feeling every time.
The aesthetics of the Honey Cyclocross bike are modern and sporty: thick tubes, unabashedly sloping top tube, straight fork. This look is growing on me - or maybe a more accurate way to put it would be "I appreciate it for what it is." I do love the "winter lilac" finish. And the overall look has a unity and harmony to it that makes sense to me visually. 
The tubing is oversized and thin-walled. Pinging it with my fingernail, there is a distinct hollow ring. Riding the bike, it feels extremely stiff - though not in a disagreeable way. It feels light in motion, fast to accelerate, ever-ready and ever-awake. Despite the stiffness, the ride is not harsh. The jury is still out on the relationship between flex and responsiveness to pedaling effort, and I won't attempt to make any connection here. I will only say that I enjoy how stiff this bike feels.
I intentionally did not look at the geometry in advance, so as not to bias my impressions. When I did have a look later, I did not see anything too unusual. Longer chainstays and less bottom bracket drop than typical with road geometry; slightly higher trail. But none of this seemed sufficiently dramatic to explain my strong reaction to the bike. Maybe it's one of those "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts" things. There is, after all, a lot I don't understand about bicycle design.
The one word I would use to describe the Honey Cyclocross bike is "fun." Exciting, playful and even toy-like - this bike really moves. Under a more skillful rider than me I am sure it would move even better, and I can see how a bike like this would make a good choice for racing cyclocross. 
As far as unpaved brevets and such, I think the Honey Cyclocross could work nicely for those who want a lightweight, modern, racy bike with wide 700C tires. Although designed for short races, to me this bike feels great over 100K distances. After hours in the saddle I find it delightfully non-fatiguing.
Not being a utility bike; this particular Honey model is not built for racks or carrying heavy loads. Riding it with a full, wide saddlebag in the rear, I can feel the weight. With a smaller bag that tucks under the saddle this is considerably less pronounced. I have not tried to carry a bag on the front - though I've now been loaned an Ortlieb system to experiment with, and will report back.
Riding this bike on dirt and gravel, I am as fast as I'm capable of being, and reasonably confident riding over most types of terrain I encounter. On pavement, I am slower on the Honey than on my skinny-tire roadbike. And compared to my low trail 650Bx42mm all-steel bike, the Honey is on average about the same both on pavement and dirt. One aspect where they differ, is if I try to seriously push the speed beyond my comfort zone - for instance, in order to keep up with faster riders. When doing this, I can push both bikes pretty hard, but on the Honey I feel less tired afterward. The 5lb difference in the weight of the bikes could account for this, as could the difference in frame and fork materials. On the other hand, when all is said and done I prefer my own bike's front-end handling. It is simply more intuitive to me, and on challenging terrain with twists and turns I am generally more relaxed and precise on it for that reason. Nonetheless, I appreciate the Honey's handling as well. I especially enjoy switching between the bikes and experiencing the difference. 
It fascinates me to no end how two bikes can excel at the same task, yet ride and feel so differently. I will elaborate on this shortly, but recently I began working with Rob Vandermark on a special project. My experience with the Honey - in conjunction with my own bike - has been particularly educational in that context.
With unpaved riding increasingly popular, it's exciting to have choices for go-fast bikes with fat tires. The Honey Cyclocross bike is certainly worth considering - fast, fun, made in Massachusetts, and reasonably priced with lots of sizing options. It's been a pleasure getting to know this bicycle, improving my handling skills and expanding my horizons in the process. 

Last week I did two 100 mile rides several days apart. The first I rode on my own bike, with my camera, stopping along the way. That was really nice. The second I did on an unfamiliar demo bike, riding the course straight through except for a lunch stop. That was really nice too. The rides didn't take all day and they didn't wipe me out, allowing me to work before and after. Had time been no object, I felt as if I could have kept going.

To me, it is this private moment of realisation that "I have it in me" to do this kind of distance, casually - that feels like an accomplishment. More so than, say, an official brevet finish. It is not that I don't value organised events and their objective measures of performance. It's more that when doing an event, I already know that I can do it; I would not attempt it otherwise with all the logistics involved. In that sense, it feels not unlike taking a test based on material I've already learned. It's the learning itself that's thrilling. That "A-ha!" moment. Doing well on the test? It's nice, and often necessary. But it's not the same as the learning itself.

Maybe this line of thinking just means that I am hopelessly non-competitive. Or maybe it is simply not a good analogy. In fact almost certainly not. But there's a grain of something in it, somewhere.

Covering new distance, covering new material. And along the way that feeling of having truly grasped, understood, internalised something new - something that had previously seemed unattainable.

As I stood composing this shot, a woman passing by with grocery bags stopped beside me. Looking at the bicycle, she tilted her head to the side and smiled. "That bike!" she said, "It looks like... happiness." It was a funny outburst, no doubt inspired more by the sunny day and the quaint tree-lined street, than by the bicycle itself. But I knew what she meant. Because this particular bike fit into the idyllic backdrop perfectly. Simple, friendly and inviting, it looked like no more and no less than what it was - a yellow bicycle on a beautiful summer morning. Maybe Paul is onto something here, I thought.
Even though Paul Carson makes bikes and teaches others how to, I do not really think of him as a framebuilder. He is more of an engineer, an experimenter, a problem-solver. Paul doesn't see what he does as a craft, but as production that he loves to simplify and optimise. You might not find him polishing frame joints for hours on end. But you will find him making ridable prototypes with speed and ingenuity ...as well as the tools, fixtures and parts to facilitate doing so. In a sense, Paul is like a magic genie who can turn wishful thinking into reality, and fast. On one occasion, I watched him make a rear rack in under 20 minutes, so that he could try out a pannier on his roadbike. Another time, I wondered how difficult it would be to make a double-plated fork crown from scratch. He asked me to elaborate. I explained and showed pictures. He thought about it, then ducked into a corner. Hack-hack-hack. File-file-file. Flames! Flames! "Like this?" 
And there it was - double-plated fork crown for oval blades, spaced for a wide tire, just as I described. "Glad you like it," he shrugged. "I'll get a batch of these machined." That's Paul Carson, in a nutshell.
Unlike most other local builders, Paul is not part of the racing scene. He isn't even really part of the local bike scene so much; he is just his own entity. Perhaps that is why he gravitates toward making city bikes. City bikes have an immediate and obvious utility. And it is fun to see them cruising around the neighbourhood, ridden by ordinary people, carrying milk and potted plants. Over the past months, we've been discussing some ideas for step-through designs. We both like the feel of old English 3-speeds and we also like low trail. Wouldn't it be great to combine these? While our ideas diverge when it comes to wheel size and exact geometry specs, overall Paul's idea of a great step-through is not dissimilar to mine. When he asked me to try his prototype, I was eager to give it a go. 
Made of touring grade cro-moly tubing, the Paul Carson Step-Through is designed around 700C wheels with up to 35mm tires and fenders. It has a gently curved top tube, and is proportioned so that the handlebars can sit at or just above saddle height. 72° head tube angle and 73° seat tube angle. Trail in the mid-40s.
These framesets will be made to order in a range of sizes and with a menu of options, with prices starting at $650 for a TIG-welded frameset with standard (lugged) fork crown, made for caliper brakes. The price includes powdercoat in a range of standard colours and a headset. Extras include the option of fillet-brazed construction, handmade double-plated fork crown, handmade stem, and cantilever/ v-brake bosses.
Paul designed this frame with versatility of build in mind. Horizontal dropouts make it possible to use either derailleur or hub gearing. The bottom bracket height (300mm with 28mm tires) is sufficient to set up the bike as a fixed gear. Braze-ons include eyelets for racks and fenders. 440mm chainstays are long enough to carry panniers without heel strike. And the front-end geometry will handle a front load.
The demo bike I tried was built in size 55cm and with all the extra options. Fillet-brazed joints, smoothly finished, but not fussed over. 
Canti-lever bosses and cable hanger. Twin plate fork crown.
And fillet-brazed stem (threadless).
Paul set this bike up with 28mm tires and fenders, a single speed drivetrain,
swept-back handlebars with cork grips,

and a Brooks Flyer saddle.

Leaving my own bike at the Asylum, I rode the Step-Through around town in the course of the morning, simulating some of my regular routes. When I struggle for something to say about a bike's handling, that generally strikes me as a good thing - as it means nothing is "wrong" with it. Paul's bike felt familiar, natural, normal. It also felt casual and accessible, more like a cool, repainted vintage bike than a new handmade bike. And it really did look oddly at home in our neighbourhood.
The fit worked well for me, with a more aggressive posture than a fully upright bike. There was no toe overlap with the size 55cm frame and 28mm tires with fenders, though it was close. The steering felt responsive and intuitive. My own city bikes are low trail (under 30mm) and this bike handled like a conservative version of them.
As far as nit-picks, the step-over height could be a bit lower for my taste. And in my view, a practical city bike (especially for a pothole-ridden neighbourhood like ours) would ideally be specced with 35mm wide tires minimum, not maximum. This is where a smaller wheel size might be worth considering, especially if toe clearance is a priority. Personally, I also prefer lower bottom brackets. But I know that some riders like to feel as if they are "sitting high in traffic" on their bike, which the higher bottom bracket accomplishes. Otherwise, not much else to criticise; I liked the bike.
Paul Carson is an exciting person to know. He has ideas about streamlining the framebuilding process to make handmade bikes more accessible, and I will be following his work with interest. Made in this vein, the Carson Step-Through is not meant to be an artisanal show-stopper. It is a cute, friendly, ridable bike, with a friendly price, handmade in Somerville MA. 

Earlier this week I was visiting Cycle Loft - a local bicycle shop known, among other things, for its extensive fit studio. I will be test riding a few of their bikes this summer, and the staff suggested I undergo a fitting session beforehand. As we were getting started, the fitter - Joel - caught sight of the Selle Anatomica I was riding. He asked whether I wanted to use my own saddle, given how particular it was, or try something new.

Today there are lots of high quality, well thought-out saddle designs in a variety of materials. The trick is to find one that fits our particular anatomy, riding position and riding style. For the past two years, I've been going back and forth between a Berthoud touring saddle and a Selle Anatomica on my roadbikes. These saddles are as close as I've been able to get to being truly comfortable over long distances. But neither is perfect. So I decided to keep an open mind and see what the fitter recommended.

To start with, Joel measured my sit bones. This is something I've never had done "professionally" before, so it was pretty exciting. Cycle Loft uses the Specialized "Body Fit" method, which, as I understand it, is comparatively un-intrusive (no pelvic fondling, etc.). But there is a nifty device involved. A stool was brought out with a butt-shaped pillow, upon which I sat as instructed. When I stood up, my sit bones left two clear indentations, which Joel swiftly measured.

The figure was 135mm - considerably narrower than what I thought my sit bone width was based on my DIY measurements (the figure I'd come up with was more like 150mm). But we repeated the process just to make sure and got the same number again - so looks like 135mm it is.

Joel explained that a saddle should be wider than the sit bone width itself. How much wider depends partly on the rider's position and partly on the saddle's shape. As far as the rider's position, the more leaned forward you are, the narrower area of support is needed. That much I'd known. As far as saddle shape, Joel showed me a selection or road/racing saddles and pointed out that on some the sitting surface was flat across, while on others it was rounded, like an arc. For all my careful scrutiny of saddle shapes, this was not a distinction I'd explicitly been aware of before, so I was excited to learn something new. For any given rider, on a rounded saddle the width needed to be greater than on a flat saddle.

According to the fit chart, the saddle width recommended for my sit bones was 155mm minimum. My Berthoud saddle (which is flat) measures 160mm across, and my Selle Anatomica (which is rounded) measures 170mm across. My comfort with both makes sense according to this fit method.

Next, Joel asked what I liked and disliked about the saddles I normally use. I explained that my saddles are fairly wide across the rear, yet have narrow, racing-style noses. The wide rear and narrow nose combination works for me, because this way my butt feels fully supported but I don't get thigh-rub. Other saddles I've tried tend to be either too narrow or too wide all around, which doesn't work.

As far as what I don't like, that is a little trickier to explain. One of my saddles feels a bit too hard, whereas the other has a bit too much give. And with each, I occasionally - at random times, it seems - feel pressure or pinching right in the middle of my "soft tissue." Granted, it happens rarely now compared to the problems I used to have with other saddles, but it does still happen occasionally. We discussed all this in detail, as well as the other saddles I've tried. I described my dislike of gel (I sink into it and feel horrible pressure), my inability to ride Terry saddles (the slots are somehow in the wrong place), and finding the edges of many racing saddles "too sharp" as I pedal.

After taking all of this in, Joel suggested I try the Romin Evo saddle by Specialized. It had everything I seemed to need: a rounded wide rear (168mm across), a narrow nose, and a firm, but not rock-hard, surface. A channel down the middle and a curved nose were designed to avoid contact with exactly the pressure-prone spots I'd identified. It is not a woman-specific saddle, but then neither are my own. A synthetic saddle made by a big-name manufacturer, it was not what I would normally gravitate toward, but I'd said I would be open minded, and so I would.

The Romin Evo is now fitted on the demo bike I'm riding. I could not feel it beneath me on the initial 30 mile ride, but I will withhold judgment until after the follow-up, 100K ride.

But whether this particular saddle wins me over is beside the point. What I appreciated the most about my experience was the generally informative conversation with the fitter - who I felt was neutral and well-informed when it came to various styles, materials, aesthetics and brands of saddles. I would like to keep learning myself, and at some point to post a comprehensive guide that might be of help to those at a loss for where to start.

A luckless morning. I had attempted to join a 100K club ride, only to get an important phone call as I pulled up to the start. By the time I got done the others were nearly an hour ahead. I would never catch up. I decided to ride the route anyway. 
The weather had been beautiful. But as I set off, it began to rain - cold, hard little drops, carried sideways by the wind, sharp against my face. 
On the road there was more traffic than usual. A mile in, a driver cut me off and I barely avoided a collision. Still fuming over this, I began to notice that my throat hurt. I was hot and cold. I felt sluggish. Maybe I was running a fever. Maybe I should count my losses.
A deep irritation over a day wasted was building up. Workdays that have no clear end or beginning. A weak constitution that has derailed my plans one time too many. If it's not one thing, it's another. 
For some miles, it was angry riding. Riding a wave of frustration. But I pedaled. Mechanical motions. Round and round. Rain and chills, traffic, scratchy throat, round and round. "Oh shut up," my legs said to my throat. We would break away. 
I had the sense that once I was a certain number of miles out, it would all resolve itself, because turning back would no longer make sense. Concord, West Concord, Maynard. I pedaled harder.
But then came a moment of doubt. I had not meant to be on my own with my thoughts on this day. What would I do out there, for hours, with all these thoughts? "Oh shut up" my legs said to my brain. 
And we broke away. 
And 20 miles in, the cars were gone. The sun came out. The pedals lost their resistance. We floated up hills. My mind emptied. 
In Still River I passed a Benedictine monastery. It stands on top of a hill, overlooking a green and blue rolling landscape. Slowly I rode through it, not seeing a single person on its grounds. The monks must have been indoors.
In Boxborough I stopped at a farm. It had visitor hours and notices posted, but looked abandoned. With my bike, I stood in the middle of a field dotted with white barns, thinking of nothing. I heard ringing in the air. The field was full of dandelions. 
At the Fruitlands, no cars were parked along the hilltop view. No cyclists passed. I had made it all alone up there and the world felt far, far away.
Descending into town, I remembered that I had not eaten for hours and stopped at the general store. When I ordered coffee and a sandwich, it felt strange to talk - as if I hadn't spoken out loud in years. Was I even saying the right words? The boy behind the counter had an inscrutably friendly face that had seen many cyclists. 
Orchards and orchards on the return leg. The apple orchards have such neat rows of such crooked, erratic looking trees. Line-dancing trees.
This ride was happening much too fast, I thought. And I veered off course onto another road, with more uphill floating, more orchards.
But at length, unfamiliar farms gave way to familiar ones, a gentle reminder of being homeward bound. Then finally, the bikepath, and the city - with 100 miles on the computer and frustration a faint memory. 
Sometimes if you just keep pedaling, everything else breaks away, falls away. If you keep pedaling, the mind quiets down. 

For some time now I've been curious to try a Bike Friday folding bike. They are pretty unusual around these parts, so an opportunity never presented itself. Imagine my delight upon discovering that someone I knew owned one. Hidden deep in her bike cave, this single speed Tikit stood mostly unridden since the owner, Pamela, stopped commuting to a downtown office. But hearing of my interest she dusted off the machine, and soon I was over to examine the rare specimen. 
Made by the family-owned Green Gear Cycling in Eugene, Oregon, Bike Friday folding bikes have been handbuilt in the USA since the early 1990s. The range of models includes road, touring, mountain, commuter and tandem folding bikes - and all are highly customisable. Most of the models are designed around 20" wheels, with the fold optimised for packing the bike into a suitcase. However, the Tikit commuter models are made more compact with 16" wheels, and are designed to fold quickly for multi-modal transportation.
Welded in steel, frame and fork, there are 9 Tikit models in all, offering different drivetrain and handlebar setup options. The One Way Tikit is the single speed/ fixed gear version. 
It is set up with a flip-flop hub, 
v-brakes, fenders, built-in chainguard,
straight handlebars, 
a handy carry handle (could be a bottle cage here instead),

and a low-rider style front rack.

Being a fan of generator lighting, Pamela had set up the bike with a dynamo hub wheel (unattached here, as it had recently been loaned out).

A bike bag also comes with the Tikit, which can be stowed away into a tiny packet when not in use.
Unlike most other folding bikes, Bike Fridays are available in different sizes. I am unsure what size this Tikit translates to, but its virtual top tube measures an inch or so shorter than the Brompton's (which is approximately 59cm). The seat tube is quite tall, with the saddle barely low enough to accommodate myself and the bike's owner (we are both just over 5'6"). However, as I understand it, the seat tube is modular and can be cut down or replaced with a shorter one.
Bike Friday Tikits have had a couple of modifications over the past few years. The area over the bottom bracket is now made stiffer, with older models retrofitted with a stiffener bar. They have also recently made a beefier stem for the Tiket, the older one having been recalled (the bike pictured here has the new stem). 

The fold is fairly quick, "less than 9-12 seconds after loosening one twist-locking fastener," according to Bike Friday.

It is Bromptonesque in sequence, except for the seat tube - which gets folded over, rather than slid down.

Notably, the front pannier can be kept on the low-rider rack as the bike is being folded.
The folded bike can be rolled along, using the wheels themselves, with the bag still attached.
It can also be carried by the handle - though Pamela notes that carrying the bike gets heavy and uncomfortable quickly, particularly when stairs are involved. Picking up the single speed Tikit, it did feel slightly heavier than an all-steel Brompton similarly equipped. And the fold is not as compact. However, the carry handle is quite comfortable compared to how a Brompton must be carried, and being able to roll the Bike Friday by its actual wheels (rather than by the tiny roller-wheels on the Brompton) is a big help. 
With its hub flipped to freewheel mode, I rode the Tikit around Pamela's neighbourhood. My first impression was that the front-end handling was not dissimilar from my Brompton's. In fact, I would describe the Friday as feeling like a "less extreme" version of the Brompton in that sense. As a result of this similarity, I immediately felt familiar and comfortable with the bike. While the Tikit is Bike Friday's commuter model, with less focus on performance than the others, I certainly found it lively enough - a fun, quick, maneuverable ride. This makes me want to try a smaller size - I bet it would be even more responsive for someone of my stature. With the 16" wheels, there would be no danger of toe overlap no matter what frame size I chose. 
On pothole ridden streets, the Tikit's ride quality felt a bit harsh. Riding over torn-up pavement I felt vibrations in my hands and jolts throughout (an impression the bike's owner agrees with). However, on decently maintained roads the ride quality was smooth and pleasant. As an aside here, where we live the roads are particularly poorly maintained; just have a close look at the picture above to see what I mean - the entire street is like that. One could certainly argue that these are not "normal" commuter conditions. 
After my initial spin on the Tikit, I then rode it again - this time loaded with some weight. We attached a pannier to the low-rider rack, in which Pamela placed a 10lb bottle of antifreeze. This is about the maximum weight she would typically carry on this bike, she said. The Tikit's low-rider will accommodate most standard panniers, including the one shown from Ortlieb. On a small wheel bike, it is actually not a "low" rider, since it sits above the wheel. This is also how it manages to lift the pannier high enough to keep from dragging along the ground. Little notches along the rack's tubing prevent the pannier from sliding, so it sits securely. The rack is one-sided (right side only), and rolling the bike along I could feel the weight of the pannier pulling to the side. However, once in motion no such thing was discernible. The Tikit handled great with the unilateral front load - I could not feel it at all. This system does limit how much weight one can carry on the bike, but it is handy enough for commuting. I believe that a rear rack is also available for this model. 
While I would not switch from my Brompton, I liked the Bike Friday Tikit and would feel comfortable riding it for transportation. A particularly big advantage, as I see it, is the variety in sizes and customisation options. Being able to roll the bike by its wheels is handy as well. And being able to use a standard pannier, as opposed to having to buy a proprietary front bag, could be another plus for those with multiple bikes. Careful tire, saddle and grip selection could compensate for the rough-road harshness I experienced. 
When I was over to test ride this bicycle, the owner surprised me by announcing that she plans to give it away. That's right: Pamela Blalock's personal Bike Friday One Way Tikit pictured here could be yours - complete with flip-flop freewheel/fixed gear hub, fenders, front rack, spare generator hub wheel and a spare set of tires (pannier not included). For details of the give-away, please visit The Blayleys blog! 
And if you are in the market for a folding bike, visit the Bike Friday website and prepare to be dazzled with their myriad of stock and custom options. The history of the company is pretty interesting as well. Folding bikes of all types made in Oregon, USA, with prices starting at $1,400 and around a month lead time. Pretty neat!  

It is no small task to describe the entity that is "Camberville" - that serpentine Somerville-Cambridge city line with its mazes of pocket neighbourhoods, unkempt grapevines, mysterious alleys lined with crumpling garages, and grandiose structures tucked away on sleepy side streets. Wandering through a neighbourhood you think you know, it is not unusual to encounter something wholly unexpected - perhaps a sidewalk treehouse, an enchanted forest, a small castle, or a warehouse-sized artisan incubator. 
Very possibly I have cycled past the Round House before without taking much notice. The once-grand structure is not difficult to miss, now only a shadow of its former self. A lusciously overgrown garden torn out some years ago, a grass lot and chainlink fence now surround its bare walls, stripped of trim and embellishment. A thicket of condominiums stands in what was once an open space, blocking the house from view in certain directions. 
But on this ghostly-quiet afternoon, I noticed it straight away. It was one of those humid days when the air stands still and the scent of flowers is sickly sweet. The weekend's explosion of lilacs was making me lightheaded. I cycled up a steep hill, and as I turned the corner onto a tiny one-way street the house appeared like a hallucination - backlit by the waning sun and tilting slightly to the left. 
Stopping to have a look, I was distracted by the prominent signs discouraging trespassing. They struck me as so insincere as to almost be playful. 
I was intrigued further by the curious discrepancy between the siding - which appeared newly installed - and the foundation, which seemed on the verge of collapse.

And then there was the bulging wall. 
Strange to think that a Victorian-era locksmith is responsible for this cylindrical wonder. Inspired by the idea of octagonal houses floating around at the time, Somerville resident Enoch Robinson decided to take things one step further and build a round house. Constructed in 1856, the 3-story single family residence housed generations of Robinson's family. 
It is not clear why the Round House was vacated and stood empty for so long. But by the 1980s it had its windows and ornamentation removed, had suffered water damage and faced serious structural problems. There was talk of tearing it down, which, predictably, riled up residents who saw it as a landmark of historical value. Thankfully, it never came to that. Several years ago, the house was purchased by a developer with experience in historical preservation. He plans to restore the house and place it on the market as a single family home. 
The Round House was created on a whim, to satisfy a personal interest - possibly an obsession, judging by the limited information I found on its creator. Yet by virtue of existing in a publicly visible and visitable space, it is also a communal resource, and will continue to be as ownership changes hands. How will the new residents feel about that, I wondered, eying the awkward battlements that surround the top story. I do hope they plant a nice garden. Maybe some lilacs, dogwood and pines, against that stark beige facade.

The problem of translating sensation and experience into words. Or any communicative form for that matter. Human have struggled with, since... well, since always it seems like. We've dedicated entire disciplines to it. We approach it with art. We approach it with science. We approach it with philosophy, and all manner of things in between. And still we cannot simply show our inner world to others. 
Know what I mean?
Arguably, the answer is no. Always no, even if we say yes and believe it. We never, ever really know what somebody else means. We are clever and we guess. Or we model it on ourselves, try thoughts, ideas, images and even emotions on for size. But in the process it becomes once again our experience, not the other's.
Maybe now I've confused you and you feel comfortable saying no. "No, I have no idea what you mean."
Good.
Look. We all need to make sense of experience. And in doing so, it's tempting and convenient to plug it into a template -a template where the experience is transformed into an archetypical story.  
Like - OMG I was all unsure of myself. Can I do a 200K? I mean it's so hard, I don't know. But wait... I trained and I did it! Yay! 
Although that's a little brief. Let's get the village involved.
So I trained, and my friends were like "We believe in you!" and I was like "Aw you guys!"
Okay, but still a little thin. So hang on, let's add some uncertainty.
Oh no, it's the week before the ride and I overtrained?..
Yes, like that. But perhaps more panic.
Oh no, it's the week before The Ride and I overtrained!
Enter the comments, that post-post-postmodern Greek Chorus.
Chorus 1: You overtrained, oh no!Chorus 2: You overtrained, I told you so!Chorus 3: Now you must rest before you go!
Oh gosh, whatever will happen? Will I make it? Be sure to read tomorrow and find out!
I have a bad feeling...
Whenever I say or think that now, Carmela Soprano appears in my head. She wears a tight beige cashmere sweater. Her hair is in a French twist.
I've got a bad feeling (New Jersey accent, thick mascara, eyes full of meaning). Yes this is what I mean. 
Carmela: Tell me, what is this bad feeling?
OMG you read my blog?
Carmela: No, not really. But you know, I was thinking of getting in shape, being more active. Biking to the hair salon.
Oh but that's wonderful! ...Have you tried a Bella Ciao Neorealista? 
We hug and share a delicious pastry. Then she rides away.
That feeling of being in a pre-determined script. My inner experience forced into training-diary vocab and follow-along storylines. It's all wrong.
Know what I mean?
Chorus 1: YesChorus 2: NoChorus 3: Will you ever review a budget bike?
Huh? 
Chorus 3:  Oops, wrong post. 
Oh ok. 
Cycling. Something is changing. There is wilting and blossoming and quiet and explosions of sound.  I try to think of a better way to explain.

When I last corresponded with Debra Banks, she was off to ride the Texas Rando Stampede 1200 - a 750 mile brevet that she would go on to complete in 85 hours. Naturally Deb did this on a Rivet: a waterproof, slotted leather saddle of her own design. 
While Rivet saddles are fairly new to the scene, Deb's experience in the industry goes back to her time at Selle Anatomica. In her own words: Tom Milton, the founder of Selle An-Atomica was my sweetie and after his untimely death, I ran SAA for a year while his estate was being settled. His family took over the company and I ventured out on my own to form Rivet Cycle Works.At the moment, Rivet offers three basic models of saddles in different widths. Each is available in a range of colours, and with a choice of cro-moly or titanium rails. We discussed my trying one for review and settled on the Pearl. 
Named after Pearl Pass in the Rocky Mountains, the Rivet Pearl saddle was optimised for long distance comfort and support. As Debra explains, this does not mean these saddles are solely for long distance riders. Rather, if a cyclist experiences saddle discomfort when attempting longer rides, it was designed with addressing this in mind. The Pearl model features bag loops for attaching a full sized saddlebag. 
Measuring 170mm at the rear, the width of the Pearl is equivalent to that of Selle Anatomica saddles. However, the shape and structure are quite different. In fact, while Rivet saddles may invite comparisons to Selle Anatomica because of the shared history, I find them to have more differences than similarities. The list of similarities is short: Both are slotted, and both are made of waterproofed leather in largely the same range of colours. However, the form and feel have little in common.
The first thing I noticed about the Pearl before fitting it on my bike was how tall it was. The height, or depth of a saddle is not a spec that all manufacturers list, but it matters. While the Pearl's leather upper is in itself shallow, the rails are pretty deep. Installing it in place of my Berthoud Touring saddle, my seatpost had to be lowered almost a full cm to compensate. Selle Anatomica saddles are even shallower than Berthoud, so the difference there would be greater still. I am not comfortable providing exact figures, because height is difficult to measure and I don't want to misinform. But basically it's Selle Anatomica < Berthoud Touring < Rivet Pearl, with just under 1cm of difference in height between each.
It occurs to me that the purpose of the deep rail design on the Pearl might be to avoid any chance of the leather hitting the rails should it stretch over time. There is certainly no danger of that. The wrap-around leather on the underside further reduces tension loss.
According to Debra, Rivet saddles can take about 300 miles to break in, during which time they may also stretch. The tension screw should be used to regulate tension - not just in the event of stretching, but also to find the tension that works best for the rider's anatomy. 
The purpose of the slot on Rivet saddles is "to relieve pressure and help to re-distribute pressure to other areas, depending on how the rider sits on the saddle." The Rivet slot is a bit longer than the slot on the Brooks Imperial line of saddles, and considerably shorter than Selle Anatomica's. 
The edges of the Pearl's sitting surface are crisply delineated, rather than rounded, which gives it a sculptural look. The "R"-embossed rivets add textural interest. The Burgundy colour, pictured here, is a deep brown with a magenta tint (and, from what I can tell, identical to Selle Anatomica's Mahogany).
For waterproofing, a chemical agent is mixed into the tanning process (a different process than what is used for vegetable tanned leather). To increase firmness and minimise sagging, a second layer of leather is laminated to the upper piece. The leather for Rivet is sourced from Wisconsin, then sent to Taiwan, where the saddles are made by a master craftsman. Rails and other frame parts are sourced from Taiwan. The saddles are assembled there and then shipped worldwide.
With the demo Pearl on my roadbike, I rode around the neighbourhood and determined that the standard (highest) tension felt pretty good. The rear felt just about right at my sitbones. The transition from rear to nose felt just a tad wider than what I normally ride. With this initial assessment I felt comfortable enough to try a long ride.
I tested the Pearl on an informal 100K. Including my ride to and from, it was an 87 mile day in the saddle. For me, the Pearl out of the box did not require a break-in period. I experienced no soreness over the course of this distance. The leather felt quite stiff, but suppler than my hard-as-a-rock Berthoud. Compared to a Selle Anatomica, the "hammocking" action was subtle, and I could not discern independent movement between the two sides separated by the slot. The curvature and surface of the Pearl's rear felt very comfortable as the miles rolled on. Once in a while I could feel the ridges of the slot toward the front. It was not enough to cause chafing in the course of the distance I did, but I wanted to note that I could feel them. What did cause chafing - and this started around mile 60 - were the sides of the saddle in that transitional part that tapers toward the nose. Given the location and nature of the chafing, this was not a breaking-in issue or a tension issue, but a structural issue - the Pearl model is slightly too wide for me in the rear-to-nose transition, which caused chafing to my inner thighs over time. Having received my feedback, Debra agrees with this diagnosis and suggests I try the narrower Independence model to compare. 
As we all know, preferences in saddle shape, size and feel are highly personal. It is always good to have options and variety. Designed by an experienced randonneuse, the saddles from Rivet Cycle Works are a welcome addition to Brooks, Berthoud and Selle Anatomica. The Pearl model is priced at $150 with cro-moly rails and $250 with titanium rails. In addition to saddles, Rivet also offers handlebar tape, mudflaps, and other goods. I wish Deb all the best with the business, as well as in her cycling adventures. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of working with Heather McGrath - a woman whose excellent photos have graced many a magazine page and gallery wall. Those who love bicycles might also recognise her work from framebuilders' websites and cycling blogs: In recent years Heather has made quite a name for herself as a bicycle photographer. 
In my years of running this blog and plunging deeper into the bicycle industry, I have thought about the relationship between cycling and photography. Many seem to get into photography as a result of riding their bikes. Perhaps it starts with wanting to photograph the scenery they encounter on a ride, or the bike itself. Over time taking pictures becomes a hobby and the rider's photography skills improve, sometimes to the point where they turn professional. Another scenario is where an established professional photographer becomes a cyclist, thereafter focusing largely on bicycles and cycling. Either way, bicycle photographers are almost invariably cyclists themselves. They have to be, to truly understand how to capture the defining characteristics of our beloved two wheel machines, as well as of those who ride them and make them. And Heather - as a daily cyclist, friend to local framebuilders and owner of a handbuilt bike - certainly understands all this. Ever wonder what being a pro bicycle photographer entails? I post a brief conversation with Heather below.
You describe yourself as an editorial photographer. In your own words, what does that mean? 
I get hired mostly by magazines. But ad agencies hire me as well.

Roughly what portion of your projects would you say are bicycle industry-related?

A good portion. I have been very fortunate in this. I always marketed work that was directly related to my life. I just kept shooting for myself and the things I loved, and assignments started following. The bike industry has responded very well to my eye.

Do you recall who was your first bicycle industry client, or what was your first bike-related photo shoot?

My first shoot that got me anywhere was just of my friends who lived in LA at the time. I came out with my Mamiya 67 and just hung out and shot a few frames. Some of the shots ended up on my first promo which lead to my first assignment with Bicycling Magazine a couple years later.

You've mentioned that for years you did not have a car and carried your photo equipment by bike. Can you describe your setup?

Ah yeah thank god I have a strong back! Usually I just have my Bailey Works bag with a little subdivider in it with the body and two lenses. I don't light usually so I can travel light. But one time before zipcar existed I had a big shoot about 8 miles from my house. It was a big magazine and I was super nervous and of course it was about to rain right before I was about to leave. So there was no time to take the bus or anything. I packed up my huge Lowepro Trekker 2 bag which is supposed to be waterproof. I overpacked with lights and stuff I really didn't need because I was nervous. I threw in an extra set of clothes. attached a stand to one side of the bag and tripod on the other. And of course the downpour starts while I was en route. Like completely soaked to the underwear. And when I got to the house It had just stopped and this poor family had to open their doors to a girl who looked like a drowned rat with about 20lbs of gear on her asking to use the bathroom before we shot...

You own a beautiful handbuilt bicycle by Geekhouse. What made you decide to get a custom bike? Did you give Geekhouse criteria as far as what you wanted in a bike? 

Geekhouse wanted to make me a bike that was going to be a part of their NAHBS show bikes that year. Together we brainstormed ideas and colors. We all wanted something really classic looking. And my most important request was no toe overlap. I love track frames but I was sick of the toe overlap. A lot of the details of the bike were a surprise from the boys. They wouldn't even let me see it until it was completely done. I was there first curved fork and Brad made me my own monogram on the handlebars. I honestly think about how much I love that bike every time I ride it. I would never buy another bike that is not fitted to me.

[Note: See studio shots of Heather's bike here. Also: The basket pictured here does not actually live on the bike, just a joke.]

Do you get to travel for work? What sort of places have you recently traveled to?

I do. I have been flown to California, DC, Oregon, Austin, etc., for clients. I also travel alot for myself in pursuit of more photos for my portfolio. I actually just came back from a 7 week backpacking trip to the Netherlands, Croatia, Sweden, Norway and Iceland. I am going to start marketing these photos to travel companies and hopefully get more work there.

Any advice for amateur bicycle photographers considering venturing into paid work? Do you think a formal education in photography is essential? 

You don't need a formal education. I almost dropped out of my own photo school. I had already been a professional retoucher and a graphic designer before I decided to be a photographer, so I came into the industry already knowing the back end. But because of those skills I was able to keep retouching for ad campaigns while I was working on my photography career. Eventually I didn't need to retouch anymore. My suggestion is to sacrifice your social life while you work on your skills. Assist as many other people as you can. And shoot what you love. That's how I got here and I am very grateful.

Having worked with Heather, I would describe her approach to photography as intuitive, fluid and thorough - focused on staging lively and realistic scenarios which can then be captured as still images. Heather uses both film and digital equipment. She prefers to ride fixed gear, and usually rides in her regular clothing and shoes, using pedals with toe straps. She commutes by bike around Boston, using her car when needed to transport props and large equipment. Whether working in her studio in Boston's South End or on location, Heather is good, really good at what she does. And her taste in bikes is none too shabby either.

Yesterday was the New England Randonneurs 200K brevet out of Boston - the longest ride I have done so far. A brevet is an organised, self-supported ride, which participants complete within a time limit. The typically hilly routes must be carefully navigated, with control checkpoints along the way. 200K is an interpretive figure, which in this case translated to almost 130 miles with about 8,500 ft of elevation gain. The time limit was 13.5 hours. The week before I had done the 100K Populaire, the prequel to this brevet. This ride would be twice the distance. Having registered for the ride, I intended to complete it, but beyond that I had no expectations. No matter what randonneurs would have you believe in their attempts to lure you into their fold, brevets - even shorter ones - are difficult. There was only one way to find out just how difficult this one would be. 
Up before sunrise, I felt calm - too calm. Neither excited nor nervous, I was also not especially enthusiastic. I felt prepared. I had my bike ready and all my things organised. But at 4:45am I no longer knew why I wanted to do an organised, timed 130 mile ride, from a location I had to cycle 15 miles to at an ungodly hour. This was not how I hoped to feel setting off. The previous night I had published a quick blog post, where I mentioned I'd be doing the 200K the next day. This is something I normally try not to do, as I believe it is bad luck to make such announcements. Now I removed the post, lest it was the cause of my ambivalent mood and could later jinx the ride. 
To make it to the 7am start with time to spare for a coffee along the way, I set off at 5:10am. When I left home, the temperature was 45°, and I knew that it would reach a high of 65° in the course of the day. I wore long tights, a thin long sleeve baselayer with a short sleeve jersey over it, a neckwarmer, fingerless gloves, and a windbreaker. Later I would remove the windbreaker, stashing it in my jersey pocket. While I like leg and arm warmers, I sometimes have chafing issues with the extra elastics. So on rides with milage in the uncharted territory, I go with long sleeves and full length tights to be safe. 
Riding to the Hanscom Air Force Base on empty roads in the morning mist was quite beautiful, and I tried not to think about the extra miles I was tacking on the the ride. 
Once there, I signed in, got my brevet card and looked for familiar faces. I was glad to see NER board members Bruce and Melinda there. They have witnessed me transition from outside observer to ride participant, and there was a comforting sort of intimacy in that. And Steve - with whom I'd staffed a brevet the previous summer - was now the ride organiser. Seeing him again and remembering that event made everything fall into place. This was a game I'd played before, only this time I'd be one of the riders. I am not sure how to express this, but at no point did I worry about finishing the brevet, despite being uncertain of my ability to handle it. It was as if I'd purchased a ticket to a rollercoaster ride and was already on it. No way out, but to finish it.
Walking around the parking lot in search of sun, I spotted Pamela Blalock. Earlier, Pamela'd mentioned that she would keep me company on the brevet, but I did not really expect to ride with her beyond the first few miles of this challenging route - a route that was, in fact, based on one of her own, designed around some scenic New Hampshire climbs. 
At 7am, we took off in one long, drawn-out cluster. The faster riders were asked to go first, but only some of them obliged. As a result, the first few miles were defined by an ongoing jostle for position. I expected to lose Pamela in the chaos, but we emerged out of the shuffle unseparated, picking up a couple of other riders along the way. For some time, we rode 2x2 at a brisk pace, with me behind a very strong rider from our cycling club, whose pedal strokes were so even, so predictable and so quick, they were like a work of art. Of course, it was not to last, and eventually he took off, along with our other companion. I told Pamela to go on ahead with them and leave me to ride at my own pace. In response she informed me that I was "stuck" with her, as she intended to ride with me the entire time. I hadn't realised until then that she was serious about that. At that moment I would have preferred to ride alone, as my mood was not very sociable. Almost 20 miles into the ride now, I still wasn't "feeling" it; I was just going through the motions. "110 more miles of this," I thought. This was a factual thought, not charged with any particular emotion. 
We rode straight North. The route would take us across the MA/NH state line, then up some more to the first control at mile 53. We chatted idly, until the topic of laundering bike shorts came up, at which point I remembered something and slapped myself on the forehead. "I need to stop after this hill to make a phone call," I said, "I left my shorts in the oven." With Pamela laughing, I explained that I will sometimes warm up my bike shorts in the oven (in the off position) before a ride, and that this time I ended up not wearing those shorts, forgetting to remove them. They'd be fine in there all day, I'd placed them far from the pilot light. But just in case,  I would call my husband and ask him to take them out. That I did, with Pamela giggling at our conversation. 
Soon after that, we crossed into New Hampshire. Keeping up a brisk tempo, we cycled through a village fair where farm vegetables were sold and baby goats were on display in a large pen. A chorus of "Meh! Beh!" echoed behind us as we continued. 
By the time we began the first respectable climb at mile 40, it was a different ride from the one we started. There were no other cyclists around, it was just us two in the middle of nowhere. Everything seemed funny. This 5 mile climb would be a prelude to the more serious climbs that awaited, Pamela explained, as we pedaled at a much-reduced speed up an endlessly winding road. Sure, sure, I said. It seemed not to matter much, as long as I could keep pushing the gear.
We made it to the first control in good time; some riders from the faster groups were still hanging out. I refilled my water bottles, replenished my banana supply, and bought a couple of hot dogs in the country store across the street (I don't do well with PB&J sandwiches, cookies, and other typical control foods during strenuous rides). 
Everyone around was amused that I'd gotten "bunless" hot dogs - two of them, laid out on a little paper plate and covered in relish. This is perfectly normal outside of the US, so I don't see what the big deal is. But I accepted my freak-show status and dutifully posed for pictures with my bunless dogs. Meanwhile, Pamela ate a chocolate muffin, washing it down with one of those bottled frappuccino things. Others ate chips, cookies and nutella sandwiches. Tempting as some of these things were, I know enough by now to not touch junk food during bike rides; it does not work for me. Hot dogs and bananas: Yes. Cookies and chips: No. Milk: Yes. Soda: No. 
Pedaling away from the first control, I felt great. We had not stayed long, but the time off the bike allowed me to do some nice stretches to help with the uncomfortable, tight feeling I get above my tailbone after long climbs. The stretches involve a sequence of twists and backward bends, after which I am good as new and ready for more climbing. Timely, as the next leg of the route was a loop through the middle of New Hampshire, with one long climb after another. After another. 
I do not want to downplay the hills on this route, they were difficult and like nothing I'd done before. But this tough middle section was my favourite part of the brevet. The day was beautiful, sunny with dry heat, and we rode through pine forests strewn with wildflowers. The pines and flowers released scents that mingled with the heat in a way that, to me, was simply intoxicating. I felt my lungs open up wide to get the most out of this, and I felt my body wake up and orient itself toward the sunshine flickering through the tree branches. 
We started out with a gradual 7 mile climb, followed by a shockingly steep 2 mile climb, followed by a steady 10 mile climb with some steep stretches. These were punctuated by steep, winding descents - which I was better at handling this time than on previous rides, feeling more in control around bends and relaxed the whole way down. 
On the climbs, there were a couple of short stretches so steep that I simply could not push my lowest gear and walked. And there were other stretches where I stayed on the bike, but ground my way uphill at an excruciatingly slow pace. But the subjective experience of this was really not bad; I feel like the worst of the hills happened at just the right place in the course, where I had the most energy. During one of the longer and steeper climbs, we somehow got into a conversation about Jan Heine's Bicycle Quarterly article comparing titanium race bikes vs steel fat tire rando bikes. So passionate were our feelings about this article, that before I knew it we had completed the long climb. Highly recommended. 

In the midst of this was a secret-question control at a farm, then an unmanned control at a country store. We stopped at the first just in time to get the requisite information, but lingered at the second to refill our water bottles and eat more food. Me: a frozen BBQ patty heated up in the store's microwave and a bottle of strawberry milk. Pamela: ho-hos, cookies and another frappucino. I felt sick just looking at her food, and I'm sure she felt the same about mine! We moved on quickly after finishing our meals.
The next stretch of the ride was tougher for me than the previous. There were still some decent climbs, and even though they were tame in comparison to the ones we'd just completed, my legs and body were now tired from going uphill for so long. We pulled over a few times along this section, which was an effective way of maximising my energy. I also enjoyed the descents here, taking as much advantage of them as I could. 
Although this part of the ride was taxing, there were never any "dark moments" as some riders call them. We were making good time, we rode at a brisk pace, and I knew that as long as we pulled over every so often, my body could handle the rest of the ride without much drama. We even took a couple of short scenic detours, to incorporate parts of Pamela's original route that the official brevet omitted. 
We were now past mile 90 of the brevet, my cyclo-computer reading 105 starting from home. Seeing that number and knowing there were still 40 miles left to go, I could feel my mind making room for a new "I can do X distance" figure. There would be one more control coming up before we crossed back into Massachusetts, after which it would be mostly be gentle rollers until the finish.
At the final control we did not need much food or water, and moved on fairly quickly. After that, it was all a blur. I was proper tired by the final leg, but the terrain had flattened out and the finish felt in sight. 35 miles to go. 20 miles to go. It began to seem like nothing. We sprinted for town lines, reminisced about prior rides, discussed future ones. 
At some point Pamela got a message from her husband, who was taking part in the Rapha Gentlemen's Race at the same time as we were doing the NER brevet. The Ride Studio Cafe team had finished 3rd. In previous years, Pamela had done this race herself and I was reminded again of the discrepancy in our abilities, feeling guilty that she was riding with me - when she could have easily been in the lead group. But Pamela is not one to indulge that line of thought. Had she wanted to be in the lead group, she'd be in the lead group. But today she wanted to "enjoy a gals' day out in the country." She winked slyly, making a fishing reel gesture with her hands. Of course it dawned on me where this was going: The next time she'd invite me on a little ride, I'd be expected to handle 200K as a matter of course. I laughed at the realisation, imagining some surprise dirt roads and maybe an extra hill or two thrown in next time for good measure. My heart swelled with love for Pamela; the woman is adorable. 
At 10 miles to go, the adrenaline kicked in, masking the pains I was starting to feel. "Let's get this over with," I thought, and Pamela, as if reading my mind, said the same thing out loud. 
With the cool evening wind against our faces, we rolled up to the finish screaming at the top of our lungs, at 6:59pm - having ridden the brevet in 11:59 hours. Some other riders were there, lingering about, and more were still expected. We had some nice conversations at the finish, after which I was not too proud to accept a lift home from Pamela in her motorised vehicle (a rare and welcome occasion!). I had ridden over 145 miles that day.
For those interested in logistics: My overall average speed during the brevet (clock keeps going during all stops, etc) was 10.83mph. Rolling average was 13.2mph. 
Consumed in the course of the ride: 2 bananas, 2 hot dogs with relish, 1 BBQ patty, 1 bottle strawberry milk, 1 cup chocolate milk, 2 slices watermelon, 2 packets Shot Blocks, 7 bottles water containing Scratch Labs electrolyte powder. 
Difficulties during ride: strain above tailbone during prolonged climbing (relieved by occasional stretching), gearing not low enough for a couple of climbs, slow to warm up at start of the ride. 
Notably absent: headache, nausea, numbness, low energy, thirst, lightheadedness.
Damage post-ride: two small saddle sores (healed a day later), some swelling in wrists and fingers (gone several hours later, possibly water retention), mild sunburn, moderate thigh muscle soreness. 
I do not plan to do longer brevets. But I am glad I managed the 200K, and hope that over time this distance will become easier for me. 
As always, I thank everyone involved - directly and indirectly - for making this brevet happen, and for contributing to my ability to do it. As for 12 hours of riding with Pamela... That was an experience in comradery I will not forget. Though I could have managed this brevet on my own, it would have been a very different kind of ride, very different. As I was falling asleep that night, an image of Pamela making the reeling gesture popped up in my mind's eye. Oh those charming randonneurs. Watch out for them. 

It was the first day of May, and such a beautiful day it was. I had done several long, hard rides in the days prior. But on this day, I was a regular person again: cleaned up, wearing my everyday clothing, working. I felt good, and not at all like I'd been overexerting myself for the past week. It was such a beautiful, warm, easy, normal day that I knew I wanted to take the long way home. What I didn't know, was that this detour - those meandering 10 or so extra miles - would apparently bring me over the line I had unknowingly been toeing. 
After feeling wonderful and strong all week, on Thursday morning I woke up and felt ...not right. Tired, vaguely achy, even a little disoriented. I was scheduled to meet a friend for a ride, and when I went to get on the bike, I nearly fell trying to swing my leg over. As I rode to our meeting spot, my legs hurt riding 12mph on the bike path. And once we met up and got going, I felt slow as molasses. If there is such a thing as bonking after the fact, it was happening to me.
Often things don't seem real until we experience them firsthand. In that vein, I did not really process the concept of overtraining until I accidentally did it. With my legs working in some bizarre sleep mode, we still rode - slowly, with me in a low gear. We also stopped several times to eat, me more ravenous than I'd been in any of the days prior. 
My plans for the following day were straightforward: No bike. Work from home, ideally from the couch. Eat. And remember: No bike. I mostly followed through. Well, there was a little bike, because I had to buy an extra spare tube at the last minute. But otherwise, I rested and ate. And I do feel better. That's all it was really: a need to rest a bit.
Tomorrow morning: New England Randonneurs 200K. Whatever happens, it will be a beautiful May day. 

The majority of my road rides are around 100 km or less, and done in stable weather conditions. On rides like these I want to keep the bike light, but still carry the essentials - such as a multi-tool, spare tube, band-aids, and an extra snack. My mini-pump is attached to the bottle cage, and anything else I prefer to store in my jersey pockets. This is why I love the basic saddle wedge. Also called a seat pack, this style of bicycle bag attaches to a saddle's rails and does not require bag loops. It is small enough to sit underneath the saddle without any part of it sticking out beyond the saddle's profile. And for those times when you want to attach a full-sized saddlebag, the wedge is quick and easy enough to remove.

My ideal saddle wedge is just large enough to fit the essentials. It is lightweight, easy to open and close, and attaches securely. I also like it when the bag has a loop in the back for a tail light attachment. There are lots of options for this type of bag. Here are the three I use on my bikes.

On my main roadbike I've been using a Jandd Hurricane Mini Mountain Wedge for the past year. As far as this style of bag goes it is on the larger size, but still very compact and light. Dimensions are 6x10x20cm, volume is 2L and weight is 104g. Made of vinyl-lined cordura, this bag is water and abrasion-resistant. Price is $26.95.

There are several features I really like about the Hurricane. For something this small, it sure fits a lot. In addition to the essentials listed earlier, I can usually stuff small tubes of chamois cream, sun screen, and even an article of clothing inside the main compartment. There is also a second compartment - a shallow pocket on the underside of the bag - for keeping money, ID, a brevet card, or similar. The reflective strip in the rear doubles as a tail light loop.

The Jandd Hurricane attaches with an adjustable strap that threads over the saddle rails, then closes with a side-squeeze buckle on the bottom, threading through a lash tab on the underside of the bag. This makes for a very secure attachment system, especially compared to some bags that use only small strips of velcro. A secondary, velcro attachment point wraps around the seatpost. The Jandd Mini-Mountain wedge is available in several versions and lots of colours, as well as in leather, suede and waxed cotton (though the latter will increase the weight of the bag and reduce its waterproofness).

On my dirt road/ camera bike I carry the Cargo Wedge by Inertia Designs as a supplement to my handlebar bag. This is a smaller style of wedge, with a pyramid-like shape to reduce its width. Dimensions (measured at widest parts) are 10x10x14cm, volume is .7L, weight is 70g. Made cordura lined with truck tarp, the bag is water and abrasion-resistant. The bag is US-made. Lots of colours available. Price for the version I have (embroidered with Harris Cyclery's logo) is $21.95.

The cargo wedge has a single compartment with a surround zipper. It attaches via two straps that thread through the saddle rails, then velcro to the side of the bag. The velcro surface is sufficiently long to keep the bag secure. A second loop goes around the seatpost. A reflective strip in the rear incorporates a tail light attachment. The tail light shot should give you an idea of how narrow this bag is.

Smaller still is the Soma Noe Road Wedge, which I typically affix to demo bikes that I test ride or have on loan for review. Soma does make larger saddle wedges, but the "narrow aero" Noe is truly minuscule and will fit just the essentials. Dimensions (measured at widest parts) are 15x9x4cm. Volume and weight are not stated. Made out of a hemp and cotton blend fabric with a waterproof coating, it is water resistant. Available in black and khaki, as well as in an all-reflective fabric. Price for the standard version is $12.99.

The Noe is so narrow that it can literally be wedged in between the saddle rails. Attachment via two velcro straps threaded through the rails, with plenty of adhesive surface, and secondary loop around the seatpost. Single compartment with surround-zipper. A reflective strip in the rear incorporates a tail light attachment. Note that the space for the tail light clip is a little tight here; mine squeezes in just barely.

If you browse through the saddle wedges offered by different companies, you will notice a pattern to their shapes, sizes, closure systems and other features. Some are flat, others pyramid-like. Some use buckle attachments, others velcro. A good way to determine which works best for you is to visit a bike shop that stocks different models and buy the bag there. Also talk to riders who have used specific bags for a while and in different weather conditions. After destroying the Fizik wedge I initially had on my roadbike, I was steered toward the Jandd by a local rider, which has since endured heavy use and bad weather without a mark on it.

When you don't want to carry a lot on your bike, the saddle wedge is a great little bag that keeps things simple and functional.

I know what you're thinking. "What, don't you own a rolling pin?" Well of course I do. But I use it for printmaking, so it lives in my studio. Luckily, what I lack in baking paraphernalia, I make up for in empty wine bottles. It's not that I drink a lot of wine, but that I tend to keep the empties for years - using them as flower vases and such. So when I came home holding my thighs today and my eye searched for something rolling pin-like, a tall bottle from a Spanish red fit the bill.

It's been a while since my legs felt this tight after a ride; I have low gears on my bikes and use them. But after two long, climbing-intensive rides a couple of days apart, a massage was in order.

There are different ways to go about doing this on your own, and here is what I do: I sit on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. The massage can be done on bare legs or over clothing, such as loose pajama bottoms (just not anything made of thick fabric, like jeans). I hold the bottle firmly, in one or both hands (there is no second handle as you would have on a rolling pin, but it still works okay), and move it in a gentle rolling motion up and down whatever muscles feel tight, in long strokes, at an even pressure. I use light to medium pressure, but others press harder - whatever feels right. Also, some prefer to sit on a chair, rather than stretched out on the floor. Try it both ways and see what feels better. If you need to do the back of your legs and don't have anyone to help, you can do it yourself standing up. A little awkward, but doable. Either way, this simple leg massage technique works surprisingly well on stiff, achy, or even just tired leg muscles in a fairly short amount of time. I have even seen cyclists do this during rides - using their mini bicycle pumps.

Of course if you have an unopened bottle of wine, you could combine the bottle massage with a glass of its contents for that extra bit of relaxation. A versatile product to keep on hand.

Monday Mailbox is a weekly post dedicated to questions received over email. Here is one, for a nice change of pace:It's been fun discovering what to call different styles of bikes through your blog... diamond frame, step-through, loop frame, mixte, truss frame, Frascona curve! But what exactly is a High Nelly?I've been curious about this myself, especially about the term's origin.
Used predominantly in the UK and Ireland (and not very common anymore), in a general sense "High Nelly" describes upright bikes. More often than not, the term refers specifically to women's bikes, and particularly to vintage ones. So, for instance, an old fashioned loop frame with swept-back handlebars up higher than the saddle might be called a High Nelly - similar to what an omafiets is to the Dutch. 
But in Northern Ireland last summer, I was treated to a more detailed explanation. I was told that originally, "high nelly" referred to a specific style of a woman's bicycle frame, where the head tube was extended considerably past the height of the seat tube. This ensured that the handlebars could be set up as high as possible, for a fully upright and ultra-ladylike position. Apparently, only frames thus constructed are true high nellies. 
Interestingly, in manufacturing its popular Lady's Tourist model, some time in the 1940s Raleigh switched from the original extended headtube design to one where the headtube was more or less level with the seat tube. The measurements of my 22" 1973 DL-1 frame are almost identical to the measurements of my 22" 1936 Lady's Tourist frame, save for this aspect and the resulting difference in posture. So, going by the explanation above, only the very early Lady's Tourists can be considered high nellies, whereas the later DL-1s (as well as most other post-war English 3-speeds) are not. And according to the same definition, lots of modern bikes can be considered high nellies, since extended headtubes are now quite popular.
Unfortunately, I cannot find any written information about the origins of the term, so I can't cite my sources beyond "conversation with collectors." And sadly, who exactly this Nelly was, for whom I assume the style of bicycle was named, remains a mystery. 

So, did you know that Mary had a little lamb? No, seriously. That there once was an actual girl, named Mary, who kept a diminutive pet sheep? The girl in question (Mary Sawyer, to be precise) lived in Sterling Massachusetts in the 1800s. And according to historical scholars, some time in 1830 she brought her pet lamb to school - an act that caused such mirth among the other children, that a local poet was inspired to immortalise it in verse. On the Sterling Town Green, a statue now stands commemorating the event.

This statue also marks the halfway point and only control stop of the New England Randonneurs Populaire - a 107 km ride that heralds the official start of the local brevet season.

"But at least take a picture next to the Lamb!" someone exclaimed when I mentioned there would be no pictures on this ride. And so a kindly volunteer did the honors. My few lucid memories of the Populaire revolve around the stone rendering of Mary's pet.

Having already done two "Permanents" earlier this month (this one and this one), I hoped the official Populaire would not be anti-climactic. I needn't have worried.

Some notes, while it's all still fresh and I am too tired to feel self-conscious:

I must remember that rides with similar overall elevation gain can be very different. The climbing on this one was intense and draining, even though the elevation gain (3813ft over 68 miles) was the same as in the previous two (much easier!) 100Ks I've done this year.

But perhaps much of that had to do with how I did this ride. Straight through, minimal stopping, really pushing myself to get it done. Particularly on the return leg, I just basically raced through the course, inasmuch as I am capable of such a thing. I do not know what possessed me to do it this way; I certainly did not have to as there was plenty of time left before the cutoff. But it felt in the spirit of the event: Everyone seemed focused on making good time. I finished well (for me), certainly better than expected. But it was tough. At some point, everything was a blur, attempts at conversations babbling nonsense.

For some of the time I rode in a group. This proved a novel experience compared to previous group riding. While the group's average speed was similar to my own, their rhythm did not match mine - a situation I found extremely difficult to deal with. I tried a few times to cycle ahead of the group, so as to go at my own pace. This did not work, as they'd always catch me. Falling behind did not work either, as I'd eventually catch up, yet again be unable to pass them. I seemed destined to ride in this group and adapt to its rhythm; it was as if a magnetic field held us together!

The start of the Boston brevets is in a middle-of-nowhere location - an airforce base some distance from my house. By the time I got home, I had ridden 105 miles, and felt every single one of them. A Century is not quite a casual distance for me, yet. This is disappointing.

Because of the Boston Marathon bombings and their aftermath, the Populaire took place one week later than initially planned. The 200K brevet is next Saturday, not leaving much time for further training. Considering how I feel after this ride, I am not sure it is a good idea to embark on the 200K so soon. But I will see how I feel mid-week before deciding.

Finally... Despite this depriving me of photo opportunities, it felt good to put in an effort and try to make decent time. By mid day it was all over, and afterward I felt oddly over-emotional. I wasn't happy, or sad, or proud or frustrated exactly. Rather, it was as if so many miles and so much intensity packed in a fairly short time was too much for my system to cope with. But in a good way... I think.

Many thanks to the New England Randonneurs for putting on this event, and to the wonderful volunteers who made it happen! I hope to see you again this summer.

The past year has been a great eye-opener for me as far as finding new places to ride in an area I thought I'd exhausted. In particular, I've been impressed by local randonneuse Pamela Blalock's ability to design routes entirely along back roads, with minimal motorised traffic. This style of route involves more climbing than typical, and, at times, some intense navigation. But having gotten used to both, I've come to appreciate the opportunities routes like this provide: to travel on my bike largely undisturbed by cars, and to truly get to know an area, with all its hidden scenery and useful shortcuts. I also appreciate that Pamela's routes are not a matter of luck or psychic powers, but of dedicated research and strategic exploring. 
Until recently I did not feel sufficiently confident in my navigation skills to try this myself, but now that is changing. I am planning a ride heading North, and getting out of Boston straight up the coast is a thoroughly unpleasant business. There is no good way to do it; for the first 10 miles it is all dangerous roads and lots of congestion. So I wanted to plan a route that would swing out west and come around from there, connecting to the northern route at a point where it calms down. This adds about 30 extra miles to the start of the trip, but I will take 40 pleasant miles over 10 unpleasant ones any time. 
In planning the westward route extension, my goal was to try and do it along lightly traveled back roads, possibly with some unpaved stretches. I started by studying similar routes that go through the area, combining and modifying them based on personal experience, maps, and educated guesswork, until I'd strung something together that went where I needed it to go. I loaded the route onto GPS, printed out a cue sheet, and got on my bike to test out my handiwork.
For my first time trying something like this, it wasn't bad. There were lots of turns that would drive some people nuts and a few awkward climbs - the kind where a climb starts right after a sharp turn, catching you by surprise, so that you're downshifting madly from a high gear. This I didn't mind, particularly since I was the only vehicle on the road much of the time. But there was also a couple of mistakes/ surprises - not necessarily bad, but educational.
My route included a few unpaved trails, all except one of which I was already familiar with. The one I was not familiar with turned out to be more technical than I'd expected. 
A shortcut through the woods, the narrow bumpy trail wound its way downhill between trees rather tightly. I was able to ride it, but made a note to avoid it on skinny tires, in wet weather and in the dark. Looking at the map, I saw there was a way to circumvent the woods on the road, so I then went back and tested that stretch to make sure it was a sufficiently traffic-free alternative. 
While not ideal for all bikes and all occasions, this trail proved to be incredibly scenic this time of year. For much of it, I cycled under a canopy of budding magnolia blossoms. The sun brought out their colours against the blue sky, and the warm weather brought out their scent.
Riding here, I felt as if I'd been gifted a rare glimpse into something special and rare. Only for 2 weeks of the year do these flowers blossom. And all it takes is one windy, rainy day, for all this tentative pinkness to be stripped off its branches before the flowers even fully open up.   
Spring is such a delicate time of the year. The greens are pale, the tangled trees are transparent like lace. In the summer this will all become fuller, heavier, thicker - a dense fabric. 
Even moss is paler and softer. I love coming back to the woods season after season and seeing it all change.
Further along, I found myself on a stretch of road that was much busier than expected. So I changed course in hopes of finding a better alternative. On the map I saw a tangle of side streets that it looked like I could ride through to get to my next point, skipping the busy road. So I did just that, and found myself in a cul-de-sac neighbourhood situated on a substantial hill. Looking for the best route, I ended up going over this hill several times from different directions, until I found the sequence I was happiest with. 
On one of the streets I passed a group of small boys with their kids' bikes. The poor things could only ride them up and down short stretches in front of their house before the road became too steep. Seeing me continue all the way up the hill, the boys stopped what they were doing, stood still and stared, saying "Whoa, I want to do that!" and "That's a nice bike, lady!" They had not reached that age yet where youthful mockery becomes hard to detect; it was clear their delight was genuine.
Later, I encountered a woman walking a llama, as casually as if she were walking a dog. Normally I am not good at making quick u-turns, but this time it was no problem (llama!).
Heading home along a quiet trail, I realised that in the course of the past 50 miles there had only been a few stretches with noticeable car traffic. And now that I had a better understanding of the neighbourhoods around those stretches, I could make changes to improve those parts as well. It wasn't perfect, but I am pretty happy with my first serious attempt at backroad route planning. Even the parts that did not go as expected allowed me to explore and discover interesting pockets I would have otherwise missed.
Having a network of new, "secret" as some locals refer to them, routes through familiar areas is extremely exciting and a great way to travel. I am looking forward to doing more of this!

When offered to review some products from the rain gear company Showers Pass, I immediately chose the Portland Jacket. Endowed with the technical features Showers Pass rain gear is known for, the Portland has the look of everyday apparel, while steering clear of extra frills and over-the-top urban stylishness. The combination could be just the thing for many bicycle commuters - particularly those whose definition of commuting involves spirited riding and roadbike positioning. Available in men's and women's versions, this review is of the latter.
The Showers Pass Portland is made of a proprietary synthetic 3-layer softshell material with a waterproof breathable membrane and box fleece lining. It is made in Vietnam. The fabric is waterproof, but the seams are not sealed. 
The hem of the jacket hits around the widest part of the hips. The sleeves extend a couple of inches past the wrists. The stand-up collar zips up to the chin. The fit is quite slender, almost like "racing fit." If you want a relaxed fit for layering, I would suggest going up a size. The model pictured is a US Women's Size 4 and she is wearing the Portland in a Medium (over a t-shirt and a sweater). Branding on this jacket is minimal. 
The light gray exterior features a subtle glen plaid pattern, with reflective piping along the seam at the shoulder blades in the back and above the chest in the front. The silver Showers Pass logos on the back of the collar and on the chest pocket in front are also reflective.
The black fleecy interior has a soft, waffled texture to it that is pleasant to the touch. 
The drop-down hem in the rear extends coverage and adds a wide reflective strip.
A feature specific to the women's version of the Portland is the side zippers. The jacket can be unzipped to varying degrees on the sides to flare out at the hips. This is a clever and flattering solution to the problem of accommodating variety in waist to hip ratios among women. The wearer can unzip the sides a little, a lot, or not at all, depending on body shape, positioning on the bike, and the look they are going for.
In front, there are two side pockets, tilted for ergonomic comfort, and a hidden chest pocket (with "audio port"). There are hidden armpit zippers for temperature regulation, which is also helped by the two-way zip feature of the main zipper in the front.
The small interior pocket will fit a wallet or phone.
Zippers at the wrists accommodate for variations in rider arm lengths, ensuring that the sleeve does not constrict the hand. 
Prior to passing on the Portland to the model, I did a few commutes in it myself. Personally, I found the jacket not ideal on an upright bike, since it provides no leg coverage (as a trench-style raincoat would). But on a roadbike it made a lot more sense. I will sometimes commute on this bike when I want to combine roadcycling with photography work, and a jacket like the Portland is a good way to still "look normal" while dressing comfortably for a leaned over position and spirited riding. The fit and all the zip features accommodate road positioning excellently. Having worn the jacket in the rain for a prolonged period, it was indeed waterproof - though missing a hood. Possibly it is assumed that a helmet will be worn, with its own rain cover contraption. The internal soft fleeciness makes the jacket quite cozy to wear on those raw chilly drizzly days. Unlike many other rain jackets, the Portland breathes well and is fine to wear when it's not raining. I would basically call it an all purpose Spring/Fall jacket. Possibly it is also suitable for cold summer evenings in the North, but not so much for a New England winter. Having worn it once on a 35° F day with "only" two layers underneath, I felt underdressed for the cold. Worth noting is that this is not a pocket stow-away jacket; its folded-up size will require a bicycle bag or rack-strap system.
The model pictured is a cyclist who usually commutes to work on a roadbike in street clothing (typically stretchy jeans and sweaters). Like me, she finds the Showers Pass Portland jacket waterproof and breathable. And she agrees that the fit is ideal for road positioning. Even with her aggressive posture, the front of the jacket does not feel like a weight pulling down. Neither does it fold to dig into her middle section uncomfortably, or pull at the shoulders. The stretch of the fabric and strategic zippers make for a comfortable and flattering fit. The look of the jacket suits her casual personal style. 
The Showers Pass Portland is an attractive, functional and practical bicycle commuter jacket for cool and rainy conditions, priced at $200. It will likely be most appreciated by those who prefer a leaned-over posture on the bike and feel constrained by longer, trench-style designs. Personally, I would prefer this jacket with a hood and wonder whether a detachable one could be included in a future iteration. 

Monday Mailbox is a weekly post dedicated to questions received over email. Here is one that taps into a popular topic:Until now I've been cycling on my own, but I am considering club rides. I see that most cycling clubs in my area offer women's rides in addition to their regular [mixed gender] rides, with the idea that this helps women feel more comfortable. [Also,] talking to women [cyclists] I get the sense that riding with men is not such a nice experience. What are your impressions of cycling with men vs other women? Is there an advantage to women only rides?From personal experience (as opposed to stories others tell me), I have not formed any generalised impressions of gender as tied to specific cycling behaviours. 
For background: I occasionally take part in women-only club rides, as well as in mixed gender club rides. I also do lots of informal riding with 1-3 cycling buddies at a time, and the gender split there is roughly 50/50 (meaning, roughly half of my cycling buddies are men and half are women).
Among the people I ride with, I cannot honestly say that I notice a gender difference. Possibly this is because the other differences are more prominent. For instance, there are experienced riders versus inexperienced ones. There are competitive riders versus non-competitive ones. Some riders are aggressive and take risks, while others are mellow and risk-averse. There is a category of riders who only talk about cycling while they're cycling (technique, nutrition, bikes), versus those who talk about anything but (philosophy, politics, gossip). I can probably think of at least a few other classification systems before gender starts to seem relevant. 
As far as advantages to women-only rides... As I understand it, the assumptions there are that: (1) women enjoy the opportunity to socialise with other women, and (2) women feel less self-conscious without men around. If this applies to you, then that would certainly be the advantage. However, it does not apply to all women, including myself. Men don't inherently make me nervous, and women don't inherently put me at ease, it's really more about the individual. So I'll join a women's ride if I want to ride that day, but not because it's a women's-only ride.
Judging by how often this stuff comes up, I recognise it as a serious issue and don't mean to be dismissive of it. For women who, for whatever reason, feel uncomfortable riding with men, women-only club rides are a valuable resource. In that sense, I am glad that more of them are appearing all over. 
But me, I'll ride with anyone. As long as they ride predictably and I can keep up. Conversation optional.

Squinting in the harsh mid-day light, with baited breath I rolled this rare machine I had been entrusted with across the grassy clearing. I leaned it against a tree. I arranged it amidst some flowers. I positioned it this way and that, in the sunshine and in shadow. With the camera to my eye, I crouched, I kneeled, I loomed, I stepped back. And yet, the bicycle refused to draw attention to itself. It was as if in his quest to achieve harmony - a harmony of proportion, colour and form - the builder had gone one step too far. So harmonious was this bicycle, so perfectly at home in these woods on this beautiful spring day, that it was in fact part of the scenery. 
To appreciate a JP Weigle, one must appreciate this level of subtlety. To those in the know, the builder's name is synonymous with randonneuring machines in the classic French tradition. Today this type of bike is not as rare - and, by extension, not as striking - as it was just a few years ago. There are fewer heated debates about its low trail geometry and 650B tires. There are also fewer oohs and aahs about its integrated fenders, racks, lighting, handlebar bags and other iconic features. But a Weigle machine is not so much about these things in themselves, as it is about how they are done. Weigle is the master of the thinned lug, of the French-surved fork blade, of the sculptural, minimalist front rack, of near-invisible internal wiring, of the perfectly installed fenders. Hardly anyone uses the word "beautiful" to describe his work, although it is assumed. The words used are: meticulous, impeccable, flawless. It is by design that no part of a Weigle calls attention to itself. 
In his rural Connecticut workshop, JP (Peter) Weigle has a presence that is as quietly compelling as one of his creations. Dressed in gray on gray and of serene disposition, he is easy to miss in a room full of colourful jerseys and animated conversation. "But where is Peter?" visitors ask. Eventually he is spotted, in a corner, speaking in a muted yet impassioned tone as he points to some tiny detail on either his own frame or a vintage one in his custody. On my visit I was treated to a Jo Routens, stripped of paint, its brazed joints exposed to be studied. And beside it was the yet-unpainted bike I was trying to photograph now - nearly ready after years in the waiting. 
The future owner, Elton (second from the left), left the paint colour up to Peter, confident that whatever the builder chose would be right for the bike.
The racing green frame with chromed fork blades and stays is a congruent combination of darks and lights, of matte and reflective surfaces.  
The embellishments - such as the lug cutouts filled with tiny bursts of red and the golden box lining - are noticeable only on close inspection, but are so numerous and discreet that one could spend hours looking over the bike and still miss some.
The lugs are thinned out to such an extent, that they are almost flush with the tubes. It is difficult to get their intricate shorelines to show up on camera. No doubt it is to highlight this aspect of the construction that lug outlining has been omitted. 
In addition to the frame and fork, Peter made the canti-mount front rack
which features a left-side light mount extension 
and sits low and stable on the bike, the platform secured to the front fender.
He also made the rear rack, 
which attaches both at the dropouts and at the canti bosses.
The custom cable hanger and tail light are also his own work.
The internally routed dynamo-powered lighting was set up in collaboration with AT Électricalités - aka "Somervillain," who now moonlights as a bike electrician of renown skill. He explains how he set up the lighting step by step here. Examining the bike in person, the entry and exit points of the wiring are extremely difficult to spot even if you know where they are. 
The rest of the build the owner put together himself. It included a Grand Bois stem and decaleur,
modern Rene Herse crankset,
Shimano Dura Ace rear derailleur and cassette,
9-speed Campagnolo ergo shifters,
vintage Mafac brakes
Handbuilt wheels around Pacenti rims, with a Chris King hub in the rear and a Schmidt SON dynamo hub in the front, and of course Grand Bois Hetre (extra leger!) 650Bx42mm tires,
Gilles Berthoud touring saddle,
Berthoud handlebar bag,
and long coverage Honjo fenders, which Peter Weigle installed using his own special method prior to Elton doing the rest of the build.
The elegant Nitto bottle cages are a nice complement to the build,
as are the two-tone Crankbrothers pedals and Wippermann chain.  
Even after such a long description, there are many details I've missed. I need a clearer background and softer lighting to really do justice to it all. The curve of the brake bridge, the hidden lug cutouts, the pump peg, the delicate little braze-ons... this is a bike whose beauty "unfolds" the more closely you look at it. But standing there in a patch of woods, it makes you think about cycling rather than its own self. And Elton surely has plans to do some brevets on this beautiful machine this season. In the meantime he has been commuting on it to work.
Living in New England, I've been lucky enough to encounter a number of Weigle bikes "in the wild"(for example, this one), made over the span of several decades. Like a number of other well known American builders, Peter Weigle got his start at Witcomb Cycles in London, UK in the early 1970s. And while today he is best known for his low trail randonneuring machines with 650B wheels, he did not begin working on such designs until 2005-2006. Before then there were Weigle racing bikes, mountain bikes, touring bikes - all showing the fashions of the times, yet also his distinct brand of elaborately subtle detail. I feel fortunate to have seen some of these bicycles and spoken to their owners. 
Peter Weigle's small workshop in the woods is neat and tidy when visitors appear. The builder's friends tease that he never allows anyone to watch him work, his technique being top secret. Whatever the secret is, the results continue to entice bicycle lovers to dream of his machines, whether admiring them from afar or putting their names on the years-long wait list.