Category: Interbike

Interbike 2013: Swimming to Santa Fe

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
The scene outside the passenger window near Wagon Mound, N.M.
The scene outside the passenger window near Wagon Mound, N.M.

SANTA FE, N.M. (MDM) — I arose this morning to partly cloudy skies and images of my old friend Jennifer Buntz on the TV, discussing some bikey issue on KOB-TV out of Albuquerque.

I chose to regard both of these developments as good omens, having left Bibleburg under threatening skies and surfed a couple of gully-washers en route to The City Different, the traditional first stop on the Road To Mandalay (Bay). It’s still raining back home, Herself confirmed this morning.

I expected more of the same in Santa Fe, but managed to sneak in a quick soak and steam under the clouds at Ten Thousand Waves, poaching the editorial kinks out of my moth-eaten carcass.

All my usual dinner haunts are closed on Sundays, so I grabbed some disgustingly healthy grub from Whole Paycheck and took a brief assay of what was on the electrical babble box. Not much. I can’t believe people pay American money to watch this shit. I likewise gave myself a day away from the Innertubes, being weary of that particular monsoon, too.

This morning it’s an overdue dose of green chile at Tia Sophia’s and then off to Flagstaff. See you along the road.

Countdown to Interbike

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
On the Road to Mandalay (Bay).
On the Road to Mandalay (Bay).

It’s rare that an upcoming trip to Sin City feels like a vacation in the making, but sheeeeeeeeyit, will I ever be glad to get the hell away from business as usual for a week.

You read the news this morning? Having shit the bed on Syria, the White House has turned to a Russian laundry to clean up the mess. An anonymous dossier makes Pat McQuaid look like Leo O’Bannion from “Miller’s Crossing.” Turnout is expected to be heavy as Bibleburg decides whether to recall Sen. John Morse for offending the penis-extension segment of the electorate, whose idea of a full magazine is decidedly not The New Yorker.

So, yeah. A nice long drive through the desert to clear the head (with the radio off); a few days of wandering about unfettered in Santa’s Workshop; eating meals I don’t have to cook — it all sounds like a little slice of heaven to me.

I’ll be providing daily updates from the show — or that’s the plan, anyway — so keep the dial tuned to WDOG for the latest and greatest from the Mandalay Bay Convention Center once the doors open a week from tomorrow.

Don’t expect me to come home with any $519 bibs, though. If that’s not an invitation to stack it on a rocky trail I never saw one.

iBike 2012: Tools, not toys

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 24 Comments
2013 Bianchi Volpe
The venerable Bianchi Volpe gets another makeover for 2013, including a nifty powder-blue hue and retro decals.

BIBLEBURG, Colo. (MDM) — The times, how they do change.

Once upon a time my bicycle sprang from sound racing stock — first steel, then aluminum and finally carbon fiber and/or titanium — and the gearing was as manly as the showers at Paris-Roubaix. 52/42 and 12-21 constituted the standard until I moved to Santa Fe, where I was informed that 53/39 and 12-23 were better suited to the hillier terrain.

The fabled straight block came out for pan-flat time trials, of course, and for truly insane climbs one kept a cogset with a 25 or even a 27 handy.

Tires, naturally, were 700×25 — sewups for racing, clinchers for training — though I kept a pair of 28s around for one race that involved a half-dozen miles of dirt-road climbing, and for no good reason occasionally used 19s in a race against the clock.

But this was long ago, and that man is no longer with us.

Today if the bike is not steel it’s probably not mine. And the gearing — good Lord, the gearing! — has devolved to 46/34 and 12-28 on some machines. Two sport triple-ring cranks and mountain-bike rear derailleurs.

Tires likewise have ballooned. 700×28 is now a minimum rather than a maximum, and the max has gone all the way to 700×45, though the sweet spot lies somewhere between 32 and 38.

And the coup de grace? Racks and fenders. Got ’em on three bikes. Oh, the humanity.

There were lots of utilitarian machines like mine at this year’s Interbike show, from the likes of Co-Motion, Bruce Gordon, Yuba, Pashley, Velo-Orange, Bianchi, Opus, Volagi and others. And more companies are tooling up to hang useful bits on them, such as racks and fenders, panniers and trunks, bells and whistles.

What’s behind all this? Beats me. Maybe folks are sick of watching unrepentant dopers perform impossible feats on otherworldly machinery. Perhaps someone figured out that the Adventure Cycling Association has 45,000 members. And don’t forget Peak Oil — it might be nice to have something to ride to work when the last well starts farting dust.

All I know is, if this is a trend instead of a blip, I like it. A guy gets tired of staring up at lug nuts while inhaling a snootful of fragrant particulates.

iBike 2012: A body at rest

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
Caramillo leaves
The trees are turning big-time in Bibleburg.

BIBLEBURG, Colo. (MDM) — I’m always surprised to find myself at home after a longish road trip, because once I get that old Newtonian motion going the inclination is to keep on keepin’ on.

Why not swing down through Phoenix to McDowell Mountain Regional Park, do a bit of autumn cycling? Then drift further south to Tucson, have a bite at El Minuto. There’s some fine desert riding around Las Cruces, too, along with the High Desert Brewing Company.

Then I could head north through Socorro, refueling at El Sombrero, before pushing on to Santa Fe, where the eating, drinking and cycling opportunities are boundless. A guy can bat around there for the better part of quite some time without ever coming to rest.

Alas, I’m no longer an unencumbered twenty-something, answering only to a spindly, bad-tempered mutt and a Japanese pickup. So I took the well-worn route back to Bibleburg, picking up on an excellent set of music from the Green Chile Revival and Medicine Show on Gallup’s KGLP en route — Mary Gauthier, Stan Rogers, Fred Eaglesmith and the New Orleans Nightcrawlers — and enjoying two last norteño meals at La Choza in Santa Fe and Orlando’s in Taos before finally coming to rest back at the ranch.

It’s fall with a vengeance here, which means cool mornings and an extra blankie on the bed at night, but excellent riding weather in between. So I plan to spend as much time as is humanly possible piloting a bicycle — one with what Larry calls “after-lunch gearing” — instead of a Subaru.

iBike 2012: Leaving Las Vegas

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 21 Comments
Eastbound from Kingman at sunset.
Eastbound from Kingman at sunset.

FLAGSTAFF, Ariz. (MDM) — Two and a half days of Interbike is just about right. Eyeball some bling, catch a bit of face time with industry cronies, drink some adult beverages and then be on your way.

Vegas is the only place I know of where one can arise in the morning without drinking heavily the night before and still feel like hammered shit. It’s a contact hangover, the parched ghosts of a billion debaucheries. That the show will move from the Sands to Mandalay Bay is only like shifting the ball-peen hammer to your left hand so you can smack yourself upside the left temple for a change of pace.

There seemed to be fewer actual bicycles at the show this year. Plenty of appetizers, side dishes and desserts, but a tad light on the main course. I wasn’t the only one who noticed this, either, though most attendees would’ve walked right past a pretty bike, eyes locked as they were onto their smartphones.

But it was encouraging to see more companies serving up transportation rather than toys — Yuba was showing some particularly interesting bikes — and more companies are offering racks, bags and other accoutrements that say “transportation” rather than “toy.”

Outside the Sands I encountered plenty of Obama supporters. You know the type: shiftless, smelly ragamuffins living on the streets, begging for alms outside shops and on street corners while awaiting the splendiferous bounty of the welfare state.

The Wal-Mart across the street from my Motel 6 in Flag’ has a scattering of folks camped in their rides despite prominent signs forbidding overnight camping. Others find nearby convenience-store/gas stations whose parking lots are big enough for a brief bivouac before pressing on.

The motel itself shelters the next step up — working-poor families packed into one room, taking the evening air with lawn chairs and coolers, enjoying a smoke. At least one room has a plant in its window. This does not bespeak a casual visitor passing through.

For me, it’s only temporary. In a few minutes I’ll be burning up the road at four smacks per gallon, bound for Bibleburg. This is a good deal easier than hoofing it like the young dude I saw as I walked back to the motel from breakfast. Equipped with haversack and dog, he asked directions to Route 66, and I provided same, warning it was a ways down the road.

“Well, it’s not like I’m not used to walking,” he said with a grin, then moved on.