Tropical Forest

I wish...actually my tropical garden looking up from below.

Signs Found on Our Walk

Honey, We Meet Again

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 intruding. In my first impressions write-up I described how "different" its handling felt from anything I'd tried before. As a wannabebicycle designer, this gnawed at me. What was it about that bike?






Enter geographical luck of the draw. Honey Bikes are local to me, theproject of Rob Vandermark whom I know through the Ride Studio Cafe bicycle shop andSeven 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 along-term test ride and review: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 long 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 appropriate 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 finishesare 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" finishes, where the panels and lettering contrast the main colour.








Like the bike I had borrowed last summer, this is a stock 52.5cm Honey Cyclocross race frame (they also have a utility cross model, but this is not it). The sizing figures on Honey bikes refer to the virtual top tube length. Because this bike was set up for me from the get-go, it fit me much better than the one I rode 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, and there is a lot to be said for this. With roadbike test rides, fit really matters.






The Honey was set up with a SRAM Rival group and TRP mini-v brakes. The brakes work excellently (more on that here), which was a great relief from previous experiences with cantis. 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 - 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.Off pavement, I feel comfortable with these tires on dirt, gravel, reasonably shallow sand and not-too-thick 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. These tires are also great in the rain and light snow. In bad weather, I find myself reaching for this bike.




Speaking of snow... Though I did not ride a lot over this past winter, the little riding I did was mostly on the Honey. 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 heal, 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, rocks 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 described 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.The welds are very smooth, more or less invisible under the paint. 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. None of it 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." As in exciting, playful, toy-like. This bike really moves, and under a more skillful rider than me I am sure it would move even better. While I am obviously not evaluating it in that context, 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 CX Honey could work nicely for those who want a lightweight, modern, racy bike with wide 700C tires. Although designed for short races, to me it feels great over 100K distances. The main thing, is that 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 Carradice-style saddlebag in the rear, I can feel the weight (or drag - not sure which). With a smaller bag that tucks under the saddle (like the Dill Pickle shown here) this is considerably less pronounced. I have not tried a bag on the front - though I've now been lent 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, adapting to one then another.




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 CX 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.

Kautz Glacier, Muir Snowfield, and Access

One of the neat things about this site is that climbers (just like you) send me their route reports and photos. Thankfully, Nick Bratton sent some information on the Kautz Glacier route. At the same time, Brent McGregor also contributed a few great photos (including this nice one of Mount St. Helens). Also worth noting is Ian Litmans' update on the Disappointment Cleaver. If you're up on the hill and want to share your stories or photos, definitely drop me a note with your thoughts.

Those visiting Camp Schurman will find one of the most scenic high camp toilets on the continent (seriously)! Why? The toilet door has blown away (3 times this year) leaving the user an unobstructed view of the Winthrop Glacier, Seattle and Puget Sound. Be prepared, however, the spacious decor potentially comes with blowing snow and wind as you take that personal break. We hope to get this problem resolved this weekend, but in the meantime, enjoy the view.

For those more concerned with access issues, here is the round up:

The Sunrise Road will open this Friday, June 15th. Paradise shuttles will resume this Friday (June 15th) too. If you can't get a parking spot near the Jackson Visitor Center, you may want to consider this free shuttle service. And over on HWY 123, a contract to repair the road has been awarded. The state highway should re-open by mid-October. There is even a chance that it will open to "one lane of traffic" sometime this summer, so stay tuned.

Southside aerial by Mike Gauthier (6-13), centered on the Nisqually Glacier and Fuhrer Finger route.

Looking Back is Moving Forward

This is a guest blog by Ben Clark that I am happy to reproduce here.








Ben Clark on 24,688' Annapurna IV's North Ridge. Clark and Josh Butson were the first to lay ski tracks on this notoriously unstable route. Photo credit: Josh Butson


Carving one last wet, heavy mid afternoon turn into camp last May, I stopped, clicked out of my ski bindings and took a step back from 10 years of working alpine routes in the Himalayas. I began this 10-year career with an Everest summit on my second expedition and then attempted 13 more peaks in the Himalayas. My partners and I would dispatch routes in a bold style that, depending on whether you read the NY Times or the Adventure Journal, either brought us closer to death or closer to life in this humbling and crushing mountain range. I have a biased assessment on the position of life or death. I made it through physically unscathed and can reflect on experiences “in the field” with great partners, good memories and only “some” bad luck. But a lot of my friends, and some of my mentors did not fare as well: some died, some quit, others didn’t know when to stop. It is with that disclosure that I begin to wax sublime on some of my more memorable moments and a couple of caveats to explore if you think this is an interesting topic:

1. All I wanted to do was see the world. From the age of 20 until 32 that manifested into mountaineering and channeling all my efforts, extra money and time into the Himalayas.

2. This was not a hobby for me. It was an obsession that drove almost every decision I made during that time. It had to or I would not have survived what I was doing. No mountain was worth giving up the chance to explore another one for, so I had rules that I followed and when I committed to climbing a peak, made it happen despite a real job.

3. I love this sport whole-heartedly and it makes me hurt deep down in the pit of my stomach when I think about never doing it again. But not as bad as the thought of making a fatal mistake and hurting the people I love.

So here you go, a snapshot of what I have to contribute on life, death, risk… and why I personally chose to take time this year to consider what I was doing.

It was a chilly October and my right butt cheek was smeared against a frigid corner of bare granite, knee grinding into the opposing wall over a single toothy crampon point that held my weight while a heel sloped downward and my achilles fought for reprieve. In this precarious position 90′ above Josh, my partner on the wall and belayer, I had a left leg flagged out into space pressing away from the corner. It was desperate, my quivering right arm clutched an ice tool hooking an 1/8″ nub of bare rock while my left arm extended into a steel pick scratching a surface of thin decomposing snow and ice. In the still air at 17,000′ I yelled down to Josh to untie from the rope between us, “Josh, take me off!” He responded: “What???” I repeated what I knew he had to do: “Take me off, I will kill us both if I fall.” At that moment, severely exposed and wildly wrong about adequate protection (I had placed none) in the vertical corner I was inching upward in, “26 year old me” knew if I made one error I would die from a fatal 1200′ fall and violently rip Josh off as well, the two of us tumbling to death six days from a road that led to a town where people spoke only Mandarin, in a Chinese valley where no one knew we were. This was difficult terrain to be soloing but I knew I could execute the moves to safety because I never allowed my emotions free reign to seize and paralyze me in the moments where my life, death and the future was suspended in balance like this. I had nothing to lose, which helped. After all, I would leave nothing behind but about $700 in my bank account, no debt and an e-mail to my parents from a smoky bar in Rilong — a forgotten relic of a town in the far Eastern Himalaya that crumbled in an earthquake in .

But I didn’t fall that day in 2006. And we still had an epic time getting off that mountain in the dark, in a major storm with two ropes and barely any protection for adequate anchors in the featureless compact granite. We took risk and we executed, death was an option, just never acceptable for us. But I want to phrase that carefully; I did not see this as cheating death, I was cheating odds, which is a different game and mindset. Even though I love nature and alpine environments, luck was the most prevalent explanation for living and also the most seductive element of adventure granting clouds and snow, sun and summits and fate or failure. When we got home to Telluride, Co. from that trip, all I wanted to do was have a conversation with my local mentors Charlie Fowler and Chris Boskoff about how awesome the trip had been, how confident I now felt putting up a new route in the Himalayas. They too were in China on an expedition, but they never came home, an avalanche swept over them a few weeks after the storm we had survived. They died doing what they loved.



Jon Miller belays Josh Butson as the team reached the site of a 5 night stay at 21,600' in a fierce Himalayan maelstrom on Baruntse. Photo credit: Ben Clark

In , with three more aggressive years to hone my experience and an appetite for dangerous runouts, I was in the lead on a new route on the NE face of 23,390′ Baruntse in the Nepali Himalayas. Josh, Jon and I had committed to what we thought was a six-day alpine style push with the bare amount of equipment to climb the mountain by a new route, summit and then ski down the other side. This was my dream climb and the route I would say had the most influence on me than any other route I ever touched. I wanted to traverse it more than any ground on earth. But on that day as I led, ice climbing on a shiny spine of ice cleaving a wide open face capped by dangerous icefall on either side, I peered across valley to the 8000′ south face of 27,940′ Lhotse to watch the jet stream explode against it in a 3000′ tall mushroom cloud framed by an eerie alpenglow. I scarily uttered through chattering lips with 2000′ of air nipping at my heels: “Living people do not see things like this.” That night, on a ledge we chopped out and sat on for five days, I hunched over with my frost nipped feet warming on Jon’s stomach holding his hands so he could lean forward and puke into a Ziploc bag. Josh melted water in a stove almost hanging in space on the edge of the tent. We settled into an uneasy realization of what we all knew may be true — this could be it if the storm built steam and blew our tent to pieces. We had reached a point of too far, not yet no return, and would have nothing but time to worry about our fate as Jon’s stomach ailment deteriorated into a serious condition.



21,600' camp on the NE face of Baruntse, aka "the good times clubhouse." Josh Butson, Jon Miller and Ben Clark spent five nights here in a storm that everyone down below thought killed them.

But the storm built only so much steam and we lived. After 10 days on the mountain we rappelled the route rescuing Jon and in three months I was in Salt Lake City, Utah at the Outdoor Retailer show talking to an athlete manager of a company that supported me as an athlete. Recounting this tale and then discussing the fate of a new friend I had made that year who had reached out to me for advice before my trip — Micah Dash, we remembered Micah’s adventurous spark, which was extinguished with two others by an avalanche in Sichuan while we were on our climb. The last e-mail I got on day six of our approach to Baruntse was about Mt Edgar; “Did I know anything about it?” The news of why he hadn’t responded to my last e-mail hit me just one week after returning home from Baruntse and somehow the stock sentiment made me pale this time. He died doing what he loved.

In May , with my wife at home pregnant with our son, I broke trail in 3′ of snow up a large valley on 21,506′ Chulu West with Jon, Chris and Gavin. We climbed three awkward pitches of rock the day before to get into position to be the first people to ever ski this valley and were hit by a major electrical storm that delayed our start and lay fresh snow over some dangerous terrain up high. At just after noon that day we stood looking at the last steep pitch leading to the summit ridge, the sun was intense, heat was picking up and large chunks of cornices had crashed into the slope and triggered a couple of sizeable avalanches. At that moment, my mind drifted to where it always had, where I knew that there was a good chance that if we set foot on the slope it would avalanche, but I wanted to go anyway because I have tempted fate many more times than just what is above and it has worked out. That is what it takes to make it to the top.

But this time it didn’t work out, we did not “succeed” and tag the summit. We talked about it. We talked ourselves out of it. Why? Because I don’t want to die a suffocating oppressive death after being ripped to pieces and then buried beneath a ton of snow. We would not settle for eight more ski turns and a stale eulogy. I did not want to be someone who “died doing what they loved” because if that were the case, then I would die hanging out with my family, sleeping, eating ice cream, pizza, editing a film, listening to a great song — just sayin’. Luckily, by committee, everyone elected that we should “just ski”… novel right? We didn’t actually have to increase our risk of death to pull that off and have fun. My God, why did it take me so long to learn that? Just skiing there was “extreme” enough and I was so engrossed, so used to laying it out there that I could not even see that was an accomplishment. It had become routine to pioneer, dangerously so.



With occasional views like this, why wouldn't you at least be curious to explore the Himalayan high Country? I snapped this photo right before skiing off the summit of 20,201' Thorung peak.

In 15 peak attempts in the Himalayas from Dhaulagiri in Western Nepal, the summit of Everest in Tibet and the far reaching slopes of The Savage Sister in eastern Sichuan, I had come close or had completely risked it all every time, every time except this one. I have broken an ankle, rescued a friend, run out of oxygen on summit day, been in an avalanche scenario and watched friends fall in crevasses, lose feeling on the right side of their body and cry, cry in the anguish of physical and emotional defeat. I have given up myself in the dark hours of a stormy night and understood the process that leads one to freezing to death alone and undisturbed by that choice. This time everything went right, including my attitude toward it all… so I quit, the moment I finally got “a head.”

Situations and tolerances vary for everyone and across latitudes and longitudes. Education is the best backup to support your judgment when taking risk. There will still be moments after you have gained that medical and snow science knowledge when you are in the mountains and your tolerance will negate what you have learned or the situation will fall outside what you were taught. If you proceed at that time you must knowingly commit and pursue your present goal with little more than faith that the consequences you are anticipating are truly manageable within the system of variables you are engaging with. That is adventure; it is in that space I loved so dearly, where I learned to be present on the line between here and now and tomorrow or never. Don’t forget though, that the system you are engaging is greater than the slopes around you and you may have to speak to someone’s mother, father, wife or brother about the mistake you don’t think you are about to make, even though most of the time you won’t. But if you do, if something goes wrong, if you nearly cost someone his or her life or are there when something out of your control goes completely wrong, I can only tell you that in my experience, it is a far lower low than any altitude high you may ever reach.

Every now and then, it makes sense to press pause. On our iPod, during a movie, in a heated debate… sometimes we just need a break to process all the excitement and the stimulation. There is little room for pause in real life or the types of scenarios above. There is no skill that will comfortably guarantee survival either, for that there is only luck. I think that is why they call it risk and nothing else. I think that is why I always encourage others to go if that curiosity drives you. Considering what I have survived, I would go forward in some instances where others may have stayed home because I felt it was necessary to explore boundaries. I don’t regret that I did, but I’m not continuing onward today. I have already gone and I have come back. And on this side of things, I am enjoying a state of pause, reflection and peace with my decisions.






"Of course it is worth it"- Ben Clark skiing powder on the North Slopes of 20,201' Thorung peak with 21,506' Chulu West behind him. Photo credit: Hari Mix





More here:



http://www.goduproductions.com/about/crew/

Retrovelo Klara: Cushy, Zippy, Gorgeous

On a recent trip to New York City, I test rode a Retrovelo Klara, courtesy of Adeline Adeline. There are already test ride reports of other Retrovelo models posted here, but the last time I rode one was two years ago and I wanted to see how my impressions of the bike might have changed since. Also, while the Retrovelo I rode previously was the 7-speed Paula, I was curious how the 3-speed Klara would feel in comparison. Finally, my previous Retrovelo test rides took place in Austria and I wanted to compare how the bike handled in a North American city.





Founded in 2003, Retrovelo is a German manufacturer based in the town of Leipzig. True to the company's name, their classic line of lugged, balloon-tire city bikes in muted colours looks almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. But the "retro" reference is more nuanced than what meets the eye: Behind the facade of an elegant European city bicycle, the Retrovelo is actually a remake of an early mountain bike design. I have described an entire category of such bicycles in an earlier post aboutcity bikes with mountain bike heritage.






An interesting fact about Retrovelo, is that they were the first company to use the now very popular Schwalbe Fat Frank tires. In fact these were originally made for Retrovelo and named after its designer Frank Patitz. What made the Fat Franks special when they appeared on the market, is that they have the look and cushiness of vintage balloon tires but are impressively fast rolling - making them ideal for navigating pothole ridden city streets and unpaved trails alike.





The frame is cro-moly steel, hand-built in Taiwan and finished and assembled in Leipzig (The very first batches of Retrovelo bikes were made in Germany from scratch, but production has since been reorganised).







Fully lugged, the most fetish-worthy aspect of the frame's construction is the triple-plate fork crown.





Here is what the seat cluster looks like.





Headtube lug.





Loop and seat tube junction.





The stem and rear rack are custom made for the bike and powdercoated body colour, as are the chainguard and fenders.






The components on the lady's 3-speed Klara model are pretty straightforward: Shimano Nexus drivetrain withfront and rear roller-hub brakes and dynamo hub,wide swept-back handlebars, large Retrovelo-branded bell,






front and rear dynamo lights with standlight feature,





Brooks B67S saddle,







city pedals,




and textured rubber grips.





As a complete package, the Retrovelo Klara comes together nicely, equipped with everything necessary for transportation, other than a full chaincase and dressguards. The men's equivalent of this model is named Klaus and is basically the same except a diamond frame. The Paula and Paul models are the same as well, only built up with either a 7 or 8-speed hub instead of the 3-speed. The weight of the Klara model is listed as 38.5lb. It is available in size 52cm only and in a number of colour options. You can view all the stock colours here. The bike I test rode is ivory.





I rode the Retrovelo Klara around lower Manhattan for a total of about 5 miles. This was my first time cycling in New York City. I started out on the quiet side street where Adeline Adeline is located, then rode along the West Side Highway bicycle path for a while, then got off the path and explored the streets, making my way back to the bike shop. Probably half of my route involved riding with traffic on streets that either had no bike lane, or had the bike lane obstructed by so many vehicles that I took the car lane anyway.



Riding in a new city - and especially a city as hectic as NYC - I would not feel comfortable doing this on just any bike, but the Retrovelo's handling is confidence-inspiring. The front end is exceptionally stable: No twitchiness when starting from a stop or getting up to speed. The bicycle goes where you point it and insists on staying upright.





I would describe the Retrovelo as an intuitive bike that does not require getting used to the way a Dutch bike, or a low-trail bike, or an aggressive roadish bike might. To the typical person of my generation who grew up in North America, I think "mountain bike-ish" handling generally feels pretty intuitive: Many of us rode mountain bikes as teenagers and it's what we are used to. While I was a terrible cyclist back then, I nonetheless used my beater mountain bike to get around and probably on some level that type of handling is still engrained into my procedural memory. Of course the Retrovelo is considerably faster and more responsive than my old mountain bike ever was, as well as far more beautiful. Win/win.



Comparing the Retrovelo Klara to other bikes I have ridden in its class, I would say the handling is most similar to the Scottish Paper Bike and the Swedish Pilen. For me the Retrovelo handles considerably faster than the Pilen but a bit slower than the Paper Bike, while behaving similarly to both as far as balance and maneuverability.





As far as load capacity, the bike is equipped to carry considerable weight in front and rear, including children. Retrovelo owner K., whom I met in NYC, routinely rides with her toddler and a full load of groceries and finds it quite comfortable. She has had her stone gray Retrovelo for a couple of years now and loves it. My friend in Vienna has had her pigeon blue one for about two years as well. Retrovelo owners generally tend to have good things to say about these bikes.



As far as drawbacks, the Klara and Paula models are only available in one size - which happens to fit me perfectly but will not be suitable for everyone. At just under 40 lb, the bike is on the heavy side and could be challenging to deal with for those who plan to store it in a walk-up apartment. The missing dressguards and the lack of a full chaincase could be a deal-breaker for those who require these accessories. And some (myself included) would prefer narrower handlebars, though these can be swapped out.






Having ridden the Retrovelo around hectic NYC, my impression of the bike did not differ significantly from what it had been riding it through the Austrian countryside. Two additional years of cycling experience did not alter my impressions much either. I believe the stable handling makes the Retrovelo a good choice for beginners. The responsiveness and mountain-bikeyness make it a cool ride for more experienced cyclists. The beautiful construction makes it appealing to the vintage lovers and lugwork fetishists among us. For city riding, I felt that the 3-speed model was definitely sufficient, though others might opt for the 7/8-speed. The current retail price for a fully equipped Retrovelo Klara is $1,450 USD.




While personally I still prefer my cruddy vintage 3-speeds to anything modern I have tried in the same genre so far, when it comes to currently produced city bicycles the Retrovelo is firmly among my favourites. Many thanks to Adeline Adeline for the test ride.

We Could Talk for Hours

An interesting novelty about cycling with other people for me has been the talking. And I mean hours and hours of non-stop talking. Now, I am not an introvert per se. I can talk. I can even sit next to a stranger at a dinner party and have a perfectly pleasant chat.




But while it's one thing to chat over dinner, it's quite another to spend 5 hours talking non-stop while pedaling and watching each other sweat and scowl. It brings out a different kind of conversation. A sense of bonding can take place with what in retrospect seems like alarming speed.




In adulthood, we do not typically make friends as easily as we do in our younger, more innocent days. With the years we grow more protective of our private lives and more jaded in our views of human nature. At least to some extent, cycling seems to dismantle those defenses and encourage an openness that - in my experience at least - is outside the norm of casual social interactions. Maybe this comes from the physical exertion. Exhausted from pedaling, we have no energy left to remain guarded and aloof. Maybe it comes from the sense of sharing a unique, beautiful and painful experience that no one else is there to witness and to understand as we understand it.




Whatever the reason, conversations flow. Bonds form. The cyclist becomes a keeper of other cyclists' stories, lots and lots of stories.




I still think of myself as predominantly a solitary cyclist. But now something funny is happening: When I ride alone, I find myself retrieving memories of my riding partners, remembering different snippets of conversations. It's unexpectedly difficult to go from non-stop talking on a bike for hours, to riding on my own in silence.

Good Skiing and Narada Falls Face Snow Pit

Howdy Everyone!



Afterseveral daysof cooler weather and some precipitation, the mountain has come back out in full sunshine with a good 6" of powder on her flanks. There is some great skiing on the south and west aspects right now; while the eastern aspects are getting crusty.



This weeks snow pit was dug at the top of Narada Falls Face, just below the Steven's Canyon Road. As you can see from the profile, the main layer of concern is between 10 to 20 cm below the surface. Some moderate failuresfor the stability tests indicated that point releases are possible especially on lee slopes. However, no propagation was observed during the stability testing.





CTM(14) @ 12 cm Q3

ECTN(18) @ 12 cm Q3

RB3 @ 12 cm Q2



Keep an eye out for possible point releases on south facing aspects...there's plenty of sluffs coming off all around the Paradise area; especially the face onPanorama Point and the 4th Crossing area.

Snowy Tree at Night

Nene Way 9 - Wansford - Ferry Meadows

10 miles. With Marta. Sunny, warm, delightful weather.

From Wansford we took the road opposite the church which leads towards the A1. Just before the road the path turns right and goes downhill towards the river underneath two huge bridges before making its way up towards the A47, past a lorry park, then turning right behind the petrol station along a path through fields. For a while we walked parallel to the road, then following the curve of the river turned south-east. We joined a wider track (a dismantled railway) but followed it a bit too far into some stables. Quick question and we were set right - we'd missed the signs on a kissing gate next to a field gate! The path led us into the village of Sutton - (Sutton Only as the signposts from the road tell us), past playing fields, houses and the church with its open bell tower. Then we turned briefly west, and south across more fields towards Wansford Station, the headquarters of the Nene Valley Railway.







A quick coffee stop and nose around, and we were ready for off.







The station and railway have been used in lots of documentaries and other filmsand there are plenty of events.











The Nene Way runs alongside the railway for half a mile or so, then moves further south towards the river, crossing fields full of Roman remains, which are not visible as anything other than humps and bumps.

Water Newton

Roman remains?

The path follows the river but turns sharply left to negotiate a meander just before Mill Hill - a noticeably higher piece of ground. We crossed a footbridge, where we saw this orderly family of swans.

















After the bridge we followed the higher ground round to the road down to Castor Old Mill. There's a water mill and remains of a windmill.






There is a ford and a footbridge over the mill arm of the river (Back Dike). The Nene Way crosses the bridge and turns left following Back Dike, crossing another footbridge and then walking with the main Nene on the right. A clear path leads us under a railway bridge (Nene Valley Railway) and into Ferry Meadows. The Cycle hire and Canoe centre is across Gunwade Lake.











We continued past Ferry Bridge and along Ferry Walk Path to finish at Green Cafe near the Ferry Meadows Visitor Centre.





Wildlife - herons, grebes, geese, green woodpeckers (we heard more than we saw). Fish - no idea what sort.