Time machine: Yesterday's bike of the future

No hot tub with this time machine. A 1989 Titan 1/2 Trac

I was reminded yesterday, by my wife no less, that it has been a while since I posted anything on my blog. She is quite correct. However, in my defense, I've had a few other things going on that have added up to a little absence on my part. I've got a kid on the way, a varmint hunting new dog with the energy intensity of a million suns, and I'm in the home stretch of reaching the terminus of my formal education. All good things, but let's just say their interaction saps my energy for blog time at the end of the day. So, in an attempt to temporarily rectify the situation, I present an entry that originated about this time last year, but I never finalized. It's a little homage/extremely long-term review of one of my workhorse bikes. Take caution, as this is a beast of a post and a bike nerd-fest to boot. If those things appeal to you, you're in luck. Enjoy!

Among my favorite bikes I've ever owned is my 1989 Titan 1/2 Trac, built in Eugene, Oregon, U.S. of A. When it was new, it was the bike of the future in many design respects. The Titan incorporated a number of features of the perceived future of mountain biking in one package, at a time when the term Rock Shox had yet to blossom in the two-wheeled vernacular, setting in motion radical change.

As were many contemporary bikes, the Titan is built like a tank, originating from the days when bike manufacturers took pride in strength and durability as much as many now do in lightness of weight and exotic materials. The Titan is from what I consider to be the pinnacle of the steel age of mountain biking, in the short epoch marked by the advent of perfected indexed top-mount thumbshifters, and when bikes with steep 71/73 degree head and seat angles and sub 17-inch chainstays proliferated. The epoch faded out with the emergence of consumer accessible, semi-affordable suspended bikes equipped with under-bar shifters and an increasing incidence of aluminum as a frame material. I think of this time as defined by the dominance of the Shimano Deore XTII and Suntour XC Pro groups, before XTR and GripShift hit the scene and Suntour sadly wandered into the sunset.

Now defunct, Titan was a creative manufacturer of high-caliber BMX bikes, who only produced mountain bike frames for a couple of years. While some of their BMX frames were elvish little creations made of spindly titanium tubes, the builders at Titan took no chances with their one model of mountain frame, which was apparently built to withstand bomb blasts.

A rear view of the Titan

Titan sold the 1/2 Trac only as a frameset, and incorporated many of the most cutting edge features of the pre-suspension era. However, the one element that was not experimental was the no-nonsense, straight gauge True Temper 4130 Chro-Mo tubing throughout. It's not light, but with a little care, it will probably outlast Western civilization. Titan's tubing choice sets the stage for strength as a recurring theme. After all, the mountain bikers of the future would want their frame to be durable above all else, right?

The defining futuristic feature of the Titan is its elevated chainstays, which, at the time, was intended to combat chain suck, chain slap and to shorten the effective chainstay length to make the bike climb like a goat. Besides, elevated stays look cool. In a nod to several successful BMX designs of the '70s and '80s, the rear triangle has looped chain/seatstays. The whole rear end of the bike is a tour de force of bike design. I'll have to say, it's worked for me for the intended purposes.

The Titan's rear end also has a futuristic wishbone design at the upper junction of where the seatstays meet an extended and curved section of the top tube, meaning that one piece of tubing snakes around to neatly form both seat and chainstays on both sides of the frame. The working ends of the tube enter reinforcing sleeves where they connect to the seat tube above the bottom bracket. The frame also features a short reinforcing tube near the bottom bracket junction between the seat and down tubes, which functions as a convenient handle for portaging the bike. Curiously, the fluid design of the Titan's rear end is reminiscent of the smoothness of some current carbon frames I've seen.

That's one piece of tubing to form the chain and seat stays.

Astute (or older) readers may recall the that the steel-framed Yeti FRO (For Racing Only) mountain bikes of the same time had similar looped stays, but without a wishbone. Yeti also produced what they modestly called "The Ultimate" for a short time, which, like the Titan, featured elevated chainstays, but again no wishbone. It looked like a nice bike and I even remember seeing one or two in the wild, but never rode one for comparison.

It's unfortunate that, here in the future, elevated chainstays are not abundant. It's kind of like the same sad realization that the 2015 of Back to the Future II is only three years away, but neither Mr. Fusion nor hoverboards are anywhere to be seen.

I'd like to see looped and elevated chainstays on hardtails make a comeback, and, as I gaze in the general direction of Minnesota, I think there is a market leader who just may champion such an unusual idea. Take for example, the Surly Troll's rear dropouts, which almost look like a looped stay. Just move the chainstay junction up the seat tube a little and call the resulting formation a Troll Bridge, and a new trend has arrived. (Surly, you have my permission to use that idea. Seriously.) Another advantage for a modern elevated chainstay bike would be for use with belt drive systems; no split seatstay/dropout/etc. necessary as long as there is a horizontal dropout. I've thought about a Gates Carbon Drive upgrade for the Titan, but in 1989 the trajectory of dropout design was headed away from horizontal in favor of vertical, as such making a belt drive on the Titan a challenge I'm not yet prepared to meet.

One shortcoming in the design of the Titan was its bottom bracket. It had an innovative sealed mechanism sleeve-type bottom bracket held in place by pinch bolts. The design was, in theory, a futuristic and superior execution as compared to the unsealed cup and cone bottom brackets of the time. However, in practice, the pinch bolts required constant tightening, even with Loc-tite. Eventually a broken bolt inspired installation of a threaded insert, brazed in place to accept standard bottom brackets.

Bottom bracket, in need of some cleaning. Note part of the failed pinch bolt now forever brazed in place.

Up front, the Titan has a threaded 1.25" headset, otherwise known as "Evolution sized," a now abandoned standard originally championed by Gary Fisher. I think all of his bikes during the years leading up to the sale of his company to Trek had Evolution sized headsets. Many bike nerds of yesteryear may remember the battle waged between proponents of 1.25" Evolution versus 1.125" "Oversized" headsets for market dominance. Apparently bigger isn't always better, but it seems now some off-road bikes of the future are leapfrogging Evolution size for a 1.5" standard.

The Titan features a straight-blade, non suspension-corrected (the concept didn't even exist then) fork. I've often heard of complaints of the rigidity of straight-blade forks, but this one is smooth, precise and comfortable. Even though at the time, straight-blade forks were new and becoming in vogue, within a couple of years, suspension forks supplanted the favor of all others. Yet, in this future age, the Titan has weathered more than two decades of use never deviating from its original, dependable fork. Will that be the case for the futuristic bikes of the present? I have a stack of dead suspension forks in my shop that might suggest otherwise. Orphaned technology is a bummer.

Titan in front of the Colorado State Capitol building, in a temperature well below freezing.

The Titan has a few other notable features. Much appreciated are the rack eyelets on both frame and fork, items that greatly expand the possibilities of this bike, but which would not be present on an equivalent high-end, semi-custom, off-road frame of the present. It also features internal cable routing for the front derailleur, with the cable entering the top left of the down tube and exiting just aft of the bottom bracket. Although it's a bit of a hassle to replace, it keeps the cable protected and has a clean look. Perhaps this is why internal cable routing, at least in some cases, exists in the present.

The finish on the Titan broke new ground in perhaps a more far-reaching application than any other feature. Although powder coating is almost omnipresent on modern bikes, I've never seen any bike older than the Titan that originally came with a powder coat finish. Modern powder coat is almost indistinguishable from traditional paint, but the Titan's powder coat is quite different. It is a difficult to describe pewterish-blackish speckle with a hammered look, similar to what you might imagine on a big industrial lathe or other large manufacturing tool built during the space age. After traversing 22 years of time, through hard use and frequent weather exposure, the coating has cracked a bit in places, but is still protecting the steel.

Close-up showing the texture of the powder coated finish and the only remaining sticker.

The frame originally came with some very '80s-looking day-glo pink and white stickers, but most went by the wayside within a few months of purchase. Only "Titan Made in USA" has made the journey to the present. With our cultural tendency for nostalgia, who knows, maybe even obnoxious pink will appeal to the youth of today.

As a bike of the future, the Titan did predict some design trends, and fell short with others. The main divergence may be that of performance life. The window of usable life of many modern bikes is, by design, narrow. Some frame materials or construction techniques have an expiration date. Not so for the Titan. Yet, as sturdily built as the Titan 1/2 Trac frame was, without a Flux Capacitor, it is unlikely that even Titan's designers and builders could have envisioned how successfully this particular example would have survived after more than two decades of heavy use.

I intend for the journey through time with this bike to continue at its measured pace. The biggest testament to the Titan is its broad spectrum of prolonged regular use. I've used it for everything from riding in a triathlon (yes, with license-plate fenders and Nitto Albatross bars) to towing a kid trailer and everything in between. I've written another post detailing some of the Titan's exploits, and will likely check back in with future findings as the long-term review continues.

There you have it. It's not like you can go out and buy one of these bikes if this voluminous post has so inspired you, but it does provide a glimpse into how a futuristic mountain bike of a past generation has held up over time. If the Titan ever dies, it will be difficult for me to avoid sparing no expense in having a replacement specially built. Unless, that is, the bike world finally catches up to the Titan's design ambitions. After all, because time doesn't stand still, who is to say when the future has been reached?

Night ride to Morrison

On the Platte River Trail near the turnoff for the Bear Creek Trail.

As an early Father's Day treat, I went on a recreational long distance (for me) ride on Saturday night, leaving my house at about 7:30pm. My friend Nick masterminded a ride to Morrison featuring some of the best bike trails in the metro area. He started in a group of five from the main Denver Public Library. Since I was coming from the South, I rode North on the Platte River Trail, and met Nick et al. near Alameda.

My solo part of the ride in the evening was perfect, with the exception of frequent clouds of face level gnats along the way, of which I likely ingested several. However, the riparian zone along the trail was picturesque and full of wildlife. I saw several types of birds, a small Garter snake and signs of recent beaver activity on some trees near the water line.

The Titan decked out for the ride on one of several bridge crossings over the Platte.

The sun setting behind some industrial buildings.

You might never guess that there's a bustling city 100 meters in any direction from this spot.

After darkness fell and I joined up with the group, the ride changed a bit. The journey was just as pleasant, but sightseeing gave way to conversation, food and drinks. About the time that we reached the Bear Creek Trail, we switched on our lights and zig-zagged our way along the winding trail, over bridges, under trees, dodging sprinklers and making hair-pin turns for the next several miles. We did this as twilight faded into a deepening darkness, which made the meandering of the trail even more fun. I've done this ride a number of times before, but riding in the dark, with a light illuminating only the next thirty or so feet ahead made for an entirely new experience.

Josh added another layer of entertainment to the ride with his bike mounted DJ system, featuring an iPod and a couple of thrift store boom box speakers lashed to his front rack. Through this apparatus, Johnny Cash coaxed us on the climb up Morrison Road, one of the few places where we encountered vehicle traffic on the route. After reaching the apex of the climb, Morrison was only a couple of undulating road miles away.

Emily gives my bike a try.

I don't really get helmet hair anymore, but I often exhibit helmet head.

The objective in Morrison was the Mill Street Deli, a beacon of light, live music and cold beer. We stayed for an hour or so, sharing a couple of pitchers of beer poured into frosty mugs and some tasty snacks. When it was time to leave, it felt a little chillier outside than we we had arrived, but it's likely that the actual temperature difference, if any, was minor. Regardless, much of the return trip is downhill and doesn't require a lot of energy input, so we put on layers and ventured off into the night.

A view from the outside...

...and the inside of the Mill Street Deli.

Quite possibly the Morrison town mascot.

Josh breaking out the flannel for the downhill ride back to Denver.

The ride back down along the Bear Creek Trail was not unlike being on a roller coaster at night; unanticipated twists and turns amplified through a sense of speed exaggerated by the darkness. We also inadvertently frightened at least one dumpster diving raccoon along the way. In short, it was perhaps the best part of one of the best rides I can remember. This route is a bicycling jewel of the metro area and is fun at any time of the day, but I look forward to making the run at night again sometime soon. Thanks to my riding companions Nick, Emily, Josh, Kelly and Stephan.

Solo again on the route home. I was in the door at 2:00am on the dot after 43 miles.

Colorado Bike Summit

The Titan stands alone on Capitol Hill.

I was fortunate to be able to attend Colorado's first ever bike summit, which finished up a two day run today. It coincided with some chilly weather hovering around 0F, and a blizzard that began last night and continued into the morning. The summit attracted many of the most enthusiastic and connected bike people from around the state and the region. A lot is happening with a variety of bicycle related efforts throughout Colorado, and it was enlightening to gain a better view of the big picture.

Denver Mayor Bill Vidal was the lead-off speaker on Monday.

The first day of the summit featured several speakers including Mayor Bill Vidal of Denver, Dan Grunig of Bicycle Colorado, Tim Blumenthal of Bikes Belong, John Burke of Trek, and Randy Neufeld of SRAM Cycling Fund. Later in the day, breakout sessions focused on complete streets, safe routes to school and the power of mountain biking in your community.

Overall the content was thought provoking and the opportunity to discuss issues with new and different people contributed to a solidly positive experience. At the end of the first day I left convinced that frequent communication within the state's bicycling community would probably do much to identify common goals and facilitate projects.

A wind driven snow storm began as I returned home on Monday night.

I should take a moment to mention that I finished reassembling my Titan on Sunday evening just prior to the bike summit, with the help of my ever eager shop assistant. The Titan had dependably performed for several years during an extended period between service intervals, and is now ready for many more.

Shop assistant / bike fairy using her magnetic wand to identify objects made of ferrous materials. This grin signifies a positive discovery.

On Tuesday, the Colorado Bike Summit continued with a trip to the state capitol for constituents to meet elected officials and to ask for support of bi-partisan house bill 1092. The bill would ensure road rights for bicycles on public thoroughfares or require the necessity to provide alternative routes. The goal is to resolve Blackhawk's unreasonable bike ban, and to stem potential similar actions which might deny bicyclists from access to public roads elsewhere.

Representative Andy Kerr (D) and Senator Greg Brophy (R) are co-sponsors of the bill. After a press conference, Rep. Kerr took a spin on his bike for a photo op in front of the capitol building. It turns out he forgot his helmet, and I happened to be the only person around with one, so I loaned him mine.

Rep. Kerr sporting my trusty old helmet, still featuring the team 290 sticker.

Making sure the moment is adequately recorded for posterity.

Rep. Kerr and Sen. Brophy did a great job talking about how bicycling tourism, industries and activities are important contributors to Colorado's economy, and that arbitrary bike bans such as in Blackhawk create a negative image for the state. Kerr is a regular bike commuter and noted that although bicycling is possible here for nearly every day of the year, today was one of the few exceptions. I won't argue his point of view, except to say that I had a nice ride anyway.

Regardless of weather-related challenges, reduced traffic volume and much slower car speeds equals good riding in my book.

The Titan-iad: saga of an immortal bike

The protagonist: a 1990 Titan 1/2 Trac in the stand for a long overdue checkup.

This post requires a bit of an advisory statement to you, the possibly unwary reader, to be forewarned that the following is an epic tale steeped in arcane bike lore and terminology, some of which is quite possibly incomprehensible to those traveling closer to the mainstream of society.

And so warned, the brave journey forth.

Some in the Denver bicycle community may know of the monolithic bike in the photo above as my frequently present co-conspirator and test platform for tinkering projects. My 1990 Titan 1/2 Trac is a prime example of a bike from the days when mountain bikes were built to favor durability over lightness. Certainly the bike's appearance is unusual, with looped and elevated chainstays and industrial tool-grade, textured powdercoat paint, like the type of surface you might see on a drill press or lathe. Aside from the bike's assemblage from disparate components or its license plate fenders (on which there will be a forthcoming dedicated post), to me this bike is legendary. It has proven to be too tough to die.

The story begins with my brother Chris, who originally bought the 20.5 inch sized, True Temper tubed Titan new as a frameset from Denver Mountain Bike Specialists in early 1990 and rode it extensively. By extensively, I mean he rode it nearly every day, year-round for most of 16 years, from high school through a doctorate degree.

During the first summer he had the bike, he took it on a two week journey along the entire length of the Colorado Trail from Waterton Canyon to Durango, with only a sleeping bag, a tarp and a few tools strapped to a rear rack, and powered by a knapsack full of ramen and peanut butter. The bike summited Mt. Evans numerous times. It went with him from Denver to Santa Cruz to Hawaii and back again. He commuted on the Titan daily across the Golden Gate Bridge for a few years, then a few more through the academic wilds of Madison.

It was in 2006 that Chris finally retired the Titan and gave it to me, the bicycle curator of the family. The bike was a basket case at that point, so I promptly put it back together with an assortment of whatever parts I had on hand. Since I already owned plenty of bikes, my goal for the project was minimum expenditure for maximum utility. Parts from more than a dozen bikes went into the mix. It received Suntour XC Comp top-mount thumb shifters, an old Shimano 600 rear derailleur with a red Bullseye lower pulley, gold anodized platform pedals appropriated from a dumpster bike, and a bolt and nut from a discarded toilet seat conscripted to serve as a seat binder bolt. Laugh if you will, but the bolt and nut fit just right and are, after all, stainless steel.

The Titan's unique details continue with a vintage RockRing as a chainguard and a larger than modern standard 1 1/4 inch threaded headset (Fisher Evolution size, for you old timers) pieced together from two different headsets. Apart from the frameset, to my knowledge the only parts that have remained from the original build from 21 years ago are a black anodized 26.6 mm Deore XT heat treated steel seatpost, faded a bit but sturdy as the day it was made, and a steel Fisher Evolution stem. Nowadays it's hard to find a good quality steel seatpost or stem of any type, yet these have lasted impressively well.

Without any serious investment in cleaning or expenditures other than for my favorite Nitto albatross bar, I simply put the bike to work as a dependable workhorse that I wouldn't need to worry about too much. In a short time, the Titan emerged from being just another bike in the herd to being my go-to bike, ridden more frequently than any other. Before I got the Big Dummy it was my kid hauler, towing a Burley trailer. The Titan has risen in my esteem to becoming a favored bike, and building with it growing history of my own. From day one, the bike and I connected well; the fit was perfect. Regardless of how it might look, it rides fast, at least considering the limitations of its engine. It was the bike I chose to ride in a triathlon last summer. Figuring I wouldn't be competitive, I might as well be comfortable.

I've now had the bike for close to five years, and it has been afforded very little in the way of maintenance. A couple of years ago I broke down and replaced the worn out tires with some Conti Town and Countrys and installed some Oury grips. I've traded saddles and a few other odds and ends from time to time, pulling items from my parts bin, and lubing the chain as needed. That's it. However, a few weeks ago I started to hear and feel a creak in the crank / bottom bracket, so I knew it was time for a checkup.

Note the stub of a broken bolt visible on the bottom of the right clamp.

The bottom bracket shell on the Titan is another of its unique design quirks. Originally, it was a sleeved system with a proprietary sealed bearing and shaft unitized assembly. The bottom bracket shell had two bolts to clamp the bearings in place. With an allen wrench, the chainline could be adjusted easily by sliding the spindle left or right. This feature was likely derived from the bike's evolutionary lineage extending from BMX antecedents. The whole bottom bracket design was a great idea in theory, but in practice the it was prone to loosening and subsequent undesirable self-adjustment.

Eventually my brother broke one of the pinch bolts off in the clamp. To repair it, he had a threaded sleeve brazed into the shell in order to accept standard threaded bottom bracket assemblies. The work was done in the Bay Area sometime in the late 1990s. A Shimano UN-51 cartridge bottom bracket was installed at that time, and there it remained unserviced until now. It took a little coaxing, but I removed the UN-51 without incident. I found a bit of rust in the outer threads of the non drive side, but nothing of any real concern. 

The rear end of the Titan, showing off the curvy one-piece loop tail stays and wishbone seatstay junction.

While the Titan was in the workstand, I took the time to inspect its rear cantilever mounts. At this point the story unravels even more into an embroidered re-engineering junket.

When I first got the bike, it had a u-brake located under the seatstays. This was an odd placement for a brake, even back in the old days, but it seemed to work well enough. My brother had installed a high tech (for the era) Scott-Pederson Self-Energizing u-brake, designed to maximize stopping power. By the time I got the bike, the internal springs of the self-energizing mechanism had severely corroded, and many of the aluminum parts were deteriorating. I had some old u-brakes of various types that I considered for replacement, but none were in very good shape. Besides, I wanted to put fenders on the Titan, and u-brakes are not the most fender-friendly brake. So, in keeping with my cost-minimizing goal for the project, I decided to embark on a radical departure.

The path I chose led to me grafting cantilever mounts from a donor frame onto the Titan with the aid of a hacksaw, a bench vise, a Dremel, a drill press, and some pop rivets. Years before, I had rescued the remains of a mangled 1984 Miyata Terra Runner from a dumpster, knowing that I'd have a use for it someday. That day had arrived. I harvested the Miyata's cantilever mounts, each accompanied by a chunk of seatstay tube, which I opened and formed to match the outer surface of the Titan's seatstays. I measured for proper placement of the mounts in their new location and carefully drilled and riveted them in place. I also grafted a set of cable stops under the top tube to serve the new brake location, again harvested from the old Miyata. Since I hadn't done anything quite like this before, I wasn't sure how it would work. Nearly five years and thousands of miles later, the grafted mounts have been working like a charm. No rust, no cracking, no signs of stress or other trouble.

Cantilever mount on the left seatstay, held in place by a bunch of 0.125 inch steel rivets. I painted the donated part with gloss gray Testor's model paint shortly after installation.

A view looking up from the underside of the seatstays. Notice the u-brake mounts below and my grafted cantilever mounts above. The right u-brake mount has a cool integral stop for the rear derailleur cable on its top.

As a disclaimer, if you decide to conduct similar experimental bike surgery, you're on your own. That said, with adequate creativity, fabrication skill and careful execution, a person can do a lot. Just be mindful of the limitations of your abilities, and don't go beyond them. 

On to the repair and refurbishment part of this missive. I cleaned the bottom bracket shell and sanded off the rust with a fine grain abrasive pad. In the mean time, I ended up stripping the bike down to the frame, deciding that the Titan was due for proper cleaning and maintenance. I also hit a few other spots here and there with the abrasive, where a chip or a scrape had exposed metal. Even with the hard life this bike has lived, there weren't too many spots to touch up, a testament to the quality and durability of the 21 year old powder coat.

An abrasive pad works much like steel wool, only it seems to make contact with the metal only where it is desired, and not where it's not. The black paint around the bottom bracket area is not original, and was applied in the late 1990s after the threaded sleeve was brazed into the shell.

When I first installed the cantilever mounts, I covered them with a quick coat of enamel modeling paint. Because the mounts were again available for a touch up, and I had some more appropriate paint on hand from another project, I decided to make things a little more aesthetically appealing. Rust-oleum hammered paint works really well on metal surfaces, depositing a uniform finish even when using a brush.

Rust-oleum hammered black paint meets a fancy-pants 30 year-old Windsor & Newton art brush.

I was pleased with the end result. The paint doesn't exactly match, but in the context of the bike it looks appropriate.

Nice clean threads and a little dab o'paint.

After some work the Titan should be good to go for another long while. The bike was built to last and continues to prove it daily. I decided to take a bit of extra time to rebuild the hubs, true the wheels and clean/refurbish the components before putting it back together. I'll have it ready in time to ride it to the Colorado Bicycle Summit next week. I might post an update on the build if I get a chance.

If you have made it all the way through this marathon epic, I congratulate you on your genuine interest, tenacity and/or time-wasting skills. However, I regret to inform you that there is really no end to the story. What did you expect from a tale about an immortal bike?

Bicycle way of life sticker courtesy of our friends from the North at FCBikes in Fort Collins.

Celestial sightings on the winter solstice

I don't make it a habit of witnessing too many sunrises, but yesterday, the shortest day of the year, I tried to maximize my sun time. Well, that and I had an early morning meeting. The ride leaving home was brisk, hovering around 20F, with a small headwind. My eyes teared up a bit and my cheeks felt numb by the time I got to the train station. On this first day of winter there was a thin coating of frost on everything, and the colors of the landscape were muted and as slow to awaken as I was.

My bike for this part of the day was one that is ordinarily my stay-at-work office bike, but it ended up at home for some regular maintenance. It's a single-speed utility bike, hybridized from the frame of a vintage mountain bike of the lugged steel era and the components of a modern cruiser, coaxed into cooperation through the aid of a Surly Singleator.

Reconfigured 1988 Panasonic MC 4500, in nice and big 22" size.

The Panasonic in its current configuration is a swift and comfortable utility bike. I especially like the smooth and slightly bouncy ride of the Ritchey Moby-Bite 2.1 slicks. Surprisingly, these tires do fairly well on snow and patches of ice, although there isn't any of that around right now. I rode the Panasonic quite a few miles while going from meeting to meeting, eventually returning home.

Early in the morning on Dec. 21st I had seen the rusty glow of the lunar eclipse, but a subsequent appearance of the moon about 15 hours later was spectacular in its own right. In the evening on the way to the BikeDenver Winter Solstice Ride I observed the moonrise over the Denver Zoo. The photo below poorly portrays what I saw. In actuality, the subtlety of streaks of creamy gold clouds washing over the moon reminded me of the hues of the sublime Stranahan's Whiskey Brickle ice cream, my new and possibly permanent favorite flavor of all time.

This was the best the zoom on my camera could do.

During the day I had returned home to swap bikes for the solstice ride. I chose to bring my Titan 1/2 Trac out of hibernation, it being arguably my most festive bike. At the Zoo, approximately 100 or so bikes and riders readied themselves. The weather was much more cooperative than for past solstice rides, holding somewhere around freezing with no precipitation. For comparison, the temperature for the ride in 2008 was 2F, and the ride was mercifully truncated to the shortest route to the pub. This year, the route highlighted several scenic and decorated landmarks while showcasing some recently installed bicycle infrastructure along the way, such as the buffered bike lane on Champa.

Solstice riders taking a look-see at Union Station.

The ride rolled through 6 or 7 miles from the Zoo to LoDo to Civic Center Park and the State Capital before depositing us at The Irish Snug for hot food and drink. The Titan was as nimble and speedy as ever, and as usual, was lavished with attention for its fenders. The ride was just the right length and mostly avoided the construction-induced traffic jams along 14th Street. In all, it was a great time riding and enjoying libations with friends, and a pleasant way to usher in the seasonal marker for incrementally increasing daylight.

The flash shows the reflective effect of the license plate fenders on the Titan 1/2 Trac.

For comparison, this is the same shot without a flash. The illuminated City and County Building is visible in the background.

(Sorta) Speedy Daddy

Hey, guess what? I rode in a race a couple of weeks back. I'm not fast or even very competitive, but my brother and sister-in-law were doing a team triathlon and their bike segment guy dropped out only a couple of days before the event. They asked me if I'd be interested, and as a surprise even to myself I agreed. This was the first race for my brother since he had back surgery, and my sister-in-law was just there to have fun. I knew I would be slow and had no chance of winning, so the pressure to be fast was off.

Without a time trial bike, I had to consider my steed from among my roadiest bikes. Those would be a 29 year old Trek 710 touring bike (more or less a museum piece) or my (single speed) Surly Cross-check. I even thought about pulling some of the cargo parts off the Big Dummy and riding it. In the end, I went for comfort, familiarity and dependability in my 1990 Titan Half-Trac mountain bike (better known as the one with license plate fenders). About 35 pounds, give or take. Albatross bars. Platform pedals. Seven friction-shifted gears. Continental Town and Country 1.9 tires. Vintage Rock Ring as a chain guard.

So early on a Saturday morning, I rode the Titan 30 miles in 1:56:54 from Lake Loveland to Horsetooth Reservoir and back in the company of guys in pointy helmets and 16 pound carbon-fiber bikes. To put it mildly, I stood out. As it turned out, the relay teams started in an early heat, so I got to see much of the field as they went by me. The elite riders just shot past, with their surprisingly loud disc wheels. A lot of the normal riders took the time to compliment me on my fenders or bike or remarked their impressions of my tenacity necessary to ride such a bike. A pointy helmeted guy even screamed, "Go 290! Woo!" (my number) on his way by. In a bit of a surprise, I did actually pass several people who were riding more suitably equipped bikes, but who were likely below my modest fitness level.

The experience made me really think about how compartmentalized the thinking of bicyclists is with regard to the equipment of bicycling, a perception that I noted even in myself when choosing a bike to bring to the race. Sure, I was slow and uncompetitive, but only marginally more so than if I had chosen my touring bike. At a certain level, there are distinct advantages when it comes to bike equipment, but for me and the rest of the ordinary racers, there probably isn't much of a difference. If I had added a second chainring to my Titan and taken the race slightly more seriously, I could have easily chopped 20 minutes off my time, without abandoning my 20-year old quirky bike.

That said, at least for the present time, I'm now considering a real-ish road bike. For some reason, I'm liking the idea of a "magenta and macaroni" colored late 1980s Dave Scott Ironman Centurion. In the mean time, don't be surprised if I'm riding the Big Dummy a bit faster than normal.

Heading out onto the course.

Team Molasses. Photo by Hazel (age 4)