The Everchanging Cross Check...

 

 ...will get a new change tomorrow (well, some minor tweaks). The last time I updated what I was riding was for the Trans Am Race. Well, the night before the Trans Northern California I took some boutiquey shots of the bike before I left (does the self consciousness of being a total and huge bike dweeb ever wear off in taking these photos?).

This was the big difference, big, meaty, Kenda Slant-Six's.

Good hardpack profile, with some decent grip.

They juuuuuust squeeze in.

This was a headache. I would come to find that I would need that little bit of extra room in the dropout, so it was me and Jonathan strangling this thing the night before in our hotel room in Boomtown.

See that word Sealant? These are Kenda's that are latex friendly, either way, I went latex free and Slimed 'em.

I did not opt for dirt drops. That was stupid, my back hurt on these bars. I also think having a more up-to-date 31.8 clamp might have helped the bangs and also helped with control, but live and learn. (Also, pink makes you go faster).

I recently learned that the XT 9-speed derailleurs work well on 10-speed XT cassettes and have the same pull length as 105 10-speed STI shifters. That will be an upgrade eventually. Also, that is a road Tiagra triple up front, what a poor choice for this race. 

It's not really all that different from the Trans Am build, mostly just changed the tires out and got new cranks, but either way, it looks pretty killer no? 

(Note: I did not edit any of these pictures because I was lazy and my camera decided to shoot in .JPG instead of .RAW. So be it)

Beausage

Beausage /byoo- sig/ n 1 Having a particular aesthetic appeal gained from heavy usage. 2 A portmanteau of beauty and usage.

If you ride your bike hard, you are most likely familiar with Grant Peteresen's wonderful descriptor 'beausage' describing how usage can create a beautiful worn in look. This seems to be heralded in Rivendell bikes whose leather grip tape is worn down at the grip points, whose fenders are dinged with gravel, whose paint is continually covered in a thin line of dust. I do not love the term for it's psuedo Frenchness (I actually hate francophilia or europhilia in cycling) but I like it more for how close it sounds to the word abuse.

I for one, am a huge fan of bike porn. I addictively check John Watson's Beautiful Bicycle series and get Cycle EFIX's work right in my inbox. But as much as I love these clean shots of handbuilt bikes and off the shelf bikes, it's the ones that look ridden to death that I truly admire. That being said here are some shots of my own personal beausage. Maybe after looking at my pictures you'll think this is more just abuse than beausage; so be it.

Just actually tuned this up after taking the photos, shifts like a dream now.

Slap-a-da-chain.

Flat pedal wear.

About ready to snap, luckily a new bolt is in the post.

From putting the rubber side up too many times. What a noob.

This was from putting a Jandd bag in here on tour once, it wore away cleanly at least.

More dings and chips.

This is from my handlebar bag mount. 

The Kool Stop bolts are not very rust proof. This arm is also a tad bent from a crash into a pole at slow speed because I don't pay attention.

This used to have a cover, lost it a long time ago.

I wish the Mondials did not come with the reflective strip, but nature has a way of working things out.

Twofer, knobs are wearing down on the front and the Surly logo sticker is far from there.

Rusty bits. It's hard to find stainless steel M5 bolts in hardware stores, so not stainless it is.

Even my 5-10's are nearing their death bed.

Sole in need.

 

Transported to the Delta

Several months ago I tried to go on a trip down to Lake Del Valle with a fellow bike camper Peter. Unfortunately, last minute I had to cancel because of work. With my summer still in the air I checked the East Bay Bike Camping Group and saw that Peter had posted another ride, this time to the Sacramento River Delta, I knew nothing of this area, but never turn down a bike camping opportunity.

Originally, Peter planned a straightforward twenty mile ride from Pittsburg/Bay Point BART to the Brannan Island State Park, I suggested a brief detour through Black Diamonds Regional Preserve, which he agreed to. It meant a little dirt, but that's what I'm looking for. The preserve looked similar to most of the East Bay, rolling dry grass pastures, and under the near 100 degree heat, it felt like I was over the hills for sure. Despite the heat, the park was worth it holding some sweet little spots, like this strange giant rock formation and a sweet old cemetery for the previous mining communities. There was apparently some other spots we unfortunately missed, until next time I suppose.

Typical East Bay pastures.

Peter is that dot climbing up at us.

Shade was so vital, even for a bike.

You can just make out the San Pablo Bay in the distance.

This giant granite rock popped out of nowhere, so we propped the bikes and explored.

The Rose Hill Cemetery, where they buried some of the original white settlers who worked the coal mines of the regional.

After a brief Chipotle and air condition stop in Pittsbrugh we headed over the Antioch Bridge to the Delta. There was some question of what the bridge would look like, but it was totally bikeable and not a problem. Once on the other side the suburbs of Antioch and Pittsburgh opened up to flat endless farm and green pastures. Crossing the bridge would come to be a portal to another world from the Bay Area.

Out first stop was Brannan Island State Park, our campsite, but also our first swim spot. After the 100 degree heat, it was just what we needed, despite the heavy Saturday crowds. It was when Eleanor, Peter's roommate, showed up in her Subaru that the real party started. We made some quick plans to drive off and explore. First stop was Sherman Island State Park, an area of a new kind of adventurer, the kite surfing comminity. These people post up their vans and RVs here and unload their kites and live at the free BLM campland there. Then our insider, Eleanor led us to our own tiny private beach, where we snacked and watched the sun begin it's long descent behind the windmills.

Sherman Island Sunset.

These toweres were so massive, you can make out the towering Antioch Bridge in the background too.

Our next adventure would prove to be the best part. We drove past some of the small communities that dot the turn of the 19th c. levees. Our destination was At the Wop's a bar in Locke, CA. Locke, CA itself is a piece of American history ill-told. Originally a home for Chinese immigrant laborers, this small community once housed somewhere between 1,000 to 1,500 people, which standing on the tiny Main St was incredible to think of. Over the years Locke has turned into a near ghost town, facing near closure many a times because of it's decrepit (but historical) buildings. Locke was a trip, but the real trip was the bar.

At the Wop's is apparently the place to go here, and the drink, apparently Bloody Mary's. I don't think I'd ever had a late night Bloody Mary, but the cool spicy beverage was tasty and helped clear the sweat from my brow (it was still 90+ once the sun had gone down). The bartender was a real riot, the kind of bartender that should exist in these small town bars; the perfect blend of surly, interesting, and comical. His stories were never ending, some quite literally as he'd open up the story then walk away without finishing the story. His name was John and he'd eventually give us a solid history lesson of Locke, and even worse the scary coming future (LA is looking to destroy more communities in the name of H20). After many a drink and many a sillyness, we headed back to the campground where I slept with an open tent to the sky, trying to keep the heat at bay.

At the Wop's, the place to go on the Delta.

Bloody Mary's a great way to end the night.

This was the apparent bar snack, peanut butter and wax peppers, don't knock it til you try it.

I tried to guess the morning shade at night and did okay-ish. Peter did not so well with guessing the shade.

Could be the death of the Delta (but so could an earthquake apparently, since the levees are built of silt).

The next morning's heat woke us up and we agreed that a swimming hole was needed, so once more we loaded up Eleanor's car and drove along the levee roads, only stopping for iced coffee and snacks until we found the place to jump in. The muddy waters were exactly what was needed. We lazed there most of the afternoon and by the time we were ready to go Peter and I decided against riding and hitched back with Eleanor.

Floating on the river.

The Delta seems like a hidden little spot about a forty minute drive and easily accessible by BART and bike, yet no one had ever mentioned it and it never became a thought. This marshy land feels more Louisiana than California and even the people feel years away from the tech booming Bay. Even John the bartender's motto is "twenty miles away, twenty years back" (Locke's about twenty miles from the capital). It was an unexpected journey with unexpected places and now I feel a little spot in my heart for this little place nestled on the meeting of the Sierra rivers before they dump into San Pablo Bay.

Breaking the N+1 Model.

Everyone always talks about their "n+1", buying their third bike, planning on buying their fifth bike, the 650b mountain bike to match their 29er and 26 in hard tail mountain bikes. Almost any serious cyclist talks about it. It reminds me of guitarists who have sixteen different guitars and when you ask why, they pick them up and say "this one is a little more bluesy" play it, then pick another, "this is a tad more jazzy" and they play it and it sounds exactly the same. That's what n+1 feels like to me.

While I'm not saying that my Surly can do everything, it certainly can't, I've had some knuckle gripping "holy shit, I shouldn't be doing this," moments, but it does a lot. With the Surly I have the ability to swap around pieces and parts to create different incarnations. The bike was originally built for bike touring, but with commuting in mind (partially why I have it over the Long Haul). Before the racks and burly touring tires, the Cross-Check handled well getting across town, even daring the snow from time to time (if properly fitted with tires at the time it might have handled better). Then when the weather broke I built it to tour and took it from ocean to ocean.

Everything + The Kitchen Sink = Heavy.

Once that tour was over and I planned on settling down, that's when I started thinking of my own personal n+1. I watched the carbon frame guys zip by me up Mt. Diablo and I said to myself, "I want one of those." I peered down the trails of Marin as duders bobbed around on 29ers and again I said to myself, "I want one of those." Dads pulling kids, groceries, and a full load of lumber on a single cargo bike and I said "I want one of those." You get the point. I felt inadequate trying to do all these things with one bike, but the money just wasn't there for a new bike, especially when I just kept planning to get back to touring.

All it took was a change of tires and my possibilities reopened up. Slapping on 40mm tires made trail manageable (with a change of bars, a lot more might have been possible, but I digress). I was now riding an adventurous off-road bike focusing on some possible NY snow (which I never saw). That's all it took was a change of tires and I had my n+1 for almost no cost.

Not only can swapping parts change the bike, but changing the aesthetic helps too. Currently, I am in the process of building a rando-esque, casual touring bike. It needs some help (I swear I'll buy a matching white tire soon! I agree it looks goofy). The plan is maybe some chrome fenders and chrome racks (lighter weight, less steel than the Surly rack), the bike once again transforms (look for some nice stickers too soon, maybe).

So when someone starts telling you about their N+1 maybe you should start thinking of all that OT you'd need to work for a mountain bike instead of widening your tires. The next time someone makes fun of you for your ugly cretin looking touring bike, just slap on the right color fenders, tires, and stickers and smile as you gleam down the road.