As elegant and beautiful as bikes are, they sure are prone to clumsiness when not aided by their human handlers.

Without our constant assistance the bicycle is just an awkward heap of metal prone to the ill effects of gravity. I hate getting so frustrated sometimes battling that.

Oh, Happy New Year, gravity will probably be just as strong next year as it this, let’s all work on balance a little harder!

Yesterday I took a ride on the Coppi with my wife and a few other people, it was a nice leisure thirty miler. Recently I discovered a grinding noise in the—suspected—bottom bracket. So the night before, I removed the cranks and found that the Chorus sealed cartridge bearing was loose, happily finding the culprit of the noise, I reassembled and confidently took it out for Sunday’s ride with the plan of replacing the bearing during the overhaul I was intending on performing in the next few weeks. Fausto had plans of another sort for me though. On Sunday’s leisure ride, a different noise made itself apparent to me, it seemed located up near the stem or headset. During the ride, periodically I pushed down on the handlebars to recreate and emphasize the sound hoping to pinpoint it better. After the ride, as I was hanging it up, I decided it’s probably just the stem/bar interface and that I’d take care of it during the overhaul.

It was at this point the creaking sound that had been bothering me during the ride revealed itself visually. Hanging the bike up gave me a distinct view of the underside of the top tube—my stomach sank from what I saw: a hairline crack a quarter of the distance from the headset on the top tube, right at the front internal cable routing hole.

Seeing this, a whole slew of thoughts flashed across my mind. First was sadness and mild anger, disappointment across the board. Next was a series of questions, how? When? Who? Me? How and when did this happen? Someone must have sabotaged it, dropped it when they shouldn’t have even been looking at it. Ugh, it was too much to bear—but I overcame all that quicker than I’d imagined; I’m still calm about it too somehow. I love that bike, how it looks, how it rides, and it’s “heritage”. A brief sense of relief was also considered; relief that I didn’t have to get hospitalized at any point on that thirty mile ride. Images of the tube separating while riding, sending me painfully off the bike somehow made me thankful I noticed it visually on my storage rack rather than “physically” wondering what happened as I lay bleeding on the pavement.

Irony is telling me right now that I should have performed that overhaul I’d been planning much sooner. Especially the left side of the bike; this all makes me wonder how much the left side of a bike gets neglected. Who knows how long this crack has been progressing. There is a very small showing of rust on what I would assume the start of it would be; this is obscured however by the brake cable housing entering the port. I only wrecked once on this bike through the three years I’ve had it, and that over a year ago. A thorough inspection was performed afterwards, and nothing was found; perhaps, considering the location of the crack, the beginnings of it were overlooked, a small minuscule stress point that grew in time to the fully compromised crack that showed yesterday. It is nearly half the circumference of the tube, the crack itself looks like it’s literally tearing, probably increased every time I “stressed” the handlebars on the ride yesterday. Wanting to rip and separate completely.

This experience has made me question the integrity of steel for a minute. Especially such thin high-performance steel, like the Columbus Genius grade the Coppi was crafted from. Is it ill-advisable to ride such “vintage” steel like this? Fifteen years isn’t exactly vintage per se, but the question crosses my mind nonetheless. Historically, were internal routing ports like these prone to this type of cracking? Do they offer an easily developable point of stress? In other words, do they weaken the tube? This tubing is thin to be sure, thin and light. At least it didn’t suffer the same fate as my friend’s Coppi: so sad. But some explanation as to what exactly happened would be nice, only the bike knows. Had I jinxed the bike by having thoughts of upgrading/replacement, that’s definitely the only realistic explanation I can come up with.

One of the benefits of steel that I always tout to people is it’s repairability. This, I’m pretty sure, can be fixed. I can get a new replacement tube brazed in. I’d opt to get a new decal set and a pro paint job reapplied. However, just writing this sounds expensive; it’s likely going to be a far far back-burner project unfortunately. So a replacement frame is in order—I’ve begun looking already. Considering the bottom bracket needs replacing, the new frame doesn’t have to be threaded Italian—that’s a silver lining I guess. Maybe I don’t exactly need a crit bike either. Research to be done, decisions to be made.

The other day we got a Niner in the shop for a customer. We were all stoked on it, appreciating it’s quality 853 steel construction, nice flake in the paint, and the curve of it’s stays. I had the benefit of assembling it for the customer who had ordered this S.I.R. 9. The website shows a lot of the bike’s attributes, which you can see yourself. I particularly liked some of the company’s “attitude” on the frame, especially the top tube decal: “Pedal Damn It”. The option of running this model as either single- or multi-speeds, with the inclusion of two swappable drop-outs—one with a derailleur hanger—is a nice touch. Part of this frameset included Niner’s own eccentric bottom bracket, dubbed the Bio-Centric.

They seem confident in this Bio-Centric eccentric bottom bracket, but they may have been the only ones the day that bike was put together. Initially and instinctively, I greased the aluminum bottom bracket assembly before installing it in the frame. Greasing the system was immediately deemed incorrect, as there was no way the eccentric would remain in a locked position. Like all good mechanics (wink, wink), I searched for the instructions after assembling the component (found here—PDF link). None were included unfortunately with the frame, I needed to download them from their website. (You’d think if this design was so revolutionary, new, and it’s installation so critical, specific directions would be included with the component). Reading the instructions I learned that the assembly needed to be completely degreased and roughed up with sand-paper, (after roughing it up, I gave it a good cussing out too). The directions then stressed the importance of proper installation with—and here was the shocker to me—teflon tape.

Hey, they have colors too! Image courtesy of WiseRacer Sports.

There is this write-up (actually it’s the same as Niner’s site) that describes how the Bio-Centric is supposed to prevent rounding out the bottom bracket shell. While it does tout the Bio-Centric’s benefits in a pretty convincing light, curious however is the complete lack of mentioning the teflon tape. (Same omission on the videos on Niner’s site). Relying on two layers of teflon tape to keep pedaling and vibratory forces from loosening that smooth aluminum surface around a smooth steel surface just doesn’t seem like enough. The Niner website speaks to their “revolutionary” system as eliminating oval-ized BB-shells and stripped parts and creaking, but isn’t teflon tape attacking those problems in a somewhat flimsy manner? I suspect the bean-counters got in on this component’s design, and sometimes, their advice just doesn’t work out as well as it sounds.

Eccentric Bottom Brackets, hmmm, agreeably a great problem-solving component. These seem reputable enough: Bushnell (which Salsa uses),  Carver (also expansion), and others (er… wow); the so-called “problems” plaguing these designs seems to be a matter of operator error. Niner’s description to me sounds like their biggest focus was on eliminating the creak, a general problem I often find is solved by proper installation and lubrication. Like I said, it’s just a matter of confidence, and teflon tape doesn’t inspire much in my mind unfortunately. Have I ridden it extensively? No. Has it slipped on the bike’s new owner? Not sure. Do I think it will? Again, not sure either way. We’ll have to believe that Niner’s testing proved sound—I look forward to my apprehensions proved wrong. I’m not here selling Niner EBB’s or any other type for that matter, I’m really just curious about the subject is all, and writing this up hopefully brings light to a system that initially seems dubious. Hopefully we’ll have a satisfied customer for a long time on their Niner.

Boogie-woogie.

So, these were the hot brakes to had to have on your ‘cross bike this year. I’ve posted before of the lightness of this line of brakes. As far as mechanics go, they’re just about the same. The same in the fact that they’re both an interesting resurrection of a brake technology that, in many people’s opinion, should have remained “obsolete”.

TRP and any others that have “developed” new brake calipers that utilize the posted-cantilever brake shoe have basically brought back the scourge of mountain bike history. (Over-dramatization intended). Surely, for anyone that has worked in a bike shop has been glad, that the infinitely adjustable cantilever brake has been replaced by more easily adjustable systems for a while. Only to be found on cheap mountain bikes, the kinds of BSO’s that have “Cantilever Brake Technology” written on the chainstays, or, more preferably on nostalgic touring bikes where some Dia-compes or Suntours are being used. Even on the nice ones, a frustrating half hour could be spent adjusting a customer’s bike.

I can’t see how this resurrection can be deemed an advantage in a race (unless it’s just a matter of mere lightness). Perhaps, on the course, where a race likely only lasts an hour, it isn’t a problem; but setting them up sure could be easier. This is a component that requires eight tools to install and set up (not something I’d like to have to tackle in the pits). Interestingly enough, the design foregoes one adjustment in particular, the vertical alignment to the rim’s braking surface. Therefore, if the frame’s canti posts aren’t dead on, you’re going to have your pads hitting the rim at an angle. So why’d we return to this design? Is the shape of the arms merely a factor for lightness, and the posted shoes were the only way to execute it that way? Mechanics want to know!

But how well do they work? I’ve only ridden them on a test ride, and they brake like a cantilever brake does. Lever and cable action feels great, but we’re really just scrubbing speed here, not necessarily stopping on a dime—maybe a half-dollar. They feel a whole lot like my Tektro CR720′s. Yeah, yeah, who needs superior braking power in a race anyway. It only slows you down, and we all know that’s no way to win a race.

Last Sunday was the Storm the Greens Ohio Valley Cyclocross Series finale, which was also set as the Kentucky Cyclocross State Championships.

Here’s a little interview conducted after the race with Cat 4 Kentucky Cyclocross State Champion Michael Webber. He’s telling us a little bit about his first ‘cross season, what it’s like to race for the first time, and well, here it is:

PrestaShrader:
Alright, Michael, congratulations on the big win. So what’s it mean to be State champ?

Michael Webber:
Thanks, it meant a lot to win my category at Storm the Greens. Not only was it the state championships, and the series finale, but it was also the last race ever at Louisville’s River Road Country Club. It was also my last chance to race against a few rivals I’ve been battling against all season. Beating them was a great feeling, doing it in this race was a big deal in a way. At least in my mind it was—you know, overcoming challenges and whatnot.

Being state champ is icing on the cake really. I think it’s funnier than anything being that I’m not from the area. I wore my medal proudly nonetheless.

PS:
That’s right, you’re not from Louisville, or anywhere around here. Where are you from?

MW:
Most recently from  Seattle where I lived for something like ten years, but originally from Maryland.

PS:
And did you do much racing in those parts of the country?

MW:
Nope, just random alleycat races in Seattle and the daily “racing” to work as a bike commuter.

PS:
Well, this is one hell of a first season for you then. Does commuting by bike work into your training for cyclocross?

MW:
That is the extent of my training actually. Since the beginning of this season, back in August, I have looked into a few training regimens here and there, but really found them all to be a little too serious and not-”fun” for my style of riding. Basically, I’ve learned sitting on a trainer for really any length of time is boring as hell. (I did however use a trainer before Storm the Greens to stay warm, that seemed to be a good call).

Just riding the bike worked well enough for me. ‘Cross bikes are great commuters, especially when making use of people’s front yards as rideable terrain. Occasionally, I’d work some harder sprints into my ride to or from work, getting the heart rate up with intervals between sections of stop lights downtown, or long intersection-free areas of the town of Clarksville on my way to work, but generally speaking, I just ride everyday. I guess that’s what’s referred to as “base miles”. Good for me, right?

PS:
So it seems you haven’t taken cyclocross very seriously then? I know I raced this season too, and honestly, I haven’t had any extra time to really even post to this site.

MW:
No, even while I haven’t taken it wholly seriously, it has seemed to occupy a lot of my time and thoughts. It became a little too all-consuming surprisingly. Since the season had started back in September, I basically raced every weekend. That’s a lot of registration fees and travel expenses too. I already sort of miss it, but am also glad to be done with it for a while. It’ll be nice to have a weekend again.

I think where I took it seriously was in the mechanics. I’ve learned that ‘cross is rather demanding of your bike and components. This is one of the reasons I wanted to get into it, to get some insight and experience into what works on a bike that’s being used for racing. I’ve replaced numerous brake pads, through wear, but mostly through experimentation. I’ve had pedal quandaries and potential solutions, as well as crank and chainring issues. I’ve even managed to demo some sew-up carbon wheels to get an opinion on them; I just about rode the entire season on the first set of wheels I ever built. Lot’s learned from those.

PS:
Really, tell me about those wheels. What are they? What’d you learn?

MW:
They are 6500 series Ultegra hubs “double-laced” to MAVIC Open Pro rims; 32 hole. They were decently lighter than the stock wheels that came with the Jamis Nova Pro that I bought for this season. Like I said, they were the first set I’ve ever built and the pattern was introduced to me by a shop out in Seattle. This guy said he’d lace the spokes this way specifically for ‘cross racers out there, he taught me his technique and they honestly seemed to hold up pretty damned well across the season.

The “double-lacing” refers to the way the spokes cross each other as they travel from the hub to the rim. Instead of a typical 3-cross lacing (over-over-under) the spokes are woven a little bit more (over-under-over). Theoretically, I guess it extends the hub flange making the wheel stiffer and supposedly stronger. The most obvious benefit I experienced with it was the race in Indianapolis where a fellow racer, while blocking my passing, put his foot/pedal into my front wheel breaking three spoke nipples. This lacing pattern seemed to keep the spokes within the plane of the wheel to the point that I didn’t immediately notice I had “lost” any spokes at all. The wheel was still rather “true” as well. The wheel is not perfect by any means now, but I was able to replace the spoke nipples and bring it back to life to race on it again.

PS:
Ouch! How’d you fare in that race?

MW:
Not terrible considering, but sixth place. I think if there were another lap, I’d have caught back up to the lead group. No real injury though.

PS:
Across the season, any injuries?

MW:
Nothing substantial or lasting really, just sore muscles on Mondays.

PS:
How was the competition in your races?

MW:
Pretty good from what I could tell, it being my first season and all. I learned very quickly that there exists a strong Junior team that races in the beginner Category 4′s. Those Red Zone kids have a lot of experience and have some speed. Across the season though, I found that the ones to beat were beatable. Get ahead of them and lay on the power, I found that I could then stay ahead.

‘Cross itself has a way of beating you otherwise sometimes though. Case in point with the Indianapolis race, a set of broken spokes putting you back six places; it can be an easily lost chain, or flatting (never happened to me), bad preparation, or a course that doesn’t suit your skills. With the 4′s though, it’s a shorter race, there’s not always enough time to get back into podium position. What’re you going to do? It’s racing, and all those are just excuses after the fact.

PS:
So, if you didn’t take it as seriously as some do, what was your motivation to go for podium at all?

MW:
I guess to see if I could. I’ve never raced before and my results became a barometer of how good of a competitive racer I could be. I’ve never really thought of myself as overtly competitive, but… I guess maybe I am. That was probably brought out a bit at the first two races of the season in Landen, Ohio. First race, I was holding a great position, second or third, when this dude nudges me off a tight track into a fallen tree. A competitive nature—read: vendetta—was born out of that circumstance (ninth place finish). The second race of that weekend, was when I was introduced to the Red Zone kids, one of which I was neck and neck with throughout the race. I just couldn’t keep him behind me, not even at the sprint finish where he took 14th putting me at 15th. I got competitive with myself on that one; getting beat by a 13 year old was a little demeaning. I learned later he had quite a bit more experience than me.

Other motivators were definitely the team I’d just joined. Go Rogue! Oli telling me how good I was going to do, and then resorting to threats if I didn’t get on the podium. Sherri screaming at the races, startling others in the field. The heckling from teammates and co-workers was only a little influential probably. There were also opposing opinions given to me continually throughout the season as to what category I should be racing in; be it 4′s or 3′s. I wanted to upgrade, but only with justification, and I honestly never wanted to justify it without getting on the podium at least once. By the time that happened—first place in Columbus—the season was nearly over, I may as well have stayed and compete for the overall series’ points. My second podium placing was also first place for the state championships—I’ve never won anything like that before in my life. I’ll upgrade for next year.

Feeling like I was a part of the community was a good motivator too. The whole OVCX was cool, meeting rad people in other cities is always kick ass, having the home court advantage of River Road Country Club was cool; momentarily getting heated at it’s imminent demise was interesting. (It will of course be the best introduction to cyclocross for myself—and evidently many others—bummer to see it go, but there’s better terrain to tear up for ‘cross in this town).

PS:
What’s next?

MW:
One more race for fun most likely, the Cyclo Claus coming up mid-December. After that, not much until next season in the 3′s. Maybe I’ll try some mountain biking come spring, there’ll be plenty more base miles from commuting in this damned cold winter, and perhaps some brevets on the road bike. See you out there!