Let me let you in on a secret to happiness . . .

The truth is out there . . .

Wandering

Sometimes, you just have to go where there are no people.

Headframe, abandoned shaft mine, Cripple Creek Mining Distrct

Geared Hubs, revisited

It has been just over a year with my Globe Daily 3. A year of gravel, chat, bike paths, city streets, commuting, touring, and some of the best spinning of petals I have ever experienced. Here's what I like about this bike.

My Globe 3, north of Denver in Adams County
 Shot with an Olympus XA on Kodak Ektar 100

Previously, I've ridden frankenbikes. The last before this one was built on a frame from 1964. Heavy, and rough. This bike seemed to have come from another world, at first. I felt as if it was pulling me up hills and could coast forever. The difference between a 50 pound bike and a 26 pounder was like day and night.

I had wanted reliability. The Globe has delivered. Aside from a few brake adjustments, chain cleaning and  lube, and a couple of tubes, there has been nothing to do with this bike except ride it. Which is exactly how things should be in my world. And I wouldn't have needed the tube replacements except for a sidewall defect in the rear tire.

I change things as they become problems. The seat was an issue according to a lot of reviewers. I'd have to say it's just adequate. It works with bike shorts, but not so much without. I'm looking in to a Brooks, but I do a lot of parking on streets, so I'll have to remove it when I lock up. Caliper brakes aren't the best, but I can fix them in the field. Discs and such, not so much. I've really only had issues with handlebars. The limited hand positions keep leading to numbness. It's time for this to change. Perhaps a new head, but definitely new bars. I find myself racking up serious miles, day in and day out. Being comfortable wouldn't hurt.

It likes to roll along at around 12 to 15 mph. That range seems ideal, for four to six hours. The hub has been like every one I've owned, flawless and bulletproof. I could go faster, but I'm not looking for that. I like thinking and talking to my girl while I ride. Target heart rates don't enter in to that.

This bike will be around for a while. And that's about the best recommendation I can make.

Bit of bad news . . .

This is a goat. An Angora goat to be precise. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this post. Except for this fact: I shot this with my Nikon F3.

The very same F3 that gave up the ghost this week.

Honestly, the camera is not the thing that determines my ability to take a picture. It's the eye, it's always been said, not the gear. Which is true.

That being said, however . . .I miss my F3. When I was in J school in the 80s, I lusted after the F3. The hot shot pros used them, and they were fabulously expensive. I'd never be able to afford one. Money would always be between me and that camera. Then the digital revolution made things cheap in the film camera world, and I snagged one.

And now, I'm off to go down the rabbit hole of KEH to get another one. The insanity . . .

Waiting

I need to spin the cranks for a bit.  I know, just a few miles away, there are some trails that need to be covered. But, it's barely in to the double digits out there, and more snow is bearing down on us. Now is really not the time to head out. There are limits on how much cold I can endure and how much snow I can navigate. Even if the sky is beautiful, and my ears miss the siren song of spinning tires.

I'm being productive. I've begun mapping a route out past Fort Collins for the spring and summer. A century of gravel and rolling hills. Looking at the roads with google earth and plotting. Looking up some much needed gear and making some judicious purchases. I'm testing some emulsions and development/agitation strategies for some new work I'll be undertaking next week.

Waiting. I've never been good at it. 

North Platte and Sand Creek

It was almost 60 last saturday.  Those temps mean one thing this time of year- a break from the winder doldrums, and a ride!

Most folks in Denver go South on the Platte River Trail. Towards suburbia, and maybe a jaunt up the mountains to Morrison and Red Rocks.

My girl and I swim upstream. We go north, in to industry and decay.

Past the slumbering park, waiting for summertime screaming and squealing of delight to resume. Getting to ride a part of the trail not open to bikes. This is usually only for pedestrians, but the new light rail bridge construction has the other side of the trail closed. It's nice to see something new on a ride.

Past the unused bridge where doomed cattle went to slaughter, across the river from the stockyards. The smell on the breeze reminded us it was Stock Show season, and made us grateful it wasn't warmer. We went to see the show the next night, watching the clydesdales pull an eight ton sled. Tractor pulls sans tractors.

We always stop at this park. It was once a water treatment plant for the city. It was abandoned and known as "Pirate City" for a while, rife with gangs and scrappers. Now it's full of remaining concrete pipes and shapes, with sayings written by school children wanting us to be nice to each other and not tell secrets, because that's mean.

Most folks want something more bucolic than this. But there's a certain attraction to the back sides of a city, where work gets done and the supports that allow the day to day living to carry on can be seen. And through it, a zipping lane of cyclists. On every face this day was a smile.

Smiles my girl and I shared in, as the trail wound down in to nice solid chat.

We'd stolen a day from winter. No snow, no slush, no frostbite. Just endless sky with puffy clouds, and sleeping grass, waiting for spring rains to return to outrageous shades of green. A day to remind us why we missed our rides, and loved our bikes.

I used the last of my outdated Ferrania film from Italy in my XA on this jaunt. This little walleyed camera is growing on me.

Winter Vacation

I've taken my first long distance train ride. I visited the folks and friends back home.

I have to say, I'm sold on the train as a means of long distance travel.

It was comfortable, with seats bigger than first class on an airplane. And no one thought you were about to rush the cockpit if you got up to stretch your legs. There were plenty of things to do onboard, as you could use your electronic devices as you wanted to. In fact, there were power outlets at every seat. The food was pretty good overall as well. I spent two nights in a sleeper and that was the most civilized traveling experience I have ever had. I had steak dinners and returned to a compartment folded in to a bed to sleep. I was awakened by a porter and plied with hot coffee on the way to breakfast. I ate French Toast as I covered cornfields at 80. I returned to my compartment to find it made up in to seats, and a local paper waiting. I read while sipping more coffee and being generally content.

It is true I kind of went the long way around. Chicago was a bit out of the way, but it was nice to spend some time wandering the place, running some Portra through my little Olympus XA. The schedule was adhered to by some trains, less so by others (the Zephyr is chronically late), but it offered something in exchange. I got to peek in to the back yards of America, looking as we passed  swing sets, town squares, Dairy Dips and VFW halls. Looking down main streets at art deco walk up theaters with marquees proclaiming their names and the movies, and grand old hotels with ornate overhangs and neon signs. I got to see America, this great country we live in. And how wonderful it is when it's being itself, far away from the chain stores, interstates, and sterile airports. A bit of the wonder of travel came back to replace the irritation I always feel taking other means. I was very happy to chase the sunset across the Mississippi river as rural America faded in to the darkness and was gone.

There was security, but it was reasonable, rational security. The typical train rider is almost rabidly anti-TSA. Security is handled by Amtrak's own police department. It was better that real police officers were on the job instead of mall cops. Amtrak PD used dogs instead of multi-million dollar machines. The dogs are far better at detecting explosives and are far cheaper, but no one gets kick backs on them. Plus, there is more metal in a single car than in a 737, and it's hard, tough steel instead of aluminum. You'd need a lot of explosives to blow up a train. And there is little chance of anyone hijacking a train and flying it in to a building.

All in all, it was the first time in more years than I can remember that I've been looking forward to travel, and having fun doing so.  I will be using it again in the future. Especially when you consider you can check your bike as luggage and take it with you on the ride. It's tempting to just ride out on the train and bicycle back.