Let's use a heart-rate monitor to gather data about our cardio-vascular fitness!

Several of the following observations were originally posted to the Fifty+ Years Old Forum at mtbr.com on 01 October 2024.

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I started riding with a heart rate monitor, a Garmin Forerunner 45, in April 2024 and, after several months of data collection, I now find myself absolutely fascinated by what I've been learning about my cardio-vascular health and fitness. I am especially intrigued by the corroboration of what I feel has been a distinct increase in my overall-fitness and threshold-endurance during this summer's riding season. 

Bottom line: I love doing the things I get to do outdoors. My objective in learning to use a heart rate monitor has been to better understand my general overall fitness and health and, quite simply, to maximize however-many years might remain to me to continue to be able to do these essential activities that I love. Below is an inexpert run-down of what I think I'm beginning to understand better about my body based on what my new monitor seems to be telling me.

HISTORY

I'm male and currently 57 years old (almost 58, tbh). I'm 6 feet tall, weigh about 200 pounds, and my resting heart-rate is typically around 50ish beats per minute. I have occasional stage 1 hypertension which, in my case, is definitely exacerbated by my alcohol intake and/or how badly I'm dehydrated. If I'm being honest, both of these conditions happen to me with some frequency.  My bad cholesterol is for shit, but my most recent cardiac calcium score (done earlier this year) is 5. I was treated for asthma exacerbated by allergies as a child, but have suffered no ill effect from this juvenile condition as an adult. I have no other cardio-vascular or pulmonary issues that I'm aware of.

I was never an athlete as a kid, at least not of the organized team sports variety.  But I swam a lot and rode my BMX bike and/or my paper-route bike somewhere almost everyday while growing up.  As an adult, I have been riding singletrack in our high-elevation (7000-9000') forest 100+ days a year (averaging about 1500 miles a year since 2011 when I started using Strava) for more than 30 years. During my cycling off-season, typically early December through late April, I Telemark ski on the regular, usually 4-5 hours a day, 4-5 days per week, at elevations generally above 10000' at our local ski area.  I like to think I know my body, my gear, and my "backyard" pretty well at this point at this point in my life.  

We live on the talus slopes of a big shield volcano, so almost all my rides are loops which begin with a prolonged ascent and end with a similarly prolonged (but never identical) descent. This unavoidable topographical reality makes it easy to look at my sustained and/or interval efforts in large linear blocks of both time and distance as I climb consistently upward on terrain I'm very familiar with. 

PREPARATION

Initially, when first setting up my heart-rate monitor out of the box, I used the 220 minus chronological age formula to determine my max rate, which I therefore set at 163. But after riding for several weeks at this set-point, I noticed that, per my post-ride data, it appeared I was spending a fairly large percentage of my ride in the anaerobic Zone 5 range which, after doing a little research, I found should not be possible, or at least was not desirable. 

This insightful response to a comment I made in July 2024 in the Max HR at 50+ thread in the Fifty+ Year Old forum on mtbr.com helped me understand all of this a bit better:

Dunnigan replied: It sounds like you might not be at your theoretical max HR, which is fine. If a rate feels uncomfortable, even a suffer fest, but you can keep it up for 3 min, that sounds more like an anaerobic effort—you are above your lactate threshold, and lactate is building up faster than you can clear it. That zone feels like your body is asking, then insisting, then begging you to slow down. The forceful breathing of working at just below your threshold is replaced with gasping for air, unable to keep up with demand for more Os.

I haven’t read that there’s any real training value in chasing a theoretical max. It takes extraordinary motivation, e.g., a contested finish in a race. Then you’d still not know how high you might get if that other rider were replaced by a grizzly bear on cocaine.

The 220-age to give a max, then taking percentages of that for zones isn’t reliable enough. What you describe above when listening to your body is far more accurate for what zone you are in. That rate above which efforts can’t last more than a few minutes is likely a good estimate of your LT (somewhere around 165). If that cocaine bear were chasing you, you might be surprised at what your watch read. So the 145-155 might be referred to as tempo. Thats a fun spirited pace to climb at.

Using Dunnigan's observations as a guide while drilling down a bit further into my own research, I eventually concluded that, based on my data, the actual rate at which I can't "comfortably" sustain an effort for more than a few minutes is more like 170. And that my "yer gonna blow-up" rate, where I have only a mere handful of seconds of effort in my legs, is about 174-175. I know none of these set points have been derived per the scientific method, nor have they been rigorously evaluated by a sports physiologist, but they're definitely accurate, as in they're based on my very own personal sample-of-one real-world ground-truthed experiences. So, for now anyway, I've set 170 as my functional max heart rate.  And I'm going to stick with that until someone or something changes my mind. 

GOALS

As I stated above, my primary objective in learning to use a heart rate monitor has been to better understand my general overall fitness and health and, quite simply, to maximize however-many years might remain to me to continue to be able to do these essential activities that I love.  That being said (again), I've set a few goals that I hope will help me achieve this result.

First of all, this summer I've been focusing on extending my warm-up time at the beginning of every ride by deliberately staying in zone 2 as I'm headed out of my neighborhood into the woods.  I've learned that this makes me feel significantly better once real effort of the ride begins.

This season, with the data from my new monitor to guide me, I've also been working diligently to extend the percentage of time, and to increase the number of days per week, wherein I'm able to ride near my anaerobic threshold, in the upper part of zone 4. For me this occurs between 155-164 bpm. 

FOCUS

While I've been engaged in extending my at-threshold cardio-vascular capability this summer, I've likewise been trying to tune-in to familiarizing myself with how these efforts feel, without looking down at the watch-face to see where I'm at.  I'm trying to listen more closely to my heart rate, in my chest and in my ears, and to practice effective, deliberate breathing, and also (perhaps best of all) to find that place of peaceful mental contentment while on the bike.  Don't know about you, but I have always loved that sense of being on top of the right gear when you're in it, that sense that there is a strong tailwind at your back, heart beating strong, right in the middle of zone 4, those moments when your cadence and your power make you feel like "I could ride like this all day."

MAINTENANCE

I've also been making concerted efforts to balance my activities this season. And I've been paying close attention to the Relative Effort number on my Strava to better understand this concept.  It continues to be my goal to get in 50+ on-dirt miles per week.  But for the first time in forever, I'm also deliberately making sure I give my body time to recover after bigger efforts.  As I find myself aging, and recovery seems to take a bit longer, I'm being more attentive to the types of rides I'm doing, making sure not every ride is an epic (but that there's at least 1 bigger effort, sometimes 2 each week), making sure to go on a few dirt road gravel bike rides, mellow singletrack toodles (mostly in zone 3), or what I like to call "errandonnée" rides (which just means riding around doing random shit via bicycle) around town, keeping things a bit more spinnie a couple days each week.

GAINS

The last thing I'll mention is something I've been noticing more often lately, especially this past month (September 2024). Along with a perceived increase in general fitness and my perception that I'm feeling really good on the bike these days, I'm also noting an increase in my ability to maintain a faster rate of speed when riding uphill for extended periods of time, all while keeping my heart rate well below my max.  I'm stoked to report, I've surpassed several long-standing Strava PRs in the past few weeks, every one of them while maintaining a confident, fast, sustainable cadence for a prolonged period of time (50-60+ minutes) at heart rate consistently in my zone 4 range.  I'm still processing this new piece of data, but I'm excited by these results, they feel valid!

Just about a bike (but really about a friend): Dale Shewalter's 1983 Specialized Expedition

I was first introduced to Dale Shewalter in 1993. His sixth grade classroom was located two doors down the hall from the room where I was about to start my student teaching, in fifth grade, with the legendary Grant "Brad" Gerver at Weitzel Elementary School in January of that year.  The always gregarious Gerver was great about taking me around and introducing me, right away, to everyone that I would be working with, and Dale's room was one of the first stops on my first-day tour. 

Having grown up in a multigenerational family of teachers, I immediately recognized Dale as a teacher's-teacher, cut from the same bolt of no-nonsense but ever-compassionate fabric that my mom, grandmother, great-aunt, and great-grandmother had likewise each been hewn from.  Naturally, I liked him right away. And it was my great good fortune that we were able to remain friends for years, long after I completed my student teaching, well into my own career as a professional educator.

I bought this bike from Dale in 1997. He had purchased it new in 1983.  It's a Specialized Expedition road touring bicycle, designed and built to be ridden intentionally heavy-laden over long lonesome distances.  By Dale's own admission, despite being an avid horseman at heart, he nevertheless rode it far and wide in his younger days, bivouacking out of it's panniers in forests and deserts, inside dark box culverts and upon photogenic mountain tops all around the western U.S. "Only crashed it loaded a couple times," he told me, pointing at the scuff on the right brake lever, on the day I drove out to his humble horse-property north of Flagstaff to pick it up.

The bike was fabricated for import via Specialized by Toyo in Japan. It has beautiful lugs, 40-spoke wheels, flawless original paint, clearance for 38s, and braze-ons front-and-rear for pannier-racks. It is long, amply geared with a low-range triple, shifts super smoothly from the downtube, and stops with expedience via non-aero Superbe levers and the highest-of-profile canti-brakes.  

It's a special bike, but not because of its vintage or any of the aforementioned features.  

It's a special bike because it was Dale's.

You see, Dale wasn't just a beloved elementary school teacher, Vietnam vet, and friend. This tribute, penned by Randy Warner, member of the Board of the Arizona Trail Association, says it best:

DALE SHEWALTER: ARIZONA SCHOOL TEACHER WITH AN 800-MILE SHADOW

The Arizona Trail lost its founder, Dale Shewalter, on January 10, 2010. Dale died after a long and determined battle with cancer, and after more than 25 years of working to make real his dream of an Arizona Trail.

Born and raised in Illinois, Dale came to Arizona after serving in the Marines in Vietnam. He was a geologist, an avid hiker and horseman, but most of all a teacher for the Flagstaff Unified School District. And at some point, these vocations and avocations coalesced into a crazy idea. Why shouldn’t there be a hiking, biking and equestrian trail that crosses the entire state of Arizona?

“The idea’s not new,” Dale said in an October 1985 article in the Prescott Courier newspaper. “A lot of people have thought about the trail before and other people have walked the length of the state.”

Dale recognized that Arizona’s public lands formed a natural corridor through the state, and existing National Forest and other trails could be used. “A trail system,” he said in the same article, “could link some of these areas with towns in between, so people could enjoy the urban facilities of restaurants and motels, while experiencing Arizona at the pace of a walker.”

To scout the route, Dale walked the State from Nogales to the Utah border, averaging just over 25 miles a day. He gathered much of the intelligence he would later use to promote the Arizona Trail. Soon after, he began traveling the state hawking the idea of an Arizona Trail to state and federal agencies, outdoor enthusiasts, and anyone else who would listen.

One such organization was the Arizona Hiking and Equestrian Trails Committee, a citizen advisory committee to the Arizona State Parks Board that later became the Arizona State Committee on Trails (ASCOT), The committee voted to support the trail, and quickly became an advocate for the Arizona Trail.

The project began to snowball as other individuals, organizations and agencies joined in. Eric Smith heard Dale speak about the Arizona Trail at the Boyce Thompson Arboretum in 1987 and was hooked. “While Dale enjoyed presenting his idea and vision,” Smith recalls, “he also made everyone feel welcome about joining the effort. He knew that it would take many people, and a very long time to succeed in such an effort.”

In 1988, Dale took a year-long leave from teaching to work on the Arizona Trail, and became the first Arizona Trail Steward, a position funded by several national forests. The same year, the first seven miles of the Arizona Trail were dedicated on the Kaibab Plateau.

By the early 1990’s, the development of the Trail was in full swing. Through Dale’s efforts – and those of other individuals and agencies too many to name – the necessary partnerships and relationships were in place to make Dale’s dream of a border-to-border trail a reality. An Intergovernmental Agreement was entered into by state and federal agencies to provide financial and other support for the Arizona Trail project. But one piece of the puzzle remained.

In 1994, the Arizona Trail Association was established. Dale was on the first Board of Directors, served as President for a time in the mid-2000’s, and was a board member for the rest of his life. But more than that, he remained the inspiration for a growing group of people committed to seeing the Arizona Trail to completion and beyond. His messages at the ATA’s annual meetings left people energized, and he continued to set an example by doing everything from trail building to relationship building.

As Dale would later explain, he viewed the Arizona Trail as a collective effort by many. “I am indeed proud of my work to plan, map, and promote the Arizona Trail,” he wrote after a trailhead sign in his honor was dedicated at Flagstaff’s Buffalo Park. “But much more has been needed to bring the Trail to completion. During the past twenty plus years, a great number of highly creative and capable people have devoted their expertise to development of the Trail. I think it safe to estimate that several thousand people have contributed ‘sweat equity’ to the Trail.”

Dave Hicks, current Executive Director of the ATA, was one of those whom Dale inspired. He met Dale at a work event in 2001, when Dale sought him out to talk about the trail and Hicks’ experiences as a through-hiker. “I was flattered that he took the time to talk,” Hicks says. “He was the real deal. No fluff. And a person genuinely interested in other people, especially Arizona Trail hikers.”

Dale’s involvement with the trail continued during his illness. Whenever able, he would participate in a work event, attend a board meeting, or join the celebration at the annual ATA Member Rendezvous at Mormon Lake.

In 2009, Congress named the Arizona Trail a National Scenic Trail. As usual, Dale’s response was not to take credit, but to give thanks. He wrote: “I am personally grateful for all of the devoted people who have worked so hard to bring National Scenic Trail status to our Arizona Trail. The trail will be an adventure for generations of outdoors people to enjoy, and the magic of Arizona’s landscape will be shared with the world.”

The astonishing thing about Dale Shewalter was not that he had a great idea. It was not that he hiked the length of Arizona to map the Trail’s route. It wasn’t that he was a great salesman, managing to get so many people organizations and government agencies to buy in. It wasn’t that he was an inspirational teacher for so many students while remaining an inspirational leader for the Arizona Trail Association. It was that he was all these things.

ATA president Emily Nottingham described it this way: “Lots of people have good ideas, but few have the commitment, vision and persistence to turn them into reality. Few people understand how complex a long distance trail can be to put together, but Dale, even understanding the challenges, did it.”

Dale leaves us with fond memories, certainly inspiration, but more than anything the challenge of completing and preserving the Arizona Trail.

I last saw Dale in person in 2006 when we bumped into one another while each of us were visiting doctors at the Physicians & Surgeons Office Building near the Flagstaff Medical Center one afternoon mid-summer, life often happens in this way in small towns such as ours.  I, along with my wife and our infant daughter, was there to consult with a surgeon about a small hernia in her tummy that we'd noticed a few weeks prior.  He, along with his wife, was there to visit with his oncologist, wherein, he told us with firm resolve, he had been given the news that his cancer, with which he had been battling for years already, was no longer in remission. 

Dale fought on, valiantly, for a several years afterward, but that would be the last time we would interact face-to-face.  Nevertheless, I think him often, certainly whenever I ride this bike, and often when I just happen to glance at the place where it hangs from the ceiling in my garage.  It hasn't been on an epic tour in many years. Except for a few centuries and sundry other longish regional rides, I've never really put it to the use for which it was intended.  But I have, quite deliberately, kept it almost exactly as it was when it was his. And I have always enjoyed riding it.  It's spirit and inclination to freely range far-and-wide will forever bear Dale's imprint.

Just about a bike: Monē SB2 Klunker [UPDATED]

3.3:1 gain ratio, 45.6 gear inches

Cjell Monē (pronounced: shell money*) proudly runs his mobile custom-fab bike shop out of the back of a former Wonderbread work-truck which is currently parked (at the time of this writing) somewhere near Silver City, New Mexico.

I'm sure Cjell's one-off custom bikes are amazing.  His initial apprenticeship at Black Sheep Bikes, and many subsequent years of experience as a successful independent bike builder, would seem to indicate: he knows well how to wield a torch.  But a one-off custom bike tends to be the sort of unobtainable unicorn which, for most of us run-of-the-mill average-type bike riders, is maybe something we get to plan for and purchase once in a lifetime.  That's been my experience, anyway. 

Somewhat uniquely, however, Monē isn't limited to just producing one-off full customs for his customers, he also produces several models of his bikes in small batches, ready to be sold off-the-rack. The Monē SB2 (small batch, straight bar) Klunker is one of these rigs, handmade in Silver City in limited sizes and quantities by Cjell himself.

Monē sells this beautifully fillet-brazed, pret-a-porter coaster-brake creation as both a frame-set and a complete bicycle in two ready-to-wear sizes: small/medium and large/extra-large. And he does so via his online store for, like, $2300 less monē than one of his fully custom creations costs. Plus, because the small-batch frames are usually in-stock and ready to be built to customer specs, I suspect there's a waaaay foreshortened labor-and-delivery time, too. In my particular case, for this bike, everything took about six weeks from payment to delivery.

So hey, listen, here's what I wanna tell ya: This bike is a fricken hoot to ride! Having now had mine (size large/extra-large, complete with a hand-built tubeless 650b coaster-brake wheel set, 820mm crossbar handlebar, 40mm stem, and 450mm rigid biplane fork...for which I paid 100% full-pop retail, I'll have you know) in my possession for about a month now, and having done gone and assembled and then shooken it the F down maximally in the full breadth-and-depth of my quasi-professional capacity (such as it is), I'm quite confident in making that aforementioned superlative assertion. A fricken hoot to ride. Yep! That pretty much nails it. Nuff said? Gonna pull the trigger?  Cool. Thanks for reading my review. 

But as to the nitty-gritty, the deeper-diving deets which pertain to the discrete ins-and-outs of the Monē SB2 Klunker, well friend, if you're of that sort, one of the ilk who's cookie gets all crumbley when you read of such things, then please, sit back and observe as I digress...

First up, first impressions:

• The branding game is strong at Monē Bikes...  Everywhere you look, lest you ever forget, you'll find in the various nooks and crannys of this bike, an engraved piece of (often brass-colored) bespoke bling bearing the company name... atop the stem's top cap, upon the end of the bar-end plugs, encircling the largest of the stem spacers, engraved into the seatpost clamp, laser-cut into the rear drop-outs and the coaster brake arm, and even in the tiniest of typefaces on the valve-stem caps and handlebar shim.
  
  
• The brazing game is strong at Monē Bikes... Given that these frames are built en masse in small batches, one might think the quality of its workmanship could suffer from a lack of attention to detail and quality control.  But one glance at the ample, gorgeous unfiled fillets which join the tubes of this bike will convince you otherwise.  Can't tell if there's a TIG or two under any of the brazings, but to be honest, it matters not to me.  The end product is, to my eye, a masterwork of fillet brazing prowess.  Leaving it unfiled and clear-coated is definitely the right choice. 
  
  
• 
  The stock-spec parts selection game for the Monē SB2 Klunker is mostly very strong... Tubeless 650b 32-spoke 3-cross Velocity Blunt 35 wheels with brass nips: yep!  A beefed-up Shimano CB-E110 coaster brake hub encased by Monē's unique finned aluminum heat-sink: you betcha! A silver White Industries thru-axle, disc-ready hub up front riding in a beefily hand-built, rakishly sexy Monē biplane fork: uh-huh, right there! A pair of big ol' 2.8 Vittoria tires: yes, please!  And that fork? And those bars? My god!
  
  
• The stock-spec parts selection game for the Monē SB2 Klunker is also sometimes meh... Hate to be a whiner, but if I'm being honest, I'm not so stoked about: A) the dinky brass Monē branded seatpost clamp which was out-gunned by my ample dad-bod's ass-mass on ride number-one and had to be replaced with a Surly Constrictor seatpost clamp which has, of course, entirely solved the problem, as Surly Constrictor seatpost clamps always do... nor B) the too-short seat-tube frame extension (not really a "part" I know, but it feels like my gripe should go here) which requires my post be run at or above the max-line so my seat's in the right spot for my very common 32" inseam; coulda used another 20mm of material there, imho... neither C) did I care one bit for the paltry FSA headset that came installed in the frame, with it's teeny tiny ball bearings, plastic top retainer and all too predictable tendency to loosen, just a smidge but just enough to drive me bonkers, on each and every ride... until it was replaced with one I ordered from the mix-and-match parts bin at Chris King, which has, of course, entirely solved the problem, as Chris King headsets always do. 
  

• The ride-quality game for the Monē SB2 Klunker is sooper-dooper strong... Cjell has claimed, and I am inclined to concur, that, "With coaster brakes, you’re channeling your inner Yeti logo. You have to learn how to countersteer and throw your bike into drifty skids. Ride [a bike with coaster brakes] and you realize you don’t have to be the fastest. It’s a new level of silliness. You still get to rip but with a lot more giggles.”  And, if you run the numbers, all of that makes a lot of sense. For reals, take a bike with a (I shit you not) 48" c-c wheelbase, 18" chainstays, 820mm bars, flat pedals, a hugely raked-out rigid fork, a coaster brake in back, a nice, low 3.3:1 one-speed gain ratio (45.6 gear inches), and an aggro set of tubeless 2.8 (70mm) 650b tires pumped to around 20psi for a shred on some swoopy singletrack and there's more than a few things you will quickly begin to understand. Heck, almost 4 weeks in and I'm still learning, everyday, how to ride this weird new-thing, this long-ass coaster-brake one-speed mountain bike (a far wilder beast than my other coaster brake bike), as fast as I can on chunky volcanic one-track trails out in the woods.  It is exactly the work-in-progress kind of run-what-ya-brung project that I was seeking when I decided to buy it. So far, my experiences have compelled me to come up with a short list of what I think are some important dos and don'ts:
  
• DO:
• keep your pedals at 3 and 9 (or maybe it's 2 and 8 or 4 and 10?) when coasting
• be ready for the 15-20 degree "dead spot" in the coaster hub when track-standing in public or you will look really stupid right after you looked really cool
• modulate your coaster-braking force, don't jam it into skid-mode unless you're showing off or panicking
• show off and make big skids whenever you have the chance
  
• DON'T:
• get bounced around in the chunk, because if you fly off your line into the rough at-speed all you've got is raw panic and a big dust cloud of fish-taily locked-up rear-wheel skidding to save your bacon
• drop your outside pedal to 6 when railing a turn or get your pedals at 12 and 6 at any point when you might need to get on the brake fast
• ratchet-backpedal in slow tech (more than the 15-20 degree "dead spot" in the coaster hub) because it will make you stop
• cheat your bunnyhop and lose your pedals because you will have no brakes and shear terror will ensue

• The potential-for-upgrade game for the Monē SB2 Klunker is really quite exciting... I've made a couple changes to my new bike, upgrades if you will, in the first weeks that I've owned it, and I will surely make many more over time ('tis what I do, after all). Some of the changes, as stated above, were necessary because they were parts that just had to go (the crap headset and the too-flimsy-for-my-butt seat collar), but a few other things I've changed-out, cut-down, or added-on, well, just-because and/or to reduce terror:
• upgraded to an under-seat levered dropper-post because: riding without one has become a rather terrifying prospect... also gives my otherwise mostly idle right-hand something to do now and then
• bolted on a Cooziecage beverage carrier because: riding without one has become a rather terrifying prospect... also gives my otherwise idle thoughts something to focus on now and then
• cut down the 820mm handlebars to 780 because: they were too wide to fit thru the rock gap on the Easter Island trail
• added a front disc brake (180mm Avid BB7) because: riding with one is pretty much required if/when going higher or steeper or faster on our local angle-of-repose-ish shield volcano... and also because it is, in fact, as predicted by Cjell Monē himself, precisely "12% more reasonable."

Her steeze, so sexy.

Update: 30 July 2024

My good pal Lyle and I were talking on the phone about bikes again this morning (we do this a lot), and I was going on-and-on (yet again) about how much fun I was having riding my SB2 around in the woods, when he asked me, "But what does it excel at? Anything?"  And, well heck, that kinda shut me up for a second... 'cause I didn't have a good answer for him right at that moment.

So I took the SB2 for another ride, right then and there (truth-be-told, this was my plan for the morning anyway), and I thought about Lyle's query the whole time.

As I wandered I wondered: Must every bike excel at something?  What does it mean to excel, does it mean to approach some kind of ideal, to lend a measurable advantage to the rider, to help them be their best (i.e. faster)?  What if a bike was kinda the opposite of that, what if, instead, it challenged the rider, created impediments and obstacles where they don't normally exist, or required the rider to learn new skills and adapt to a slate of handicaps, both big and small, to put limits on their abilities, rather than enhancing or amplifying them?  

I've been riding singlespeed bikes in the woods for a long time, long enough to understand the concept of handicapping or deliberately limiting one's ability, this is one of the many reasons why a lot of us enjoy riding such bikes... but a one-speed bike strips away only a single advantage: mechanical gearing.  The SB2, on the other hand, eliminates all (okay, most) advantages. 

So, is disadvantage something a bike can excel at?  I propose it is, and that this is precisely what the Monē SB2 Klunker does.  And it does so so well.

Update: 09 Sept 2024

Got to a point where the look of the dropper post on this bike, while nonetheless functional and advantageous, just did not sit well with me aesthetically.  Replaced it, and also the cushy, suedey Selle Italia saddle it came with, with a rigid Thomson post and a stylie 40-years broke-in black Brooks pro (What I actually did was simply flip seats with the Expedition).  Check it!

Must say: it looks sooo much better, and rides almost as well.

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* Cjell Monē is the clever, one-of-a-kind nom-de-internets of Taylor Zimmerman. The nom-de-internets is a trend/ethos/state-of-mind for which we here at RockyChrysler.com have long advocated.

Just about a travel trailer: Benny, the Jet [UPDATED]

Meet Benny, our new 1968 Lofgren's Jet camper trailer, the long sought-after replacement for our beloved camper van, Betovn.

We recently finished painting and restoring her outsides (with new paint to match the house, reproduction decals, and fresh weatherseal where it was needed... a lot of the interior resto-work was begun by the previous owner) and she's now permanently leveled and installed (as in: she's no longer a travel trailer) in the side-yard next to our back-deck. We intend to use Benny as an overnight guest-room whenever friends and family come to visit for a few days.

She's equipped to sleep 2 normal-sized grown-people and 2 kids comfortably, is hooked up to shore-power for interior lighting (but has no fridge, just a legit vintage icebox), and the three-burner stove works great on propane (haven't tested the oven yet)... however, she's got no running water (no gray-water tank on-board) and no toilet (no black-water tank, either). An effective electric space-heater and a small-but-adequate electric fan have been installed for all-season interior climate control (plenty of extra blankets in the closet as well). And there's also a small Amazon Fire TV on the wall above the aft bed. 

Our guests are, of course, welcomed to use the guest restroom and kitchen facilities inside our house, as well as the comfy outdoor seating and eating areas, the BBQ, and the hot-tub, all of which are located just steps away from Benny's front door, too.

If you've got our digits and you're gonna be in FLGtown to ride or ski (or whatever) sometime soon, feel free to reach out with a text to let us know when you'd like to stay a few nights in Benny. We'd be happy to have ya!

Benny before...

Update: October 2024

Replaced the old-school, basically worthless icebox with a brand-new, retro-styled Frigidaire mini-fridge.  Did the install and the trim work all by myself. I'd rate my work as functional with the caveat "you get what you pay for."

Archival footage: Unsponsored, unsolicited product review: Canclaw Bike Can Holder [UPDATED]

The following review was posted to the Beer Forum at mtbr.com on 16 Apr 2024.

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Being the inventor of the original on-bike beverage-transport system, the DIY Cooziecage™, I felt that I should be the one to volunteer to purchase and review the Canclaw, a $23.00 (+$5.00 shipping) 3D-printed on-bike beverage transport system akin, if not in design then no-doubt in spirit and intention, to the Cooziecage™.

Seeing as how spring has just-now finally arrived in my neck of the woods, this past Monday morning I removed the Cooziecage™ and mounted my recently purchased Canclaw to the downtube of my Coconino singlespeed for an early-season early-morning sortie into yonder public lands.

Together (my bike, my beer and I, natch) we rode exactly 9.4 miles, up singletrack and a wee bit of forest-road, to "the top" of the day's loop wherein (no matter where "the top" may be) it has long been my habit to stop and sit, atop a humpy rock, or upon the bark of a blown-down tree, or nestled within a tuft or two of brownish braken or bunchgrass, to imbibe a favorite bevvy (thanks always, up 'til today, to my Cooziecage™) whilst contemplating the brevity of my existence, or the shapes of the clouds over head, even perhaps just to anticipate the soon-to-be-had thrill of the downward-facing homeward-bound trail that awaits me.

Following this first-shakedown ride, I am pleased to be able to report, it appears the Canclaw excels at can-holding and also at can-transporting. A standard 12oz beer can easily snaps into the retainer with a positive audible click. To remove the can requires quite a bit, but not an inordinate amount of force, which must applied with one's thumb and pointer-finger to the integrated release-lever. My chosen beverage for this particular test-ride, a 12oz can of Modelo Especial (an excellent inexpensive lager of Mexican origination), arrived at today's drinking-point thoroughly unscathed (zero premature ejections) with the expected non-excessive amount of head-foam upon opening (an unavoidable fact-of-life for all mid-ride beer drinkers). Canclaw FTW!

As so, to summarize: while the Canclaw is not a DIY on-bike beverage transport system, á la the Cooziecage™, it is, nonetheless, for just $28.00 shipped, a super clever, super low-profile, super stable and remarkably well-designed beverage transport system nonetheless. It works, and to this point, it appears to work well.

Thus, to all my fellow outdoor mid-ride bike-beer imbibers who might be interested in procuring one, I'm stoked to say: I can(claw) recommend.

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UPDATE: 21 April 2024

The comment below, perhaps one of the greatest compliments I have ever been paid as a writer, appeared in the Beer Forum thread a few days after it began...

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Update July 2024

Riding with the Canclaw during our rainy summer season I did encounter one vexing concern with the unit's design.  When the integrated release lever gets wet mud/sand/grit in it, it is nearly impossible to operate.  Dispensing water directly onto the lever from one's Camelback or bottle to remove the obstructing particles appears to be the only way to resolve issue.

Archival footage: My Week of Riding Dangerously [UPDATED]

The following essay was posted to both the Rigid/Hardtail and the 50+ Years Old forums at mtbr.com on 24 November 2023.

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Turned 57 a couple weeks ago. Means I've been riding mountain bikes for close to 40 years now. 

As happens to some of us, I ended up hanging on to many of my old bikes, and have acquired and restored a couple other vintage rigs over the years, too.  Several of my older bikes are still intact and quite rideable.  The rest have essentially become organ donors or wall-art, so in a sense still "around" if only in spirit.

Quite literally hanging on (the ceiling) to several old bikes

Had an idea pop into my head the other day, as a kind of 57th birthday commemoration, that I'd ride (as-in really ride, on singletrack trails, out in the woods, just like I used to back-in-the-day) some of my oldest bikes over the course of a few days in the vicinity of my birthday and try to hit as close to an aggregate 57 miles as I could in the process. Rounding upward by just a few tenths, I pretty much nailed it at the end of Day 4 of what I've decided to call: My Week of Riding Dangerously. 

It was brutal. It was amazing. Effort was expended. Flow was elusive. Skin was lost. Blood was shed.

Flats: 0

Broken body/bike parts: 0

Dabs, portages, mulligans: lost count

I've no regrets. 

My Week of Riding Dangerously was everything I wanted/needed it to be: a fully analog, thoroughly tactile, uninsulated reminder of so many of the aesthetics and sensations that initially drew me into the sport in the first place so many years ago.  

If you've still got an old bike or two hanging around in your garage, I encourage you to dust it off, pump up the tires, and take if for a legit spin on your local XC trails... Just one old dood's opinion, but I think it's good for our aging souls to reminisce, and to reflect on how far things have come in the decades that have passed since we first got started riding bikes on trails.  

I'll leave you with a few terribly obvious observations from My Week of Riding Dangerously:

• Disc brakes are so much better than cantis... but cantis worked back then, and they still do today.
• Dropper posts are essential to effective and responsive bike handling... but ride an old bike around for a bit and you'll quickly recall how steep and quick you can still ride without ever lowering your saddle.
• Suspension forks, tubeless tires, wide bars, short stems, beefy rims, and slack geometry definitely enhance bike handling in innumerable positive ways... but the truth of the matter is, you can still have a great nostalgic time shredding around on rigid, narrow, long, and steep sh!t, too.  You're just not going to be able to do it as fast or effectively as you're accustomed to.  And in my book, to on occasion be reminded of how far you've come, and how much things have changed (mostly for the better), isn't really a bad thing,

Below are some sexy iPhone portrait-mode pictures of the bikes and the distances/elevations I rode during My Week of Riding Dangerously.

1994 Breezer Lightning -- 12 miles -- 1000 feet elev.

1991 Ibis Mountain Trials -- 13 miles -- 1100 feet elev.

1992 Retrotec -- 16 miles -- 1800 feet elev.

1985 Rock Lobster -- 16 miles -- 1300 feet elev.

UPDATE: 25 November 2023

 

Thought this response to my original post in MTBR's Rigid/Hardtail forum, along with my reply, merited inclusion here.

I make a rule that every new bike purchase must be followed by selling a bike.
Thanks for confirming this is a good policy.

I guess I could see your point... if we were talking about shoes, or T-shirts, or even skis... there are lots of things that we own which were at one point cool or fashionable or top-tier-tech that tend to lose their luster or efficacy over time. That kind of stuff is consumable, it wears out and becomes just so much trash.

But there are other things, like old bikes and cars and tractors, which, while no longer top-tier by any means, are nonetheless, if they've been well-maintained or carefully restored, still perfectly viable, even dare-I-say pleasurable, as modes of transport if you're willing to shift your mental space into a more nostalgic mode whenever you intend to enjoy them.

I'm really, really glad I've kept my old bikes.

Pretty sure my urge to hang on to, and likewise to ride these old bikes out in the woods once in a while, is triggered by the same part of my brain-stem that salves the old dude's desire to drive around town on Friday night in his sweet 1970 Oldsmobile 442, which it just so happens is exactly like the one he drove in high school... or the the war vet's compulsion to meticulously restore and tractor around the fairgrounds on Labor Day weekend in his old 1928 John Deere, which looks, sounds and smells just like the one he grew up driving on the farm back-home.

Archival footage: Vintage Chris King Angry Bee swag [UPDATED]

The following essay was originally posted to the Vintage, Retro, Classic forum at mtbr.com on 18 October 2023.

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A little history per chrisking.com: Back when hub warranty registration was done my [sic] mailing us a postcard, Akiyoshi Takamura coined an infamous [sic] quote in the comment field of his card; "It rolls good with angry bee sound". This was the birth of the angry bees and so much more.

Aki-the-bear loading up on wild raspberries
before descending Pluto trail

Here in my hometown of Flagstaff, AZ (and likewise among the FLG-diaspora currently residing in Bend, OR) coiner-of-the-phrase "It rolls good with angry bee sound" (which, let's be frank, Chris King Precision Components has taken to-the-bank as it's now ubiquitous marketing theme), @angrybee Akiyoshi Takamura, has become nothing less than a legit folk hero. By no means "infamous," in our estimation Aki has, instead, become well-respected by handmade bike-builders and riders alike. All who have had the pleasure to know and ride with him have found his knowledge and enthusiasm for small-batch mountain bike sh!t to be deeply sincere, knowledgeable, and endearing.

Since I-don't-know-when, Aki has made an annual trip to ride in Flagstaff and, over the years, has purchased a respectable sampling of North American small-builder bikes to take back to shred in the hills and forests around Osaka, Japan. Sadly, COVID-19 made Aki's trip to the USA impossible for the past two seasons. So everyone that knew him was super stoked when word got around late in the spring of 2023 that Aki would be traveling to northern Arizona once again in the summertime.

While he was here this summer I traded him a custom-made "red Pepsi" Cooziecage in exchange for his Kanji-signature on my first-gen "It rolls good with angry bee sound" T-shirt which now proudly hangs in "the place of honor" (on the wall above my workbench) in my garage.

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A few more pictures from Aki's recent visit...

UPDATE: 27 October 2023
I picked up this piece of new “angry bee” swag while I was on the Chris King site researching my original post the other day. Installed it on the Chester. Does what it says on the tin, as the saying goes.