The beach closest to the house is a small and rocky one that
all but disappears at high tide. But I know a spot - behind all the rocks,
in a little hollowed out nook in the side of the cliff - where I can sit on the
wet dark sand, hidden, reading. Well I
call it reading. Only half the time I am lying face down, my cheek pressed into
the open pages of the book.
Once in a while a noise prompts me to look up. Few people come here, most preferring the main beach down the road. But
now I hear the unmistakable sounds of flip-flops.
There are three of them, making their way along rocks
half-submerged in water. The man is athletic and agile, with a deep tan and
spiky brown hair. Close behind is an equally lean and tanned woman, blond ponytail
swinging as she hops from rock to rock. The couple moves with the lightness of teenagers, and only when I catch a glimpse of their faces do
I see they must be in their early 50s. They could be professional athletes. Runners
maybe.
As I contemplate this, they pause, waiting for the person some
distance behind to catch up. It is an elderly female form: soft, hunched-over
body, sagging chest, thinning hair, unsteady mincing gait. The mother or aunt of one of
them, I decide, and go back to my book.
Then I hear the blond woman’s voice and look up again. “Come
on honey,” she says - in the sort of firm but gentle tone used to encourage children. “Come on honey, give mommy your hand.”
I see now that she is a girl of around 14, though it is difficult to tell for sure. She stands awkwardly on the uneven rock, her shoulders hunched forward stiffly, hands at her sides, fingers fanned out, slack mouth
emitting a low pitched moan.
I feel a jolt to my system that I am instantly ashamed of. But it is the unexpectedness, the contrast of it. The couple'seffortless movements and theirbeautiful, youthful bodies, each stretching out a perfectly formed hand toward their child.
“Angie! Angela” says the man now, trying to get her to
look at him rather than down at the water. There is a big gap between the rock
she stands on and the next one, and she is terrified to cross. Her moans grow louder. “Angie! Angela.” The man’s tone is even, patient but not
exaggeratedly so, almost matter of fact.
When she still does not respond, both the man and woman step down into
the water and, in what has the look of a practiced maneuver, pick her up by the upper arms and swiftly move her to the next rock. She is large, and at once so limp and so stiff, it is as if they move a life-sized ragdoll. And then they go on with their trek.
Soon they are gone from my field of vision, but I continue
to think of them. Their light, graceful limbs and her heavy, awkward ones, the sun lighting up her sparse wisps of hair.
In my younger years, I could dwell on such a scene indefinitely,
crying over it without really knowing
why. But now I am better at willing myself to forget, at
removing thoughts and images from my mind, almost surgically. Eventually I go back to my book - reading it, then lying face down on it again.
It is not until three days later that I see her. A girl in
a halter dress, riding her bike along the tiny main street.Her left foot is missing a sandal.And she is coasting, round shoulders relaxed, head tilted back, short sandy hair ruffled by the breeze. She is squinting into the sun and
smiling so broadly, I cannot help but grin back reflexively.
In that moment I
recognise her. I look around for the tanned athletic couple, half
expecting them to be following on bikes or watching from the sidewalk. I don't see them. But the girl is unmistakably her. The face, the body, the hair, the
way her clothing does not sit quite right.It is all there and it is all
perfect, in the utter abandon of her posture and smile.
I walked through the Flohmarkt this Saturday on my way to lunch with a friend, and spotted two interesting Austrian bicycles. The first is a very old Steyr.
I am thinking this can't be later than 1920's, because of the "spoon brake" - that single rod brake with just a pad to stop the wheel from spinning. Any opinions?
On the headbadge is a woman with a shepherd's staff. She looks either sleepy or grumpy, which I thought was funny. I have seen Steyr bicycles in Vienna before, but none quite this old.
The second bike was this all-green Bergkönig ("Mountian King").
Could this be the original mountain bike? Hmm...
The handlebars are flat-ish and with a short reach, once again suggesting a mountain bike design. The grips are real rubber and are partly melted. Dynamo powered lighting; side-pull caliper brakes.
The sprung leather saddle is unmarked. Very neat that even the springs and the seat post are painted green. Not sure what that metal wrap is on the top tube - any ideas?
As I was leaving the market, the sun finally came out, so I snapped some shots from the U-Bahn platform.
Here is another. I have been to this flea market many times, but this was the first time I've noticed vintage bikes. Despite the rust, I think they are pretty good finds for someone local who has the room for them. I would love to find out more about their history, so if you have any information please share.
The force is strong in this one.
Somervillain brought his meticulously restored 1984 Shogun 2000, which he built up as a classic randonneur. The Co-Habitant brought his 1976 Motobecane Super Mirage (a lower-end model than the Shogun - but still nicely done up) to compare.
And compare they did.
This went far beyond test riding each other's bikes, and gradually turned into what seemed like a millimeter by millimeter comparison of various measurements.
There was a question of whose top tube was longer and no effort was spared to investigate the matter. I wish I were joking.
My 
Having resolved this issue to their satisfaction, a discussion of component choices ensued.
I think the conclusion is clear: Both bicycles are gorgeous, because I helped choose the accessories when they were being built up. Obviously! I will post more about Somervillain's newly built up randonneur soon - it really is something, and I took detailed pictures.
The same morning, 
Cotter press in action.
Cotter.
Crank.
And 
Boys. Bicycles. Boston.
Earlier today, Daryl and his crew, or as my MIL says "Daryl's" and Austin went to visit the Cherokee Nation. I'm hoping Austin will blog about it since I wasn't there so I can't. When they returned back to our campground, they invited us to do some Go Kart racing.
Because there is some crazy person detecting device here. Nathan always says you can't fight with crazy, because crazy always wins. I see now why. I mean who could beat someone who is willing to do this. Willing and actually PAY to do it. I forfeit right now. You win!
Now we're off to the track. Let's get ready to rumble!
We do the first race. I ride with Josh to help offset that lightness factor that Nathan worries about. That and Josh asked me to ride with him, and I can't tell Josh no. Daryl and Lauren ride together. Everyone else rides alone. I don't know much about the singles, because they left way before us so it was just us doubles fighting for the lead. We won't discuss this race. Let's just say I came in dead last. Hmmm....maybe there is something to that lightness factor. We still had fun.
If the other boy gets upset...well, that's just part of the game.
In this game, you just gotta do your own thing. Josh takes first place. Further supporting Nathan's theory. The other boy cried a bit. Which broke my heart. But not so much that I didn't high five Josh for beating him.
At some point Aric tries to lap Austin. Austin doesn't let him. They are content to do this for a few laps. Aric bumping into Austin. Austin letting me know that they've got nothing on him. Then they catch up to Lauren. It's the end of the race. She's in front. She doesn't understand the concept of "they already lapped me a few times". She just knows..she is in front. She won!
My guys are so gracious, they let her believe she won. Now that's real love. Of course, once you are married...it's a whole different tune. You only win if you win. And it's still real love. Just a different kind.
Whilethe Randonneur collaboration bike was in my possession (it has now been shipped to its owner), for about a month I alternated between riding it and my own Rivendell in attempts to compare them.
So first, let me explain the two bicycles in a way that I hope does not get too technical. The green one on the left is the Rivendell Sam Hillborne. The frame has relaxed angles, long chainstays, and classic (mid/high) trail. The tubing is oversized to support heavy loads. The top tube is unusually long for the frame size and slightly sloped, for reasons to do with Rivendell's approach to bike fit. It is fundamentally a touring bike, but with some quirky qualities thrown in.
Fully built up with similar components, the Randonneur indeed came out lighter than the Rivendell. Unfortunately I do not have a scale to weigh them - but I estimate maybe 4-5lb (when comparing with handlebar bags attached and everything else shown here). 
Regarding the low trail geometry, I have yet to organise my thoughts on that topic. Suffice to say that I expected a "weirdness" in the bicycle's handling that, for me, just wasn't there (though an acquaintance who test rode the bike disagrees). Yes, it handled differently under some conditions - but the same can be said of almost every bike in comparison to almost every other bike.
And perhaps the biggest surprise of all, was that I did not feel a significant difference in the way the two bicycles behaved with a front load. Yes, the Randonneur is spectacular at carrying weight in the handlebar bag... but then so is the Rivendell. Maybe I am not as sensitive to this specific aspect of bicycle handling as others, but I am not sure I could feel a difference. I also did not think the Randonneur was at all "unridable" without a front load, as some warned me about. Again, it is possible that I simply lack the sophistication and experience to sense the difference, but there you have it.
When I initially planned to compare the low trail Randonneur to my Rivendell, I assumed that I would prefer one type of bicycle over the other. Instead, it became clear that the two bikes are simply optimised for different types of cycling. Both are versatile in that they can be ridden on and off road equally comfortably, are fully equipped, and can carry at least some of the cyclist's belongings. The Randonneur is a somewhat faster, lighter and more "precise" ride, but it would not work in a fully loaded capacity. The Rivendell can haul great quantities of stuff unflinchingly, but at the expense of that extra bit of speed and maneuverability. The Randonneur is, of course, a custom bike with all the attention to fit and craftsmanship that implies, so I am not comparing on that level. But as far as the ride quality goes both bikes are great, just for different, albeit overlapping, uses. As for what role low trail geometry plays in all of this, I am honestly still not sure. Despite my pages of elaborate notes about the Randonneur's handling, I cannot say it is "better" or "worse" than typical mid/high trail geometry. My impressions of the handling are vivid, but oddly devoid of a value judgment. Vive la différence?