Day 3 of the 2010 Lost Boys Tour of Europe: Le Mauvais Détour

Holy Relics: Bernard Hinault was here!

June 14, 2010: After spending a restful night in Beaudean in the special Bernard Hinault room, where the Great One actually stayed and where he signed the poster on the door, I awoke hoping that the rain was over.  It did not look too bad, although there was still some light precipitation.  Our room was festooned with drying clothing and while most of it was okay, the shoes—always the shoes—were still pretty damp.  But for Cycling Gods, this is a small thing compared to the adventures ahead.

The plan was to do two cols today, the Col d'Aspin and the Col de Peyresourde, and everyone would meet up in Bagnéres-de-Luchon.  From there, Lost Boys could either ride up a straight route back to the Pyractif farmhouse in Bertren, or take the opportunity to ride another col, the massive Col de Balès, and make a detour.

Here is the planned route to Luchon:



We left Beaudean in light rain but I was optimistic as our little paceline headed south.  The weather did not seem as if it would get worse as we followed the rather busy D935 to Sainte-Marie-de-Campan, where the road forked and we rejoined our friendly old D918 again.  Sainte-Marie-de-Campan is famous/notorious as the village where Tour history was made at the forge:

This is one of the high places of the Tour de France. The famous cyclist, Eugène Christophe, known as 'le Vieux Gaulois' (the Old Gaul), repaired the fork of his bicycle there after being struck by a car during the descent of the Tourmalet in the 1913 race. The rules of the race prevented him from obtaining assistance and he had to walk 15 km to do the repairs himself. This gave the leading pack an advance of four hours and Christophe's dreams of victory evaporated. A plaque recalls the event.

We did not have any fork issues but instead enjoyed a leisurely climb up the Col d'Aspin.  I rode with the Badger, Terry, Martin and Dr. Chef and we were in a relaxed mood.  My legs seemed to be much happier with this steady gradient, although it was cool and misty on the climb. 

Another of the great climbs first included in the Tour de France in 1910, the Aspin has appeared no fewer than 66 times as it serves to connect two more difficult climbs, the Tourmalet and the Peyresourde. Its reputation for difficulty appears to be somewhat exaggerated . The last Tour winner on this climb was the annoying Ricardo Ricco, who won in 2008.

It was on the Aspin during the 1950 Tour where Gino Bartali was threatened and assaulted by French spectators after he fell on the descent, bringing down French star (and strange guy) Jean Robic. Although Fiorenzo Magni was in possession of the Yellow Jersey, the Italian team decided to throw in the towel and go home.

With my "borrowed" Pinarello--and two helmets!

It was soon apparent that we could use a towel ourselves, as the rain continued to intensify.  The climb is 12.8 km, with an average gradient of only 5%, and a maximum of 9%.  When we reached to top, there was fog all around and Helen was waiting with the van.  I grabbed Martin's bike for a photo rather than faff around with my own and freeze and then we headed downhill.

The descent was very unpleasant.  It was much colder on this side of the mountain and the rain was streaming down.  There were lots of sharp turns, but luckily no traffic to speak of.  I was getting colder and colder and wetter and wetter and my hands hurt from gripping the brakes.  Is this what I signed up for?

I passed the van (I found out later that Terry was actually giving up on the descent, something he had never ever done before, and had boarded the van) and then shortly afterwards it passed me.  At the next intersection, Helen pointed the way to town where we would all meet for coffee.  I was starting to shake a bit and when I got into the village of Arreau and saw all the other bikes leaning against a cafe window, I was a bit relieved.  Everyone was already inside, downing hot chocolate or coffee, but after I took off my rain jacket I started to shake like mad and my teeth began to chatter.  Ah, the first stages of hypothermia!


As we desperately tried to warm up, Chris was cheerily telling us about the next climb but it was soon obvious that the number of takers for Col No. 2 would be within bounds.  In the end, only three brave riders took to the road: Zeezou, Young Brian and the Thin Man.  We piled into the vans to cheer them on as they climbed the Col de Peyresourde in the pouring rain.  I seemed to be turning more into Van Man than Bicycle Hero myself but I was on holiday, after all.

The Peyresourde is a wonderful pass and I was very disappointed, albeit much more comfortable, watching it from indoors.  At the top of the pass is a little restaurant that is famous for crepes and the place was full, mainly with wet cyclists.  We looked around for a bit, and after the intrepid trio had passed by, headed downhill to Luchon, where even they had enough.  We headed north, up the D125 and D826 back to Bertren and the Pyractif farmhouse, where we would be based for the next two nights.

The Thin Man, with his well-earned Peyresourde bornes, as kilometer stones are called.

It may not sound like much, but most of us rode 33 km, and climbed 1,069 meters.  But I was so enchanted by the Peyresourde, and the opportunity to eat crepes, that I was determined to ride that pass on our rest day, riding out of Bertren tomorrow.

The road we travelled:

Day 2 of the 2010 Lost Boys Tour of Europe: Le Mauvais Détour

June 13, 2010: The route that we were taking was the Grand Pyrenees tour that Pyractif offers, but since we wanted to end in Carcassonne the route this time was run in reverse.  While getting to Carcassonne was a Good Idea, the resulting second day was Perhaps Not Quite Such a Good Idea.  The plan called for us to ride three climbs: the Marie-Blanque, the Aubisque and the Tourmalet.  The first of these is rated Category 1 by the Tour de France, while the latter two are HC, or Beyond Category.  There was nearly 150 km of riding, and nearly 6,000 m of climbing.  I was a bit apprehensive, as I think the most I have ever done in one day previously was 4,500.  But no excuses.  Here is the planned route:



Looking at the profile again, it really is insane.

Anyway, we rolled out of  Gurmencon into decent weather and at Escot made our turn for today's first col, the Marie-Blanque.  This climb, featured in a recent issue of Cycle Sport magazine, was introduced into the Tour de France only in 1978.  Pros don't like it much because it is very steep and quite irregular and is a tough way to start riding the Pyrenees.  It was featured in this year's Etape du Tour, and everyone's advice is to take it slow and keep something in the tank for the rest of the day.

Things went fairly well for me on the climb.  At 9 kms in length, it was not long enough to exhaust you but after the climb lulls you with some easy gradients, it pitches up brutally towards the end.  It is at a fairly low level and there is a great deal of greenery, so it feels almost tropical.  It was very humid as we rode but the legs seemed okay.  In addition to our group, there were a great number of other cyclists but very little traffic.

First big climb of the day completed

After a rather strange descent which begins quite flat and then plunges downwards, we came to the town of Bielle, where we turned south on the D934, continuing through Laruns and then turning eastwards to rejoin the D918.  The road began to climb and this was the beginning of our second col for the day, the Aubisque.

One of the legendary climbs of the Tour de France, the Col de l'Aubsique was first included in the race in 1910 and has been a regular feature ever since.  It is the location where, in 1951, Yellow Jersey holder Wim van Est, fell over the side and was rescued when his team tied together tubular tires to pull him back up.  Of course, that was the end of the race for them because they had no spare tires left!  There is a plaque marking the location which, as usual, I rode right by, but I would prefer not to emulate poor Wim's excursion.

From Laruns, the Aubisque is 16.6km and rises 1,190m, an average of 7.2 per cent. The first kilometers, to the spa resort of Eaux-Bonnes, are fairly easy. After the Cascade de Valentin comes a section at 13 per cent. From there to the top, the climb is 8km at eight per cent average, passing the ski resort of Gourette at 1,400m.  I got to Eaux-Bonne feeling alright but then things started to go wrong.  My cassette, which I had changed before the trip to an 11-29, was making strange noises.  More alarming, my rear tire, also changed just before the trip, was feeling a bit soft.  And my legs were not 100 percent for sure.

At just this moment, Chris drove up in his van and I used the big floor pump, but to no avail.  Tubeless tires are devilish to put on and I must have damaged the bead as air was leaking audibly.  Luckily Chris had a spare wheel with a Shimano cassette, so we did a quick change and I was on my way again.

The road continued upwards and I was taking my time when, without warning, I was seized by violent cramps in my right leg.  The adductors are the muscles in the inner thigh that keep your legs apart and mine were having no part of the Aubisque.  I slowed down some more and then the left adductors decided to go on strike with their counterparts.  Time to get off the bike, which was actually a bit difficult and try to walk it off.

I was walking along the very empty road trying to feel optimistic when I came upon Mr. and Mrs. Badger of our group.  Mrs. was also struggling somewhat and there is no doubt in my mind that the Aubisque, as lovely as it is, is truly Beyond Category.  I managed to get back on and ride up to the summit but I was not feeling terrific on the way down again.  In fact, I did not have the energy to get a photo the col sign, which is saying something.

I recovered somewhat on the descent and was admiring the views as we approach the Col de Soulor, which is kind of a non col as you approach it going downhill.  There were cows to look at, and even a field with some big draft horses.  But at this point my legs decided that enough was enough and seized up so badly I almost fell off the bike.  A moment later one of the vans came by and I said that I was finished for today.

This was a big disappointment since riding the Tourmalet has been one of my big cycling dreams, but with cramps this bad there was no way to do it.  The difficulty is that I have no comparable mountains to train on and this hard day was at the beginning of the week.  Chris drove the van into Argeles-Gazost and everybody was together again for a fine picnic lunch.

I felt better after food, and Chris suggested that those of us who had come by van might consider trying the Tourmalet from Luz Saint Saveur, at the base of the climb.  We got into the van and headed down the D921 until we reached the junction with the D918.  The weather was good and I felt much better, so onto the bike and off I went.  But after three kilometers, on the first bit of the ascent, the cramps came back.  The Tourmalet is a long, long climb and the highest pass road in the Pyrenees.  No sense pushing my luck if I was in such pain at the bottom already.

I rode back to the van, and stood by the road and cheered on the others as they went past.  Then I went in Helen's van and we positioned ourselves strategically to provide drinks/food/clothing to the Lost Boys as they went by.  The scenery was impressive and I am sworn to try again and ride this great pass.

The Tourmalet is the climb of all climbs from the Tour de France: more Tours have been won on the Tourmalet alone than on any other Pyrenees climb. Although its name alone is legendary, the challenge of the actual climb is as real as the scenery is spectacular. The western climb from Luz runs first through a deep shaded valley and then up at a constant grade of more than 7%. Half-way up it opens onto wide meadows and verdant pastures that give a glimpse of the top—and the much steeper final kilometers to the summit.

As we climbed higher, the clouds got heavier and then we had a report that in the last kilometer before the summit there was pouring rain.  When we arrived at the top it was freezing cold, and the rain was coming down in buckets.  Some of the group quit at this point but a few brave/crazy souls elected to continue towards the really ugly ski resort of La Mongie and then down, down, down, through Campan to our hotel just beyond.

the Duck on the Roof of the Pyrenees

The drive was terrible.  In the van there was nothing to see ahead but impenetrable fog after we passed La Mongie.  As we drove down through Sainte-Marie-de-Campan and Campan, the rain came down in buckets, like a monsoon.  It even leaked in through the side door of the van.  We arrived at the little hotel in Beaudean, got our rooms and waited for the others.

Looking like drowned rats and edging into hypothermia, they eventually rolled in.  Duck was shaking so much we did not wait for him to get assigned to a room but just stuffed him into my shower.  The hotel was a bit eccentric, and he discovered that the hot water was only good for about 1 minute!  The Thin Man put on his duvet since his clothing was in the van that was yet to come.  It made for an entertaining evening as the rain continued.

 Although I did not manage the Tourmalet, I did manage 75 kms and two climbs, which gave me 3430 vertical meters.  Here is what I actually accomplished:

The 2010 Lost Boys Tour of Europe: Le Mauvais Détour

In France, the Duck amongst the cows...

While riding along the Rockcliffe Parkway two weeks ago, another cyclist on a new Masi passed me.  I let him go until the climb to the top of the highway overpass near St. Joseph Blvd. (the only climb on the Parkway, basically) and then I chased him down for the King of the Mountain points.  At the turnaround he caught up and was not only impressed with how effortlessly I caught him but also by my brand-new Pyractif kit.  “Have you been to the Pyrenees?,” he asked, and thereby hangs a tale indeed.

On Thursday, June 10, I left Ottawa's train station to begin the fifth Lost Boys Tour of Europe.  Not by train, but by Air France bus, which took me quickly and easily to Montreal's international airport in two hours.  Once there, I was very pleased to discover that the staff was able to deal with bike cases quite easily and that the fee would be only C$ 55 to get the case to Toulouse.  Hooray! 

I was a bit surprised to learn that my seat had been changed but apparently there were so many families flying that it was hard to arrange things.  This meant that I got to sit in the top of a 747-400, which meant plenty of storage room next to me.  The downside was that the airplane was indeed packed to the gunwales and I had the opportunity to listen to small children wail for the next seven hours.  The flight was longer than expected as the usual tailwinds were not to be had and I was concerned about making my connection to Toulouse in Paris.

Once we arrived at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, I went as fast as I could to my gate but, as usual there were big lineups for customs and immigration.  It always amazes me that an airport this size only seems to have two people to check passports for several 747-sized flights that land around the same time.  It was hot in the terminal and I was pretty tired by the time I reached my gate.  Of course, once there I learned that my onward flight was delayed an hour.  At least the bike case would probably join me!

The flight to Toulouse was quick, and I dozed off since both seats next to me were empty.  On landing, we taxied by the enormous Airbus Industries facility where I saw not only several of the Beluga transport aircraft, but also four brand new giant A-380s, two unpainted, one in Air France and the other in KLM colours.  Impressive.

The terminal in Toulouse did not seem to be a very busy place and I quickly found my bag on the carousel.  As I walked towards the oversized luggage area, I found two more of the Lost Boys, Greg and Brett, and we waited for our bike cases.  Nothing happened and eventually we were the only people in the terminal.  We walked over to the Air France counter to check where the cases might be and the lady confirmed that they had indeed come with us, so we went back to wait some more and eventually all three did arrive.

I used the courtesy phone to call  the Holiday Inn Express to get the complimentary shuttle bus and when asked my name I was told that I did not have a reservation, nor did Brett and Greg.  I quickly realized that the courtesy phone was for the Holiday Inn rather than the Holiday Inn Express and the person at the desk put me through.  Success this time, but I think that the Express really needs its own telephone since this confusion must happen a lot.

The van picked us up quickly and within ten minutes we were at our modern and very clean yet inexpensive hotel.  Some of the others had already arrived, including the Duck and Young Brian, and had arranged a storage room for the cases.  I went to my room to get cleaned up and later we went off for a very nice dinner at a restaurant directly across the street.  I had an inkling that France was not necessarily vegetarian-friendly but I managed to have an excellent salad, and of course there is always dessert.

My roommate Terry arrived a bit after I did but his luggage did not.  Fortunately, everything did come later in the evening and it was a relief to see that everyone and everything was set for us to go the next morning.  Our number was a lucky thirteen, of whom four had not been previously on a Lost Boys trip.  We retired to the hotel bar and enjoyed watching some World Cup play over a few cold beers.

Now, this is a coffee machine!

The next day, June 12, everyone was early to breakfast.  To my amazement, the selection was impressive, and there was even a beautiful espresso machine.  Lots of pastry and coffee later, we brought out our bike cases in preparation for the arrival of Chris and Helen Balfour of Pyractif, who were to be our guides and support crew for the next week.  They rolled in right on time for us to start loading up our tons of gear and we were soon out on the road, heading towards our first stop, Bertren.  Along the way, Chris distributed information sheets about how the trip would go and our daily routine. 

Chris and Helen

He was particularly keen for us to read the section about “faffing,” a forbidden activity that was to see several of us, myself included, get in trouble during the week.  Faffing means wasting time and holding everyone up, and includes not having your gear sorted properly at the top of a climb, or using the bathroom or looking for your water bottles when everyone is ready to roll out.  He also said that in order to keep the group going with minimal disruption, we would have picnic lunches en route and share the cost at the end of the week, and that he would cover cafe stop costs and that would be included in the reckoning at the end.  As someone who has struggled with big groups trying to get served in French restaurants and needing the menus translated and paying separately and who knows what else, I thought that this idea was quite brilliant.  It was clear that the Balfours had plenty of experience with groups, but would they be able to deal with the Lost Boys, which is always like herding cats?

The village of Bertren, two hours or so from Toulouse, was the headquarters for Pyractif and we unloaded our bike cases at the Balfours' charming old house, and then sat in the garden for a while and had a drink.  The village was on the main road but quite quiet.  I stepped outside and took some photos of the local cycling club out for a ride.  Things looked promising.  Helen made us some excellent and welcome baguette sandwiches as everyone finished building up his or her bike (a process that went surprisingly smoothly for once) and soon we were helping Chris to put the bikes up on the vans.  The cases would stay in Bertren for the next few days and our bikes and luggage would come with us. 

Zeezou the Champion!

We left Bertren and headed towards our first overnight in Gurmencon.  Along the way, we stopped on the A64 autoroute, between Tarbes and Pau, at the l'Aire des Pyrénées highway rest stop, to admire a massive monument to the Tour de France in the Pyrenees.  This roller-coaster-like aluminum and steel structure is 18 m tall and was erected in 1995.  It in addition to the airborne cyclists, it has a number of placards describing particularly dramatic TdF events in the mountains.  It was raining lightly but nothing was going to dampen our enthusiasm.

Reaching Gurmencon, we came to our little hotel and unloaded our gear.  As the days went on, we would get much better at this, and faffing would be minimized.  But not quite yet.  Anyway, there were several single rooms so it was not necessary to share this night.  I was up at the top of the hotel and of course the old buildings in France have very low ceilings so I came close to knocking myself out several times when I hit my head on the ceiling joists.

In the Pyrenees National Park

The weather was favourable and several of us decided to go for our first Pyreneean ride.  Chris suggested simply riding south on the N134, which ran in front of the hotel, and then turning west towards Issor.  The road would take us up the Col d'Ichere and then back down again to the N134, allowing us to circle back to Gurmencon.

It felt good to get on the bike and we quickly rolled towards our intersection with destiny.  There were eight of us in all.  I was a bit concerned about rain but nothing happened.  As is typical with mountain areas, there were lots of microclimates surrounding us. 

First Col of the trip

We made the turn onto the D918 and just beyond Issor we turned left again.  I was hoping to get some nice photos but everyone was in a hurry to test their climbing legs.  We reached a village at the base of the climb and began to roll up the hill.  The scenery was beautiful but there is not much sign of any human activity.  I could feel my legs protesting since my training was not really suitable for this.  The climb was only 5.2 kms long, but there were patches of 10-12% gradient.  I stopped to take some photos and then caught up with everyone at the col sign (674 m ASL), where we were soon joined by a herd of cows.

The next stretch was a winding, pleasurable descent that took us through yet another herd of cattle and then down to the N134.  We turned left and had a fast, fun ride alongside a river that escorted us most of the way back to Gurmencon.  A 42 km ride, with more than 1200 m of climbing.  A good week's start as we bagged our first col.

French birthday pyrotechnics (photo by Mr. Duck)

That evening we enjoyed an excellent dinner at the hotel.  It was my birthday and to celebrate I was given a French sparkler in my little piece of dessert cake.  The sparkler was quite impressive, not being like one of our sissy version but more like a highway flare, to everyone's amusement.

Hitting my head on the ceiling once more before turning in, I had a good night's sleep, although excited about the next day, which promised to be one of the most difficult I had ever done on a cycling trip.

My Latest Book Review at Pezcyclingnews.com

You can read all about the latest book from Rapha, yet another excellent guide to the mountains of Europe, here.  There one covers the Southern Alps and is a delight.

The Smooth Ride: A DVD Review

In 1986, Canadian pro bike racer Alex Stieda acquired a measure of fame by becoming the first North American to wear the yellow jersey (and incidentally also acquire the polka dot, green and white ones as well on the same day!) at the Tour de France.  He was riding for the 7-Eleven team in its first Tour de France appearance, an event that was to prove a learning experience for all involved but which paved the way for future successes for the Motorola and US Postal/Discovery Channel teams that were  to follow.  (Incidentally, although Team 7-Eleven remains the only team to have been inducted into the US  Bicycling Hall of Fame, the only yellow jerseys won by the team during the Tour worn by, ahem, Canadians.)

Mr. Stieda, who is based in Edmonton, Alberta, continues to be involved with cycling and organizes tours for enthusiasts to a number of cycling destinations in Europe and North America, as well as offering skills camps.  To offer some of his expertise to a wider audience, Alex Stieda Cycling recently released a DVD for those beginning road cycling.  It is entitled “the Smooth Ride,” and this is defined as: “To cycle as if chased by devils, lifted by angels, pushed by the wind, and braced by friendship.”

For those of us who have been cycling pre-Lance (or, say, soon after the introduction of pneumatic tires), it is easy to forget just how confusing and intimidating the world of road cycling can be to neophytes.  From my own experience, becoming known as “the bike guy” invites a lot of people to seek advice about the sport.  “The Smooth Ride,”  at just under an hour in length, offers a well-produced and interesting presentation providing the kind of answers people considering the sport/pastime/totally-absorbing lifestyle would seek.  I showed the DVD to my better half, who has finally begun to do some more serious riding, and she found it enlightening and, frankly, better than listening to me.

Filmed on location in exactly the kind of places you would want to ride—Lombardy, the Napa Valley, Annecy, Alberta—Alex Stieda and friends cover the basics, from working with a bike shop and getting the proper fit to riding techniques (although descending and turning seem to have been combined into one skill) to where to ride.  The group he has put together is quite impressive.  For example, Olympic gold medallist Lori-Ann Muenzer explains proper pedalling dynamics.  Kozu Shimano speaks about the pleasures of cycling, and two businessmen-turned-roadies share their experience riding the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic.  My wife found the comments of the bike shop owner and the mechanic interesting (clarifying why I pay at my local bike shop partly in money and partly in beer) but she also liked the emphasis on safety and the section focused on women.




We were not entirely clear on that market for the DVD, although it obviously would be a useful adjunct to a skills course.  It presupposes that the viewer wants to get a road bike and use it properly, although   other types of cycling are touched upon.  For athletes seeking to cross-train or change sports, or businesspeople wanting to get into cycling, it would be more attractive than for people not yet certain if they want one of those skinny-tire bikes.  Although the back cover suggests that the DVD explains “the universe of cycling,” nobody mentions the importance of cycling clubs, for example, as a way to develop better riders.  Perhaps bike shops could offer the DVD on loan to prospective customers considering a road bike, or cyclists hoping to encourage non-cycling friends or partners could give the DVD as a gift, but with the wealth of information out there in our Digital World, would most non-cyclists, or hesitant beginners, pay for a DVD covering the basics?  How often would they watch it?

That said, we liked the DVD.  It is a professional production and not only are the likeable Mr. Stieda and his friends knowledgeable and enthusiastic, but they are pretty convincing in conveying the pleasures of road cycling—everyone seems to be having fun!

“The Smooth Ride” is available at www.thesmoothride.net.  It costs C$29.95, plus S&H, and is in the NTSC format, playable worldwide.  55 minutes in length.

Crossing the Tourmalet in 1910

In 1910, the Tour de France crossed the Tourmalet in the Pyrenees for the first time (Octave Lapize is pushing his bike up the hill in the photo above) an event marked by this year's TdF course.  For an idea of  the importance of this climb in sporting terms, l'Equipe has produced a slide show, which you can watch here, with 33 photos of the pass, in different eras.  Enjoy this warm-up for my reportage of the 2010 Lost Boys Tour of Europe.

(I particularly enjoyed Slide #10, which appears to show a gremlin inflating a tire as the cyclist avoids eye contact).

Bespoke: The Handbuilt Bicycle

There are many reasons that cycling is so popular: the joy of riding in the open air and amidst never-ending scenery; the physical challenges of racing; the delicious pleasure of pure speed; the unknown road ahead on a long tour; the engaging history, both technological and social, of bicycles, to name but a few. But for me, one of the attractions is the sheer aesthetic quality of a bicycle.

It is an apparently simple device that has not changed a great deal since the Rover Safety Bicycle was introduced in 1885. Two wheels of generally of equal size, chain drive and pedals, a triangular frame and so forth. It was left to later generations to come up with inflatable tires, variable gearing, clipless pedals, effective brakes and lightweight material, of course, but the idea was there. Where form follows function, things engineered tend in one direction, so most airliners now look pretty much the same. Bicycles have perhaps followed a similar path but it is clear that there remains room, in a world of mass-produced commodity bicycles, for artistic self-expression. In May I had an opportunity to attend an exhibition in New York City's Museum of Arts and Design on Columbus Circle that celebrates the craftsmanship and the beauty to be found in the work of six chosen custom bicycle framebuilders.

Photo: J. Peter Weigle

The show is entitled “Bespoke: The Handbuilt Bicycle,” and it opened on May 13 and will run until August 15, 2010. The museum website notes:

In the 1980s and 1990s the demand for handbuilt bicycles was eclipsed by the popularity of costly factory-produced racing bikes endorsed (if not actually ridden) by star cyclists. Custom frame builders also had to contend with a new and booming market for mass-manufactured mountain bikes. Over the past decade, renewed interest in craft, coupled with a rising social movement favoring the durable over the disposable and supporting cycling's physical and environmental benefits, has contributed to a revival of handbuilt bicycles and fostered a new generation of artisans and clientele.

Photo: Museum of Arts and Design

The builders, five American and one Italian, have provided superb and very diverse examples of their art. Mike Flanagan, who builds as Alternative Needs Transportation (A.N.T.), presented an unusual pair of bicycles: a “basket bike,” clearly meant for shopping, and a novel “Truss Frame Bike” that resembles something from the early part of the 20th Century. The bicycles were charming, and had touches such as hand-etched brass badges and a chainring hollowed out with playing card suits!

There were also a pair of bikes from Jeff Jones, who builds titanium mountain bikes without suspension in the wilds of Oregon. These bicycles roll to the beat of a different drummer, with trussed forks and appealing curves.

The other four builders construct more traditional bicycles but are each masters in their own rights. Dario Pegoretti builds classic Italian racing bicycles characterized by not only their excellent build quality but by outlandish paint schemes that bring modern art to the tube surfaces. The bicycles have unusual names as well, such as “Love #3,” and “Day is Done.” (Actually, the names remind me a bit of some of my Jerry Garcia neckties, based on artworks with titles such as “the Poet Considers the War.”)

I had the good fortune to meet the final three artists/artisans personally at Cirque du Cyclisme in 2007 The market for finely-crafted steel frames has mushroomed in the United States and the order books of Sasha White (Vanilla), Richard Sachs and J. Peter Weigle all show an impressive backlog. Looking at the bicycles in New York, it is easy to understand why.

Photo : D. James Dee

The surprisingly-young Sasha White builds in Portland, Oregon, and his bikes not only feature superb workmanship but also a spirit of playfulness. There was a child's bicycle and even a tricyle. One of his Speedvagen models, from a line of quasi-production run bicycles, was present, but the Vanilla bikes (a track and a road model), with their detailed lugwork were more appealing to me. I spent quite a bit of time looking at the Randonneur model, with its beautiful metallic paint and matching fenders, and featuring a handmade old-style aluminum water bottle (with a hardwood cap!) and cage. That said, a randonneur bike, as I understand it, is meant for long-distance, comfortable touring and the Vanilla bicycle looked more to me like a racing bike with fenders. No racks or lighting system, and narrow racing tires but lovely nonetheless.

Photo: J. Peter Weigle

Richard Sachs of Massachusetts, considered one of the deans of American framebuilding, showed models for road, track and cyclocross racing, all in his familiar red-and-white paint scheme. The cyclocross bike was particularly appealing, as it had a layer of mud on it, an idea that took it away from an objet d'art in a museum to its direct function. A display case in the museum showed artifacts from the builders, and not only could you see Richard Sachs' own racing license, but also his collection of New Yorker magazine covers featuring bicycles.

Ladies' Randonneur Bike--Photo J. Peter Weigle

Also from New England comes Peter Weigle of Connecticut. He had only two bikes on show, a ladies' randonneur bike and a men's sportif model, both equipped with vintage parts and including Peter's own custom tail light. The men's bike won Best in Show at Cirque du Cyclisme in 2009 I looked closely at Peter's work at Cirque and was impressed not only with the skillful construction but also the seamless appearance of his bikes. Their subtle detailing and beautiful proportions are distinctive. At Cirque, Peter brought an old Raleigh of middling quality that he had turned into a beautiful randonneur bike and it was immediately apparent that there was more Peter Weigle in it than Nottingham at that point. Yet was just another diamond-framed safety bicycle. Peter also provided interesting material for the display case, including a memorabilia from his own racing career.

The exhibition is nicely set out in an uncrowded and attractive environment, enabling the visitor to get a close view of all the pieces. Of course, with the exception of the cyclocross bike, everything is surgically clean so the bicycles are considered as artworks alone, with no distracting environment. As it is a gallery, the property rights of the artists are closely guarded, so photography is not allowed. Well, for some people it is: I am indebted to Peter Weigle for the photos on this blog.

Photo: J. Peter Weigle

A rather expensive catalogue (but with admittedly excellent photography and comments about the bicycles and their “artists”) is available from the Museum shop here. Mine had to be sent after my visit as it was prepared too late for the opening of the show.

Take the opportunity to enjoy the exhibition if you can as bicycles are so seldom presented with a focus that takes them from mechanical objects to fine art.

Great Ad from Specialized

Boy Racer: Mark Cavendish, in his own four-letter words

I have been inactive on the blog recently as I have been active in the Pyrenees and Languedoc-Roussillon as the Lost Boys Tour of Europe, Part V, has just ended this past weekend.  As it will take a few days to write up the trip, and sort through the 400-odd photos, you will just have to be satisfied with my latest book review, which ran on Pezcyclingnews.com here as I left for Toulouse.  It can be found here.  Enjoy!  More to come on Eurocycling adventures shortly...

Mechanical Doping

April Fool's Day came late this year, with persistent rumours recently that Fabian Cancellara used an electrically-assisted bike to win the Tour of Flanders and Paris-Roubaix.  Although it is clearly not being used in racing bikes of the pro peleton, electric assist does exist--if you want your fine lightweight racing bicycle to weigh 22 kg!