Organic Machines

My BaT Writing Sample

2011-05-26T13:40:00.001-07:00

The estimable Bring a Trailer website continues to grow in scope, popularity and stature, and today posted a request for writing samples. Seems to that writing about old cars and motorcycles would be a little more fun, maybe, than writing system requirements. Here's my sample:

1976 Thunderbirds Are Go!

1976 was not a banner year for the American car industry. Quality was at its nadir, 5 mph impact bumper requirements added ugly girders to either end of every car, the insurance industry had essentially killed off the factory hot rod, and whatever performance the once-mighty V8s retained was strangled by the crude new catalytic converters (obligatory for the first time in 1975) and exhaust gas recirculation systems.

Ford may have been the in the worst shape of the big three in the bicentennial year, struggling to find its footing in a market that wanted smaller, better built cars that didn’t explode. The car featured below is not the product those buyers were looking for. Instead, it is a shining paragon of many of the values held by older consumers who remained American car loyalists.

A one-owner Thunderbird (discounting the dealer currently selling the car) in a striking color combination, this car appears to wear its 38,000 miles well. It’s tough to gauge the quality of white paint from photographs taken on sunny days, but the repaint it received at some point in its life doesn’t appear to have done it much harm. The acres of chrome appear to be in good shape apart from clouding of some window trim and scratches on the mirrors, and the vinyl is surprisingly flat and unfaded. The exposed quad headlamps, chrome wheelcovers, cornering lamps and etched landau windows all add further bling while not quite overwhelming the simple, if huge, body.

Inside those loooong doors is an interior that is even more luridly kermit than hinted at by the exterior vinyl. Some labels have perished and a vent is misaligned, but the dash appears to have no cracks and the wide, flat leather seats look as new.

“Personal cars” like the malaise-era Thunderbird were expected to offer comfort and especially presence in spades. We’d say that this one fulfills that brief, today more than ever because so few are left in presentable condition and because it stands in utter defiance of modern design trends. And with a four barrel carburetor topping a 460 V8, the new owner won’t be embarrassed by its cruising performance, so long as he or she sticks to Florida interstates and avoids the Tail of the Dragon.

With two days remaining on its ebay auction, at the time of writing the T-Bird has garnered one bid for $4,500, which failed to meet the reserve. Please note that there are no photographs provided of the underside or engine.

JRA

2008-09-24T13:37:00.000-07:00

Just Riding Along. A fair number of good bike crash stories--and an absurd proportion of attempted warranty claims--start with the words, "I was just riding along". This phrase, once uttered, magically absolves the operator from any possible liability; it's the anti mea-culpa. As a result, within bike shops and corporate headquarters, where it has been conveniently shortened to "JRA", the phrase invariably and involuntarily triggers rolling of the eyes and a discounting by 58% of any assertions that follow.

So, like, last night? I was just riding along. Linda and I decided to try and catch one of the last 6:00 rides of the season and so rolled the six blocks to the Olympia Brewery. No dice; it was cold, daylight hours were growing short, and the leader was jetting his way to Interbike. Still, we had blinkie lights of our own and had managed to dislodge our children, each nursing raging colds, for a couple of hours. We decided to go climb Sapp Road hill in both directions before returning to Kleenex harvesting and social studies homework.

Alone, we rode past the Brewery and lined up to shoot the corner from Deschutes parkway onto Capital Boulevard. Riding in front of Linda, with a clean, dry road and no traffic ahead, I zipped to the center line on the short downhill that finishes Deschutes, cut at about 20 mph into the apex by the butcher's store there, and...was confused to find my head making HARD contact with the pavement.

My recollection is that I swung in on a picture-perfect downhill corner line, heard a ping, felt a split-second of vertigo, and then felt my helmet crunch and the impact shiver down my spine. The next part--very nearly the only other part--of my body to make contact with the road was my heels, this coming at the end of a limbs-extended somersault. I more-or-less sprung to my feet, in time to watch my bike richocet more than 30 feet down the road.

I had absolutely no clue what had just happened. Linda didn't bump me. My tires never slid. I wasn't hit by a car, and I hadn't hit a pothole. I took stock of my body, as one does, and went to retrieve my bike. As one does. This time, not only to check it for the all-important damage, but to review it like CSI's investigators examine a discarded murder victim.

It was immediately clear that I wasn't riding home from this one. After five major crashes together, my long-suffering Hampsten Titano finally surrendered its Alpha Q Professional fork and a set of Record ergo shifters. The bar suffered only superficial scraping, but it would be positively foolhardy to ask it or the stem to tolerate any more action. And the wheel! My front wheel, a DT-based "Gruner" semi-aero clincher, built by Perfect Wheels in Seattle, had rotated its last mile. 12 of the 32 spokes were broken. Half were sheared off, an inch-and-a-half from the rim, while six had pulled out of the rim altogether. The rim was egg shaped, deeply cracked in two placed, and puckered badly at the valve stem and at nearly each spoke hole.

Remarkably, the rest of the bike appears unphased. (Mind you, the limited damage I did receive will cost about $1200 to put right.) Wondering why to spend more for a titanium frame than carbon, which is lighter? Consider that in all my crashes, this bike has bounced off the road probably 30 times and doesn't show a scratch. A carbon bike would likely have been trashed by any one of these adventures.

So what happened? I have a couple of theories. Linda believes she saw something kick up into my wheel, something that sheered enough spokes to elongate the rim, which then locked in the fork. I didn't see anything on the roadway, or find anything afterward, though, and physics suggest that that is unlikely.

Perhaps more likely is that a spoke failed under my (mildly) aggressive cornering and substantial weight, bridged across the fork blades, and caused the wreck. I'd already rebuilt the rear wheel about 18 months before because spokes were breaking the shoulders of their nipples and pulling out of the rim almost any time I'd sprint. Clearly, I should have replaced the front spokes and had the machining burs removed from the front rim at the same time. But whatever the cause, the damage is done.

Damage? Eight x-rays and six hours spent within the emergency room and my orthopedic surgeon's office catalog the carnage as a rebroken collarbone (originally broken this week last year, and since then separated or rebroken four times, this being the worst), a badly sprained ankle (the one I broke earlier this year), and a small break in the same ankle. More painful is my neck and back, and worst are the first two fingers of my left hand, which were jammed.

These are breaks 19 and 20 for the period from April 9, 2006 to September 23, 2008. I'm a bit of a spaz, sure, and a little too aggressive a bike handler at times, but I'd defy King Eddy himself to steer himself out of what happened to me last night. Twelve broken spokes represent some 32 inches traveled, or about 2/3 of a second. That's how much time and space was traversed before I was cracking the sweet bejuses out of my helmet. Sometimes, JRA happens.

I have a bird in spring...

2007-03-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

[Click photos for larger images]

Say, look! Behind the Raleigh Sports! It's a little bird.

Hey, he has something in his beak!

...Um, where did he go?

Uh oh.

Oi!

2007-02-12T20:06:00.000-08:00

From Velorution: Cat & Mouse in London

Mad Skillz

2007-01-12T21:18:00.000-08:00

Props to these fixie pixies from the Emerald City. I'm not too proud to admit I'll never be able to handle a bike as well.

It's a Slippery Slope, Mr. Cyclist

2007-01-03T11:20:00.000-08:00

Maybe you began riding, as I did, on a three-speed with fenders and chainguard. Somehow--maybe it was Breaking Away, maybe it was Greg Lemond or Lance, or a local crit--you saw a race bike and had that Mr. Toad-style ephiphany. Racing bicycles! People race them, and, and, they're beau-ti-ful! No fenders, skinny tires, clicky-clicky!

Then, over the course of many years, a lot of rides in showers and over unexpected gravel, and as your body grows less flexible, race bikes lose a little bit of their luster. But, what's this? Jan and Grant and Sheldon have just the answer! Old designs that are more forgiving and maybe even more beautiful than your race bike. A revolution begins.

So here we find ourselves again, riding with fenders, fat tires, lights, racks and bags. Sure, it's all so very comfortable, safe, and practical. Just like a pair Dockers, right? And how does it all end?

Like this?

A fixation too far?

2006-12-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

I love bicycles. Correction: I lurrrvv bicycles. It may not be unfair to characterize this interest as an obsession; to be sure, I am sometimes embarassed (when around friends who are better balanced) about my worship of what is, after all, simply stuff. I'm profoundly grateful to the instrument that elevates me to a state of grace almost at will. But if I were no longer able to ride, I'd still admire the machines. I think they're among the most beautiful objects man has made in the last century.

All that said, is this taking things too far?

How about this?

Answers: 1) No. 2) Hmmm.

Who needs Thom's lazy eye?

2006-11-23T23:37:00.000-08:00

Nothing whatsoever to do with bicycles, but then it's Thanksgiving, and we red-blooded Americans are stuffin' ourselves and looking at Youtube, just like the Pilgrims did. We're certainly not riding our damn bikes in the damn incessant rain. While doing my part, I stumbled across this astounding Bizzaro World video version of National Anthem, by the Greatest Band in the World. Enjoy...

This was apparently the runner-up in Central American MTV's "Make Your Own Radiohead Video" contest. Un Circunciso Y Dos No must have had some pull to convince the Queen to appear at 3:50. I can only guess that the contest winner went to Thom Yorke's house and filmed him as he caught, flayed, and ate whole a unicorn.

Oomph!

2006-11-20T14:36:00.000-08:00

John Flack, a member of my Valley Athletic team, demonstrates how not to negotiate the barriers. (John's a great rider who obviously got caught out by the mud.)

No wonder NJS parts are so hard to get

2006-11-09T19:58:00.000-08:00

Just look at how these Sugino metal workers spend their days!

Steilacoom Cross Race

2006-10-02T21:47:00.000-07:00

I tried my hand at cross for the first time. The timing seemed right:

Condition: I've ridden barely fifty miles a week for the last six weeks. Weight ballooning. Last raced road in April, track in June.
Technique: Haven't been on a trail in almost ten years. Never crossed a barrier.
Bicycle: Well, I have one. I picked up a cross bike at a swap last winter in San Francisco. It cost $200. I've ridden it all of about 30 miles.
Logistics: My wife was unavailable so I had to wake my daughters at 7:00 to bring them along, and hope they could entertain themselves for 45 minutes. My youngest HATES bike racing.

See, the problem with running is that you just always
look like a doufus. In my case, a morbidly obese
doufus. Mein gott, am I really that fat?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Let me back up a moment. I wasn't totally unprepared. I drove to Tacoma the day before and rode the trails for about 90 minutes. And that night I went to the USACycling site and watched a video showing the dismount and remount. Job done. Packed my license, shoes, and helmet (although not, alas, any gloves) and was good to go.

So I went. And I raced. I didn't crash, I didn't finish last in my category, and I didn't puke on Johathon Page. Darned if I didn't have a lot of fun.

The course is apparently one of the tougher ones on the Seattle 'cross circuit. It's about two miles, and begins on asphalt, crosses onto a singletrack through waist-high grass, and transitions back to an asphalt trail. Then comes its raison d'etre: the runup. Steilacoom features an 80 meter long climb up a dirt path that's roughly the steepness of stadium stairs. Once at the top, there's a bunch of wide trail and single track that doubles back and forth, a few barriers, and then a fast descent to the start/finish area, which features a pair of barriers and short grass.

My group (Cat IV/35-45 years old) had about 42 riders. After the gun we strung out pretty well along the pavement. I was about three seconds behind the leader when we hit the trail, and a guy endo'd spectacularly, causing a major pileup. I rode into the tall grass until I had to jump off and run around the clot.

The transition to the climb was my first flying dismount, and as my feet hit the ground I was shocked by the speed I was carrying. Still, I got the bike on my shoulder and began the run, only to be slowed by the traffic on the climb. The truth is, all three run-ups were never more than trot-ups for me.

By the end of the first lap a phenomena had taken place that I'd never seen in a road or track race: everyone had found his own pace, and while I would occasionally pass a single rider or be passed by another, there was no cohesive pack that I could find. And it makes sense: push that climb too fast and you're going to blow up in a major way. And there's no draft worth having at 'cross speeds. Better instead to have good sight lines and to be able to pick one's own lines through the gravel and sand.

What really amazed the heck out of me is that most of the passes I made, after the first quarter mile leg, were when I was on foot. I was actually better at dismounts and Superman remounts than a lot of other folks! I even passed a fair few people on the climb.

A lot more riders passed me when I was riding. I thought that would be really dicey on single track, but it proved not to be the case. I was conscious of where other riders were and would make a point to move over and say something, and the faster guy would inevitably say "thanks". Again, way different than road racing.

My effort brought me 20th place, out of a group of 42. Not too bad a first time effort. On the other hand, the winner finished a full 10% faster than me, which is a shocking differential.

I was riding slow in part because I'm just at a low ebb in my fitness, but also because my bike was an unsteering pig. A few days later I got some lightly used Michelins and swapped out the skinny IRCs. The bike was completely transformed. The green Michelins are plush, roll fast, and make the handling much, much more secure. They really hook up. I'm looking forward to riding my next race with 'em. I've also swapped my brakes so that my left hand controls the rear. That way, I can modulate my speed while dismounting, and hopefully can shift when I've got the brake on hard--something I couldn't do with my Ergo lever cinched down tight.

2006-08-30T17:00:00.001-07:00

Gimme someodat pitbull love

It's Zaaaaabbbbellllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-08-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

Eric Zabel is a sprinter. Until this season, for all of his professional career, Zabel, a product of the old East German schools of sport, rode for T-Mobile, where he racked up an extraordinary 200-or-so wins. The man himself admits to being unsure of the number, but whether it's 195 or 203, no other current pro has crossed the line in first place more times.

This year, 36 years old and treated like he's an embarrassing fool for not having hung up his cleats years ago, Zabel sports the pale blue jersey of the Milram team--a design that looks like it should belong to a crummy, third tier organization. Like, say, Squadra Milram.

Zabel's enviable record has for some time been in danger of being obscured by another extraordinary feat. According to VeloNews, the Berliner has come in second or third no fewer than 22 times this season, while eeking out only one other victory, at the Bayern Rundfahrt (great name, btw!) The last couple of seasons, the story was the same: Zabel made a name for himself by losing sprints. He 'd invariably be within a tire's width of the winner, but...

His always second, all the time status was highlighted in 2004 when at the San Remo classic he thrust up his arms in victory only to be pipped by sneaky Oscar Friere. Zabel had been focussing instead on arch-rival Petacchi. Zabel's humiliation was complete when he was cut the following year from T-Mobile's Tour de France squad. You remember, the team with three co-captains, who mercilessly attacked each other. Much to the amusement and profit of one Lance Armstrong.

Zabel arguably made official his second-tier status by signing on to Milram after Petacchi was announced as its team leader for 2006.

Tuesday, Zabel beat all other comers in a field sprint to take the 142 km 4th stage of this year's Vuelta d'Espana.

So, for all us old guys, let's hear it for Eric Zabel on what may be his crowning victory. Last of the hard men. The spiritual successor to Sean Kelly. A guy who stuck with one team through thick and thin for old fashioned loyalty and nationalist pride. (Not that the German brand of nationalist pride is always such a great thing.) Bring on the heat, Zabie!

Cyclists armed with mallets

2006-08-29T14:51:00.000-07:00

Popping aspirin today to ward off the effects of bike polo, which I played for the first time on Sunday. GREAT fun, but it's clearly a young man's game. 40 minutes of play, which earned me handsful of blisters and sore shoulders, and I opened up the freshly-healed road rash on my leg and arm for the third time.

Speaking of bike polo, injuries, and the youth of today...I was e-whining about my injuries to a friend who replied with the following story:

When I was 10 years old, the neighborhood youths ("utes" in our patois) played bicycle polo in the alley. The games continued for about a month. After that, there weren't enough uninjured local utes to form a team. I myself ran over the 9 inch softball with my rear wheel and went through a board fence. That was after a series of other crashes; in retrospect, the alley's cement surface wasn't very yielding at all. The worst of crashes involved my rather hapless friend, Craig, who managed to insert his bare foot into the spokes while, at the same time doing something inappropriate with his "polo" (er croquet) mallet, thereby removing the callus (and etc.) from the ball of his foot. Why one would play bike polo bare-footed is beyond me, but there you go.

Nice!

Boat Street Criterium Crash

2006-08-24T13:55:00.000-07:00

At some point in the near future, I'm going to post an explanation of how I returned to bike racing this year after a 15-year layoff. In summary, I'd say it was a much better season than I had any right to expect, even if it was much abbreviated. But some nice highs were matched by a couple of all-time lows; namely, when I hit the deck in a couple of spectacular crashes. Because I care so much about you, dear reader, I managed to have a photographer standing by for my first crash of the year.

This sequence takes place in the first corner of the Boat Street Criterium, in Seattle's University District. The race took place on April 9, 2006. The accident took place in about the fourth lap of the Cat 4/5 race. These photographs were taken (and shared generously) by Justin, publisher of Cranked magazine.

The corner you see below is a fairly technical one. It comes immediately after a little rise and at the apex drops a bit (so that it's off-camber) before the road climbs again. There were light showers in the hour prior to our race.

I crashed because I lost my concentration and my patience; I was more concerned about getting gapped at a particular moment then I was with getting to the finish in a good position and frame of mind. Hence, I jumped too soon and too hard coming out of this dicey corner.

I'm in the green Valley Athletics jersey, in the right corner of the frame. See what my wheels are doing? Bicycles aren't supposed to do that, at least not at that angle and not for long. It appears that I'm grabbing a bunch of front brake, which means that I'm truly doomed.

I didn't have much sliding room in which to slow before I augered back-first into the curbing.

I'm freaking out the Broadmark boys, which is always fun, but I'd prefer they were cowed by my McEwen-like sprint rather than my screams of terror and pain.

Funny, I recall being right in the fat part of the pack, but the photos don't show much traffic at all.

Ouchie. Yellow light for caution.

What I like best about this photo is my hand sticking out from under the pylon. My other hand has fallen off.

This impact resulted in three cracked ribs, four broken traverse processes (these are the little wings that sprout from one's vertebrae), a lacerated kidney, two visits to the emergency room, a week missed from work, and six weeks off the bike. My carbon fork and aluminum bars and stem were inspected and found to be fine. And I managed to displace the curb by about four inches.

Hey, there's my buddy Carter coming around the corner. Hi, Carter!

I'm fine now--and even found time to crash again on a randonnee--but missed the rest of the road racing season.