At some point I will probably get a little bag for the little rack on the Roaduno:
The correct bag is this one, which is sold out:
Until they’re available once again, being a modern consumer with no ethics, it occurred to me maybe I could get something super cheap on that website named after a giant river. So I took a quick look, and here’s what popped up:
I shan’t be getting it–it’s too big for one thing–though I was quite tempted because I love the name:
Engwe is, I assume, an homage to the noted guitarist:
And Electric Techno-Paranoia is exactly the opposite of Electric Techno-Foolhardiness, which is when you ride an e-bike you bought on Amazon in a large body of salt water:
That can’t be a good idea.
Speaking of techno-paranoia, if you’re convinced the Spinergae I’ve been riding are going to ass-plode at any moment, you’ll be either pleased or annoyed to know that I’ve now reduced the likelihood of that happening by 50%:
I did this for a few reason. For one thing, there was still play in the front bearings, despite my having changed them. (Or maybe because I changed them, who knows?) For another, the front wheel was noticeably flexy when climbing out of the saddle, which was a little disconcerting–as was the susceptibility to crosswinds when descending at high speed:
Mostly though I did it because the only thing more ’90s-tastic than riding a pair of Spinergy Rev-Xs is riding a rear Spinergy Rev-X with a wire-spoked front wheel. It really does seem like the way to go, too, because you get the predictable handling and feel of the standard wheel up front whilst reaping the aero benefits and slightly sproingy ride quality of the rear wheel. Really, the only way you could possibly improve this setup would be to ditch the rear Spinergy too and use a pair of normal wheels.
But that would be silly.
Another indication that the rider of this bicycle suffers from techno-paranoia is the friction shifters:
Friction shifting may not be for everybody, but its three chief attributes are the following:
- It works very smoothly
- It’s extremely simple mechanically
- It offers tremendous compatibility as your shifters don’t care how many cogs your rear wheel has
For these reasons I admit I’ve been puzzled by these Growtac integrated friction levers that have been all over the Worldly Wide Internet for awhile now:
And which I see Path Less Pedaled has just gotten his hands on:
[He should really work on making his videos even more click-baity.]
I am, first and foremost, a bike dork, so I appreciate any and all forms of mechanical shifting. I also think these are nifty and intriguing. At the same time…why?
I guess you still get the compatibility of friction shifting, and maybe even the feel (though the levers return to position just like on an indexed shifter, which just seems weird), but what is the point of a friction shifter that is just as mechanically complex as its indexed counterparts? The beauty of a friction shifter is that it’s pretty much unkillable. Also, you can mount it in different places on the bike, and even a complete numbskull can set one up in minutes. On the other hand, what’s great about integrated shifting is the convenience and the comfort, though that comes at the expense of more involved setup and increased vulnerability in a crash–though practically speaking most integrated levers are extremely durable, and barring mishaps will work reliably for decades. Furthermore, even I, an outspoken sufferer of techno-paranoia, have to admit that at least when it comes to mechanical shifting, the whole “obsolescence” thing is mostly a non-issue. I’ve got two bikes with 9-speed Dura-Ace in my possession at the moment, and cassettes and chains are both cheap and abundant. Same goes for 8- and even 7-speed. (Yes there were 7-speed integrated shifters.) And while the bacon-grease smoothness of a good quality friction drivetrain is sublime (yes, I realize “bacon-grease smoothness” and “friction” are diametrically opposed concepts), the punchy accuracy of a good-quality mechanical integrated shifter on a race-oriented bike is pretty exhilarating too.
I guess what I’m saying is I just find these kinda wishy-washy, that’s all, and I wonder if maybe we’ve hit Peak Friction, just as we’ve hit Peak Gravel, and Peak Flared Bar, and all the rest of it. Like how exotic does a friction shifter need to be? Why not just pick one or the other? It’s almost like riding a singlespeed with two speeds:
Wait.
Oh, also, you’re supposed to turn your levers in now:
I’m not particularly interested in turning my levers in myself, but I see that people do it, so I’m sure there’s something to it. What I do take issue with is his characterization of the traditional lever position:
You’re “not giving double hand jobs” he notes amusingly. But think about it. If you were to give a double hand job, wouldn’t your hand position be more similar to the one you use when grabbing inward-turned levers?
If you were giving a double hand job, the only way you’d have your hands in front of you and straight up and down would be if the hand job recipients were lying side by side on massage tables–but even then you’d have to be standing in between the tables, so your hands would have to be quite far apart, farther even than on a pair of those crazy-wide Crust bars.
Meanwhile, the inward-turned lever position he demonstrates is exactly how you’d administer a double hand job if the recipients were standing face to face and in front of you. Clearly riding with your levers turned in is the double hand job position. I mean come on! It’s almost like this guy has never even given a double hand job at all! I on the other hand–
Wait.