Further to yesterday’s post, a reader or two noted I didn’t mention which bike I took with me on vacation:
Please be advised that is not the bike I took with me on vacation, though it is a bike I saw while I was on vacation. Here is a spectral image of my reflection while photographing it with my multi-function cellular telephone:
You know I’m on vacation because of the linen shirt.
The bike caught my eye immediately, and there’s not a single part of it where something interesting isn’t happening. For example, once upon a time when this blog still had some entertainment value, this bicycle would certainly have been in the running for a Cockie:
I think what you’re seeing there is a pair of inverted drop bars with a clamp-on aerobar, resulting in sort of a naturally occuring Bosco bar, only with more hand positions:
[Via Rivendell]
But I wouldn’t swear to it.
Also noteworthy is the fully intact Biopace sticker:
This lends further support to my theory that in the event of a cataclysm that destroys humanity the only remaining evidence of our existence will be Biopace stickers. They are completely and utterly indestructible. In fact, I suspect if you stuck one to your forehead it would be about a thousand times more effective than a helmet in preventing head injury.
And of course the Bruce Gordon Rock n’ Road is an intrinsically interesting bicycle from back when hybrids were the hot new proto-gravel category, before they evolved into the largely unridden bicycles you find in suburban garages today. Here’s a review of this bike from when it was new, which I found on a bicycle-themed Internet forum:
And no, I’m not crediting the poster, because it’s not like you wrote the article or anything, get over yourself:
So was the Rock n’ Road ” the only bike you’ll ever need” as the review’s subtitle suggests? Well, I believe it could have been, since for awhile its smaller-wheeled contemporary the Specialized RockCombo was the only bike I ever needed:
Of course I also had lots of other bikes at the same time, and while I did ride it a lot, I only ended up keeping it for like two or three years. This is because it turns out that “the only bike you’ll ever need” and “the only bike you’ll ever want” are two totally different things. See, pretty much every bike I own fits the former category, whereas absolutely none of them fit the second, as much as I convince myself that every new bike will the last one I’ll ever get.
Life’s a funny thing. When I was young with only one bike I used to fantasize about having lots of them; now I have lots of them and fantasize about having only one. This is one reason I’ve always admired Jobst Brandt, who really did only own one bicycle:
[Via here]
Similarly, I also admire the owner of this Bruce Gordon, for whom it presumably was the last bike he’d ever need, since it’s still in service. I suppose I could have asked him if this was actually the case, since he was sitting right there in the Dunkin’ Donuts, but I’m kind of afraid to talk to people with handlebars that weird, and so it seemed safer to admire him from afar and make up stories about him instead. But hey, isn’t that’s just the sort of elitist behavior you’d expect from someone who rides a Farbman?
That is the bike I ended up bringing with me on vacation, and it ended up being perfect for roads of dirt:
As well as for roads of, uh, road stuff:
Some of those climbs are quite steep, too, so I spent more time in that granny than a grandpa on Viagra.
Sorry.
As for my accommodations, as always I stayed in the Amazing Room Of Rats:
We’ve been visiting this wax museum for years, and I was surprised to learn it only opened in 1974, because it always seems much older to me–though as you can see they’ve recently updated this particular diorama by putting the victim in a pair of mom jeans:
Oh, there’s my reflection again, only this time it’s just my hands and it looks like they’re parting the curtain:
Diabolical.
And no, staying in the Amazing Room of Rats isn’t as bad as it sounds, because it also has its own private bath:
And it wasn’t all ghoulish displays, either, because there was plenty of uplifting scenery too, including this classic boat show:
Alas, I am not a Boat Fred, which is another way of saying I’m a landlubber, and thus not qualified to opine which of these crafts might qualify as the Rivendell of Boats.