Those of you who regularly follow The Early Morning Cyclist no doubt have noticed that my contributions have been far from regular of late. There are various reasons for my absence. First, and foremost, I haven’t had anything new to share. Having said what I felt I needed to, I hate the idea of simply stringing words together for no reason. I’ve also been very focused on that thing I “do,” which is teach and make art, and write about art and artists. If you enjoy the drawings I occasionally use to illustrate The Early Morning Cyclist, I invite you to visit Just Sketching, where I share urban sketches, techniques for location sketching, and the random tip or two. I also write for Drawing Attention, the official worldwide magazine of Urban Sketchers, and I sincerely invite you to pick up a pen and any scrap of paper and come join us out in the real world.

Anyway, as usual I have taken the long way round getting to my point, which is that The Early Morning Cyclist is taking a hiatus. Riding bicycles and appreciating the design and engineering of this simple mode of transportation is and continues to be a very important part of my life. If you pass a bearded cyclist out on the road atop a pink French bike, sporting a plaid cycling cap and eschewing Lycra, raise a hand in greeting – there’s a good chance it’ll be me. And no worries, I’ll definitely wave back.

Winter Gloom

Outside, things are as they tend to be around here each and every January: brown, gray. Dead leaves crouch in corners and under the equally dead looking limbs of bushes, around downspouts and chainlink fence. The roller coaster of temperatures – from -24F windchill to 72F a week later saps nearly all of my energy, but no one complains when those unseasonably warm days pop up every now and again.

My mileage has been limited to a stationary spin machine for the most part, and thank goodness for the distraction of Kindle and Pandora to get myself through the sheer boredom of spinning fast and going absolutely nowhere. The welcome shift in temperatures last weekend found me brightening up the winter gloom with a ride on my bright magenta Bernard Carre.

Oh, Spring! How much longer must I wait on you?

Ideale Saddles

As 2017 draws to a close today, I’m a little intrigued by the promising revival of a few storied makers. A few years ago, Compass and Boulder revived the Rene Herse name. And while some may grouse that these are mirrors of the original product, I’d argue that they’ve done right by the name and continued to innovate.

Although they’ve played their cards close to the vest, Chater-Lea is staging some kind of revival as well. What exactly that means is still anyone’s guess, but in 2017 their Instagram account and newsletter has been a constant and merciless tease of things to come that kind of excites me.

For those of us who continue to torture our souls with French bike-ness, 2017 served up an intriguing revival, that of French saddle maker Ideale. Like Chater-Lea, it was difficult to discover anything concrete about them until recently. Their website is under construction and the links don’t work at all, but once again Instagram came to my rescue: their account page has a message link. Katia, one of the two people working on the Ideale revival, promptly responded back to my query with some interesting information:

Hello Mark,

Thank you for your message and your interest. Sorry our website is still
under construction. We are only two people, my husband and I on this

My husband, Fred, found the former team of Ideale, they are retired old
people who accepted to help us and show us their know-how because they
regretted the disappearance of this prestigious brand.

They worked hard together for 5 years to recreate all the tools needed
to make the saddle.

The Idéale 90 is a traditionally-made product manufactured in the purest
traditional method.
As for the original saddles, we use high-quality leather. It is a
12-months oak bark tanned leather. Only 3 tanneries in Europe, and only
one in France are still able to manufacture this quality of leather.

As at the time, the Idéale 90 will be offered either in black color
(tinted according to a very old process that reacts metallic salts with
the tannins of the leather, this color will acquire a dark brown patina
like natural leather) or in natural. Both are full grain leather, not
corrected. Each piece of the chassis is handmade with the highest
possible quality.
It will be a very small production because we are only 2 on this

The gauge is not cut staggered in the croup, but respecting the leather
fibers and the different thicknesses. This makes it possible to adapt a
thickness of leather to a cyclist weight and thus makes it possible to
have a saddle that is the most adapted to the morphology. The cyclists
below 75Kg who tested our saddles find a real comfort on the less thick

The price is 210 euros + shipping cost, Paypal is currently the only way
currently for international payments.

Christmas Stocking Stuffers

I think I like the neat little gifts nestled away in a Christmas stocking better than those gift wrapped boxes, adorned with ribbon and bows under the tree. In our family, the first thing we do on Christmas morning is explore the contents of our stockings, and mine held several treasures.

The Kikkerland Bicycle Repair Kit comes in a tin box and includes patches, glue, Allen wrenches, tire levers, and a bone tool. (It’s been years since I’ve seen a bone tool in the flesh.) I love the vintage look of the box, and although the kit is pretty heavy, the stuff of this kit sure would come in handy in the event of a flat or needing to tighten a loose bolt. Kim, the inveterate shopper, found this kit in a small gift shop (nope, not a bike shop!) in the Ozarks. But you don’t need to travel to Southwest Missouri to find your own kit – they’re available on Amazon, among other online places. No idea if the contents are of decent quality or not, but it’s a cool kit and I plan to carry it.

My favorite stocking stuffer of the day though is this small book published by Gingko Press, A Cycling Lexicon: Bicycle head badges from a bygone era.

There are 400 pages with hundreds of excellent quality photographs of bicycle head badges. It’s pretty short on text, so the book is really more of a “show and tell” – but you won’t find me complaining at all… this is really a great little book.


A Weeklong Cornucopia of Bikes

Last weekend was my first ride on my baby since doing an endo a few days earlier. I’d been terrified to get back on my favorite bike because I didn’t want to discover some catastrophic problem. Hell, let’s be honest – I didn’t even want to face up to a scratch. So imagine my relief to get back on the bike and find there are no issues. Even my own bruises have healed up. Life is fine!

(OK, turns out there is a small bite out of my Cambium C-17, and a scratch on my front rim. I’ll ignore the bite, and I’ve polished out the rough spot on the braking surface. It’s all about the patina, right?)

This is a great time of year. I couldn’t care any less about tight jerseys and logo wear. Give me a sweatshirt and a wool cap!

I am sensing a location trend in photo opps this week. My Raleigh International was feeling a little lonely, so I took her out for a spin late one afternoon and found myself stopping for a “water bottle shot” with my iPhone at the exact same spot as I did with the Boulder in the photos above.

I’d been swapping around some components on bikes, so this was an opportunity to dial in the saddle position of the Brooks Pro that was finding its way back onto the Raleigh. I needed the Cambium C17 to better fit the saddle set back on my L’Avecaise, and the Brooks Pro set back is a little closer to my ideal on the Raleigh. Regardless of how precise my measurements are, I still have to finagle the positioning of things so they feel “right” to me on any particular bike. This was no different – I’d ride for a mile, get off and adjust. Repeat. I don’t think I ever even broke a sweat.

Last Sunday started out cold and windless, but by the time I arrived at the downtown airport with my 1966 Paramount – where there are absolutely no windbreaks, incidentally – there was a cold, stiff wind coming up out of the southwest. The airport loop is almost entirely flat, with only two tiny hills. Flags were furiously flapping from poles, nearly straight out, and as I pedaled in a generally northward direction I was flying. Coming into the two hills that mark a turn to the east, and then to the south, I found myself immediately reminded that my bike is outfitted with a 52/42 crank. (And, by golly, that’s the “old man” set of rings I replaced the original 53/48 rings with!)

The white Paramount is a pretty sharp bike and it rides very nicely. Even though it’s a racing bike, the geometry is much more generous when compared to today’s standards of design. Limping into the parking lot, I encountered this wonderful old TWA jet and set up my white and red-trimmed Paramount for a photograph in front of the red with white-trimmed aircraft. Pretty cool visual, I think.

Living near the Missouri River means the geography isn’t especially flat. The roads are replete with undulating hills the closer one gets to the river and the river bluffs. My legs are feeling pretty good as the summer and fall riding draws to a close and riding my fixed gear Hobbs along country roads, particularly on still days, isn’t as challenging as it will be a couple months from now.

This being the case, I am enjoying these rare, nice December days to ride my 70 year old bike. I discovered that fixed gear actually works pretty well on loose gravel, where a rider will pretty much be pedaling the entire time anyway. I don’t know about anyone else, but I seldom find myself coasting along on the freewheel in such conditions.

Accidentally, Kris Kringle.

I love it when my fat thumbs accidentally make a photograph I never intended to take. Here I am, in all my Kris Kringle glory, setting up my iPhone against a water bottle so that I can use the self timer to get a shot of me and my bike.

The thing is, the iPhone had a few additional plans in store and snapped this image. It’s a selfie, only because I was holding the camera at the time. The decision about how to frame the shot and when to pull the trigger was made by – who? Siri?

All Hail the Bicycle Gods!

The seasons, they are a changin’. A few days ago, the skies were filled with mile after mile after mile of bird migration – columns of them as far as I could see in both directions, generally coming out of the north in their southward bound trek. The ground is blanketed in dry leaves that crunch like potato chips as I wheel through them, hiding anything and everything that lies beneath. This would, by the way, include a rather more than gigantic fissure a few hundred yards from my driveway, a four foot long by four inch wide gash, deep enough to swallow even a moderately wide tire and wheel, the better to toss a rider from his or her perch. I discovered this chasm last night, returning from a late afternoon ride on what will likely be the last marvelous day of the year. I also discovered how terrifyingly fast one can be unceremoniously dismounted and thrown headfirst into the pavement.

Say what you might about the wars that exist between cyclists and drivers, I’ve had overwhelmingly polite encounters with the vast majority of motorists. The few trolls who have somehow managed to elude the highway patrol and maintain a valid driver license – obviously – stand out in my memory. But I’ll forever recall those drivers last night who immediately pulled over to check on a guy they saw take a flying leap over a pair of bicycle handlebars. One fellow helped me to my feet, concerned that I must be badly hurt, and was visibly relieved to discover I could walk and talk coherently. Another brushed off my back. Good people.

Today began with light, cold rain and gusts of wind that lowered the wind chills down into the 20’s, despite the mid-40’s temperatures. Gingerly, I felt my arm, my wrist, my fingers, my shoulder. Stiff. I’m pretty stiff, but nothing broken. Definitely a bruised deltoid. Definitely some abrasion on my right palm and hip. A couple of fingers feel stiff or jammed. I probably won’t attempt pull ups for a couple of days. But otherwise no damage to me – or, to my bike.

Naturally enough, that was the first thing I checked. Would my fork be bent? My wheel a taco? But no – just a slight abrasion to the braking surface of the rim. The wheel is still true for some reason. Considering the prone position I found myself in, which involved my legs somehow being higher than my head and just as inexplicably somehow lying over a low stone wall, I feel like I got lucky. My wife, who was out for a walk, and who saw my acrobatic dismount, cannot believe I’m so cavalier about the event. I know it could have been much worse – probably should have been much worse – but it’s all good. And that’s the way it is.

But my shoulder is stiff and the weather is crappy. And my studio needed cleaned and reorganized. So I spent a good portion of the day indoors, vacuuming errant dog hair and moving things around and recycling an unbelievably huge pile of things that had stacked up since the last time I cleaned up the studio.

My L’Avecaise hung in one corner. An annoying noise had been driving me just a little crazy and I decided that until I tracked down the source I would keep it off the road. No sense in tempting the bicycle gods by riding a clicking bike.

Like every other time I’ve had to track down a distracting sound, it appeared to be emanating from the bottom bracket. Of course, that’s never really the source. One time it was my saddle rails, another time the stem. Yet another time it was the lace of my shoe! I’ve invested a ton of time investigating each and every possibility and in what has proved to be an absolutely maddening experience, failed to identify the root cause.

But today was a perfect day for nailing that bastard of a sound to the proverbial wall. What was left to check though? Only the bottom bracket, it seemed, and clearly it wasn’t the bottom bracket because it’s never the bottom bracket.

In fact, it was the bottom bracket.

Specifically, the fixed cup was somehow not fixed at all. It was loose enough that I could turn it by hand. How this came to be I cannot say, but what I can say is that it’s not even remotely loose now.

Maybe the events of the past eighteen hours were purposely put into motion by the bicycle gods. I speculate they might’ve grown weary of watching me pedal past, grimacing at the cyclical tick-click tick-click tick-click! Perhaps they felt this afternoon would be an excellent time for me take time out of the saddle and heft a wrench or two. Who knows? Maybe the congestion of a studio filled with detritus and bikes and art supplies dishonored them.

But there’s no doubt in my mind that I must now perform a ritual sacrifice to the gods by killing a bottle of dark beer. Or maybe even two. After all, who am I to take chances with the bicycle gods?

Three-speed derelict

We pull up to a roadside antique store and – as always – I scan the perimeter for old bikes. Spotting one leaning up against a tree I wander over for a gander, and my wife heads for the front door of the place. I am a bit obsessed with finding something cool and unusual and while the vast majority of bikes I come across at antique stores are rusting hulks, I did spot a Masi Gran Criterium hanging from the ceiling at one such place last month. At $3,000, it was more than a little out of my price range, but I felt vindicated that such things could still be found.

The bike I scope out on this particular morning is unusual. It appears to be fully chromed, though the chrome is flaking off, a victim of exposure. The drive is an unidentified three-speed and the saddle has long since lost everything except for the skeleton. There’s a badly faded head badge and as I tilt my head back and forth I can barely make out letters and what appears to be some sort of larger round symbol. After a few minutes of study, I decide the text says “Flying O.” Never heard of it. Looking it up on the internet later, I discover that brand was made by Otasco, a hardware chain out of Oklahoma. Since I’m in Northwest Arkansas, only a few miles from the border line, that kind of makes sense.

The bottom bracket seems to be frozen – not surprising if the bike has been leaning against the tree for a few years. Still, it’s not in terrible condition so I lift it up. It weighs a ton!

Oh well, even thought it’s only thirty bucks, it would be too small for me, and anyway, there’s really no room in my car. I leave the chrome bike leaning against the tree to continue its slow dissolution.

Tweed Ride

I look forward to our annual “Tweed Ride” every year. First off, I get to combine two of my passions – sketching and vintage bicycles. But more to the point, it’s just a cool, genteel event. Kindred souls get gussied up in their best thrift store version of 1930s and 40s era attire. We ride bicycles, slowly and leisurely. It’s a celebration of quieter, bygone time, a day when the bicycle was a very important mode of transportation and two thousand pounds of steel didn’t rule every paved road.

Our local Tweed Ride begins and ends in the old Northeast section of the city, adjacent to the Kansas City Museum. The neighborhood is a rich subject by itself – the museum, the houses… someone could spend months documenting the great architecture. Our gathering place is a park next to Cliff Drive, with some interesting architectural follies that provide a great spot for milling about in tweedy high fashion, lean vintage bicycles against tall stone columns, and socialize in well-mannered, courteous, and decidedly polite company. After the ride, we picnic and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea (or a glass of wine from a wicker basket that – in our case – also housed a luncheon of goodies from a local gourmet eatery.)

Turns out that I’ve sketched several of the musicians providing entertainment at previous events. I started with pencil and quickly decided those drawing had already been done and didn’t really interest me to do again, so I focused on the one guy I’d not seen before – the accordion player.

(Also published on my sketcher’s blog, Just Sketching.)

Be Invisible.

This is my Sunday morning plea. I won’t call it a “rant” – I haven’t gone on one of those in a while, and frankly they do little other than to make me even more hyper-aware of whatever obscure topic happens to be bothering me at that moment.

So, a plea it is. Cyclists, if your riding is primarily JRA outings (Just Ridin’ Around, please consider wearing comfortable, every day looking clothing. Unless you are a BASC (Bad Ass Serious Cyclist) – and really, unless you’re actually a racer out racing, or at least training for a race, you’re probably on a JRA ride.

Where I live, nearly every cyclist I encounter is garbed in skin tight Lycra, covered in logos or eye-melting colors and patterns, or both. (Well, not my friend Bob. I don’t see him often, but when I do he’s comfortably sporting shorts and sneakers. Thumbs up to you, Bob!) But here’s the thing: If you’re riding around the block or doing a two mile stretch through the park on your “townie,” do you really need $75 padded cycling shorts and an equally pricey wet suit-like microfiber jersey that weighs less than a quarter ounce just because it has a couple of pockets aft?

Please understand I’m not arguing against common sense cycling gear. A good quality shoe that meets my needs is something I personally value, especially if I’m riding for distance. In yesterday’s cool 40 degree weather, a decent base layer was the right call. Sometimes I wear a pair of purpose-made cycling knickers with knee socks; yesterday it was Levi 501’s. In the wind, a good shell makes sense… mine is a windbreaker I picked up on the cheap at an Eddie Bauer outlet. Even cheaper still is the black wool cardigan I got from a thrift store (three or four bucks, if I recall correctly.) A wool cap from Walz. A Dollar Store bandana purchase.

I ride a lot, but not everything I do is riding. I get off the bike to sketch. (A lot.) Or on my return ride, stop on the square at the pub. (Actually, I do that a lot too.) I feel oddly conspicuous clacking across the floor of the pub in skin hugging super hero tights. And let’s face it, I’m no longer built like Ryan Reynolds. (Don’t you like how I implied that I once was? Fact checker: I never was.)

I think it’s just plain weird that cyclists feel the need to go through an entire ritual of dressing in special clothing just to ride a bike. (Weird? Yes. Also the result of great marketing.) So my plea: Go for a ride today. Need to change your shoes or put on a windbreaker? OK. But beyond that, just hop on your bike and take off. Go ride. Enjoy the day. Turn on your blinky. In all other ways be invisible.