Taxing

Red Herring

As the trail grew tricky, I was about to turn around. And that's when I saw it in the distance - a tiny patch of red deep in the thick dark woods. I could not tell how far away it was. No doubt it was just someone's barn, but from a distance it looked mysterious and full of promise. It could be anything. As the sun began its afternoon decline, instead of heading home I made my way toward the red shape flickering in the dappled light.




Back in junior high, we had this scary patch of woods behind the school yard. They said an abandoned shack stood there, where in the '60s a serial killer had taken his victims. Children would go missing from the neighbourhood, and it was not until decades later that their disappearances were solved. Only the killer's remains were found in the shack. An old man by then, he must have died of natural causes. Or did he? Everyone knew there were thingsin the woods where we lived. The kind of things that made ordinary mortal serial killers the least of our worries. This was what we 12 year olds thought about when a ball would fly over the chainlink fence at recess. We dared not go into those woods.




Cycling along the narrow trail, the memory of all this popped into my head, as did the horror flick Don't Look Now - where Donald Sutherland's character pursued what looked like a girl in a red coat only to find something dark and sinister. Did I really want to reach that red object deep in the woods? I laughed to myself, at myself. This was evidence of how unaccustomed I'd become to riding alone. I would not be having these thoughts with one of my cycling buddies around. It was the silence and the lack of any sign of human activity on the trail that lent itself to being shaped by my imagination.




Of course none of us had ever seen the abandoned shack. We knew there was a spot in the chainlink fence where you could lift it up and crawl under. My friend and I had been brave enough to do that - though once we did, we just stood there, too paralised with fear to venture furtherinto the woods. But 12 is an age of dares, pacts, and acts of courage. And one day we decided to find the shack. After school let out, we waited for the yard to clear. Then we ducked under the fence and kept walking before the fear could get the best of us. It was hard to know where to go. The woods were unkept and there were no trails to follow. Eventually we spotted what looked like a narrow overgrown path.It was late September, and the dry leaves made crunching sounds under our shoes. We heard no other sounds, not even birds.




Now too the woods were quiet as I rode through them. Where were the birds, the squirrels, the dog walkers? There was only the soft sound of my tires rolling over roots covered with a blanket of pine needles. I kept the red object in sight, but somehow it was no closer after 15 minutes of cycling. In fact, now it began to seem as if I had passed it. It occurred to me that it wasn't along the main trail, but deeper in the woods. And then I saw a path that seemed to lead toward it. It was overgrown. Covered in roots. Barely a path. But I saw no private property signs, so I turned and followed it.




That day after school we walked for what seemed like forever, though judging by the actual size of the lot it could not have been more than 5 minutes. We gasped when we saw it through the trees: A dirty white wall, surrounded by a heap of bricks where the rest of the structure had once stood. And we gasped once again when we heard footsteps behind it. My friend grabbed my arm, and we began to tremble, not sure whether to run or hide. And then they came out: A middle aged woman in overalls carrying a rake, and a teenage girl, a few years older than us, following her with a large burlap sack. They said hello and warned us about the poison ivy. "It's all over the place, girls. Do you know how to identify the leaves?" They were from the land preservation society. Cleaning up woods, labeling trees. We would have to wait until 8th grade to join. And the white shack? I looked it up years later. It was once a shop selling European auto parts, built in 1982 and abandoned after a fire. It could not have possibly been the hideout of a serial killer in the 1960s.




I knew I was on the right path, because the patch of red grew closer. The path became muddy and difficult to ride through, which only made my journey feel more important. It was damp here. Mosquitos circled and I could see a small bog through the trees to my left. The vegetation was mostly moss, ferns, and poison ivy. The latter slapped my bare legs, but, knowing myself to be resistant to it, I paid no attention. Now and then I dodged low-hanging branches. The mud thickened. Churning through it, I felt like a determined explorer - until finally, there it stood in front of me: A small red tool shed. No more, no less. Seeing it up close - a generic, prefab thing - even my overactive imagination had to acknowledge the complete lack of anything mystical about the structure or the atmosphere surrounding it. I was at the back of someone's property. And now I had to hurry back before dark, cycling through all that mud again.




How funny we are, with our love of setting goals, solving mysteries, inventing worthy destinations - when in actuality what we are after is the experience of the pursuit itself, the goal being just an excuse.

Let me know if I get in your way

I don't think cats understand reading.

Saguaro National Park

After leaving Chiricahua National Monument it was a short drive to Saguaro National Park near Tucson. There are actually two “sections” to this park, East and West, and I stopped for a few hours in the East side park. There is no campground at Saguaro and I was concerned about finding a place to stay for the night. There are trails to hike but I figured I was going to get plenty of desert hiking done at Joshua Tree and Death Valley, so for me, this was a “drive-through” park, something I said I wasn't going to do...

I stopped at the Visitor Center to watch the park video and get their map and then took the driving tour on the loop road. At one stop I noticed a rather large Saguaro a short distance from the road. So with a bottle of water and the camera in hand, I walked off into the desert... perhaps 100 yards!

Here he is. Doesn't look so tall in this picture, but he towers over everything beneath him.

Me and “my” Saguaro.

Now you see how tall he is? I'm 5' 6” so just guessing he is 25-30 feet tall? This was the biggest Saguaro I saw in the short time that I was in the park. Nothing else even came close to his height or his girth. Amazing. As a side note, the camera was propped up against a rock on the ground. It took four tries to get this shot. I was glad that no one else stopped in the area while I was doing this – I sure felt silly running from the camera to the Saguaro - but I am thankful for self-timers on cameras!

I think he had eight “arms” coming out from his main trunk. Huge.

One of his prickly neighbors.

And another.

Photographs taken on March 15, ...

Zygodactyl Coccyzus & the cut direct

Yellow-billed Cuckoo (Coccyzus americanus).



Giving me...



The cut direct.

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Cuckoos are zygodactyl, like woodpeckers. Click that link for further bird-foot edification.

Friday Ark.

Durability of Unusual Finishes: Chrome Plating and Clear Powdercoat

This winter I've been riding some bikes with unusual finishes. My main ride is a clear powdercoated Brompton. There are also two chrome-plated bikes in my possession at the moment: a vintage Raleigh Tourist and a modern Bella Ciao. The idea of riding these bikes on salted winter roads has been met with some concern, and I've been asked to comment on how they are holding up.




To start with, I just want to say that chrome plating and clear powder coat are entirely different finishes, and I am by no means placing them in the same category. But the one thing they have in common is that they are unusual, which invites curiosity about their durability compared to paint.Unfortunately, I cannot address that question meaningfully. I didn't have the heart to experiment with the beautiful finishes, so I've been cleaning the bikes after every salty ride this winter. But in truth I am not sure how much this extra care is warranted.




When it comes to the chrome plated bikes, I am actually surprised by the concern for their durability. Chrome plating might be pretty, but its real purpose - as I understand it - is to make the frame more resistant to corrosion. Therefore, a chrome plated frame should require less, not more maintenance than a painted or powdercoated frame. Issues of cost aside, chrome plating should make for an excellent and entirely appropriate winter bike finish. For what it's worth, my chrome Raleigh Tourist is a 33-year-old bike that was well-ridden by its previous owner. The chromed frame shows less wear than a typical painted frame from that era, though a similar degree of component wear.




Clear powdercoat is a different story. Generally speaking, powdercoat is considered to be a more durable finish than liquid paint, which makes it a preferred choice for winter bikes. But clear powdercoat is tricky and may not be reliably rust-proof. Owners of clear-coated bikes have reported problems with corrosion. Rivendell used to offer clear-coated frames, but no longer does. Brompton at some point reformulated their raw lacquer finish to address corrosion issues. Today there are owners of clear-coated Bromptons who ride them in winter, and dealers seem to feel this is perfectly fine to do. I do not see any signs of rust on mine so far, although again - I've been cleaning it.I would notintentionally choose a clear powdercoat finish for a winter bike.




All things considered, I feel that (pigmented) powdercoat and liquid paint are more practical choices for a bike finish. Chrome plating is expensive and difficult to do properly. Clear powdercoat is reputed to be less durable.




Then again, there are bikes that do perfectly well with no finish at all. As an experiment, Henry Cutler of WorkCycles left his personal Fr8frame unpainted. For three years the bike was stored outdoors in Amsterdam's rainy saltwater climate. Over time the frame has developed a patina of surface rust, but it remains structurally fine. Go figure!

A Tandem Experience

this and further images: courtesy ofPamela Blalock

In conclusion to a rather unusual, entertaining and exhausting weekend, yesterday afternoon I rode on the back of a tandem - with endurance cyclist and racer John Bayley, or, as he is known in his native tongue, Fear Rothar (I'll let you figure that one out).



This was a moment I'd dreamt of for some time! Four years ago my husband and I rented an upright tandem on Cape Cod and rode it back and forth along the bike path. At the time, it had only beenmonths since I'd started riding a bike of any kind, and neither of us had tried a tandem before. But despite initial fumblings, it was great fun. The more time passed, the more fondly I remembered it and the more I wanted to try it again - especially once I got into road cycling. With a fast and competent captain, I reasoned, I could experience a ride beyond the limit of my own meager handling skills and speed.So when John offered me to hop on the back of the tandem, I didn't need to be asked twice.





Overall, the process was far more intuitive and natural than I'd anticipated. For those unfamiliar with tandems, the person in front is called the captain, and the person in the rear the stoker. The captain steers, while the stoker goes with the flow and contributes pedaling power. The stoker's pedaling strokes are "fixed" to the captain's, which means that the captain controls the cadence, the gear changes, as well as when to pedal vs when to coast. Starting out, John mounted the bike by swinging his leg over the front and stood over the top tube holding the bike upright. I then swung my leg over the rear, and clipped my right foot in, bringing the pedals to where he wanted them to be. Then John clipped his right foot in. Then he pushed off and we both clipped in the left foot simultaneously. All of this happened fairly quickly and required minimal verbal communication. Subsequent stops and starts were even easier, because John prefers the stoker to remain on the bike with both feet clipped in. This made things pretty simple for me: At stops all I had to do was essentially act as luggage.



An important part of what made all of this work, I think, is that I had full confidence in the captain's ability to keep the bike upright. John is an extremely skilled cyclist who has been captaining tandems for 20 years. I also know him to be a responsible and considerate person. Secure in this, there was trust on my end from the get-go. We clipped in and off we went, with no tentativeness or false starts.





Now, all of this was happening in mountainous northern Vermont, where a group of us was staying over the weekend. There were no flat stretches where we were situated, only long ups and downs with steep grades and lots of dirt. We started off going downhill along a sweeping dirt road, before turning left onto the main road, which led us up a winding climb for a few miles. Once at the top, John did a nimble u-turn and we bombed down the same winding hill.



The experience of being on the back of the bike was wonderful. I was just in heaven for the entire ride. I enjoyed feeling the bike steered by another rider and accommodating to it. I imagine this is a "love it" or "hate it" sort of thing, as it does require the stoker to give up control and to trust the captain's handling. In my case, this was not a problem. Just as I'd hoped, I was able to experience things that I could not have done on my own: more extreme leans, faster speed, expert maneuverability. It was all tremendously exciting. I was only scared once, and that was when we first started descending. It was faster than my concept of "bike speed" had previously entailed and I felt lightheaded. But once I got used to it (and there was plenty of time for that, as it was a long hill!) I began to enjoy it.





Though not as thrilling as downhill, going uphill on the tandem was pretty nice. John is extremely strong and was spinning the cranks in a higher gear than I could have managed on my own. I contributed as much as I could, amazed at the sensation of spinning instead of grinding, at that grade, in that gear.



As the stoker, there is always the question of how much you're contributing as opposed to taking it easy and soft-pedaling while the captain puts in the real effort. My impression is that I was contributing when I felt myself pushing against a distinct resistance in the cranks. This is a different feeling from the resistance I feel when riding a single bike, but nonetheless there is feedback.



I found the switch from coasting to pedaling and vice-versa to be surprisingly intuitive and did not feel a need for the captain to warn me when switching; my feet would just immediately adapt. Same with switching gears. Surprisingly, I was somehow almost able to anticipate when John was about to coast, or start pedaling again, or switch gears. And the entire time, his cadence felt suspiciously perfect. I am not sure whether he was regulating his cadence to accommodate what he thought I'd be comfortable with, or whether this was his natural rhythm - but we were spinning at a decent rate the entire time, which felt great.






I know fairly little about the world of tandems, but one thing I've noticed is the difference in space allocated to the stoker. In some pictures of tandemists you see the stoker's face practically digging into the captain's back, whereas in others you see them set far apart. John and Pamela's tandem is somewhere in between. Had I wanted to, I could have leaned down to reach John's lower back with my chin when in the drops. But it wasn't so tight as to feel claustrophobic or uncomfortable. I have seen tandems where the stoker is basically "spooning" the captain.




Since this is the only road tandem I've been on, it would not make sense to attempt a review of any kind, but the ride quality felt pretty good on the 650Bx42mm tires, and in particular I noticed that I felt less "bouncing" than I do on single bikes. While I had no control over braking power, the discs worked very well in John's hands.




We did not do anything extreme on this ride, figuring a relatively tame spin over hilly roads was enough for my first stoker experience. But John did wow me with his tandem track-standing skills at stops, as well as with his ability to maneuver the long bike through tight spaces. The way I remember it, we actually started on the front porch, at which point John steered the bike down the steps, onto the lawn, in between some parked cars, around the picnic table and over the stone fence - as I hung on for dear life and his lovely spouse snapped pictures. "You can have him for free this once," she said, "but next time I'm charging a rental fee." Fair enough!



Based on others' feedback, it is clear that stoking a tandem is not for everyone. Some riders cannot stand the loss of control (I don't mind, assuming I trust the person in front). Others complain about the limited view (I found that turning my face a bit solved that problem). Finally, there are riders who just cannot get in sync enough to make a tandem ride work. I found riding with John enormously fun and would love to ride again with such a fantastic captain.



Interested in tandem advice from experienced couples? Here is a detailed guide from the Blayleys and a "411" from Chasing Mailboxes.