The Quick Release

Photo credit: Velominati

I take it for granted. That shiny lever on the axle. You know, the one that you can flip open, release your brakes, and quickly remove the wheel. Or loosen, reset the wheel so it's centered on the forks or dropouts, then re-tighten. It's even a simple maneuver to take off the front wheel and place your bike in the back of your van or squeeze it in a trunk.

The quick release is also a godsend for fiddling with saddle height. Raise it a quarter inch, lower a half inch until the seat feels like primo adjustment—the sweet spot between sore knees and your butt sanding the seat.

It's a standard feature today, and as you can imagine it eases the bike salesperson's job. But for years bikes weren't equipped with quick release mechanisms. My Trek originally didn't have it, nor does my husband's recent purchase. As I recall, most bikes in the 80s didn't come with them, nor do I remember the Schwinn Varsity and Continental of my youth ever having this feature. So I was surprised to discover that the quick release has been around since 1930.

According to Cyclopedia, Tullio Campagnolo invented this gadget out of necessity. As an amateur racer he was riding over a pass in the Dolomites when he had to change gears. In 1924 it involved undoing wing nuts on the back wheel to move the chain to a different sprocket—by hand. Hard to imagine, especially when the freezing temperatures created stiffened digits, too stiff for the racer in this particular instance, to loosen the nut. Because of this frustration Tullio didn't win the race. He worked for the next six years in his father's ironmongery in Vicenza to develop the very invention that's become so common today.

So why did the quick release fall out of favor? Or did it never catch on until the late 1980s? I'm not sure. It may have something to do with economics, users not properly re-tightening the levers, or the possibility of theft. So the next time you flip that special lever, think of Tullio. I may never own any Campagnolo parts, but I appreciate the invention of this simple tool.

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Wikipedia's history and description here.
How to properly set the lever here.

Trees on my Commute

There are two trees that I've been inspecting for years along my commuting route. Both sit alone, which may be part of their appeal; one is in a field and the other rests on a knoll. I've fallen in love with the shape of one and the bark on another.

This champagne glass-figure is not a common sight these days. Years ago a disease destroyed most of the towering elms in Burlington. This one is further south. It may have survived because of it's solitary position or it's possibly a young'un trying to put a toe-hold in the earth. Nevertheless, it's intriguing and this time of year in bloom. I had an inkling to it's identity, but wanted to run it by my boss so he could take a look the next time he drove past. When I mentioned the tree's location, he didn't hesitate. "Oh yes, that's an elm". Apparently he's noticed it too.

Two miles away along the same route sits this tall, scraggly thing wedged between the roadway and the bike path. The network of branches reminds me of witches and long pointed fingers. As with all trees in the winter, you notice and can appreciate an individual one's framework.

But up close is where this tree shines. A Shagbark hickory displays a trunk full of peeling bark like a flaky coat. There are more of these around the area, but this specimen is within a shoulder of my bike when I pedal by. I sometimes wonder if those tendrils are going to grab me.

Hands Off, it's My Toolbox

I didn't want to do it, but necessity dictated that I have my own toolbox. For years, I've succumbed to the dreaded search for a hammer, a wrench, even a simple flat head screwdriver from the bowels of my husband's collection. But he has more tools than will fit easily inside a simple, organized container. Tools spill over onto the work bench, a cardboard box in the furnace room, the back of his Honda, hanging in the garage, etc. Some sprouted legs, it seems, and are at camp or his parent's house. I could't find a friggin' hammer! (Beware if you have this propensity with tools and live with a rabid spouse.)

Several years ago we were at the hardware store purchasing something when this beautiful red toolbox spoke to me (if tools can walk why can't plastic boxes at least whisper.) I bought it on the spot. With time and the initial grandpa legacy, any singular tools of his were—by nature of relationship—rightfully mine. A rubber mallet, ball-peen hammer, and a wooden-knobbed awl which had been my beloved grandfather's were immediately moved to the red box. I added duplicate items from the house to supplement my collection. I have a good assortment of flat bike-specific metric wrenches, especially the 15-17mm ones used to adjust axles. But I was missing 9-11mm sizes that are necessary for finicky cantilever brakes. My husband has these sizes in his bike box, but that requires that his bike is in residence and the tools actually in the Rubbermaid plastic tub. At Christmas my brother provided the last tools needed: a cute Stanley set of tiny, shiny wrenches. And yes, I do think some tools are endearing and even sexy...but I digress.

My kit is complete. I can make most minor household and bicycle repairs. There is a pencil for marking, an old toothbrush for cleaning god-knows-what, a tape measure (is the chain stretched?), Phillips and flat-head screwdrivers, adjustable wrenches, Allen wrenches, a ratchet set, pliers, two hammers, and rubber mallet (to discipline the kids - just kidding!). I love my tools.

All this came in handy on Friday when I stood in the pedals, climbing a hill after dropping off number two son at his school. A vibrating, grinding noise emanated from the rear wheel. I stopped for a moment to access the problem. The axle had loosened in the dropouts. The Ross doesn't have quick release. I would simply tighten the nuts when I got home. No more frantic searching for the right implement. A quick and easy project. Done.

For the warmer months my toolbox rests near my bikes, right where I need it. Unfortunately it's also in view of our children who love to create, or in our youngest's case, modify Nerf guns. I've been known to chase down my children after they've borrowed something (they leave the lid open). I wag my finger. Where's my hammer? I dunno, maybe over there? Jeesh, sometimes the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. (Sorry love, I couldn't resist that one.)

Should you live nearby and want to borrow a tool? Don't even ask.

Paint, Seeds, and Fabric

I lock  my bike to wire bins at Joann's Fabrics. The official rack is at the other end
of the strip mall, too far from the places I frequent.

A colder wind today brought us back to March reality. I set out to buy paint for our front door, fabric for a couple of Annie Projects along with vegetable and flower seeds. I was thinking about planting early leafy and root vegetables. It's also time to sprout tomatoes and basil indoors.

I dug out my fleece gloves and down vest to add to my errand wardrobe. Socks inside sandals were borderline on the ride to the stores and inadequate for the return. With the onset of cold rain later in the day and a whopper of a sinus cold that hit me in one hour, the projects were put on hold. Time for lots of tea and a humidifier.

Netherlands - Cycling Culture and Elephants

Follow New Posts in the Around The World series on Mondays. Click here for the Introduction.

50 miles, Thursday, August 11

After the previous long day we relaxed this morning, setting off later than usual. We putter along back roads, still sailing with the wind. The terrain is truly flat. We cruise the river bottomland west of Antwerp through Puers and St. Gillis-Waas before approaching the Dutch border. All morning a menagerie of cyclists pedal toward us, all ages and sizes, going about life on two wheels. It seems like we’ve come home—at least in our hearts—and are not the anomaly­ for a change.

By midafternoon we pass from De Klinge, Belgium into Clinge, Netherlands. This unique town straddles two countries. Bank hours vary by region, and we find we must rush to Hulst to withdraw Dutch guilder. As with many of our transactions it’s a simple withdrawal, using a VISA card. But as providence would have it, we came to a halt when three elephants crossed the road ahead of us. What? Elephants? We laughed and laughed. Each animal ambled along, strung together like a Barrel of Monkeys, trunks hooked around tails. Their ringleader directed them to a line on the right, eventually to a tent where a circus performed. And as these opportunities only come once in a lifetime, I had Andy snap a photo of me with the elephant train.

Typical Dutch bike. Photo credit: Infrastructuration

We learn there are two bicycles to each person in Holland/Netherland, in Dutch Nederland. In small towns cyclists do not lock their bikes, a sight that is unusual for an American. But Dutch bikes are more utilitarian. Most are black single speeds. Bike paths are separate from roads; red signs and arrows, for the most part, are understandable because of graphic symbols. I was amazed at the numerous patterns of stone and brick that comprise the bikeways – all without mortar. Occasionally loose bricks sound like wooden chimes under wheel. It is a serenade only for cyclists. Andy and I admit to enjoying the paved pathways more. It’s easier on the fanny after long hours in the saddle.

From De Vodel campground in Hengstdijk. Photo credit: Panaramio

In Hengstdijk we pulled into a huge campground on the edge of a pretty lake. For 10.5 guilder (1.8 guilder to 1 USD) we are treated to a prime tenting spot near water. Most of the grounds house permanent trailers. There is a restaurant, bar, a pen of rabbits, and a caged area for guinea pigs and birds. I thought it odd to have animals until we understood that six weeks of vacation is standard. Children must love romping with the pets. Andy and I strolled the campground then peeked in on the bunnies before settling down for the evening.