Custom Schmustom

The bike world plays fast and loose with the term "custom bike." And why not?! It conjures up sexy images in our mind of beautiful paint, elegant details, and a world in which there are only tailwinds. But the word "custom" can be used to describe anything from getting to pick a new paint color for a Surly frame to having a frame designed to accommodate your unusually long femurs. And it's all good stuff, but it can help to know what custom can mean and, critically, how you can get some custom-y goodness no matter what your budget or current bike status.

So, in the next couple of weeks we are going to dig a bit deeper into definitions and present a point of view regarding custom that is no-nonsense and inclusive. I'd like to invite you to ask all of your burning questions about custom bikes and I'll give you my best answers (and most opinionated opinions).

Exotic Like Moon Boots

I spent the last week in Duluth, Minnesota. I probably can't describe with my lingering California accent can quite how cold it was. Suffice it to say: Dude. It was gnarly cold.

I've been spending a little chunk of winter in Duluth every year for the past ten years or so (one of the many benefits of marrying a Minnesotan) and I typically have the same internal monologue.

Natalie: Wow. Snow is so beautiful! I bet I could live here...

Natalie: But you can't really bike here in the winter.

N: But you can cross country ski, snow shoe, and get all Nordic!

N: You get awfully grumpy when your toes get cold.

N: Buck up! You know you've always wanted a pair of moon boots.

N: But what about your bikes?

N: Yeah, you're right. I'll never leave Portland.

This last trip was different, though. I saw WAY more bikes. A Litespeed (unlocked?!) outside the food co-op, a cargo bike parked downtown, and lots of fat tires out on the trails. I went for a favorite run in Hartley Field and saw so many fat, happy tracks in the snow that I felt a certain tug at my heart. I could love these trails, not more, but in a different way on a bike. I could bike here. I could live here.

The known truths are relearned: there are more ways to have fun on a bike than there are days in a lifetime. I could live anywhere and find myself at home on a bike. A Portland girl can always vacation in moon boots.

There's A Danish Word For That

As robust as the English language is, I am always a bit relieved when it comes up short. How nice to think that when we search for a word to explain some nuance of the human experience, that some other language might have just what we need.  For example, it is greatly comforting that the Japanese have a word for looking worse after a haircut.  The word "age-otori" reassures me that I'm not the only one this happens to.

I want you (and everyone you know) to know about my favorite untranslatable Danish word, "hygge." If all we had was the English word "cozy" your life would be less rich I am sure. So, let's hear from the Danes about hygge:

I've got a pretty firm grasp on cozy. It's hot chocolate and sock knitting. It's big sweaters and long novels. But the word "hygge", perhaps because of its foreignness, suggests that we should try to translate it. We should try to cultivate a hygge atmosphere. We should explicate its relational quality. It is having a sip of your friend's hot chocolate and knitting a sock for your brother. It is wearing your boyfriend's sweater and reading a favorite passage out loud.

Hygge. Say it often. Say it together. And let a new kind of coziness be found in its translation.

Cleverhood Rain Cape: Why I Broke Up With My Rain Pants

I never really loved my rain pants. It was a relationship of convenience. Okay, you could say I used them for their durable water repellancy,  but in my defense they were really not bringing much to the relationship. I'd pull them out during the heavy spring rains, only to lament how sweaty-wet wasn't really any more fun than rainy-wet. Or, I'd pack them along in those uncertain days of early fall, only to find myself wondering, mid-downpour, if it was worth stopping by the side of the road to fiddle with my shoes and cuffs and pull them on.

Our time together was just marked by too much friction. You know what I mean?

So, when I first met the Cleverhood Rain Cape, I was smitten. I saw a future me that was drier and more fashionable. I saw a one-piece, throw--it-on-over-anything groove. I saw the words "Electric Gingham" and knew that basic black would never again be enough for me.

In the early days that the Cleverhood and I spent together, I wondered if my love for rain capes would only to prove proportionate to the disappointment of muggy rain pants.  But we've been through some stormy times now, and I can say with certainty that the rain cape has never let me down.

I suspect that everyone thinks their love story is unique. Enough about mine. I'd be happy to introduce you to your very own Cleverhood here at the shop.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Rain

It's unambiguous at this point. The rainy season is here. Actually, any real comment on the rain of the last couple of days will sound like an overstatement and feel like an understatement. It seems like there's an unspoken agreement that we have in Portland to just sum it up with a "Boy, howdy!", hoist our rain pants, and carry on.

There's value in that. In fact, a stoic regard for the rain jives nicely with happiness research which indicates that lowered expectations actually promotes happiness.

But my suspicion in this: We are kind of faking it. You know, to seem nice and well-adjusted. I suspect that part of us, by late-February/early-March is no longer hoisting up and carrying on. And so, with my years of experience coming to terms with the rainy season, I'm going to offer another set of complimentary perspectives to take for a spin.

1. Wet and dry is a continuum of experience. Let go of attachment to your concept of "dry" and "wet" as stable states. Reflect on permeability in the interpenetration of all things when your socks begin to feel moist. 

2. "The vase is already broken." Or, more aptly, "Your rain gear is already leaky." Those clever Buddhists have observed that, since everything comes and everything goes, we should appreciate the time that we have with things that are in a state of wholeness. Your shoe covers hold out water admirably now, but let's not be too surprised or dismayed when your socks begin to feel moist.

Then again, if actual, non-Buddhist dryness is your thing, come by the shop and we'd be happy to show you some of our favorite new rain gear.

Synethestics

I love a science fun fact almost as much as I love to share them. Today's fun fact is this:

Our sense of taste is connected not only to our sense of smell but also to how our ears hear. Nerves running through your ear called the Chorda Tympani connect the taste buds on the front of your tongue to your brain. So it is possible to damage your ears and have your donuts taste funky. Or even more awesome??

$20 each, but more delicious as a baker's dozen.

Which brings me to something else that I'm excited to share. We've got donut bike bells. Treat your bike, and your ears, and Portland's bikeways to the sweet, sweet sounds of donut. 

(We also have border collie, speedometer, and octopus bells, each tangentially relevant science fun facts, I'm sure!)

Happiness is a Daily Dose of Lateral Acceleration

One of my recent bike fit customers explained on his intake form that he bikes for "transportation, sanity." That makes complete sense to me. And probably to you. But why is it so hard to explain precisely why biking makes a person feel so good?

Does this question stump scientists just as does the mysterious physics of the bicycle itself? Luckily, I think we've got a hot lead on a good explanation.

His name is Slomo. He rides roller blades really slowly and has a theory about the relationship between happiness and lateral acceleration. He explains just briefly in this video how the forces of acceleration in his inner ear produce a feeling of expansiveness and joy, but one gets the sense that he'd be happy to tell you more.

As a cyclist, this strikes me as a confirmation of what I know in my (tiny ear) bones - that riding my bike makes me ridiculously happy. As a bike designer, it has me wondering if steering geometry can be optimized for lateral acceleration-induced joy. But as a human, I'm just thrilled that Slomo's got his slow roll on.

I'll Fit Your Cyclocarder Bike for a Pair of Mittens

No matter who walks in the door to my fit studio, by the time they are up on their bike, I have learned something fascinating. Sometimes it relates to the fitting; did you know that one of the dangers of being an environmental educator is that you can develop repetitive strain injuries in your wrists from puppet shows?!

But often enough, folks just bring in their smart, interesting selves and in the course of a few questions and answers I am gifted a glimpse of the world from an adjacent window.

This past weekend, it was the concept of a fibershed. Essentially, a fibershed describes the social and economic geography of how are clothes are grown, dyed, designed and fabricated. Awesome stuff if you are a fibernerd such as myself. My customer mentioned how a woman felted a wool vest by bike and thought I might like to check it out a little video in which this is mentioned.

Well, heck yeah! And you might as well.

Except for notions (buttons, zippers, etc), everything in Rebecca Burgess' wardrobe has been grown and designed within 150 miles of her home. But until putting her closet on a diet one year ago, nearly all her clothing was produced far from home, and that made her a very typical American.

I learned more about the woman who felts-by-bike here. Y'all might see me biking around this winter with a trailer full of wet soapy wool, hitting every speed bump at full tilt.

Busy Squirrels, Date Your Bike

Hello! My name is Natalie Ramsland, bike fitter at Gladys and owner of Sweetpea Bicycles. I'll be guest posting here from time to time. Having met so many of Gladys' fabulous customers, I feel like I'm in good company with you already, dear readers.

And now to what's on my mind this week.

(My bike is kind of a cheap date.)

You may be a bit like me. You might love fall and all the new routines it brings. You put new batteries in your bike lights, re-fasten the fenders, perhaps sign up for the Bike Commute Challenge… it all just gives your bike so much purpose.

But as I pedaled back from an afternoon errand today, I noticed the early-autumn smell of dry grass and overripe tomatoes. I heard the crunch of the first crispy leaves under my tires. I saw the industrious squirrels doing their thing. (Public Service Announcement: watch out for crazy squirrels!) It was all so lovely that I realized that I shouldn’t forget to date my bike. To ride for the sake of all that you can appreciate when you aren’t being so ever-lovin’ productive together.

I plan to take my bike on some dates this fall, and I invite you to consider doing the same. A few of my favorites:

• A trip to a ‘cross race. There are plenty of local races that are fun to ride to, whether your are cheering or racing.
• A picnic at Chapman to watch the swifts is a low-key way to spend the evening. This is Portland's answer to "walks on the beach"
• A ride up Saltzman (if your bike is feeling frisky) is one of my favorite ways to experience total leafy immersion in the fall

And if you happen to have a special person in your life, you might invite them along. Just don’t tell them that they are the third wheel.