PBP 2019

My girlfriend often jokes that I have the special ability to give any mundane scenario a grave moral dimension, to always be “ethically distraught” as she puts it. Such was the case with deciding whether or not to ride Paris-Brest-Paris. Could I really justify the enormous environmental cost of international air travel, just for the sake of a bicycle ride? And as of November, I was decided: I could not justify it, I would not ride.

Kyle K. was my best friend in high school. His special ability was to turn any situation into an absurd comedy. One of my fondest memories with him is of a road trip (by car) we took to see The Styrenes in Cleveland, Ohio. After the show we both had to be back to Lansing, Michigan for college finals. Exhausted, but with miles to go, we decided that we would sing to stay awake. Kyle had the stroke of genius that we would not just sing any songs, but sing the same song, over and over again. So that was how I came to sing “There’s A Man In Jerusalem” by the Southern Jubilee Singers for six hours straight.

Kyle and I had a great fight over the diverging courses our lives were taking, and as of his death in December we hadn’t spoken in over six years. My biggest regret in 29 years of life is having never reached out to him to patch things up. It pains me to conceive of the friendship I deprived myself of, on the basis of pride and stubbornness. These revelations and more forced me to reconsider my decision to pass on Paris-Brest-Paris. It is a tired trope, but perhaps one that everyone needs reminding of: life can be taken from you at any time, without warning and for no reason. What truly matters in life are the friendships we make, and the joyous times we have. When the time for pre-registration arrived, and I saw my friends discussing their start times on social media, I realized that there was no choice: I had to ride the event.

I determined that flexibility and spontaneity, rather than obsessive preparation, would be my ethos for this trip. In the face of so much foreignness, it seemed to me that it would be near impossible to predict what challenges might arise. It would be better, I reasoned, to embrace the adventure. As I wrapped up the assembly of my bike inside Charles De Gaulle Airport, I received my first text on my European SIM card from Preston (a relief, it worked!), “Me shawn and Bate are at a coffee shop. We are gonna hit the Singer shop soon.” So, all my luggage in tow, I headed straight for the legendary shop in Levallois.

I delighted in the glorious chaos of the workshop. Perhaps my own workshop could someday look so perfectly worn in. We loitered outside the shop catching up; and, it seemed that every ten minutes or so somebody else would show up on a classic randonneur bike to pay their respects. I had the feeling that this was a truly unique convergence. None of it had been prearranged, this was simply the place to be for fans of classic bicycles.

My ride to the hotel took me through several beautiful parks, surprisingly empty of people. In America, artifacts such as these statues would be regarded as a major destination; but, in Paris they were just another sight along the way.

It was raining when I awoke the next morning, and I determined to take the RER commuter rail line out to bike check in Rambouillet. At the train station, I struggled to get my bicycle through the turnstile, until a woman took pity on me and attempted to guide me with gestures. There was a secret passage below that allowed access to the platform. As I stepped on the the train I sighed in relief at the sight of other cyclists. Just to be safe, I asked “Rambouillet?” The other cyclist grinned and shook his head no, “Paris.” What terrible luck, these cyclists were returning from bike check, and I was on the train in the wrong direction!


Over breakfast, the next morning, my friend Sourav and I finally had a moment to relax and discuss life. Up until that moment the logistics of getting ready had absorbed every bit of my attention, and it was nice to take deep breath before starting my epic journey. One of the joys of randonneuring is making friends from all around the country (and the world). We may not see each other all the time, but when we do, there is always a lot to discuss! After breakfast, I departed again for Rambouillet, where riders were beginning to gather at the Hotel Mercure. My start time was 18:00, and I had a few hours to kill. At the hotel bar, I didn’t see any coffee pots, so I asked for an “Americano.” To my surprise, the bar tender started mixing up a cocktail. “Café?” I fearfully asked. The bartender laughed, “ah!” as he abandoned the cocktail glass in favor of the espresso machine.

It is here, at the starting line, that my story will, I fear, become significantly less linear. Sleep deprivation has that effect. As I rolled out, and saw my friends cheering, I called out to Shawn and Preston, “Vegan Punks PBP!” They wouldn’t be starting for a few hours yet, but I held onto hope that we would meet out on the road. For now, my mission was to catch Luke and Misha, thirty minutes ahead of me.

I hadn’t coordinated start times with any of my friends (maybe a good idea next time), but I quickly found riders that I had met on brevets earlier in the year. We rolled through our first village at sunset, still in a fairly large group. The level of excitement was high, and our pace was fast.

I spied Luke’s handlebar bag outside this pizza place in Mortagne-Au-Perche. Peering in, it looked as if an outlaw motorcycle gang had rolled into town. People were sitting, standing, sleeping, gesturing, wildly shouting, and devouring every scrap of food in sight. Walking in, I felt a great sense of accomplishment: I had achieved my first goal! Regrettably, there was not much food for me here (I am vegan and have celiac disease). I satisfied myself with half a bag of granola, a coke, and some fries bummed off another rider. Before long, we departed into the first dark night. Riding behind me, I heard Vinnie singing to himself,

In your eyes
The light the heat
In your eyes
I am complete
Your eyes
Your eyes

My energy gave out somewhere before the first control at Villaines-La-Juhel, and my stomach ached terribly (I later learned that many riders had similar symptoms). Sadly, I had to let my friends go, and I lay down for thirty minutes. It would have been easy to forget that I was anywhere at all during the night, until the sun rose over the village of Ambrières. These villages were like no place I had ever been before: a strange magic place. I found a cafe that morning, and ordered a large plate of fries. The proprietors were wonderfully grumpy. I met a rider from the Phillipines who told me of his club’s great collection of classic bicycles. I would love to see that collection, if only I had exchanged info with him!

I rode slowly for much of the day, hoping to catch my friends who had started at 20:00, and we finally met up shortly before the third control of Tinteniac. We swapped tips on vegan snacks in the French countryside, and Preston shared with me his coca-cola gummies. Nick shared the tip of ordering a bowl of rice, and dumping it into your vegetable soup (!). This tip alone, I feel, may have saved my ride. We planned to stop at a hotel shortly after Quédillac and get a bit of rest before the next night. I had an afterthought to check when my next control cutoff was, and to my dismay it was coming up. I asked my friends for permission to forget about getting credit for the ride, so that I could just ride at their pace. “No!” Shawn said, as he urged me down the road. Preston, Shawn, CJ, Ryan, and Nick retired to their hotel, and I lumbered down the lonely road.


Luckily, my loneliness did not last long. Emerging from an underpass just before Loudeac, I heard my name shouted from behind me. It was Misha, Luke, and Robert again! In my mind, we were headed into the wild for this next stretch. We rode under a big yellow moon and I noticed for the first time on this ride how many stars I could see. I also felt that my strength had finally returned. I remember trying to keep up with Luke as he sprinted up the rollers, trying to maintain momentum. I bumped into my friends from San Francisco, Ben, Irving, Ian, and Carlin. We crested a hill and came upon a relief station situated at a little village crossroads. It seems to me now that there was music and strings of lights, and that it felt like a party. Everybody was just a little crazy from the sleep deprivation, but our spirits were high. We were finally getting somewhere, and it seemed that nothing could stop us now.

A ditch nap separated me from my gang, shortly before the big climb in between Carhaix and Brest. Somehow I managed to catch them before the turn around, and we posed triumphantly for photos next to the iconic Pont de l'Iroise.

They gave us a PBP sticker at the control, and I felt a false sense of completion. I was forty hours in, and in desperate need of sleep. I awoke after an hour of sleep with a strange sense of panic. Where was I? Had I slept too long? I found a restaurant called “Tacos Time” and headed over in hopes of beans and rice. The owner looked at me like I was crazy, “no riz. Burgers.” I cannot for the life of me figure out why the place was called “Tacos Time,” however I managed to get another plate of fries.

The wind was now at my back, and I was having a blast. The rollers from the night before felt like hours of glorious descent in this direction. There seemed to be spectators everywhere, and there was even somebody watching from a hang glider. I stopped to drink a coke with one of the spectators, and another rider stopped with me. We did not speak, I don’t know if he spoke English, but there was an unspoken look, and we clinked our cans of soda.

I encountered Shawn in the little town of Sizun. He had gotten into a crash and was not feeling well enough to finish the ride. Despite the circumstances, he was in very good spirits. I admired his good attitude. I caught Preston again before Carhaix. I remember that we shook hands and agreed to do Cascade 1200 next year. We talked about how rolling through the villages at night makes you feel like you’re in one of those sports car races. How the roads have such a feel, and a flow. We were beginning to go nuts. We had been hoping to get all the way to Loudeac before sleeping, but it was not to be. I started getting the “nod-offs” around midnight, and had to stop for a ditch nap.

Later that night I bumped into Nate and Jeremy from Denver, and spent the night riding with them. Jeremy is an experienced framebuilder, and I wish we would have had a chance to talk shop; but, our pace was so fast that I didn’t dare stray from the paceline. I met Preston again at daybreak in Tinteniac. How had we gotten separated last night? What had happened? Neither of us seemed to really know.


We were having fun again, and the sun was out. I talked with my new friend Ryan, from Philadelphia, about how all of Europe had been clear cut long ago. What would this landscape look like if that had never happened? We were jamming to music on the stereo, and we even thought of stopping for a swim until we saw how murky the river was. We stopped at what felt like a French Walmart. It had an great selection of vegan food, and we feasted in the lobby of the supermarket. We had special European Doritos, that Ryan knew we should seek out. We had fake ice cream, and quinoa, and hummous and tofu.

The countryside almost looked like a battlefield, so numerous were the people sleeping on the roadside. I took a few portraits. Next time I will take more.

It was here, leaving Fougeres, that a very strange thing happened to me. I recall stopping with Preston for a ditch nap, but I don’t remember if we both woke up together. The next thing I remember was questioning who I was, and what I was doing. And the answer that I came up with was a strange one. I had been kidnapped by a French corporation. They were forcing me to ride across the country as a publicity stunt: to sell hemorrhoid cream! If I didn’t finish my ride in time, something terrible was going to happen to me. I’m not making this up, this was a real delusion I had. I was only brought out of it when a bee flew up my shirt and stung me. I pulled over to get a coke from some spectators and had the feeling of having been ripped from a dream by some invisible hand. Then I began to laugh hysterically at what a strange dream it had been.

Riding into Villaines-La-Juhel I met Bryan and Sam from Chicago. We talked custom bikes, and we talked about my plan to go to graduate school in the fall. We resolved to take an hours nap. I woke up two hours later when a drunk man woke me up to tell me that I looked cold. I had mixed up AM and PM on my alarms. Thank you rando gods! Who knows how long I would have slept otherwise? Realizing that time was no longer on my side, I hammered into the night.

Somewhere in this final night there was a support station where they were blasting Aqua’s “Barbie Girl.” That may have been the best moment in the entire ride. “Come on Barbie, let’s go party!” It was very cold that night, and I rode fast to stay warm. I rode with a tremendous descender from Slovenia, and I followed him closely so as not to lose him. It seemed to me that our tires on the asphalt sounded like a train rumbling down the tracks. There was a certain clarity to our adrenaline fueled madness. On this night, I did not get sleepy even once. A British rider told an amazing joke at one of the support stations, making fun of our President: I couldn’t retell it. I asked if I really had to return home at the end of the ride. He said that I did indeed have to go home, if only to bolster the numbers of the sane.

Delusion again took hold of me before Dreux. I had an intense feeling of déja vu and thought that some spirit had visited me to give special insight into our course. Leaving the control that morning, I encountered my friend from San Francisco who’s name I cannot recall (red bike, no helmet). He asked how I was doing, to which I responded “I AM OUT OF MY GODDAMNED MIND.” He said, “Yeah, me too!” And then a sense of calm came over me, and I knew that I would be able to finish the ride if I stuck with him.

We rolled into Rambouillet like a “ship of fools,” talking to ourselves and giddy to be so close to the end. One rider was apparently approaching her time limit, and was nonchalantly announcing to the group how much time she had remaining. I marveled as she announced that the time had passed, as if it didn’t mean a thing in the world to her. Perhaps someday I will be able to have such a good attitude about cycling. Our pace grew faster and faster as we approached the finish line, and all I could think of was a cold beverage. I finally arrived with thirty minutes to spare. I was anxious to go and get my card signed, but was informed that hugs come first.

Inside the tent, I couldn’t help but tear up as the volunteer hung the medal around my neck. My ride had been so much more challenging, more magical, and more rewarding than I had ever imagined it would be. Not only did I not spend my time riding alone, I managed to ride or hang out with with almost every single person I knew who was riding the event. I even caught Ian H. shortly after he finished his monumental ride in Charly Miller time on a fixed gear.

Although I had initially planned to split a room with Sourav out near Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, I was worried about my ability to handle the transit system the next morning. I decided to take a nap in Saint-Quentin-en-Yvelines, and then head to the airport and get a hotel room there for the night. I thought my trip was basically done, but PBP had one more bit of magic in store for me. As I rode my bike to make a connection between two different RER lines, I heard some voices in the crowd saying, “hey!” It was Preston, Shawn, and Ryan. In this whole giant city, we had somehow managed to bump into each other one more time. Shawn informed me that he was having trouble keeping the other two from mischief, so wild were they on lack of sleep. I picked up a huge order of avocado sushi, and we watched Paris nightlife unfold around us.

Randle 300/400k


Dimitri Grechi Espinoza - “L’’assoluto”

I was weirdly scared about this ride. The route I drew up was intended as a midnight start 400k, into the area between Mount Saint Helens and Mount Adams. Here’s the file. This was going to be my first solo all night ride. There was something else too, a lonely unease. Too many UFO shows, I guess, Then there was the memory of that bear encounter a few weeks ago, that had me sensing danger around every corner. Ironically, the night stage went just fine. The rest of the ride was the hard part, and I wound up taking an early bailout. Here’s what I actually wound up riding.



I like a midnight start because you get “the darkest hour” out of the way at the beginning, while you’re still fresh; but, it’s hard to find the will to leave home just as everybody else is putting on their pajamas. Luckily my girlfriend managed to get me out the door.

Things started off a little rough, with a shouting match breaking out on the MAX, and some trouble with my GPS device. I had never actually ridden the historic highway at night before. It’s different. I recognized the familiar roadside waterfalls only by their sounds. Multnomah Falls lodge was eerily empty. No roasted pecans at this hour. This route would really be something on a full moon.

I had been counting on coffee and a warm break in Cascade Locks. Unfortunately, only the pumps were open at the 24/7 gas station. I tried the hotel lobby, but they turned me away. So I ate my muffin in the public bathroom by the bridge and popped a caffeine pill. The dark sentiment about American hospitality notwithstanding, my spirits were high once I got to highway 14. I say this to everybody: highway 14 is awesome, but only if you ride it at night. The call from passing trains will hit you like a ton of bricks. I wave to the conductor every time. Passing through one of many tunnels out past Carson, I sang along to the music in my headphones (the Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory).


When the sky began to lighten around 4:30, I was struck by the feeling of not being where I was before. The hills here were more barren. Soon the light revealed Mount Adams, looming coldly ahead. This area is much more remote feeling than the Hood area. Due to a tail wind in the gorge, I arrived in Trout Lake quite a bit before I had planned. A longer break, coffee, or warm food might have saved me here; but, the market was not open yet. And it was cold just sitting around. So I pumped some water from a rusty spigot in the city park (I suspect this was a bad choice) and pressed on to the real climbing.


The climb up to Babyshoe Pass from Trout Lake was pretty discouraging. Up until the gravel section, you don’t get many views because the tree cover is so thick. A heavy fog (clouds?) had rolled in, and the air had the feeling you get near an indoor swimming pool. When I reached the junction with NF-8810, I thought of taking an early turn toward Cougar, but didn’t. I reached the top feeling lousy. My hands numb from the gloves I didn’t bring. Calorie depleted from not using the numb hands to eat my granola. Depressed at the thought of a whole day of riding in grey cloudy weather. Even the Babyshoe Pass sign failed to cheer me up.


The gravel part of the descent was pretty washboarded and I had to go slow. The views were great, however, even on this cloudy day. When I got down to the Cispus river, I noticed some well used pull-offs for dispersed camping, and decided it was time for a nap. I brought my SOL bivy, which worked perfect in this situation. I woke up from the sound of a nearby tree creaking. I then noticed that I was sleeping under a partly sawn tree, that was being held from falling by some rope tied to another tree. After that I couldn’t get back to sleep.


The diner in Randle really cheered me up, but I could tell that the rest of the ride was going to be rough. The original route had me returning south over another major mountain pass. I called my girlfriend and she drew up the route I wound up taking, which used roads I had recently ridden on the SIR Tahuya Hills route. It’s nice to have fond memories attached to a place. I knew that I could get a vegan milkshake in Centralia, and so that was my motivation for the last half of the day.


My strawberry milkshake was very very good. The train station in Centralia was unstaffed in the evening, but I had my ticket on my phone. I lay down for another nap, but was awoken by a man in a Hawaiian shirt. He told me that he had been watching Godzilla. He asked me if I was familiar with the Book of Revelations. Something about the number three. I thought he was crazy, but then he told a seemingly sane story about a buddy of his crashing on STP. I think there was some logic to it all that was escaping me. I don’t think he was a ghost or an alien, just a strange man who got bored in the middle of Godzilla. I think there was a movie theater across the street.

Dufur Dreamin'



”In the color of a plum or an apricot, in the luxuriance of a bowl of grapes set out in ritual display, in a bottle of wine, the soil and sunshine of California reached millions of Americans for whom that distant place would henceforth be envisioned as a sun-graced land resplendent with the goodness of the fruitful earth.”

from “Inventing the Dream: California Through the Progressive Era” by Kevin Starr

Well, what d'ya do? I mean, do you just ride around or do you go on some sort of a picnic or something?”

from The Wild One (1953)


I wanted to write about our ride to Dufur, a fruit stand in the Hood River Valley, the bear on NF-17, and the clanging procession we created in his wake. To sketch the orchards and abandoned barns. To describe the practice of espalier (or at least what I understand of it). The campground in the city park. Hash browns at the market the next morning, John Mayer on their stereo. But I can’t seem to find the words anymore. Maybe another cup of coffee, but I tried several times this week, and wonder if it’s time to set down the pen. I hope you enjoy the pictures, and may your summer be filled with adventures like this one.


Pre-Ride: Bridge of the Gods 200k


Signup information and RWGPS route
”The Hits Hurt”

I’m co-hosting a brevet for Oregon Randonneurs with Graham next week. The route is from Portland out to Cascade Locks via the historic highway, and then back on highway 14 and Washougal River Road. Here is the pre-ride report!


I really like night riding, so we didn’t start until lunch time; but, the actual ride starts at 6am. The start is right near Hollywood Transit Center, so please consider taking the MAX rather than driving if you can. The grass was tall and slow in the breeze along Marine Drive, and I was reminded of my first trip to Oregon.

In Troutdale, we stopped at a cafe that’s also a furniture store. My friend Chris shared a hand bound booklet that he had made, filled with pictures of adventures from last summer. I reflected on the fact that this was, perhaps, the first truly pleasant ride of the season.

We then dropped into the Gorge and over the Stark Street Bridge. Not quite warm enough for a swim just yet.


The first control at Vista House is followed by a really fun descent. I can never seem to make it all the way without using the brakes, but I always try. We passed a few waterfalls, before hitting the traffic jam at Multnomah Falls (I don’t think this would have been a problem earlier in the day). Take extra care here, as drivers often get frustrated with the backup and make unexpected moves.


The Multnomah Falls Lodge is great. Only a few months ago, the historic highway trail was covered in snow, and I stopped in to warm up by the fire. Today we ate roasted pecans sitting on the stone benches, just like tourists from years past. On this route you are frequently confronted with the history of our relationship with the landscape


Wind River Road is quiet and wide, as you enter the National Forest. Your turn around point is about eight miles up. We stopped to look over the high bridge. If you were to keep riding it would take you up to viewpoints of Mount Saint Helens, but, that is a ride for another day.


The 20 mile stretch on Highway 14 may have a lot of car traffic, depending upon the time of day, although it was fine for us. The upside is that the view of the Oregon side of the river is really pretty. You’ll hop off the highway just before Cape Horn, and onto smaller roads that will lead you back to Washougal. It was dusk over the treeline, and stars were just starting to appear as we rode into the quiet of the night. A few quick miles on Washougal River Road and we were back in town: the home stretch. Along Old Evergreen Highway, I enjoyed the smell of Douglas Fir bark coming from the lumber mill, and felt a bit of relief to see Rocky Butte across the river.


Fall Photos, Ramblings


This first set of photos is from a coast trip I took with some friends back in October. We took OR-6 out with a detour into the forest part way. This wound up being a great way to do it, although we did lose our way and had to hop back out to the highway somewhat prematurely. This day of riding was especially memorable due to extreme wind and rain. I was actually blown off my bike at the top of Cape Meares (which is still closed to cars and super nice to ride, by the way). Luckily it was pretty warm, and we had a dry cabin to stay at.


Chris, Clayton, and Geoff prepared a wonderful feast for us, including vegan chili and tater tots. We listened to the MusicChoice Easy Listening station and played a round of Evolution before turning in for the night. We decided to get an early start around 10am...


We took the Nestucca River route home, which was still closed to cars but passable on bike. This meant virtually zero traffic the whole way. We had on and off rain all day and occasional glimpses at a deep blue sky behind the great cotton ball clouds. It was a perfect fall overnighter.


Above, Geoff tosses a pizza crust. You read right, he baked four pizzas while camping, including a gluten-free one just for me. What a guy!


Above: that's Malcolm, he's a puppet and he's good at karaoke. I like to have him sing My Heart Will Go On. Below: the best part about camping is hanging out at the picnic table in the morning. It was another late start. We are a bunch of night owls.


This last set of pictures is from a solo scouting ride I did. The general idea was to find some more fun ways of getting to the Cougar area. It was great, except that the stretch along the Kalama River wound up being on Weyerhauser land (I have since learned that they have a map of their holdings online). Above: the first part of the route uses a section of the Silver Star Prison Break route, which I would highly recommend.


The Yale Bridge is my favorite bridge in the whole world. On my first organized brevet,  I remember bombing down to it in the aero tuck, trying to hang with Michael P. and Chris W. and being blown away by it. It just comes out of nowhere.


From Cougar, I rode up to Merrill Lake, which looks like a great place to camp. It's out of the way, and not super popular. It was super windy when I rode through.


The final stretch along the Kalama river was absolutely beautiful. Unfortunately, it's on Weyerhauser land and requries a $75 permit. It does make a much safer connection back to the Columbia than riding on highway 503. Next time, I might be tempted to head southeast, and return via the gorge (especially when the historic highway trail opens up again).


Looking forward, the Evergreen Grinder is going to be tons of fun. At least three of us are planning on heading up, maybe more. I'm looking forward to catching up with old friends, and meeting some new ones.

Ride Report: Crater Lake 1000K


This last weekend I rode SIR's (Seattle International Randonneurs) Crater Lake 1000k event, and it was a total party. Pictured above, the legendary Ian Hands: professional randonneur.

Here's the route.

In short, it's a 400k and then two 300ks, with over 10,000 feet of climbing every day, featuring some of the most spectacular scenery in the entire Northwest. It was a midnight start in Bremerton, which is a quick ferry ride from Seattle. Then there were two mid-ride overnights at hotels, one in Neskowin, and in Roseberg. I slept about two hours each night. This was truly one of the most fun bike rides I've ever done, and I'd really encourage people to check it out next time it comes around!


Pictured above: my boys Chris and Sourav. We hammered through "the darkest hour" to breakfast in Raymond. I had a bit of cramping, but came through it all feeling pretty good. My secret weapons for night riding are well timed caffeine pills, and jamming to Levert. Stick with your buddies: "...there's no need to be proud, hey if something's hurtin' you, could be it hurts your brothers too."


We had headwinds the whole time going down 101. What are you gonna do? Luckily there were a few fun detours inland providing a bit of a break from the gusts. In Cannon Beach we got juice at a little market that had a print of the poster for the film "Endless Summer" on the wall. It was seventy degrees and sunny for most of the day, and I felt that this was truly the ethos of that film, in a different place and time. Ian was on, I think, his third ride over 1000K for this summer. Randos may in fact be the beach bums of the road cycling set.


Sourav "the Machine" Das and I took off around 3am. The night in Neskowin had been filled with odd dreams of something ambiguous named "the Promise". I suppose we found it, or at least part of it, in Depoe Bay. We also found a sorely needed bathroom.


Day two was a long one. Around 3pm we realized that one of the control cut off times, still forty miles out, was creeping up on us. So we hammered down the coast at around 18mph for two hours, and down roller after roller, until we hit Reedsport: the end of the coastal section for this ride. Such hammering called for french fries. The central Oregon coast has such a unique feel. A coastal paradise similar to northern California, yet obscured by a veil of mist for most of the year. The candy and souvenir shops seem weary eyed, "oh traveler, you've come at last?" Like the city in the clouds that disappears when you think you've found it.


Day two ended with a wonderful climb through the mountains to Roseberg. The "ghost of the Umpqua" surprised us at the top of the Camp Creek climb with sodas and chips. Having gotten a little bit ahead of my gang on the descent, I layed down to look at the stars on this crystal clear night: we were riding by moonlight and Edelux. This turned into a little nap that made all the difference.


Around 3am we started the day right with hash browns and juice at Denny's. And thus began the 100 mile climb up to Crater Lake. Pictured above my day three crew, rando power siblings Misha and Luke.


A few nights prior I had watched the western film Canyon Passage, filmed at Crater Lake, to get excited for this ride. There were numerous shots of a very pointy mountain, which I later discovered Mount Thielsen. Imagine my excitement when I turned around and saw it in real life. A little nap at Diamond Lake restored body and mind before the final bit up to Crater Lake.


I didn't actually get any shots of the lake itself. It was so cold with all the wind that we just did one group shot with somebody else's camera. However I did get a few shots bombing down to the lodge. I put on all my clothes by the great fire. As it was for the travelers back in the Progressive era when this lodge was built, this was not simply a place to enjoy the finer things in life. We were on an epic adventure, and this stately lodge was our last bit of refuge from the tempest of wind and darkness about to engulf us. As you can see, we descended at sunset, which was truly a treat. A cold treat, like dippin' dots maybe.


We hammered into the night, under a sky full of twinkling stars. We stopped at a post office to warm up and ate the last of the food. I like those ginger chewy candies. Our minds were mush, and we laughed like madmen stumbling out of the loony bin. When we finally arrived in Klamath Falls, Vinnie had gluten-free vegan pizza waiting for me and Misha (also a vegan). And I realized that these were the best people in the world: my friends.

Ride Report: Cougar Campout


Glen Campbell and Jimmy Webb: Sunshower

Our final group, after quite a few last minute bail outs, had four of us riding out and another three driving out due to schedule conflicts. It's really something special to have friends to ride bikes with, and I'm truly grateful to everybody who showed up for this. The format, I think, is something that I'll want to play with in future events, but it worked pretty well in the end.

The notion was to leave midday Friday, in case people couldn't get the whole day off, but could maybe knock off a few hours early. We would do a more spirited ride Saturday sans-bags, and then ride home on Sunday. This differs quite a bit from how I've seen others do similar events, and I think I like it better. For the Un-Meeting, they simply publish a location and let the riders sort all that out, and so the group is only really together on the middle day. On the other hand, it seems like most small groups and clubs that hosted a Swift Campout opted for a very short two day adventure. That maybe works a bit better in towns more nestled into the backcountry, but not so great in the Portland area with its sprawling suburban periphery.

Our route took us out through Battle Ground, to the small town of Yacolt, and then on to our camp 20 miles east of Cougar, WA. Eagle Cliff Camp itself was wonderful, and it was quite a surprise because details were very sparse on their website. In fact, they have a well stocked camp store (open Th-Su), a little pizza shack, showers, and the some of the biggest, nicest campsites I've yet encountered. We arrived pretty late, having left at 3pm and having ridden about 85 miles, but the drive-out crew had a fire roaring and cold refreshments waiting. We hit sunset just as the road opened up onto the expanse of Yale Lake. The wind picked up as we rode those final twenty miles, and the reservoir glimmered yellow in the light of the rising full moon. We stopped at a high perch for beer and snacks.

Day two had us climbing gravel roads toward the viewpoints on the eastern rim of the volcano. I didn't get many pictures, but to paraphrase my hero John Denver: some roads are diamonds. We didn't quite make it as far as I had planned due to a washed out road, but I definitely want to return to check it out again someday. If you want to explore yourself, the first stretch of 2560 is great, but it was washed out just after crossing the main paved road 25. It was probably hoppable, but who knows how bad it gets after that. On the other hand, the Forest Service map does list it as a improved gravel road, so maybe this was just a recent issue.

Cougar Campout Day 2

The paved descent back down to camp on 25 is probably one of the most fun descents I know of. It's perfectly snaky, with great views, and very light traffic. Doing the gravel back down probably would have been fun too, but we were ready to be done for the day. We then got pizza (important) and watched the sunset down under the bridge at what we think was the actual Eagle Cliff. Here we discovered unnatural talents, and contemplated the function of the fish water slide. Specifically, rider Chris is extremely good at stacking rocks, and rider James is extremely good at rock bocce ball. I do not know how the fish water slide works.

On day three, we opted to return via the same route we took on day one due to high traffic and a strong headwind on highway 503. I actually didn't mind it because you get a very different view riding the opposite direction. And the weather was so lovely I think I would have enjoyed riding just about anywhere (with the obvious exception of North Valley Road in Washington County which I absolutely despise no what context). Riding in high spirits, and thoroughly warmed up by now, we made pretty good time, getting home by around dinner time.

And that was it for the Cougar Campout. I think I might plan a longer event in August, and try to get some regular after work rides going.


Ride Report: How long? How long have you been away?


Tatsuro Yamashita - Rainy Walk

Yesterday we threw our first longer ride, and I'm pleased to say it was a lot of fun. With the exception of a few bailouts before we got out of town, our whole gang finished together. We had a great variety of bikes, from skinny tire road bikes to dropper post equipped bikepacking bike. There was also a great variety of riders. For some this was one of the hardest rides they had ever taken on, and for others this was training for upcoming tours. One rider was even gearing up for the Steens Mazama 1000.


The day started off sunny, but as we rode east a great dark cloud hung over the horizon. This quickly gave way to pouring rain. Luckily it was fairly warm out. The rapid changes in weather made for some spectacular clouds and deep blue skies beyond them.


So I had initially posted the wrong route file on my advertisements for this ride. I had claimed it was going to be 61 miles and 4000 feet, when in actuality it was 78 miles and 6000 feet. Oopsie. Lucky for me everybody was really nice about it and we got through it without issue. I find that the climbs are a good time to make new friends. You're all going slow enough that you can chat without having to yell, and the talking helps keep your mind off of the effort.


As we descend into the furnace of summer, I will remember this final cool and cloudy day fondly.

Ride Report: Lolo Pass Adventure


Martin Denny - The Enchanted Sea

We set out early Sunday morning, intending to ride my RAMHOD (Ride Around Mount Hood in One Day) route. The notion was to ride the two main Mount Hood passes in quick succession, making a loop starting at the end of the MAX line in Gresham. Lots of miles, lots of climbing, a bit of gravel.


After an initial hitch of almost riding the Red Line all the way to the airport, things got off to a good start. The weather was excellent, and we had managed to get on the road reasonably early. I commented that I was most concerned about getting too cold, more so than about getting exhausted. Our route would have us descending from Government Camp around sunset, and I had DNF'ed a similar route a few years back because I got too cold on the way down. Luckily, it wasn't supposed to dip below 45 even at that elevation.


Like half of these pictures came out all soft focus. Approaching the entrance to Sandy Ridge, we were passed by vehicle after vehicle loaded up with mountain bikes. I stewed a bit about the lack of a good shuttle system from Portland, but it was hard to stay angry with such wonderful scenery. We took a little detour hoping to find a friend of James who owns some property in the area. Unfortunately he wasn't home, but we did stop for a snack on his driveway. Finally, we reached the first climb of the day: Lolo Pass.


After maybe a half hour of climbing in the trees, we reached the powerline-cut that forms the upper section of the pass. The clearing made for some great views.


We had some power jams on the stereo.


There was no summit sign, but somebody had sprayed this on the road. At the top it turns to gravel for a little bit. There were a couple wheel eating pot holes, but overall it was a really nice descent.


Right after I took the above picture James pulled over because his wheel was feeling weird. It turned out that all his sealant had tried up. Luckily, he had l planned ahead and had a backup tube to throw in. Unfortunately, when he put the wheel back in, he noticed a click coming from somewhere on the bike. We spent quite a while trying to figure it out, but in the end decided it was a task better left for the work stand. Rather than risk descending from Hood on a bike with a mystery problem, we opted to head back via the Gorge. It would be almost the same distance, but with rollers instead of the single face melting bomb down from Government Camp.


Only after reaching Hood River and stopping for snacks did I remember that much of the Gorge is currently really really hard to get through on bike. Oopsie. With the sun setting fast, and with no other good options, we decided to grit our teeth and power through to Cascade Locks on 84.  And as is so often the case with our rides, we took solace in the fact that, if we did not die, this would make for a good story. I rode for quite a while on the oncoming traffic side shoulder (too afraid to hop the median) scrunched between a rock wall and some traffic cones, with traffic flying by at 70mph. It was harrowing. We explored a few sections of the Historic Highway trail that are currently under construction, but there was nothing that really went anywhere in its current state.


Somewhere in there we found a side road that lasted us a good 5 or so miles. That was nice.


There was a magic pony. I put on the Twin Peaks soundtrack. I never get sick of that soundtrack. Takes you to a better world. The damage from last year's fires blends in nicely, and is not at all the gaping scar people seemed to imagine it would be.


I love mountain silhouettes at night, especially the ones on the cover of Alexander O'Neal's 1985 classic self-titled album (featuring "If You Were Here Tonight". This scene at the Bridge of the Gods made me think of that. If you haven't ridden the Bridge of the Gods, the road surface is see-through grating. You really shouldn't look down, and you definitely shouldn't whip out your phone for a picture.


After that it was too dark for pictures. Highway 14 in Washington is super sketchy around dinner time, but after 9pm it really is a delight. We took it pretty fast for the final forty miles, as the need for sleep became more of a thing. Though we didn't do the route as intended, it had been a really nice ride. Maybe I'll put together a group run of RAMHOD later in the season.

Ride Report: Fleche, Everybody Loves Raymond


On Saturday and Sunday I rode Seattle Rando's 24 hour "Fleche Velocio" event. For this event, as a team, you have to ride for 24 hours and cover at least 360km. You're not allowed to take any breaks longer than two hours, and you have to ride at least 25km after hour 22. In short, you're basically supposed to ride the whole time.

Part of the reason I want to write about this event is that I want to elaborate on what I like and don't like about "Randonneuring". I love the spirit of pushing yourself to the limit, taking on challenges that you're not sure you can take. I also really love that you wind up getting yourself into kind of sketchy situations. The best brevets feel like true adventures (this one included). What I don't love is the ethos of individualism. At least at Oregon Randonneurs events, most people ride the event solo. They may stick with one person or another for fifteen minutes or so, but in general the attitude is that each person is on their own ride. Flat tire? Bye bye. Hit a section that doesn't play to your strengths and you get dropped.

And so I find that ORR events wind up really sucking if you haven't brought along somebody you know will stick with you. So this Fleche event appealed to me because it's specifically a team event. At least three riders have to finish in order for the team to get credit. Each team has to write their own route, design in checkpoints (usually a convenience store with a receipt acting as the control), and come up with a schedule they think they can handle.

Team Tasty Randos consisted of me and my buddies Chris, David, and Michael. My response to Chris after he agreed to do the event, "you will regret this."

Things started off well at 7am in Hillsboro. I wanted to start at 8am but the other guys insisted. Usually I hate the Banks-Vernonia trail - it's super flat, and boring, and crowded. But this early it was nice and empty, and lack of traffic meant it was a nice chance to chat and catch up.


We got to our first control in Vernonia well ahead of schedule, which felt good. Michael, a very experienced randonneur, helped keep us from taking lengthy breaks. "You can eat and ride" he admonished, "c'mon, back on the bikes". It was only later in the ride that I came to truly appreciate the value of not stopping for too long...

I brought a bunch of rice balls, and a muffin to eat. The muffin was a bit tricky, but I managed to get it down on the way to Clatskanie. As we rolled through clear cuts on steep rollers, it dawned on me that our route mostly went through logging areas. There is something rough about a clear cut, very rough. On the other hand, I can't deny that freshly cut Douglas Fir smells amazing. It felt good to know that our impact on the natural world today would be fairly minimal.

Next came Longview, via the Lewis and Clark Bridge. If you look up that bridge on the interwebs, you will encounter ominous warnings, "ride at your own risk". I am here to say, no. It's fine. The Lewis and Clark Bridge is not sketchy. There's a wide shoulder, cars don't move that fast. It's just really high, and seems kind of rickety, and there's a lot of logging debris; but truly, it's nothing to be afraid of.


Longview is weird. I dont' know how to explain in what way, but it's weird. Leaving Longview we hit a huge headwind. It was crushing. It took us over an hour to go ten miles. Chris got a flat on the way. Finally, we hit the turn that would take us to the gravel section. Now would be the fun part.

We turned straight into a 26.5% grade. We tried to pedal up it, but even with my triple chainring I couldn't stay upright. Luckily, the grade mellowed out after a bit, and we were able to ride again.

Michael was concerned that the gravel section might be too rough to traverse, so he flagged down a car to see if they could tell us. She seemed unsure exactly where we were going, but thought that it was paved all the way. That was a good sign. Though the gravel would be fun, pavement would be easier. On second thought though, she wasn't sure if the paved road led to Pe Ell (our next control) or not. There was one way to find out.

"No Trespassing" said the sign next to the gate, "Property of Sierra Pacific Logging Company". Now we were in trouble. On the one hand, it was Saturday and there probably wouldn't be any active logging going on. On the other hand, getting caught could mean a hefty fine. We debated a bit. I wanted to risk it, but David and Michael were concerned about getting caught. But passing on this section would mean a pretty sizeable detour. Instead of going through Pe Ell, we would have to ride along the Columbia River to the coast, and then going north to Raymond, the next control. And it would mean going back into that same terrible headwind we fought on the way from Longview.

We decided to take the detour. After about ten minutes fighting into the headwind, David decided he just wasn't having fun and turned around for Longview. On a ride like this it's really important to gauge how you're feeling before it's too late to turn back. David is also a very experienced randonneur (he completed Paris-Brest-Paris in 2015) so we trusted his judgement and didn't try to insist that he stick with us.

This section of the ride was truly a slog. Around 6:30 we passed a little restaurant, and Michael suggested we stop for a hot meal, a last meal before all the sit down establishments closed. After some well deserved fries, we hopped back on the bikes and rode into the sunset. Things were about to get much much darker.


Now came the endless quest for the city of Raymond. Feeling the clock at our backs, we hadn't really stopped to figure out how far away it was. At this point, there were no other options. As darkness fell, we found ourselves stopping at half hour intervals to put layers back on, and things started to feel far less friendly. Near Naselle we got harassed by some guys in a truck. Should we stop for a coffee? "No, I insisted, lets keep riding. I don't want to lose my momentum."

Finally, we hit 101 and turned north, away from the headwind. The headwind was replaced by a climb. It was dark now, with almost no traffic. A sign said Raymond was 35 miles away. "Okay," I thought, "that's like three hours at 12mph." That was the longest three hours of the entire ride.

At this point, all my layers were on, and I still had to keep up the pace to avoid losing feeling in my hands. If I lost feeling in my hands I knew I'd be in trouble. Somewhere in there I caught a glimpse of silver light reflected on ocean waves. I heard a melancholy tune, and knew it was the Rando Moon. Then, Michael pulled up along side me and said he was in bad shape, falling asleep. He needed to nap badly. Raymond couldn't be much farther, could it?

An hour later, and we were all feeling pretty rough. Michael threw a hitching thumb up at any passing traffic, but nobody wanted to take a chance on us weirdos. Luckily, we knew there would a McDonalds in Raymond where we could probably nap. Michael was sure he had napped there on a 400k a while back. \

As we pulled into Raymond our hearts sank. The McDonalds was dark inside. A sign on a nearby buiding said 35 degrees. Things were looking bleak. We had space blankets, but even with them a nap outside woiuld be pretty difficult. The alternative was to keep riding despite the risk of dozing off and crashing into a ditch (or worse).


Salvation came in the form of an all-night Chevron station. The attendant was the hero of this ride. He let us chill for over an hour. It was a weird hour. As we napped in front of the freezer boxes, I can only imagine what the passing drunk partiers, truck drivers, night shift workers, and weary travelers must have been thinking about us. At one point, I went out to the Port-A-Potty and some dude asked me "You gotta shit, buddy?" and then he kind of rubbed my tummy. It was *weird*. We drank coffee and ate cheap snacks. As we were leaving Michael got the idea to stuff space blankets into his pants for extra warmth. It was around 2am when we left Raymond.

We rode endless rollers for hours. My memory of this part grows fuzzy. I remember that I started taking the descents really fast, reasoning that I would try to get them over quickly, before sleep would have a chance to sneak up on me. We played games to stay awake: name all the states, name all the Canadian provinces, important historical dates. We tried to sing some songs. It was a battle.

After about three hours, we hit Montesano and turned back east. What luck, an espresso stand already open for the morning! She asked me how my "morning" was going. That was a relief, it was now "morning". I downed a double shot and a juice, and passed out for a few minutes. It was a sleepy fifteen minutes of riding until the caffeine kicked in. To my relief I noticed the horizon turning blue: it would be light out soon


Around 5am I took a picture of this gas station as a replacement for our 22:00 hour control. It was doubtful that we'd make it to Olympia in time, but I thought it might be nice just in case.


We didn't make it in time. At 7am we were still about 30 miles out. We knew we would not be getting "credit" for the ride, but we could still make it in time for brunch! You see, part of the event is a mandatory brunch get together. It had been a running joke along the ride that the whole point of the ride was to get brunch. This goal, now became a serious motivation. I mean, we had paid for that brunch, what a waste if we didn't make it in time!

Our pace quickened as we sensed that the end of the ride. Unfortunately there was a little bit more trouble to come. Just past McCleary on state road 8 Michael flagged us to pull over, he was going to be sick. What had poisoned him? It was the hot chocolate he suggested. Beware of gas station hot chocolate at 2am. Michael we be sick the rest of the day, and the next day.

As we pulled into Olympia, we found a few familiar faces milling around and made our way to the River's Edge country club. I don't think we quite looked like we belonged at a country club at that moment. Most of the other teams had done a night start 12 hours before we did, so they were all showered, rested and fresh. We resembled four day old pastries.

I sat down and had two full plates of potatoes. Somebody offered to bring me a coffee, what hospitality! As we sat down to look at our mileage, we realized that we actually had gone about 400k. For me, this was great consolation for the fact that we didn't get credit for the ride. It was the longest distance Chris or I had ever ridden! Twice what Chris had ever done before. And I was still feeling pretty damn good, all things considered.

The ride organizer, the illustrious Theo, then announced that we would all be standing up in front of the room and telling the story of our ride. Here's a fun idea: public speaking, after riding for 26 hours straight? For fuck's sake, these guys are crazy!


Seatstay Bottles

Or: making a braze-on fixture with Alex

My buddy wanted to put some bottle cages on his old On One frame in preparation for riding the Oregon Outback route next week. He came upon the idea of sticking some mounts on the seatstays rather than on the underside of the downtube as is more traditional. The logic here is that if you're tired and lifting the frame over a log or something, it's nice not to have to lift up that extra two inches to clear a bottle.

So I machined a little fixture. Normally a bottle cage mount doesn't need to be fixtured, since you can drill the tube fairly accurately. The bottle bosses auto-fixtures inside the hole. But since I was using spools, I thought a it might be nice to try and keep the bosses in plane with each other.


That handy little magnetic stand (named Mr. Helpful) is a cheapo dial indicator holder. A dial indicator is a little gauge that machinists use to take relative measurements of different sides or sections of a workpiece. They make magnetic holders like this so that you can position your indicator wherever you want it by clamping on to a 3/8"ø shaft. Conveniently, 3/8"ø aluminum rod is readily available and super easy to machine. I've got a bunch of little tips I made for Mr. Helpful, mostly to aid in sticking on braze-ons. The little knob loosens the whole arm assembly which can then be positioned wherever, and fixed by re-tightening the knob.


We decided to go with spool braze-ons here since it's an area that can see a lot of bumping. I find that spools, as opposed to bottle bosses or other threaded bosses, are more robust due to greater surface area for brazing.


It's a pretty cool place to mount some bottles in what is otherwise wasted space on most frames. Unless it's a super stiff road touring bike, front loads usually feel way better than rear loads. People are finally catching on to that with the rise in popularity of bikepacking style cargo bags, and so we're seeing fewer and fewer frames running rear pannier setups these days (finally). I think this setup could really be great for a lot of riders. You know, it's always nice to have extra water.


Every Day A Lesson

"Time was a friend of mine
Back when I was young
And summer was forever
Time, good was your first name
Every day a lesson
With something new to learn"

From Paul Williams' aptly named "Time" off Someday Man. Paul Williams is fucking amazing. I think I've listened to this album at least once a week, if not more, for the past six months. So many people seem to be consistently down these days, without hope. I'm no different. When I can't find the sunshine, I turn on Paul for a little pick me up.

The Muppets are good for a pick me up too. Did you know that Paul Williams wrote the music for the original Muppet Movie? Speaking of things that are green, this green bike is still here.


For god's sake will somebody come buy this? 57cm seat tube (c-c) 55cm horizontal top tube. Good for somebody like 5'11"ish, low trail, fairly upright. Easy rando, light tour, commuter even. 650 x 48. Most certainly better than that Crust you've been eyeballing, and probably cheaper if you're nice about it. And you get the feeling of moral righteousness that you get from supporting a small builder.

Starting a small business is difficult because wind up making a whole bunch of prototypes without any guarantee that anybody's going to be into it. I made a bunch of decaleurs for instance:


These are all just prototypes. The stem mounted decaleur is kind of the white whale of the constructeur set. So I tried my hand at it. The trick is to get that retention system right. To me, the most important thing is that it needs to be sturdy. Little pins fail in this regard. On the other hand velcro is usually cumbersome to remove and annoying when the bag isn't attached. My notion was that bungees are easy to attach and detach (I can do it with my NRS kayaking mittens on), easily field or hardware store repairable, light, and fairly unobtrusive off the bike. At some point, I want to do a "run" of universal threadless stem mount decaleurs. Someday...

I also made this cool bike, which I'll talk about more after it gets painted. It's my size, but I really shouldn't keep it... 26 x 2.3 low trail, disc (disk?).


That Pacenti MTB crown is a winner. That one on the left there is for another "stock" bike. I've got two frames in the cue right now, meaning I have availability around June. That means there's still time to get a custom frame for this riding season.


My Latest Build


In my mind tire size is kind of the first thing you think about when designing a frame. Assuming it's not a for-serious mountain bike, there's kind of three options in my book: 650B x 42mm, 650B x 47mm, and 26" x 2.3". Why those sizes? I feel that anything smaller than a 42mm doesn't offer enough suspension, and anything larger than a 2.3" is hard to fit into a road frame. 47mm is right in the middle. Nimbler than a 2.3" , squishier than a 42mm. Simple as that. So I made three bikes with similar geometry, one in each size. This is the 650B x 47mm.


I imagined this as an opportunity to make a super chill rando bike. Sure, it's still completely capable as a bike you'd take on your fast 300k, but I guess I picture this as the easy going cousin to that bike. Easy going in the sense that you're going to want to say "fuck getting to the control on time" and take a detour down that fun looking gravel road. So I did a build that doesn't take itself too seriously. Also I'm broke (read: five days in San Francisco) and so I scavenged a lot of the components from other bikes I had lying around. Dig the rear derailleur. It's so hard to find a good long cage derailleur that doesn't look awful these days. This one I like.


And the shifters. I got Anal Retentive Chef on these puppies after I started trying to buff out a small scratch. Three hours later I had two really really shiny shifters. I also started polishing the kickstand but then I stopped because that's stupid. I mean I'll do it if you give me money, but nobody was giving me money to polish this Greenfield kickstand. So it's only kind of shiny.


I'm into these Soma Rain Dog fenders. Yes, not very constructeur of me. But I think there's something to be said for quick installs and ease of replacement. If you crash, your fenders are going to take the brunt of it. Not being as concerned about ruining your expensive Honjos might help you relax a bit on those sections of loose gravel. And they don't look half bad.


I'm actually hoping to sell this one at a pretty significant discount. 57cm seat tube (c-c), 55cm level top tube, 435mm chainstay, 73º head and seat tubes, low trail. Internal dynamo ports, rack mounts, etc... $1100 frame and fork. Email me if you're interested, we can even do a test ride if you're serious. Shipped in the USA if you pay shipping.


Dropout Details


I thought it might be interesting to talk a little bit about dropouts. This is what's called a tab style dropout, and it's pretty cool. Tab style dropouts aren't all that common on today's production bikes, and especially not on higher end bikes, but they used to be pretty common place. Take a look at the dropouts on any steel bike made before about the year 2000 and you'll quite likely see something that looks kind of like this. A  production steel bike from the year 2018, a Salsa or Surly for example, is much more likely to have hooded dropouts with a welded joint. They're great in their own right, but to my eye don't quite have the elegance of the good old tab style. They're also a bit heavier I reckon. The really cool thing about tab style dropouts is that they're super versatile, and allow the builder to get a bit creative. This same dropout can fit into tubing of varying diameter and wall thickness, and can adapt to quite a wide range of frame geometries. Lug and socket style dropouts, on the other hand, really only work with a specific tube, if the tube projects at the exact right angle. All this freedom means that the builder has to custom shape each dropout, and that's where the fun starts.


The way these work is the dropout is slotted into the tube. All those square notches you see are custom cut at exactly the right angle. A portion of the dropout tab goes totally inside the tube, and another portion sticks out on the side of the tube. One problem that you can run into is the cassette, chain, and even the brake rotor can collide with the tubing. Some builders will simply shave away material from the tube until the problem goes away or in a production context this area is often dimpled (there's usually more than enough strength in this area that it's not a huge concern). Instead of doing this, I prefer to cut my slots off center. This buys me clearance without sacrificing strength. And I do that on the mill with my trusty slotting saw.


That thing makes the tiniest little slivers. Not quite as bad as a carbon fiber splinter, but close. The next step is to carve in some scallops. This buys yet a little more clearance and reduces the stress riser effect that you get with sharp edges. I do this with files and a Dremel. Here's where the creativity comes in.


Then I braze the joint. Some folks do it with silver, but I like brass here. It's cheaper, and easier to shape into a nice cap. After a little finish work it looks like this.


If you were to look down into the other end of the tube you'd see it plugged solid with brass at the bottom. The goal is for it to be filled all the way down to the bottom of the tab on the dropout but no further. Some builders blend in the square edges of the tab where they stick out of the tab, but I like to leave them sharp. I think it looks cool.