Finding Joy Again on a Bike

Lately, I’ve turned into quite an asshole on the bike. I came to this realization several weeks ago when I heard myself yelling out loud while riding regarding something that normally wouldn’t have made me think twice (or at least, my response is one I would’ve said under my breath under normal circumstances). I don’t know if it’s Covid-quarantine related or that I’ve been riding more and therefore observing more bad behavior, or if I really am just turning into a complete turd of a human, but I’m not liking the person I’ve been over the last few months on a bike.

I should clarify a bit. I still wave at people as I go by, and ask seemingly-stranded cyclists on the side of the road if they need assistance, but I have found myself taking on a somewhat “roadie” attitude in certain situations, and I think it’s happened slowly over several months, without consciously being aware of what was taking place.

Admittedly, I have used cycling as therapy during the pandemic, even more so than I normally would. Since going under stay at home/safer at home orders in mid-March, there have been only a handful of days that I haven’t been on a bicycle. Distances have also been longer than usual because I’ve found that I need the structure of having some sort of goal to achieve when I have little actual work that needs to be completed right now. I have always thought of myself as one who really doesn’t need to be around other humans very often, but even those of us who are okay being alone (I am learning) have been affected by this longer-than-anticipated time of staying apart. Little things that used to be a routine and very normal have now disappeared from life and I think it’s affecting me more than I initially thought it was.

One weekend morning I was preparing to go for a ride. Sam had been feeling flu-ish the week prior and had self-quarantined while waiting for his corona virus test results to come back from the state. He had thought it best to not go outside of the house, just in case, and was trying to separate as much as possible even inside the house. He was out in the garage riding on his trainer when I was leaving and I sat at the opposite side of the garage on the weight bench, whining about not wanting to ride.

“Don’t go then,” he said, as he pedaled away, Zwift screen in front of him.

“I feel some sort of obligation to do mileage right now. I don’t know why. I know it’s all self-imposed, but I feel like I’ve put some sort of pressure on myself to ride pretty much every day,” I responded. “I feel like I’ve already burned out, and it’s still summer.” (It was still summer at the time anyway.)

My bike was sitting, leaning against one of the second-hand acquired workout machines in the makeshift gym in the garage. I stared at the bike as though it was the enemy, dreading going out to pedal.

I continued, “My knee hurts so bad. My neck is killing me because I spend so much time leaned over between riding and working. I just don’t feel like going.”

Sam responded, “Why don’t you take the Rivendell instead and just go for an upright cruise?”

Oddly, I had been thinking about this recently. In late winter, we’d put my rear rack back on the Hillborne and re-attached the giant basket so that I could use it for commuting to sub-teaching jobs without having to carry things on my back, but I hadn’t had any jobs that were farther than walking distance since that set up was put in place and then, of course, classes were cancelled shortly after anyway so I never got to test out the set up other than around the block.

“I could do that,” I said, “I guess I’ll give that a go — Just do a short one.”

I swapped out bikes, pumped up the tires on the Rivendell, caught a glance of myself in a reflective surface and paused for a moment. I looked ridiculous, dressed in a Specialized jersey, Velocio bibs, POC helmet, now heading out to ride a lugged, steel bicycle, with upright handlebars that is obviously set up for commuting/errand running purposes. I sighed, but didn’t want to change, so headed out the back feeling as though I looked like an absolute fool.

“Ugh. There’s no Garmin mount on this bike,” I said aloud. I had taken it off a couple of years ago, wanting to have a break from recording every ride. I started the timer anyway and threw the Garmin in the front bag. It was running, I just wouldn’t be able to see it. Maybe that was a good thing though.

I was agitated early on. I could feel that I didn’t have the power/speed on the Rivendell that I would normally have on my road bike, but I quickly nipped the attitude and reminded myself that I was out to enjoy the ride, not to beat any records. I was amazed that this year really seemed to be turning my cycling attitude into something I never expected, and certainly not something that is positive, in my opinion.

I rode. It took a few miles, but eventually my mind calmed, I didn’t feel like I was racing with anyone (including myself) and I actually looked around me, taking in the sights I see near-daily, but never take the time to truly appreciate most of the time as of late. It was eye-opening, to say the least.

I’ve always believed that riding is good for the soul, that it can heal emotional wounds and help the mind work through troublesome thoughts, but it had been quite awhile since I’d taken a ride just for pleasure, without staring down at average speed or distance. It was almost an uncomfortable position to find myself, but as I allowed myself to just be, I realized how much I miss these rides — The rides taken for no reason at all, to nowhere, with no goals in front of me other than to exist and to pedal. I smiled more, I waved more and as I settled in, I realized how much I’d missed this bike.

Although I know I probably won’t ride a ton of these sorts of rides on the Rivendell, it was an excellent reminder to me that it’s okay to slow down, to go for a short ride, to look up and see what is around. Since then, I’ve tried to allow myself at least one ride each week that is intentionally slower, that allows my mind to wander a bit more, and it’s been a welcomed relief. I don’t know if it’s necessarily improved my attitude the rest of the time, but I’m still working on that. Maybe I just need to be a little kinder to myself overall — and sometimes to others — and know that we’re all going through our own stuff, dealing with it in our own way.

Taking this ride also helped get me through my burnout phase. I was getting worried that I wouldn’t make it to the end of the year, that I’d have to give up pedaling for awhile in order to be happy riding again. In reality, I think I just needed a mental (and maybe a little bit of a physical) break from constant pushing… and getting to “rediscover” an old riding buddy was an extra bonus. I’m happy plodding along now, pushing some days and relaxing and enjoying others, which has definitely made a world of difference.

First Impressions of a Steel Road Bike: The Rivendell Roadini

In prior posts, I've mentioned that over this past winter I was on the hunt for a dedicated road bike. The biggest problems I faced were my preference for a steel frame and that I really wanted a bike that would accept at least a 32mm tire. Although custom options are available, it always surprises me how few choices there really are in an era of bicycles becoming more wide-tire-centric. After trying out an "adventure bike" made of titanium, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I had been eyeballing the Rivendell Roadini with mild curiosity.

Despite being unconvinced it was the right bike for me, after riding my Riv Sam Hillborne nearly exclusively for solo paved rides over several months, I began to think that maybe it was not only a plausible but potentially smart option. For a Rivendell, the cost was somewhat reasonable and I could build it with up to 35mm tires. It met the steel requirement too, however, I wasn't convinced that it would actually ride like a fast road bike.

My desire was for something that felt swift (since I'm not a fast rider, being able to feel like my effort is producing something is important to me) and responsive -- not to have a duplicate of the Hillborne. The goal for whatever bike came into my life was to fulfill my want to occasionally ride solo and not feel as though I'm weighted down by anything other than my own lack of capability.

Secondarily, but also of great importance was to have a road bike that was comfortable or at least tolerable on road rides. I've owned far too many road bikes that were incapable of providing the comfort I always seem to be seeking. Between hands (and other body parts) going numb, to improper fit, I was fed up with road bikes that hurt.

The one bit I was hung up on in regard to moving forward with purchasing the Roadini was the fact that in the smallest size (that I would require), the bike takes 650b wheels. I don't have a problem with the wheel size in general (after all, we own several 650b-wheeled bikes in our home), but there is not a huge selection of road wheels in that size that accept rim brakes. I didn't want to end up with something that I'd be struggling to find parts to complete or to end up with inferior parts because there wasn't another option. While custom wheel builds are a possibility, it's nice to just be able to buy a wheelset off the shelf.

But, after several debates about whether this was a good option and looking around to see what else would potentially fit my desires and budget, I opted to take the plunge and see how this bike would do for me.

If you don't have interest in the parts build of this bike, feel free to skip down below, but for those who have the desire to know, here is the build:

- 47cm Rivendell Roadini frame/fork
- Pacenti 650b wheelset
- Shimano Ultegra R8000 11- speed shift/brake levers
- Shimano Ultegra R8000 crank (170mm, 50/34)
- Shimano Ultegra Bottom Bracket (BBR60, 68mm)
- Shimano M7000 SLX 11- speed cassette (11-40t)*
- Shimano XT rear derailleur*
- Tektro R559 brake calipers (unlike what was recommended on the Riv website, the smallest sized frame needs the longer reach of these or an equivalent)
- Continental Sport Contact 650b x 32mm tires (that are strangely marked as 650c tires)
- Compass Randonneur handlebars (42mm)

All told, with the Brooks saddle and flat pedals, the bike weighed in at just over 22 pounds.

*So, I have to note here that it is unlikely many bike shops would offer or attempt this setup, but fortunately for me, the in-house mechanic is used to my strange requests and is willing to try just about anything. I prefer a triple set up in order to get up steeper hills/mountains in our location; however, I have found that a double makes me ride a bike more like a road bike (meaning, I tend to push myself a bit more when I know I don't have the gears to fall back on). Still, I wanted to have some of the range I would get from a triple, so we decided to try out an 11-40 cassette and used a mountain rear derailleur to get everything to cooperate. This setup required the use of an extra long chain (I believe it took 118 links) and also required this little gadget in order to get things to communicate/shift properly.

Not mentioned above in the build is the quill stem. I know this is something that often brings about debate in the cycling world. It's not an item I take particular issue with; however, I will say that one of the huge annoyances with a quill is figuring out the right reach. Since I've owned several (too many, really) quill-necessary bikes over the years, we have several options in the parts bin. For those who don't have that luxury, it's important to know personal fit to be able to determine the right measurement on the first try, or you may end up purchasing (or exchanging) several sizes to find the correct one (not to mention the annoyance of removing the brifters and the handlebars in order to change the stem).

I did not choose the correct length for the first round build. Thinking that too short a reach would have the bike feeling squeezed, I opted for an 80mm, but it turned out that was far too long for me and it was immediately exchanged for a 60mm in the stash, which feels nearly perfect.

Of note with this particular Rivendell is its lack of the company's typical lugs. While there are some (seat cluster), the cost savings on this frame comes at a loss of all those beautiful lugs. I was perfectly willing to accept this, but for those who need to have every joint lugged, a look at the Roadeo or potentially a custom option is probably a better bet, though those options come at a much higher price.

With the bike built and ready to ride, all I had to do was actually go out and use it. After some delays due to out-of-town visitors and other various happenings, I was finally able to get the bike out on the road.

As I had anticipated, I was not particularly fast on this ride - but I had doubts that it was the fault of the bike, but rather my own lack of pushing myself over the prior couple of years when it comes to speed. Part of my hope for this bike is that I would actually want to ride it and therefore speed would come back to me over time with regular use.

What I did notice on this inaugural 30+ mile ride was that I was not in pain, and dare I say it, even comfortable. No doubt, having the wider-than-usual road bike tire played a role in that, but I also think my body just likes the way Rivendells ride. I've had success with the Sam Hillborne (obviously) and it's difficult to get me off the tandem, not to mention the others that have blown in and out over the years.

From Rivendell, I have ridden at various points the Sam Hillborne, A. Homer Hilsen, Betty Foy, Cheviot (which is much the same bike as the B Foy), Saluki, Hubbuhubbuh, and the made-for-Soma San Marcos. So, at this point, I think it's safe to say that they just make bikes I like. Likes aside, other than the San Marcos, none of these have ever felt road-bike specific, which isn't to say that any of them can't be ridden on the roads, but rather that they lacked the pickup and lightweight that is often expected of a road-specific bike. My biggest issue with the San Marcos was simply the size - it was just a bit too big to ride long distances with drop handlebars (for me) unless I hiked them up to a ridiculous level, which then changed the handling of the bike.

For me, the real test with a new bike comes around the fourth or fifth ride. It's easy to let the excitement of a new bike take over and sometimes I don't notice things that become apparent a little later in the relationship. About the fifth ride on the Roadini, I became keenly aware that I neither feel fast nor am I physically fast on this bike. Granted, as stated prior, the rider is not particularly gifted with the ability for speed regardless of the bike, but I was averaging even slower times than I had been on the Sam Hillborne. Minimally slower (which may have been the fault of the rider and not the bike), but still slower.

This frustrated me entirely. I came home whining to Sam about how slow I am, but he was convinced that it was all in my head. Not that I was making up the speeds I was traveling, but rather he believes that I get it in my head that I'm slow and then actually make it reality. It's probably a fair assumption, but I truly believed I was pushing myself, so it was all the more painful (mentally) to realize that I was actually slower on a road bike than on a bike meant for carrying luggage.

Sam theorized that perhaps lowering my handlebars would help put me in a better power position and that this, rather than the bike, had been what was slowing me down. So, the next time out, I lowered my handlebars about an inch or so and set out to test his idea. While I could feel that I was using bigger leg muscles that in theory should bring more power (and therefore speed), I didn't actually average much faster speed. Bummer.

What I realized after testing this bike is that it is a lighter version of the bike I already owned and that my initial supposition that it would ride similarly was absolutely correct. While theoretically the Roadini fits better than the Hillborne with the shorter top tube that allows for the use of drop bars, it just wasn't going to meet my wants in regard to a swifter feeling/pedaling road bike.

Back to a triple setup here... it really is a lovely bicycle!

What's great about the Roadini is that it is supremely comfortable! It pedals smoothly and rides the way one would expect a Rivendell to behave. If I were looking for a completely comfortable road/light adventure type of bicycle, this would definitely be on the list of possibilities because of these qualities. Unfortunately, I had high hopes for this steed to behave more like a road-race bike (a rather silly thing to think based on what the creator believes and manufactures), so it just isn't the right fit for my stable at this time.

Although I think the Roadini is a fine bicycle, I had to let it move on to someone else to enjoy and I hope it will find the use it deserves in its new home. Of course, that put me back on the hunt for something else that would fill the missing slot in my stable. It's as though the quest to find the "right" road bike remains elusive; but in the meantime, I've continued to ride my trusty Hillborne and have been riding a mountain bike (a post is forthcoming on that steed soon as well) a lot more regularly.

I've read on a couple of forums that people are truly loving this model from Rivendell, so if you've had the opportunity to test it out, I'd love to know what you think of the bike. I think if I didn't already have the Hillborne settled in, I would've definitely hung on to this one.

Blast from the Past: A Former Rivendell Returns

I've been stating for some time now that I was going to share more about the newest addition to the bike fold. It's taken a bit longer than I thought to actually get to it, but here we are and I am able to finally deliver as promised.

My first Rivendell was the Sam Hillborne (that has remained in the fold since day one), but it was not the only Riv to come into our house. It was followed a couple of years later by Rivendell's A Homer Hilsen. I felt a little silly having both of these bikes, but they really did serve different purposes. When they were both in our home originally, the Hillborne was loaded up with racks and bags and was providing more of a city bike/grocery-fetching functionality, while the Hilsen was my road bike, stripped down to barest essentials. I went through a few rounds with set up switching between drop handlebars and more upright bars, but the Hilsen's functionality remained the same while it was with me.

Unfortunately, we ran into some unexpected expenses when Sam ended up in the emergency room, and we had some bills to cover associated with that visit. In order to help with paying some of those costs, I made the decision to sell the A Homer Hilsen. At the time, I thought I was okay with the choice, but soon after the loss started to set in. It wasn't that I minded selling a bike to cover the bills, but it kind of set me off on a strange course of trying to find the perfect (at least for me) long distance road-ish bike again.

Ultimately, I was able to find a great replacement for the Hilsen in the Box Dog Bikes Pelican. As you may recall, one of the reasons I didn't get an A Homer Hilsen when obtaining the Pelican was price. I just couldn't bring myself to pay today's prices and even though I'd been looking for years trying to find a second-hand Hilsen in the proper size, it just never materialized. I had accepted that it just wasn't meant to be in my life and went about using the Pelican as a much-enjoyed replacement.

Then, one day early this year, I received one of Rivendell's mass emails. While reading the email I ended up back at Riv's website on their special's page and discovered there an unpainted NOS Rivendell A Homer Hilsen/Saluki. My insides started to jump. Could it be? Sitting here in front of my eyes was the right-sized past bicycle I'd let go -- and for almost exactly the price I'd paid several years prior. It was as though someone was playing an April Fool's joke on me in January. A New Year's joke, perhaps?

A brief discussion was had, but I knew Sam was aware of how much I would love to have this particular bike back in my life, so there really wasn't much to talk about. I wasn't entirely sure at the time how it would fit into the current bikes, but I knew that I had to get the frame and I could worry about set up and function/purpose later.

The frame was listed as a Saluki frame, but it was my understanding that the Salukis and A Homer Hilsens were virtually the same, and for the size I need, I don't think there were any differences as far as geometry is concerned.

The best part was that I would be able to pick the paint color and I was told I could choose between A Homer Hilsen and Saluki decals for the frame (which just reaffirmed my belief that these were very, very similar). While I was excited about choosing a paint color, I also know that I have a horrible time picking paint for projects, but I also didn't want to waste the opportunity to be able to pick a color different from the standard either. Decisions, decisions.

I opted to go with the Saluki stickers, though I didn't really have a reason for the choice. Perhaps, at least in some small part, it's because I have a great love of dogs, but truly I would have been okay with either set of decals.

It took longer than expected for the frame to get painted. It was supposed to be a couple of weeks as was originally quoted, but ended up taking about four times longer than my overly-excited mind was ready to wait. Then, one day I received an email that stated, "Here is your frame..."

One of the photos received from Rivendell to let me know the frame was ready to ship.

Leaving the color technicalities to the folks at Rivendell had me wondering what would ultimately end up coming to me, but I was happy to see that it was pretty and bright - though not obnoxious - just as I'd hoped. I couldn't wait for the frame to get into my hands!

As I waited for the frame's arrival, I started debating what to do with the build. We had nearly every part needed to build up the bike, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to make it more road-focused or built ready to handle daily needs around town.

Since my hands have been struggling over the last few years, I decided to stick with the Albatross handlebars (as these work well for me), but thought that I'd turn them right-side-up to make it a little different set up than the current build of the Hillborne.

The Saluki was ridden this way for several weeks as I attempted to ascertain whether the set up would work for me or not. I was enjoying the set up, but it felt a little too upright. Even as someone who likes to sit up a bit, it was feeling a little too cruiser-bike-like for my preferences. I continued to ride though, hoping that I'd adjust to this set up. We even dropped the stem low, hoping that this would be enough to help me find the comfort I was seeking on the bike.

Eventually, I knew that I needed to change the handlebar set up, so we made a small switch, turning the bars upside down to match the set up of the Hillborne and added bar tape instead of the cork grips.

Even with the change to the handlebars, there still seemed to be need to keep tweaking things mildly, and I'm sure that will continue for a time until the right combination comes together. I do have other handlebar options as well, such as the butterfly/trekking bars like those on the VO Campeur, a set of Nitto drop bars, as well as a couple of other possibilities.

What has been interesting is to compare my memories of the A Homer Hilsen with the latest arrival. It can be easy to build something up from the past and give it qualities that it didn't necessarily possess, but I have found this bike to be all that I remember.

Since the set up is slightly different than the former version, I am finding a necessary adjustment period, but the bike itself rides as smoothly as I'd recalled. It is also a bit amusing that, just as with my first round with this bicycle, I am almost unsure of what to make of the appropriately sized top tube. Having grown used to being more stretched on the Hillborne, it is as though I expect a bike to have more reach. The remedy in the past was to use drop bars, which seemed to help cure the mild feelings of smallness, but I don't know if I'll go that route this time or not.

After riding the Saluki for a handful of months, I can say that I'm happy to have it back in my life, though I still don't quite know what its exact purpose is in the fold. Oh, I use it for errands and transportation, and I've taken it on a couple of rides just for the fun of it, but having filled the road bike slot with the Pelican, and having an appropriate option for getting groceries and other needs with the Campeur, and the somewhere-in-the-middle bike slot being filled by the Hillborne, it's almost as though I'm not quite sure where the Saluki fits in - and it's an odd sensation, as I expected it would immediately find a purpose.

In some sense, I suppose the bike can hold the position of fill-in for whichever option may be in need of repairs or maintenance at a given time. It's never a bad option to have a back-up, I think.

With all of my uncertainty surrounding a specific purpose for this bike though, it may seem strange that I was anxious to get the Saluki back. Certainly, I would have lived without having it, but there's a part of me that was hoping to recapture a bit of the past; a past that had me pedaling at my best. Although I realize it's not exactly possible to go back, there is a quality I've always appreciated about this bike that I can't quite put my finger on when pressed for specifics. It's an intangible, but it's there. While none of the photos seem to do it justice, I must say that the Saluki is a beautiful thing to behold, which doesn't hurt my feelings either.

Ultimately, it has been fun to re-welcome this blast from the past, and I hope to have many enjoyable rides as we move forward together. I don't know where the road will take us, but I look forward to figuring it out as we go.

The Soma ES Deux-Over

Two and a half years ago, I wrote here about my initial impressions of the Soma ES. I was completely infatuated with this bike and I never really did put a finger on what exactly it was that created such joy. I don't think it hurt that I felt fast and yet stable when I rode, and I was pretty comfortable as well. Unfortunately for the ES, I was in the midst of a bicycle meltdown and the ES only remained long enough to get me through late winter, spring and most of summer until my first custom built bicycle arrived. I had decided that to help finish paying for the custom, it made perfect sense to sell the ES frame and the majority of its components.

The original Soma ES on a ride in early March 2014

If I'm completely honest, the sale of the ES took place near the start of bicycle heartache and headache, as well as a great deal of two-wheeled turn over in my personal bike fold. Part of me was always looking to replace the feelings I had on the ES, but I was convinced it could be even better. If I was willing to spend more or go through the custom process, surely I would be even happier on the other side, I believed.

As you may recall, the custom process turned into quite a disaster and the last couple of years have been spent attempting to not only recover from injuries but trying to find a road bike that would work for me once again. We in our household had discussed the idea of re-purchasing the ES frame (and it had even been suggested by a couple of readers in messages via email), but it never seemed to be the right time or I would continue to look, thinking that something else would come along.

One day in June of this year, Sam came home from work and said, "I have an early birthday present for you!" Since my birthday was months away, I was a little perplexed, but Sam had alluded in earlier conversations to having a fix for a problem I was experiencing riding. So, as I followed him out to our family room, I presumed he had picked up a part for me to try out.

As I reached the room, there sat a fully built Soma ES. I have to admit, I was a bit confused.

"I didn't go to work today," Sam began. "I ended up going out to my dad's place and building this up for you."

"Okaaay..." I drug out, sounding completely confused, I am quite sure.

Beyond my confusion about how this had all taken place without me having any clue, I noticed that this wasn't built up with leftover components that we had stashed somewhere; this was complete Shimano Ultegra from wheels to drive train and I was mentally trying to put the pieces together in an attempt to fathom what was going on.

"I looked at the old photos of your ES, so I think it's close to being set up the way it needs to be, and I know you'll want different pedals, but those were the only ones I could find," Sam continued.

I don't know that I had the exact reaction one would hope for when receiving such an incredibly thoughtful gift because I was still trying to figure it all out. Of course I was excited, but I also wasn't sure this was a necessity. I was doing well riding the BDB Pelican and while I had thought and talked about possibly getting a strictly faster-paced road bike, I didn't expect it to be sitting in our house at this very moment.

After I recovered from the shock of realizing this was now my bicycle (again), I took it for a ride. At first I was hesitant to get on it. What if it wasn't everything I had built the ES up to be in my memory? What if today this bike no longer worked for me?

As I started to pedal, I instantly remembered why I enjoyed the ES so much. With the first build, it was initially put together using random pieces and parts from other abandoned or sold projects, but it was later fitted with a mostly SRAM Red groupset. I knew this bike had capabilities with both higher end and lower end components though as I have several personal best time records that were achieved riding the first Soma ES with two very different levels of components.

I have to say, I was surprised that I liked the frame color of this ES. It's not the currently available Pacific Blue option, but the former hue called "Cappuccino." I have seen many builds of this bike online and on the Soma website and thought the color looked rather dull and washed out. In real life, the color is far more saturated, appearing much more true-to-cappuccino color. I think the pink accents actually work nicely with it as well.

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen a short rant-tweet about my "pink" bar tape that wasn't pink. I was using some old bar tape for a short stint while waiting for an order from a British bike shop that had pictured online a light pink Brooks bar tape. I had never seen this color in person and was excited to have a different color, but when it arrived it was actually the darker raspberry color I have on my Hillborne handlebars. The bike shop offered to pay for return shipping and did apologize profusely, but I ended up liking the darker color with this build so I kept it.

As for the ride, I still enjoy the ES just as much (and perhaps even more given recent history) as I did in the past. There has been a small amount of tweaking to the set up since the initial build, but overall, Sam did pretty good for someone using photos as his sole reference. When I ride the ES I have the same thoughts I did in the past... it's just an easy to ride and enjoy bicycle. I don't have to push it if I'm not in the mood or I'm feeling like just going slow and enjoying the scenery, or I can pump it up a notch (or several) and find myself speeding down the road.

So, to those who encouraged me to try this option again and to Sam who had the foresight to move ahead without a lengthy discussion, I thank you. It's been fun to re-explore this bike and I'm pretty certain this time it will stick around, regardless of what other options may be added in the future. The bottom line is, it's a fun bike and I'm happy to have this Soma ES "deux-over."

A Custom Bicycle (Part 3): Hope on the Horizon

If you've missed the first two posts in this series, you can find the first by clicking here, and the second by clicking here. If you're all caught up or don't care to read the initial happenings, feel free to carry on from this point.

Lest I scare off potential custom frame customers (which is not my intent at all), I should say that I don't think my experience is typical for custom built bikes. Most people I know or with whom I've spoke about their builds have had wonderful experiences, and the pains they had prior to the custom were mostly if not completely eliminated with geometry made to the riders needs or specifications. The problem was that I didn't think I could get to a good point with this particular custom. I had tried to push forward in the hope that one day it would simply be right, but at some point I had to accept that this wasn't working for me.

One thing I pride myself on is being able to own up to my mistakes. I guess I've made so many of them it's easy for me to accept that I'm not infallible. When it comes to bicycles this couldn't be more true. For those who know my history in adulthood with bikes, you know that I seem to think one thing will be ideal and then come to terms with a reality that is often quite the opposite. I've made my peace with making errors, but I really don't like losing money; and I have to say, having mistakes with new, and particularly custom bicycles is a costly endeavor.

In all of this, I had begun communication with other bicycle makers and a couple of days after I'd sent off my notes to builders, I received replies from each. I already felt better knowing that I was able to communicate directly with someone, rather than having a go-between. I didn't know if they'd be able to provide answers to what had gone wrong, but I knew that I needed to be able to move forward. During my electronic communications, one reply stood out among the others and I started conversing with the owner (Dan) of  R+E Cycles in Seattle. They are the makers of Rodriguez bikes.

As you may recall, a Rodriguez was on my list of potentials when I went with the original option, but because I am somewhat acquainted with the manager of a local shop and I really preferred having a local contact, it seemed appropriate to go with the IndyFab. As I was reading Dan's reply though, I felt relieved that someone seemed to understand what I was going through - even if the reply was mostly perfunctory at that moment. As we continued to chat, he wasn't judging me or condemning me for my choices, but rather offered up some thoughts on how he might be able to help. He also advised me to give my LBS the opportunity to resolve things, and perhaps even contact IndyFab myself. I thought this was admirable, especially for someone who could easily have fed into my emotions about the custom bike which would've made the situation even more tense. Instead, he wanted me to think about possible resolutions and come to rational conclusions.

One of the first images I received from Dan.

There was more conversation with Dan during the first three days of our back and forth than I had through the entire process with the other custom build (come to think of it, there was more discussion in our first day of emailing). Dan had me send information about bikes that have worked for me (at least somewhat) in the past, the current custom specs, and we chatted about what was working, what wasn't, and what I was looking for in a bike. I received links to articles to read, CAD drawings/overlays of bikes I've ridden and owned, and so much information that I knew I was heading down a much better path, even if there still wasn't a definite outcome or resolution.

The biggest problem now was that I knew I had to convince Sam that another custom bike was the way to go. Yep, I was at the point that I was considering a second build - scary as that sounded even to me. I liked the information I was receiving and the direction everything was heading, and it all made sense or paralleled my personal experiences. Through our conversations, I was finding a way to better explain what I wanted from someone who has the know-how and many years of experience.

I really didn't want to have the conversation about another build with Sam though because I knew that he was very much opposed to another long distance bike venture, let alone having another custom bike built, but I was convinced Rodriguez was the way to go. Surprisingly, Sam was pretty easy in this regard. I'd expected a bit of kickback, but after explaining the conversations I'd had with Dan, and providing some information about Rodriguez' policies, he accepted the reality that this was likely what I should have done in the first place. Without much of a battle, Sam was on board with looking at another build.

Of course, when I've had a not-so-great experience, it can be difficult to let go of my own doubt. Despite Dan's reassurance that he could see some issues with the geometry of the former custom for me (and I was already well aware of this fact), and even after all I'd read, I couldn't help but wonder if another build would really provide better results. I wanted to believe it was obtainable, but I have to admit I was terrified of another possible bad outcome. It helped that R+E wants their customers to be happy and will work with them if it isn't right, and Dan was more than convincing in his messages, but still the doubt clung to me like an annoying fly buzzing around my head.

At this juncture, I had put the former custom up for sale. I had to somehow fund the start of a new build, and of course it only made sense to let it go now rather than holding on to it and allowing it to age and lose more value. Just because the frame wasn't right for me didn't mean it wouldn't work for the right person. Plus, I know me, and if a bike frame sits around, I want to have it built up - even knowing that it will only cause physical pain. There was a lot of interest in the frame on the surface, but no one was ready to move forward with a purchase. I can't say I blame those who were looking. It's a lot of money to spend on something that might not work for the new rider either. It had to be the right person who would come along in order to make the set up work properly.

Even though I was waiting on the sale of the former frame, I made a decision to move forward with having the Rodriguez built. Our nicer weather was fading quickly - as in, it was pretty nearly over - and I knew I wanted to get the new frame underway. After having spoke with Dan for a few weeks via e-mail, the team at R+E was quick with getting my frame into the queue and I was told it would be just weeks until the new bike would be ready. Yikes! I sold off a few items to get the deposit I needed and prayed that the "old" custom would sell quickly.

As luck would have it, I didn't have to wait too long for the right person to come along to buy the frame. There was both a sense of relief and a little sadness watching the frame go off to its new home. It gave the whole situation a sense of finality, but I knew deep down it was exactly what needed to be done.

*Image from R&E Cycles
So many choices (and even more not shown)!

In the meantime, I set about picking a frame color. I'd asked if it would be possible to just clear coat the steel, rather than painting it, but was informed that they've actually tried this in the past and the frame rusted under the clear (bummer); and because I wasn't ready to watch a custom bike turn to rust before my eyes, I decided that I'd better make a decision on paint.

I am really, really, really horrible at picking paint colors for projects. One might think that it would be easier for me being a painter myself, but in truth, I love so many different colors and color combinations, and dependent on my mood, I can swing from loving something very subtle to something over-the-top bright. If you remember the (very long post on) the VW project, I stewed and pondered for a long time about what color to paint the Beetle. It is just paint, but I wanted to make sure it was something I would like, and after the failure with the former bike build, I was definitely against painting the new version purple (though part of me thought perhaps painting it a similar color would provide some redemption).

I had also debated whether or not to do a frame/fork only or to have R+E build an entire bike. Ultimately, I decided that I needed a fresh start and if they built it from the ground up, I would be speaking to people who would know exactly where we were starting, should something go wrong with the fit when it arrived.

As insane as this story sounds (and has been), I'm learning a lot through all of it - perhaps even more than I ever wanted to know. I'm not done with the process and am in the midst of waiting for the frame to be built, but I seem to feel a lot more at ease this time. I think it helps that I've had communication throughout the process, and if I have questions along the way, there is always someone who is able to answer in a timely manner, rather than having a go-between who may not necessarily get all the information to the parties who need it. There is a level of patience and information sharing that has been unparalleled in my experiences with other shops, despite the fact that we are geographically 1,300 miles apart.

I've  also learned that I couldn't see myself completing another custom build with a company that I am unable to speak to directly. I think for some folks (and maybe even the majority) having a go-between works out well. It provides a cushion and another source of information or another opinion. The problem was that the go-between didn't seem to be working for me, but rather assumed a lot and didn't provide any options or opinions along the way. The go-between also never provided specific information before final decisions were made. I made the assumption that because I had a connection with the local shop, things would somehow work themselves out, which is entirely my fault, and ultimately was the disservice or really the demise of the build in the end.

A part of my reasoning for not choosing Rodriguez initially was that I had read one short, insignificant review somewhere online that indicated that the person hadn't had an ideal experience with their bicycle. When I searched high and low, I couldn't find anyone who had anything negative to say about their IndyFab, and in fact, everything I found was glowing and recommended the company and their bicycles highly. While I cannot say that one company is better than the other (because I truly don't believe that), I should have known better than to allow one less-than-stellar opinion/experience to influence a decision so greatly - particularly from an anonymous source I don't know personally. It wasn't the only factor involved, but I know it played a part in the final decision.

I have no way of knowing what will come with the new custom at this point, so to judge or compare the tangible goods at this juncture is impossible. I could very well end up in exactly the same situation - with the very important exception that I know R+E will work with me to resolve any problems, even if it means (heaven forbid) re-making the frame. I will say that I have far greater confidence this time around and have high hopes for what is to come. With the information that has been shared by R+E, I've begun to understand that the issues I had with the first round frame weren't going to be resolved with a different stem, seatpost, or wheels, much as we tried.  I know I am particularly fussy about set-up and position, but it has been glorious to have a professional recognize so quickly why the frame wasn't working for me. In the end, I think this is what has been invaluable - the years of experience and work R+E has done with its customers to make sure the fit is correct for each rider.

So, this is where I leave you for now. Still a bit of a cliffhanger I am aware, but there will be a "part four" of sorts when the time comes to provide more information down the road. As the post title indicates, there is hope on the horizon, but without making the leap of faith and trusting that this will be a better experience, I wouldn't have the opportunity to know whether a properly built custom could be the answer I've been seeking. I have entered into this round understanding that there will be tweaks along the way and that likely no one could get it perfect out of the gate, but I think there is a far greater understanding between manufacturer and customer with this round. Whereas the first round I was worried throughout the process (justifiably so, as is apparent on this side of things), I find that I can simply let it go with this build, and trust that when there is a decision to be made, I'll be asked and/or guided to a proper answer - and then it's up to me to make the decision. At this point, that's really all I can ask for in a fresh start.

I am excited about what is to come. One of the benefits of being someone who often lives in the future is that I don't set up a nest in the past, the mistakes made, or dwell very long in what - if I really spent a lot of time thinking about it - could be viewed as quite a mishap full of physical pain, grief, and loss of money. As I've stated before, I tend to be someone who learns lessons the hard way. Mother can tell the toddler in me that the stove is hot, but unless I touch it for myself, there is always doubt in my mind and I wonder just how hot the stove is exactly. The new bike will arrive as winter weather is close to hitting, which means I probably won't get a ton of time to test things out; however, the future looks brighter with this round, and I'm holding out hope for a much happier ending with round two. Hopefully, the stove is turned off this time too - I don't particularly enjoy getting scorched.

A Custom Bicycle (Part 2): George Washington or Benedict Arnold

If you missed the first part of this post and would like to get caught up, you can find it here. Otherwise, feel free to carry on to part two below.

I was starting to think I was crazy, and that I'd spread my insanity to Sam. Had he just fed into my thoughts of what had been happening? I know that if anything he is a very sound and reasonable person, so odds are he'd sway in favor of the bike being fine and just needing some adjustments, but he seemed to be just as frustrated with his findings as I'd been with riding the bike over the weeks prior.

Expecting that we would experience a ride similar to the Crown Jewel - at least generally speaking in reference to set-up, we went to a bike shop to test a version of my former carbon road bike (my bike would be a now nearly 4-year old version, so we'd have to find the closest match). I couldn't recall with any kind of great accuracy the sensations I had while riding that bike any longer, but I remembered feeling fast and not weighted. Now, I simply wanted to know if I had invented an experience that never existed, or if it really was that I am simply not in the shape I was last summer.

I took the test bike out first, and over some very rough terrain - rougher than anything I ride on the roads locally. The road had huge gaps, cracks and potholes and was covered with chipseal, so I knew it would be an equivalent, or even worse than the rough roads I ride. What I noticed almost immediately was that I didn't feel any of the roughness or rattling like I had on the Crown Jewel. The ride felt soft - not noodle-like or squishy - but it wasn't hurting, and I could actually climb to get up a hill without feeling as though I was going to wipe out and my energy was going toward something that propelled me forward. It was all very confusing and I thought that certainly I was inventing all of this in my head, so I went back to the starting point to let Sam have a try. I said nothing to him and let him set out to make his own evaluation.

When Sam returned he said, "It feels like your old bike - easy to ride and it doesn't cause pain. I can actually pick up speed when I'm on it." He shook his head and said, "Honestly, I really didn't expect to feel such a huge difference between them, but it is more than obvious that something isn't right with the IndyFab."

I had to try it again. I got back on and rode through a shorter version of my earlier test and came to the same conclusion. While this bike was in desperate need of a tuning (it was definitely not shifting well), and it wasn't set up quite properly for me, there was no denying it had a completely different feel than the Crown Jewel. We left, scratching our heads and still thinking that there must be something wrong about the setup on the CJ at home.

An experimental ride with the IndyFab Crown Jewel during a stop off to see Sam at work.

After some reading, we thought the tires I'd chosen for the Crown Jewel were too harsh and perhaps causing some of the rattling that was ringing through my body while riding. We put the softer Schwalbe Durano tires I've had on prior bikes on the IndyFab and decided to give that a try to see if it would dampen some of the road vibrations I was feeling. After all, if we take things one problem at a time, perhaps we could figure out a solution for the whole bike.

During the research, we also discovered the possibility that the wheels on the bike could be causing the heavy/dragging/weighted sensation. I questioned this possibility as the wheels had worked fine on the prior carbon bike without issue. Additionally, when spun freely, there didn't seem to be any kind of drag or stopping taking place. Would I have to replace the wheels in order to really find out?

The next day, I decided to do a direct, back-to-back experiment with the Crown Jewel and the Hillborne. I took the CJ on a 25 mile ride, followed by the exact same ride on the Hillborne. I intentionally took the CJ first because I knew I'd be fresher and ready to take on the ride. If anything, this would give the Crown Jewel an advantage, and since it was currently at a disadvantage, I wanted to give it all I could to stand a chance.

To put it bluntly, the CJ ride did not go well. I had to stop multiple times over the first 12 miles just to get the numbness in my hands to stop. While riding, other people passed me on bicycles as though I was standing still, and while that is often the case for me, I could feel the effort I was putting in, and yet, there was nothing I could do to prevent them from easily zipping by. I was tired by the time I rode the Hillborne, and definitely in pain from the Crown Jewel, but I somehow still managed to travel more easily - even being on a bicycle that outweighs the CJ by at least 15 pounds.

Sam had given up. He stated his opinion as simply as he could when he advised me to give up on this Crown Jewel and get something that would actually ride properly for me. Yes, it would be difficult to lose the money and mentally painful as I had picked out what I wanted, but it was insane in his mind to continue to try to adapt something that apparently wasn't resolvable.  As difficult as it was, I was starting to swing to his side. In fact, as I'd been riding the Crown Jewel during my experiment, all I could think about was being done with the ride - the exact opposite of what I would hope for in a bicycle. I want to want to ride. I don't want to dread being on my bike or make excuses as to why I'm not out using it.

Looking over the information that had finally been e-mailed to me by the bike shop, I realized that the top tube had been made more than two centimeters shorter than I typically ride. I know they had concerns about my weak and damaged hand/wrist, but I had explicitly stated that what I'd been riding was working fairly well with some small exceptions. Why would they randomly change this - and particularly without telling me? It just seemed like a dramatic change and I couldn't help but wonder if this was playing a role in many of the issues I was experiencing.

One of the biggest issues with this custom build is that I wasn't speaking to Independent Fabrication myself. Instead, I was going through a mediator - the local bike shop - and who knows what information was given to whom, and how that information was being interpreted. In that moment, I wished more than anything that I'd selected a company I could speak to directly, rather than playing this game of telephone - for which I seemed to be using a tin can with no string attached. It's a horrible realization to suddenly comprehend that because the bike shop determined that I didn't need to know any of the actual measurements, I was now potentially left with a bike I couldn't use.

I felt all sorts of emotions. I was angry - both at the LBS and myself. I was frustrated - because it felt like there was nothing I could do to resolve any of this. I felt stupid - for having thought that a custom bike was the answer I'd been waiting for all this time. I was in pain - literally from all the weeks - and now months - of riding something that just wasn't right. I was feeling all sorts of craziness and it was difficult to put it into words that weren't laced with profanity.

E-bay searches were quite common for about a week or so. I wanted to know what prices others were getting for their IndyFab's. I had passed the stage of caring what happened with this bike and just needed to know how much money we were going to lose. My searches were a bit eye-opening. It was easy to see that I would be lucky to get half of the cost back I'd spent on the frame and fork. Selling the bike whole wouldn't provide much more return, and with that thought, I was left to ponder whether I was really prepared to give up on this bike.

As we discussed the issues taking place with the CJ and the potential loss, Sam reiterated that he was perfectly fine with losing some money, as long as I got a bike that would work for me. In my frustration, I agreed that the Crown Jewel was not working  - however, in the back of my mind, I still couldn't stand the idea of giving up on it. I'm a bit hard-headed with certain things and this seemed to be my current fixation, but I agreed that I probably needed to look at something else.

People - friends, family, and even occasional passers-by would ask about the Crown Jewel. Those who knew me wanted to know how it was working and if I was still happy with my decision to get a custom bike. Honestly, I never knew how to respond. While I wasn't sorry about the actual act of working on a custom bike, and I wouldn't discourage anyone from moving forward with their own, I was really struggling many days to find the good in this new bike. My responses were always vague and non-committal. What else could I do at this point? I wasn't ready to bash the bike or its manufacturer because some small part of me still believed it was possible to get it to a place that worked. I know how finicky I am about bike set up and maybe this was just part of the process, even if it seemed like it should be going more smoothly.

The next decision was to try switching out the wheels on the bike. We had another set that were of supposed lower quality from a past build that had since been parted, but maybe it would make a difference. The wheels were supposed to be heavier, so I was doubtful it was going to improve the situation, but when trying to find solutions, it's better to give all avenues a try, rather than stubbornly avoid something.

At least the summer wetness left us with beautiful greens that lasted much longer than is typical.

As much as I believed there was no way the wheels were going to make any difference, they in fact made a change to the bike - enough that the Crown Jewel felt rideable - for at least very short distances - without causing me to break down in tears on the side of the road. We'd also switched the stem again, and put a different (though exactly the same model) saddle on the bike (this saddle has more miles on it, so it's a bit softer in feel than the previous one). This particular outing was better than many I'd been on with the CJ and I was glad to feel that the wheels did seem to resolve some of the problems. A lesson to be learned - no matter how expensive a set of wheels, it doesn't necessarily mean they are the best.

Of course, the wheels didn't fix or lessen all of the problems, and the twitchiness still remained. I figured this was merely something I would have to make peace with because even the longer stem we'd switched to wasn't entirely helping. The extreme hand problems seemed to have slightly lessened, which was great, but they were still present to greater or lesser extent, depending on the day/ride/route. In part, some of the pain may have been caused by the wheels, but I think it was also the roads I chose to ride (which are often chipseal and/or full of large holes) and the fact that I wasn't giving my body a break between experiments/rides. I also believed some of this was due to the reach on the bike.

One day I decided to just go on a quick spin in every day clothing - no gloves or padded anything - just to see how I felt. I wanted to pay particular attention to anything that seemed odd or out of place. I didn't take a GPS because I didn't care how fast or far I was going. I just wanted to know if there was any possible resolution. The things that were almost immediately noticeable:

1) The pressure on my hands was greater than almost any other road bike I've owned. This would explain (at least in part) why my hands go numb quickly into rides.

2)  I found myself wanting to move my hands back from the hoods about 2 inches. When they were sitting on the hoods, I had no bend in my elbow, which I know can create problems as well. This caused me to think that even though the top tube is shorter than other bikes I've had, the reach was somehow too far (I'm sure adding a longer stem hadn't helped matters).

3) When I'd scoot my rear end closer to the handlebars, I could avoid the "stretched" feeling, but then my knees felt as though they were going far too forward over the pedals. When I moved back to a proper pedaling position, the arm/hand issues began again.

Even though I traveled a fairly short distance on that ride, it was evident that there are flaws in this build for me that I wasn't sure could be resolved. We thought about a shorter stem (which we'd already done), but it had made the bike even more twitchy and it hadn't seemed to resolve the numbness either. The seatpost has a very small amount of setback, so we pondered putting a zero-set back seatpost on the bike, but I thought that would only result in the same pedaling issues I had during my experiment and would definitely affect power when riding.

I was fairly convinced that the numbers on the areas with purple arrows were the major contributing factors to my problems

Overall, the fit on the bike had improved somewhat from our initial days and weeks together, but I was not at all prepared to say that it was perfect (or even close - or for that matter workable) at this juncture. After reviewing (yet again) all of the measurements that had been sent, we realized that the reach seemed wrong. On prior bikes, this measurement had been several centimeters less, but I wasn't sure if it was that number alone or that number and other angles/measurements combined. It seemed strange that the actual top tube could be much shorter, yet the reach was so much longer. Something was wrong, I was sure.

At this point, it is more than safe to say I was disillusioned about the custom frame process. As of that moment, I couldn't state with certainty that it was worth the cost to have my own frame built. Many of the problems I had prior to the build persisted, and while I didn't fault IndyFab or the LBS for this entirely, I had serious doubts as to whether any custom frame would make enough of a difference to ever try this again. The problem is that the only way to really know would be to have another go-round, and I knew I was not prepared for that option (financially, physically, or emotionally).

I also had a couple of regrets as far as my decisions during the process of the build (again, these were my decisions, and not the fault of anyone but me). I wished that I had purchased a matching steel fork and that I'd had the frame built with eyelets for fenders and racks. As time progresses, who could know what I may want to do with the bike? While it's possible to attach racks by other add-on means, it would've been nice to have a bike with a top tube that isn't too long (eg: the Hillborne) for longer sorts of rides... but, at the time, my purposes for this bike were not focused in that regard. I'm not sure any of this would've mattered anyway, as the fit for my proportions just didn't seem to be working.

There are times when I really beat myself up (not literally, of course, because I'm not some crazy Jim Carrey wannabe), but it's hard not to think back on some of the things I do and wonder where it all went wrong and why I seem to make such bad decisions. IndyFab is not a poor choice for a custom build, and in fact they have a great company with lots and lots of very satisfied customers, but it was the wrong choice for me at that moment in time. As I wallowed a bit in my self-deprecating thoughts, I had to regroup and figure this out.

At this point, the IndyFab was being dismantled. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with it after my final attempt to see if I could make it work. I had gone on another short ride after my plain-clothes test and returned home with aching hands and other various problems. As I had headed out on that ride, I thought to myself that this was the Washington vs Arnold test and there would be no turning back. When I returned and uploaded the ride, I titled it Benedict Arnold it is then, and decided at that moment that as much as I didn't want to give up on the CJ, the bike had won and I wasn't willing to sacrifice feeling in my extremities because I was crippled from pain.

It was a tough day to watch as the bike was taken apart. I felt as though I had failed in this attempt to find something that really would work. I was upset because I knew I had talked Sam into letting me do this and now it was a gigantic failure. He was angry, and I was back and forth between tears one moment and anger the next. Suffice it to say, it was not a good time for us. I knew Sam didn't blame me for it, but it was hard not to take on the guilt from such an expense and feel completely responsible for its demise.

Sam was encouraging me to go and try out bikes again locally. We went one weekend and I rode a few different models that were similar to bikes I've owned in the past. I wanted a road bike again that was at least somewhat comfortable to ride because summer was screaming by and I knew I didn't have much time left to get in longer rides. However, I wasn't ready to make a decision based on what I'd tried in the local bike shops. Something inside me knew I had to go back to the start and take another look at my options.

One day as I sat pondering all of this mess I decided, with much trepidation, to type a couple of notes to bike builders. I honestly wasn't sure what I was doing or why I was even bothering to try to get answers from someone else, but I knew that it was important to figure this out. Bicycles are a huge part of my life and not having the one bike that allows me to put in more miles was causing a lot of anguish. Frankly, I don't know what I expected out of the e-mails. Perhaps I was looking for some validation, or maybe I just needed to believe that it was possible to find something that would work. Not really knowing what would come from it, I sent the notes off to builders who I thought might be able to offer some input.

This will be the stopping point for round two of this tale. I'm fairly certain I can get the rest of the thoughts up in the last of this series very soon.

Part 3 can be found by clicking here.

A Custom Bicycle (Part 1): When Excitement and Frustration Collide

I feel I must preface this post with a bit of a deep breath. I'm always happy to share my personal experiences with a bicycle, but this has been one I've tried to keep to myself for at least a small amount of time because I really needed to work through some things. I've had a number of requests to share more about the IndyFab and how it's gone thus far for me, so I suppose I'm caving a bit in that respect.  Believe me, it isn't that I haven't wanted to provide additional information, but sometimes time allows things to be resolved (although sometimes it doesn't), and what might feel like an enormous trouble initially can turn into something surprisingly small in the rear view mirror. I'd hate to start rambling about something early on, only to find that it was easily solved down the road. The time has come to share more, however, and with that said, I've been keeping notes along the way so that hopefully it will provide a realistic re-telling of what has happened. It's a long story and I don't want to overwhelm anyone, so it is probably going to be split up into multiple parts (apologies in advance to those looking for a full-dumping of the story here and now). But with that, here we go...

In July, I wrote about a custom bicycle that had been built by Independent Fabrication for me via a local bike shop. That post had more to do with the actual experience of the build than information about the bicycle, so I figured it would only be fair to write a bit more about the bicycle and the experience after a small bit of time has elapsed. My goal here is not to provide every single small detail since obtaining the bike, but to hit upon some of the points that have seemed important along the way, or that at least provide a bit more of the story.

Prior to receiving the new bike, I had been debating for about a year and a half as to whether or not it would be wise to move forward with a custom frame (and contemplating-from-a-distance the idea of a custom even longer). After lots of back and forth and chatting with potential builders (or representatives for builders), I opted to go with Independent Fabrication. I was also unsure as to whether I wanted to try out titanium or stick with the material I have known to suit me well: steel. Ultimately, after some convincing from the local bike shop owner and the realization that our budget would handle it a little easier, I opted to go with the material I've known to work in the past.

My first ride on the Crown Jewel was a distance of 40+ miles. I wanted to know how it would feel on something longer than a few miles of testing, so it made sense to try it out over a more substantial distance. When I returned home, I was a bit fatigued, but I was still on the high of having a new bicycle. I had mentioned to Sam that there were likely some adjustments that needed to be done, but I was still happy and overall I was pleased with the bike. It hadn't been my fastest average as far as speed, but I knew I was just testing things out, so I wasn't overly concerned. I'd completed a climb that I never enjoy, though it had been on the difficult side, and I was confident that things were going to be great.

I didn't ride the CJ for another eight days after that initial ride though, other than to quickly test parts that were being adjusted. I was riding, but I kept choosing my heavier, slower, steel bike (the Hillborne). At the time, I honestly couldn't exactly explain why I kept opting for the Hillborne instead of the new lighter bike. I was just enjoying the feel of the Hillborne and I wasn't ready to dive into dealing with the Crown Jewel because I knew there were some things that needed to be addressed. I assumed my choice to ride the Hillborne had something to do with the fact that when I'm on a lighter bike, I find it more challenging to just enjoy riding. It can feel like a race or a challenge to see what I can do and frankly, I was happy doing my slightly slower rides on the Hillborne. I wasn't prepared to commit to "working" on riding.

On that eighth day though, I decided I had to actually ride the CJ. I couldn't keep ignoring it as though it wasn't there. We'd spent a lot of money to get this bike ready for me to ride, and I'd lost a lot of my training season on bikes that were attempting to substitute for a lighter road bike. I set out with the intention of doing somewhere between 40-50 miles. I had a sort of plan in my head as to where I was going and told myself to just enjoy it. I ended up setting 3 personal time records and received a QOM (Queen of the Mountain) on Strava over a quick section on a local road. However, I only completed 22 miles of my planned ride. I'd averaged a pretty decent pace (for me), but I was beat and there was no way I was going to get in another 20 miles that day. I was also still having foot problems, hand pain, and I just couldn't seem to find a position to actually get any power on the bike.

I kept telling myself that it was me. I knew I hadn't done the time in the saddle I had during previous summers, and I just needed to make more adjustments. The thing is, when I'd received my custom bike, part of me truly just wanted everything to be right from the get-go. I didn't want to have to put in time and effort to get things to a place that worked. Why couldn't it just work right straight out of the gate? In reality, I could see that it was a starting point, but there was definitely some work in front of me to be completed. I kept reminding myself not to be a wimp about this and to suck it up and do what needed to be done. On the rides to follow, I would focus on what was happening so that I could attempt to explain the issues and find resolution.

A couple of days later, I got back out on the CJ. This time, there was a storm rolling in, so I knew I wouldn't get very far before I'd probably need to head home. While I don't mind getting rained on, I'm not a fan of lightning and thunder storms, so I knew it would have to be another short ride. I went to climb one of my least favorite hills, knowing that the return trip would be fast and downhill. I had one of my worst average times in quite some time on any bike, but I was starting to really understand the things that weren't quite working with this bike.

One of the things that really bothered me was that the front end of the bike felt twitchy and kind of scary. Every time I'd reach for a water bottle, I'd feel as though I was going to lose all control. My hands were absolutely killing me at the end of a ride and were numb beyond belief. I expect this somewhat when it comes to my "bad" hand, but even the good side was having a lot of trouble. I also noticed that I just felt heavy and slow and went back to blaming myself and my body for its failure to cooperate with what I wanted to get done. It's difficult not to get down on myself when there seems to be so many problems taking place. My feet were also continuing to go numb on every ride, but I'd told myself that this was likely due to back issues that have gone unresolved.

My next venture out was with a local friend. She was looking for someone to ride with and even though I was pretty beat up, I thought it would be nice to actually have someone to talk to for a bit. I warned her that I wouldn't make it very far and that it wouldn't be fast, but I was up for some time together. As we rode, we chatted about the Crown Jewel. She mentioned that it looked really great and appeared to fit me well. We also spoke about her potential desire to have a custom bike built. I told her I'd be happy to send her a link to some information, and our conversation continued on in this manner for the 25 miles we rode together. What she didn't realize is how much effort I was putting forth during our ride. I had shared that I was tired, but even when I'm not exactly up to par in regard to energy, I've often put out some of my fastest cycling times. That would not be the case on this particular ride. No matter how hard I struggled to go faster, I just couldn't make it happen. I apologized several times during the ride for being slow, while she simply smiled and said I was doing fine. I knew better though.

Routinely on these rides I had been experiencing somewhere between 1-2 miles average per hour slower (sometimes even more), and it didn't seem to matter if they were shorter or longer distances. Yet, I felt as though I was putting forth all I had in my tank. I returned to the self-bashing, insisting that my body was failing me. I try so hard not to go in this direction, but when my body appears to be the problem, I can't help but think it's the engine failing to keep up.

We had been having some conversations in our household regarding not having seen the specs for the CJ frame. During the process of having the frame built, I'd been told that I would receive a kind of cut sheet of what they planned to do before it would be done, but that never happened. I was a little miffed about this because I thought it was crucial to get this information myself before any welding or cutting actually began, but I let it go, assuming that others who are experts would know better than me. I also never received any kind of information about the geometry or measurements when I picked up the bike. At the time, I was so deliriously happy to have the bike that the thought hadn't struck me as important, but as time was moving forward, I really wanted to know what they had decided was going to work for me. Besides that, it's always good to have measurements for a bike for future use. I went by the bike shop and asked if they could get me the information. It wasn't readily available, but they said they'd work on e-mailing it to me.

I continued to ride on my own and occasionally with other cyclists, and at home we kept making adjustments to the bike. Sam was convinced that the stem was too short and replaced it with a 20mm longer version. It seems like a big jump, but it was what we had sitting around, so we thought it was worth a try. Sam moved my saddle too (which always seems to be a big no-no for me, but I was game for anything at this point). At various points we moved the stem up and down as well.

My riding was continuing to progress as far as distance is concerned, but it wasn't happening on the Crown Jewel. I was still finding myself choosing the Hillborne over the lighter bike and it was frustrating me. In reality, I was so tired of being in pain that the thought of going on another "test ride" to see what would happen on the CJ was not something I wanted to do. I was riding the CJ, but I did my best to keep the rides around 20 miles to not inflict any more pain than necessary.

Six days before I was supposed to participate in a local organized charity ride, I was really sick. However, I knew I needed to put in a longer ride on the Crown Jewel if I had any intention of riding it a few days later. I pulled myself together and managed a 53-mile ride that day on the CJ. I was so out of it on this ride that I hardly paid attention to anything that seemed wrong with the bike. I figured if I could make it through that distance while ill, there was no reason I couldn't do a similar distance when I felt better. Unfortunately, the sickness progressed and I actually experienced a worse version of being ill the day of the ride. I did complete the event, but it was slow and a bit painful at times. I chalked all of it up to being ill. The bike did better than I'd expected, which I suspected had to do with the change out to a longer stem, but it was hard for me to notice much of anything as I coughed and wheezed my way through most of the ride. The good that came from it, however, was that I truly believed this bike was getting to a point that was improving. If I could ride this distance on it, there must be hope.

One weekend morning, Sam wanted us to go on a ride together. I was feeling bad about the reality that the summer had consisted of a lot of pretty horrible rides together. Ninety percent of our rides had involved me whining about something that was hurting - and this had all started prior to even obtaining the IndyFab - but it hadn't seemed to improve after its arrival either. I have admitted several times to Sam that I've been exhausted by the time the weekend comes around, and the idea of going for any length of ride by weeks' end was low on my list of priorities.

On this particular day, we decided to go on a shorter ride of about 25 miles. As we got going, I knew things weren't great, but I wanted us to be able to ride together. Summer is short and I wanted to take advantage of the time we had with nicer weather. As we rode, I just couldn't stop the pain from coming. At about 8 miles in, I had to pull off to the side of the road. I mentioned to Sam that maybe he should just go on without me, and I'd meet up with him on the return trip since I didn't seem to be able to get any sort of momentum or speed and the pain shooting through my hands was becoming unbearable. He wanted to stick things out together though, so we continued on.

By the time we returned home, Sam was mad about the pain I was having. I had been frustrated and at times angry, but it was disturbing to see him so upset about something I was going through. He decided he was going to take the Crown Jewel for a ride and see if he could reach any conclusions from his perspective. It may seem a bit strange to do this, but we often ride each others' bikes for comparison purposes. Sam is acutely aware of my patterns of likes and dislikes, pain-free and painful positioning, and proper geometry for my bicycles. When something is off for me, he seems to be able to tell almost immediately when he rides, despite the fact that we prefer different setups. He returned from his test with a variety of thoughts.

First, he believed that we are capable of resolving anything. This gave me hope. There have been plenty of bikes in my past that seemed completely off and yet we were able to execute solutions to get a given bike to a point that was at least tolerable -- and this bike was made specifically for me, so there definitely should be solutions to everything taking place.

He also found that there were a variety of issues happening. He could feel the rattling sensation through his entire body from the road, and his hands - which are normally pain-free and strong - were aching (and they'd continue to hurt days after this short trial ride). The front end of the bike seemed twitchy to him, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to get any momentum going on the bike. He'd even taken the CJ up one of the short neighborhood hills he likes to race up and discovered that he just didn't have the momentum or ability to stand to power through to the top as he normally would. He's done that hill on much heavier bikes (and bettered his own records on them in fact), but there was just something "off" about the Crown Jewel.

Although there is more to come, we'll leave off here for now. Part two can be find by clicking here.