Deciding between a road or gravel bike: A year+ testing the Specialized Ruby and Diverge

Toward the end of summer in 2019, I started yet another hunt for a road bike. I’d been riding my second-hand Bianchi circa early 2000s and was enjoying getting some speed back in my life. The problem I’d been having though was with my hands and wrists. Since I couldn’t get anything above a 23mm tire on the bike (I had 25mm on the wheels, but they didn’t really fit without major problems), the hand pain I was experiencing was more than I could handle. I made the decision to start looking again to hopefully find something that would give me both a little more comfort for my already damaged hands and keep the lightness and speed I was growing accustomed to enjoying.

Going back to the drawing board, it seemed like the most logical thing to do was to test ride bikes I could find locally instead of jumping into yet another option that I’d have no means of riding before buying. What I’ve realized over the years is that I do much better with bikes I can test ride prior to purchasing. My luck with both mass production mainstream manufacturers and custom builders has been unfortunate though, and so when I set out on this particular round to find a road bike that might work, I wanted to at least have an opportunity to test several possibilities to see if one of them could be that perfect (or at least close to perfect) road bike, without needing to go through the ordeal of a custom frame.

As with many other cities, there are few local bike shops with stock on hand outside of the Trek, Giant, Cannondale, and Specialized brands. To make matters even more challenging, a lot of shops don’t carry sizes that are appropriate, but rather stock the typically-sold sizes ranging from about 54cm to 58cm. So, if one is not 5’8-6′ tall, finding testable choices can be even more difficult.

Trying to remain open to possibilities of new technology or even different materials, I wasn’t ruling anything out. After reading a lot and test riding too, I wasn’t really finding what I wanted. I rode some Cannondales and quickly ruled them out. They just didn’t feel right to me. I also briefly rode a Specialized Diverge and enjoyed it, but thought that it seemed like a do-it-all bike. Not a bad quality by any means, and I recall thinking that if I had only one bike, it would likely be something I’d pursue, but it just wasn’t giving me quite the feeling I was wanting in a road bike.

After returning home from one test-riding session, I happened upon some information about the Specialized Ruby (which has now been eliminated and the Roubaix has taken over for both men’s and women’s version of this bike). Why hadn’t I thought to test that one, I wondered? So, after looking to see if anyone had one in stock, I did a quick roll around the shop’s neighborhood to check it out for myself. It seemed comfortable, thanks to the future shock up front, and relatively quick, but it’s so hard to commit to something with such a short ride. The shop was agreeable to permit me time to ride around the neighborhood, but I knew that taking it for a couple of hours just wasn’t possible.

Deciding that I needed more than a 10 minute ride under my belt with this bike, I rented one from a shop for a day and took it out on a 45-miler to see what it really felt like on the roads I regularly ride. It was amazing! I was in love with this bike – both due to comfort and speed. I was shocked that I had seemingly found the unicorn that allowed me both the ability to go fast and not have hands in pain for the duration of the ride. Where had this bike been all of my life?

I didn’t have a lot of options for purchasing the bike because the Ruby model was being discontinued, but I was also still hesitant to buy one because of my poor luck with road bikes. Ultimately, I decided that my rental test seemed pretty great, so I was ready to move ahead. I bought the same model-level I’d tested during the rental and tried to wait patiently.

When the Ruby arrived, I got to work testing it. My first ride was about 30 miles/48 km and went very well. I had close to the speed I wanted AND I was comfortable. It was like a great epiphany — my heart was so happy. My second ride was close to 30 miles but wasn’t quite as fast as the first one. I ended up dropping about 1 mph average, which was disappointing, but I’d done a little more climbing, so it made sense in my mind. By my third ride, I was ready to go a little farther so I got in a 45-mile/72km ride, but my speed dropped even more, putting me down nearly 2 mph average from the first ride. For the fourth ride, I wasn’t having a great day physically and ended up stopping short at just under 20 miles, but had also dropped a little bit of speed yet again. By the time I reached my fifth ride which lasted a smidge over 40 miles, I was still down an average of 2.5 mph for the entire ride.

The Ruby at the top of NCAR in the spring 2020.

Regardless, I was happy with the bike and because we’d rolled into October and things were cooling off, I figured my body was just entering what I call cold-weather-mode, during which I seem to naturally slow down. I shrugged it off and figured I’d revisit the speed issue when late spring rolled around again.

Around this same time, I spotted a Specialized Diverge for sale online. It was new-old stock (2018) at a shop back east, but was being sold at a terrific price. My mind began to plot. If the road bike was so good, maybe the gravel bike would be great too? I had enjoyed the test-ride I’d taken at the bike shop on the Diverge, short as it was, so maybe it was supposed to be with me? I knew I didn’t need it… after all, I have bikes that can travel on gravel roads, and even the new road bike was okay on them, thanks to the slightly wider 28mm tires and geometry, but it was calling to me and I really felt some strange pull to buy it. Sometimes, there’s just no explaining things I do, I suppose. Plus, I figured if I didn’t end up liking it, I could always sell it and break even (or come pretty close to doing so).

So, after some plotting and calculating (and selling some stuff I wasn’t using), I ended up with the Diverge in addition to the Ruby. After riding them both for a good year plus, I realized that the two bikes are pretty similar, though there are a few differences. The Diverge has the capability of taking up to a 42mm tire, the Ruby can handle up to a 30mm tire. The Diverge feels a bit more squishy when riding — not in a bad or good way, just a little different feeling, but is appreciated on rougher roads/gravel. Weight-wise they aren’t as far apart as one might think, with the Diverge being ~3 lbs heftier (most of which seems to come by way of the wheels). With pedals and saddles (knowing that I ride leather saddles and platform pedals, so this will affect the weight), the Ruby weighs in at just about 21 lbs and the Diverge at approximately 24 lbs. The geometry of each is close to the other, but slightly longer and more relaxed on the Diverge.

Over the colder months of winter 2019-2020, I spent more time on the Diverge than the Ruby. I found myself really enjoying it. I was slow (even slower than I’d been toward the end of the season on the Ruby), but I seemed to be having fun. Plus, I was getting in some rides on roads I typically avoid because of my hand issues. While the majority of the riding for the Diverge was meant to be on dirt and gravel for me, we have some pretty rough paved roads to the north, and it works well on those as well.

Riding during the winter months on the Diverge.

Speed-wise, I was frustrated, but I was enjoying not having hands in so much pain at the end of rides… and, I know that cold tends to zap my power, so I just enjoyed riding, knowing that things would probably change when temperatures began to warm again.

There’s been a lot of discussion over the last few years about whether or not the future shock is of any value. If you don’t know what this is, it’s basically a spring that’s been added at the head tube that behaves like a miniature shock, absorbing some of the road chatter. Some argue that it slows the rider down, but on the whole most seem to like it. I fall into the latter category, definitely. Even if it is mildly slowing me down (and that is an “if” because I don’t feel like this is affecting my speed), its advantage far outweighs whatever small speed deficit there may be. It’s allowed me to ride roads I normally avoid and to be spared a lot of the associated pain due to those rough paths. Both the Ruby and the Diverge have performed well in this regard.

As the spring of 2020 rolled around, I went back to riding the Ruby more regularly, but found that my speed was still suffering more than I would’ve liked. Because of the pandemic, I was spending more time riding than usual so I was getting a good sense of both bikes, but also began to see via real-life rides how similar these two bikes truly are — and that I really didn’t need them both. Of course, I knew that from the start, but as the year moved along, I knew I’d probably make a decision at some point to let one of them go.

The bikes have pretty close specs. Both are carbon, they both run Shimano 105, and both are outfitted with the CG-R seatpost (which looks funny, but works well). The only real difference in parts is the wheels, and while neither is anything to write home about (DT Swiss R470 for the Ruby and Axis Elite for the Diverge), there is a weight addition with the Diverge wheels.

I performed a few rounds of quite unscientific testing, riding the Ruby one day on a specific route and then on another day riding the Diverge on the same. What I found after several of these was that my speed really wasn’t much different, if at all, from one bike to the other and that knowledge sat and festered a bit in my mind as I tried to decide what I wanted to do, if anything.

My unscientific documentation of various rides comparing the two bikes.

After using the Diverge for a small amount of time as my main bicycle and because I still felt as though the Ruby was a little heavier than I’d like for a dedicated road bike, in the summer of 2020, I decided to let that one go and kept the Diverge. To date, I haven’t regretted that decision.

What I’ve learned from this longer term experiment has been personally useful. I was already aware that there is a lot of talk about gravel bikes and the differences (or lack thereof) from road bikes. What I learned, particularly in this instance, is that they really aren’t all that different from each other. Perhaps if I’d gone with something more race-oriented for the road bike I’d have had a different experience, but other than rather small details and some wider tires, these two bikes are very similar and ride/perform nearly identically. If I were presented a choice between the two having the knowledge I have today, I’d go with the Diverge/gravel bike (as I did), only because it’s a little more useful to me being able to take it on gravel paths with a bit more ease due to the tire width. I recall reading at one point that if one rides more dirt/gravel to go with the Diverge and if the rider chooses more paved paths to go with the Ruby/Roubaix, as they can both handle either. I would agree with that assessment.

Although I am by no means a speedy rider, I have days during which I enjoy trying to be better, faster, and push myself. Finding that sort of bike has been a challenge for me partly because of physical limitations and injuries and partly because finding the right fit can be difficult as well. I also likely have an unreasonable expectation of what a dedicated road bike will be for me. What I’ve decided is that unless I am willing to endure road chatter, a more aero-like positioning, and thus hand pain and numbness, I don’t know that I will ever really find a road bike that gives me the speed I’m always trying to achieve during these experiments. I have days when I am able to achieve speed, but it seems to connect more to 1) lack of wind, 2) my feelings on a given day, and 3) how my body is doing overall. I know the day will come when I will care less and be far less capable of attaining any sort of speed regardless, and in that sense, it would be wise to give up the hunt for this elusive road bike. I have also discovered that so often the problem is really me rather than the bike. At a certain point, I have to accept that I am simply not a racer and never will be; and, though I don’t mind being slow, it can be an incredibly frustrating realization on those days when I just want to move swiftly.

All of this has caused me to reflect a great deal on the bikes I have owned over the years – both those I let go because of a want for something better, faster (whether real or imagined), or different, and those that I enjoyed but sold to fund another purchase and then lived with the regret. Nearly a decade ago I wrote about the grass-is-always-greener mentality when it comes to my bikes and I can’t help but wonder if that thought process or feeling ever goes away — if there will ever be a time when I’ll appreciate what I have when I have it and stop worrying about how fast (or slow) I am on a bicycle, or whether there’s something that functions better.

The Diverge, in some ways has been like my Rivendell Sam Hillborne. They are, of course, very different bicycles, but with each of them, when I ride, I tend to worry less about speed. Oh, I have days when I get frustrated or feel slow, but something about this bike gives me permission to simply ride, and I think that’s what I’ve enjoyed the most about it. As I accept the fact that I am a mere mortal, and not a particularly athletic one, I begin to appreciate the bikes that allow me to enjoy the moment, the ride, and not obsess about every minor detail over a route. Although I have given up trying to guess which bikes will remain and which will go, this one seems to provide something I was missing and I can appreciate it here and now for that very reason alone.

Potato Diaries, Day One: Testing the Roads

I am currently in Idaho. Why am I in Idaho you may be asking yourself (or, perhaps you couldn't care less)? Well, a little over a year ago, my mother and step-father moved away from California and settled into the land of potatoes for some yet-to-be-deciphered reason. They had no one living in Idaho and it seemed as arbitrary a place to pick as any, so I'm still not certain what prompted it. I "get" that it's expensive to live in California (and has been for a very long time) and for retirees it's even more difficult to stretch their dollar, but I'm still stewing about the abrupt departure and selection of location for their home. Of course, it's not my home, nor my life, so I suppose it doesn't really matter one way or another what I think or feel.

There is also nothing worse to me at this present stage of life than driving. Oh, how I despise it. Particularly any sort of distance driving. It seems as though I hate it more the older I get. Spending 13 hours in a car is not my idea of fun (and I'm reminded that I'll be doing it again in order to get home). ::sigh::

But, enough of my personal issues. As I was saying, I'm currently in Idaho. More specifically, about 20 miles outside of Boise, pet sitting my parents dogs (along with one of mine who came along to keep me company and to harass their two dogs - Our other pooch stayed home to keep "dad" from feeling lonely). The folks had several things they needed to take care of in California and had an undetermined timeline, so they asked if I'd be willing to come out and stay in their house and attempt to keep their pups and plants alive (so far, so good - but then again, I'm only on day one, so I won't throw a celebratory party just yet).

Since they didn't know how long they'd be gone, I decided to bring a bike along too. No reason to let my legs have some kind of respite, I figured. Sam suggested bringing two bikes with me, but I figured one was enough. I can't ride them at the same time and I figured I could choose one that would be able to do any of the rides I'd want to do.

So, after tiring out the dogs as best I could (see above for a brief visual of the 3 hour exhaust-the-dogs session), I decided that today would just be a short exploratory ride to see what the roads here in the 'burbs of Boise are all about. Even though it was a short ride, I have to say that I have never in my life been so grateful for the roads, paths and infrastructure that is available to me at home in Colorado. I've definitely taken for granted the fact that motorists are used to seeing people on bikes, and even if they don't like it, they (for the most part) accept that bicycles and the people riding them are a part of every day life. I wish I could say the same for this area, but thus far my short, near-death ride hasn't given me the greatest confidence that Idaho drivers understand that bicycles are able to use roadways too. I believe the roads here also leave much to be desired for those on two wheels... but I'll get into that shortly.

I had taken the dogs on a walk this morning down a path that runs right through my parent's neighborhood. I figured I'd start there on the bike and work my way up to deciding which roads seemed like good choices. Having done a bit of research before arriving, I realized that not many of the roads have 1) bike lanes, 2) wide shoulders (or any shoulder for that matter), or 3) easily navigable bike paths. It may be a bit easier in Boise proper, but being about 20 miles away from the city, I'm struggling to find places that work for riding.

The path started off quite nicely. The city has used asphalt for the MUP, which is great for walkers, runners and cyclists alike. I expected this to continue and was enjoying it until just a couple of miles in when the path turned into dirt and gravel. I have nothing against dirt and/or gravel, but it's apparent that this portion of the trail is not as well maintained as the piece that has been paved.

After navigating my way through some tricky rock portions that I wasn't expecting (not pictured, unfortunately, as I was focused on not falling over), I decided I'd better make my way onto some actual roads. The issue was that I had no idea where I was or which direction to go. I did have my phone with me, but with no way to attach it to my handlebars for use as a map/directions, I decided to travel in a rectangle shape so that eventually I'd end up back where I should be.

The gated portion has the "pool" area for dogs to swim, while the surrounding area has a walking path to keep everyone moving around.

I passed what has to be one of the coolest dog parks - ever. It's hard to see everything in the photo here, but there are separate areas, a walking path within the park, a swimming area for the pups, plenty of benches, and lots of shade, water, and balls for dogs to play with. I can't help but think more dog parks should be designed this way.

Dog park aside, the road I was riding was quite busy with motorized traffic and it lacks an appropriate space for bicycles to travel, so unfortunately (much as I think it's the wrong place to be), I spent most of the time on this road traveling on the sidewalk. Maneuvering around left-out trash receptacles, fallen branches (the wind has been blowing quite hard the last couple of days as I'm told), and other debris was less than fun.

The decision was made to head south, in hopes of getting away from much of the motorized traffic. Although the traffic somewhat lessened, the road was still difficult to travel, changing from loose rocks at the side of the road to rougher-than-usual chipseal that was in terrible shape. There wasn't a shoulder to speak of which made riding with the cars a bit more challenging too. Unfortunately, the cars and trucks passing weren't horribly cooperative, but I wanted to get through a short ride to see if there are any streets somewhat close by that would be better for travel on two wheels.

As my surroundings changed slightly to more rural views, I found that I loosened up a bit and started to accept that the cars and I would simply have to share the same lane. Although this happens at home too in certain spots, it was bothering me more in my current location - perhaps because in a very short amount of time I'd been yelled at by multiple passing vehicles.

Still, I have to admit that the visuals were lovely in areas, which did help make up, at least somewhat, for the occasional cranky person passing by. I should also say that not every passing vehicle was difficult. Many of the cars provided a huge amount of space when passing, which was much appreciated.

The ride wasn't as flat as it appears from this and other photos. There are definitely rolling hills all around.

I haven't quite yet figured out where people ride here. I've seen only a handful of individuals on bikes thus far (and a couple of those were middle-school-aged kids), so it's been challenging to ask others for thoughts on the matter. There are a plethora of bicycle shops within a 15 mile radius though, so I'm guessing there are places that are more hospitable. My plan is to pay a visit to a couple of the local shops and inquire as to where people ride in the area. Hopefully, that will give me a better idea of where to go on the next portion of this mini-adventure.

If you are familiar with Boise and the surrounding areas, let me know any spots that might be a good place to check out. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to seeing as much as I can while I'm here in the state known for its potatoes.


**Day 2 can be found here.

The Rodriguez Rainier: An Update/Mini Review-to-Date

Sometimes, it's actually quite difficult for me to articulate how I feel about a particular bicycle. Generally the words and thoughts come together at some point in time, but there are certain bikes that seem to need more time and clarity than others. Often, this has little to do with the bike itself, but has more to do with my bodily injuries at the time or my mental state of being. Such has been the case with the second-round custom road bike.

When we left off last year with my apologetically long posts regarding my first custom built road bike, I wasn't sure where anything was headed. I hoped for better results during the second go-round with the Rodriguez, but I hadn't quite received the new ride, so I couldn't provide any sort of mental relief for anyone reading along and/or sympathizing with my bike plight.

The bike arrived in November, just as we were hunkering down for a bigger snow storm. It was cold, icy, wet, and I didn't get to ride it much at all. In fact, I only took it out for a quick spin initially around a couple of blocks, just for my own sense of (at least some) satisfaction. Of course, pedaling around two neighborhood blocks does not an opinion make (or at least not a very practical/usable opinion), and so I tried to steal some time away to figure out exactly how and if this new experiment was going to work for me.

A day came along that was clear enough that I could take a 10-miler without too much trouble, but again, it still wasn't enough to form any thoughtful opinions. A few weeks later, I managed a 15-mile ride, but none of these were long enough or close enough together that I could really feel my way around this new bicycle. I was getting frustrated.

Then, we started in with home renovations and the move, and riding a bicycle was about the last thing I had time to do. It was unfortunate to say the least.

In early February though, we had an unseasonable warm streak run through the state and I finally had a break from the long days of renovating and enough time to head out for more than a dozen or so miles. Of course, now the issue was my body. Not only was I aching from the projects at home, but I hadn't ridden more than a few miles in months. I also hadn't formally exercised in nearly the same amount of time, so to head out on a longer ride seemed nearly impossible.

Rather than stress myself out or feel some sort of imagined pressure to do a long distance, I decided to just take a shorter ride (about 15 miles) so that I wouldn't fatigue too early and lose any sort of objectivity in regard to the Rodriguez.

Unfortunately for me, my powers of calculation were severely lacking on this particular day and the ride ended up closer to 30 miles. This is what happens when one has no sense of distance traveled (and when one puts the GPS in her back pocket and cannot see it while riding). If it hasn't been made clear from previous posts, I am a horrible, horrible guesstimater of mileage. On many occasions I have believed Sam and I have traveled but a few miles, only to quickly be informed that it is many more than I'd thought. Something is definitely off with my mental distance calculator, but I'm sure it has more to do with the fact that I'm generally lost in my own thoughts and paying little attention to the mileage traveled. It works both to my aid and detriment, depending on the situation.

It's difficult to get a good photo of the colors. They are so gorgeous in person, but I find that it just doesn't quite translate with the camera.

Anyway, as I was on this would-be-15-turned-30-miler, I focused on paying attention to my position, the way I felt and any problem areas that might exist. From the start of the ride (before the start of the ride, I should say) my hands were in some severe trouble. I'd been having a lot of problems with hand cramps from renovation work and often woke with hands I could not move or flex at all. I'll admit, this was probably not the best time to be taking the Rodriguez out for a test spin, but I just needed to know that everything was going to be okay as spring was getting closer every day and I still wasn't sure what I thought of this bike.

As I traveled down the road, I was aware that my hands were having issues, but I also noticed how comfortable I was on the Rodriguez. Despite all of the self-inflicted body pain, it was easy to feel just how well this bike fit me. I was actually - dare I say it - comfortable. Given that I hadn't ridden a bike at all for any purpose for nearly two months, I was shocked. I expected to feel some kind of need to adjust something, but it seemed as though if my hands hadn't been in such dire straits, I'd actually have a winner here.

Could it be? Could this actually fit properly? It seems improbable that a person could hit the nail on the head without having ever met me, nor had me ride one of their bikes, nor had I gone through any kind of elaborate system of tests; but here I was, pretty sure that this bike was turning out to be pretty fabulous.

The Rainier model is advertised as more of a Randonneur bicycle. It's intended to be a quick bike, but it's also stable and allows for fenders, a triple crank, or pretty much whatever one might need to make for a pleasant ride.  I honestly didn't think it was possible to have a bike that would feel perky and stable - and actually fit well - all at the same time.

For those who read my original post about the former custom, you may recall my concern with removing a hand to grab my water bottle when riding. It's not even a hint of an issue on this bike at all. I can descend with ease, remove a hand (or even two) to fetch what I need and not feel as though I'm going to lose control at any moment.

There was some discussion initially about whether to build this bike with a double or triple crank. Obviously, this could be an argued topic, but since I have issues climbing (and living at the base of the Rocky Mountains doesn't exactly help matters), it really made sense to make my life easier with a triple.

I also debated for a bit whether or not to put fenders on the bike, but given that it arrived at the end of the autumn season, it seemed like a good idea. Although they can easily be removed, I have a feeling I will just leave them on year-round as they really don't add to the weight and it's always nice to stay a little cleaner when riding.

The drive train is set up with a mix of parts from Campagnolo, SRAM and Origin8. The wheels are 650c and are working out pretty great to this juncture. Given that the budget wouldn't allow for the finest/greatest at the time of purchase, I think it's actually a wonderful set up; and, over time I'll be able to upgrade things like the crank and so on as funds become available (Are funds ever "available?"). I was really grateful that the shop was very willing to work with me in the budgetary constraints, point out the items that I might personally find beneficial, and remind me that parts can always change down the road.

Since that slightly longer test ride, I've been able to pedal more miles and I am still really happy with the decision to go with Rodriguez, and to give a custom build another shot. I really wish that I hadn't gone through the first round which would've saved both physical pain and money, but I think the experience was a valuable one (Plus, I have the added bonus of sharing all the "fun" with all of you) and definitely added to the bike-knowledge/experience reserves.

This process renewed my faith in bike builders (or at least in this bike builder) and has helped remind me why I love to ride. I was reaching a point that I wasn't sure I would ever ride a bike again for more than a handful of miles, but this Rainier really fits better than I could have hoped. It can't fix the ailments my body has, but I am convinced that the work done prior to the build and manufacture to make those problems less of an issue has made all the difference.

I have named the Rodriguez "Neo." The original intention was not to name him after The Matrix character (Though, as he was known as "The One" it is just as applicable), but rather after Neapolitan ice cream (leave it to the chubby kid to name her bike after ice cream, I swear [shaking head]). Although I chose the color combination, it didn't really dawn on me until it arrived how much it reminded me of the tri-colored ice cream. But, since the thought was then in my head and it seemed to fit, I decided to simply go with it.

This bike truly could be the one though, and that makes me smile. I won't win any speed records on this bike, but that has far more to do with the rider than the bike, and I've always enjoyed rides (be it errands, fitness, or otherwise) when I take things a bit slower and enjoy the scenery along the way. If I want to push myself, I can, or I can simply pedal along. It's always nice to have that choice though.

I'm anxiously awaiting warmer months and the opportunity to really get out on a more regular basis, but until then, I'm thankful for the days that allow me to just get out and enjoy. I'm sure I'll have more opinions as I'm able to ride more regularly, but it's such a relief to know this wasn't all in vain.

The Shortest Ride

Ah, mountain biking. When I think of the activity in a theoretical sense or when watching someone else ride the trails, it seems exquisite. I like the idea of working hard to get over a pass or maneuvering around, through or over obstacles. There's something about it that makes me smile, that causes me to believe that those who are able to get through the toughest of courses are truly remarkable human beings. Perhaps this is due, in part, to the giant, unrelenting cloud that hangs over me when it comes to mountain biking. Surely, only the smoothest, toughest and most athletic are able to achieve success on a mountain bike.

*Image found here

Or, perhaps it's merely that I've built mountain biking over the years into a task that seems to scare the bejeezus out of me.

But, let me first go back a bit.

I grew up riding mountain bikes. After my first tricycle and banana seat bike (with training wheels of course), I was on to mountain bikes. I don't think I owned a road bike until well into adulthood. Mountain bikes were simply the only option, unless a person was into BMX bikes, and I was not.

I rode my bicycle, like most pre-teens, to get around town when my parents weren't willing or weren't available to drag me to whatever location was of interest that day. I rode my mountain bike frequently over paved roads, dirt roads, and wherever I needed to travel.

I honestly don't ever remember being afraid to pedal anywhere I needed to go. In fact, I looked forward to going over obstacles and would often seek them out. Tree branches, rocks, giant puddles of mud/water - I loved it all.

Something happened between that care-free time in my youth and what I'll loosely refer to as today (which actually encompasses the last decade). What was once a fun, exciting, practical means of travel or fun became a thing of fear and dread. I wish I knew where it all turned or that I could point to a specific moment and know that it was where everything changed.

But, I can't. I don't know why or how the fear came about, but one day I simply became aware that mountain biking is scary. It became a daredevil activity in which I was no longer allowed to participate.

A few years ago, poor Sam attempted to get me started on it again, knowing full well that I am the biggest scaredy-cat when it comes to mountain bikes. That ride didn't go well. So unwell in fact that I didn't touch a mountain bike again for a very long time.

As Sam has participated in mountain bike races over the summer, it's caused me to take another look at mountain biking. Not because I want to do races, but because everyone I see actually seems to have a good time. They don't look scared out of their minds and they don't seem to be death-gripping the handlebars like yours truly. I wanted desperately to be able to find that joy and not be completely terrified of even the simplest of dirt trails.

Not to mention, I'd love to understand where the breakdown happens between riding paved roads and riding unpaved trails in my mind.

*Image from Santa Cruz

Several months ago, as Sam and I were wandering around a bike shop, I pointed to a Santa Cruz Nomad that stood brightly at the front of the store (If you follow that link, be prepared to gulp if you haven't priced above-base mountain bikes any time in the recent past). "If you buy me that bike, I'll go mountain biking with you," I snickered with far too much delight.

I knew full well that there was no way on this earth Sam was going to buy that bike. For starters, the bike as built was just shy of $7k. Really. It's an easy way to get out of something when you know there's no money for that sort of thing - particularly knowing that I may very well never touch the darn bike at all. He replied that if he could, he would, if it would get me out, which made me feel worse for suggesting it - even as a joke.

But, the more I wandered past mountain bikes in shops, the more I pondered the idea of actually using one for something other than riding up and down a paved road. The Bridgestone from the 90s I had was really too big to be used for such activities, so if I wanted to test things, I'd either need to ride Sam's bike (which is an option, but we set our bikes up very differently, and I'd hate to mess with his ride too much), or I'd have to get my own.

I looked, on occasion, through Craigslist and eBay, wondering if there was a good deal on something that would fit, but I couldn't justify spending even a few hundred dollars knowing that it could very well just end up gathering dust (and not from riding somewhere dirty).  I pretty much let the whole thing go, figuring that I get plenty of other types of riding in and I didn't feel like cluttering my head with such things for the time being.

Then one day, several weeks later, Sam arrived home from work with a mountain bike on the back of the car. Argh. Not sure if this was a good thing or not, Sam informed me that there was no need for panic as the bike was $50 from someone just trying to get rid of it, so he figured if nothing else, it would be worth testing out.

The tires were pumped up a bit and I stood over the bike in front of the house as though I was going to die if I started to pedal. As I stood there, I pondered actually taking off up the hill in front of me, but just couldn't get myself to move. I played with the brakes, pretending to test them, and a few minutes later threw my leg back over and started walking the bike back to the bike area.

Sam looked disappointed. I know he wanted me to ride the bike, but the fear running through me was more than I could handle. My insides were shaking and my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. "I promise I'll ride it soon," I said, only half believing it myself. "I just need to take it slowly."

Slow definitely didn't begin to describe it. I pretty much ignored the bike entirely. Then, one day, without warning or much thought at all, I decided that I should at least take the mountain bike around the block to see if it even fit properly. I took it from its spot in the holding area and pedaled around the block. The saddle was low, so I raised it up. Then, I pedaled around some more. I rode about 6 miles that day just testing the bike on paved roads.

That didn't seem so bad, I thought to myself. Of course, I knew very well that the problem was not paved roads, but rather dirt, rock and other off-road type rides.

I ended up on a dirt path accidentally on a ride with the Hillborne one day several weeks ago, which seemed to provide my brain a bit of peace with the idea of using a mountain bike on a dirt trail. If I just start slow, it won't be a problem, I told myself. I really had been trying to work my way up to even getting on the bike anywhere that wasn't paved.

As crazy as it sounds, as soon as I get near an off-road path I immediately tense up and fear takes over. I can ride dirt roads on the Hillborne because I'm comfortable with how it handles and the way it rides, but beyond that, the thought just overwhelms me. The biggest problem is that there are limits to what I can handle with the Hillborne because it is so large.

And then one day, it happened. I woke up and thought that I needed to take the mountain bike to an easy trail and just ride. I tried not to think about it too much and as the day got started, I went about preparing as though everything was normal.

As I got closer to the trail head, my heart was pounding so loudly. I was fairly convinced at this point that I wasn't going to ride the trail at all. I did a quick riding loop around the parking lot and then seriously pondered turning around and going home.

But, I didn't. Instead, I opened the gate, drug the bike through, stood over the bike and took a deep breath.

I understand completely that this all sounds insane. For someone who rides her bikes a lot, it must seem so absurd that I'd have so much anxiety about a simple dirt trail, but as I stated close to the start, there are some demons I'm dealing with when it comes to any form of mountain biking - even a silly, technically very easy, dirt trail with little climbing.

I stood on the other side of the gate for a few minutes. My brain was saying, Go back, GO BACK! You don't need to do this. My body seemed to agree as my hands were noticeably shaking. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought it might actually come out of my chest. I fought every instinct in that moment and started to pedal forward.

I had a ridiculously tight grip on the handlebars and told myself to just breathe and relax. Easy for you to say. I can't help but have fights in my own head, at times.

I pedaled for what felt like an absolute eternity (which turned out to be only a mile), at which point I stopped and got off the bike. Ahead of me were two riders on horses and I had the option to keep going and figure out how to pass them on the trail, or turn around and head back. I decided in that moment that I hadn't fallen over yet, nothing bad had happened, and I needed to keep this first ride positive, so I turned around and headed back.

As I returned to the start of the trail, I heard someone behind me say with heavy breath, "On your left." I suddenly heard the pounding of running shoes on the ground and realized that a runner was passing me. How embarrassing! Seriously, I was pedaling so slow that a runner was able to easily stride past me. I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation.

I noticed on the short ride back though that I was far less cautious with my riding. I was starting to loosen the death grip on the bars, and I even purposefully went over a few areas that I would normally avoid or would get off the bike to walk over.

As short as the ride was (just over 2 miles of trail), I could feel that there was a bit of confidence gained in just that short distance. I'm not ready to set off on the rockiest of terrain nor am I prepared to say that I am entirely comfortable on a mountain bike trail - even an easy one like this, but I think with some repetition and increases in distance, I can overcome some of the fear that seems to have taken over this aspect of riding for me.

The bike Sam got for me is on the large side, which hasn't resolved some of the issues with having a bike that's too large (it's a bit long in reach and the standover is a tad scary, so sudden stops are a bit precarious - which I do realize probably isn't helping the fear factor), but it handles like a tank, which for me, is a wonderful quality because I don't worry as much about holes or smaller obstacles on a trail. I'm sure I'll regret that characteristic when climbing becomes more serious.

Ultimately, it's a great feeling to have gone out and at least tried to conquer something I fear so much - particularly doing it on my own. When I look at the photos of the trail, I have to wonder what it is I am so terrified of with off-road paths, but when actually riding them the fear comes and simply takes over. Being able to overcome a bit of it is definitely confidence-inspiring though, and I was reminded that while there are few things that scare me as much as mountain biking, it is important to face my fears and attempt to overcome them.

I find it hard to believe that a two-mile bicycle ride (can I even call that a ride?) could cause such a shift in my mind, but I do think it has helped to remind myself that I don't have to do anything I am uncomfortable with riding. Perhaps one day I'll feel confident enough to head to the actual mountains rather than the foothills, but for now, I'm happy to take things slow and see where it goes.

With cooler temperatures setting in and snow likely on the way, I don't know how frequently I'll be able to ride before trails become too intimidating for me. However, I look forward to trying again soon and I know that we have enough sunny days even in winter that I may just be able to get this demon conquered before spring hits again. Maybe.

Aluminum vs Steel: A Test with the Trek Lexa SLX

Last summer, I wrote up some thoughts on my personal preferences and experience while testing out a carbon road bike. I admitted up front that I am a lover of steel, but I wanted to see and feel the differences for myself and what I could be missing out on. More recently, I've been frustrated with what I'm able to find in a steel road bike - more specifically, that I cannot find something that fits well and is lighter/faster (and, of course, somewhat affordable). We've tried building up our own versions a few times, but it just hasn't gone well at all. Ultimately, I don't want to spend all the "good weather" months hunting down a bike. I want to spend the time riding my bike.

The idea was to go and try out a bunch of road bikes in shops. I was going to leave all my pre-conceived notions about what a road bike should be, what I like and don't like, and what material the bike should be made of at home. That was a little tough for me, but I was willing to play along to see what sort of bike could be best for me.  We found a really great sales guy (actually the assistant manager) at a bike shop and after a quick chat about what I'm currently riding, what I like and don't like, he suggested a bike for me to try: a Trek Lexa SLX. It was not a Trek-specific shop, so I didn't feel as though there would be any pre-determined idea on the part of the shop-boys (and girls) as to what I should try. My immediate issue with this pick was the fact that it's an aluminum frame. As with my test ride of carbon, I have nothing specifically against aluminum, but I've had aluminum bikes in the past and they have caused incredible pain - so much so that I had sworn off aluminum bikes for any future potential bike purchase.

*Image from Trek

I reminded myself, however, that I was keeping an open mind. The assistant manager told me he has severe hand/wrist issues and he can ride the aluminum just fine because of the carbon fork. He explained how the aluminum tubes Trek now makes have changed and off I went on a test ride. Sam's first comment was, "Woah! You just got on and went... crazy!" He was referring to the reality that typically when I get on a new-to-me bike the first time, I'm always a little hesitant. It didn't happen with this bike. Score 1 for aluminum. After riding in a circle to test out positioning, Sam joined me on a ride to see what I could do on this bike.

Immediately, I was impressed with the positioning. I didn't feel overly leaned forward, nor did I feel too upright. The handlebars seemed unbelievable perfect, and I loved the gearing on the bike too. The only complaint I had was the saddle (but that's to be expected on a short test ride). Sam claimed he was having to push to keep up with me (I don't know how true that was, but I felt fast enough, so I was satisfied). We switched bikes at one point so Sam could get a feel of it, and then rode back to the shop.  All had gone well, but I had the nagging of my past experiences with aluminum poking me - though just a bit.

We walked away from the shop to take a look at some other things, but ultimately came back. We were assured that we had 30 days to test out the bike on my own and if it didn't work, we could bring it back. I liked the fast feeling, I liked the positioning, so it was hard to not take him up on the offer. After some idle chatter, we decided to take it home. After bringing the bike home with us, I took it on a few rides: one with Sam along so that we could make adjustments as needed "on the fly," and two others on my own.

I was on a buyer's-high, for sure. I couldn't believe how fast I felt on this bike, and was excited to get out on the road. We tried out one of my already-owned saddles on the first half of the ride and then switched to another. It was a great way to feel immediately which one was working better. After the saddle change on ride one, all was going well. My hand and wrist were giving me a bit of a problem, but I assumed it was due to over working them over the prior several days. Not a big deal, I thought. I would carry on.

The second ride, I went on alone. My hands were still bothering me, but because the days were back to back and I was already experiencing the pain, I assumed that it was just something that needed to heal over a period of time. The ride was fairly short (under 15 miles), but my hands weren't doing great and I was tired, so I decided to head home early.

The last of the three rides, I set out with the intention of going on at least a 35-40 mile ride. I'd purposefully given myself a couple of days to recover from the over-use of my hands the prior week, so I thought this would be a better indicator of how the bike was working for me. This bike wasn't purchased for purposes of longer distance riding, but I wanted to know that it would make it through a solid ride, and I didn't think that 35 miles was an unreasonable distance to expect out of a faster, lighter bicycle. At about 4 miles into the ride, my "bad" hand was in extreme pain and going numb. My other hand was also having some buzzing sensations through it, but I could tolerate the uncomfortable feelings on that side. I stopped early on to shake out my hands, thinking that I might just need a quick break, however, the pain and numbness continued to increase the longer I rode. By mile 12, I had pain shooting up through my entire arm, to the base of my shoulder on the bad side. The oddest feeling to me on this ride is that I was entirely comfortable with the positioning, the set-up, the saddle - everything was great, except for the pain in my hand/arm. The problem was (and is), I can't be in that much pain every time I want to ride.

By mile 18, I didn't think I would make it home without a rescue phone call, but because my body was comfortable, I figured I would do my best to keep my hand off the bars and make it home. At just under 30 miles for the ride, I was in severe hand and arm pain when I returned the bike to its spot in the corral. I was so upset that I sent an e-mail to Sam telling him that I really didn't think I could keep this bike. I told him I was enjoying it, but my hand just couldn't stand all the pain. That pain continued on for several days, during which I elected not to ride this bike again.

During that same few days, Sam was doing research, attempting to understand why this bike was causing me so much pain - and in just one specific area. I had my own ideas of what was going on - more specifically, that the aluminum frame was causing this mystery pain. Sam's conclusion was a bit different. From the research he had completed, he believed it was the tires on the bike. Lucky for him, I'd already ordered a set of tires (God help me with my white/cream tire obsession!). He postulated that it was both the tire itself and the tire pressure. During the next ride, I would try taking the tires down to around 90 PSI (I'd been riding at 110-115 PSI) to see if that would help.

Trek Lexa SLX with Schwalbe Durano tires

Goodness knows I wasn't exactly looking forward to testing out this theory. After spending several days in pain, I really didn't want the experiment to fail. The first reason being that I really like the bike. While it's not the "look" I would naturally be drawn to, it is comfortable and easy for me to ride. Never in my life have I had such ease when getting on a road bike. I wasn't willing to give up without a fight, so I tried to patiently wait for the arrival of my new tires. Patience is not a virtue of mine, but because it coincided with illness, I was able to wait out the new Schwalbe tires.

The day I set out, I was still recovering from being ill. I felt okay, but was still hacking like I smoke 2-packs a day. In addition, the wind was not my friend. We had a storm rolling in and that always makes for a challenging westward ride here at the base of the Rockies. My intention was to do the exact same ride I had done the week prior, but unfortunately, the wind was making it overly challenging. Instead I opted to do a loop that was close to home so I could come back as/if needed. Unfortunately, even with the new tires, things still weren't going well. Again, early on (just shy of mile 5), the bad hand was going numb and I was starting to experience pain again. The left hand that had experienced a small amount of buzzing during the prior rides seemed to be doing better, however.

I ended up finishing the ride at just under 15 miles because the wind was making everything more brutal than it should have been. By the time I was done, I was experiencing the same pain I had been on the prior rides. Angered by this reality, Sam was determined to figure out why a bike that fits so well was continuing to cause so much pain in just this one area of the body. He contacted the bike shop to see if there was something we should try before we gave up entirely on the bike.

Their recommendation was to lower the handlebars. This always seems a bit odd to me as one would think this would put more pressure on an already bad spot, but I was willing to give it a try because I just didn't want to give up. Sam lowered the bars and I took it on a 3 mile ride just to be sure I could handle it. Things seemed fine, so the following day, I set out on a slightly longer, short-ride to see if my hand experienced the same pain. Just before mile 5, I was expecting to experience the start of the numbness, but it didn't happen. I thought it was odd, but carried on.

Around mile 8, I started to feel some numbness sneaking in, but over 10 miles (a short ride, certainly), there wasn't the extreme pain that had taken place on the prior rides, though I was still getting similar sensations. Could that have actually worked? The only way to know for sure would be to take it out on a longer 20-30 mile ride - which I wasn't exactly excited about, knowing the history of what had happened on the bike.

A couple of days later, Sam and I set out together to do a longer ride. We planned to take our time, stop and make little adjustments to see if it would change anything as we went along. While it was a bit of a nuisance to stop every couple of miles, it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. We'd stop and adjust one thing at a time and then carry on. We lowered the bars, and lowered them more - then raised them back up. We shifted the saddle back and forth, and tilted it up and down. We moved the brake levers in a bit, and tilted the entire handlebar up and down. By the time we'd finished the 25 mile ride, things felt about the same as when we'd started bike-wise, but my hand was feeling the effects of all of the changes for sure.

(left) Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen, (right) Trek Lexa SLX

Undeterred, Sam suggested pulling out the Rivendell and having me ride each bike up and down the street to take a photo to see if there was a significant difference in positioning. When lining the bikes up next to each other, everything seemed to be at similar heights and angles, and even though the geometry of each bike is different, the handlebars were set at almost the same spot, as were the saddles. The photos are blurry and hard to really see, but it is visible that there is more pressure being placed on my hands on the Trek, and I have a bit more of an elbow bend on the Rivendell.

Really, this just confused me more because I am entirely comfortable on the Trek, except for the one hand/arm that refuses to cooperate. At this point, the plan is to try yet again by raising the handlebars back up to their highest point, and tilting the saddle up to see if it will force me to put more weight on my back side, rather than on my hands. If that doesn't work, I'm at a loss as far as what to make of all of this. I've read enough to know that many people believe the frame material in this day doesn't really matter. Many believe it's simply more important to find a geometry and set up that works for the rider. I don't know if the damage to my hand and wrist is just so much worse on one side that there is no fix on the bike. Yet, I still think about the reality that I can ride my steel bike without issue. Is it the weight of the bike? Perhaps it's simply too light and forcing my body to absorb too much of the road, and the frame material wouldn't change any of it. The bike isn't that light, but it's significantly lighter than the Rivendell, and definitely zippier.

Although we are still taking a few days to fiddle with things to see if we can get it to work, I don't have the highest expectations of getting the Trek to work for me - which is a shame because I've actually grown fond of it - or at least the speed - despite the pain. I'm frustrated because I would like to be able to ride a bit faster on some rides, but I just can't quite figure out what to do to get this bike to work with me instead of against me. There's a part of me that thinks I just wasn't meant to have a faster bike, and a part of me that wants to fight to the very end, attempting to find a solution. Ultimately, as stated from the get-go, I just want to ride, and spending the summer worrying about pain on any bike isn't exactly what I had in mind. Hopefully, the solution is just around the corner, but until then, I carry on with the heavier steel bikes. If nothing else, at least I'm comfortable.

*Edit:  After this post, I completed a century ride on the Trek, so we have definitely been able to resolve the issues I was having. In the end, it was just minor tweaks that helped fix the pains in my hand/arm, but patience was definitely needed to get to that point.

Carbon vs Steel Bikes: Test Ride of a Self-Professed Steel Lover

Through my adult bicycling years, I've often spoke about how much I love steel bikes. I love the feel, the ride, the comfort. However, every now and again I find myself eyeing a carbon bike, and can't help but wonder if it would be something that ultimately I would want to purchase. When I find myself riding more (and struggling up lengthy hills with those on carbon bikes whizzing past me), I find myself daydreaming about a lighter weight frame.  Over the last couple of months, I have found myself inching closer to the carbon bikes in shops to eye them closer. Recently, while wandering through a shop, I announced, "One day, I'm going to test ride one... just to see and feel for myself any differences." On one of our stops into a shop, Sam reminded me that we know someone who owns a carbon road bike who might also be so kind to let me borrow hers for a day or two to test it out. Ah, my brilliant Sam!

My somewhat timid (but hopeful) request was sent via e-mail to my friend, Joey. I'm always a bit hesitant to ask to borrow someone's bike because I know what mine mean to me, and how uncomfortable it can be when people start touching them, let alone wanting to ride them or take them home for a few days. She was more than gracious though, and said I was welcome to take her Specialized Ruby home for the weekend to test it out.  I was ecstatic. Finally, an opportunity for a test ride that extends longer than a few minutes around the block.

Specialized Ruby Elite

The first small road block is that Joey is a couple of inches taller than me, and has longer legs. I knew riding her frame would probably be a bit of a stretch, but I believed I could do my best to block out any sizing differences and just try to feel the actual variances in the frame itself.  In actuality, because my Hillborne has such a long top tube for its stand over, the stretch wasn't nearly what I anticipated. I promised not to disturb her set up other than lowering the seat post to allow proper pedaling, and I set out to do a few test rides to see what all the fuss is about carbon.

The first ride was just a quick couple of loops around the block. I wanted to be sure I could ride the bike without toppling over, and test out all the shifting, braking and so on. The "testing" went well, and it was time to take the Specialized out for a ride.

The initial "real" ride consisted of a comparison test. I wanted to physically feel the differences back to back between my A. Homer Hilsen (the steel road bike) and this carbon Specialized. I mentally mapped out a quick route that included hills and flats and took the Homer out on the road. After completing the ride, I immediately switched out and pedaled the same route on the Specialized. I intentionally rode the Specialized in second place to not give any favoritism to this bike. I didn't want a higher level of energy on the first ride to possibly increase the favorability of this bike. I realize that riding it after the steel bike could well have put it at a disadvantage, but this seemed to make the most sense for someone who is considering the pros/cons of something I don't currently own. I also threw in a third bicycle to the test: Sam's Bianchi Brava. He suggested that feeling the difference between my mid-20 lb steel bike, the carbon bike, and a lighter weight steel option might be an interesting juxtaposition as well. I agreed. So, after the Specialized was taken out on the road, the Bianchi followed in the third spot.

Several notes and observations were made while riding these bicycles back to back, but I definitely believed that the Specialized needed its own ride to truly test it out.  Keeping in mind that it wasn't set up for me, I didn't want to go too long a distance, but also wanted to give it more than a couple of miles to get a better feel for the material.

I should point out that my intention with these rides was never to specifically note the qualities or positioning of the Specialized Ruby, but rather to feel the differences of steel versus carbon, and I think this was a successful experiment. After each of the rides were completed, I was able to make several observations.

The rides taken allowed me to experience that there is definitely a difference in the feel of these bikes. While on flat land, each bike is capable (even under my unskilled pedal power) to get up to approximately the same speed; however, with the carbon bike there is an immediate sensation of "going fast." The effort being put into the pedals gets the bike up to speed much quicker as none of the energy is lost in the flex of the frame material (as seems to be the case on a steel bike). A similar reality became evident while climbing.  The effort to pedal uphill resulted in a slightly quicker speed (approximate 1.5-2 miles per hour), and beyond velocity itself it was as though the energy expended produced immediate results, rather than losing some of the effort in the climb.  It helped me understand in a more physical manner how and why the carbon roadies are able to speed past me, particularly when traveling up hills.

An old shot of the Bianchi Brava - it's seen several upgrades (including the wheels) since the time of this photo

One aspect I found rather interesting was feeling the physical differences among the carbon bike, my steel road bike, and Sam's Bianchi. I will note that there is little on his Brava that is from the original bike as he has upgraded 95% of this bike to make it a sub-20 lb steel road bike (I believe it currently comes in at about 18 lbs). I was amazed at how light his Bianchi feels even by comparison to my own steel ride. His lighter weight bike was seeing approximately the same speed increases on mild hills (about 1.5-2 mph) as the carbon bike.  So, is the speed difference based on the weight of the bike, or the material of the frame? Is it the sum of the parts, or is it the rider?  Did I simply expect that one would be quicker than the other and already have some kind of pre-conceived idea of the outcome?  I don't think there is any denying that the effort put into a carbon frame is more immediately evident, but I can also see that the weight of a bike must be playing a role in the overall speed as well.

All of this, in many ways, brought more questions than it resolved, but it also provided some personal answers I had been seeking. Even with my somewhat limited time riding the carbon, I can see that there is a time and a place for it, and I "get" why people choose this as an option for a road bike. Clearly, it has its benefits. However, even with that said, this experiment allowed me to re-affirm that my personal preference is still steel. I am a bit unsure if my fondness for this material has to do with what I am currently used to, or if there truly is better comfort for me on steel, but I found that I simply prefer the ride quality on the steel bikes. There are other reasons to love steel over carbon - such as recycling qualities and length of life - but, my preference has more to do with comfort over long distances than anything else.

I am not a racer, and even should I decide in the future that I'd like to achieve quicker speeds (which I can see happening), I think I would opt for a lighter weight steel choice... it is the material I personally like.  Could this change? Of course. Anything is possible, and I'm not willing to say that I would never own a carbon frame because I've already experienced changes in my style of riding over the last few years. However, if at this moment someone gave me the option to choose between the two, I would opt for steel. While I don't think this takes anything away from a carbon frame, and I better understand why there are folks who make this their material of choice, I have learned that I'm happy with what works for me. As has been said before, it doesn't matter what your preference... just get out there and ride.

*A very special thank you to Joey for allowing me to use her beloved Ruby. I appreciated having the opportunity to experience first hand why you love your bike so much! :O)

Post Script: We had another chat a couple years later that can be found here during which people chimed in about their thoughts on ride quality on various bicycle materials. 

Quick Ride on a Wednesday

Today, I was pretty much testing out the bike/camera equipment to see how things would play out. I couldn't stand being cooped up in the house any longer, so I went for a fairly short ride... nothing horribly exciting to report from the ride, but I did want to see how shaky the pics would be.

Ready to go for a ride!

Just getting started on the trip... so far, so good.

Taking the bike lane... so glad it's here to use.

Not thrilled that the city plows snow from the main part of the street, but not the bike lanes, so even two weeks after the big snow, the bike traffic must navigate around it. Fortunately, this is a residential area, so the traffic isn't too bad.

These people had more than a haul! I was impressed with the amount of stuff they were pulling down the street.

Back in the bike lane - and it's clear!

More folks out walking... love the purple on the skirt.

Car pulling out in front of me (she honestly didn't even look), but at least it wasn't too close a call.

Another car that shot out in front of me, just a block apart, actually.

A fellow cyclist passing - he smiled and said hello.

More un-plowed snow making for slick ice in the bike lane.

More people out walking and enjoying the beautiful day.

Another car pulling out in front of me (I never realized how often this happens).

Didn't get far in front of me though, as s/he hit the red light (which, by the way, was green when I got to it). :O)

And, the rest of the ride was green lights and smooth riding. The point & shoot didn't do too bad... next time, the DSLR! Hope your Wednesday was full of good bike times!

The Linus Bike Test Ride

Over the weekend, I had a brief break from work and decided that I'd like to get out in some sun and continue the search for a city bike. I headed down to Mindful Bike expecting to find a variety of bicycles to try out. I was shocked to see how much their inventory had diminished since my last visit a few weeks ago, but I was also pleased to see it because it assures me (as I'm sure the owners) that there is, indeed, a need for this type of shop on the front range and in the metro area.

Bella Ciao Corvo Citta Donna
*Image from Bella Ciao

I had read about a week ago that Bella Ciao is being sold at Mindful Bike, and was already aware that they're selling a variety of other bikes. When I arrived the store was minimally stocked with Linus and Bobbin bicycles - nothing wrong with that at all, but just not the variety I was looking forward to seeing (and riding). I decided that the Linus bikes were a nice looking bunch on my last visit, but this time thought it was time for a test ride. I tried out the Mixte 3 version, as well as the Dutchi 3, expecting that they would ride much like Public Bikes. I didn't find that to be the case, however.

I am aware of several people who own Linus Bikes and really love them, so I expected that, at minimum, I would find them to be a definite contender for the city bike replacement. I love that their prices are in a more affordable range for many people, and the styling is very sleek so I fully expected to take off as soon as I started pedaling. Again, this was not really the case.

Linus Bike, Mixte 3
*Image from Linus Bike

Starting with the Mixte 3, the styling on this bike is quite nice. It really does have the look of a mid-century French bike that's been updated for the 21st century. It is not fully lugged (not that I would expect to see lugs on a sub-$700 bike), but the 8 speed version is partially lugged for a bit more money. I love that the Mixte 3 comes equipped with a 3-speed internal hub, rear rack and bell, making it pretty functional from the moment you ride out the door. The Mixte 3 comes in one size (49cm) which is intended to be a nice middle ground for everyone to be able to ride. Personally, I found it to be a bit stretched for my just shy of 5'4" height, and even just riding it a few blocks I began to feel a kind of pain/numbing in my lower elbows from the stretch. This could simply be personal preferences or incorrect set up for the test ride, as Sam also rode the mixte and didn't have the same sensation. Regardless, I don't think any cyclist would buy a bike that caused pain on such a short ride.

Linus Bike, Mixte 8
*Image from Linus Bike

As for the ride quality, I would say it rode okay. I left the test ride with a "meh" feeling - meaning that it is a functional bike, and a good price, but it just wasn't as fast or agile as I expected it to be. Had I never ridden or owned other city bikes, I'm sure it would be a fine selection, but even comparing it to our Public Bikes, I would choose those again any day over the Linus. The Linus almost felt as though I just couldn't pick up any speed, and the sleek looks did not correlate to a quick ride, which I found disappointing. Perhaps the Mixte 8 (unavailable on our visit) would ride differently? The two models are made of different grades of material (Mixte 3= hi tensile steel; Mixte 8=4130 chromoly), but I just don't see that making a huge difference in the feel of the ride. Though admittedly, I could be wrong.

Linus Bike, Dutchi 3
*Image from Linus Bike

The Dutchi 3 test ride, sadly, wasn't any better. In fact, I would say that if I had to choose between the two, I would opt for the mixte version over the loop frame version, even with the elbow pain. The differences in the ride were astounding to me. One of the big differences is that the Dutchi 3 model I rode had 26" wheels, rather than 700c, which caused a feeling of spinning rather than covering any ground. I am absolutely not a hill climber, and I purposefully took the bike up some fairly steep hills, but I never left 3rd gear. This tells me that the bike just isn't geared properly. It would be perfect if a person lived in a very hilly area, but on flat lands it was frustrating to just spin. The crank is also a 165, which I think added to this spinning feeling while riding. Perhaps a longer crank arm could help this? I should also say that the Dutchi model comes in two sizes: 43cm and 45cm. The larger model (unavailable on my visit) has 700c wheels, so perhaps it would've made enough of a difference to lessen the constantly spinning wheels.

Linus Bike, Dutchi 8
*Image from Linus Bike

The Dutchi 3 comes equipped similarly to the Mixte 3 model, but one thing I did prefer on the Dutchi 3 is that it comes standard with a chainguard. If a person is going to ride this in every day clothes (which would be its purpose for me), I find that a chainguard makes this much easier to do. The Dutchi also comes in an 8 speed version. Neither of these models are lugged, and the Dutchi 8 comes in the 45cm size only, having the 700c wheels. Again, it's difficult to have an opinion since I was unable to ride it, but I suspect that it could ride better with the larger wheels.

I left the shop after both test rides thinking that each bike is acceptable, but I don't believe they are something I would personally choose to purchase. Of course, as with any opinion on ride quality, there are factors to consider. I've owned Pashley's in the past that were much heavier and had a more solid feeling. These Linus Bikes were nothing like the Pashley models. I've also owned 70s step-through Raleigh's which were much quicker and racier in feel. Again, the Linus Bikes feel nothing like these either. As indicated above, I cannot even compare them to the Public Bike options, as those had a completely different feel as well. If you have the ability to test ride these for yourself, I would recommend doing so, as it will likely provide answers for personal ride style, wants, and needs. I would say they are worth trying out. After all, I've taken rides on bikes that others simply despised and absolutely loved them, and vice versa. As for me, I'm opting to remain city bike-less for the time being... so, the hunt continues.