Bicycling the 2013 Illinois Bike Summit

Before 170 people–representing metropolitan planning organizations, city and state governments, non-profits and other organizations–headed inside the Normal, Illinois, Marriot hotel on May 15 for the second annual Illinois Bike Summit, a smaller group of attendees headed out for an easy 12-mile jaunt on Constitution Trail and nearby streets.

Gwen, a triathlete representing Vitesse Cycle Shop, was the leader of the merry band. You can bet this was her slowest ride of the year.

Peoria’s Mike Honnold, caretaker of wherestherack.org, and his fine Reynolds 531 Falcon. Horizontal dropouts on this veteran machine simplified installation of a rear flip-flop (single-speed/fixed) hub.

A head tube badge beats a head tube decal any day.

Julian, a professor of politics and government, with his Kogswell bicycle, physical evidence that the work of two parties can be combined for the common good: up front, a rack-mounted Sackville bag; under the seat, an Acorn bag. Like other Illinois Bike Summit attendees, Julian spent the rest of a beautiful day inside. One difference: he would have to wait at least another 24 hours before riding the custom Bilenky tandem with 650 x 42 tires that arrived at his home the day before.

Sometimes the right artifact just falls into your hands. Julian’s Kogswell sports an antique head tube badge that once announced the bicycle of an entirely different manufacturer. Has anyone heard of this old-time Wellsville product?

More evidence that steel is still real: a well-used Trek 830 outside the Marriot.

Small-tire bicycles were well represented on the ride. I counted two Bike Friday tikits, two 20-inch Bike Fridays and a Dahon Mu.

Bike racks on Delmar Boulevard

Quick look at some bicycle parking from the St. Louis trip. The artist’s palette is in front of Dick Blick.

A set of stars offers several attachment points, though most of the bicycles I saw along this stretch of road were locked to pre-rack alternatives like poles and trees. Maybe the racks looked a little too unlike bike racks?

Lollipops along the way. There was a nearby music staff with several bikes locked to it, but with all the pedestrians and bikes in the way, I failed to capture a photo of that installation. Ah, well: next time.

In front of the movie theater, a reel nice piece. It’s no bike corral, but there are quite a few frames in the picture. Two thumbs up.

Bullhead beside the Missouri

A Co-motion tandem passes my Dahon Bullhead on the Katy Trail between Page Bridge and Weldon Spring on Saturday.

I added a Blackburn rack to the Bullhead. Yesterday, I was carrying a small pair of Eclipse panniers around Forest Park in St. Louis. The Bullhead’s chainstays were long enough to keep the bags away from my heels. At least they were once I realized the bags were left- and right-handed.

The Bullhead is a mini velo: a small-wheeled bicycle with a more-or-less traditional double-diamond frame. Once you give a half turn to two 6mm bolts, the frame folds in half, and the forks are connected to the rear stays by magnets. Rotate and lower the handlebars using a 5mm Allen wrench, and you’re done.

With Schwalbe Big Apple tires and a Shimano Nexus hub, it’s a delight to ride. And the adjustable stem lets me get the handlebars to a comfortable height, which means I’m as comfortable on this bike as any other.

But is the Bullhead an outstanding folding bicycle? Not really. When folded, the bike takes up less space than a full-size machine, but compared to monotube folders, it still exerts a sizeable presence. You also have to dig out the Allen wrenches to fold it; most other folders ask only that you flip a couple of levers.

So it takes more time to fold; it’s a bit of an awkward package when folded; and I certainly wouldn’t want to fold it two or three times a day, but if it fits into a car that doesn’t have space for a full-size bike, and you want a nice-riding bike when you get to your destination, it’s an interesting choice.

Finally, if you enjoy the rarified winds of exclusivity, the Dahon Bullhead should definitely be on your consideration list: it’s no longer made.

But it’s still fun to ride. One of these years, I might even convert it to drop bars.

The art of the sale: Visiting Artcrank St. Louis

Seen at the St. Louis Artcrank show: a worthy rival to the Nelson Marshmallow Sofa. Cheap bicycle seats were never this attractive, or comfortable, and yet, there they are.

The show, which runs through Sunday, takes place at the Atomic Cowboy, a drinking establishment on Manchester Avenue.

We quickly settled on a favorite print by Mary Fran Foster, a view from the back of four people riding bicycles, one person with a double bass strapped to his/her(?) back. $40. Such a deal. Others had a bit tougher time choosing a single piece of art. The patron immediately before me finally settled on five posters.

Interesting neighborhood. The first bike I saw in the window of Randy’s Recycled Cycles could have been one of the first Trek bicycles I ever sold. Who can forget those thrilling earth tones?

And across Manchester: the HandleBar. Another eating/drinking emporium. No time or inclination for beer here; the dollar Fat Tires (special promo, indeed) at the Cowboy were sufficient.

This is one of two matching bike racks out front. Look through the wheel and you’ll see the do-it-yourself bike repair station.

Common hand tools are cabled to the station, which doubles as a repair stand to get your wheels off the ground (your seat post nestled between the stand’s two upper projections). For use by any populist pedaler passing by.

St. Louis is an old river town filled with old brick buildings. Plenty to preserve and cherish here, and the best way to do that is fill them with small businesses.

Bicycle racers take the streets today, while we head for the Katy Trail and, later, nearby Montelle Winery, which features an outstanding view of the Missouri River valley.

Bus boy balances bicycle beautifully

Mountain bike pioneer Tom Ritchey says he thought all bikes were gravel bikes.

Now that I’ve ridden with David–that’s him in the picture above–over an unfinished portion of the Rock Island Trail Greenway south of Glen Avenue in Peoria Heights, I may have to agree.

Here’s why.

My Fisher has smooth, fairly wide 26-inch tires. The tires make it easy for me to pedal over paved, dirt and gravel roads.

David’s Cannondale, on the other hand, is shod with 700 x 25 Specialized All Condition Pro tires pumped up to 120 psi on Mavic Aksium rims. (Thanks for the email, David.)

Which make the rocks on the Greenway’s old railroad bed wider, taller and harder than his tires. Not a lot of protection there for the rims, either.

Yet he pedaled straight through that minefield without bouncing, getting out of the saddle, seeming to worry about his wheels or getting a flat.

If he had dipped his wheels in ink, I would have seen a straight line all the way from where he left Glen.

Through rock. On skinny tires. Who does that?

A guy who works for the Greater Peoria Mass Transit District, that’s who.

Pedalling Peoria’s pavers. Or, biking the bricks

You don’t see a lot of new brick residential construction in Peoria.

When you do, the brick often appears only on the side of the home facing the street. Sometimes it’s limited to narrow columns on either side of the garage door. For people of modest means in Illinois, an all-brick home is too expensive to contemplate.

You’re more likely to see masses of brick used in the construction of big-box stores. But when you consider the building setbacks, huge parking lots and anti-human scale of factory commerce, you realize that the best attributes of brick–beauty, strength and permanence–are overwhelmed by the same steroidal mercantilism that promotes consumption over consideration.

Fortunately, there’s a place where the historic qualities of brick still reign: the street.

I’ve been riding over several blocks of pavers on my way to and from downtown Peoria. The surface is a bit rough compared to an asphalt road, but my bicycle has wide, forgiving tires.

Car traffic is light on this street for a number of reasons. Homeowners and renters park on both sides of a relatively narrow right of way. Stop signs are numerous. Houses and mature trees, vertical elements that naturally slow traffic, guard the street on both sides.

Plus, the road surface has an evolutionary feature that discourages higher traffic counts: modest undulations developed over decades. These gentle brick waves give drivers useful feedback on their speed. And drivers slow down, not because of a sign or the possibility of a police car, but because the street itself imposes a natural limit.

This segment of my commute has been patched over the years, sometimes successfully (with brick), sometimes not (with asphalt). But the street continues to serve its residents, and the passing person on a mountain bike, very well indeed.

If only more such corridors had been protected against modern road construction techniques.

Spring on Atlantic Avenue, Peoria

I added fenders and lights to the Fisher just in time for that part of spring that requires neither. Given the dunking the area received earlier this year, I can’t say I’m disappointed that the new accessories haven’t been put to the test.