Rose Garden Restaurant

Dustin and his friend Rob took me to their favorite Mexican restaurant called The Rose Garden in Antony, NM. We had wonderful food. I had tacos, with Spanish rice, refried pinto beans and guacamole. Guacamole is made from avocados chopped up with salsa-type ingredients added to it. Of course there was the traditional bowl of tortilla chips and salsa that comes with all meals in all Mexican restaurants. But the salsa here was a green salsa and I prefer red and it was way to hot for me to eat. Dustin likes it so well he always gets an extra container of the salsa to take home.
Dustin had a bowl of menudo which is a soup made with chilli peppers, pieces of tortillas and tripe (tripe is the stomach of the cow, and no, I do not eat this) and Rob had a plate of enchiladas.

Gourd in Tree

the morning glories weren't the only vine that grew up into a tree. I had a gourd vine grow up into one of my redbud trees. I knew the vine was growing up the tree but hadn't seen any gourd on it. The tree leaves hid the little gourds so well I didn't see them until they were quite large. About a foot tall. I hope the tree can handle the weight. They look like odd decorations hanging in the tree - about 5 in all. And I have about 20 more growing on the ground where they belong.

Lost Lake, Found Courage

Yesterday I went on a stunningly beautiful ride - a woodsy countryside loop with the fabled Lost Lake as its midpoint attraction. I'd been hearing about Lost Lake for some time, but could not quite picture what was being described. They said the road around the lake consists of dramatic "rollers" (short, steep hills) that keep coming at you until you don't know which way is up and which way is down. "There is a section where you will be braking uphill, you'll see!" explained theBlayleys gleefully.




After that sort of description, I did not imagine my first ride to the lake taking place on a day with more snow than we'd experienced all winter prior. But that is exactly what transpired.






You know how sometimes you try so hard to avoid something you're scared of, only to end up doing that exact thing? That more or less describes my weekend. On Saturday morning I awoke to a downpour washing away the snow from previous days. The weather report said that the rain would end by mid-day, and that the temperature would rise to mid-50s. I believed it, and set out for a quick ride to Lexington at noon even though it was still drizzling. A few miles in, the drizzle became a downpour again. Then the temperature started to drop instead of rising. And as I proceeded North on the Minuteman Trail, I began to encounter stretches of snow and ice. It was supposed to all have been gone by now, and it was supposed to be warm! But, well, it wasn't. And since I was already en route and soaked, I kept going.





The first couple of times I encountered snow on the path, I got off the bike and walked. But as the stretches kept coming and I got increasingly wet and cold, annoyance took over and I began riding through them - first cautiously, then more brazenly. My narrow tires cut through the slush and cracked the weak ice. The thicker snow was trickier, but I didn't panic and got through it. Before I knew it, I was riding through the very conditions I'd been avoiding all winter. Only toward the very end did the path become completely impassable, and I walked ankle deep in wet snow as freezing rain poured relentlessly.





Soaking wet head to toe, I finally limped inside the Ride Studio Cafe. They took one look at me and brought out space heaters and towels. I removed as much of what I was wearing as was acceptable and sat there shivering and drying my clothes, swearing at the weather.



After some coffee and quality time with the space heaters, my mood improved. Later that afternoon the weather indeed cleared up, and the sun even came out. When I was finally dry enough to ride home, most of the snow on the trail had melted - which made it logical to conclude that I'd be fine doing the Sunday ride the next morning, since surely the roads would be entirely clear by then.






What I failed to account for, is that the Sunday ride to Lost Lake would take us north. And in the North it's, you know, colder and consequently the snow takes longer to melt. Had I realised this in advance, I probably would not have gone. But then I would have missed out on some truly magical scenery and an extremely fun ride. The roads were not bad, but there was occasional slush and ice, and quite a bit of sand. Had I not gone on that hellish short ride alone the previous day, these road conditions at group-ride speed would have been out of my comfort zone. But because I did, I was now (just barely) okay with it. Very cautious on downhills, but otherwise fine.







There were four of us (Pamela, Dena, Emily and myself).We rode at a comfortable pace, the temperature was not too bad, and the scenery was just unreal - endless winding roads through snow-covered fields and pine trees, almost like a staged scene from some winter sporting good catalogue. Except of course it was March, and we were not cross-country skiing but riding bikes.






By the time we got to Lost Lake, I was so full of the day's impressions that I'd forgotten all about its roller-coaster reputation and did not remember until I was already doing the loop around the lake. I have to say it wasn't scary at all, just really exciting. The hills are so steep and short, that after you climb the first one there is really no need to do any work - you just steer the bike and hang on. The first downhill is so fast that you end up coasting all the way up the next hill and then it's downhill again, repeated maybe half a dozen times. And yes it's true that there is one particular section where you have to go leftish on an uphill - but you're flying up that hill so fast that you have to brake in order to make the turn.Fascinating.




I think this ride will stand out in my memory for a long time, not only because of how beautiful it was, but because I was less focused than usual on the aspects I found challenging or scary. I just kind of went with it, relaxed and enjoyed it. I am grateful to have experienced a winter landscape this perfect, and glad that fear did not stand in the way.

Beta alert.

Look away if you ever plan on on-siting "Spoonman" at Coolum Cave.



Pay attention if you want to see a big Frenchman running out the crux.That's all I have to say. Enjoy.































Need more Antoine? Click here.



jj

Into the U.P.

Crossing the Mackinac Bridge into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.July 31, ..

The first stop was at Brimley State Park, about 15 miles west of Sault Ste. Marie, on the shores of the St. Mary's River. Several pleasant days were spent in the area. Blue skies and sunshine were abundant. Daytime temperatures in the mid-80s with lows in the 60s overnight. Very nice!



Of course I visited the Locks at Sault Ste. Marie. A very large freighter had just entered the locks from the higher Lake Superior side. It took quite a while to get it lowered so it could eventually make its way to Lake Erie and eastward. Movement was imperceptible. Only when you looked away for a few minutes then looked back at the ship could you tell it was sitting lower beneath the top of the locks. Eventually the gates of the locks opened and the ship was on its way. I overheard the Park Ranger (Sault Locks is a National Historical Park) telling someone that the ship that went through was 105 feet wide while the locks were 110 feet wide. A rather tight fit overall.





A few minutes later, a small tourist boat came through. Entering from the east side it had to be raised in order to exit on the west side and into Lake Superior.





The top of the boat is below the top of the locks.



Twelve minutes later, the little boat was on its way. It didn't take nearly as long to raise this little boat as it took to lower the large freighter.



A very nice visitor center has displays on the history of the building of the locks as well as a very informative 20-minute movie.

The Art of Exuberant Subtlety

Squinting in the harsh mid-day light and holding my breath, I rolled this rare machine I had been entrusted with across the grassy clearing.I leaned it against a tree. I arranged it amidst some flowers. Ipositioned it this way and that, in the sunshine and in shadow. With the camera to my eye, I crouched, I kneeled, I loomed, I stepped back. And yet, the bicycle refused to draw attention to itself. It was as if in his quest to achieve harmony - a harmony of proportion, colour and form - the builder had gone one step too far. So harmonious was this bicycle, so perfectly at home in these woods on this beautiful spring day, that it was in fact part of the scenery.






To appreciate a JP Weigle, one must appreciate this level of subtlety. There is no Weigle website. Just some flickr pictures, minimal publicity, word of mouth, and one of the longest wait lists in the business. Because tothose in the know, the builder's name is synonymous with randonneuring machines in the classic French tradition, made to the highest standards.Today this style of bike is not as rare - and, by extension, not as striking - as it was just a few years ago. There are fewer heated debates about its low trail geometry and 650B tires. There are also fewer oohs and aahs about its integrated fenders, racks, lighting, handlebar bags and other iconic features. But a Weigle machine is not so much about these things in themselves, as it is about how they are done. They say thatWeigle is the master of the thinned lug, of the French-curve fork blade, of the sculptural, minimalist front rack, of the near-invisible internal wiring,of the perfectly installed fenders. Hardly anyone uses the word "beautiful" to describe his work, although it is assumed. The words used are: meticulous, impeccable, flawless.It is by design that no part of a Weigle calls attention to itself.






In his ruralConnecticutworkshop, JP (Peter) Weigle has a presence that is as quietly compelling as one of his creations. Dressed in gray on gray and of serene disposition, he is easy to miss in a room full of colourful jerseys and animated conversation."But where is Peter?" visitors ask. Eventually he is spotted, in a corner, speaking in a muted yet impassioned tone as he points to some tiny detail on either his own frame or a vintage one in his custody. On my visit I was treated to a Jo Routens, stripped of paint, its brazed joints exposed to be studied. And beside it was the yet-unpainted bike I was trying to photograph now - nearly ready.






The future owner, Elton (second from the left), left the paint colour up to Peter, confident that whatever the builder chose would be right for the bike.






The racing green frame with nickel-plated fork blades and stays is a congruent combination of darks and lights, of matte and reflective surfaces.






The embellishments - such as the lug cutouts filled with tiny bursts of red and the golden box lining - are noticeable only on close inspection, but are so numerous and discreet that one could spend hours looking over the bike and still miss some.






The lugs are thinned out to such an extent, that they are almost flush with the tubes. It is difficult to get their intricate shorelines to show up on camera. No doubt it is to highlight this aspect of the construction that lug outlining has been omitted.






In addition to the frame and fork, Peter made the canti-mount front rack






which features a left-side light mount extension






and sits low and stable on the bike, the platform secured to the front fender.






He also made the rear rack,






which attaches both at the dropouts and at the canti bosses.






The custom cable hanger and tail light are also his own work, as is the reworked ("Special OH-HEC") pump - poorly pictured here, but lovely.






The internally routed dynamo-powered lighting was set up in collaboration with AT Électricalités - aka "Somervillain," who now moonlights as a bike electrician of renown skill. He explains how he set up the lighting step by step here. Examining the bike in person, the entry and exit points of the wiring are extremely difficult to spot even if you know where they are.






The rest of the build the owner put together himself. It included a Grand Bois stem and decaleur,






modern Rene Herse crankset,






Shimano Dura Ace rear derailleur and cassette,








9-speed Campagnolo ergo shifters,





vintage Mafac brakes






Handbuilt wheels around Pacenti rims, with a Chris King hub in the rear and a Schmidt SON dynamo hub in the front, and of course Grand Bois Hetre (extra leger!) 650Bx42mm tires,






Gilles Berthoud touring saddle,






Berthoud handlebar bag,






and long coverage Honjo fenders, which Peter Weigle installed using his own special method prior to Elton doing the rest of the build.





The elegant Nitto bottle cages are a nice complement to the build,






as are the two-tone Crankbrothers pedals and Wippermann chain.






Even after such a long description, there are many details I've missed. I need a clearer background and softer lighting to really do justice to it all. The curve of the brake bridge, the hidden lug cutouts, the pump peg, the delicate little braze-ons... this is a bike whose beauty "unfolds" the more closely you look at it. But standing there in a patch of woods, it makes you think about cycling rather than its own self. And Elton surely has plans to do some brevets on this beautiful machine this season. In the meantime he has been commuting on it to work.






Living in New England, I've been lucky enough to encounter a few Weigle bikes "in the wild" (for example, this one), made over the span of several decades. Like a number of other well known American builders, Peter Weigle got his start at Witcomb Cycles in London, UK in the early 1970s. And while today he is best known for his low trail randonneuring machines with 650B wheels, he did not begin working on such designs until 2005-2006. Before then there were Weigle racing bikes, mountain bikes, touring bikes - all showing the fashions of the times, yet also his distinct brand of elaborately subtle detail. I feel fortunate to have seen some of these bicycles and spoken to their owners.




Peter Weigle's small workshop in the woods is neat and tidy when visitors appear. The builder's friends tease that he never allows anyone to watch him work, his technique being top secret. Whatever the secret is, the results continue to entice bicycle lovers to dream of his machines, whether admiring them from afar or putting their names on the years-long wait list.