18 Miles Per Hour

18 MilesPerHour is about riding through the world instead of just passing it by.

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Thankful Thursday is a public thank you note to all those wonderful souls who have encouraged our riding through their cycling-related gifts and tokens of generosity.

This Thursday I’d like to thank Jason Elm for the gem you see up there.

The team Z kit, made famous by Mr. Lemond during his third Tour victory. While it’s always been possible to find reproductions of early Lemond jerseys from La Vie Claire – due in part to it being an all-star team led by Greg and the Badger (depending on the day) – this one was nigh on impossible to find. Recently that changed, but 15 years ago, when I was gifted this treasure, ebay and a lot of luck was your only hope. Jason was the master of both and I finally got my Technicolor dreamcoat.

I don’t wear it much anymore but it hangs in my garage/ride staging area/personal cycling museum as a reminder.

A reminder of my earliest flirtings with this sport.

A reminder of the bold beauty of 80’s fashion.

A reminder of living in the dark ages of American cycling when I had to scour newspapers and wait for the measly, once-a-week, ABC’s Wide World of Sports half-hour recap of the entire week’s racing.

A reminder of when I fell in love with the sport.

So this is a thank you to Jason.

And a thank you to the bicycle.

What are you thankful for?

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THANKFUL THURSDAY: The Big Jersey

 I’m starting at the bottom again.

The bottom of my fitness.

The bottom of the long climb.

And the bottom of my jersey drawer. Because that’s where the big jersey lives.

 We all have at least one of them. Go ahead, take a look.

Yup. There it is.

 Maybe you ordered it online and got it a size too big. Maybe it’s the ugly souvenir jersey from a race and you’re holding onto it for sentimental reasons. In my case, it’s from when I used to be heavier and then got in shape and got in slimmer, more stylish jerseys. There it is, in the photo. It’s boxy, black, thick wool. Perfect for hiding my gut and my shame.

 I hope you can relate.

The big jersey never gets worn but never gets thrown away. Because you never know when you’ll need it. Yes…need. And actually, fact is, you DO know when you’ll need it.

 You’ll need it when you let your fitness slide and can no longer fit into your race cut jerseys. Or when you, say, have been off the bike for a couple years for some reason. As long as it’s down there at the bottom of the drawer, hidden from daily view, you can live in denial. You can pretend that you’ll never let your fitness go south again.

You can pretend you’ll never need it again. But you may. And that’s okay.

 The big jersey shouldn’t be a source of shame. The big jersey should be a source of hope. Of the promise to, by any means necessary, get back on the bike and back into shape.

The big jersey should be a sign of your enduring commitment to the two-wheeled life.

 And that stack of jerseys in the drawer is like a cycling fitness success chart. The harder you work, the more miles you put in, the higher you move up the pile until one day you can grab from the top of the stack.

Yes, one day you can comfortably, happily be able to fit into the Castelli jerseys. You know, the ones made in a country where XXL men are apparently 120 pounds with a 28 inch waistline. Until then it’s time to start out at the bottom of the fitness level.

The bottom of the pack.

The bottom of the climb.

The bottom of the jersey drawer.

And slowly work my way up that stack.

Back to the top of the Col du Tourmalet.

One pedal turn at a time.

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Mr. Haring later combined his art and bicycles just a bit more.

Use a bike to see the work of Keith’s modern-day contemporaries.

And you can still use your bike to help with the fight against the disease that took Keith from us.

Have fun. And be kind out there.

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Happy 2016. Let's keep an eye on our steeds this year, shall we?

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On this day in 1971, T-Rex had their first #1 record with “Electric Warrior.” We love this album and Sir Marc Bolan.

Get It On.

The Motivator.

Rip Off.

Have a good weekend, friends.

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SLOW RIDE SUNDAY Right smack in the middle of Black Friday, Small Business Saturday and Cyber Monday, I found myself enjoying my kind of non-branded, Thanksgiving weekend day: Slow Ride Sunday. I forced myself to slow down (way slower than 18 miles per hour), not go as far, but stop often to take in scenery that I normally head right past. And the secret to sticking to this plan is in the kit – or lack of one. Choosing to ride the cyclocross-commuter bike, I wore khaki shorts and a plaid, button-down shirt. The casual wardrobe forced me to ride casually and in the end, this is something I vow to do more often. Why? Because the meditative, relaxed nature is just what my soul needed just as long, fast Saturday rides are just what my body needs. Now, given my time-constrained weekdays, it’s tough to give up one of my weekend days. It’s tough to not go long and/or fast when the leash of time is removed. But what I get in return is of the utmost importance. What I get is a different relationship with my bike. Going at this pace, and in this style, and with this calm mind, it’s as if I’m just letting the bike take the lead instead of me hammering it and bending it to my will. I’m letting my bike carry me for a change. It’s the least I could do after all it gives me. Slow Ride Sunday. Try it if you dare. Your bike will thank you. - Brian

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We at 18milesperhour do not advocate penny farthing daredevilry, so please do not try this on your own boneshaker. But do get out there.

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This day in 1968, Brian Jones up there bought “Cotchford Farm.” Less than a year later he would buy yet another farm, figuratively, in a failed attempt to complete the rock star triathlon of Drinking / Drugs / Swimming.

If you’re gonna partake of a unique triathlon, we prefer these.

Incidentally, the coroner’s report officially describes his demise as “death by misadventure.”

Cotchford Farm was originally owned by A.A. Milne who, along with Winnie the Pooh, created the beloved sidekick, Piglet.

All joking aside, Mr. Jones’ story is a tragedy. It’d be my wish to close down the 27 Club forever so we never lose another artistic soul so young. So with the spirit of his final home’s previous owner at heart, I shall leave you with a quote from Pooh.

“Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.”

This weekend make sure you have fun, be safe & ride far.

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MERCREDI CLASSIQUE: TIME ATAC. UN HOMAGE. Les Pedales Time ATAC Le flot naturelle est un don a mes vieux genous Tu ne t'entrave jamais de boue Et tu me decois jamais Si tu etait une femme je mettrai mon penise dans toi Mais tu n'est pas une femme Donc je le ferrai pas

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Have a good, spooky, haunted, clever, and safe ride. Now, the links.

Ghost Riding.

Wicked Witch (Miss Gulch). 

Zombie bicycle.

And my favorite Monster.

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WEDNESDAY CLASSIC:

BROOKS B-17

With all due respect to the Jaguar XK120, Jaguar E-Type, The Spitfire, The Aston Martin DB5, Tudor architecture, big ol’ castles, Audrey Hepburn, Saville Row suits and Lobb shoes, the loveliest thing to come out of England is the Brooks B-17.

All the items and people listed above stimulate my heart and intellect. The icon of the Brooks line does that while cradling my most sensitive bicycling contact point. Yes, my mother’s ’72 V-12 E-Type cradled my arse in shiny, black, perforated leather but the ride inevitably ended up with my arse straddling a curb while we waited for the flatbed to show up and take it back to the mechanic.

Straight outta Smethwick, so much has been made out of this saddle already. There are so many adherents. Did I say adherents? I meant “hardcore, evangelical, Brooks B-17 cult members.” All of this made me resist for a while. I’m glad I relented. The fuss is warranted. Break-in time? Nil.

If you're a weight-weenie, you can forget about it. In fact, stop reading this blog. There have been times in my cycling life where my B-17 was the heaviest thing on my bike...besides yours truly. But the weight is forgotten when the true magic of this saddle finally hits you: you forget it's there. A lifetime of pain in this "contact point" becomes a thing of the past.

I don't expect new-ish cyclists to understand or appreciate this love. I don't even want them to run out and get one straight away. They need to go through the normal process. Satisfy their urges to have lightweight, brightly-hued, exotic saddles. They need to pay for this lust with stabbing, perineal discomfort and worrying numbness. Then, and only then, will they appreciate this classic wonder.

So in conclusion I give you some sincere, if unpoetic, words of tribute.

Thank you, Brooks, from the bottom of my bottom.

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About 40 some odd years ago, Keith Richards was fined £205 after admitting having cannabis, Chinese heroin, mandrax tablets (Quaaludes) and a revolver at his Chelsea home. Just 205 Pounds.

The price is significantly steeper for a “Belgian Cocktail.”

If you want your bike to get stoned.

All due respect to Keef, he’s not my favorite Keith.

Get ready for the one and only Rolling Stones pun of the article…wait for it…Under My Thumb.

That’s it, friends. Ride safe, ride hard and ride long this weekend.

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WEDNESDAY CLASSIC: Cobalto.

Specifically, they are the 1987 Campagnolo C- record brake calipers. My deep, decades-long, unbroken crush on these otherwise humble components is yet another example of the irrationality of my love and lust for finely-crafted bicycle parts and frames. But before you judge me, just look at it. The unmistakable, Campy lines. The elegantly-scripted, iconic Campagnolo logo. And that blue stone that takes my breath away sometimes even more than the diamond in my wife’s engagement ring. And it was a replacement for another caliper design that’s also lodged deep in my heart: the Croce D'Auna Delta. What is it with me and brake calipers? The irony is that neither of these calipers were considered very effective. I disagree. Because the rare occasions that I spot these precious creations in the wild they do exactly what they were intended to do. They stop be in my tracks. - Brian

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30 some-odd years ago this weekend, the brothers Gibb became the only group to have a number one hit in three decades (the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s). And this photo also serendipitously gives me the opportunity to discuss another issue regarding cycling and shirtlessness. Please don’t. There’s no benefit to it other than vanity. And I believe in my merino-wool-covered heart of hearts that you all are better than that.

Stayin’ Alive! (I stand by the message in this posting)

Jive Talkin.

Night Fever.

Now get out there and ride this Saturday night. And the rest of the weekend, too.

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WEDNESDAY CLASSIC: IN PRAISE OF THE CINELLI ALTER STEM. Cinelli. A history of understated elegance. While other Italian bikes had paint schemes so flamboyant, gaudy, so...Italian, Cinelli frames could make a cyclist swoon with gossamer-thin tubing, solid red paint and that one, elegant, winged C. Bella. Then this happened. Chunky. Thick. Industrial and inelegant. And those sticker plates with with pinup girls. Grazie per niente, Cippolini. And yet, against all odds, against my better judgement...I fell in love with it. It had character and a point-of-view. Yes, that character was of an aggressively hyper sexual Italian dude in a tight shirt, but it still stood out in an intriguing way. So here's to you, Cinelli. I'm thankful you take chances. And that you listened to your instincts. And to Mario Cippolini. Just that once.

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I got back from a vacation this summer and something struck me. And it struck me while driving a car, not on a bike at 18 miles per hour. For two weeks in various spots in Europe, my family thought nothing of hopping on bikes to do everyday things. We've had beach vacations where we are all too happy to toodle around on cruisers, as well. Then the vacation ends and we get back home. And a mile run to the bank or market to pick up a few things means firing up the car. See what I'm getting at? See where I'm going with this? We need to ride like we're on vacation. It's time we incorporate our bikes in our everyday lives and not over think it. It's a similar feeling I have about commuting by bike. If it's under 10 miles and even moderately hilly, it's worth considering a bike for this. And it shouldn't be a chore. Or a drag. Or a complete lifestyle change. I'm not saying we are feeling the need to make it our personal identity or brand. Just act like we're on vacation. That means using that bike for more than just exercise or competition. Use it for life. And fun. Personally, we are making real progress. And hey, we all used to do it as kids, right? And we can do it again. You know what they say. It's like riding a bike. - Brian

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This weekend is the anniversary of the passing of working class hero and folk God Woody Guthrie. Woody often stayed in 18milesperhour’s own backyard of Topanga Canyon with his like-minded, open-minded musical and creative brethren. His music and intentions were honest and heartfelt yet often misunderstood and misappropriated. In some tiny way, we as cyclists and cycling evangelists can relate a bit to this, I believe.

I’m now stepping down off the soapbox and into our local bike shop / outdoors outpost that’s not far from where Woody hung out.

Our Machines Kill Fascists.

This land is your land.

That’s it. Get out there and enjoy your land, my friends.