Fat Acceptance Movement

It was a mistake. I knew it almost immediately.

Heading home from a fatbike ride on the North Saskatchewan River, I decided to take a shortcut through the Laurier off-leash dog park, something I would not normally do. But I was tired, and  it was the most direct route home. I knew that bikes were prohibited in the dog park, but I figured I could zip through it quickly; maybe no one would notice me.

Bicycletiquette: Cycling Caps

Dear Jasper,

What are your thoughts on wearing a cycling cap when not actually cycling? Is it kosher or uncouthe?

Sincerely,

Cap Curious

Dear CC,

Ah, the cycling cap—my good friend! That simple, elegant design is exquisite—a flimsy cotton headcover with a bit of elastic at the back and a budding semi-brim at the front. (I can tell you, CC, it’s an improvement over the loose cabbage leaf, nicked from my mother’s garden, that I used to wear on my head when I was in short pants on my first push-bike.) Then, as now, what the French call a casquette is a classy look almost anytime, anywhere, on or off the cycle.

Wheel Bliss

Double Duty

I’m a happy man. I got a cheque in the mail the other day—actually two cheques—from the Government of
Canada, Border Services Agency, in response to my request for a partial refund on the duty I paid for my On-One Fatty delivery in late December.

As I mentioned here a few weeks ago, the bike arrived at my house in two boxes (as fat bikes are wont to do), on two different days, and the Canada Post delivery guy required payment of $122.15 (all amounts in CAN $)  and then another $104.15 (for a box containing one wheel!) before he’d hand over the goods. The charges struck me as exorbitant at the time, but, truth be told, he could have asked me for a thousand dollars and I would have happily forked it over (on my credit card, of course) to get my hands on that shiny new bike.

January Orange

Check out the cassette on my winter commuting bike. We’re half-way through Edmonton’s endless winter, and the snow, slush, and snirt have done their seasonal business on my drivetrain. The chain, sprockets, and cassette—the whole meal deal—is now thoroughly oxidized, rusted to a startlingly bright orange. The chain, which I lube frequently in winter, doesn’t actually look too bad. But the rest of it? Flaming rings of fire, baby. Forget Kiev’s orange uprising. Cyclists only have to look down between their legs to see an orange revolution. Who needs fancy LED light on one’s spokes? In the right light, my sprockets glow like the elements in my toaster.

Prunella

This is Prunella. She’s a Haro sidewalk cruiser, and she belonged to my friend Karen, who died a couple of weeks ago, and whose funeral I will attend this afternoon. Karen, a writer and editor, was 56 and died of a rare, incurable neurological disease. She was one of my favorite people to be around.

Karen wasn’t a serious or even a semi-serious cyclist. In fact, in the years I knew her, I don’t think I ever actually saw her ride her bike. But it was always proudly displayed in her apartment, and when we visited her place, Karen would sometimes say to me, knowing my fondness for cycling, that she adored her bicycle. “I love Prunella,” she’d tell me.

On-One Fatty: Preliminary Report

I’ve only had my new fatbike for a couple of weeks and only gone for a couple of  substantial rides, but here’s my early report: I like it. A lot.

At this point, I won’t even pretend that I can offer much useful feedback on how it rides. I will have to get some miles under it and test it out on a variety of conditions before I’ll be ready to pronounce on that side of things. (I’ve only ridden it on packed snow; we haven’t had a dump of the white stuff since the boxes arrived. Can’t wait.) But there are a couple of things I can report on.

Garage Band

Given the sounds emanating from Val’s garage—a cacophony of thumping music, spinning rollers, whirring fans, and occasional yips and yells—passers-by might assume that a band, maybe a bunch of pimply teenagers, is jamming away in Val’s garage, perhaps with dreams of one day making the cover of Rolling Stone.

Except for the fact that it’s 7:00 am—a time that no teenager has ever played a note in any garage. In fact, we—that is Val, Penn, and I—are not a garage band but rather just three middle-aged guys spinning on their bikes in front of a blaring Spinervals video, trying to work off some winter weight and keep our legs from atrophying completely. It’s January, and garage spinning is what we do around here come January.

The Look Ahead: Iron Horse Trail Preview

Smoky Lake's Pumpkin Park: Possible Pit Stop along the Iron Horse Trail

At the top of my to-do list of rides for the 2014 season is Alberta’s Iron Horse Trail (not to be confused with the Iron Horse Trails near Seattle or Waterloo and I’m sure dozens of other places; let’s face it, it’s not the most original name for a converted rail trail). This 300km, gravel, multi-use trail (part of the Trans Canada Trail) stretches along a Y-shape north-east of Edmonton; the western starting point is near Smoky Lake (an hour from the capital) and the eastern tips of the Y are at Cold Lake and Heinsburg, close to the Saskatchewan border. The trail runs through farmland, boreal forest, and a series of small Ukrainian towns and villages (Vilna, St. Paul, Glendon, Elk Point) in a pretty part of the province known as the Lakeland.