Giddy With Anticipation.
An orange haze hung over Anchorage as I drove home after picking up the kids from school, a sure sign spring was here. Like the smell of melting dog poop, the dust clouds from the streets are a sure sign that the weather is finally shifted, but the air will likely be mostly solid particulate until the street sweepers finish cleaning the winter's debris from the roads. By late August, we're usually pretty good there. As risk-adverse as I am these days, even I had to admit it was time to hit the streets and get in some miles.
I rushed home, not to ride, but for a far grander purpose- to build. I received a notification at work that the Moots Compact frame had been delivered. I had a project.
I ran inside to find the box, changed quickly, and began ripping apart the packing materials like it was Christmas morning. The guy who sold it to me packed it extremely well, so it took a while to uncover the frame, but when the frame was finally free of bubble wrap, tape, and egg cartons... it was breathtaking. Not really, but I did find it pretty.
Despite having just fixed the Russian titanium bike and without even riding it, I unceremoniously tore off the SRM, bottom bracket, and seatpost for the cause. Then I chucked it to the side like a spurned lover and turned my attention to my latest fling. I fully admit I am a faithless bike whore.
I already had the box of parts ready to slap on, so I got to work, occasionally interrupted by the family for random tasks that couldn't wait another moment. It didn't take long for it to take shape, and as I worked I really appreciated the little touches on the frame. Most notably, the rear brake bridge was spaced enough to allow 28c tires to have plenty of clearance. On far too many of my bikes, this is the major limiting factor. The brake bridge was also stamped with the bike-riding alligator logo of Moots. I like little details like that, because it shows the builder thinks enough to add them instead of just churning out the bare minimum.
When it came time to string the derailleur cables, I had a full head of steam built up... until I tried to thread them through the bottom bracket cable guide. The front derailleur side of this little piece of plastic was worn away, stopping all progress. No problem, I have one of those somewhere. I tore apart all of my parts bins and other boxes frantically, with no luck. Seeing the time and not sure when the bike shops closed, I shooed the family into the car (without explaining why) and rushed to the closest one. They had to dig around for a while, but eventually produced one that I could possibly make work with a little modification. Good enough, I was on a mission.
After a quick shopping trip to appease the family, I got back to wrenching. Little by little, the parts box emptied and the bike neared completion. The last touch was the bar tape, and I went to the parts pile and discovered that I was down to the last two I had. One was a Profile Design cork, and the other was an ancient Cinelli cork that probably was made during the Nixon administration. Despite not particularly liking it, I went with the Profile Designs, figuring I would change it when I replenished my stock.
I was halfway done with one side when the tape broke. I've never had good luck with this crap and only use it for my TT bike, where you can use shorter pieces for each section. I got what I thought was a good deal on it, but I long ago realized who came out ahead on that one.
So, ancient Cinelli it is. It held up well to my ham-fisted wrapping, and before I knew it the bike was a bike. It was also 10:00 at night, so I didn't have a chance for a test ride before I went to bed. I'll probably regret that later.
I quickly cleaned up my mess, and as I was putting away the tools I found it. Tucked under steerer tube expansion nuts and bottles of cable crimps on my workstand tool caddy, mixed in with stem spacers and odd-ball screws was the wayward bottom bracket cable guide. It would have been perfect, with no modification required. Screw it. For the moment, it's done. When I get the new tape and want to replace the cables, I'll swap it out.
Until then, I'm ready to venture out into the orange air.
I rushed home, not to ride, but for a far grander purpose- to build. I received a notification at work that the Moots Compact frame had been delivered. I had a project.
I ran inside to find the box, changed quickly, and began ripping apart the packing materials like it was Christmas morning. The guy who sold it to me packed it extremely well, so it took a while to uncover the frame, but when the frame was finally free of bubble wrap, tape, and egg cartons... it was breathtaking. Not really, but I did find it pretty.
Despite having just fixed the Russian titanium bike and without even riding it, I unceremoniously tore off the SRM, bottom bracket, and seatpost for the cause. Then I chucked it to the side like a spurned lover and turned my attention to my latest fling. I fully admit I am a faithless bike whore.
I already had the box of parts ready to slap on, so I got to work, occasionally interrupted by the family for random tasks that couldn't wait another moment. It didn't take long for it to take shape, and as I worked I really appreciated the little touches on the frame. Most notably, the rear brake bridge was spaced enough to allow 28c tires to have plenty of clearance. On far too many of my bikes, this is the major limiting factor. The brake bridge was also stamped with the bike-riding alligator logo of Moots. I like little details like that, because it shows the builder thinks enough to add them instead of just churning out the bare minimum.
When it came time to string the derailleur cables, I had a full head of steam built up... until I tried to thread them through the bottom bracket cable guide. The front derailleur side of this little piece of plastic was worn away, stopping all progress. No problem, I have one of those somewhere. I tore apart all of my parts bins and other boxes frantically, with no luck. Seeing the time and not sure when the bike shops closed, I shooed the family into the car (without explaining why) and rushed to the closest one. They had to dig around for a while, but eventually produced one that I could possibly make work with a little modification. Good enough, I was on a mission.
After a quick shopping trip to appease the family, I got back to wrenching. Little by little, the parts box emptied and the bike neared completion. The last touch was the bar tape, and I went to the parts pile and discovered that I was down to the last two I had. One was a Profile Design cork, and the other was an ancient Cinelli cork that probably was made during the Nixon administration. Despite not particularly liking it, I went with the Profile Designs, figuring I would change it when I replenished my stock.
I was halfway done with one side when the tape broke. I've never had good luck with this crap and only use it for my TT bike, where you can use shorter pieces for each section. I got what I thought was a good deal on it, but I long ago realized who came out ahead on that one.
So, ancient Cinelli it is. It held up well to my ham-fisted wrapping, and before I knew it the bike was a bike. It was also 10:00 at night, so I didn't have a chance for a test ride before I went to bed. I'll probably regret that later.
I quickly cleaned up my mess, and as I was putting away the tools I found it. Tucked under steerer tube expansion nuts and bottles of cable crimps on my workstand tool caddy, mixed in with stem spacers and odd-ball screws was the wayward bottom bracket cable guide. It would have been perfect, with no modification required. Screw it. For the moment, it's done. When I get the new tape and want to replace the cables, I'll swap it out.
Until then, I'm ready to venture out into the orange air.
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