How Upright Is Upright?

There is a tendency to group all upright transportation bicycles into the same general townie/cruiser-ish category. And when we see the description "upright bike" we imagine whatever it is that fits our own definition of that idea. But differences in what are commonly referred to as "upright" positions can be considerable. Above are three classic examples side by side: a traditional Dutch bike, an Italian city bike, and a French-style mixte - all three of which I have owned and ridden.

To a large extent it is the placement of the handlebars that determines how upright a bicycle is set up. But while the Dutch bike's handlebars can be lowered and the bars on the other two can be raised, it's not entirely as simple as that: The design of the frame itself assumes a particular range of positions; the frame geometry is optimised for it.

The Dutch bike is designed to enable a bolt-uright posture. The handlebars are high. The stem is so short as to be practically non-existant, bringing the bars even closer to the rider's body. The seat tube angle is slack. Altogether, the cyclist is "pushed back" on the bike into what almost resembles an armchair position. The epitome of "upright," this posture is not for everyone. But it is supremely comfortable for short trips and it allows cyclist to observe their surroundings from a greater height.

The traditional French mixte is typically more aggressive than other city bikes. The frame design is frequently not very different from that of a road bike - steep angles, head tube not much higher, if at all, that the seat tube, comparatively lightweight tubing. When built up as upright bikes, these bicycles are at their best when set up with long stems and handlebars at or even below saddle level. With the cyclist's weight pushed forward, the bicycle is extremely responsive and maneuverable. But the "upright" posture with this set-up can be quite aggressively leaned over.

Somewhere in the middle, the Italian city bike is really a variation of the so-called "sports roadster" design (the ubiquitous Raleigh Sports and Lady's Sports were examples of these): swept-back handlebars at or moderately above saddle level, combined with a short stem for a generally upright but slightly leaned-forward position. The seat tube is not as slack as that on a Dutch bike, but still relatively relaxed. The cyclist can lean into the bike if they wish to apply more power, or they can sit back. I personally find this to be a very versatile position - though others might call it "neither/ nor" - neither as regally relaxed as a Dutch bike, nor as maneuverable as a roadish French mixte.

While definitions of "upright bike" run the gamut, my personal definition requires that the bicycle pass the Camera Test. That is, I must be able to ride the bike with my large camera staying put on my back, strap worn across my chest, without the camera rotating to the front. I can't do it on a roadbike with drop bars, not even when I am on the hoods or the tops. But I can do it on all three bikes shown in this post, which makes them all different variations of "upright" to me. What do you typically think of as an upright position, and which do you prefer for everyday cycling? 

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New Old Moser: a 400 Mile Assessment

Having now ridden Moser 2.0 for about 400 miles, I think it is time for a report. For those who do not feel like reading about the bike's entire history, this is a lugged steel racing frame circa 1978 fitted with nice Campagnolo components circa 1999. The Columbus "tretubi" frame is 52x53cm, with an 11cm stem, handlebars 1cm below saddle level (I would like to set them lower, but the stem won't go down any further), 700Cx23mm tires, and 175mm cranks. Gearing is 52/39t in the front and 12-26t (9-speed) in the rear. The complete bike weighs 22lb without the waterbottle. I have been riding it since the end of November, and the individual rides have ranged from 30 to 60 miles. Mostly these have been group and club types of rides, and mostly with riders stronger and faster than me.

I know that people are interested in whether building up an older steel racing frame is feasible for "serious" roadcycling, and based on my experience with the Moser I do not see why not. As far as weight, 22lb is not bad at all for a complete bike - I have picked up new bikes with aluminum frames and carbon forks and they felt heavier. If I want to shave even more weight off, it could be done with some strategic component upgrades, but honestly I did not feel that the weight was an issue for someone at my level of ability.

As far as speed, I was able to ride with strong cyclists the likes of which I did not think I'd be good enough to ride with, at what they call a social pace (15-18mph on average, depending on the ride), while also feeling some reserve. At no point did I feel "if only I had a faster bike!" while riding the Moser.

When climbing, the bike itself feels "eager" to ascend, and the only limitations I felt were my own and also the high gearing. I would need to get lower gearing in the long run, no question. But the bike itself was fine climbing. When I ran out of gears, I would simply "heave" us uphill. Sadly my legs no longer fit into my jeans as a result of this practice, but we can't have it all.

The ride quality on bad roads has no harshness to it despite the 23mm tires, I am very happy with this aspect. The frame's tubing feels wonderful and just right; perfect amount of flex and all that.

At slow speeds (and I mean very slow - like less than 10mph, when stalling in traffic) the Moser is a little twitchy (compared to my fond memories of the Seven at least, which remained stable even at a crawl), but I do not mind and can still easily control the bike.

The one and only inherent aspect of the handling that is a problem - and the more I ride, the more I realise it is a problem - is descending. I do not entirely understand what is going on and why. But basically at high speeds, the bike is extremely resistant to turning and this was rather scary to discover. At first I thought that I just needed to get used to being on a racy bike again, and that I was holding myself back because I was nervous. But nope, something odd is definitely happening with the high speed turns - not just 90° turns, but even following the curvature of a winding road on a descent. I cannot make the same turns that I know I had no trouble making on the Seven over the summer. So while the bike is capable of great speed, this handling issue ultimately makes me slower, since I hold myself back on descents when I do not feel in full control of the bike. I've been trying to understand what is causing this, and what I can do to counteract it, but my instincts are failing me. Naturally I try to take wider turns, but it isn't always possible, and I am just never at a point where I can let myself go on descents.

Exacerbating the descent problem is that I am not entirely happy with the braking power. I did not have a brakeset that would fit this bike, so I bought some Campagnolo Veloce calipers. While I realise that Veloce is not top of the line, I still expected it to be fully functional. I guess with my weak hands, not so much. We have adjusted the brakes this way and that, but coming to a complete stop (like at a stoplight or traffic light at the bottom of a hill) after a high speed descent is problematic.

There are other issues that have surfaced in the course of riding the bike. For instance, there are only braze-ons for one bottle cage, and during longer rides I needed more water. I could get a second bolt-on bottle cage, but it seems a shame to do that to this frame. As mentioned before, there is also quite a bit of rust on the frame that is not visible in pictures (like along the underside of the top tube). It might make sense to get the frame stripped, the rust cleaned up, a second set bottle cage bosses brazed on, and then the frame repainted.

In addition, the rear wheel does not want to stay put in the chromed horizontal dropouts unless the skewer is tightened with a death grip. When initially the skewer was closed with reasonable force, it became misaligned and jammed against the chainstays the first time I rode the bike. It is now tightened as tighteningly as can be and this has not happened since. But it means that I cannot remove the wheels on my own despite them being quick-release; I am not strong enough to budge the skewers.

On top of the too-high gearing, the pedal strike from the 175mm cranks, and the too-tall stem, all in all that adds up to a lot of stuff I would have to replace on the bike (the crankset, the cassette, the brakes, and the stem at least) even without the re-paint and second bottle cage question. I would be willing to make this investment for sure if I was 100% comfortable with the bicycle's handling, but this problem with descents now has me concerned.

And that is where I am right now with my assessment of the bike. More than anything, this experiment has convinced me that I do very much need a fast road bike. Despite the issues mentioned here, I just wanted to ride-ride-ride it all the time, even in the winter.  No time to ride? I found the time. Too cold? I got over it. Too early in the morning? Nonsense, the Moser beckons. Tamer, more sensible bikes are wonderful, but for whatever reason they do not have the same effect on me as this bicycle does and as the Seven did over the summer. I want a bicycle that is fast enough for club and paceline rides, comfortable over bad roads, and handles well for a ballance-challenged person like me. Is the Moser it? I love it and I hoped so, but I honestly don't know at this stage. Holding back on descents is a problem; I need to feel in full control of the bike if I am going to improve, not to mention for reasons of safety.

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Just When I Thought I Was Out...

I had come to terms with my road cycling days being over for the season. The Northeast Bicycle Club women's rides ended with the summer. I no longer had a fast roadbike in my possession. The days grew short, reducing precious daylight hours. And it snowed in October. I was content fitting in a quick fixed gear ride here and there. Soon winter would start in earnest and take that away from me as well. And I was okay with that, I thought; I was ready.

But boy, was I lying to myself. Putting together the Moser this late in the Fall, I planned to take it on a couple of test rides, then put it on the trainer. But the bike's dynamite handling snapped me out of my "waiting for winter" stupor and made me want to ride, ride, ride. Somehow I found the time despite the limited daylight, and still I wanted more.

I knew that the Ride Studio Cafe had recently started offering a weekly Women's Ride, which they planned to continue for as long as the weather permitted. Their mixed gender rides have a reputation for being tougher than described, so I never worked up the courage to join those over the summer. Would the women's rides be more accessible? I was nervous, but ultimately felt that I had no choice: my bike was demanding to go. Can't argue with a bike. 

I arrived early to have some coffee and take a break from riding to the ride itself. A few minutes later another woman walked in. Gosh, she looked familiar. We said hello and she introduced herself as Pamela. I realised that she was Pamela Blalock - a rather famous New England cyclist, who has done Paris-Brest-Paris and cycled up Mt. Washington multiple times. Suddenly I had doubts that I belonged on this ride. But I tried to keep calm, curiosity overcoming my fear of riding with serious cyclists. 

It helped that I already knew the ride leader, Patria (shown here as Wonderwoman on Halloween). A strong cyclist with a road racing background, she also has a talent for putting people at ease - handy when dealing with neurotics like me. Two other women arrived, making it five of us in total. Shrugging off the morning chill, we set off on a very similar route to the one I had gotten accustomed to on the NEBC paceline rides. The ride itself however, was entirely different. 

For one thing, it was not a paceline ride but more of a social ride. We rode in pairs or clusters and talked the entire time, as opposed to cycling in a tight single-file procession while listening to the leader's instructions. I am unaccustomed to (and fearful of!) this more social kind of group ride, but got used to it fairly quickly. I noticed that I am a lot more comfortable riding side by side with another cyclist in close proximity than I used to be. Our abilities were all over the spectrum, which kept the pace of the ride manageable. Each of our bikes was different as well: steel, titanium, aluminum and carbon fiber were all represented, as were different type of shifter setups.

The funny thing is that I don't have much of a memory of the ride itself, since all of it was spent in conversation. The miles rolled by quickly and the weather was ridiculously gorgeous for the first day of December. In the end I wanted more, which is always a good note on which to end an activity. I am now debating whether to attempt the RSC mixed gender ride, or to leave well enough alone and stick to the women's rides.

I have an annoying tendency to get overexcited about things that I enjoy doing, and I know I am setting myself up for a terrific let-down if I get all roadcycling-crazy again and then bang, it starts snowing. But gosh, I can't help it - I want to ride! 

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Moser 2.0 - a Vintage Racing Bike with Modern Components

I have been riding my "new" Francesco Moser for a couple of weeks now and wanted to share my impressions. This is the same frame that I rode last year as a fixed gear conversion, then sold, then bought back and rebuilt as a geared roabike with modern components. Since the summer, I have been vigorously shopping around for a road/racing bike for 2012. The Moser resurrection is an experiment to determine whether it is feasible to refurbish a vintage steel racing frame for this purpose without putting myself at a disadvantage in comparison to cyclists riding modern bikes. 

The Italian frame was built in 1978 and raced in Austria throughout the 1980s. Through an interesting coincidence, I happen to know who the framebuilder was, but that is another story. The frame is lugged steel and allegedly Columbus tubing. Whether "tretubi" or something nicer I do not know; there are no decals. The lugs are pointy with elegant cutouts. Chromed fork crown, dropouts and seat stay caps. I have not been able to find this exact model in a Moser catalogue; something is always different. As I understand it, Moser frames were handmade in small batches and the framebuilders would sometimes get creative with individual frames. This could be one of those.  

The current incarnation of the bicycle includes an older Campagnolo Vento wheelset. Retired by the previous owner, the wheels have got quite a few miles on them, but are in good shape.  

Campagnolo Record 9-speed drivertrain and shifters, circa 1999.  

The crankset is 52/39t with 175mm crankarms. Not ideal in the long run, but at least it will allow me to try the bike. MKS Stream pedals and Power Grips as usual. 

From my spare parts, the bike is fitted with an 11cm Nitto Technomic Delux stem and 42cm Nitto Noodle handlebars. White Fizik tape. Cateye computer with a cadence reader. Just to be silly, I finished the handlebar tape with thin strips of multi-coloured electrical tape, to match the "champion" bands on the frame. 

I bought a set of Campagnolo Veloce brake calipers and used the 700Cx23mm Michelin Krylion tires that I had on another bike earlier. 

The saddle is a new generation Selle Anatomica Titanico (with cro-moly rails), on loan from the manufacturer. I will be comparing my impressions of this model to those of the previous version. 

The bicycle is a 52cm frame with a 53cm top tube (closer to 52.5cm). Right now it is set up with an 11cm stem, handlebars 1cm below the saddle, and the saddle positioned to emulate the seat tube angle with no setback. The positioning feels great, but would probably feel even better with the handlebars a bit lower and the stem a bit shorter (the current stem cannot be lowered, because there is no more space inside the headtube). The weight of the bike as shown here is 21lb. 

One reason I decided to get this frame back instead of looking for a different one, is that I remembered it having no toe overlap. Later I began to doubt myself, as several framebuilders told me that it might be impossible to make a road/racing frame this compact with no TCO. However, now the Moser is back and I was right: no toe overlap, as in none/zilch/zero/not-even-close. How did they do it? I will try to bring this bike to a framebuilder with one of those magic machines that can measure frames precisely; hopefully that will provide some answers. 

So, riding Moser 2.0 so far... I think I got exceptionally lucky with how well this frame suits me. I did not fully understand or appreciate what it was until now. With the long stem, the geared drivetrain, and the lightweight modern components, the bike feels as if it has been unshackled and allowed to soar. The small size feels just right, the forward positioning is exciting, and the lack of toe overlap eliminates my main source of anxiety with small frames. The bicycle feels lighter and easier to propel forward than other steel roadbikes I've tried, including modern ones. Judging by the numbers on the computer, my speed when cycling on my own is more or less identical to what it was when I was riding the Seven Axiom over the summer. I have not had a chance to go on a group ride yet, but will report on that once it happens. Acceleration feels effortless - that same "slingshot" feeling that, once experienced on a fast bike is hard to give up. The ride quality over bumps is better than I could have hoped for. 

It is impossible to make a direct comparison between the Moser and the Seven, because the latter was two sizes too big for me. But for someone of my ability, the bikes feel as if they are in the same ballpark, or at least from the same planet. The revamped Moser is the first roadbike I've tried aside from the Seven that I can see myself riding and being satisfied with.  

On a critical note, Moser 2.0 is a bit squirrely starting from a stop and at very slow speeds. My bike handling skills are good enough at this point to not consider that a problem, but I wouldn't have felt comfortable riding it set up this way last year. Also, the bottom bracket is so low that with the 175mm cranks there is pedal strike unless I am very careful to keep the inside pedal raised on turns. Can't decide whether this means that replacing the cranks is a priority (trade, anyone?), or whether it is an opportunity to improve my technique.

Aside from this, there is the question of whether it is a good idea to ride a well used, retired racing frame with well-used, retired 10-year-old components and wheels if I mean to ride strenuously and possibly competitively. While the Moser frame is photogenic from a distance, it is in rough shape: scrapes on the tubes, missing paint, rust on the chrome. There is also a slight bulge at the rear of the headtube that, as I understand it, happened during the manufacturing process (the frame has been checked for integrity and shows no structural problems). If I decide that I like the bike and don't need a new one, it might still be wise to replace the components with less worn ones and have the frame repainted. Or start from scratch and get a framebuilder to replicate the geometry and tubing. It's hard to say, and for now I am just  excited by how great Moser 2.0 feels compared to almost every single new bike I have considered buying so far. 

Knowing that some readers are interested in the outcome of this experiment, I want to note that I don't think it's as simple as buying any old vintage racing frame and putting modern components on it. But I do think I got lucky and ended up with something pretty cool that I would like to investigate further - with a big Thank You to all those who pushed me in this direction.

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How I Got My Moser Back...

So I bought my Francesco Moser frame back from the person I sold it to, and built it up as a geared racing bike with modern components... despite having sworn off vintage roadbikes earlier. Yeah, I know. Allow me to provide some context:

I got this 1978 Moser racing frame in Vienna two summers ago, mailed it to myself in the US and built it up as a fixed gear. It rode nicely, but wasn't really suitable for fixed gear conversion with its low bottom bracket and resulting tendency toward pedal strike. Once I got my fixed gear-specific Mercian, I moved the components over and decided to sell the Moser. Building it up as a geared roadbike was not feasible: I would have had to spend a fortune on new wheels and components only to put them on an old steel frame, with no guarantee that I'd like the end result. It seemed wiser to buy a roadbike that I could test ride beforehand.

For what it's worth, I still believe that it is not financially practical for a "civilian" (i.e. a person who is neither a wrenching enthusiast with spare modern groupsets lying around, nor someone with bike industry connections), to take on a project like this. However, I have not really been a "civilian" for some time: I am interested in bikes not only for personal use, but also for the sake of learning and writing about them on Lovely Bicycle. And I do at this point have industry connections, as well as readers who are interested in making specific projects happen. All of these factors played a role here.

One of my readers offered to donate some of his used modern Campagnolo components and his old racing wheels if I were willing to experiment with a vintage racing frame. Around the same time, the person who bought the Moser from me built it up (with modern Shimano parts) and discovered that the bike felt too small for him. Luckily, I'd sold the frame locally. I saw this as a cue to buy it back. 

The second-hand components I received were a 9-speed Campagnolo Record drivertrain and levers circa (I believe) 1999 and a Campagnolo Vento wheelset of similar vintage. I already had the headset, stem, handlebars, tires and seatpost among my own spare parts. I bought a new bottom bracket, brake calipers, cable housing and bar tape at Harris Cyclery and they built up the bike for me. 

The Moser is now finished, and I've ridden it - but not as extensively as I'd like before writing about it. I am also waiting to put some finishing touches on the bike before I take pictures. Not sure what I will do with this bicycle in the long run. The frame is 33 years old and was raced for years by the original owner. The drivetrain and wheelset are around 10 years old and well-used. Even if my impressions of the reborn bike are positive, I have concerns about frame/component failure and will need to think about that aspect more carefully. But it is certainly informative to compare this bicycle's handling to the modern roadbikes I have been trying over this past summer and fall. Let's just say I am surprised. 

I am glad to have the Moser back; in a number of ways it is an even more unique bicycle than I thought. I hope to share my impressions in the coming week and fingers crossed that it doesn't start snowing in the meantime. Stay tuned, and a huge thank you to everyone who's helped me with this project! 

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On the Road in Stormy Weather

The clouds gathered darkly as Francesco and I set off on our fateful voyage. Braving the wind in my long tights, jacket, gloves and hat, I could not believe that in the third week of May the weather was identical to what it had been in November. No sooner had the flowers finally bloomed, than their petals were assaulted by harsh winds and pelting rains. Now they lay scattered all over the roads - a pink and lilac watery mush for everyone to trample.

"How fitting," said Francesco, "that it is on such a day you are taking me away to be left with strangers. For the dark skies reflect the darkness that will reign in my heart."

Oh Francesco! So melodramatic. In fact, we were on our way to the Ride Studio Cafe, who are loaning me a roadbike for the formidable paceline rides. Since the RSC is nearly 10 miles away and I can only get there by bike, it was agreed that I would arrive on Francesco and then swap him for the loaner bike. It will only be for a few weeks. And as soon as we arrived it was clear that my Moser was in good company: A pastel Pinarello beauty made eyes at him from across the storage room, whispering "Buena Sera" in a sultry voice. He forgot about me immediately, and with a light heart I began my journey home on a sleek titanium machine.

But my sense of relief was short-lived. The skies opened up within minutes of my departure and rain began to pour with a violence that even the forecast had not predicted.

Soon my 23mm tires were cutting through lake-sized puddles and skipping over slippery tree-roots that protruded from the cracked asphalt, as water came down in buckets from the ever-darkening skies. I could not see where I was going, and it was only thanks to the miracle of the homing instinct - aided perhaps by the bicycle's admirable handling - that I got back intact.

When I finally dismounted the bike, the sight that awaited me was gruesome. Every inch of the formerly pristine machine was now covered with sand, dirt, pine needles, and all manner of road filth. Even the minuscule saddlebag they took the trouble to assemble for me was now a soggy, grime-covered mess. Then I took a look in the mirror, and realised that the same could be said of me! Forget "skunk tail" - My entire back, my legs, and also parts of my face were covered with what I hope is just wet sand, but looked far more disgusting. Is this what normally happens without fenders? It is far more dramatic than what I'd imagined!

The rest of the evening was spent showering, loading the washing machine, and scooping bits of plantlife (please don't let it be anything more gross than that!) from under the brake calipers and off the brake pads. Later, the Co-Habitant came home and thoroughly examined my loaner steed... upon which he discovered a substantial gash in the front tire. Seriously? Argh! But I guess I should be glad - otherwise it could have failed during a paceline ride, which is one of my biggest fears. So I think I will be putting some tires with puncture protection on this bike. Continental GatorSkins might be a tad slower than the Michelin ProRace3s currently on it, but the gash in the rubber is enough to persuade me it's worth it. What is your favourite "fast" road tire with puncture protection?

The forecast promises pretty much constant rain and autumnal temperatures for the entire week, and the gloomy weather is really becoming difficult to take. I will probably be going roadcycling in the rain again, simply because otherwise I will never get back into a regular practice of riding. At least next time I will know what to expect.

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Bike Fit: A Case of Evolving Preferences?

Last weekend we finally picked up my Francesco Moser fixed gear roadbike from Harris Cyclery, where it sat most of the winter after getting its bottom bracket replaced. I haven't been on this bicycle since December, riding the slightly-too-big-for-me Bianchi instead. And now that the Moser is back, guess what? It feels small! I was warned that this would happen once I got used to a larger frame, but it's still hard to believe. How can I feel cramped on a bike that felt "perfect" last year?

In addition to having a shorter top tube than the Bianchi, the Moser is also set up with a shorter stem. The difference between the total distance from the seat post to the handlebars on the two bikes is 3cm - which seems like a small number, but feels quite otherwise, at least to me. The handlebars on the Moser are also set quite a bit lower, which I think contributes to the cramped sensation. Combined with the lower bottom bracket, I almost feel like an adult on a miniature pony when I mount the smaller bike after the larger one. Would a longer stem alone solve this, or have I "outgrown" the frame itself? At the moment, both my Bianchi (with a 55cm top tube and 8mm stem) and my Rivendell (with a 57.5cm top tube and 6mm stem) feel just right, but how can I trust that "just right" feeling when it keeps changing?

It is said that preferences in bike fit "evolve" over time. But does there eventually come a point when they stabilise?  How many times in your cycling history has your idea of comfortable bike fit changed?

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Lug Samesies! Vintage Bianchi vs Trek

I was initially going to sell my vintage Trek in October, but decided to wait until Spring. Now I am glad to have waited, because it is interesting to compare it to its replacement, the Bianchi. While the two bicycles differ in purpose and geometry (the Bianchi is a racing bike whereas the Trek is a "Sports Touring" model), what amazed me when the Bianchi arrived is that their lugwork is nearly identical. I had camera troubles on the day these pictures were taken, so excuse the quality - but have a look:

Plain and "pointy" lugs on the Bianchi with fork crown.

Identical style of lugs and fork crown on the Trek, only with "Trek" engraved into the crown instead of the Bianchi's "B".

Classic seat cluster engraved with a "B".

Same classic seat cluster engraved with "Trek." I don't have good pictures of the drop-outs, bottom brackets and brake bridges, but those are equally similar. Even the spacing of the braze-ons for the rear brake cable along the top tube is the same.

As far as tubing goes, the Trek is Reynolds 531 for the main triangle and the Bianchi is Columbus, both with cro-moly stays and fork. And they were produced just one year apart - the Trek in 1982 and the Bianchi in 1983. I guess I should not be so amazed that just because one bike is American and a sports turing model while the other is an Italian racing bike, there are such similarities in lugwork. After all, both are factory-built frames and these lugs must have been popular at the time. The Trek and Bianchi ride very differently and there is no mistaking one for another once I am on the saddle. But my disappointment in the generic frame construction makes me aware of how much I value difference in bicycles. I like looking at a bike and being able to distinguish its lineage from another by details of construction and not just by the stamped brand name and the decals.

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Memories of an Italian Christmas

In the winter of 1989-1990, my family and I lived in Rome. It was an unstable and nomadic time. My sister and I - then aged 5 and 10 - were home schooled and spent most of our free time in the nearby park. We picked up a bit of Italian from the local children and were able to play with them. But mostly we observed. 

It's funny the things we notice as children. I remember being stunned by the presence of snow and palm trees in the same landscape. I remember being upset about how ugly the road around the Coliseum was. I remember a man pushing a fruit cart outside our window every morning, singing "Arance! Mandarance!" And I remember the sight of several glamorously dressed women sitting on a park bench with their infants, breastfeeding while smoking cigarettes with a synchronised rhythmic energy. I have since been to Italy a number of times as an adult, but these childhood impressions of Rome remain prominent.

And then, of course, there was Christmas - Natale! The lavish holiday decorations, the lights, the musicians on the streets and the general festive atmosphere, served as an antidote to the stress of being in a foreign country. We were living in a small apartment, in a building full of other apartments - and between mid-December and the first week of January, there was a constant stream of gifts (mostly cakes, fruit baskets, and beautifully packaged bottles of alcohol) left outside of our door by our neighbours. These were accompanied by "Buon Natale!" notes, but no names or apartment numbers. We did not know whom to thank, or for whom to leave return gifts. When my parents asked our landlord about it, she assured them that this was normal: "They know that you are foreign and don't want you to be lonely." We were impressed and cheered by this thoughtful gesture that seemed to be such a matter of course for our neighbours. Most importantly, we felt wanted in the country, despite being strangers to it.

And I think ever since that childhood Christmas in Rome, that has been my association with Italy: feeling welcome and comfortable, despite not really belonging there. (Kind of like I feel on my Italian racing bikes, come to think of it.)  I always remember Italy around Christmastime, and this year even more so - as I ride my sleek Italian beauties through the wintry landscape.

I have noticed that I tend to be most interested in bicycles whose country of origin holds significance for me. Their history is more relevant that way; they evoke warm memories. Happy holidays to everyone and happy winter cycling.

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Celeste e Bianca: Nice Day for a Ride!

Having finally nursed my celestial beauty back to health, I was ready to take her on a proper test ride... And the snow decided to pick this day of all days to arrive? It felt like the final act of an Italian tragicomic operetta. But since the forecast did not predict snow until late morning, I set off early in hopes of beating the odds. After all the drama with this bicycle, I was not willing to forgo a test ride!

For the past few months I had been patiently hunting for one of these, but having no luck finding anything in my size and budget. Finally, an online bike-friend found something that seemed perfect and I pounced on it immediately. When the bicycle arrived, it initially seemed that my worst fears about sight-unseen deals were realised and the purchase was a disaster: Not only did every single component seem to require work, but the frame was a larger size than advertised - possibly too large for me. I considered just re-selling the bike as-is to save myself the heartbreak. But after much debate and some outside mechanical help, things began to look up and I decided to keep it. Once the wheels were in ridable condition and we put the tires on, the moment of truth came: I did clear the top-tube sufficiently, and so continuing the renovations was deemed worth the risk.

And now here she is: a 54cm Bianchi "Nuovo Racing", circa 1983. Made in Italy, Columbus tubing, some Campagnolo components. When I got the bicycle, everything was original - right down to the water bottle, which I promptly removed.

We replaced the handlebars and brake levers with modern Nitto Noodle bars and Tektro short reach levers. (The original bars and levers were damaged. But even if they hadn't been, I have trouble using vintage ones and am only really comfortable with the Noodle + Tektro combination.)

The original Ofmega stem was 11.5cm long - which felt scary, since the bicycle was already larger than what I was used to. We replaced it with a 7mm stem.

The original 23mm tires were torn to shreds and we replaced them with 28mm gumwall Panaracer Pasela Tourguards. I might eventually switch them with the cream tires on one of my other bikes, but maybe not. The original Modolo Flash brakes on the bike were damaged, and for now we've fitted it with a set of modern Tektro brakes - but they are not an ideal fit, and I am waiting to get a set of vintage Campagnolo brakes from a bike friend which I hope to replace the modern ones with. That should look much better, so I am hoping they work out.

Otherwise, the bicycle is original, including - for now - the foam racing saddle, the shape of which feels surprisingly comfortable. The handlebars are wrapped with white cloth tape and covered in two layers of clear (not amber) shellac - which gives them a nice vintage-cream appearance. The end result is not "period-correct" by any means, but I don't think the modern parts look offensive either. It is subdued and evokes a sense of the early '80s, at least to me.

When you romanticise a particular bicycle and look forward to it too much, there is bound to be disappointment. For me, the disappointment was with the aesthetic aspects. I don't know what I was expecting, because I had poured over catalog pictures of this model before, so nothing should have been a surprise. But I guess, appearance-wise, the bike was more bland than I had anticipated.

I think that I hoped to see "Italian flare", and there simply isn't any. It's a very ordinary-looking early 80s lugged bike, painted turquoise, with a bunch of blue Bianchi decals. Well, that's okay, I thought: Now I know that there is nothing magical about these bicycles. I will either enjoy riding it, or not; either way, it will be a learning experience.

It was not until I rode the bicycle that I began to get attached to it. And make no mistake, get attached to it I did! - How could I have taken these snowy, romantic photos otherwise?  I first tried the bike a couple of days ago - with the long stem and faulty original brakes - for just long enough to determine that the stem was too long and the brakes were too faulty, but the ride quality was lovely. After having replaced the stem and brakes, I finally test rode the bicycle properly, just hours before the snow storm arrived. The Co-Habitant was worried about the bike's performance and about the weather, and so he extracted a promise from me to stay close to our neighborhood. And I did - riding for 45 minutes in loops until my hands went numb from the cold (winter glove recommendations for a road bike, please?) and the snowflakes started to fall.

First impressions: The ride quality is nicer than I had expected. There was no harshness at all, and the bicycle was surprisingly stable at low speeds for a racing-style roadbike. The 54cm frame feels large, but I like it - I hope that I will be able to go back to 52cm bikes after this! The lean, even with the shorter stem, is more extreme than what I am used to. But I think I am okay with expanding my comfort zone in this respect. I was able to use the drops and the downtube shifters without feeling too unstable. And most importantly, this bicycle has the same "smooth and comfy" feel that I love so much about my Moser.

Because I have now shown a preference for several bicycles with Columbus tubing, while not being as crazy about my Reynolds 531 vintage Trek, it has been suggested that I might be a "Columbus person and not a Reynolds person". I don't know about that - or at least, I don't think that I have enough experience yet to determine such a thing. But I do know that I will be keeping this Bianchi and that I will be selling the Trek in the Spring. I won't make sweeping generalisations, such as that "I like Italian bikes" - but I do very much like the ride on the Bianchi, so far. And as beautiful as the snow is, I do hope it clears up and gives us a chance to ride together again this winter.

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