New Beginnings

Earlier this week I finally made it to 12 Channel Street in South Boston - the new home of Royal H. Cycles, Geekhouse Bikes, Hubway Bikeshare and a number of other local bicycle-related ventures. 

Organised by the intrepid Marty Walsh of Geekhouse, HQ Boston is a new collective space in an industrial waterfront area dubbed the "Innovation District," and its acquisition has been the talk of the town among bikey people. It is big news. The space is big (24,000 sq ft), the commitment is big (10 year lease), and the scope of the project is big. The move shows there is growth in the local small scale bicycle industry, and implies a collective faith in this growth continuing.

Seeing the venue for the first time - an entire second floor of a warehouse-type building, still mostly open floor space - I was overwhelmed by the sheer blank canvas potential of it. Anything could happen here. Many things will, soon.

All morning long there was energy, movement. Planks scattered, walls going up. Men at work. At the same time it was oddly peaceful for a place with so much going on. The size of the space diffuses the construction noise. The light coming in from the outside casts a soft white glow over the debris. 

The floor space occupied by Geekhouse and Royal H has been set up and operational for months. There are beautiful machines, jigs, tools, frames and wheels suspended along the walls. 

The presence of the framebuilders is there.

Oh yes.

Walking through the space, I admit to feeling some nostalgia. The new venue lacks the personality of the old Geekhouse shack in Allston with its famous graffiti mural. It lacks the charm of the tiny old Royal H workshop in Somerville by the railroad tracks, just minutes from my house. There is no small neighbourhood feel here. Huge industrial buildings greeted me as I looked out the window, blocking the view of the Harbor. But even as I thought these things, I knew that it was the sentimentalist in me talking. Any place can become a neighbourhood once filled with neighbours, and the Innovation District is attracting new creative small businesses every day. Murals will be painted in due course. The personality of a space takes time to develop. 

This place has the potential for growth and collaboration that was not available to either of the occupants beforehand, and the excitement of this is almost tangible.

The spirit of working together is in the air. Though I came to meet with Bryan of Royal H., I later encountered Shane - the man behind BostonBiker. I've corresponded with Shane in the past and I thought that we'd met before, but obviously we haven't because this was a totally different person. It took me a bit just to wrap my head around that and readjust my mental image of him, but soon we were giddy with talk of joint projects involving Shane's skillz and mine. 

But back to the main purpose of my visit: I am working on a new mixte prototype with Royal H. Cycles. I sold the mixte Bryan made for me in 2009 to finance this, and although this was difficult I don't regret it. The new collaboration will be my design and Bryan's framebuilding. If the prototype works out and is cost-effective, the idea is that it would become a model available to order. I am not thinking of this as my personal bike and not getting attached to it. Very possibly I will sell the prototype, particularly if we end up having to make another. There is so much to say about what I hope this bicycle will be, but in these early stages I am too nervous and excited to talk about it too much. As far as form, I can say that it will be a low-trail 650B mixte with curved twin lateral stays. Fully lugged, with lots of modified lugwork. As far as function, my hope is to make a bike that will be suitable for both urban and long-distance transportation, including over hilly terrain, optimised for women who ride in their everyday clothing. There are lots of details regarding what this involves in my mind and why, and I look forward to sharing them.

In the meantime, it looks like I will be paying these gentlemen more visits over the summer, which is certainly not a bad thing. It will be wonderful to watch HQ Boston develop. If anyone local is interested in joining, there is space available and rent is cheap. Things are happening in Boston. Here's to new beginnings. 

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Quiros City Bike: a Boston Classic

Co-Habitant's friend Erik recently had a frame made by local builder Armando Quiros. I watched the bike being assembled and had the chance to photograph it upon completion. This bike is interesting to me, in that it epitomises the Boston aesthetic of making transportation bicycles with tight, aggressive geometry, yet upright positioning and accessorised for the city. In fact Armando calls this a "city track commuter." It is also interesting, because increasingly I enjoy looking at fillet-brazed frames and this one is a nice example. 

One of the young new names that have become prominent over the past couple of years, Quiros Custom Frames are based in Natick, MA and offer a variety of lugged and fillet brazed options. 

I met Armando a few years back, when Royal H. and Icarus still had their studios in Somerville, and all sorts of interesting bikey people would stop by that part of town. Later I snapped this photo of him receiving a trophy at the Larz Anderson show, where one of his bicycles won an award. Not bad!

Quiros frames can be recognised by the prominent gothic headbadge

and by the "787" painted above the bottom bracket - the area code for Puerto Rico.

Erik's frame is fillet brazed, using Columbus tubing.

What I like about this method is the seamless, almost liquid look to the construction. The brazed sloping fork crown goes nicely with this. 

The British Racing Green paint, silver components, hammered fenders and caramel-brown accessories create a classic, distinguished aesthetic. At the same time, the narrow riser bars and track geometry give the bike a contemporary "fixie" look. It's an interesting and somewhat unexpected combination. Looking at the bike, my mind's eye keeps trying to either replace the cork grips with hot pink rubber ones, or else change the bars to North Roads. But I think the marriage of styles is ultimately what makes this bicycle unique to the owner.

The bicycle is built up with a Phil Wood hub wheelset, an IRD crankset, Tektro brakes, MKS Stream pedals, straight Thomson seatpost, Brooks saddle, and Honjo hammered fenders. Erik rides it as a fixed gear single speed.

The idea behind building a city bike with track geometry is that it is quick handling and responsive in traffic. While personally I cannot handle the tight clearances on a bike like this, I understand the concept and this is certainly a successful execution of it. The bicycle looks very much at home on the streets of Cambridge, and the owner enjoys the ride. Many thanks to Erik and Armando for the opportunity to document this bicycle. More pictures here.

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Warnings of Failure

Among cyclists I know, many ride steel bikes and a good number have experienced frame failure of some sort. Really, I hear stories about it all the time. One woman described pedaling through town when suddenly her bicycle felt wobbly and loose. Turned out the seat tube had cracked, just above the bottom bracket. Another had a similar experience with his first bike: The downtube detached right at the bottom bracket joint and he had a bad fall. I have also heard multiple accounts of snapped chainstays. 

Anecdotes like this make me think about frame failure in relation to frame material. We know that steel bends, whereas carbon fiber snaps. Steel fails gradually, whereas carbon fiber fails suddenly and catastrophically. And this is why we consider steel a safer material for frame construction. But what I am wondering is: How does this difference translate into real world experience? 

What gets me about the stories of steel frame failure, is that the cyclists never see it coming. From their point of view, these too are sudden failures. In reality, I do not doubt that the failures were in fact gradual - but save for checking for evidence of stress with a loupe before every ride, how does the cyclist benefit from that gradualness? 

Based on my limited experience test riding roadbikes, I am not attracted to carbon fiber frames. I prefer the ride quality of steel and titanium. But I am not sure I share the safety concerns about (quality) carbon fiber frames that some voice. Sure, in theory the frame can fail suddenly and catastrophically. But in practice, how would this differ from the gradual failure of steel that to the cyclist feels equally sudden?

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ANT Truss Bike... Mine!

For some time now I've had a trade deal in the works with Mike Flanigan of ANT. In the early stages we discussed what kind of bike it would be, but couldn't decide with certainty. A loop frame with faux lugs? A basket cargo bike? Then one day I knew: a truss frame. And trying one that belonged to a friend cinched that decision.

The truss frame bicycle is a Massachusetts classic, the original having been built by Iver Johnson in 1910 as a pathracer. Mike Flanigan revived the design about a decade ago and made it his own. The basic ANT Truss is what I would call a "civilised recreation" bike: a simple single speed with a reinforced frame, wide tires and low but swept-back handlebars, intended for casual road-to-trail cycling in one's regular clothing. Over the years, the Truss has become one of ANT's signature designs. This, and its relevance to local bicycle manufacturing, is why it appeals to me. I consider this bike to be a ridable collector's item and a piece of local history.

An additional aspect of owning this bike that's interesting to me, is that it is a prototypical ANT and in no way a "collaboration" with me. I merely signed off on features that the builder himself thought best to use. And yet, I like everything about it; I agreed with all the choices Mike made. The bike shows off the shared aspects of mine and the builder's tastes, with neither of us having had to compromise.

This Truss is a 52cm x 54cm lightweight cro-moly steel frame. It is a hybrid between a classic pathracer and a modern track frame, with a high bottom bracket, aggressive geometry, clearances for 35mm tires, and a generous wheelbase. There is no toe overlap with the 35mm tires. The Eastwood (not RAL) powdercoat is an interesting colour half-way between sage green and slate blue. It looks greenish in the sun, bluish in the shade.

The fork is also handbuilt by Mike Flanigan, with a brazed double-plated fork crown. These forks are Mike's specialty.

The main tubes are TIG-welded with a superbly smooth finish. The headtube features decorative lugwork. The handmade ANT headbadge was made right in front of me, with the process shown here.

The seat cluster features the signature ANT stays and a lugged collar.

This bike does not require a rear brake bridge, and in its place is a signature ANT plate.

Paul dropouts were used for the rear fork ends.

The stem is handmade by ANT, fitted with Soma Oxford handlebars flipped upside down, a Dia Compe front brake lever, and classic grips from Gripworks.

The stem is rather stunningly made and finished, and also one of the builder's specialties. 

The hard plastic grips are made in Missouri. Gripworks only sells them wholesale in large batches, but Mike has individual pairs available, if anyone is interested. They are very firm to grip, which I prefer to the softer rubber ones. I also like the shape quite a lot - gently fluted and not too thick.

The crankset is Paul's, with 170mm cranks. I love the beautiful circles design and the classic look. 

MKS Touring Pedals were customised with ANT cutouts and the cages powdercoated black.

Chris King headset and a Paul centerpull front brake with Kool-Stop pads.

Paul's seatpost with a standard amount of setback.

And a Selle Anatomica saddle.

Mike Flanigan prefers to make as many parts of the bike on his own as he can, and to source as many of the remaining components as possible from the US. On this bike Mike made the frame, fork, headbadge, stem, and pedal cages. The headset, crankset, brake, seatpost, saddle, and grips are US-made.

We wanted this bike to be a single speed with free/fixed possibilities, but we agreed that it should not be drilled for a rear brake. So the natural solution was to have two wheelsets: one fixed and one with a coaster brake. We installed the coaster brake wheels to start with and I will probably leave it this way for a while. The rear hub is VeloSteel, made in the Czech Republic. Harris Cyclery built this wheel around a spare Bella Ciao rim I had left over from an earlier project. The front wheel is also a Bella Ciao left-over. The rims are aluminum and made in Germany. My fixed gear wheelset is a very low-end one, but some day I will save up and replace it with one built around Phil Wood hubs, to honor the builder's US-made preferences.

You don't need me to tell you that ANT makes good bikes; Mike has been on the scene for decades and has a legendary reputation without my help. Having known him for three years now, to me Mike is a very real person - creative, independent, open-minded and kind, with great stories and valuable advice. I am fortunate to have been given the opportunity to own one of his bicycles, and I think the unique Truss was the right choice. The bike fits me wonderfully, it rides nicely, and I will surely post more about it as I get to know it better. Full set of pictures here.

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Visiting Neighbours at Work

A couple of weeks ago I visited Seven Cycles - a local manufacturer of titanium, steel and carbon fiber bicycles. I was given a tour of the factory and it was, of course, fascinating. I never tire of seeing local framebuilding shops: The machinery, the precision of the work involved, even the heaps of tubing and the scraps of metal lying around excite me. And there certainly was all that at Seven, on a grand scale. 

To my surprise - seeing how they are TIG-welders mostly - there was even lugwork. Lots and lots of lugwork in fact, with interesting cutouts. 

But what made the biggest impression on me during the visit was not the intriguing floor layout, the delicately carved titanium latticework, or the explanation of Seven's approach to the manufacturing process. It was the fact that I recognized so many of the faces I saw there. 

 It is hard to explain the state of mind this put me in without coming across as preachy about local manufacturing, which is not my intent. I am not thinking about the political-economic implications of local manufacturing as a concept, but about the very concrete existence of my local manufacturing. I mean, there is a factory 6 miles from my house, and in this factory they make bicycles from scratch, and the people making these bicycles - well I happen to know many of them and they live nearby, and sometimes we even see each other on the street. That is highly unusual is all. In today's society the relationship between objects and the people who make them has become completely abstracted. We do not expect our neighbours to make the stuff we might be using; we expect that stuff to be made by some nameless entity, far away from our little world.

When I told Seven owner Rob Vandermark how much I enjoy watching frames being built, he replied that not everyone feels that way. For some seeing the process takes away the mystery, and it's more exciting if a frame just "appears" - shiny and new with flawless paint. I've heard that before. A framebuilder once told me that he discourages customers from watching him work, because it makes them more aware of the possibility of human error and later those customers are liable to feel more nervous about their frames. Psychologically, that makes sense. But it also means that consumers of goods prefer not to think about the process of making those goods, which has all sorts of far-reaching implications.

Maybe it's because I've made things by hand myself and used them, as well as given and sold them to others who've used them. But seeing how something is made excites me rather that ruins some illusion of flawlessness.

The first person I saw when I entered the production area during my visit was Bryan Hollingsworth of Royal H. Cycles - whom I watched make a lugged mixte frame for me more than 2 years ago now. He works for Seven (making carbon fiber frames!) a couple of days a week, and on Royal H. the rest of the time.

Welder Mike Salvatore has his own project on the side as well, albeit a Sketchy one.

Dan Pugatch lives in Somerville and is well known on the local cycling scene.

Dan writes a blog and contributes to Boston Retro Wheelmen, but what I didn't know is that he also has this cool tattoo that promotes cycling to work in regular clothing. Notice that the pirate is riding a step-through with a full chaincase. I wonder how the crate is attached to the rear rack, and whether there is a sword peg brazed onto the frame?

Jonathan Henig lives maybe 5 minutes from me and is a fellow photographer. First thing he did when we started talking was examine my camera lens and nod approvingly. 

I had not met Neil Doshi before, but I knew his bike - a happy marriage of titanium, green canvas and leather.

And now I saw it in person, along with dozens of other contraptions in the famous Bike Room. The bikes of Seven employees are staggeringly practical - lots of upright 3-speeds, handmade racks, huge saddlebags. More what I would have expected to see at Rivendell than at Seven, a company known for its racing bikes.

After my tour, I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd gotten the most out of it. The space is truly impressive and there is a positive energy that makes me want to run out and apply for a job there, regardless of what it is they'd assign me to do (I hear there is a titanium shavings sweeper position open?). In retrospect I should have asked more detailed questions about the manufacturing process. I should have taken close-up photos of the machinery with a medium format film camera. Instead I walked around talking to everyone, then watching them quietly, then talking some more. Not necessarily about bikes either. And then we all said "good-bye" and "see you soon" and then I rode my bike home - an idyllic route from Watertown along the Charles River Trail.

Cycling home after my visit, I remembered the first time I met Rob Vandermark. It was about a year and a half ago, when I had just discovered the Ride Studio Cafe. The first time I came in there was this tall, polite, unassuming guy serving coffee behind the counter. Naturally, I thought he was the barrista. Later someone came in with a flat tire and he went to take care of that, so then I figured he was the all-around shop guy. After a brief chat, it also turned out that he was my neighbour - living nearby in Somerville and commuting to Lexington by bike when possible. Only well into another conversation with him later did I learn, with some embarrassment, that he was the owner of both RSC and Seven Cycles. As a customer, you would never know. And of course the whole point is that it should not matter.

I guess all I'm saying is... My neighbours build bikes. And I think that's really, really great.

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