Chicago Bike Blog

Off road

Robby, Jimbo, Sam, Jason & Ronnie at Palos (Chris wielding the camera)

In the spirit of exploring various cycling styles, members of the Rapid Transit crew recently found themselves riding off-road in Palos Hills in the southwest suburbs. Back when we opened our shop 15 year ago, virtually all we could get was mountain bikes. Finding city tires for your bike was a challenge, let alone a whole urban bike.

Things are a little different today. It's been many years since we've stocked more than a couple of models of mountain bikes, and we put in a lot more miles on asphalt than on singletrack. So, to shake things up a bit, a few brave souls went out last weekend to explore the best in Chicago-area off-road trails.

In case you are wondering if these trails are challenging, here are some strategies that our strong urban cyclists utilized in conquering them:

Grinding and bike-assisted hiking.

Just hiking.

Vocalizing.

Triumphant cyclocross-style trotting.

Stay tuned for this weekend's shop recumbent ride!

Hybernating cyclist wakes, seeks hidden nuts

Yaaaawn!...

I figured it would take me about 20 minutes to ride from my house to Montrose & California. But just to be on the safe side, I started getting ready forty minutes before my appointment. After all, I haven't been on my bike for weeks, and it might take a while to gather up everything I would need.

Fortunately, clothing was not much of an issue. The weather on Thursday was still relatively mild, and ordinary street attire would do just fine. But I needed my lock, helmet, and at least one grocery pannier. And yeah, since I took the locking skewers off last fall when I had to carry the bike on a roof rack, I should probably bring a cable to secure the wheels.

Walking into the garage, I practically tripped over the grocery pannier, and in it, miraculously, was my lock and bike keys. One down.

A cable was a little trickier. There were several cables on the floor and in various containers around the garage, but they either required keys which I did not have, or combinations which I didn't know. At last, I spotted one I could use with my u-lock inside a trailer.

Encouraged by such quick progress, I looked up at the hooks to grab my bike, but it was not there. It must be in the bike garage (what we affectionately call our front porch), I thought. And my helmet is probably hanging on the handlebars. I headed to the front of the house. I located my helmet buried on a hook under several layers of canvas grocery bags. But there was no sign of my bike.

I walked back to the garage. I probably just missed it. There are quire a few bikes in there. Our kids' two bikes, our family tandem, Chris' Slingshot, his street bike, his folding bike, somebody's Kona, a couple of trailers... but where the bleeping heck is my bike?!

No sign of a break-in, and even if somebody did try, there surely are more tempting choices here than my twenty-year-old beater!

Could it be at the shop? I asked my kids. Was daddy trying to surprise me by getting it tuned up for spring? My son suggested I try the basement. Dejectedly, I headed downstairs. Historically, the basement is reserved for bikes that have been outgrown, or stripped of parts, or... only used infrequently for highly specialized uses... like, ahem, winter riding...

There, hanging sadly between the furnace and the water heater, was my bike. I guess Chris thought I was done using it for the season.

I'll have to show him!...

Vegas detox

It really takes a while to recover from Vegas. It's been, what, three or four days, and my head is till buzzing from the pinging sound of those one-armed-bandit machines. Or was it Chris ringing a bell in an uncharacteristic macho moment?

Yes, really, he whacked that weight all the way to the top, as Deb and I jumped up and cheered in unison (that's why the picture is blurry). Only in Vegas. In real life, Chris wouldn't be caught dead participating in such displays of prowess.
Vegas has a shifty geography. It's enough to make everyone's head a little askew.

You really have to enter at your own risk. Why is it, for example, that when you are staying at a premium hotel on the strip, the cab ride there from the airport takes you through several freeway overpasses, and costs $35, and when you stay at a business class hotel a mere half mile away, you can get there in less than ten minutes for under ten bucks? Why is it that when someone says a place is two blocks away it takes you 45 minutes to get there?

Like the bike polo match that was supposedly just around the corner. By the time we got there, it was too late to take a decent picture.
I believe that the giant Vegas casinos sit on tectonic plates, and actually change position as you fruitlessly try to navigate its streets.
Interbike is no less confusing. Before I get to the important business of telling you about the great new finds, I'll leave you with a few impressions.
Take this frame, for instance.

Really , the perfect vehicle for your fishnet stockings, don't you agree?

Lusting after an Airstream?

Well, you could always do a pop-up while you let your savings account grow.

Does this message (ahem...) stop you in your tracks?

Well, maybe this one will get you going?

The excesses and the silliness of Vegas sometimes overshadowed the fact that we were really there to celebrate the vehicle that will save the world. Give me just a little more time to recover, and I'll tell you how.

Braving the waters of Chicago

Will this be called the great Chicago Flood of 2008?
These photos, featuring a few cyclists fording the waters, were taken today near Gomper's Park at Foster and Pulaski in Chicago.

Swimming pool at Gomper's Park.

Not much use, these.

C'mon in, the water's fine!

That's more like it!

This guy's having even more fun.

Equal pay for equal work.

The bridge is not really bridging.

Mind the rules of the road, y'all.

OK, so maybe this is more practical.

Gotta go. My camera's fogging up.

And for another view of bike polo....

... this time from the younger edge of the generation gap...