Jens Voigt: The permanent steward of the keys to the Pain Locker.

It’s a good question, this: who in their right mind would willfully hurt themselves doing something they “enjoy”? I’m guessing psychologists have a word for this type of behavior, and I’m not afraid to assume it’s not a flattering one. Indeed, we are all of us completely nuts.

When I’m not filing TPS Reports, it’s my job to help businesses not make technical problems any worse than they already are; occasionally I even help solve one or two. On the good days, I might sit behind my computer and do some actual “work”.  On the bad days, I try to remember what I actually did despite being busy from the moment I set foot in the office, if not before that.  No matter which of these shapes my days take, I come home feeling ready for a ride.

I generally look forward to that part of the day; to changing into my cycling kit, mulling over which cycling-specific eye wear to use and which lenses, before heading down to the basement where the bikes sleep. I like to spend a few minutes cooing over the stable while I pretend not to have already decided to take out Bike Number One; then I make my final selection and ready it for the road.

Being too fat to climb means that I am prone to snakebite punctures caused by my fat ass bouncing the back tire on the rim, so by necessity, I check my tire pressure before every ride (I’ve never had a flat on a Continental GP4000, by the way).  I check my quick releases.  If I didn’t clean and oil my chain after the last ride, I’ll clean and oil it.  I’ll make sure everything is shifting properly.  I’ll check the brakes, hang my helmet from the stem as stipulated in Rule 76, and roll my steed out into the garage where she’ll wait for me while I fill my water bottles and slip into the white ladies.

All the while, work will be knocking around in the back of my mind; be it the annoying things that happened during the day, the items I didn’t get around to, or whatever it is that will transpire tomorrow.  As I roll out onto the street, I’ll be preoccupied by little things as I settle into the rhythm of the ride.  Things like trying not to get hit by the idiot in a car who seems to be texting his buddies that he Hearts Huckabees.  Or I’ll question the decision-making process that encouraged the girl waiting at the bus stop to buy pantaloons that are three sizes too small.  Despite these worthwhile distractions, work will be knocking around in the back of my mind.

Climbing – or more precisely, the pain induced by climbing – is my favorite escape. When I’m on form, I’m encouraged by how good it feels to climb at tempo. Let me digress for a moment to point out that what a Velominatus defines as “feels good” diverges a bit from the traditional definition; by “good”, I mean to indicate that there is a tension in the legs – they hurt but feel strong – and the lungs ache as more air is taken from them than can possibly be pumped back into them, but they don’t feel like they are turning inside-out. “Feeling Good” is the only the beginning.

Then comes picking up a spade, cramming it into a mountainous heap of Rule 5, and turning it over on yourself. There is a strange freedom in the sensation you get as the pain rises through your body; it starts in the legs, and then in the lungs.  Together they swell and grow into each other as the pain consumes every bit of consciousness and affects the vision – colors become simultaneously more vibrant and desaturated.  The mind takes on a singular focus to keep the legs turning, blood pumping, and oxygen flowing; any thought not directly associated with keeping up the effort is pushed out.  A cyclist’s pain is a singular, focused peacefulness. From a Buddhist perspective, there might be something of the shadow of Enlightenment to it, that singular Oneness of Focus. Except that pain bit. I’m not a Buddhist, but I think they might not really be into that side of things.

It’s only during those moments – when I’m suffering like sweet baby Jesus on the cross – that my work doesn’t occupy at least some portion of my mind; the singular indulgence of pain clears everything away, and when I climb off the bike – destroyed – and after I’ve finished my post-ride beer (you need carbs after a ride, you know), everything seems just a little bit clearer.  By clearing away the noise, it makes all the problems in life seem a little less insurmountable.

Tthe underlying ethos, the spirit, the vibe, of The Rules

After watching The Rules gain attention, we asked Geof and David, who each seemed to spearhead the opposing views of The Rules (Rule Holism and Rule 5 Fundamentalism), to contribute articles discussing their views of The Rules.  Ying to David’s Yang, Geof has impressed us with his dissertations on Rule Holism; this article, contributed by him, serves as the cornerstone of the Holist view.  We do hope, however, that this is not where it ends and that the community continues to interpret and refine this embracing view into the world and culture of cycling.   Please enjoy; if you have an article you would like to contribute, please let us know.

Yours in Cycling, Frank

–

I have always found something odd about the determination of the ascetic to seek to eschew the aesthetic in his or her single-minded pursuit of The Truth (whether The Truth is conceived of as a state of grace, as Nirvana or as some other ideal). I admire the ascetic’s ability to endure the many privations s/he willingly submits to. I agree there are benefits which can accrue to one who faces up to and endures adversity. I acknowledge the importance of having the type of resilience which can only come from regularly being pushed beyond one’s comfort zones. And I feel pity (but not Piti) for those who never or rarely experience the deep satisfaction and sense of fulfilment which can only come from enduring and overcoming hardship (such as we feel on the bike when we harden the fuck up). But there must be balance, or the baby goes out with the bathwater and the whole exercise becomes self-defeating.

Ascetics typically conceive of their pursuit in quasi-aesthetic terms – The Truth being regarded as inevitably something of beauty (indeed, of uber-beauty, such is its purity and clarity assumed to be). And they readily agree that their pursuit is a search for meaning (loosely conceived). But ironically (in the conventional, not Morrisettical, sense of the word) the methods they employ in their pursuit of such beauty and meaning centre around a self-imposed denial of much of what is beautiful and much of what is meaningful. Whether they be chaste and silent nuns, non-dancing non-singing Taliban, stern-faced Calvinists, self-flagellating Agnus Dei, or itinerant loincloth-clad berry-eaters, they seem to me to largely miss the wood for the trees – to fail to understand that meaning and beauty are to be found not in denying so much that makes us who we are but, to the contrary, in actively embracing and immersing ourselves in the myriad of marvellous things we can be and do.

Such an embrace is not passive. It is not weak. It will frequently involve privation, demand rigour and devotion, and require courage and strength, for most things that are worthwhile take hard work. But – and here, I think, is my real point of departure from the Cognoscenti – it’s not like that all the time. Sometimes it involves just chilling; sometimes it involves compromising what you want to do in order to accommodate someone else (and accruing instead the pleasures of friendship); sometimes it involves exuberance for the sheer sake of being exuberant; and sometimes it involves spending precious time, when you should be working efficiently so you can get home to your loved ones, posting on a cycling website some faux-quasi-philosophical meanderings bearing little resemblance either to life or to the sport of cycling which would embarrass even the most callow of impressionable dilettantes, merely because it seems like a mildly diverting way to spend a rainy Friday afternoon.

An analogy. My family is the most important thing to me. But that does not mean that absolutely everything I do I do for them. Sometimes the kids want to me to play with them and I want to go cycling and I don’t go play with them and I do go cycling. It doesn’t mean I love them any less. And it doesn’t mean that, if faced with the choice between them and the bike, I wouldn’t throw away the bike in a heartbeat. But c’mon, we’ve gotta live in this life, with all its competing demands and all its rich and beautiful variety and wonder. And that means living with and dealing with complexity and inconsistency and compromise, not vainly wishing for something simpler (and accordingly putatively “purer”). It means keeping a focus on the important things, but not letting that focus become a single-minded obsession to such a degree that it denies us the life we’re meant to live.

What’s this got to do with The Rules? As with life, so with cycling. To a (or at least this) Rule Holist, there is no single, inviolable Rule which must dominate our every endeavour on the bike. There’s a whole bunch of them – some of which are inconsistent with others; many of which are more than a little silly; and most of which have precious little to do with being fast or winning races.

Of course some of them are more important than others. To me, as to most of us, Rule 5 is the most important. Why? Because the essence of the sport is suffering – and not merely dealing with the suffering but embracing the suffering until it becomes part of who you are and what you do and you need no more reason to get on your bike than to feel the way you feel when you employ every fibre of your being to hardening the fuck up just that little bit more and knowing in a fundamental way that that is beautiful.

But that does not mean Rule 5 must be utterly observed, at all costs, at all times. Sometimes it needn’t be. Indeed, sometimes it shouldn’t be. Sometimes it can be more fun to obsess about the bar tape and/or valve cap and/or shaven legs and/or frame pump than to harden the fuck up. Sometimes it can be more fun to ride slowly with a friend up a hill rather than to take the opportunity to further harden the fuck up just that little bit more. Sometimes it can be good and true and beautiful and fun and rewarding to just go out for a gentle ride for no purpose other than to gently ride and absolutely not harden the fuck up. If you don’t regularly harden the fuck up, if you don’t see hardening the fuck up as a fundamental feature of the code of the Velominati, well, you probably aren’t much of a Velominatus or Velomihottie. But, to this Rule Holist, the occasional non-observance of Rule 5 does not require you to cancel your subscription and return your membership card. It’s a question of balance.

So is Rule Holism just anarchy? Does it really stand for anything at all? If Rule 5 can, on occasion, be ignored, does that mean that anything goes? Does it mean that a recumbent-riding Fred in sneakers and a YJA with mirrors on his helmet and a total lack of familiarity with “going ano” (as Stuart O’Grady puts it) can be a Velominatus? And if not, why not? If it is OK to break one rule once, mustn’t it also be OK to break all of them all of the time?

Of course not. “A bit is OK so lots must be better” may apply to sex and money, but not much else – and it certainly doesn’t apply to breaking any of The Rules. “A bit is acceptable, but not too much – and the more important the Rule the less ‘too much’ is” would be less catchy, but more accurate. Seeing the choice as being between (i) complete adherence to Rule 5 and (ii) an anything-goes free-for-all anarchy would be to establish a false dichotomy in reliance on a reductio ad absurdum. It would be like characterising the gun-shaving issue as a choice between (i) hairy hippie douchedom and (ii) blade-shaved, Pedros-lubed ballsack. It would, in other words, ignore all the good stuff in between the two extremes, such as Baxter.

Of course, if you acknowledge that the “right” answer is somewhere between the two extremes, the more difficult question is “where, exactly?”. Is it Baxter? Is it waxing? Is it once a week or once a day? Debate could go on for ever. Views will differ. And, most vexing of all, there may be no right answer.

Likewise with The Rules. Exactly how far can one’s non-observance of one or more Rules go before one ceases to truly be a Velominatus or Velomihottie? Debate could go on for ever. Views will differ. And, most vexing of all, there may be no right answer. It may depend – on the person, the Rule, the prevailing zeitgeist (for The Rules are as culturally embedded as any other social phenomenon). But that’s just life. As Denise Richards asserts, it’s complicated. But why shy away from complexity? Why fear its implications and consequences? Why not, well, harden the fuck up and deal with it?

There must be considerable comfort in the notion that one’s life can be guided by a simple rule – a significant part of that comfort being the protection it offers against the existentialist doubts that can otherwise assail us in a world which consists much more of shades of grey than it does of black and white. But most of us do alright in a world beset with inconsistency, contradiction, hypocrisy and compromise. Indeed, most of us instinctively understand that this as just the inevitable consequence of living in a world of richness, variety, contrast and interest. And so it is with The Rules. They may be inconsistent, debate on them may go on forever, judgment calls may constantly need to be made. But for fuck’s sake, that’s what makes them fun. Rule 5 included.

What is the essence of Rule Holism? To me, it’s attitudinal. It’s not about rigorous adherence to a narrowly conceived vision of what this sport is all about. But neither is it about nothing. It’s about the underlying ethos, the spirit, the vibe – as those things are embodied and reflected in the Rules as a whole.

• Are The Rules important? Yes.
• Is Rule 5 the most important? Yes.
• Can you break it sometimes? Yes.
• Can you break the others more often? Yes.
• Is it difficult to know exactly where the boundaries lie? Yes.
• Does that mean that it is better to simply observe Rule 5 always and not really care about the other Rules? Fuck no.

It may be simpler. And it may feel safer. But to let a hankering for simplicity and safety dominate your life is to deny yourself the essence of what that life is meant to be about. Better to harden the fuck up and live a little.

Because it’s not about competing.

It’s not about winning.

It’s not about Rule 5.

It’s not even really about the bike.

It’s about the craic.

Craftsmen by Mitch Frey

What follows is a Guest Article contributed by our community member, David.  For several months now, David has entertained us with his harsh, fundamentalist view of the Rules.   It has been interesting to watch the community grab hold of the Rules and interpret them in their own way.  We hope you keep doing that, and keep having fun with all of this – because, after all, that’s what this is all about: Fun. What is written here by David is probably the closest thing to the Hardmanifesto that has been committed to the canon thus far. We do hope, however, that this is not where it ends and that the community continues to interpret and refine this harshest of views into the world and culture of cycling. We hope you enjoy it; if you have an article you would like to contribute, please let us know.

Yours in Cycling, Frank

–

“I ride to win, winning is the reason for my existence.”
Andrei Tchmil

The Cognoscenti are a sect of Rule 5 fundamentalists among the Velominati.  Our central position is this.  Rule 5, Harden the fuck up, is the most fundamental of all Rules.  Its fundamental position is defined as follows.

(i) Obey Rule 5 first and foremost.
(ii) Any Rule which is inconsistent with Rule 5 in letter or spirit ought to be ignored.
(iii) Any Rule which does not follow directly or indirectly from Rule 5 can be obeyed or not as fits one’s legitimate cycling aims, interests, or aesthetic sensibilities.

Why is Rule 5 fundamental?  Cognoscenti may differ on the reason.  Here’s my own explanation.

Cycling is an art, like carpentry or masonry.  A true cyclist is a craftsman, and his craftsmanship separates him from those who merely ride a bike.  He learns the art as a devoted apprentice to masters of the sport.  He perfects his technique through a constant practice governed by the principle that if it is worth doing, it must be done just perfectly.  Hard experience out on the road refines his craftsmanship.  His tools are wheels, tires, gears, even bar tape, and of course his bike.  His respect for the art and his pride in his own craftsmanship is manifest in the meticulous selection and care of his tools.  And just as someone who one day buys the best table saw at Home Depot and cuts up some wood is not a carpenter, so too the Fred who buys a top-end road bike and then rides it around is not a cyclist.

Some carpentry work demands superlative skill, experience, and knowledge.  Few can manage the work.  Some forms of cycling also demand superlative craftsmanship that few possess.  Simply, the art of cycling is never practiced to a higher degree than it is in bicycle racing.

Cycling craftsmanship might be thought of as graded on continuous scale.  At the bottom are basic bike-handling skills, such as putting pressure on the outside pedal while cornering.  Higher up on the scale we find a smooth pedal stroke, with bent elbows and a relaxed grip on the bars come what may.  Higher up we find the craftsmanship required to ride in a pack at high speeds.  At the very top we find the set of skills and the knowledge needed to win races like Paris-Roubaix or the Giro d’ Italia.  Here we will find the great masters of the art.

The work of a racing cyclist is to win or sacrifice himself for another to win.  The toll of the work is pain and agony.  One must be hard to endure the toll and complete the work.  You may have the best bike-handling skills, the finest equipment, and the greatest tactical savvy, but you will not win unless you can endure the searing pain required to complete the work.  Furthermore, the hardness needed to endure the toll is very difficult to achieve.  Anyone can learn how to wrap bar tape like the best pro wrench if it’s important enough to him.  Anyone, really, can learn to corner well by constant practice.  But mental hardness is an all together different sort of achievement.  Why?  Human beings by nature seek pleasure and avoid pain.  Enduring the toll of the work, then, does not come naturally.  Indeed, enduring the toll of the work requires overcoming one’s own nature.  Now, because hardness is absolutely necessary for completing the work but at the same time is a very difficult achievement, we can say confidently that hardness is the first virtue of bicycle racing.

We are in a position to understand why Rule 5 is The Rule of Rules.  Rule 5 is the Rule that one must strive to obey, despite oneself, in order to promote and develop the first virtue of bicycle racing.  That is, Rule 5 marks the way to completing the art’s highest work.  This is why one should obey Rule 5 first and foremost.

Rule 5 may seem crude.  Do not be fooled.   The Rule, Harden the Fuck Up, states three important truths in a very subtle and elegant way.

(1) Its crude form conveys precisely the contempt one should have for delicate, fastidious sensibilities in cycling.  They belong in a museum of modern art or in a Paris café in which Jean Paul Sartre is mentioned endlessly in a fog of cigarette smoke.  They do not belong out on the road. They will only interfere with the work.

(2) The Rule presupposes that by nature we seek pleasure and avoid pain.  This can be seen in the fact that Rule 5 commands that we Harden the Fuck Up, and not that we be fucking hard.  The Rule would not make sense if the hardness needed to win could be assured.  It can never be assured.

(3) At the same time, or rather because of the presupposition, Rule 5 urgently commands what must be done to complete the sport’s highest work.  And here we find the importance of the expletive.  Rule 5 does not say, Harden up.  Nor does it say, Get hard, or even, Go hard or go home.  None of these come close to adequately expressing the sheer urgency that is demanded in the attempt to overcome one’s own nature, endure the pain and agony, and win a bicycle race.  Nothing less than the most stringent of expletives is appropriate for The Rule of Rules.

Some random but important observations on Rule 5.

–Rule 5 is not a savage Rule. It does not demand that one stupidly seek pain and agony for no reason.  The Rule is supremely rational; Rule 5 tells you plainly what must be done in order to win.

–The most important tool of the true craftsman on a bike is his mind.  This tool must be tempered like the finest steel.

–A clever workman might camouflage himself in the peloton by intentionally violating Rules 8, 29, 32, 50, 60, and 65 at the same time.

–It is the greatest sin of a cyclist to breach Rule 5 but then console himself that he obeyed other Rules.

–You will never see the Cognoscenti state Rule 5 with the acronym, “HTFU”.  Velominatus, are you afraid to state The Rule in front of the “urbane” crowd?  Does Rule 5 embarrass you?  Harden the fuck up.

–A true craftsman at work:

–One might suppose the whole position of the Cognoscenti could be stated with the principle that form follows function.

What do the Cognoscenti know about the Cog that others may not?  There is no real beauty in the substitution of an effete cycling couture for true craftsmanship on a bike.  We will not stand for it.

There is no room among us for the lukewarm.

F Grimpeur, Banged but not yet Felled - Photo Courtesy of Universal Sports

First and foremost, as a cyclist and a devoted fan of this sport – a Velominatus, no less, – I express my deepest sympathies to the riders who crashed in Stage 2 of the Tour de France.  Blame was cast around, but as pointed out by Ben, there were many months of opportunity for the riders to  express their concern about the route – yet no one did.  That is because it was a good route; one raced by Eddy Merckx so many times the very climb whose descent caused the carnage in today’s stage bears a statue of his likeness.

In the end, the organizers cannot be held responsible for bad weather, and the riders cannot be held accountable for reacting in collective self-preservation when sticken en masse. Perhaps the stage finish should have been contested, and perhaps some will rue today’s lost opportunities, but the strongest riders in each competition will prevail, I’m sure of that. The lines between sportsmanship and Rule 5 were murky, and it really got everyone talking.  We’re all eternally biased by our views and our passion; that’s one of the things that distinguishes us from “science” and makes this a “sport”.  And goddammit, I love it and if there is one thing we do here at the Velominati, I hope it’s that we have a chance to say what we want to say and have a conversation.  No matter how wrong everyone else is.

The point I’d like to make is that what makes each of us a professional in our own little discpline is our ability to separate what we want to do from what we are paid to do.  Tomorrow’s stage three is a case in point.  Let today be what is was; Stage Three will feature a rough ride over some of the worst roads in Europe.  But, the men bouncing over those roads will not be amateurs out for a Tuesday group ride.  These will be professionals – many of whom are paid very handsomely - and their job is to race their bicycles across the route that the race organizers have laid out.

They are paid handsomely for a reason: their job is difficult and not many can accomplish what they are asked to do.  To be a professional cyclist means being able to do things and endure pain that I am humbled to imagine (quite frankly, I’m afraid of needles).  But the reason there is a paycheck waiting at the end of the day is because the professionals are providing a service that is worth paying for.

That “service” happens to be  entertainment.  If you’d like to protest the route, you have several months before the race to do so.  Once the race starts, protests have no place in this sport.  A professional should get on with their job, no matter how difficult it is.

I feel horrible for any rider denied their chance to a “fair” race – including Banged and Felled, Gesink, and Farrar – who may or may not be broken – but the fact remains: this is a bike race and shit happens.  You are paid to race a bike because you’re better at it than we are, and because competition is unpredictable, despite the fact that it may break our hearts.  In that light, to neutralize tomorrow’s race would be as bad as if we’d found a motor in Spartacus’ Shiv at the Prologue; it would be devastating beyond what any of us can justify in our passion of this sport.

Let me conclude this article with Five Ghosts from Tours Past, in case you still think today’s racers have it too hard:

1. The first Tour was 6 stages and 2,428 kilometers.  This year’s Tour is 3,642 kilometers in 20 stages.  That’s 3.06 times less Rule 5 than in 1903.
2. Dérailleurs were illegal until 1937.  Mountains weren’t, though, so riders had to loosen their rear wheel and reverse it to have a (marginally) better gear on the way up or down a hill.
3. In 1913, Eugene Christophe has to repair by welding his own fork after a crash in the village of Sainte-Marie-de-Campan (my favorite  village in France).  He refused assistance as being helped would render him disqualified from the race.  It was each man for themselves in 1913.
4. In 1963, the Tour organizers reduced the length of the individual time trials (plural) from 111 kilometers to 79 kilometers.
5. As recently as 1983, the Tour’s passes still contained unpaved roads.

A couple of rough roads don’t seem so bad when you look at that list.

I ask the Pro Peleton: Please don’t neutralize the race tomorrow.  For better or for worse, this is what you’re paid to do.  And next year, when the roads look this sketchy, take it up with the organizers in a professional way so everyone – the fans, the riders, and the organizers, all know what to expect.

One of the catalysts for the rules, circa 2004

There has been unprecedented and unexpected interest and discussion on this blog since the first mention of ‘The Rules’.  From that very first post, a name that has been oft-mentioned is that of the mysterious Johnny Klink.  A good mate of mine since the late 90s when we first met in some random shop, we forged our friendship through our passion for bikes, and riding them.  We were both primarily mountain bikers back then, and still are, but with a deep appreciation and love of road riding, and the history and traditions of racing.  Klink has an eye, and a mind, for cycling and all things bicycle that few can match.  But he considers himself “a talker, not a writer” when it comes to conveying his passion to other Velominati.  So it took me a while to get him to put down on paper what The Rules mean to him, and how they came about.  Now seems like an ideal time for his modest take on the origins of The Rules.  Brett

Most of us will have a friend or acquaintance who, no matter what they do or how much money they spend, be it on fashion, music or in this particular case bicycles and cycling accessories, they just can’t get it right. Each decision, each new purchase becomes another faux pas or crime against good taste. Fundamentally, this is where the initial mutterings of the idealism which has now been venerated on Velominati as ‘The Rules’ originated from.

I vividly remember beers in the garage with my good mate Brett, putting together any number of new two-wheeled creations and alluding to the unspoken (at the time) rules or guidelines that should be adhered to when one builds or designs a new dream ride. Integral to these discussions were light-hearted taunts and scorn that would be directed at friends or any other random cyclist who we felt had no idea. As Brett was getting into blogging about all things cycling, I recall my instruction to him was always to “blog that shit!” so we could document our rules which would become a jovial talking point amongst our mates who read the blog. I never thought it would go further than that

As an Industrial Designer and, as Brett will attest, a person with somewhat pedantic tendencies, I find it hard to rest easy about a bicycle that has been put together in a piecemeal, haphazard fashion. I feel that somewhere inside me there is an inherent appreciation of the unspoken art of bicycle design. Custom players like Vanilla Cycles, Indy Fab and Australia’s Baum Cycles, for example, build the bikes that ‘The Rules’ embody to me.

Ok, back to that friend that we all know….our case in point could take a top-of-the-line, five figure machine and turn it into a department store Huffy, the bike of your dreams into a carbon fibre tragedy. I have never seen a person who could devalue a bike just by owning it. Gaffer tape used to stop cable rub, packing tape on the cranks to stop heel scuff, and randomly placed pieces of wool and string for reasons we are yet to understand. The certain irony behind all these attempts at keeping his bike’s future value intact meant that it had to resemble something you would have to pay me to own. The Rules had to be enforced!

Needless to say Brett blogged that shit, and on my last look at the Velominati website there were over 70 rules and growing. For me these Rules were always linked towards an appreciation and awareness of the form and function of the bicycle and associated accessories. Using a keen eye for pulling together a final design, which the average punter could see that thought and time had gone into the build. Equally, cycling being a sport steeped in tradition, these Rules also have to be kept at the forefront of the mind throughout the build process.

The Rules, for me, could be a succinct list of guidelines to aid everyone from the novice to the experienced cyclist with no idea. As with everything some people get it and some people don’t, and that is why we must have The Rules.

Johnny Klink

Here’s our great mate Col, who was the inspiritation for The Rules.  No matter how mismatched his clothes were, how bad his bikes looked, he could still put the hurt on you, drink a few beers, and then drive us 4 hours home at the end of it.  Good on ya Col, you legend.

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The clouds of a marine layer.

Summer has been really slow to come to Seattle this year.  I suppose that’s what comes with living in a coastal region, especially one with a convergence zone like Puget Sound has.

As summer approaches, so does the Marine layer.  Marine layers are actually a good thing for the world and serve an important purpose. Particularly if you happen to be a slug or worm or a hunk of moss.  The benefits are less pronounced for humans, especially those who hold themselves to strict weather conditions under which certain bikes are permitted to hit the streets.

Which brings me to my point.  Rule 12 states the following:

The minimum number of bikes one should own is three.  The correct number is n+1, where n is the number of bikes currently owned.  This equation may also be re-written as s-1, where s is the number of bikes owned that would result in separation from your partner.

The part of the Rule around owning as many bikes as possible without suffering separation from your dearly beloved partner requires very little explanation – if any at all – and I’ll spare you the discussion on that topic.  What may be less obvious is why the minimum number of bikes is set precisely at three.  It comes down to having three steeds for the three most common weather conditions we find ourselves in during training: dry weather, mixed wet and dry, and wet.  Lets review in more detail, starting with Bike #3:

Bike #3: Rain Bike

Intended Purpose: Riding in the Rain

Justification: Riding any bike in the rain is tough on the bike for a number of reasons; risk of crashing is higher, brake pads wear more quickly, chains get gunked up, dirt gets in between the components and their bearings, nuts, washers, and hub flanges, which all increase wear and tear in addition to causing trouble with the Principle of Silence. In the long run, a bike that’s never seen rain will generally work better than one that has.  Also, riding in the rain may require the use of flasher lights and fenders, and we definitely don’t want to be adding fenders or flashers to our best bikes. Ideally, the Rain Bike would also be built up with affordable components such that when parts wear out, they can be replaced easily.

Bike #2: Mixed Weather Bike

Intended Purpose: Riding in Mixed Dry and Wet Weather

Justification: It’s not always wet (or dry) throughout a ride, which makes riding a bike that has fenders and lights affixed to them a nuisance.  But, if the weather is variable, you may also not want to ride your best bike.  Bike #2 is reserved for these conditions; it is generally built up with better kit than Bike #3, but not the top-notch stuff that graces our best bike.  Should it begin to rain, the additional wear is acceptable, but the bike is also good enough that the ride is thoroughly enjoyable should the roads stay dry and you don’t have to rue the choice to leave Bike #1 in the stable.

Bike #1: Good Weather Bike

Intended Purpose: Riding in Good, Dry Conditions

Justification: Number One Bike should be looked after more carefully than your first child and any pets you may have.  This is the one you spent 17 hours searching eBay for the out-of-production stem you wanted; the one you went into debt for to get the carbon-railed saddle instead of the lowly titanium model.  This is the one that gets rubbed down with a diaper after every ride.    Not only does this bike never see the rain, hopefully it does not come in contact with overly humid air.  It is not ridden on dirt roads, it is not ridden on gravel.   Try not to look at it sideways or speak near it with a raised voice.

Choosing the bike for the day can be a bit tricky. Personally, I rarely trust a weather forecast, especially here in the Pacific Northwest where even the meteorologist will admit something to the effect of, “Well, I don’t know what the weather will be, folks.  One of three things will happen: it will be sunny, or cloudy, or it might rain”.  That being less than helpful, I generally study the skies and make a best guess at what might happen over the course of the day in order to ascertain which bike I will choose for my ride.

Some cases are easier than others. For instance, say it’s pouring rain outside and the skies are rough and dark. Obviously, this is a case for Rain Bike.  Gray skies, no sun, air feels wet and out comes Bike #2.  Sun is out, birds are chirping and the kids down the street are making me crazy with their cheerful squeaks and screams,  and it’s a day for Bike #1.  But this Marine Layer we’ve been experiencing here is a tough nut to crack.  In the morning, I can’t tell if it’s overcast or if it’s all just going to burn off in a few hours to reveal a gorgeous blue sky.  I’ve been caught out twice already, and I’m not eager to make it a third.

Damn this Marine Layer.

A Velominatus' labor of love: working on a bike

Each of us remembers how they became a Velominatus. For me, it was at Grimpeur Wielersport, in Zevenaar, The Netherlands. Its the perfect place: a small shop, on a small street, in a small town, in a small country, run by a Giant of the Sport, Herman van Meegen. I haven’t been back in years, not since my mentor and original owner was forced to retire due to a nagging back injury.

Despite it’s diminutive appearance, inside this small shop existed a world vast beyond my wildest imagination. The owner spoke with the soft ‘G’ – typical of the Dutch dialect in the region.  Former head mechanic at Helvetia – La Suisse, and later for Team 7-Eleven, he had previously wielded a wrench at the world’s major events including Le Tour before opening this shop. He knew everyone. Pros strolled into his shop on a regular basis. Imagine the awe of a thirteen-year-old Velominatus Novus as Erik Breukink wandered into the shop and dallied about for a bit.

But it was the tales and experience from many years on the Pro circuit that made those visits to special to me.  He explained in detail the way Steve Bauer preferred to ride a smaller frame than his contemporaries or how Pascal Richard liked the tension of the spokes “just so” as he laced a set of wheels for my dad.  He showed me how he filed out the holes in the hub flange to cradle the spokes better and reduce the chance of breaking one.  He built wheels on a truing stand he built himself and to which he affixed a micrometer.  He told me that a perfectly true wheel will never go out of true, not even on the cobbles.  ”Maar het moet werkelijk perfect zijn.” But it has to be absolutely perfect. Sounds like something you need a custom truing stand and micrometer for.  (That bike is now something like 20 years old, and has never seen a spoke wrench; the wheels are still perfectly true.)

He was personal friends with Eddy Merckx and picked up a frame my dad had ordered after dinner with The Man at the factory in Belgium.  A prototype Campagnolo saddle with titanium rails and air bladder that never made it to production somehow found its way atop my dad’s seat post.  I can’t imagine how his insides churned as my dad insisted on having a set of Scott Drop-Ins installed on that bike.  He never uttered a word about it, opting instead to teach me how to seamlessly splice two rolls of bar tape together to accommodate the long bars – a skill he picked up wrapping the bars of riders who wanted double-wrapped bars on the tops but not the drops at Paris-Roubaix.  He taught me to cut my cables short and solder them before cutting for the perfect, sleek finishing touch.  He taught me how to “feel” a bolt to get it just the right amount of tight – where it holds but the soft aluminum doesn’t strip.  He taught me to trim soda cans and tuck them in between the bars and stem of a handlebar that persistently slips.  But most importantly, he showed me the intricate beauty of our machines.

He also stocked a backpack called the “Body Bag” which I always felt could have used a more sensible name and whose marketers perhaps missed a nuance in the language.

Apart from his poor choice in backpacks, this was a man who understood the finer things about bicycles, and I’m grateful he took the time to teach me even a tiny little bit of what he knew.

So, I leave you today with this question: if you could ask a pro bike mechanic – perhaps even one on the ProTour circuit – one, single question, what would it be?

Sean Kelly -1988 photo:Barry Sandland

This photographer knew the picture that people would remember and that would shine a light into Sean Kelly’s character wasn’t of his face; the story is all below. These are legs only a cyclist could love.

In 1988 these legs won Paris-Nice for the seventh time, Gent-Wevelgem and his only Grand Tour Victory, the Vuelta a España, at that time, held in April. He raced to win from Paris-Nice in March to Lombardia in October with no peaking, or vacations, just single minded ambition.

You have to stay with the lithe Spanish climbers to win Vuelta. Kelly’s legs show no extra fat and no lack of might.

There he sits on the top tube of his Vitus 979 Aluminum framed race bike, answering questions in his hard- to- decipher Irish brogue. Even in black and white, one can see he is deeply tanned. No sunscreen and no Look pedals for Sean- he was possibly the last man in the peloton to switch. He always rode a bike that looked too small and cramped. Perhaps this wouldn’t have worked for anyone else but how does one argue with his method?

For all The Rules followers, study the socks. Ponder carefully, for this is what yours should look like: white and the perfect height. This is the way to set off tan, veiny, incredibly powerful legs. Do your legs look like these? No, I didn’t think so, but these socks would be a start.

The Rules readers might also study the gearing; maybe a 23-tooth sprocket as his largest on his seven speed freewheel and 52 and 42 chain rings up front. This must have been a very hilly course. Rule 5 was his middle name.

For my money, American writer Robin Magowan‘s books and articles about this cycling era are without peer; his summation of Kelly is perfect.

It is customary to talk of Kelly as quintessentially an Irish rider. For my part, though, I think it helps to place Kelly better as a cyclist to see him as the last of the Flemish riders. This is usually a title associated with the post-war rider, Briek Schotte who has become appropriately enough the man in day-to-day charge of the de Gribaldy teams. As exemplified by Schotte it stood for a certain type of mentality, willing to suffer, narrowly focused, and hard, hard, hard. Kelly had all this in him from his Irish small farm background: the outside loo; the dogs that have to be chained before you can step from your car; the one career possible, as a bricklayer on a construction site, stretching away and away into the grey mists. On the positive side, along with the self-reliance, came a physical strength that even by peasant standards is impressive. In a profession of iron wills, there is no one harder.

Flying the Velominati colors high on Hurricane Ridge

As you know, the first shipment of the Velominati kit arrived last week and the reception has been universally enthusiastic by the recipients (with the exception of Brett, who loves the look but is at least two months from peaking and too fat to climb).   Some of the most well-received details are the orange DutchMonkey cuffs on the sleeves and legs, the various placements of the Obey the Rules logo, and last but not least, the three Rules emblazoned upon the right thigh.

After having worn the kit in training several times during the week, with the arrival of the weekend came time to put the kit through it’s paces and see how it held up on a bigger ride and in bad weather.  So, when Sunday came around, my Velomihottie and I jumped in the car, took the ferry across Puget Sound and parked at the base of the Olympic Mountains outside Port Angeles, Washington.  On the menu was a ride up and down Hurricane Ridge; not an epic climb by any means, but a solid 30km uphill with about a 1500 meter gain in elevation.

Skies were overcast in Seattle as we left, but our spirits were high knowing that the so-called “rain shadow” on the Olympic Peninsula would likely yield better weather than what we had in town. It turns out the rain shadow is a load of bullocks, and the closer we got to the mountains, the more steadily the rain fell.  Enter Rule 9: we parked, kitted up, each tucked a vest into our jersey, and headed up the mountain.

The mountains along the Pacific Coast are unique in the sense that their base is nearly at sea level, while their peaks are still considerably above the snow line.  This means that as you climb (or descend), you often will experience weather zones that are much more pronounced than in inland mountains, such as the Alps or the Pyrenees; we started in the pouring rain, then moved into the fog (riding through tunnels in a dense fog is an experience that can only be described as “trippy”), and through a dry zone before passing the snow line and into the freezing temperatures where it was snowing at the summit.  It also turns out that the name “Hurricane Ridge” was not a sarcastic one.  Needless to say he descent was Gavia cold (descending through tunnels in a dense fog while shaking uncontrollably is an experience that can only be described as “scary as fuck”).

And that’s where the kit really shines: every time my head dropped, ready to let up or get wimpy about either the wet or the cold (or the wet and the cold), my eyes would fall upon the three Rules on my thigh, and I would just get on with the work at hand.  I found Rule 10 particularly meaningful while climbing, when your mind starts making idiotic posits like, “this fucking hurts, and I’m going fucking slow.”

For those of you who are in for the next kit order (being placed on Monday), you can rest assured that you will be most satisfied with this fine product.  Aside from being (dare I say) most stylish, it is also incredibly comfortable – definitely the most comfortable I’ve worn.  The bibs fit like a glove, the padding just right, and the jersey molds to your body.  And, in case you’re wondering, the magical Castelli fabrics stay crisply white, even in the wettest of conditions.

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As the saying (almost) goes, May showers bring June flowers, so I’m expecting a very nice and flowery June here in Seattle.

What motivates a Velominatus?  It seems a simple question, but the answer is complicated and gets into various issues that are neither interesting nor compelling.

For me, cycling has been a life-long obsession.  I enjoy any kind of riding.  I enjoy technical, single-track mountain biking, I enjoy riding on dirt roads or wide trails.  I enjoy commuting by bike, and I enjoy riding my bike to the local markets. I love riding an old clunker bike around a city like Amsterdam.  But my heart has always belonged to road cycling.

When I was a kid, my dream was to start a frame-building business.  In my free time, I sketched bicycles – anything from standard road bikes to exotic time trial machines.  I even designed logos for my imagined company, humbly named Strack Cycles.  When not designing frames, the next priority was to dream up the names and kits for the teams Strack Cycles would invariably sponsor.

When time allowed during the Summer months, I would go for multiple training rides per day, some on the road, and some off. Officially a Nordic ski racer, I realized that I had become a cyclist when the shortening of the days as Fall approached was met with dread that the cycling season was coming to a close rather than excitement for the imminent ski season.

Long hours on the road bike were filled with fantasies of being in day-long solo breakaways at the Tour de France; motivation to climb aboard my bike in the rain was eased by imagining I was racing in a Belgian Spring classic.

Such are the motivations of this particular Velominatus.

Then came Velominati.  We’ve carried on long conversations.  We’ve established our own vernacular. Most of us are probably on some psychiatric “People of Interest” list.  And, we have our own kit. In addition to bearing the Velominati colors and logos, the kit bears various details that only those of us in the know will appreciate:  the “Obey the Rules” emblem appears in various places, and the right leg of the bibs bear three Rules, referred to only by number and oriented such that they are legible for the wearer.  We modestly believe it to be the most awesomest kit on the planet, ever.

A non-nondescript box greeted me upon my arrival home from work yesterday.  The box bore a simple, handwritten note: “Velominati – You Must Obey”, signalling the arrival of the first order of the Velominati Kit (which leads me to believe the folks at Castelli subscribe to Rules Holism).   My hands were shaking as I opened the box and gazed in at the oblique realization of a lifelong dream.

With that, I present the Velominati kit, made by Castelli and designed by KRX-10. We’ll be placing more orders throughout the year, so just drop us a line if you’d like to put the whole Rule 17 issue to bed and fly the Velominati colors.

UPDATE: I have updated the set of photos in the post to more accurately reflect the colors of the actual kit.  The kit is black, and in no way brownish or purple, as some of the photos appear to be.

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