Rowlf (Details)

Rowlf

9 April 2016

"Ride it to work tomorrow," Michael commanded as I wheeled Rowlf from the back of his shop. He'd done more than re-route the cables.

To the top tube cable guide, he added a zip-tie. This will keep the cable from sliding forward, which is good, because if it slides forward it pulls on the rear brake.

He didn't like how the cables were rubbing against the bottom, despite the brazed-on cable guides, so he slid the cables through Teflon tubes:

He decided that the bar tape would look best finished off in white. The front brake cable now sits safely between the shifter cables.

And, of course, the bloody Campy logo is now precisely where purists need it to be:

I had every intention of taking Beaker to work. It wasn't until I was putting my shoes on that I changed my mind.

I grabbed a couple of lights and the bell from Beaker, put them on Rowlf in a hurry, and set out.

Something didn't feel quite right. Was I too far forward? I felt scrunched and stretched at the same time. The curve of the bars put my hands in a strange position, the way they used to be before I rebuilt Gonzo.

I was pushing against a headwind in 32 degrees, wearing a full backpack. That certainly wasn't helping.

Along a flat stretch in the trees near the Stony Brook bridge, I experimented with hand positions. My hands wanted to be on the top of the bars. The reach to the grips was too far down.  That would be an easy fix. I could tilt the bars up in a matter of minutes. Our lab is a breeding ground for Allen wrenches.

My speed had suffered along with my position. When I got to the lab, I tilted the bars about 15 degrees up from where they'd been.

As soon as I started for home, I knew my position was much better. The wind had shifted; I wouldn't get a push home. Instead, I pushed.

Much better, but much worse. Now I could reach the grips, but I was far too bent over to keep my herniated L5-S1 in place. While Rowlf and I were tearing it up, I could feel my back being torn up too.  Rowlf, the Colnago Saronni Master, was my master. You shall fit me.

If I can't ride Rowlf for 7 miles, I can't ride Rowlf at all.  I wheeled Rowlf next to Beaker for comparison. I left a message with Michael as I did a round of PT on the floor:  "The bar needs to come up a couple of centimeters," I said. "Is it OK to do this?"  I had no idea how much stem was left inside the steer tube.

Once again, it was Jim to the rescue. Over email he described in detail just how much to loosen the stem screw when raising and then positioning the bar. It would be a quick and easy fix.

Wednesday morning, after taking Jack to the train station, I set about raising the stem. The first thing I did was confuse myself. The distance from the floor to the top of the bar was identical for Beaker and Rowlf. How could this be?

What about the grips?  That's where my hands usually are. Aha!

It's that damned curve in Rowlf's bar, and the dip in the grips, that's doing me in.

Loosen, raise, tighten, compare, adjust, tighten, measure, repeat. Good enough.

Much better!  I felt like myself again! No, Rowlf, I don't fit you. You fit me.  Off we went, with a tailwind, at a speed that matched what Beaker and I had been achieving on tailwind days.  We got home well too.

Rowlf is by far the heaviest of my road bikes, heavier than Gonzo fully loaded with lights and battery even. Yet, on flat roads, Rowlf feels lighter than Gonzo and Miss Piggy.  That's Italian craftsmanship for you.

Thursday was rainy. Michael called me back. As I walked from my car to the lab, we talked about Rowlf. "I had the bar up as far as it should go," he told me. "There's a line. It's hard to see."

"I didn't see it," I said, "But I wasn't looking for it."

As it was now, Rowlf was safe. Ish.

Michael already had  a new stem picked out. "We'll make it whole," he promised.

When I got home, I searched for the line. Sumbitch. I'd gone over by all of three millimeters. Three millimeters too far, Jim agreed.

On Friday, I took Beaker to work. Perfection.