Rowlf Arrives, Staying Local, and Getting Advice

Pole Farm

17 January 2016

A light rain was falling, and I hadn't yet had breakfast, when I drove to the post office to pick up Rowlf's frame. Wet roads meant I could dedicate the day to figuring out how to outfit my new, 30-year-old, Colnago Saronni Master.

The condition of the box was not encouraging. Shipped from Germany on December 28, it had only been checked into New York's processing center a week ago. It would take five more days to get to central New Jersey. There was fresh tape on one end of the box; I guess Customs got a good look at it before sending the frame on its way.

The eBay seller had done a good job of packing the frame, though, and it arrived in as perfect condition as a well-loved frame from 1986 could be. I let Rowlf and Rowlf get acquainted:

The box, meanwhile, was a cat magnet:

I almost forgot about the shifters that the seller had given me (we'd had a long e-mail conversation about steel frames); I went digging into the packaging in the trash to retrieve them:

By the time I'd finished breakfast, the sun was coming out. Sean and I made tentative plans to get an afternoon ride in. That gave me a few hours to take Rowlf up to Wheelfine for an assessment.

The only plans I had were to build the wheels myself (with Michael checking my work at the end) and to outfit the frame with Campagnolo parts.

I'd envisioned using down-tube shifters for no other reasons than the braze-ons are there and that's how I thought bikes from the 1980s looked, having had a 1983 Raleigh Grand Prix (hers were stem shifters) myself back in the day.  There are good reasons I gave her up for Kermit: she was heavy, had too few gears to choose from, and there was little more I could do to make her modern. I don't want to repeat that experience. I want something I can ride.

When I walked into Wheelfine with Rowlf aloft, Michael looked at it as if I was bringing in the daily paper. If you know Michael, you'll know what I mean.

"This is in great shape for 30 years old," he said, and began musing about touching up the paint. "I have this color," he said, because of course he does. "It's called Candy Apple Red." He pulled out some polish and showed me how to shine the chrome.

He put it up on the stand to measure the dropouts: 128 mm. We'll need to do some cold-working to stretch that to 130 mm.  That's fine with me; we'll be able to check the alignment at the same time.

He found a pair of wheels so that we could check the stand-over height. Despite the seat tube being 2 cm longer than that of my other frames (the top tube is the same as the rest), the height was perfect.

Michael rested the bike against a work bench.  "You'll want silver, right?" Definitely.

This frame was an open book. I did my best to keep us focused on one thing at a time, which wasn't easy, and I wasn't exactly successful.

To get started, we had to decide what I'd use this bike for.  Rowlf is heavy. "I'm not going to climb with it, that's for sure," I said. I have Miss Piggy for the tough stuff. Kermit and Beaker can handle the Sourlands.  "I'll use it for the in-between seasons -- spring and fall -- and maybe for centuries if it's comfortable enough."  And commuting. I forgot to say commuting.

After much jumping from subject to subject, looking at a bike or two in the store, weighing rims, and consulting catalogs, Michael gave me this advice:

1. Don't buy components one at a time; buy a group that I know works together;

2. Forget about down-tube shifting. The shifters in my pocket have too narrow a range to cover more than 8 speeds, and integrated shifters existed in the 1980s anyway;

3. Come back in my bike clothes to test-ride Campy Athena and Veloce;

4. Once I decide, he can get me a new grouppo, a headset, bottom bracket, and cranks, and he'll install the parts I don't have tools for; and,

5. "Now, here's how I want you to lace the wheels: The pulling spokes go on the inside." He marked the hub and the rim so that I'd know where to lace the first spoke. He'd already assembled the necessary parts (including cutting and threading spokes on a jig). When I started asking questions, because the pattern differed from what I'd done before, I guess he figured it would be easier for both of us if I laced the wheel right then and there. He didn't seem annoyed, though. I think he might have been having fun.

He cleared some space in the back and set me up. He gave instructions, walked away, came back, gave more instructions, corrected my hand position, left again, and before I knew it (there's a time warp in there), I'd laced the rear wheel.  I was thoroughly enjoying this. (Wait'll you have to make it round, sister.)

 "Now, do the same for the front."

"If I can remember what I did."  It all happened so fast.

I could have left the frame with Michael, but I wanted to take it home and show it off to people, to get their opinions, to take my time. My goal is to ride this bike on my 50th birthday, in mid-May. I can get it together by then.

There was just enough time for me to bring everything into the house, eat some lunch, change my clothes, and get Kermit ready for the afternoon ride.

Sean would be the next person to look at Rowlf. He agreed about the shifters, having outfitted Purple Haze with Silver Shifters that can handle wider gear spacing. It's tricky, he warned me, because there's very little room between one gear and the next. He suggested I test-ride Purple Haze before deciding to go the down-tube route.

We had less than two hours before I had to be home again to clean off and fetch Pedro from the train station. There was a decent headwind (of course) but it was warm for January (almost 50 degrees). We looped over to Hopewell and back, stopping for pictures near sunset at the Pole Farm:

Sean got me home in time (we feared the Wrath of Jack).

After dinner and much wine in Hopewell (I had a whole half a glass, which gave me heartburn), we went back to the house so that Pedro could see Rowlf. Over the course of the next two hours, the cats played with the shipping box and Pedro announced, over and over again, "Old Record." There was to be, in his opinion, no new Athena nor Veloce, nor anything less than the best, and what did I need more than eight speeds for anyway? No down-tube shifters, either. While I agreed with him on the latter, I wasn't sure about the former.

"That wheel looks weird," he said.

"I'm not finished yet."

While he and Jack discussed what ridiculously expensive wine they'd buy with Pedro's tax return, I fetched the nipple driver and tightened the spokes.

"Better?"

"Better," he said.

The real finishing will come later, when my truing stand arrives.

*****

By 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning, the temperature had dropped to near freezing. I'd planned a route that would keep us close enough to home that we could bail if we were to get too cold.

Jim and Ed both had their heavy bikes. Jim even put fenders on the Krakow Monster. And here I was, with Miss Piggy, my lightest bike. If I went and fetched Gonzo instead, I'd never be able to keep up with them.

Jim and Ed each had their turn with Rowlf and with Jack before we headed north, with Pete, to Pennington.

There was much talk of snot en route.

Jim got a kick out of the empty parking lot at the official starting point. "I'm such a loser," I said. 

The booger banter continued all the way out of Pennington. I'm happy to say that I remember few of the dozen or so exchanges that would make any sense at all out of context; and since the context lasted nearly ten miles, I think it would be best for all involved if I simply left the mucous musings to your collective imaginations. 

I asked Jim for his opinion about how to outfit Rowlf. He's all for down-tube shifters, having a well-functioning set on the Krakow Monster.

Our route crossed over the Sourland Mountain twice. Here's a view from near the top of Runyon Mill, looking north:

Halfway down the hill, Jim stopped. A hot air balloon drifted east of us:

My hands suddenly froze. I wasn't the only one to sense that the air on the north side of the mountain was definitely colder. I'd packed two sets of gloves, so I switched over to the lobster claws. That did the trick.

Climbing Lindbergh didn't warm up my feet, though (I had wool socks, to warmers, and booties, but I'd stupidly foregone my winter shoes). I wiggled my toes all the way into Hopewell. I carry a spare set of warmers. At our rest stop at the Brick Farm Market, I shoved them between my booties and the tops of my shoes. That worked well enough.

Ed disappeared into the market, emerging with his hands full of meat, cheese, and a monster loaf of bread. It would be Jim's task to carry it home in Ed'd pannier. How they got it all to fit I'll never know.  If the load slowed Jim down even a little, we'll never know.

We were all cold before we got to Province Line. Afterwards, not so much.

There were sheep on Bayberry that I had to stop for:

As we entered Pennington again, one of our number began to sing a song about snot, to the tune of "O Tannenbaum," that he made up on the spot. What is it about Pennington that brings out the boogers?  I think the higher-functioning parts of our brains were frozen.

Pete peeled off for home, and then the snow began. We'd only expected flurries, which is what we were riding through. At first.

We got home well before the snow, now coming down at a pace that warranted attention, began to stick.

*****

So, for those of you who have read this far and have an opinion about how to set up a vintage frame in a fashion that looks old but isn't a chore to ride, feel free to leave a comment or email me. As of this moment, I'm all for ditching the down-tube shifting idea. Which Campy components I use, well, I have no idea. Everything I own is Shimano.