Beaker, Then and Now
2 December 2018
Michael called early Friday afternoon. He was almost finished Beaker's conversion to Campagnolo. I don't remember what time it was when I got there, but I do know that it was after 7:00 when I got home. Time stops when you're inside Wheelfine Imports, because in there time has stopped.
Beaker is a 2014 Tommasini Tecno, painted electric blue with no logos. I bought her at Wheelfine but I had her built up at Hart's, where I chose Shimano and wound up with all the trimmings in black, which was the color of the moment. The brakes were on backorder so I wound up with Sram Rival in the mix with Dura Ace, Ultegra, and XTR. The stem was a giant block of black. Most of the seatpost, stem, and bars were hidden by lights for commuting anyway. The wheels, Ksyrium Elite 25 cm, were also black. She was a combination of old and new school.
The setup served me well enough, although I never was in love with the wheels, and the chain always ground against the derailleur when I went outside-to-outside, which, given my route home from work, was frequently.
Every time I took Rowlf, the 1986 Colnago Master with full Campagnolo Athena, out for a spin, I became more convinced that Beaker needed a Campy conversion. Every time I spoke with Michael I made the promise that, someday, I'd do it. Beaker was too pretty to be hiding under all that black, and, OMG, the smoothness of Campagnolo.
We settled on Potenza 11, not the most beautiful of chainring patterns, but the only group available in 11-32. We picked out a quill stem (yay!) that would work with my back, a silver seat post, and a handlebar that best matches the flat shape I'm used to. (Rowlf, for all his beauty, has a curving bar that my wrists aren't happy with.)
When Michael called he delved into the technical impasses of stem and seat post lengths that he overcame with a saw, and wanted to know what color bar tape I wanted. That's when I said I'd stop by.
When I got there he was finishing up filling in the stamped fork logo with red paint; the original red had worn off over four years.
I had assured him two weeks ago that this wouldn't be necessary, but his OCD would not have allowed him to leave the fork with its few remaining flakes of red.
He'd polished the chrome, too, and buffed out the scuff marks that all of the lighting straps had put in. He even rotated and cleaned off the tires so that they, too, looked new, even though they'd been used since mid-summer.
Left to his own devices I'm sure there was less than half an hour of remaining work. With me in the shop this spun out into hours as he stopped between each step to tell a story. No detail was too small to ponder: we even spent time deciding which of the half-dozen silver-colored bottle cages would look the best. I installed the most old-school ones I could find while he meticulously cut and wrapped the bar tape. When it came time to choose the accent color there were three rolls of blue electrical tape to choose from.
What was most important to me was the saddle-to-stem distance and the height of the shifter hoods from the floor. If either of these were off my back would tell me in short order. The latter was easy to set. The former would probably need some tweaking, as the shape of the grips would factor in.
I carried the old parts out to the car in a box marked "Beaker Shimano."
I snapped a few pictures before I took Beaker out to the car.
"Dust on the tires!" Michael complained as I started to wheel her out.
I had a hilly ride listed for Saturday. Despite the cold and insufficient sleep I decided to take Beaker into the Sourlands. Whatever would be off would be amplified by my full winter gear, which is tough enough to move in on its own.
The reach felt a little wrong right away. I was sure I'd have to tilt the bars upwards when I got home. The front brakes were squealing. "He must have polished the rims," Ricky said.
Ricky and I rode to Twin Pines. I knew what kind of day it was going to be when we hit the first little hill on Lawrenceville-Pennington Road. I was already tired.
There was rain in the forecast for later in the day, but right now it was brilliantly sunny.
At Twin Pines we met the two Petes, both of whom had ridden in; Ken, who had ridden in as well, on his new trail-ready and mud-caked machine; and Chris and Ed, the only two who had driven. Even on Miss Piggy I'd have been in the back of the pack with this crowd.
The shifting was flawless, although, not being used to Campy, I kept resting my thumbs on the little tabs, inadvertently shifting gears in the process. With 11 steps between 11 teeth and 32 teeth there were no big jumps, unlike the Shimano 10-speed 11-34 setup.
I didn't take my usual roads. We went east to Bear Tavern, then west on Harbourton-Mount Airy to Rocktown, staying west of 31 and descending on Gulick. I was treating Beaker as if she were a new machine; the wheels made the whole bike feel different, softer and stiffer at the same time.
We stopped at Carousel in Ringoes, where we sat inside and unleashed a torrent of sarcasm so fluid I can't recall any of it, although I know it had something to do with George Washington crossing the Delaware and tweeting.
We took Runyon Mill over the Sourland Mountain, regrouping at the top.
We've had too much rain to attempt the unpaved section of Stony Brook Road. We turned east on Mountain instead.
In Hopewell there was a curious advertisement printed on a sign shoved into the grass on a corner. What a strange way to sell a historic Hopewell blanket, available in four colors.
We were under cloud cover now. The air felt clammy. At the top of Wargo we regrouped again.
"Did you know?" Pete asked me. He gestured towards the Burma Shave-style signs posted on the Lawrence-Hopewell Trail spur.
None of us could read the signs from where we were so I used my camera to zoom in and read them later.
This section of the trail was paved with a permeable material to reduce runoff.
When I got home I tightened Beaker's bottle cage bolts and set her next to Kermit to adjust the bar tilt to match. Then I set her in her resting spot, next to Rowlf, in Little Italy.
I'll take her out again next week if the weather permits. All the kinks need to be ironed out before the 2019 commuting season begins. We move our clocks ahead on March 10. I might not wait that long.
No comments:
Post a Comment