Photo courtesy of:http://www.alpineexposures.com/Every fall I start thinking about ice climbing again, what I learned last year, and what I find are the important things I want to work on this year and the kind of climbing I most enjoy.
Over and over again for the last half dozen years I think the ability to use one tool in the most effective manner is the most importantadvantage with the newest ice tools. Some tools allow you to take advantage of that opportunity better than others.
But no matter the style of tool, being able to easily match hands on an ice tool and make the lest amount of placements per foot of vertical gain is what we are looking for and what is really important.
The fewer the placements the betteryour endurance. The more positions you can use on your tool the more your strengthwill last, short or long term. That will happen on vertical ice or less than as well.
The more you move your hands around and use them in slightly differing manners the warmer your hands will generally stay.
These are videos I have posted previous. But if you haven't seen them it is worth taking a close look at how the climbers in each use their tools. Both the videos are getting dated now for gear but the climbing techniques shown are not. Hopefully you'll get some new ideas of your own from what you see.
and another example here:
http://www.tvmountain.com/video/alpinisme/6769-goulotte-lara-toun-grand-capucin.html
I like havingoptions!
It's just to peaceful out here on the water. 
Sometimes the simplest things are the most beautiful to me.
Even stopping at the marina is a treat. We saw some interesting boats. We met some interesting people.
We were able to chat with a couple that are living Nathan's next dream of living full time on a boat. They are getting ready to settle down and travel by land for a bit. They were gracious enough to share some of their experiences with us. It's always so great to meet people who are living their dream.
And it's always nice to be reminded that we are living ours. 
Living the life on land and sea in Virginia!
When we got the Co-Habitant's SurlyCross-Check frame, it was supposed to be an off-road-capable supplement to his vintage roadbike, not a replacement. But after he built up the Surly and took it on several rides, the oldMotobecane was soon put away. We had expected that the modern cross bike with wide tires would be more comfortable, but slower and less agile than the vintage roadbike. Instead, it is more comfortable in addition to being just as agile and also faster - not to mention more stable and entirely lacking in shimmy on descents.
Nonetheless, "Myles" the Motobecanewas the first roadbike he'd ridden as an adult, andthe one and only roadbike he's been riding for the past two years. It was old and crusty and we made it beautiful. It was rickety and we updated it with nicer components. That bike got him through multiple trips to Maine and Cape Cod just fine, before he knew that "just fine" could feel even better. It seems almost a betrayal to get rid of it so unceremoniously.
Later in the summer I will face a similar dilemma with my vintage Moserfixed gear conversion. It feels too small. But more importantly, despite having been reassured about the low bottom bracket issueI've now actually experienced pedal strike on this bike and that's enough to convince me that I need a fixed-gear specific road frame. In the case of the Moser, I plan to move its wheelset and some of the other components to the new frame when I get it, and just hang on to the Moser frame as a keepsake. I got in in Austria and the memories associated with it are worth more to me than whatever money I could get for the frame. Maybe some time later I will give it away to a friend as a gift, but I just don't feel that it's sellable.
You can read more about it here: Gamble Plantation
It took over an hour to arrive at the photo-shoot location on our roadbikes. While we have cycled that distance many times before, it has always been in a recreational context, never for work. Here are some notes as to how this was different:
Upon arriving on location, even after a rest, it was difficult to focus on work. We were in a forest, dissected by foot-paths covered in gnarled tree roots and pine cones. The Co-Habitant got excited at the opportunity to cycle off-road. I became frustrated - both because I was too afraid to do it, and because that wasn't what we were there for. I insisted that we walk the bikes and search for potential scene backdrops instead. He agreed, but I could tell that his spirit yearned for off-road cycling and he wasn't truly able to keep his mind on our project.
Finally, we happened upon a grassy clearing with wildflowers, and now it was my turn to get distracted. I was supposed to be taking test shots of the location, but I could not resist the opportunity to take "bike portraits". Neither could the Co-Habitant. We ended up posing our bicycles amidst the flowers and then cycling around the grassy meadow, just to get it out of our system. Pathetic!
In the end, we did take the test shots we needed, and even came up with plans for the perfect backdrop. But the process took all day, and we repeatedly struggled with staying on task. The lesson? Well, I guess that we have a hard time combining fieldwork with long bike trips, as the latter is not only exhausting, but fosters a cycling-specific atmosphere that is difficult (for us) to break out of.
The Colorado River at Lees Ferry.
These outfitters were making preparations for a trip through The Canyon. That's something I've always wanted to do, but you need to plan about a year in advance and I'm just not very good about planning things too far ahead.
Looking back towards Lees Ferry (a mile or so around the bend) from the Navajo Bridge.
“I can not begin to express what an honor it was to fly John Simac and Lee Tegner around the mountain in September, 2007. As a climber and rescuer, the stories I heard from them during the flight were truly amazing. John talked about his first Rainier climb in 1932 and the body recovery of Delmar Fadden in 1936; Lee talked about being strapped into the open door of a plane while making cargo drops to the Camp Schurman hut in the early 1960's. Both reminisced about camping on the summit for a week, playing football and eating watermelon while teaching young Explorer Scouts the skills of mountaineering.
We took four laps around the north and east face of Mount Rainier, Little Tahoma, and in particular Camp Schurman. No one was around that day; it was just us, the mountain, and the hut. After all I'd heard, I decided to pull a maneuver that would give them a clear view. I took the plane to 11 K and then dropped the flaps, pulled the engine to idle, and gently rolled in for closer inspection. We quietly glided over the glacier with the hut to our right. Then John spoke with a tear in his eye, "Seeing that hut again brought back a flood of memories that I can't sort out at once." Lee, with a smile, said, "we had a hell of a time on this mountain."
This is a pretty typical bike lane in Vienna. The snow is mostly cleared, but this morning there were some patches of ice. Cycling on the road is prohibited in areas where bike lanes are provided.
Intersection: bicycles wait for green and ride parallel to the pedestrian crossing.
Bike lane ends: bicycles proceed on the road along designated bike route.
Continuation of bike route on the road. 30 km/h speed limit (though to my eye cars go faster). Notice the tram tracks.
Close-up of tram tracks - yikes! They criss-cross and there is basically no way to avoid them. The thought of cycling parallel to these for several blocks on an icy day fills me with dread (see this post about railroad tracks) and I did not see any cyclists on this street today, despite it being a designated bike route.
Having finally nursed my celestial beauty back to health, I was ready to take her on a proper test ride... And the snow decided to pick this day of all days to arrive? It felt like the final act of an Italian tragicomic operetta. But since the forecast did not predict snow until late morning, I set off early in hopes of beating the odds. After all the drama with this bicycle, I was not willing to forgo a test ride!
For the past few monthsI had beenpatiently hunting forone of these, but having no luck finding anything in my size and budget. Finally, an online bike-friend found something that seemed perfect and I pounced on it immediately. When the bicycle arrived, it initially seemed that my worst fears about sight-unseen deals were realised and the purchase was a disaster: Not only did every single component seem to require work, but the frame was a larger size than advertised - possiblytoo large for me. I considered just re-selling the bike as-is to save myself the heartbreak. But after much debate and some outside mechanical help, things began to look up and I decided to keep it. Once the wheels were in ridable condition and we put the tires on, the moment of truth came: I did clear the top-tube sufficiently, and so continuing the renovations was deemed worth the risk.
And now here she is: a 54cm Bianchi"Nuovo Racing", circa 1983. Made in Italy,Columbus tubing, some Campagnolo components. When I got the bicycle, everything was original - right down to the water bottle, which I promptly removed.
We replaced the handlebars and brake levers with modern Nitto Noodle bars and Tektro short reach levers. (The original bars and levers were damaged. But even if they hadn't been, I have trouble using vintage ones and am only really comfortable with the Noodle + Tektro combination.)
The original Ofmega stem was 11.5cm long - which felt scary, since the bicycle was already larger than what I was used to. We replaced it with a 7mm stem.
The original 23mm tires were torn to shreds and we replaced them with 28mm gumwall Panaracer Pasela Tourguards. I might eventually switch them with the cream tires on one of my other bikes, but maybe not. The original Modolo Flash brakes on the bike were damaged, and for now we've fitted it with a set of modern Tektro brakes - but they are not an ideal fit, and I am waiting to get a set of vintage Campagnolo brakes from a bike friend which I hope to replace the modern ones with. That should look much better, so I am hoping they work out.
Otherwise, the bicycle is original, including - for now - the foam racing saddle, the shape of which feels surprisingly comfortable. The handlebars are wrapped with white cloth tape and covered in two layers of clear (not amber) shellac - which gives them a nice vintage-cream appearance. The end result is not "period-correct" by any means, but I don't think the modern parts look offensive either. It is subdued and evokes a sense of the early '80s, at least to me.
When you romanticise a particular bicycle and look forward to it too much, there is bound to be disappointment. For me, the disappointment was with the aesthetic aspects. I don't know what I was expecting, because I had poured over catalog pictures of this model before, so nothing should have been a surprise. But I guess, appearance-wise, the bike was more bland than I had anticipated.
I think that I hoped to see "Italian flare", and there simply isn't any. It's a very ordinary-looking early 80s lugged bike, painted turquoise, with a bunch of blue Bianchi decals. Well, that's okay, I thought: Now I know that there is nothing magical about these bicycles. I will either enjoy riding it, or not; either way, it will be a learning experience.
It was not until I rode the bicycle that I began to get attached to it. And make no mistake, get attached to it I did! - How could I have taken these snowy, romantic photos otherwise? I first tried the bike a couple of days ago - with the long stem and faulty original brakes - for just long enough to determine that the stem was too long and the brakes were too faulty, but the ride quality was lovely. After having replaced the stem and brakes, I finally test rode the bicycle properly, just hours before the snow storm arrived. The Co-Habitant was worried about the bike's performance and about the weather, and so he extracted a promise from me to stay close to our neighborhood. And I did - riding for 45 minutes in loops until my hands went numb from the cold (winter glove recommendations for a road bike, please?) and the snowflakes started to fall.
First impressions: The ride quality is nicer than I had expected. There was no harshness at all, and the bicycle was surprisingly stable at low speeds for a racing-style roadbike. The 54cm frame feels large, but I like it - I hope that I will be able to go back to 52cm bikes after this! The lean, even with the shorter stem, is more extreme than what I am used to. But I think I am okay with expanding my comfort zone in this respect. I was able to use the drops and the downtube shifters without feeling too unstable. And most importantly, this bicycle has the same "smooth and comfy" feel that I love so much about myMoser.
Because I have now shown a preference for several bicycles with Columbus tubing, while not being as crazy about my Reynolds 531 vintage Trek, it has been suggested that I might be a "Columbus person and not a Reynolds person". I don't know about that - or at least, I don't think that I have enough experience yet to determine such a thing. But I do know that I will be keeping this Bianchi and that I will be selling the Trek in the Spring. I won't make sweeping generalisations, such as that "I like Italian bikes" - but I do very much like the ride on theBianchi, so far. And as beautiful as the snow is, I do hope it clears up and gives us a chance to ride together again this winter.