This might surprise some of you, and it was certainly a surprise to me, but my favourite thing about the framebuilding experience so far has been learning about all the machines in Mike Flanigan's shop. I have never been into this sort of thing before, preferring to use the simplest tools possible for DIY stuff. The "shop atmosphere," with its various lathes and saws spinning menacingly, has always confused and intimidated me. I am not sure what changed now. Maybe the part of my brain that's responsible for this kind of stuff is just now maturing, but suddenly I am like a kid in a candy store. The machines are super-useful, physically easy to operate, and are proving to be excellent teaching tools when it comes to mechanical concepts I find difficult to grasp.For example: notching!
Building a bicycle frame is mainly about joining together pieces of tubing, which involves a lot more work than merely brazing or welding the joints. For instance, before the tubes can be joined they need to fit together properly.
Think about it: When we get a tube, its edge is cut straight across. But if we want that edge to join the rounded surface of another tube, weneed to sort of scoop out the center of that opening, to scallop it. This is what's called notching - also known as mitering or coping.
And because the tubes join at an angle that is almost never 90°, the notch must be done asymmetrically, to fit the precise angle. In theory, I understood the concept, but in practice I had a hard time imagining concretely how this was to be done. How were builders able to determine the shape of the scalloped edge with such precision and draw it on the edge of the tube? Too embarrassed to ask this question, I tried to read up on it. Unfortunately, the more I read, the more confused I got.
But the mystery was cleared up in a matter of seconds once it was time to notch my own tubes. Mike has what's called a horizontal milling machine, which can be fitted with all sorts of tooling - including hole saws of various diameters.
A hole saw is literally a round saw that makes holes in things. They are available in a variety of diameters. You choose the saw that matches the diameter of the dominant tube - the one to which you will be joining the tube you want notched.
After attaching the correct saw and installing the to-be-notched tube in the clamp, you then set the angle of the joint, according to your bicycle frame's geometry.
And that's it. As you turn the crank, the hole saw makes its way through the edge of the tube and notches it. Basically the saw forces the shape of the dominant tube through at the correct angle. Watching this happening I experienced a sudden flash of understanding and it was immensely satisfying.
Of course, by far not everyone who builds bicycle frames has this type of machine handy, and the low-tech notching method involves using lugs to make guide marks, then a hacksaw to make the cut.But even if I never have access to such machines again, operating them has done me more good than I can express.
I love the clean look of a notched frame; the way everything fits together perfectly and makes total visual sense before you get it all filthy with flux and leaky brazing marks. But also, watching the tubes fit and actually getting how and why they fit is wonderful.My head is bursting with the sudden understanding of concepts I've previously struggled with, and that is an exciting feeling to have. Whether it's framebuilding or any other subject-matter, it is never too late to learn new things.




I was awestruck by its size and intensity of color, and we were still well over a mile away!
A zoomed-in view of Sawyer Glacier.
As we moved in closer we began to realize just how big this thing was. And we were all amazed by the amount of ice floating in the water.
A close-up of a portion of the face of the glacier. Note that the upper portion, or second tier level, is now hidden from our view.
Of course, calving was what everyone wanted to see - and hear! Me too!
But I was also enthralled by all of the ice that completely surrounded the boat. The ice was constantly on the move. Every time there was an event there was also a surge in the movement of the ice. When all was quiet you could hear the ice moving – each piece scraping against the other and making a crackling, tinkling sound.
It wasn't a solid mass of ice but was made up of pieces of all different sizes.
When we first came into view of the glacier, Steve had told us to look for the seals laying on the ice. He had been in contact with two Rangers who were perched on the side of a cliff to the right of the glacier. Their task was to count the seals and at the time we arrived they had tallied more than 1,000 of them! They were everywhere, generally close to the perimeter of the cove.
There wasn't a lot of movement on their part. One would occasionally lift up its head and look around but mostly they were just taking it easy.
The seals didn't seem to be bothered one bit when ice fell off of the glacier. They just rolled with the flow.
There was quite a bit of activity with the glacier. This was a fairly large event. You can see ice still cascading down while the spray from the big chunk that fell flies up in the air. We stayed at Sawyer Glacier for nearly two hours and by the end of that time, I was freezing! But I would have stayed longer if I could. It was impressive, exciting, exhilarating. Quite simply, fantastic!
Before we left, however, Captain Steve noticed a seal not too far away and maneuvered the boat closer to it. The seal lifted its head and looked at us. It made no attempt to leave its apparently comfortable perch on that bit of ice.
And with that sweet look, we departed Sawyer Glacier, exuberant and more than satisfied with the experiences of the day. But wait! There's more...



