Project Fixie.

Voila, my first-ever bike build! For me, the mechanically inept, the challenge of piecing together a bicycle was a formidable one at first, but I'm pleased to say that I built a working machine that also looks pretty snazzy on the road.

The process went like this:

STEP 1. Stripped the frame down of its original paint. I used a chemical paint-stripper, several times. To get around the lugs, I used steel wool and sand paper and scraped until my arms fell off. Then I sanded the bare metal down until it gleamed.

STEP 2. Base color of hunter green – 4 coats. Rustoleum paint.

STEP 3. After the green had thoroughly dried, I taped up the necessary parts, and painted gold stripes. This was far and away the most difficult part, in its delicacy and large room for error. I used the kind of tape that has peel-off paper backing. I measured it out carefully, cut the tape into the desired shape, put it on the bike and spray painted around the tape. When I went to remove the tape, I was terrified that a number of things would go wrong – the gold would smudge on the green, the green would chip, things would be misaligned – but all went well.

STEP 4. Clear gloss to protect the paint – 4 coats.

STEP 5. Installed headset, stem, handlebars, seatpost. (i.e. the "hardware")

STEP 6. Installed a front brake and single brake lever. Wrapped the handlebars with Cinelli natural cork tape. Shaved down some wine bottle corks and used them as bar stops. Secured the ends with hemp twine.

STEP 7. Painted the handlebars with amber shellac, 4 coats. Color turned from light amber to a warm brown, very similar to aged leather. The color matched well with my leather saddle (a Brooks knock-off, with brass bolts).

STEP 8. Installed a square-taper bottom bracket, with the help of some muscle from friends. Decided on a 46:20 gearing. Installed cog and lockring on rear wheel.

STEP 9. Pake gold crankset and All-City gold pedals. KMC gold chain, adjusted for a straight chain line and proper chain tension.

The best part of the process was making regular visits to the two bike shops in town to ask for advice and just talk about bikes in general. Whenever my cycling friends didn't have a tool I needed, the bike shop people were happy to let me camp out and use their stand and tools. I did all the mechanical work, but my choice of parts was heavily guided by the guys at the shop. The most difficult part of making this bike was not actually the building (which, condensed together, would have only taken me a single weekend), but just making sure that all the parts I used would be compatible with each other. It was like an intriguing mechanical jigsaw puzzle.

Alright, I'm going to go actually ride this thing now.

Old Plank Farm.

Plymouth, WI. Population 8000, home to the quintessential bread-and-butter American who does his groceries at the Piggly Wiggly Supermarket and his laundry at the local Laundr-o-mat. The town lies in the middle of miles and miles of green pasture and cheese farms.

I’ve been here for a week now, working for a young organic farmer on her 25-acre plot of land. There are 900 egg chickens, 200 meat chickens, 4 goats, a cute border collie named Max, and two kittens that live out in the barn. 3 pigs are due to arrive next week. Out in the fields, few vegetables are ready this early in the season, but small signs of life are beginning to poke out from the dirt – sweet corn, lettuce, strawberries, and newly-planted potatoes. In the greenhouse, currently in seedling cells waiting to be transferred into the soil are kale, chard, tomatoes, cucumbers, kohlrabi, zucchini.

The beginnings of sweet corn.

The eggs are sold at a local coop a short drive away in Sheboygan. 20 people subscribe to the farm’s CSA (community-supported agriculture) program, which means they buy a share of the land and drive out once a week to collect their fresh produce.

Now in its third year, the farm is still in its infancy. The land is still haphazardly divided, the soil is a bit rocky, and there is an irrigation pond that needs to be built. Not much money rolls in yet, many functional structures still need to be constructed, and equipment is borrowed – but there is bounty enough to eat from the earth year-round, and this farmer has a work ethic to rival three men combined. The only thing that seems to frustrate her is not being able to work 24 hours a day.

Greenhouse.

The days start early with routine morning chores.

The goats need to be milked every 12 hours. Momma, the gray one, is a stubborn thing who withholds milk on purpose just out of spite. Lucy, the small brown one, is ever fidgety, always threatening to knock over the milk bowl. If I can manage to get them calmed down and cooperating – and that’s a big if – the pinch-and-squeeze rhythm of milking isn’t as difficult as I’d imagined. The other goats will come by and nibble on my ear, and the cats will try to steal a few licks. After all this, the milk gets filtered for impurities, and we drink it, raw and chilled, with breakfast lunch and dinner.

Twice a day, I’m responsible for feeding and watering the little chicks that are now housed in the brooder for warmth, as they slowly grow into sizable broilers. If they get too hungry, they attack my scoop as I reach in to fill their troughs. A madly chirping, adorable yellow mass.

Brooder where the chicks are housed.

Out on the backside of the field, there are five coops of adult broilers that have to be moved every day. This ensures that they get fresh grass and new bugs, and that they’re never trampling over their own feces.

Same with the egg-laying chickens. They’re housed in wooden triangular frames in a large fenced-in area of land that also has to be shifted every few days. The problem of moving the frames is not a trivial one. Another intern has been working to construct an egg-mobile on wheels, to make things easier.

Ever-curious chickens gathered around to see what I'm doing. Triangular frames in the back, where they lay their eggs.

Construction of the egg-mobile.

Every day, we go out with baskets and collect the day’s fresh eggs that the hens laid in their triangular houses. Then they must be washed one-by-one, inspected for cracks – small cracks we salvage for ourselves, bad cracks we throw to the animals – and then packaged in cartons for sale. Every day, the hens produce at least 50 dozen eggs.

Those “pasture-raised” eggs and chicken you buy at the grocery store? Behind them is a lot of labor, dirty work, and love.

Aside from these daily chores, other tasks vary from day to day. Right now I’m working to paint a rolling vegetable stand that will be used to sell roadside produce. I’ve planted seeds in cells, turned over rows of soil, pulled up thistles and dandelions from the strawberry plot, covered up plants to protect from frost, and helped cover potatoes with moldy hay to help them grow. The two other interns that also live here have been working to construct a chicken-plucker in preparation for when the broilers go to be slaughtered, and also a fenced-in pen to hold the pigs.

The flats where seeds are planted, before being transplanted into the ground.

I have a week left on the farm. There is much more to do and to learn.

Cycling in the Ozarks.

It had been a harrowing semester, averaging less than 7 hours of sleep a night, work days packed down to the minute, schedule so tight I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. After all that, spring break this year came highly anticipated, and gave me the chance to restore both my mind and my body.

Mizzou road race

As soon as classes ended, our team drove out to Springfield, MO for the weekend’s races at Missouri State. The road course on Saturday was a 35-mile loop over rolling hills with one long, steep climb. I stayed with the front group for the first 20 miles or so, until a false flat left me winded and paired with a rider from Depauw.

I should have dropped her the moment she started complaining about the climbs, but something made me decide to stay with her in case we could work together to chase the front. That was a mistake that cost me a better finish, and I consider it a lesson learned. “Race your race”, as they say. I finally left her behind on the big climb, and spent the rest of the race trying to make up for lost time. I finished fourth.

Quite proud of this photo of Naveen's finish.

Mizzou ITT and TTT

I hate individual time trials, mostly because I suck at them. Sunday’s weather was a biting cold, and I spent the 20km devoid of any motivation to be fast. The team time trial was a smidgeon better; my teammate Hope and I enjoyed being the uncontested champions, being the only group in our category to race.

We spent the rest of the day driving to northwest Arkansas, right in the Ozark mountain range. The 16 of us made ourselves at home in our two side-by-side cabins.

Arkansas Day 1:

Cold, wet, miserable weather. I decided to take the day off the bike, and explore the surrounding woods with Becky, Doza, Chris, and Stephen.

The evening ended with a bonfire, s’mores, and a good soak in the hot-tub.

Arkansas Day 2:

Summary: Petit Jean and Mount Nebo, 65 miles, 3000 feet of climbing

Eight of us (Naveen, Stephen, Doza, Cortez, Erik, Branden, Becky) drove 1.5 hours to the town of Dardanelle, and from there started a 50-mile ride that looped us through mostly flat terrain with one 3-mile climb over Petit Jean. The pace was good; I sat in behind the boys and cruised, silently thanking them for the cycling chivalry.

Finished with the “warm-up” 50 miles, most of us continued onto the looming Mount Nebo. I’d heard stories, and I was afraid. 23 percent grade? 18 switchbacks? Pros having to get off and walk? They were all true. If there could be sorrier excuses for climbing a mountain on a bike, I’d like to hear them. I was heaving and hawing, stopping to push my bike, yelling profanities, and sinking with despair every time I saw yet another switchback. When I finally got to the top, I was so angry with myself I simply couldn’t enjoy the feeling of getting there. I felt like I had cheated, like the summit wasn’t really a success, like I had lost a psychological battle with the mountain.

On the lookout. I'm not too happy.

The descent was extremely hairy. I gripped my brakes the entire way, leaned my butt far back over the saddle, and prayed my arms and my focus wouldn’t give out. I’ll be back, Nebo, next time with the bragging rights I failed to achieve this time around.

The Nebo group.

Arkansas Day 3:

Today was a rest day to finish up some schoolwork. Becky and I drove to a nearby town to do laundry, and spent most of the afternoon at a McDonald’s for internet. I have to say, backcountry Arkansas is like a foreign country. I swear that cashier has never had anyone ask if they have Wifi. Ever.

The weather was too nice to pass up a ride. Our cabin was located on top of a mountain, so Becky and I decided to descend the mountain and then climb back up. To the east lay Lake Fort Smith. To the south lay the small town of Mountainburg (population 682). We first took the descent to the lake, climbed back up, then descended into town, and climbed back up again, making about 25 miles of riding total. The climbs were enjoyable – long, steady inclines.

In the evening, Becky and I cooked a delicious dinner of pork chops, browned then simmered with onions, mushrooms, and apples.

Later that night, Naveen, Matt, Chris, and I drove down to Lake Fort Smith and plunged headfirst into the freezing cold water. A shrieking, invigorating good time.

Arkansas Day 4:

Summary: Mount Magazine, 40 miles total

Hour-long drive to the town of Paris. From there, we began a gradual incline for 15 miles to the base of Mount Magazine. Once the climb started, the seven of us (Naveen, Doza, Stephen, Chris, Erik, Wil) split off into groups. I went at my own steady pace, feeling the tailwind push me up the mountain, hardly noticing the miles go by, so focused I was on keeping my breathing and pedal stroke smooth. I met Erik and Wil at the top, the highest point in Arkansas.

The descent was brilliant. Erik and Wil are powerhouses, and I used that to my advantage. I locked myself onto their wheels and flew down the mountain, sustaining breakneck speeds. I never once touched my brakes, and felt completely in tune with my handling, rounding the curves in the road, and staying locked on. It was indescribable, truly one of the best moments of my short cycling career.

After getting back, we headed straight to the lake, soaked our tired legs in the icy water, and enjoyed the sunshine.

Arkansas Day 5:

Summary: Oklahoma border, 75 miles, rolling hills

Five of us (Matt, Stephen, Erik, Branden) set out from our cabin for the Oklahoma border. The scenery was beautiful and rustic – chipped barns, old houses, white-washed picket fences, cows, horses, and annoying yappy dogs that tried to bite our heels at every corner. The terrain was all big rolling hills with not an inch of flat road.

Legs feeling dead from all the accumulated miles, Branden and I sat back after reaching Oklahoma and went the rest of the way at a relaxed pace. The last five-mile climb back up to our cabin was painful. I had maxed out my legs, and they did not thank me for rounding off a long, hilly ride with a mountain.

Still, there are few things sweeter than the feeling of tiredness that comes with quality miles, and few things to make a person more content than to take a brief pause from worldly responsibilities to do nothing but sleep, eat, ride, and repeat. Already looking forward to next year.