Lots of Words

It's been said by People Who Know that a good mission statement is crucial to operating a successful business. Fundamentally, this seems sound, as it can be difficult for any business or human to keep an eye on the horizon through the endless fog of distractions, complications, and confusions of day-to-day operation, and a good mission statement can help steer the ship. I have reservations about writing a mission statement for Yawp, however, because I've come to distrust mission statements. Many of them are cluttered with empty promises and resemble campaign speeches. Just because a recorded voice keeps telling me that my call is important doesn't mean it's true. Ultimately, though, Yawp needs a mission statement because you deserve to know Yawp's intentions. 

Bicycle technology is advancing as quickly as computer technology, which means that if your bike is three years old, it's the equivalent of dial-up internet. Even if you bought a brand new bike yesterday, there was a bike released today that is better.

The pace of technology can feel frustrating. Sometimes parts for a bike that's three or four years old are not available. Maybe you finally got around to buying a 29'er about two weeks before the 27.5 craze hit. Chances are, everybody at the trailhead is talking about some gizmo that you don't have. Conversely, the pace of technology is pretty awesome. Whether you wear out your bike in one year or in ten, it's replacement is going to be even better. 

Yawp is just as interested in new bikes and gear as anybody. However, if you happen to be riding an older bike, it doesn't mean you're having less fun, getting less exercise, or achieving less of whatever your goal may be. If you're racing competitively, obviously you should be riding one of the lightest, stiffest bikes available. For many of us, however, all we really need to ride our bikes today is maybe a new tire and some chain lube. It's wants versus needs; Yawp's goal is to never confuse the two. 

If you want the latest gear, say bib shorts that shave and lubricate your legs every time you put them on, we'll get them for you. If your bike just needs a cable adjustment, we won't try to sell you a new wheel and a bearskin hat. 

No matter what kind of bike you ride, and no matter how old it is or who made it, we are happy you're riding your bike, and we want you to keep riding. 

The word Yawp comes from a poem by Walt Whitman called "Song of Myself." Here's the relevant stanza:

I too am not a bit tamed--I too am untranslatable;

I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.

It's not that Yawp is for barbarianism. Yawp is happy to live in a time when indoor plumbing and underpants are in fashion, and when one can caravan from Denver to Crested Butte without having to worry too much about bandit assassins or cholera. Yawping barbarically is important, though, because at times our culture can keep us insulated from ourselves, our environment, and our enthusiasm. Cycling happens to be the activity that, for Yawp, reconnects us to these things. Cycling makes us Yawp. If you know what we're talking about or are curious to learn, please stop by.

We All Like Blogs, but Right Now There is Sawdust to Make

The blog and its unsubstantiated opinions, offensive generalizations, and crude drawings will soon return to a regular schedule. For now, however, we are busy getting our store open, and though we may post haphazard, exhausted articles about whatever shiny objects capture our attentions, we also might not. If you do not know how to fill the extra time in your schedule that not reading this blog for a couple of weeks will afford you, here are some ideas:

-Give your pet a haircut

That's about all the extra time you'll have. Enjoy!

This photo was taken from the future location of the beer fridge. Well, one of the beer fridges.

Curling Begins Today

Today I am bottom bracket deep in whiskey and watching olympic curling. That's what I'm doing all day. To stay active, whenever someone else gets up to get a drink, I'll vigorously sweep the floor in front of them. 

Keep your feet on the sheet and watch out for the hog line.

Winter Riding Part 2: Depantsing the Myth

The shortest path between points A and B can go to hell.

(Part I of our winter riding blog can be found here).

We've had a lot of winter this past week, and I find myself with a few more things to say about winter riding. By the way, there is no shame in hanging up the bike and hibernating all winter. However, what if, when you were in the fourth grade, you'd realized that no one locked the school at night, and you could enter after everyone else had gone home and play Oregon Trail and jump around on the gym mats and climb the cargo net? Winter riding is kind of like that.

This bear is having a recovery winter. There's no shame in that, bear.

For the winter rider, winter has four phases, and these phases don't always occur in a particular order. The absolute worst phase almost always comes toward the very end of winter, and often in early spring, but we'll get to that. 

The first phase is fresh snow. This phase is usually awesome. No ice has formed yet, and you can ride basically any bike you want through the powder and if you crash you land in powder. Then comes the icy phase. This is when you want those studded snow tires. 

Let's pause for a moment to talk about gear. Chances are, you already have most of the winter riding gear you'll need. Everybody owns lots of insulating, breathable stuff, as well as some kind of waterproof jacket. Pants, however, can be tricky. No matter what kind of pants you wear in the winter, you may feel as though you've worn the wrong pair. For fresh snow and ice, it really doesn't matter what kind of pants you wear as long as they keep you warm. Often, long underwear, jeans, and gators will suffice for trips that are five miles and shorter. I usually wear softshell pants, but I'm fully aware when I walk into a coffee shop that I look like a blaze orange doofus. On really frigid days, you'll want a balaclava. I know, I know. Nobody has ever been at their best in a balaclava, but you'll be glad you have one. Also, make sure your balaclava has a mouth hole. There will be a lot of moisture buildup as you breathe, and if you don't have a way to spit every now and then, you will begin to drown in your own mucus. If anything can make wearing a balaclava worse, it's dying in one. Get one with a mouth hole.

The third phase is where the temperature reaches thirty-three degrees or the sun comes out and the snow and ice start to melt. This is where your pants become critical, especially if your bike doesn't have fenders. Your tires will throw oceans of black road sludge up at you, covering your butt, legs, and face with tiny black droplets that are a mixture of magnesium, car grime, oil, and goose poop. These black droplets taste exactly how you'd expect. Fenders, waterproof shoes, and some weather resistant pants are important. Goggles work better than sunglasses, but beware that they compound the doofus spaceman effect of your orange pants. 

The fourth and worst phase of winter only happens once or twice a year, and it usually happens in April, the day after you've stored your winter clothes in that inconvenient drawer under the bed. On this day the temperature will hold rock steady at thirty-three degrees while it dumps snowmelt on you. So far, I've had no luck finding pants that can withstand this kind of day. Softshell pants for sure can't, and even Gore-tex has failed me. Once they start to leak, water will run into your shoes. Even if you periodically stop under shelter to remove, overturn, and empty the ice water out of your shoes, your feet will experience a sensation beyond cold that words will not be able to describe until we invent a new expletive chain for it. 

Because I'm tired of buying expensive pants that are awesome every day of the year but this particular one day in April, I've decided to do one of two things. If I don't have far to ride that day, I'll wear cutoffs. If I do have far to ride, I will stay home and wear no pants at all. 

Winter Riding: Not Just for Those Unencumbered by Common Sense

After I finished grad school, many things in my life changed at one time. It might be fair to say that in some important ways I fell apart. My desire to be a part of the literary and academic worlds disappeared almost entirely. As a result, I took an easy job on a whim and ended up there for three years. One of the reasons I kept that menial job for so long was that it afforded me some time to put myself back together. The job was dog walking, and in those three years I had eons of time to think through some things as well as listen to hundreds of books on tape. While my appetite for fiction had always been insatiable, I'd never given non-fiction much attention until then, and many of the books I listened to while walking dogs have influenced me greatly. That, however, is not what I want to talk about.

My dog walking route included walks all over town, and I was commuting between visits somewhere around twenty-five miles per day by bicycle. I hadn't been cycling for too long when I took that job, and I spent most of my first winter day splayed out in the street while the constellation of my scattered belongings drifted smoothly away from me across the icy road, as if I were the sprawling Milky Way and my belongings were distant galaxies in the ever-expanding, cold, and merciless universe. The metaphor is wardrobe appropriate, too, as I was basically dressed to venture into outer space. My outfit was ridiculous enough that one of Denver's prime time news anchors once saw me locking up my bike downtown and scoffed at me as he climbed into his limo. Individual snowflakes were actually bouncing off of his hairdo, by the way, and he could barely cross the icy sidewalk in his leather loafers. 

I bought some fenders, studded tires, and wool clothing and seldom encountered trouble thereafter. In fact, Denver's nastiest days were some of my favorites. Yes, there were cars sliding into intersections everywhere, but the city's customary racket and hustle were absorbed into a wintery sponge of peace and quiet. Those rides felt for the glamor and brilliance of the landscape almost like journeys through outer space (I imagine).

By no means am I alone on the bike path come winter, but there are few enough of us that the populace at large assume we're all insane. We're not, though. Riding in the winter is as much fun as sledding. It's as much fun as skiing, and you don't have to drive in traffic for three hours to get to the ski area. Really, the big hurdle is fear, and that's a hurdle that I have to force myself over at the beginning of every winter. Once you're out there, though, you realize you're not going to freeze to death, and you quickly begin to enjoy yourself. In fact, you'll probably marvel that not everyone is riding in the winter all the time.

If you've never ridden in the winter, you'll need a few things. Clothing that insulates when wet. Merino wool works best for the layers next to your skin, and it's incredibly effective once your body warms up. Even when it's as cold as 10-15 degrees out, you won't need much more than a wool t-shirt and a lightly insulated shell. Some big mittens and waterproof shoes are also important. You can find all sorts of expensive options out there, clipless or otherwise, but I've been using some hiking boots I bought on sale for $80 for the last three or four years, and they're perfect. Oh, and if you don't already know, the city maintains the bike paths like they are Hickenlooper's mother's fine china.

You'll also need the right tires. If you're riding on packed snow, knobby mountain or cross tires will do nicely. Be sure to run a low pressure. If you're riding on ice, buy studded tires. They're expensive, but they'll make your bike reliable in any weather, and they're cheaper than car insurance. I've had great success with 700x42 studded cross tires and 29x2.1 studded tires. There really isn't much they can't handle. Snow over 12 inches deep starts to wear you down, but you won't loose traction. 

Appropriate winter enthusiasm.

Finally, make sure the key to your U-lock is on a key ring with lots of other keys. Dropping a lone key into ten inches of snow and having to search for it with your bare hands is not as much fun as it sounds. At the risk of making winter riding more complicated than it is, I'll also say that if your commute is relatively flat, consider a single speed. Cassettes have a tendency to freeze up on longer rides, and the rear derailleur pulley puts enough slack in the drivetrain that your chain will just slide over the frozen cone in which your cassette is preserved like an ice age mummy. 

Wipe down and lube your chain every day you ride in the snow or crud. You'll be amazed when your chain rusts overnight. 

If you haven't tried it, do! Your snowy commute to work could soon be the best part of your day. After three winters of riding around, I developed new career aspirations. It's a stretch, but one could argue that Yawp was conceived one frigid February moment as I fought my way up the endless hill on 44th Ave. head-on into a blizzard and found myself grinning--yes, grinning like an insane person.

The Surly Snowgre, or something like that.

Once you begin riding in the winter, you'll begin looking for excuses to leave your house when it snows on your day off. I had no place to go this morning, so I made up some pointless errands for myself. I ended up at the Tattered Cover, where I happily came upon this non-fiction pearl.

If you aren't familiar with Mr. Leonard's Semi-Rad blog and you in any way enjoy being outdoors or the idea of people who do, please go here now.

If it snows tomorrow, I'll see you out there.

Read Part II of our winter riding blog here.