Analogy of the Albatross; or, the Beginning of a
Beautiful Relationship
In the bicycling community,
the question of whether or not to replace one’s drop bars with Albatross bars,
with the attendant question of which type is better, may not seem particularly
urgent right now. The debate isn’t new; many riders have blogged and opined
about it; what could be added? Well, in addition to arguing that it’s
inherently interesting to hear what others have said about switching—for
example, Pondero’s blog entry on 29 January 2014, “How Albatross Bars Changed
My Life,” is a moving piece no matter what your opinion on the topic—I believe
I have something else to add to the dialogue.
(See Pondero at:
But first to summarize the
obvious, starting with the negative: the Albatross’s upright position, despite
adding much comfort and visibility for certain riders, sacrifices
“performance.” This physiological fact cannot be gainsaid. Yet obvious too is
that cyclists who choose the upright position in the first place don’t value
performance (an extra 2-4 mph) as much as they appreciate a neck that no longer
aches and a pace that no longer feels frantic.
To the unacceptable decrease
in performance, let’s add an economic concern. Grant Petersen observes that handlebars
are the most expensive component to change because of the mechanical ripple
effect: they will require new cables, housing, stem, etc. This is one reason I long
resisted the urge to replace the Noodles that shipped with my Hilsen. I
estimated the cost at $250.00 to do so. I don’t know about you, but for me
that’s not a trifle.
But beyond these issues is
one I will term the Relationship. One
settles into a set of handlebars as one settles into a relationship with
another human being. Why change partners if everything is all right? Yet
everything is rarely all right—good enough and sufficiently bearable to
continue as is, perhaps; but what does one do about the nagging suspicion,
whose persistence seems to increase the more one denies its existence, that
with a few turns of a hex wrench, as it were, life either alone or in a new
relationship could be much better?
Agreed, it isn’t that simple:
one doesn’t “fix” a relationship, especially a long-standing one, with one or
two twists of a tool. Emotional attachment and/or dysfunction runs a lot deeper
between two human beings than between a human being and twenty pounds of steel,
carbon, aluminum, plastic, and/or titanium. It’s usually difficult to separate
even the unhappiest couple, especially as one of them is clinging desperately
while the other has already rented a new apartment across town, across the
state, across the country. . . .
Still, the analogy between
handlebar and partner isn’t that far-fetched. Many millions of people ride
bikes that don’t fit them. More to the point, the bikes never did fit them—just
as many partners were never a good fit in their given relationship, the basis
of which is often, from the start, marred by haste and self-doubt as much as by
the desire to quell loneliness. Ensuing problems are “solved” through
rationalization; it’s normal for us to find good reason to compromise with
someone else’s quirks and habits months and even years after we’ve discovered that
compromise has become the default mode for our relationship to work at all. I
have purchased bikes on the same principle and stopped riding them not long
after I signed the debit slip. Talk about uncomfortable! Talk about depreciation!
In any event, the high number
of positive reviews and remarks about the Albatross bars convinced me, at long
last, to remove the Nitto Noodles and install the Albatrosses.
I loved them instantly.
Literally within seconds, I realized that the Noodles had been too deep, too
low (even raised relatively high on a threaded Tallux stem), and, most of all,
too wide. I loved the Dia-Compe mountain levers, the clean housing-routing, and
the smooth sweeps and curves, to which my hands adapted on the spot. The
Albatrosses are beautiful to behold—my Rivendell reflected a new blue radiance.
It was a different machine, a new bicycle. The ride itself was transformed; suddenly
it had pep—because I did? Or was the geometry so altered by this one alteration
that at the micro-level the frame tubes began responding to new inputs, just as
a woman in a new relationship finds herself reacting with deep pleasure to the
stimulation of a new pair of hands massaging hitherto unexplored muscles on her
back? I can hear her cooing to a friend, “I feel like a new person.” Some hands
have the subtle touch, some handlebars do too.
But my main revelation was
that the Albatross bars are tailor-made for a Hilsen. It’s as if Grant, a perennial
advocate of the upright stance offered by the Albatross, Albastache, and Bosco
models, had designed his frames first and foremost for these bars rather than
for the Noodle drops. My Hilsen had been a good bicycle; now it’s a special
one. Picture the same Albatross bars on a L’avecaise or MAP. See what I mean?
Some things just aren’t meant to be.
Having decreased the need to
bend as much or reach as far out of my true comfort zone, I have to work less
to make the bicycle move forward; there’s less strain, less stress. The relationship
is better. If only all relationships were so easy to mend!
What began as a technical
blog on a fairly common procedure quickly became a reflection on relationships.
I myself am surprised. Every day, my bicycle is the means by which I transport
my body to various places. It appears too to be a means of understanding
matters of much greater import to my emotional well being—in a word, to my happiness.
Roadysseus
1.25.16
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