favorite foto - really?

It's impossible. I just can't think about it anymore. I can't take the pressure. The stress of making a decision is overwhelming. Sorry, fM, I can't do it!

No way can I choose just one favorite photograph from my collection for Smile for the Camera. Each one is precious to me. All of them. The "old" family photos as well as current ones. And what of all those non-family pictures, the landscapes, the flowers and the vacation pix. OMG, there are so many pictures that could be called favorites. Really, I can't have just one! (You will find many of my favorites included in family posts, scattered throughout the blog. And some of my favorite "scenic" photos are being included in my "Wordless Wednesday" posts.)

So, what you get for this "favorites" edition of "Smile" is Becky in the Freezer! You will have to take my word for it that it is me in the picture. Notice the eyes? Like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a car - panic stricken. Thanks a lot fM ;-)



It's 1975 and I was stationed at the Photo Lab on the Naval Air Station at Point Mugu, California. I don't recall exactly what it was I was photographing that day but the "freezer" was a large climate-controlled building used for testing "stuff" for cold weather use. The walls behind me were being tested for environmental stability under extreme cold conditions. Cold, as in Antarctica cold. It was a big building. And it was cold inside! Really, really cold.

It wasn't easy to see through the "looking glass" to take the pictures. Not with a mask covering the lower portion of my face. And glasses. Glasses that got steamed up and then frosted over. I remember trying to focus the lens (yes, it was back in the days before auto-focus was even thought of). Couldn't see anything clearly. Taking off the glasses didn't help. I couldn't see more than a few feet without them. Basically, I guessed and hoped for the best.

Copyright: Photograph in the collection of Virginia R. Wiseman. Who owns the copyright to this picture? Not me, I didn't take it. A fellow photographer's mate, whose name I no longer recall, is the one who clicked the shutter. He was in the Navy on an assignment. It's a government photograph. Previously unpublished, and as far as I know, I'm the only one who has a print of it. What say you, Craig? Is it in the Public Domain, no copyright?

The Masked Cyclist: a Halloween Tale

Sit down, dear reader, and grab a cup of hot apple cider. For in honor of this Hallow's Eve, I shall tell you a tale that is as true as it is chilling: the tale of the Masked Cyclist.



It was a dark, crisp Autumn night many years ago and I was a mere high school girl, cycling home from piano lessons on my step-through mountain bike. Thenonfunctional shifters and rusty chain emitted eerie creaking sounds as I rode through the nocturnal New England streets. My path was illuminated by moonlight, since my bicycle had no lights. Suddenly, I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye - a moving shadow perhaps? I stopped, with a screech of my poorly adjusted brakes.



At first, I saw nothing at all. But soon, an image began to materialise before me.



And then, there she stood: the Masked Cyclist!



We had all heard of her, but only the very few had seen her - and never this closely. Legend had it, the Masked Cyclist haunted the roads of our town, clad in Edwardian garments and astride an oldbicycle - her urgent pleas getting lost in the howling of the wind. What did she want? No one knew, but we all feared her intense gaze.



As I stood frozen in place, the Masked Cyclist moved closer and closer toward me - until suddenly we were face to face. "Who are you, and want do you want?" I managed to utter.



"I am the Masked Cyclist," said she, "and I am not at peace, because the beautiful bicycles that used to roam our land so famously have been all but exterminated by sinister forces. Many decades ago, these streets were full of ladies in their finery, gliding mirthfully through town and through farmland on their trusty loop frames with delightful chaincases, dressguards and lights. But now everything is dark and silent, and our towns are empty, and our farmlands have been replaced with strip malls, and the few bicycles in existence are carelessly built monstrosities that bring little joy to their owners. No, this is too horrifying and I cannot rest. Will you help me?"



"But how can I help?"



"I see that you enjoy riding your bicycle, and I pity you for its poor quality and lack of proper accoutrements. If you agree to help me bring the joy of lovely bicycles to our people, I shall be able to rest. You need only tell me that you agree, and the rest will be taken care of."



I looked at her lovely, ghostly bicycle, and without knowing what came over me, I agreed. "Thank you!" she said to me. "You shall go home now and forget all about our little talk. But 13 years from now I will visit you again to thank you."



And so it was. That same evening, I fell asleep and forgot all about my encounter with the Masked Cyclist, and life took its course. Little did I know that the otherworldly creature had decided to possess me, biding her time until the day was right to create Lovely Bicycle. Ignorant of the Masked Cyclist's influence, I knew not what compelled me to write post after post about lugs, loop frames, dynamo lighting, and local frame builders. And thus it continued for over a year, until a fortnight ago. I was cycling home along a popular bicycle commuter route when the Masked Cyclist once again appeared before me. Suddenly I remembered everything. But instead of fear, I was filled with affection - as I now shared the Masked Cyclist's devotion to lovely bicycles.



"Masked cyclist!" I exclaimed, "Is that you?"



"It certainly is," she replied, "I have come to thank you for helping restore the glory of lovely bicycles to our land. Once again, I see many happy ladies gliding along our streets on their comfortable, trusty bikes, and I am finally able to rest with the knowledge that things are improving."



"But there is still so much work to do," said I, "surely you are not leaving me?"



"Don't be sad," replied the Masked Cyclist. "It is time for me to go now. But my spirit will continue to guide you. And so that you always remember, I leave you my own bicycle. Please take it and cherish it always."



And with those words, the Masked Cyclist disappeared. I have not seen her since, but I can feel that her spirit is at peace.

Jordan Diaries: Arriving in Amman and the embassy suburb

Now back in the Netherlands, and with all my fotos uploaded to my laptop, I can now begin my Jordan travel diaries. You might have noticed [grin] that I love chronicling my travels and this is mainly because the act of writing what I have experienced is akin to re-experiencing the experience. Like déjà vu. Besides, it somehow seals the whole experience for years to come, for me to come back to and live through them again. This is hoping that Google, the owner of Blogger and Youtube, and Multiply (this did and I have to re-upload the pictures to my Google storage) as well will not go into administration and I can turn back the clock and look at my blog entries and fotos with a smile and a hint of familiarity—oh yeah, I have done that, I was there.



Arrival at Queen Alia Airport + Pre-entry Visa



So I will start with our arrival in Amman. We landed just before 18:00 in Queen Alia International Airport. Dutch nationals are not required to have a pre-entry visa but Jordanian immigration authorities requires a visa for most foreign nationals entering which can be bought without hassles at the port of entry. We went straight to the visa section to buy our visas which is 10 JOD (1 JOD is 0.95 EUR). There is a money exchange kiosk and I believe an ATM just before the visa booth, so that is handy if you do not have Jordanian Dinars because they do not accept any other currency nor credit card payments.









Stunning tail, the crown logo makes everything for that grandeur royal look.









Plane views just before landing.



I am quite loyal to KLM but there are instances when I have to fly a different airline out of convenience. KLM does not have a direct flight from Amsterdam to Amman. Royal Jordanian airline is the only airline that flies direct. Their planes look very pretty from the outside although I can tell they are a bit old already. Food was nothing to rave about. I must say that service was SUPERB. Lovely RJ cabin personnel.







Very colourful Jordanian Dinars.



Taxi drive to Amman



18:15 and we are in the taxi to the direction of Amman. The drive to the capital is going to be about half an hour. Cabbie driving skills was OK, nothing near a rollercoaster ride.







The taxi drive from Queen Alia International Airport to Amman Centre -- about half an hour, costs 19 JOD.







Passing through Abdoun Bridge.



Our hotel in the embassy suburb of Amman



We arrived at our hotel—Hisham Hotel, a local Arabic owned hotel located at the back of the French Embassy in the 3rd circle. We arrived just before sunset so we had a good look at the surroundings.









Military security personnel in the posh neighbourhood of our hotel.



The area is somewhat an upscale hub of Amman where a lot of embassies and high-profile people are living. Security in military fatigue authoritarian uniforms with high powered rifles guarding entrances of many buildings and properties proliferate the neighbourhood. They are in every corner. We even saw a military jeep with a high-powered machine gun launched on top of the vehicle ready for action. For a moment there Blondine and I felt we are in the smack of war zone Middle East! lol



However, I think our location is the safest part of Amman, what with all these severe security patrolling and guarding the area.



Here is our hotel room:









Our hotel room was quite big, with wide floor to ceiling mirrors (we love this of course), with free internet, and it even has a Louis Vuitton trash can in the toilet, haha. Beside Hisham Hotel is the oldest bar, they say, in Amman. We checked it out quickly (forgot to take a foto) before retiring to bed early.







The view from our balcony: Amman.



A little stroll along Al Rainbow Street



Anyway, after checking in to our hotel, we asked the hotel manager if he has recommendations for a great restaurant. We want the best traditional Jordanian restaurant in town for dinner that night. He called up his first choice (forgot the name of the restaurant) but it was fully booked. Argh, happens all the time with the best restaurant huh. He gave us another alternative but we decided to just do our own thing and went to Al Rainbow Street in the 1st circle instead to see what night life in Jordan, a Muslim country, is like.



The taxi (rate is 1.5 JOD to 2 JOD max within Amman, do not pay more!) brought us to Al Rainbow Street in 5 minutes and we walked the whole stretch filled with commercial shops, Arabic fast foods and café restaurants offering non-alcoholic drinks and the famous hubbly bubbly—Shisha or Hookah or in plain English, waterpipe. Some restaurants do offer beer so for those who cannot disentangle night life and alcohol there is light at the end of the tunnel here.







Wandering along Al Rainbow Street we came across this Arabic fast food place making Falafels(fried chickpea balls). They are good but not really my favourite.



I guess this is the best place to go in the evening if one has to experience the local Amman, Jordan night life otherwise popular venues with similar or much better offerings would be the modern international hotels but it won’t be quite near to going local.



We had dinner in Old Times Restaurant and then people watched for the rest of the evening really. When we had our fill of the Tahini Kufta and had coffee, we took a cab back to the hotel and pretty much tucked ourselves in early to get ready for our next adventure day in Amman.



More of our Amman diaries next...

Smoothies All Around!

No sooner had I returned from New York over the weekend, than the Soma Smothie I'd been anticipating for review had arrived. So I took a break from the loop frame delirium of the New Amsterdam Bicycle Show and immediately took it for a spin. Soma roadbikes are not very common here on the East Coast. So imagine my surprise when on my way home I encountered another Smoothie!





As I stopped to snap some pictures at the end of my ride, these gentlemen recognised me and we had a nice chat about their 650B conversions - one a vintage Andre Bertin and the other a Soma Smoothie ES with a Bontrager fork. I am so happy to be back home! Where else but in Boston does one encounter this sort of thing?







But enough about other people's bikes for now, and here is more about the one I am riding. This Soma Smoothie is on loan for review directly from the manufacturer. It is a 52cm steel frameset that was built up to accommodate my Campagnolo lever preferences, which was very nice of them. Everything shown on the bike is directly from Soma, except for my bag and pedals.





I have not weighed the bike yet, but (without saddlebag) it feels pretty similar to my vintage Moser - so I'd say around 21lb.Described as a road/race frame, the Smoothie nonetheless has eyelets for fenders and clearances for 28mm tires.






One thing it does't have? Toe overlap! That's right: Here is a stock 52cm road/racing bike with no TCO. They exist. I wear size 37-38 shoes and with 23mm tires there is a boatload of clearance (well maybe it's a small boat, but still). I can definitely fit it with 25mms without a problem, maybe even 28mm.




The pearly white colourscheme is adaptable to a wide range of aesthetics, from classic to colourful to stark. The TIG welded frame will not satisfy lug lovers but is solid and smooth-jointed. It is a versatile, unobtrusive frameset. A carbon fork is available in place of the standard steel one for those wishing to go that route.






This is not a review, so I won't go over the details of the build at this stage. But as far as first impressions (and mind you this is after just 25 miles), a couple of things stand out: First, it is smooth - as advertised. And I am talking about ride quality: very comfy over bumps and I do not feel any road vibration. And second, it handles tamely and predictably. No twitchiness and very precise cornering at the moderate speeds maintained during my conservative "shake down" ride.








The Smothie ES owner I met on the road is very happy with his bicycle, which he's got outfitted with 32mm tires and fenders. I will refrain from writing more about the bike I have on loan until I ride it extensively, but at under $400 for the frame, I am impressed so far. We need more of these on the East Coast and I hope some local shops will carry floor models in the near future.

Warnings of Failure

Among cyclists I know, many ride steel bikes and a good number have experienced frame failure of some sort. Really, I hear stories about it all the time. One woman described pedaling through town when suddenly her bicycle felt wobbly and loose. Turned out the seat tube had cracked, just above the bottom bracket. Another had a similar experience with his first bike: The downtube detached right at the bottom bracket joint and he had a bad fall. I have also heard multiple accounts of snapped chainstays.




Anecdotes like this make me think about frame failure in relation to frame material. We know that steel bends, whereas carbon fiber snaps. Steel fails gradually, whereas carbon fiber fails suddenly and catastrophically. And this is why we consider steel a safer material for frame construction. But what I am wondering is: How does this difference translate into real world experience?






What gets me about the stories of steel frame failure, is that the cyclists never see it coming. From their point of view, these too are sudden failures. In reality, I do not doubt that the failures were in fact gradual - but save for checking for evidence of stress with a loupe before every ride, how does the cyclist benefit from that gradualness?




Based on my limited experience test riding roadbikes, I am not attracted to carbon fiber frames. I prefer the ride quality of steel and titanium. But I am not sure I share the safety concerns about (quality) carbon fiber frames that some voice. Sure, in theory the frame can fail suddenly and catastrophically. But in practice, how would this differ from the gradual failure of steel that to the cyclist feels equally sudden?

Tombstone Tuesday :: Rest in Peace

On the campus of Saint Mary-of-the-Woods College near Terre Haute, Indiana
Winter of 1981I didn't read the other side of the stones so don't know who is buried there.Copyright © 1981/.. by Rebeckah R. Wiseman

On Beginners Helping Beginners and the Paradox of Expertise

[image via Thomas Hawk]

It's been over two years now since I began cycling as an adult and writing this blog, and I still think of myself as a novice: Two years isn't much. Looking at some of the other female-authored cycling blogs that appeared around the same time as mine,I see a similar pattern: The authors start the blog not to give advice, but to share their experiences as eager, clueless beginners. And over time they become more knowledgeable - helping their readers along the way just as much as their readers help them.



This approach tends to evoke polarised reactions. On the one hand, I've noticed that beginners - and particularly female readers who are just getting into cycling - respond to blogs written by other beginners more than they do to blogs written by experts. On the other hand, there is a great deal of scorn aimed at such blogs in some internet circles - mainly on male-dominated cycling forums. The other day I received a link to a venomous thread where the forum members basically take turns quoting snippets from my posts and mocking my writing. It might have upset me, if I hadn't witnessed a near-identical thread attacking another woman's blog on a different cycling forum several months earlier.The bashing we get from these guys is predictable: We are silly, we are consumerist, we know nothing about cycling yet presume to advise others, and our writing is annoying. Whether they have a point is not for me to judge, and it's useless to defend myself against grown men who get off on mocking other human beings. But I'd like to explore the question of why a beginner's writing about cycling can be more compelling to some audiences than that of an expert.



[image via acme59]

Beginners are enthusiastic.

When we are in the process of learning about something new that excites us, we tend to be more interested in that thing than once we already know everything there is to know about it. The eagerness to learn is what drives us to research and experiment, and then to share our discoveries with others. Once the learning is done, that eagerness subsides and we become less motivated to discuss the topic. We become jaded, we know it all. Why bother write about something that is old news to us? Enthusiasm is contagious, and so is jadedness. That is why a beginner's blog - that gushes about things that seem boring or even silly to experts - is more engaging for those who are trying to learn about the same topic.



[image via simplybike]

Beginners offer documentation.

Blogs written by novices are a bit like note-taking sessions made public. When was the last time you felt compelled to take notes on a process you already knew by heart? There is no motivation for it. Doing things like taking pictures of yourself on your bicycle and describing short rides in elaborate detail seems ridiculous to someone who has done it all thousands of times. But to those for whom cycling is a learning process, documentation is helpful. Novice readers seek out blogs that provide detailed documentation, and those blogs are usually written by other novices, precisely because experts wouldn't bother.



[image via mtwash125]

Beginners are more relatable to other beginners.

Today's post from Dottie on Let's Go Ride a Bike provides some great insight into this one. Dottie describes a commute to work that to her was "just perfect," yet to a novice cyclist was an absolute nightmare. It was a funny discrepancy, but also a telling one. After several years of cycling for transportation, we no longer even notice things like exhaust fumes, vehicles blocking the bike lane, car doors suddenly swinging open into our path, and cars cutting us off. Our methods of dealing with these problems become so automatised that we take them in stride: Overall, it is still a great commute, because nothing unusuallyhorrible has happened. But to beginners who are just mustering up the courage to cycle for transportation, other cyclists are no longer relatable once they reach that level of comfort. And this goes for everything - from transportation cycling, to roadcycling skills, to understanding frame geometry, to being able to work on our own bikes. Little by little, we begin to take stuff for granted and stop bothering to explain it, losing the readers who find our very ineptitude relatable. Paradoxically, while experts know more, they also come across as less approachable and they often write about things in a way that is difficult for non-experts to understand.



[image via Bart Omeu]

Beginners are unselfconscious.

As we gain knowledge in any given topic, there is often a degree of self-cosnciousness and competitiveness that sets in. We want to show that we are not "newbies" anymore and so we become more careful about what we write and how we present ourselves - lest the "cool people" make fun of us. But the nice thing about blogs that haven't reached that stage yet is their sincerity. They don't even know what the right vs the wrong thing to say is, so they express what they actually think.



Despite my two years of writingLovely Bicycle, I feel that I have somehow managed to remain in that state. I am so remarkably uncool as far as "cycling culture" goes, that I cannot even fathom the full extent of my uncoolness. That's one of the things that keeps me going and allows me to continue writing this blog, so as far as I'm concerned it's for the best.I enjoy novice cycling blogs of all types. And I hope that beginners continue to feel motivated to document their growing love of bicycles in their unique, authentic voices without worrying about coming across as silly. Beginners helping other beginners can be of greater value than expert knowledge.

A day in York: Whisky for lunch?

It’s two in the afternoon yet I am not hungry. I am blaming the full English breakfast I’ve had in the morning. At my age (officially 41 as I type) it seems impossible to digest food quickly even after hours of walking, quite a dilemma I suppose. So I thought, I will just wait for another hour or two before I have a proper lunch—some English scones and tea.



However, tired from my discovering-York-on-foot-tour, I am searching for a nice pub or café restaurant where I can relax and have some spirits to cheer me up. I need something strong. Stronger than wine.



It was great timing when I strolled into Saint Helen’s Square, a square that you cannot miss when in York when I saw Harkers. Actually, Betty’s Café Tea Rooms dominates the panorama of the square but I promised myself to have my share of English scones and tea later.



Harkers is actually a pub restaurant, so just perfect. From the outside I can already see the bar filled with liquors beckoning me, haha. I ordered my whisky, a scotch. I did not get the name but I remember telling the bartender to give me the best he has. This will be my pre-lunch.



Then I searched for a nice place to sit down. Ah, perfect again (this is my lucky day), a free table by the window facing Saint Helen’s Square. You know in places like these it is almost impossible to find perfectly situated tables by the window because every guest, visitor and tourist are eyeing these seats. But well, it is my lucky day and I have it for myself.



I spent a relaxing hour just sitting here. The leather chair was big and warm. I just watched the scenes outside, watched the people, watched everything. I read the guides I picked up at the Hospital Hotel as well. It is nice to unwind in a nice place.



Tempted to buy another shot of whisky, I decided last minute not to push my luck. Good call.



Fotos of Harkers Pub Restaurant:



The liquor bar. It is self-service here.



My view to Saint Helen's Square.



Period style design of the room I am in. I love the floral victorian wall paper with a touch of goth. I have a similar mirror at home, in my dining, except that mine is silver and its wider.



My table by the window with the ladies. When I was about to leave these two ladies quickly asked if they can take my seat, and thanking me that I am actually leaving, haha. These seats by the window are always popular.



The main lounge area of Harkers pub restaurant. Elegant yet traditionally homey.



Facade of Harkers Pub & Restaurant in Saint Helen's Square, York.



And this is Saint Helen’s Square: