Best road bike deals. Bike or scooter.
Best Road Bike Deals
- A road bicycle is similar to a racing bicycle. However, road bikes are built more for endurance and less for fast bursts of speed, which is desired in a racing bicycle. They usually have more gear combinations and fewer hi-tech racing features.
- (Road biking) Road cycling is the most widespread form of cycling. It takes place primarily on paved surfaces. It includes recreational, racing, and utility cycling.
- A motorcycle that meets the legal requirements for use on ordinary roads
- A bicycle that is suitable for use on ordinary roads, as opposed to a mountain bike
- Distribute (cards) in an orderly rotation to the players for a game or round
- (deal) bargain: an agreement between parties (usually arrived at after discussion) fixing obligations of each; "he made a bargain with the devil"; "he rose to prominence through a series of shady deals"
- Distribute or mete out (something) to a person or group
- (deal) a particular instance of buying or selling; "it was a package deal"; "I had no further trade with him"; "he's a master of the business deal"
- Include a new player in a card game by giving them cards
- (deal) cover: act on verbally or in some form of artistic expression; "This book deals with incest"; "The course covered all of Western Civilization"; "The new book treats the history of China"
Best Bike Ride of the Year
> My friend Gabe called from Atlanta last week to say Tom Ritchey of > Ritchey Bikes was going to be in Portland on Saturday. A couple > years ago Tom started Project Rwanda that includes the development > of coffee bikes, a completely new kind of bike that works well to > haul goods around up and down the hills of Rwanda. He also started > the Rwanda Cycling Team and the Wooden-Bike Classic, a bike race in > Rwanda in which participants compete on hand-made wooden bikes.
> Anyway, Gabe got Tom and I together and we met up for a Matt Wertz > show on Friday night and then the next day Wade Trimmer (Belmont > Foundation), Tom and I did a ride up in the west hills outside of > town. We rode up some forest service roads to skyline then came down > and crossed the St. Johns Bridge before heading back into town where > we had dinner at the Lucky Lab.
> Tom was kind enough to answer all of our biking questions. He is the > real thing when it comes to biking. He rides about 40 miles every > day, testing product and coming up with new ideas. He travels with a > bike that can be taken apart and put into a case no bigger than a > suitcase so he takes it with him wherever he goes. As a personality, > Tom is one of the more humble, gracious people I've met. Sometimes > you meet famous or successful people and they feel like they still > have something to prove, but Tom seems beyond that. He basically > came alive when the conversation came around to biking, family, > Rwanda or God. He also had some nice things to say about beer. But > who doesn't.
> On the climb outside of town, I had two blowouts and Wade snapped a > picture of Tom showing me how to fix a flat without tools. He can > fix a flat in a little over a minute.
> He also taught us to fix a flat without a new tube, simply using zip > ties. He adjusted both Wade and my saddles so the bike fit a bit > better and then adjusted my stem and headset so they weren't so > wobbly. He also criticized the choice the dealer made to use a > carbon stem on my bike. "Carbon and bolts shouldn't go together" he > said.
> Anyway, while having dinner and beers at the Lab, Tom, nearly with > tears in his eyes, told us the story of discovering the need for > better bikes in Rwanda, and how he was thrilled that God would take > his gifts and use them in significant ways to help the people of > that country. He talked about how alive he feels riding his bike in > Rwanda and how differently he is treated when he arrives in a > village on a bike than he does when he arrives in a car. > Interestingly, Tom really doesn't want cars to take over Africa, and > is much more in favor of bringing affordable bikes to the continent, > allowing them to keep to their way of life, only improved, rather > than having cars around that most people will never be able to > afford, thus ensuring the rich get more powerful and the poor become > marginalized. It made a great deal of sense, as he explained the > power structure there.
> After having dinner at the Lab, we rode into downtown and happened > across the staging area for the Portland Starlight Parade. This > parade is an evening parade in which most floats are lit up. It's a > pre-parade to next-weeks Rose Parade, all associated with the > Portland Rose Festival. So we found ourselves riding through > marching bands and around floats as they prepared to launch into the > parade. We snapped this picture of Tom and I goofing around with > some beauty queens from Washington State.
> After talking with the Beauty Queens for a second (lovely ladies, > each and every one) Tom decided to ride back to the place he was > staying as he didn't have lights on his bike and needed to get back > before dark. But Wade and I stayed in the staging area and ended up > in front of a marching band in the actual parade. We made our way > through the parade route, waving and people on the street who, I am > guessing, thought we were official parade participants.
> (There were plenty of Marching Bands)
> (Plenty of People Taking Pictures)
> (And Lots of Very Tall People in Funny Clothes)
> Wade and I rode into the parade until we were found out and politely > asked to leave the route. So we went back to the parking garage > where his car was only to find out we wouldn't be able to get the > car out because of the parade. So we rode back to my house and hung > out until late, then went back downtown for his car. All in all, > easily the best ride of the year. Great conversations, great people, > a great parade (we saw another parade happening on friday night > before the concert. A parade of hurses. It was the grand opening > par
Open letter to the driver who struck a doe on this stretch of road, 1st October 2010, 6 p.m.
In the days when Nelson fought the battles of the Nile, Copenhagen and Trafalgar, the “C-word” - which no naval officer dare write in full - was “coward”. The word we replace with this euphemism in our own unenlightened times was then merely a wholesome and functional anatomical reference. Then, it clearly did take some gumption to sail a vessel of wood, rope and flammable sailcloth straight at the rear of an enemy fleet. Now, it seems, we are afraid to venture out far into the countryside without hermetically sealing ourselves in glass and steel. Only thus equipped dare we sally forth in our glorified, high-speed battering rams, sycophantically unhinged in our pursuit of dominion over all that lives.
Thus prepared for battle, hunched over the steering wheel of your BMW, or Mercedes, or perhaps it was a Range Rover with a wheel-base so wide that it scraped the hedgerow on one side, and straddled the white lines on the other, you struck a three-quarters-grown roe doe on this portion of road at 6pm on Friday 1st October. No doubt you were in a hurry to get home from work, or perhaps you were hoping to drink off some of your aggression down at the pub. Almost certainly, you had been driving too fast. Perhaps you hadn’t heard that an 85 year old woman had been ploughed down not a mile a way the previous week. Or perhaps you simply didn’t care. Hitting something when you are sealed inside a car is just the same as inadvertently squashing one of the good guys in a computer game: it’s unfortunate, but you deal with it in a state of detachment.
You didn’t stop.
I rode up and found the deer minutes later. She was skittering about in the middle of the road, as though the surface were ice and her hooves unable to gain purchase. I dropped my bike and ran up to her, and she lay still across those white lines. Two cars pelted past without stopping, as I dragged her to the grassy verge. When I laid her down, I saw at once why she was unable to stand: her femur was fractured – a sheer break – and the leg hung useless, at a crazy angle. Someone kind stopped behind me, and called the R.S.P.C.A.
It is the extraordinary courage of the deer in those next few minutes which was so impressive. She lay there, quite obviously summoning all of her willpower in order to remain conscious. At times, her head slumped to the grass, and her tongue lolled, but her eyes were alive and watching me all the time. Then her body began to go through paroxysms of panting. I thought – and half-hoped for her sake – that these were her death-throes, but in fact, they were physical evidence of a summoning of courage and strength. With a lurch, she hauled herself up on three legs, and dragged herself into the thorny hedge, where she could nurse her pain away from human interference.
Clearly, it is not important to you – what the vet was compelled to do when he arrived. It is important to me, however, that you should confront what you are. It is just possible that you cannot be blamed for hitting the deer; we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. What are we to make of the fact that you did not stop to check that she was dead? Why did you make that decision? Did you not think it important? Were you more worried about whether she had necessitated a trip to the panel-beaters than you were concerned to succour her in her suffering? Were you just in too much of a god-damned rush? If two people had not stopped and called the vet, she would have lain there terrified in the middle of the road, until she was struck by some other monster clad in steel. Or perhaps she would have made it to the hedge by herself, and lain there for days, slowly dying of thirst, pain and starvation, until the circling crows came down mercifully to peck out her eyes. This was the decision that you made when you drove away: this, you thought, was best for her.
There is, of course, another possible reconstruction of your motives: you couldn’t face what you had done. Is that a more charitable assumption? Is it really? Poor diddums, driving away in your nice upholstered car, shedding a tear for the little deer you squashed on the road, not daring to look in your rear-vision mirror in case it was still alive and the sight should touch your heart. You are one of many, of course. People do this sort of thing every day. That is why our roads are littered with road-kill, one or two corpses every hundred yards, and every one of the killers too tender-hearted to get out and drag their victims to the verge. People will say it is excusable, but deep down, you know what you are.
You are a c - .
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