When I originally got my Dahon Folding Bicycle I intended it to be a commuter. Tired of worrying if my ancient 3-speed "club bike" would still be chained up at the train station on my return from work -- vandalism free -- and too concerned about the same sort of thing to even comtemplate bringing my good bike, either a road or fixed gear, I decided a bicycle I could take WITH me on the train to work would be best. Plus, it'd cut out the tiresome walk through Newark.
Well, I'm no longer working in Newark, having got a job -- for now -- that is local enough to commute entirely by bicylce. No need of the train means I can use a full size bike, which my mellow boss nicely lets me stash in the corner of the office. But the Dahon wasn't entirely neglected.
I installed decent road cranks -- 170mm length, 130 mm bolt pattern -- with a 53t chainring to give it a bit more zip than the 52 it came with. I also had to replace one of the front brake calipers as the threads stripped -- and replaced the stock levers with massive old diacompe's off an ancient mtb that look like motorcycle brake levers. The rear derailiuer got an upgrade, to a real one instead of thew cheeep one it came with, which is more on par with department store bike components. And lastly, I took off the Specialized "comfort" seat [basically a basic mtb seat with a wider flare at the back] and replaced it with a worn but serviceable Brooks vinyl road seat. Touching up some chipped spots, I got carried away, so the bike's paint scheme now resembled jungle camo... not bad looking, actually!
After these mods, I needed a place to test it -- and the chance arose during a trip to New England to visit the Grandparents.
The countryside in Easton, MA., has a lot of gentle hills, narrow roads, and fields, some of which are linked to old, "preserved" farms or estates. Gas stations, nurseries, and hardware stores there are aplenty. I saw a few roadies, and a car with an mtb on a roof rack, but none of the drivers seemed thrilled at my takign up part of the narrow street. My previous bicycling experiences in New England are confined to Cape Cod and Cambridge, both of which have fewer long roads and more urbanity. There is no comparison.
The tiny (20 inch) wheels of the Dahon Boardwalk -- even with the extensively modified drivetrain -- left me feeling as if I was riding through molasses for starters. After the first day I slid the seat back a hair and felt my leg reach improve. Brooks saddles, sadly, do not have a great degree of for and aft movement, but even with the shorter rails of the vinyl Brooks I was able to get decent fit. The 53t chainring was a godsend -- so much easier to ride than the 52, though not nearly as fast as my road bikes. My first task upon returning home will be to attempt to change the gearing -- perhaps a swifter gearing for the rear cassette, or a 54t chainring if such a beast can be had.
The slight hills were no challenge, however, and I seldom ventured into a gear lower than 5; as the Dahon only has six gears this meant I stayed in the top two gear consistently. Not bad, but then I was not doing any kind of loaded touring -- the contents of my "baggage" were a CD player and water bottle -- and, as mentioned, there were few "big" hills.
Turning at the gas station, I passed a scary lookin' guy who coulda been a Hell's Angel, selling flowers, of all things, out of a very neatly professionally painted van. The road narrowed and I saw tiny, old houses set way back from the street -- they looked like they'd been standing when George Washington marched through back in the day. Ramshackle barns and historic notations adorned several of the older houses closer to the street. Going through a light, then another, I passed a few offices before the road turned into a narrow two-lane highway and I found myself in Mansfield. It was a quiet little burg, nothing much to see, but the straight, clear road -- nearly car free at 1pm on a Saturday with overcast sky -- was a sight to behold. I turned up the CD player and kept turning the cranks.
Coming back to Easton, I took a wrong turn, somewhat opportune as it sent me past a really neat looking abandoned house. I poked around in the yard for a bit, marveling at the old bicycles buried under overgrowth and brush. From the 1950's they were children's bikes, the chrome on one chainguard incongrously still shiny through a skin of durt and grime, beneath the thicket of vines that all but covered the rusting step-through frame. I thought about extricating the old bikes, but decided against it; like slain sailors in a sunken ship, I decided to let them lie where they had fallen. Those bikes were part of the place, now, and to disturb them -- in the eerie quiet of the ramshackel yard beneath the falling-down edifice -- struck me as vaguely akin to grave-robbery.
I rode on, passing a house of worship, a school, and finally finding my way, in the roundabout fashion, back to the grandparents' new place.
The folding bike may no longer be used for day-to-day commutting, but it is still happily and usefully at home on the road. I wouldn't haveit any other way.
-- Elvis 5-14-05
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