Folding Bike Week 2013: A Brompton in Edinburgh

The nice part about tacking on a vacation at the end of a business trip is that you can usually get to see places you normally wouldn't without the cost of plane fare. The downside is you have to lug your presentation materials, dress shoes, ties and business suits with you for the balance of the trip. 

It is with that reasoning that my Bike Friday New World Tourist - which did get to visit Barcelona recently - didn't go with me to London a couple of months back. My wife and I indeed had enough luggage to keep track of when we took a train from King's Cross Station.

After an overnight stop in York (where I unfortunately came down with a cold) we continued our journey. We mostly saw fields, sheep, some water, and more sheep.

Yes, we were on our way to Edinburgh, Scotland.

We were only going to be there for two nights but I hatched a plan over a week earlier: I'd rent a bike upon arrival and return it just before we'd have to catch a train back. Sure, I wouldn't be able to use it all the time, but I just wanted the peace of mind that I could use it anytime. 

And it would be a folding bike so I could easily bring it into our room at the Radisson Blu and other places without trouble. 

This would be an unusual trip, for I would be renting not just any bike, but a Brompton; the legendary and out-of-my-price-range folding bike I was fortunate enough to see made in all of its spectacular detail last year at the Brompton factory in London.

This is Biketrax; a shop in Edinburgh I walked to at great speed within minutes of checking into the hotel. As it happened, I was renting the kind of Brompton I had always wanted: one with six speeds, a rear rack and funky handlebars.

I signed a form and the friendly clerk showed me how to fold it…before he unfolded it again. Minutes later I left the shop with a bike that would be mine for less than 48 hours. I didn't ride it much in the first hour since my wife and I were walking together through Edinburgh while she was looking for a good place to sketch, so I was only able to admire how well the bike could be maneuvered on a crowded sidewalk.

Our first stop at the Paper Tiger embarrassed me completely. Not because of the store's content, but because it took me a couple of minutes to fold the Brompton properly.

I hoped beyond hope nobody was on the street taping me. Yes, I had barely paid attention at Biketrax. I actually saw these things being made - I even held the key hinge mechanism in my hand.  I had also stared with awe at enough of them being folded in the wild to know how to fold one properly. 

As it turned out, my wife was in Paper Tiger viewing me through the window with much bafflement. I finally got the bike folded and carried it inside. 

We spoke little of my humiliating display. 

After visiting a couple of other shops, I put on my helmet (I always bring my own wherever I go) and hit the pedals.

I quickly discovered two things: Edinburgh has quite a lot of cyclists and the Brompton is truly in a category by itself. Aside from the short ride I did in Philadelphia, this was the longest ride I had ever been on with a Brompton. It felt solid, nimble and comfortable. The only thing that niggled me was the shifting as I found myself having to push the levers with a lot more force than normal to get the bike to change gears. I wondered if it was a quirk because the bike was new and even worried the shifters would break under the pressure, but they didn't and I was able to join Edingburgh's cycling community with style and without problems.

When I later brought the Brompton to the hotel for the first time (this fold went only two teaspoons easier than the earlier one) I realized that a folding bike is really a good option to rent because absolutely nothing else could possibly fit in the claustrophobia-inducing elevators - and this was one of the larger ones. 

So I had a bike in my room that could fold and unfold easily (by someone more talented than myself) that I could use anytime I wanted. This meant I could take a ride early in the morning, since the view outside of the hotel room window at dawn is quite irresistible.

Although parts of the city put me in touch with my old nemesis (cobblestones), I enjoyed pedaling up to see some of the sights, especially early in the morning when the places were devoid of cars and tour buses.

It was here that I managed to see the whole scope of the city. Turning around I could see some hills off in the distance, which I knew was Holyrood Park. I want to ride there, I thought.

The Brompton worked perfectly through all of this and it was quite nice to see that the dynamo-powered headlamp and taillamp were working well - even though the sun quickly lit up the city and made visibility a whole lot easier.

Since I didn't have a map with me I can't name all the places I went here, but I can tell you the castles do look nice. I just wanted to go to the walls of this one clapping two coconuts together and tell the inhabitants of my search for the Holy Grail.

Before long, I had reached the peaceful streets that would soon be crowded with citizens and tourists in a matter of hours. But for now it was just me, my Brompton, and those dreaded cobblestones.

Back at the hotel, I folded the bike (with a little more grace than the previous attempts) before my wife and I set off on foot to see some of the sights and she could work on a few sketches. 

After lunch, I had the chance to take the Brompton out once more and decided to head for the hills. 

I easily found Queen's Drive - the road to Holyrood Park - that went up. And up. And up. In the proper gear, my legs burned but I still was glad I was pedaling what I was pedaling. It was also a narrow road (one-way) so I was also thankful of the helmet mounted rearview mirror.

To my surprise, just as this hill was leveling out, I came to a small pond, which simply added to Edinburgh's wonder.

As the road leveled out some more and began to slowly tip downward, I realized that this location would be a fantastic one to watch the sunrise - If I could awaken early enough the next morning.

As the road bent to the right, I was offered views of the city that a lot of people - myself included - stopped to enjoy.

I did stop and dismount the Brompton so I could walk up a rough dirt pedestrian path to get more views. I didn't want to abuse my rental, so I refrained from riding the bike. It did occur to me that if I would ever film a mountain bike commercial, I would do it along this stretch.

When I got the bike back to the tarmac, I was able to open up the throttle. Even though I didn't bring my bike GPS and had no idea how fast I was going, I can tell you that a tuned Brompton does give one a lot of confidence at speed. 

I thought that ride was so nice, I did it twice.

After returning the bike to the room and reuniting with my wife, we wandered around together some more. We discovered two things: it is very difficult to see this city in a bad light, and when a guy in a kilt is playing the theme to 'Star Wars' on his bagpipe, it is pretty awesome.

Very tired by the time we returned to our room, we slept soundly before I woke up in the dark. I wasn't sure what time it was but I knew the sunrise was imminent. Being careful not to wake my spouse I brought the Brompton downstairs and unfolded it with a lot more grace than the previous attempts before hitting the road. Now I was really thankful for the headlamp.

I knew this would be my last ride (not counting the trip I'd have to take to return the Brompton) in Edinburgh, so I wanted to make it count. The bike moved quickly and even the shifting felt easier as I raced toward the entrance to the windy road I had done twice the day before. 

However.

I've confronted no trespassing signs before that have given me pause, but not like this. 

A quick scan of the road didn't put any amphibians in my line of vision, so I rolled the Brompton to the nearby sidewalk and pushed it into the road behind the gate. How nice to be able to ascend this without the threat of cars approaching, I thought.

I didn't have to go far before I began to see the view I wanted to see.

Still no sign of toads on the roads, I finally climbed up to the little pond, which would be my resting place as I'd watch the sun rise in Scotland. 

For several minutes I just stood very still waiting for the sun to come up. There was no cellphone in my pocket that would ring with a notification and no place else I needed to be. I need to remember to put myself in that sort of position more often and I highly recommend it to others. All other times of the year I just seem to try to find ways to make things move faster but there is something to be said for watching things move slow.

It was only when the sun was fully exposed that I turned around and realized I must not have been the only person skeptical about the toad migration thing. This is also a suggestion to those of you with sturdy hiking boots and flashlights if you want higher ground when you visit Edinburgh, for somewhere up those paths is 'Arthur's Seat' which is the highest point of the park. 

After peacefully descending back into town, I returned to the hotel, folding the bike fairly quickly, and carried it back to the room where my wife still slept. After excitedly telling her what I saw and having breakfast, I did what needed to be done: I rode the Brompton back to where I had rented it, stopping to take some final shots of the city on the way back.

At Biketrax, I did something that made me happy and sad at the same time: I folded the Brompton with speed and grace as though I had done it every day of my life. And of course, just when I was getting good at folding and unfolding it, I had to turn it in to Biketrax, who I thanked profusely. I was sure it wouldn't be my last trip to Scotland or my last ride on a Brompton.

It was an unforgettable trip on a true example of how great a folding bike can be. And I realize that the sunrise ride would not have been at all possible on any other bike: renting a folding bike for two days and having the freedom to bring it into the room gave me the chance to ride when and where I wanted - and not be bound by a set couple of hours when a rental shop is open. So if you are lucky enough to visit Scotland, do yourself a favor and rent a Brompton for a period of time much longer than you'll think you need. You will appreciate its presence in your hotel room and enjoy the fact you can take off on a moment's notice. 

I appreciate all Folding Bike Week fans for tuning in this week. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding.

Folding Bike Week 2013: Microbike Rides Again

(Click here for Microbike Part I)

So after buying a rare Microbike that probably hadn't seen a road since Perot's presidential bid of 1992, I committed myself to getting it working again. It was on flat tires and it appeared the bottom bracket was bent as the chainring (beltring) wobbled when the pedals turned. The first problem was solved with new tubes and 12.5" tires from Danny's Cycles. Now I thought I could solve the second problem by finding the proper bottom bracket tool that fit this particular bottom bracket. I haven't counted them, but I am fairly sure there are approximately 750,000 varieties of bottom bracket at at least that many tools to remove them. 

It's entirely possible bike and bike tool companies do this so we can all have that moment from 'The Goonies' when the hero fits the key over triple stones. "It fits, Mikey! It fits!"

The new, $13 Park Tool removed the bottom bracket easily, and as luck would have it I happened to have one that was about the right length that fit just fine in its place. 

I then set to replace the spider onto the bottom bracket and then mount the ring to the spider. Because I had fitted my little Ryobi TEK4 with the right sized hex tip, this went by quickly. 

Moments later, I learned I had efficiently and effectively done something that was completely unnecessary. 

The chainring still wobbled. Just as bad as it did before.

I then realized that even though I originally gave the spider a clean bill of health, it was actually bent. Badly. The bottom bracket was never the problem. 

So I needed a new spider that was the exact same size as the old one. Not any old crankset would do since the bike was belt drive. 

As it happened, since I had just said farewell to my hipster/single speed lifestyle very recently, I had a crankset that happened to be the perfect size.

I have long ago accepted that some of my bikes are nothing more than piles of parts working together as one until a part is needed by another bike. 

I used crank removal tool No. 452,098 to take the 'new' crank off (which had enjoyed a good ten minutes in the Microbike) and replace it with the one I had just removed and the 'new' bottom bracket tool that I didn't actually need. I didn't mind. I knew I'd use the tool again someday.

Reassembling the bike, I was relieved to discover I didn't always have to use special tools. To paraphrase a classic skit from Bob Newhart, when he wondered what would happen if one coward tried to talk another through defusing a bomb over the phone: the cap must be placed onto the crank arm with an "LT-507 screwdriver with a plastic handle and a demagnetized head. You don't have one of those? Just use a coin then."

Before long, I had a complete bike on the workstand. I spun the wheels and it turned. No ugly wobble and no ugly noise. Once again, I took a long and erratic route of constant misdiagnosis to figure out the problem, but I still had a good time doing it - and this time I ended up with a bike that has the kind of utilitarian geekiness  that any city dweller - or any male member of the cast of The Big Bang Theory - would appreciate. 

Then I folded it, and all six joints worked in concert as one. Not since the A-Bike have I seen a folding bike become so small. I could easily see how it could be brought onto a bus or train.

Tragically, bad weather today kept me from riding the bike to work as I planned. However, I got to take it for a spin in the parking garage and liked it a lot. It's not a high performance machine, but it seems like a pretty good way to connect the dots between home and and mass transit station. I thank Sven and his partner for designing such an interesting ride and hope to see Microbike 2.0 sometime soon. 

Folding Bike Week 2013: What Happened to the Dahon Matrix?

Regular readers may have noticed an absence of my Dahon Matrix on this blog. The last time it was featured was on my brief ride in Annapolis, Maryland, but things had actually been going wrong for that bike much earlier - none of which was the fault of Dahon. 

No one else on this planet knows this, but the widely circulated and wordless post on what I did in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook shooting (called simply -20-) was supposed to have the Matrix as the star. Really, it did. I hitched up that trailer and made it more than a mile before, as the picture above shows, the right pedal just fell off.

I Fred Flintstoned the bike back to the house and replaced it with the recumbent, and the little change of equipment never made it into my -20- post. 

I quickly discovered that the pedal itself must have been bashed or cockeyed at one point and the threads in the crank arm were just weathered into nothingness. I still have no idea how that happened. 

At first I replaced the crank arms/chainring with the one I had removed from the Bike Friday when that bike was getting an upgrade right before I met Stacey. It worked alright but the proximity of the big ring limited my gearing options. I soon realized I needed to replace the bottom bracket, and here the story takes a tragic turn: I took the old one out before figuring out what needed to go in.  

  

Like Wheezy the Penguin in Toy Story 2: my Matrix was shelved. 

In January, as you all know, I channeled the fashion-challenged, razor blade- industry destroying, inner hipster by building a single speed which took the bulk of my day-to-day commuting needs. I also worked on the kitchen project which took up most of my free time. But every time I was in the workshop I'd look over at the Matrix, which was hanging unceremoniously on a hook, and that bike would look back at me accusingly. 

Meanwhile, the single speed, built on the wrong kind of frame, began giving me trouble. As expected, the slight stretching of the chain meant it would pop off the rings at unexpected moments, usually while I was riding either to or from work. Having to stop to put the chain back on wasn't fun, especially since I knew the problem was only going to get worse. 

So one day, about a week ago, I made a decision: I am not now nor have I ever been a hipster, and to that end I would cannibalize the bottom bracket from the single speed to go on the Matrix. 

I bought a 9-speed Shimano crank to use, and in no time I had the bottom bracket removed from the single speed and installed on the Matrix. It really is the sexually transmitted disease of bottom brackets as it is the third bike it has been on in two years.

But it was wide enough to accommodate the crank, and a few twists and turns put it on the Matrix. 

After inflating the tires and cleaning the chain, the bike worked as though not a single day had passed. It's been to my office and back several times and has gone to the grocery store at least twice. I remembered all the things I liked about it: full size feel, solid grip and just built for city life. Whether you are returning shopping trolleys to their points of origin, taking a Metro North train to a faraway land or leading a group of nuns to an ice cream parlor, the Matrix was the right bike for the job. And the single speed took its place on the hook in the basement. 

But then…a letdown: I confirmed that Dahon has, in fact, discontinued the Matrix; citing 'not a lot of demand' for it. Worse still: they discontinued it before my first post about the Matrix. It's even listed on the 'archive' section of their new web site. 

It made my skin crawl: You archive 5th grade report cards. You archive old tax returns. You don't archive outstanding pieces of engineering greatness...but apparently Dahon does. 

The Dahon Guy I had met at Bike Expo New York confirmed all this, and assured me the full-suspension, 20"-wheeled Jetstream was a suitable replacement. I looked at the Jetstream page and it seems like a good bike, but it was still a letdown: part of what made (rather: MAKES) the Matrix cool is the surprise of the fold; I cannot tell you how many double-takes I get when I bring the bike on a railway platform and I fold it with those hidden hinges. The Jetstream looks like a folding bike, so the Matrix always had that Bond car quality to it. It's a bike so good that Beyonce would have surely ridden it from Brooklyn if she had the chance. 

So even though my Matrix is running again, I am once again riding a museum piece. Whoever designed this bike within Dahon: I thank you, I will check out your new products one of these days but I'll still stick with the Matrix, which you can see here, leaning against my discontinued Honda Element. Perhaps in comfort. 

Folding Bike Week 2013: Striking Garage Sale Gold With Microbike

My wife and I like to visit tag sales. It's a fairly inexpensive way to gamble, but instead of money, we gamble time (that could be better spent doing something more fun on a Saturday morning driving aimlessly and looking at badly-written tag sale signs. Note to tag sale organizers: legibility matters).

Even though we've done this enough times to improve our odds of winning - picking what we feel are the right neighborhoods and so forth - we strike out a lot of the time. 

But one day, a few short months ago, we didn't. 

As it happened I was taking her to a watercolor class with Annie Howell Adams at the Rowayton Arts Center and we noticed an estate sale sign. We had only a few minutes before class so we headed up to the house. Forced to park two streets away, we quickly split up and wandered throughout the house that was filled with others spinning the roulette wheel of tag sales in Connecticut. 

And in the basement…I found this. 

I didn't know what it was or how good a condition it was in, but I did know I had to have it. I rolled it on two flat tires to the stairs, carried it up easily, and paid for it at the card table in the front of the house. My wife, who normally meets the news of me bringing another bike into the house with disdain, was much too excited at her own discovery to mind: as it happened, she found several brushes, acrylic paint and even canvases - some of which she ended up using the same day. She headed happily to her class while I headed happily to my workshop to study my find: a Microbike. 

Aside from the A-Bike and the Mystery of South Norwalk, this was without a doubt one of the most unusual folding bikes I had ever come across. The wheels are 12 and 1/2 inches and has a belt instead of a chain. The folding mechanism is elegant and complex as it takes six hinges just to fold this little bike. 

I was intrigued with my find…so much so, I wondered if I could find the 'instructions' the warning label on the frame alluded to. 

I did a little research and very quickly came across the Microbike web site and learned about the fascinating, too-brief history of my garage sale gold: Microbike was started in Sweden in 1986 and just when things started to pick up for the company, a bank crisis in Wallander country in 1992 punched a business-stopping hole in Microbike's financing - but not before about 16,000 of these little things were made. 

But from the looks of things, Microbike may rise again. I contacted Sven, one of the original co-founders of Microbike He congratulated me on my find and confirmed that the bike was rare in the U.S. as only "a couple of hundred" were originally sold in this country. Unlike some folding bikes I've seen that simply fold for the sake of folding, the Microbike's design is made for people who want to take a bike on a bus or train, Sven explained. 

Before mine could go on either one of those modes of transport, I needed to get it running again. 

The bike may have been sitting in that Rowayton basement for two decades and time wasn't kind to the tires. 

So I went to Danny's Cycles in Stamford and once again failed to stump them: they sold me the tires and the tubes I needed. I did have to wait briefly for their arrival as 12.5" isn't exactly a common size. 

Once I got the tires changed and inflated, I sat on the bike and was surprised at how comfortable it was. I pedaled it across the floor and the belt made a peculiar scraping sound with each stroke. 

At first I thought the belt was rendered permanently bent because it had been sitting so long, but Sven - who I had contacted again to inquire about where I could find a replacement belt - disagreed. Since he had designed the thing his opinion mattered more than my diagnosis. 

I ended up removing the belt entirely…and that allowed me to see the crank had a wobble to it when I turned the pedals. I determined the spider or the crank itself was bent…until I removed both and found out - by placing both flat on a counter - neither was bent. 

That meant the bottom bracket itself was bent and needed to be replaced. However, this one had been put in place with a very special tool that I did not have. Thankfully, another trip to Danny's Cycles - this time, with the bike - allowed the staff to find the right tool I needed…which just arrived very recently. I'll see what I can do with this bike tonight. Stay tuned. 

DIYBIKING.COM Presents: Folding Bike Week 2013!

Welcome to the third edition of DIYBIKING.COM's Folding Bike Week! As regular readers know Folding Bike Week always coincides with Shark Week on the Discovery Channel since sharks and folding bikes have a lot in common: they have been around a long time, there are many different species all over the world, and they could bite you if you don't respect them. 

Folding bikes are also the key to the future. Now I say this because a lot of people need to use their cars to drive to the railway station or other transportation center and then go somewhere…but mass transit doesn't really fulfill its purpose if people have to get in their cars by the thousands in order to make it work. Folding bikes bought by the right people (or given to the right people as gifts) are a big part of the answer: Take you bike to the transportation center and bring it with you on the bus or the train. And of course you can take it with you when you are on holiday.

This week I'll be filling you in on a special folding-bike related trip I have taken as well as some pieces of Folding Bike News to share. Plus a real-time repair/restore of a new addition to my folding bike fleet.

The hashtag, is #foldingbikeweek2013 so if you want to tweet pictures of your favorite form of hinged transport to raise awareness of this vital but under-appreciated mode of transport, please do. And don't forget: if you don't own a folding bike and would like one be sure to visit your local bike shop and ask for folding bikes by name. 

Choose to be touched by Folding Bike Week. 

Biking Nations: Barcelona, Spain (Part III)

The first day of Barcelona was all about getting to know the city. The second day started with some of the city's famous beaches. The third day was all about a goal: get to the strange antennae-thing I saw in the hills and the nearby church-looking building nearby.

Yes, I had forgotten to figure out what they were called before setting off. I figured it would add to the adventure anyway. I also had a back-up goal in mind: to ride 40 miles, which was going to be hard enough since I wanted to meet my wife at four in the afternoon and the busy streets, coupled with my tendency to stop every 1/4 of a second to take mostly blurry photographs, would make that goal rather ambitious as well. 

After consulting the map, I decided the best way to head in the direction I wanted to go was to take Av. Diagonal, which, in the traditional Spanish translation, means, 'diagonal.' 

For a good stretch of Av. Diagonal - which is augmented with excellent bike lanes - I was behind the character in the photo who had a fixed gear….and only appeared interested in stopping at red lights so he could practice keeping his balance while the bike was motionless. 

We all had our challenges for the day. 

Eventually, he disappeared and I only had Av. Diagonal to think about. The path, which was broken up from time to time for a couple of traffic circles, later disappeared; right around the time I stumbled across Jardin Del Palau dal Pedralbes, which translates to: 'garden you will take your wife to during the next trip to Barcelona.'

I then reasoned I needed to gain altitude since I thought I was near the antenna-thing, so I turned right and the smaller of the two chainrings was pressed into service. 

Little else happened for the next hour other than pedaling randomly uphill. From time to time I'd hit a dead end and I couldn't figure out if I was on a private driveway or a public street. Few cars and even fewer humans were on the roads. The nice houses I saw were quiet. 

Finally, after a particularly punishing climb, I reached a point where the pavement disappeared beneath me. The 100+ psi tires would be helpless on the terrain, so I dismounted, turned the bike 180 so I could lean it on a piece of fence, and looked at how far I had gone. 

I then looked at where I couldn't go and noticed some peculiar tracks in the ground. Studying them closely, I knew exactly what they were: Continental Mountain King II 29" x 2.2" mountain bike tires that were kept at about 30 psi. 

Or something.

As if there was any doubt they were mountain bike tire tracks, two mountain bike riders came out of the trees, breezed by, and sped down the hill toward the city. 

I was definitely in a part of Barcelona I hadn't been to before, and the antenna-thing and interesting building never looked closer.

Continuing my search, I headed partially back the way I came but tried to avoid going downhill as much as possible. I ended up on a part of the city that is very close to the highway, which meant some automotive traffic but also a service station where I found some nourishment: Sunny Delight (in a flavor not common in the States) and a large bag of almonds left a Shell station with me. The Sunny Delight was gone in seconds, and half of the almonds were gone in minutes. 

Moments later, on another dead-end climb, I ran into a cyclist from New Zealand who was nearly out of breath and in need of food himself from all the hills, and we chatted briefly. It was then that I realized something important: if you don't know where you are going, you can't ask for directions on how to get there. 

He couldn't tell me how to get to the antennae thing - but I told him where the Shell station was. We parted and I continued the hunt. Before long I found (what else?) another climb that looked incredibly promising.

However, another series of twists and turns brought me to yet another place where the asphalt was replaced by dirt and I couldn't go further. Still, I was once again offered some great views as a consolation. 

I then saw more mountain bikers, and once again they were descending from the general direction of the structure I was trying to find. 

I then rode past Tanatori de Sant Gervasi, yet another building in Barcelona that looks cool but you're not sure what it is since you can't read Spanish. 

I pressed on, and just when I thought the city couldn't surprise me again I ran smack into the trolley. Just like that I was reminded of the great trip in Lisbon. I followed the trolley as it ascended…and ascended.

The trolley tracks ended at a couple of small restaurants, but the road continued so I kept hammering the pedals. As far as I could tell, I was in Parc De La Font Del Racó - in a place far, far away from my hotel.

The road twisted away from where I wanted to go, but it hardly mattered because, yet again, the pavement disappeared. I wasn't sure if I could have kept it up much longer anyway as I was around 900 feet above sea level at that point and my legs were getting shaky.

I looked up and, using the zoom on the camera, took a picture of the mysterious building I now realized I wouldn't get to see on this trip. I found the statue of Jesus to be oddly comforting as his hand gestures seemed to say: "relax, cyclist: you're just on vacation." And there were a lot of cyclists around me - all mountain bikers - who clearly were getting that message. 

I turned around and left where I was (Parc de Collserola), strangely satisfied. I didn't reach the building, but maybe I could still make my 40 miles before meeting my wife at the hotel. I stopped at the little bar where the trolley had stopped and, after carefully locking the bike up, was dismayed to discover they didn't serve food. I ordered an ice tea and consumed the second half of the bag of almonds I had purchased that morning. So much for my plan to have a healthy lunch, I thought.

I then raced down the hills toward the center of Barcelona. The miles evaporated fast and the altimeter on the Garmin reminded me just how much climbing I had done to get up there in the first place. 

As I neared the beach, I realized something: I had arrived at the very spot where Meg Ryan had dropped off Billy Crystal in 'When Harry Met Sally.'

Actually, I hadn't, but that's what this reminded me of: I was actually at Arc de Triomf, which did have its share of tourists milling about but it did have a nice vibe to it. As a bonus, there is a bike track nearly a third of a mile long encircling the park. To build up a couple of easy miles and creatively people-watch, I did a few laps before stopping at a bike shop nearby: Bicicletes (which didn't have 20" tubes).

Remembering how nice it was the day before, I returned to the beach and the great path alongside. Much to my amusement, the rickshaw driver in front of me actually had a very similar bike box to the ones I have at home.

I continued along and soon got to see the famous W hotel in all of it's shark-fin shaped glory. In case you are curious: it costs least 1/3 of a Brompton to stay there each night. I'm not saying they'll take one in trade for a three night stay, but, well, it is a ways out of my budget. 

Beyond it was the Ctra. Miramar hill - the switchback! - and I was determined to do it one last time. The day was perfect and just when I had only about six miles to go before hitting 40 miles...I got another flat.

I ignored the sensation of my head shaking in disbelief as I found a bench in the shade and applied a patch. Unfortunately, for some reason - maybe the heat, maybe my poor motor skills - it didn't take. Not only that, but I…well…just look.

Aluminum is not the best material for tire levers, I found. Lucky for me, I still had a couple of steel ones. 

I installed the tube I had patched the morning before. I installed it carefully…and it refused to take air from either pump. Hot, tired and closing in on 'annoyed', I drew from the Camelbak only to find I had no water left. 

It was now nearly three. Things looked grim. All I had left was the unproven Kenda tube that was a 1/4" wider than what was probably supposed to go in the tire. 

I installed it carefully…a pinch flat would doom me at this point. I gave it a few pumps and it took air. I leaned on the pump handle. It took more air. Finally I broke out the pressure gauge and found it was just about at 100 psi - and had gone on straight and true. I half-expected it to explode at any moment, but it didn't. 

It was also my last hope, and I realized it was my last chance to ride the switchback and hit my 40 mile goal. I put the wheel back on, adjusted the brake, threw the tools in the pack and set off. Nothing went wrong, and at this point I hoped nothing would: any flat now meant an undignified end to my Barcelona adventure and a walk back to the hotel. 

A year from now, when I'm getting ready for the next Urban Sketching Symposium/bikecation combo, this is the part I will be appalled at when I look back on this trip: rather than ride close to the hotel, I proceeded to put more miles between it and myself. With no water, I headed further from Meridian, past where I found the five Euro note, and began climbing the hill. I wanted - no, needed - to do the switchback one last time. I tried keeping the speedometer in the double-digits but it almost impossible. 

Up by the Hotel Miramar, I had a slight reprieve from the sun as I passed through the tunnel.

Wishing for water, I climbed up to the 1992 Olympics diving pool and was reasonably sure that the next three miles would be a lot easier than the three I had just pedaled. Stowing my paranoia about a blowout, I turned the bike around and started down the hill. A pesky tour bus got in my way but I managed to get around it and pick up speed in the tunnel as I headed into the switchback. 

Now I should tell you that I like my Canon digital Elph okay, but it does has a fatal flaw in that you need at least one hand to operate it. Both of mine were occupied as I was gripping the handlebars quite ferociously, so I have no pictures of my last run. I do have to tell you it is quite an experience if you both focus on the road and on the scenery: the Mediterranean Sea is down the hill on your left, and then when you do the turn, suddenly the sea is on your right. 

It didn't feel like I was turning so much as it felt like the country of Spain was rotating 180 degrees beneath my tires. Go ahead on file that on your bucket list. 

I took the turn as fast as I dared and nearly nicked 40 miles an hour on what I knew would be my last descent in Barcelona. The final couple of miles disappeared. I looped through the traffic circle and headed up past the human statues, sketch artists and tourists crowding La Rambla. A final wave at Marilyn and a quick ding on the bike bell discouraged a tourist from jaywalking into my path. 

The speedometer pushed past 40 miles. I had done it: 100 miles in Barcelona.

The bottle of complimentary room-temperature water was gone before the door to my room at the Meridien had finished closing. Silt and sunscreen spiraled down the bathtub drain minutes later. Shortly after I changed into non-bike clothes, my wife and I were reunited. After a great dinner at Luzia, right across from Meridien (the chicken was so good I took a picture of the food first) it was time to pack the bike up…and spend a final few minutes chatting with the passionate pen people of the Urban Sketching Symposium. 

Now trip wasn't like Santo Domingo, which was a fun trip but I don't feel like I need to do it again. With Barcelona (and, on a greater extent, Spain) I feel like I could easily return since I really saw very little, and once again I thank the Urban Sketchers for picking a winning location.  And if you remember to hold fast to your valuables, have a good map and pack as many spare bike tubes as possible,  the city will probably be as nice to you as it was to me. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding.