Several weeks ago, while hunting down another item on eBay, I ran into an old lugged steel Trek 950 frame. It was just the right size at 19 inches, and was going cheap with several days left to go. I threw a couple bucks down on it and forgot about it until I got an email telling me I’d triumphed over my weak, cowardly opponents for only $41. As a bonus, it also came with a set of LX cranks, a RaceFace bottom bracket and an XT front derailleur. I’d been thinking about increasing the family’s cargo carrying capacity to two Xtracycles, and this seemed like a fine platform to make that happen.

It showed up needing more than just a little love. I haven’t figured out all the numbers stamped into the bottom bracket shell, but the serial number falls into the 1992 range. There’s also another set of numbers, that reads “930 20 B1 (something something)”. I’m assuming that means that I’m actually working on a 20 inch 1992 Trek 930. Additionally, the paint job was mostly what you’d expect from a couple cans of Krylon…

…except for that black flame job, edged in Sharpie! Bet ya didn’t expect that! It just looks fast layin’ on the carpet there, doesn’t it?

The fact remained that it’s a sweet, solid lugged steel frame with great geometry for what I had in mind, with a few dings here and there but mostly in good shape. So I got out the wetsand paper, and figured that bringing it back to bare metal, painting it proper, and getting that frame correct would be a spiritual journey worth taking. I’d pour my love and sweat and some choice swear words into it, sanding and soaking, until it gleamed naked and strong. And I did for about three days, starting with some really noxious chemical stripping agent and then taking the rest down to the steel.

The first day’s sanding, a roughly 5 hour session, saw the top tube and down tube emerge quickly. The head tube and lugs took more time and effort, but came out looking lovely. Unfortunately, the painted head tube badge (painted! dude! 5 minutes to mask it off! C’mon!) didn’t survive the sanding. But seeing the brazing at the joints come out from behind the paint residue was a joyful experience.

The next morning, I woke up with the outside edge of my right thumb (which had been my sanding block for getting into the nooks and crannies and lug edges) raw, bruised, and beaten. External pressure from the frame pushing up, combined with internal pressure from my thumbnail’s edge pushing down, left it sore and swollen. Given the injury, it seemed obvious to me that the thing to do was to keep sanding. I got most of the front triangle on that run, focused on nailing the bottom bracket, and did pretty well.

But the cable stops, grouped in threes at the front and back of the top tube, mocked me all the while. “Keep sanding those parts you can reach, but you will never, never see the bare metal of our insides,” they taunted as I worked my way around the bottom bracket shell and bottle cage bosses. Every time I cleared paint away from the edge of a lug, I’d feel my sense of well-being swell slightly as the brazing revealed itself. Then I’d glance at the cable stops and lose that good feeling.

I could not for the life of me solve that riddle, given the effort it took to sand the parts that were easily reachable. So I asked for some advice from someone I consider a knowledgeable source, aware that I could end up on the business end of a blistering, wolverine-like flurry of teeth and claws, but desperate for the answer. He kindly suggested that an escalation in chemical warfare might help, and that wire brushes (especially drill mounted) might help.

But more importantly, he gave me a stronger suggestion to abandon my efforts and take it to a powder coating shop to let them blast and paint it. “Let someone else do it?” I thought indignantly “This is my project! How could I justify the time, the love, the effort I’ve already invested? How can I think of dishonoring my aching, damaged thumb by giving up?” (My thumb at this point had nearly grown it’s own mouth so it could handle the screaming closer to the source.)

Like a magic bean, however, the planted suggestion grew stronger as I slept. Not only would bead blasting be faster, reaching every nook and cranny of the frame, it would get the surface rust too. I let go of the excitement I had been cultivating from the thought of learning how to paint well. The reality is that I don’t have a booth, or a gun, and if I did I’d still need to fail horribly on several projects to achieve any kind of competency with those of tools. More than likely, faced with that challenge, I’d revert to rattle-cans from AutoZonePartsBoys and get results only marginally better than I’d started with.

And even if, by some miracle, I’d built a booth and picked up a decent sprayer and learned how to shoot Imron and candy and do airbrush flames with an uncanny, supernatural skill right from the get go, the fact is that powder coating is simply better for the environment. A strong component of my love of bikes is their light environmental impact. Using rattle-cans is flat-out damaging to the environment, and shooting urethane wet is several degrees more so.

I woke up and knew instantly where this project was headed, and I felt some shame in surrendering so easily. For about 15 seconds, until my thumb made light contact with the bathroom faucet. In that illuminating instant, I realized that I’d just made a good solid judgment without being unduly emotionally influenced by sunk costs, and that seeing the light involved a pretty minimal waste of time and only light, temporary physical damage. That right there is reason to celebrate in my world!

(And thanks muchly, Mr. Thill, for the excellent advice. I have always depended on the kindness of Internet strangers.)

So last night, Rebbie and I played around with some graphics, spent too much time looking at the wrong colors, and hotly contested their merits and faults. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that aesthetics are subjective, there’s a way things should be done and for some reason you’re always wrong. It’s probably your upbringing or perhaps a genetic flaw, but it’s amazing how you always pick the wrong color. You should see a doctor about that, so that we can all stop laughing about it. God I can’t believe you picked that color, you knob.

What we should’ve done right off, perhaps if we’d been less tired and had been thinking more clearly, was explored our connection to the rich heritage of British racing cars. Which is to say, we don’t have any, but the fucking green works! Check it out, situated for proofing on top of the awesome Creme Fat Franks we picked out for this project.

I look at those tires and can almost taste a vanilla milkshake. And in case you were wondering, yes, they do bring all the boys to the yard, and, that’s right, they’re better than yaws.

So I dropped off the frame, Free Radical, and V-Racks with Chris the Powder Coater in Hyattsville this morning, hung out for an hour chatting and getting the full tour of his shop. He’s going to do the whole shebang in a lovely Forest Green for less than $200, should be done in about a week.

What’s better than that? Nothing, that’s what.

As Howard Cosell might have opined, what a spec-TAC-yuh-luh weekend this was.

Saturday, Rebbie and I enjoyed a few early morning moments with coffee before she shot out the door to manage the Mt. Pleasant Farmer’s Market. On cue, the kids were up just a little bit later, and by 10 a.m. I had the Donkey (or whatever it is we’re calling it these days) loaded up with the kids, bottles, an extra tank of milk. Off we rode to join her, under crystal blue skies and marching clouds, at the market.

A Beautiful Day at the Farmer’s Market

The market was bustling and the kids found other children to run around with in short order. Rebbie had put out an appeal in the market newsletter for anyone that wanted to come and provide entertainment, and a couple of enterprising jugglers took up the challenge. They were excellent and had the kids attention all morning.

Jugglin’ Up A Storm at the Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market

(Before you start pointing and yelling and asserting that I photoshopped the defocused background in the image, it’s not true. I use The Gimp. The bird is real, though it is not freakishly large, nor is it threatening the juggler on the right.

We rode home after the market to relax a bit before preparing for the Grand Opening of the PG Pool. Shortly after moving to D.C., several folks we met independently suggested we join this pool that we knew nothing about. Pressed as to why, they’d rarely elaborate more than saying, “You just have to join. Just do it. You’ll see.” Of course, they were right.

It’s a community co-op pool, large and inviting, surrounded by a couple acres of grassy meadow and large shade trees. It also has a pretty big toddler pool, lots of play equipment, a couple sandboxes, a volleyball court, and propane barbeque grills.

Best of all, the whole thing is wrapped in a fence high enough to keep the kids inside. But it’s mostly symbolic, since the place if full of other parents and older kids, and they all keep their eyes open for toddlers who think they can make a break for it. Not that many want to, they love being there.

Last summer, I had a recurring pleasant experience of taking a long pull off a beer, realizing I didn’t have a precise bead on either of my kids, and knowing that it was okay. Occasionally I’d look around and notice other parents having the same realization. It’s a real good feeling, I suspect from my mother’s descriptions of growing up in West Peoria that it’s what entire neighborhoods were like in the 50’s.

We lived there last summer, leaving only to attend to unimportant things like work or laundry. The day after Labor Day, when we realized that there’d be no more pool until May, was marked by howling laments, gnashing of teeth and rending of garments. So on Saturday, after the kids had woken from their naps, we loaded up and rode over to the pool for the first time this year. Glory, glory, hallelujah it was good to be back.

Sunday we actually got in the car, which is becoming a rare and strange occurence. We drove up to Baltimore to visit the big Farmers’ Market, and to watch the Indy 500 with my Dad. Pop doesn’t get into most sports, but he loves open-wheel racing, so Indy is his SuperWorldSeriesBowlCupChampionship. My little brother graciously brought his little television out to the deck, where we cooked brats, watched the race, and made the occasional ritual adjustments to the antennae to make the fuzz look different. We also had salad made with lettuce from Gramma Tawny’s garden. Outstanding.

On the way back to D.C., we stopped by Jo-Ann Fabrics in Columbia for foam and batting. We don’t make it up to that neck of the woods often, and it’s a little like docking in the Fabric Quadrant of the Death Star of Consumption. Columbia Circle’s real big, yeah that sucker’s huge.

Foam? Yes, foam! Check out the new pads on the Somethin’R'Nother!

White pads? Wait… are those… is that… it is! It’s Sparkle Vinyl! The seat pads still have to be done, but man those make me happy.

From the very beginning, when the Family Bike of Indeterminate Moniker was just a gleam in my eye, that gleam was sparkle vinyl. I was pretty sure that it was going to be Candy Apple Red. But as the bike came together, the black-and-white look started to assert itself, and it became pretty clear that Pearl Sparkle Vinyl was the way to go.

I can now add “shitty upholsterer”, as well as “inexperienced woodworker” and “inept finish painter”, to the list of skills I’ve acquired building this bike. Man, I can’t wait to add “dangerously unqualified welder” to my skill set.

So on Monday, we had perfect weather. We had the joy in seeing familiar faces, as well as the mostly-familiar faces of children grown 3 seasons older. We had a sweet sparkly ride. What could be better?

2 racks of spare ribs (pre-baked slow and low), asparagus to grill, a big salad, and a pie that I wish I’d taken a picture of before we ate the livin’ hell out of it, that’s what. Three-quarters cherry and one-quarter blueberry, with pastry stripes over the cherries and stars over the blueberry. It was the most delicious flag pie I’ve ever eaten.

How was your weekend?

My wife never bought into what I thought was a clever nickname for our big bike. Karate Donkey seemed like a natural winner to me, given its cross pedigree as a Surly Karate Monkey and an Xtracycle beast of burden. And Ruby’s a big Shrek fan, so it gave me the opportunity to do a little, “Donkehhhh? DONKEH!” for her. Good match, eh?

But it gets better. A couple friends, D&M from NYC, came down to visit, and I introduced D, via the internet, to the sublime Soma “Morning Rush” Bicycle Coffee Holder. There’s two reasons I love this guy:

• He agreed that I absolutely need a Morning Rush coffee holder and mug. Maybe two.
• He caught a connection between the bike and the commuter mug, and introduced me, via the internet, to Highteen Boogie.

So who’s Highteen Boogie? Why, they’re a power punk trio of Japanese women, out of New York. And what’ve they got to do with the Karate Donkey, and the Morning Rush?

I’m glad you asked.

Coffee Donkey! Coffee Donkey!

But the esteemed Mrs. Higgins is still not budging, and she’s also let it be known in no uncertain terms that I do not have the go-ahead to order my new favorite commuter mug. Or two of them. So, what would you name a black Karate Monkey, with Big Apples, and a black double kid’s seat. Oh, and there’s Pearl sparkle vinyl involved, that’s coming soon. Any ideas?

Better still, know any irrefutable arguments as to why I can’t live without the coffee cup and holder?

Holy Toledo does this looks like a ton of fun, especially with the awesome spy-jazz soundtrack going. Still… I can’t help feeling like I’ve seen those kid seats before… OH!

Evidently, I owe not one, but two debts of inspiration to the Kohr family: one for the Passenger Cabin, and now for the bike camping trip I’m going to demand we take this summer up the C&O Canal.

Thank you! Thank you very much!

I first saw an Xtracycle conversion a few years ago at the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market. At the time, I was bent low over a mid-90’s hardtail mountain bike, my wife was pedaling her Dahon foldie with Ruby strapped to her back, and we carried goods home by putting plastic bags on our handlebars. And then that fateful morning we saw it, that glorious longtail, bearing a rider and child, ready for groceries. I knew from that moment it was a world I wanted to inhabit.

Over the last year my wife and I got serious about putting one together, and by late winter we were already planning how it was going to happen. Three images inspired me through the process:

• This video of a mom, her two kids, and 4 bags of groceries steamin’ along in Portland.
• This image of the aptly named Super Monkey, from Clever Cycles, which cemented my decision to use a Karate Monkey as a platform. I mean, what about that doesn’t look like fun?

And then there’s this one, a truly inspiring ride which became my desktop wallpaper at home:

It’s not just the perfect blend of Instigator frame, Xtracycle conversion, albatross bars and Honey-colored brooks saddle. It’s the double kid seat. What could make this better? A beautiful bicycle, made more useful and a blast to ride, it’s perfect right? A perfect excuse to do some woodworking, that is!

The Donkey’s together now, and we’re still working some bugs out and dialing in configurations, but this weekend I finally jumped into building the kid seat. The implementation is about a 55:45 ratio of deliberate planning to improvisation. For a prototype, I think it’s looking pretty good. And it’s been a whole bunch of fun to build so far.

I’m not sure how we’re going to do 5-point harnesses, I’m thinking we may pick up some yard-sale car seats and cannibalize them for pads and seat belts. Upholstery is also a question mark for now, but for seat padding, the raised seat-backs will allow us to fold up a blanket and run it the length of the seat (which also gives us a picnic blanket once we arrive). Its a useful and pragmatic solution, but I still dream of sparkling metallic red ski-boat vinyl cushions.

The wood is a marine-grade 1/2″ maple ply, purchased on eBay. I’m not super happy with it. The guy said it was 5-ply, but it’s basically a 3-ply core with a veneer. I was hoping by getting marine-grade that it would be the heavier 7-ply maple used to build skateboard decks. The next version will be. The arm-rests are made from some scrap mahogany I had laying around.

Oh, also: this thing rocks the party that rocks my body. Lightning fast glue joints, square and strong. I don’t have a dedicated workshop, so my precision is limited to whatever I can set up in my backyard. While dovetails and finger joints are an unattainable dream for now, this makes a lot of things possible that just weren’t. My first stop on the learning curve was to discover that even set for #00 biscuits, it goes all the way through 1/2″ stock. Oops, noted!

Tonight, if I have the opportunity, I’ll sand down the deck edges and get the hooks mounted so we can test it out. And of course, more pics from the proving grounds will be published as testing proceeds.

Update: Got the mounting hooks installed last night and snapped it into place. It looks pretty good. The arms need to be shortened, it needs a lot more sanding, and probably some filling and paint since the wood and the work don’t justify staining. The blanket trick worked okay, but the backs are going to need some padding, and I’ve ordered some nylon webbing and buckles to make seat belts. But, all in all, not too shabby…

First test flight of the Karate Donkey Main Passenger Cabin

I think it needs running boards, quite possibly with lights.

Note: I’ve changed a couple sentences for grammar and punch. That might make me a historical blawg revisionist. Or, it might mean that I haven’t changed anything at all, and I’m gaslighting you. Who can know what the truth is?