When my new CC arrived, I knew it wasn't really mine yet. I have all sorts of bicycle habits, preferences, preconceived notions, obsessions, tastes, peeves and annoyances which must be worked through via careful selection of new parts, application of tools, and rootings through the Box Of Old Parts.OK, first things first: the graphics on the Surly are UGLY. Yes, they're a quirky bike manufacturer, and Surly itself is a great name for a bike company (reminds me of an older mechanic I used to work with whose dream if he won the lottery was to open his own bike shop called Rude's, from whence he'd insult any patrons until they left. Kinda like a bicycle version of the record shop in High Fidelity). And yes, the paint is inoffensive (can't go wrong with solid, neutral colors). But the graphics are cheesy in an early-90s Mountain Dew commercial sort of way. I have to admit one of the things that sold me on Surly was the fact that they don't clear-coat their decals, and therefore I could remove them without screwing up the paint. That was step one in the reclamation process: removal of all stickers. While I was at it, I removed the tubing sticker, the lawyerly warning about closing your quick-release properly, and as many other brand names as I could scrape off. Also removed were the cheezy reflectors on cheezy plastic mounts (I later added lights).
Note to anyone who wants to try it: some of the forums recommend that applying some heat with a hair dryer or heat gun. I didn't do that. I had great success with scraping carefully with a straight-edge razor blade at room temperature... UNTIL, that is, I put a couple of nasty gouges in the paint. Not recommended. I'd listen to those folks and their heat.
Some other things became readily apparent on the inaugural ride home from the shop. Most obviously, the cockpit setup was pretty unworkable. The Salsa Bell Lap bars were way too wide for city riding. The boxy Tektro levers didn't have a good feel when riding on the hoods (sorta like holding a deck of cards in each hand). The bar-end shifters were waaay too far away. And the black tape? Just boring. So basically I loosened the cables, unbolted the bars from the stem and started over from scratch.
With the bike stripped except for crank, derailleurs and seatpost, here's how I built it back up. Half the parts came from Velo Orange, a shop specializing in retro randonneur equipment, and the other half from Universal Cycles. A couple of others were in my garage already.Part #1: Nitto "Noodle" bars, 41cm. Comfy, light bar, elegant bend, silver, and crowned with the goofy Nitto heraldic crest (how does a parts company based in Tokyo decide that the brand image they need is medieval helmets and crossed broadswords?). More importantly, they're narrow enough to avoid car side mirrors, almost 5 inches narrower than the stock bars at the bar ends.
Part #2: Shimano Ultegra STI shifters. The big purchase, but this is the interface to the bike. I spend most of my riding time with my hands on the drops and I've just gotten used to being able to brake and shift at will. Frequently both at once, such as on that weird access ramp on the Manhattan side of the Manhattan Bridge. Invaluable for city riding. The Cross-Check comes with a Shimano drivetrain, so I could leave the rest intact.
Part #3: Cinelli cork tape in Natural. A classic. Two layers for the cushy cushy. Finished with a pair of Velox rubber bar end plugs I had laying around (I have never had a Cinelli plastic bar end plug stay in more than three months).
Part #4: DMR V8 Pedals. The CC delivered with crap pedals (as most high-end bikes do these days, since manufacturers assume you're going to replace them with whatever matches your shoes). I don't wear cycling shoes. In fact I don't really wear any cycling-specific clothing these days except rain gear. As such, I put on a pair of middle-of-the-road DMR mountain bike platform pedals. Big, durable, symmetrical so there's no mucking about with tipping your toes into them at traffic lights. Just stomp on 'em and go. Added bonus: the gray ones almost match the Surly gray. Almost.
Bonus Part #5 (Super Impulse Purchase): Paul NeoRetro Brakes. OK, this was a little unnecessary, but my gear-fetishist tendencies kicked in and I convinced myself I had to have 'em. I have a thing for strong, simple brake calipers. I like having springs that you really have to exert some pressure on (I still have a set of Deore XT brakes from 1990 that I am jealously guarding). The recent trend towards light, fingertip-control brakes is nice in the shop, but after two months of poor maintenance they feel like cardboard. These Paul brakes, with their machine-shop lines and tough-as-you-want-to-crank-'em spring tensioners really appealed. Plus, they're based on 1950's French Mafac Racer brakes, which are just gorgeous. Hell, you only live once.
Part #6: Brooks B17 saddle. I've never owned a old-skool riveted leather saddle, but I've never met anyone who's owned one who's regretted it. The break-in period's a bitch but afterwards it's like butter. I'm in the break-in period. Ow. Can't beat the looks, tho.
Part #7: Brass bell, with Velo Orange headset spacer mount. Nifty little bell, pre-mounted to a headset spacer so it rides next to the stem instead of on the bar tops. I like having clean handlebars (both visually, and for the extra hand position on long rides), so this was a great idea. In practice the jury is still out. First of all, it speaks very quietly. When commuting in NYC, you are frequently ringing a bell to signal "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!" A polite little Japanese bell may not do the same trick (I had an Incredibell on the RB-1 that did). Also, the stem mount is hard to ring, especially with gloves. But, damn, it looks nice.
Part #8: Nitto front rack. A weird, vintage looking little front rack that I bought thinking "I can make that do something", but I wasn't sure what. Once mounted, though, she's a keeper. For starters, it is beautifully made, polished to a mirror finish. It wound up serving as an extra mounting point for fenders, a mount for a light (keeping yet another damn accessory off the handlebars), and occasionally, a rack. I discovered this weekend that a full plastic grocery bag slung over the handlebars so that the bag handles catch on the stem will nestle quite nicely on this rack as if by design.
Part #9: Honjo "hammertone" Fenders, extra long. Oh yes. Yes yes yes. These are the shit, a Japanese reproduction of a 1950s French design. Handmade. And uber-cool looking. And LIGHT (I think they are lighter than plastic fenders)! And very solidly mounted. The RB-1 had very little clearance so I could only fit thin plastic fenders that easily cracked. I went through about 4 pairs in 8 years (at $20-$30 bucks a shot), so spending $79 on the Most Beautiful Bike Accessory In The World was thoroughly worth it to me. They're tricky to mount (took me about 3 hours to do it right), but amazingly enough, there's a Flickr group dedicated to Honjo fender mounting. With the closeup pix of a half-dozen real world installs bettering any instruction manual, I got the job done. Not a creak or a rattle. Of course, I added my pix after the install too.
Part #10: Tubus Cosmo rack. I wanted a rack that would fit well, wouldn't break, and would be sufficient if needed on a long loaded tour. Trekkers seem to swear by Tubus and/or Jandd Expedition racks. The Tubus Logo and Cosmo get the load lower and further back (which avoids a problem with heel clearance on larger frames like mine), and the Cosmo has that great indestructible stainless steel finish. I can't come this far and cheese out, can I? Cosmo it is. I've never owned a rack with such a solid and sensible connection to the frame. No wimpy stamped sheet metal tabs here, but two 8mm dowels of solid aluminum. This thing feels like I could tow a truck with it. If you get one, make sure to get the 2007 model with the wider deck and flared tailpiece that protects the taillight. Finally, I put the Cosmo's beefy German-spec taillight mount to good use with a car-blinding Busch and Müller taillight/reflector, like a cherry atop a bicycle sundae.
Total cost: about $1900. Up there, but really not super-crazy. This is, after all, every-day all-weather transportation for me, and the alternative of spending $4 a day on the subway adds up to a similar amount after just a couple of years. Plus, good shit doesn't break very often. Throw in the health benefits and the enjoyment I get out of well-made gear, and it's money very well spent.More pix of the Crosscheck, in process and completed.
So, how's it ride? Is there something wrong with me if I push this to part 4?
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