Ms. Raleigh started life in the 1970s as a 10-speed club bike composed from the world’s finest tubing, double butted Reynolds 501. “Steel Is Real” is her mantra and Ms. Raleigh is always right. The only way to obtain this kind of frame now is to find one of the rare craftsmen who still builds bicycles by hand. Rivendell Bicycles in California, http://www.rivbike.com/, sells elegant butted steel frames along with other fine equipment. Take a look; it’s a cyclist’s gazetteer. As we’ve matured together, Ms. Raleigh and I have become minimalist. (Her only accesories are a shell bead necklace I made for her and a Krishna bell which once announced the whereabouts of my toddlers’ shoes. My only adornment is Ms. Raleigh.) By the time we moved to Paris, she had shed all her gear shifting paraphernalia and become a 1-speed, sporting Phil Wood hubs and crank bearing, Paul cantilever brakes, and an old Brooks Professional saddle. Her crank set is Campagnolo. She draws appreciative looks from bicycle cognoscenti and envy from her younger, more common cousins. Ms. Raleigh is like Sophia Loren, immortally beautiful and mysterious.
When we rambled into West Cork, some gear selection became necessary. Ms. Raleigh doesn’t mind a walk, but we both usually prefer a rolling pace. After meditating, we opted for a 5-speed freewheel, but employ just the lower three gears. We’re in no hurry; no longer relish careening madly downhill at the mercy of potholes and gravel traps. This configuration is accommodated by a Campy Nuovo Record derailleur and a rare Campy single downtube shifter. Notwithstanding gear selection, coastal West Cork presents hills which must be walked. This is unobjectionable since walking attenuates the pleasures of the moment: scenic vistas, wildlife, and the sweet company of doggies. Don’t we all really live in the moment anyway? Dogs are Zen masters of this art.
One of our favorite coastal rides takes us up a long steep grade into Ardfield, the village a couple of klicks above the beach at Red Strand. So I was walking with Ms. Raleigh up this hill when we first made May’s acquaintance. May is an Airedale who is herself an elegant, long legged beauty. (Leapin’ Lizards! May looks like the striking great-granddaughter of Little Orphan Annie’s scruffy pal Sandy.) I sealed friendship with May by sharing my sandwich.
Muffin, May’s sidekick, is a silky haired black Scotty. In fine weather May and Muffin spend the day greeting wayfarers on the hill. I met Muffin last week when May introduced me. Having no sandwich, I found some dog biscuits in Ms. Raleigh’s “candy bar” bike bag. Muffin was very hungry, but May, true to her good breeding, only ate gently from my hand. Her curly coat is thick and wonderful; it feels like the fleece of a lamb. The next time I see this pair I’ll ask for their photograph to post and share. “Arf,” sez May to all her fans in Blogland. May scorns paparazzi, but will pose briefly if compensated appropriately.
West Cork is infused with beauty; West Cork, where angels yet sing and Airedales kiss your cheek.
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