18 Miles Per Hour

18 MilesPerHour is about riding through the world instead of just passing it by.
I LOVE MONDAYS. For cycling, that is. See that portion of the trail up there? It’s the last, super-steep push up to “The Hub” in the Santa Monica Mountains. It usually has at least a hiker or two plus another cyclist sweating it out on that thing. But this was shot on a Monday morning, which means it’s mine all mine. See, the conventional, traditional and accepted cycling schedule is: Tuesday is a light day. Wednesday gets a little more intense. Thursday is time to push it hard, throw in some intervals. Friday is a day to loosen up the legs and prepare for the longer weekend rides. Saturday and Sunday are race days – or simply long and longer rides. Monday is a rest day. Unless you’re me – the non-racer. Monday means I usually have the trails or roads to myself out there. And as much as I love to do small group rides, after a weekend with the family and its accompanying noise and hyper-stimulation of all senses, a little alone, quiet time on the bike is just what the Dr. ordered. For just this one day, anyway. I’m not that anti-social. Yeah, I still intensely dislike a lot of the expected things about Mondays, but in the spirit of accentuating the positive, I’m gonna latch onto this. I recommend you do the same. See you out there. Or perhaps not. Nothing personal. - Brian

I LOVE MONDAYS.

For cycling, that is. See that portion of the trail up there? It’s the last, super-steep push up to “The Hub” in the Santa Monica Mountains. It usually has at least a hiker or two plus another cyclist sweating it out on that thing. But this was shot on a Monday morning, which means it’s mine all mine.

See, the conventional, traditional and accepted cycling schedule is:

Tuesday is a light day.

Wednesday gets a little more intense.

Thursday is time to push it hard, throw in some intervals.

Friday is a day to loosen up the legs and prepare for the longer weekend rides.

Saturday and Sunday are race days – or simply long and longer rides.

Monday is a rest day.

Unless you’re me – the non-racer.

Monday means I usually have the trails or roads to myself out there. And as much as I love to do small group rides, after a weekend with the family and its accompanying noise and hyper-stimulation of all senses, a little alone, quiet time on the bike is just what the Dr. ordered. For just this one day, anyway. I’m not that anti-social.

Yeah, I still intensely dislike a lot of the expected things about Mondays, but in the spirit of accentuating the positive, I’m gonna latch onto this. I recommend you do the same.

See you out there. Or perhaps not. Nothing personal.

- Brian

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND. Just like Keef. That picture up there of the Stone Rolling reminded me of this, a pricey combo of two of my favorite things: a bicycle and a guitar. Then again, if you’re like “Quaker Songwriter” Jon Watts, you can forego the fancy, custom I.F. (not to mention just about anything that Mr. Richards would parkake in) and bust freestyle a bit. Egads. E – effin’ – gads. Okay, so we’re in agreement that we should keep rocking and rolling separate then? Agreed. 

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.

Just like Keef. That picture up there of the Stone Rolling reminded me of this, a pricey combo of two of my favorite things: a bicycle and a guitar.

Then again, if you’re like “Quaker Songwriter” Jon Watts, you can forego the fancy, custom I.F. (not to mention just about anything that Mr. Richards would parkake in) and bust freestyle a bit.

Egads.

E – effin’ – gads.

Okay, so we’re in agreement that we should keep rocking and rolling separate then? Agreed. 

HIDDEN TREASURES IN THE TOOL DRAWER: H2Old School. Look what I found in the garage. A couple of perfectly-preserved, unused relics from the dark ages of cycling hydration. Do they even make this style bottle anymore? A cursory search yielded nothing. Not that I’m hungry to get more of these pains-in-the-asses. No easily-removed, threaded top. No siree. You’ve gotta pry that thing off, sometimes (in colder weather when the plastic got stiff) with your teeth. And with that narrow opening you can forget about getting ice cubes in there on a warm day. Not without running the ice cubes under the faucet to melt them down into slivers first. And that little isthmus of plastic connecting the top to the neck? Good for about 10 uses before fatigue caused it to break. There’s a reason that screw-top bottles are the standard now. A great, big duh. All that said, I’m glad I found them. Memories. I got the Mercatone Uno one (several, actually) to match my Bianchi Mega Pro XL Pantani replica. Then I put this one away. The Lowe one (in that early ‘90’s, pebbled-heather gray) came with a pack and, also, was stashed away. Neither have been used. I think it’s time. Time to fill ‘em up, put on some Beck or PJ Harvey (shout out to Rhys), lube up the RockHopper with the Manitou fork and head up onto the trails. A little retro ride is in order.

HIDDEN TREASURES IN THE TOOL DRAWER: H2Old School.

Look what I found in the garage. A couple of perfectly-preserved, unused relics from the dark ages of cycling hydration.

Do they even make this style bottle anymore? A cursory search yielded nothing. Not that I’m hungry to get more of these pains-in-the-asses.

No easily-removed, threaded top. No siree. You’ve gotta pry that thing off, sometimes (in colder weather when the plastic got stiff) with your teeth. And with that narrow opening you can forget about getting ice cubes in there on a warm day. Not without running the ice cubes under the faucet to melt them down into slivers first.

And that little isthmus of plastic connecting the top to the neck? Good for about 10 uses before fatigue caused it to break.

There’s a reason that screw-top bottles are the standard now. A great, big duh.

All that said, I’m glad I found them. Memories. I got the Mercatone Uno one (several, actually) to match my Bianchi Mega Pro XL Pantani replica. Then I put this one away. The Lowe one (in that early ‘90’s, pebbled-heather gray) came with a pack and, also, was stashed away. Neither have been used. I think it’s time.

Time to fill ‘em up, put on some Beck or PJ Harvey (shout out to Rhys), lube up the RockHopper with the Manitou fork and head up onto the trails. A little retro ride is in order.

18 MILES PER HOUR ARTWORK

 Now and again we get asked if we make prints of our 18milesperhour artwork. 

(we’re lookin’ at you, Tobie from Illinois)

Finally we can answer “yes.”

The drawings are available as 1 of only 18 (obviously) limited edition prints.

Every one of the drawings is available.

The Universal Truths Of Cycling.

The component drawings.

Every one.

Each one is printed on Archival Grade Enhanced Matt Paper (which prevents fading), full colour and 100% to scale. So, you get to see all the details, mistakes and hidden bits that you don’t necessarily see online. The colours and line quality are really, really good. All prints are numbered, have a hand written title and signed by the two of us. Each print is printed on oversized paper, to allow a good amount of border, as it helps to frame the drawing.

Each print is $100 plus shipping.

If you’re interested, please shoot us an email letting us know which one you’d like and we can arrange the delivery and payment.

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND. Almost 40 years ago, Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon went to #1. Which spawned a million questionable bike jerseys.  Confession: Other than “Comfortably Numb” and “Interstellar Overdrive” I’m not a Floyd fan. At all. The only Gilmour I love is Andy. Rochelle Gilmore is pretty cool, too. Okay, hopefully that’s the last Floyd post we’ve got in the clip. Ever. Take it away, Astronomy Domine.

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.

Almost 40 years ago, Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon went to #1. Which spawned a million questionable bike jerseys. 

Confession: Other than “Comfortably Numb” and “Interstellar Overdrive” I’m not a Floyd fan. At all.

The only Gilmour I love is Andy.

Rochelle Gilmore is pretty cool, too.

Okay, hopefully that’s the last Floyd post we’ve got in the clip. Ever. Take it away, Astronomy Domine.

MOUNTAINS Doesn’t everyone look off at distant mountains and imagine all the trails there? All the amazing rides? Adventures? Maybe they’re loaded with regulars who take to that mountain every morning, spending their whole lives on it – just like we do on our own, local trails. All the thrills. The crashes. The triumph and tragedy. Maybe trailside meetups have turned into lifelong, meaningful friendships. Doesn’t everyone think of that when they see mountains in the distance? Or is it just us?

MOUNTAINS

Doesn’t everyone look off at distant mountains and imagine all the trails there? All the amazing rides? Adventures?

Maybe they’re loaded with regulars who take to that mountain every morning, spending their whole lives on it – just like we do on our own, local trails.

All the thrills. The crashes. The triumph and tragedy. Maybe trailside meetups have turned into lifelong, meaningful friendships.

Doesn’t everyone think of that when they see mountains in the distance?

Or is it just us?

GOODBYE, OLD FRIEND. It’s finally time to bid adieu to these old, faithful bike shorts. I’ve resisted for too long because they were part of a nice, cleanly-designed kit from an old club. They’ve covered my bits for well over a decade and thousands upon thousands of miles. Everything from fun centuries to light racing. If they could talk, well, there’s probably so much bacteria in there that, given enough time and the right conditions, they may begin to speak.   In the last year they’ve become stretched, baggy and paper-thin in some very wrong areas. For a while, this was okay. They had soul. They were well-used, which meant that – unlike the guys out there in spanking-new, unsoiled kits – I was one of the old guard. I imagined that, when people saw me in these old things, they were thinking “man, that guy’s been riding for a long time. I bet he’s ridden the classics!” But they were most likely thinking “Oh dear God, when that guy’s bent over in the drops, his shorts are so thin I can see his Fleche Wallonne.” So off to the landfill they go. It’s hard to say goodbye. But it’s even harder to imagine riding more than 5 miles in these things. 

GOODBYE, OLD FRIEND.

It’s finally time to bid adieu to these old, faithful bike shorts. I’ve resisted for too long because they were part of a nice, cleanly-designed kit from an old club.

They’ve covered my bits for well over a decade and thousands upon thousands of miles. Everything from fun centuries to light racing. If they could talk, well, there’s probably so much bacteria in there that, given enough time and the right conditions, they may begin to speak.  

In the last year they’ve become stretched, baggy and paper-thin in some very wrong areas.

For a while, this was okay. They had soul. They were well-used, which meant that – unlike the guys out there in spanking-new, unsoiled kits – I was one of the old guard.

I imagined that, when people saw me in these old things, they were thinking “man, that guy’s been riding for a long time. I bet he’s ridden the classics!”

But they were most likely thinking “Oh dear God, when that guy’s bent over in the drops, his shorts are so thin I can see his Fleche Wallonne.”

So off to the landfill they go.

It’s hard to say goodbye. But it’s even harder to imagine riding more than 5 miles in these things. 

HOLD THE MUSTARD.

It’s Sisymbrium altissimum.

Regarding this post, apologies to those not living in California. While educational, it may not be all that relevant.

We’ve had a miserable winter here. Well not really, relative to other, harsher climes. I went to Helsinki the week before last and the lakes were still frozen and the ground still icy and covered with snow. But I digress.

From out of the cold, from nowhere, this Saturday’s morning ride was all aglow and very Southern Californian (ie. roasting effin’ hot and 92 degrees by 11am).

It’s April in the Valley - as it is everywhere else - and our many, many, really, many winter rain storms have led to hills that are iridescent with Sisymbrium altissimum (Mustard Grass to the natives).

Yellow, long-stemmed and absolutely everywhere.

A weed by any other name.

The lovely, glowing result of rain, cold, rain, cold and then bright sun.

It looked for all the world that the hills couldn’t contain their happiness and exploded with glee.

But be careful. The fair-skinned and bare-limbed among us will testify to the more insidious side of the Sisymbrium altissimum. As hot as embrocation on yer giblets, this baby burns.

One ‘thwack’ on your arms and you will be burning all the way to the shower.

Holy wasabi.

So like all great beauties. Enjoy at arms length.

Brought to you by the 18milesperhour,

cyclicum botanicum.

- Rhys

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND. Goodbye, America’s oldest teenager. Thanks for the Saturday afternoon dance lessons. We’re goin’ hoppin’ today, where things are poppin’, the Philadelphia way…. The weather’s finally getting warm. You can get off the trainer (unlike Dick up there) and out onto the roads. But to ride, not dance. Let’s never combine cycling and dancing ever ever ever. So this Saturday, around 11:30am, around the time that Mr. Clark would spin the hits of the day, spill a little water from your bidon on the ground for your fallen homie. And in the immortal words of so many teenagers, “It’s got a good beat and you can dance to it.” 

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.

Goodbye, America’s oldest teenager. Thanks for the Saturday afternoon dance lessons.

We’re goin’ hoppin’ today, where things are poppin’, the Philadelphia way….

The weather’s finally getting warm. You can get off the trainer (unlike Dick up there) and out onto the roads. But to ride, not dance. Let’s never combine cycling and dancing ever ever ever.

So this Saturday, around 11:30am, around the time that Mr. Clark would spin the hits of the day, spill a little water from your bidon on the ground for your fallen homie. And in the immortal words of so many teenagers, “It’s got a good beat and you can dance to it.” 

RIDE DRAWING: MARIPOSA HIGHWAY. Sometimes a road ride is long enough, new enough, or interesting enough to warrant a drawing. A visual expression of the feeling I got out there. A record, a diary, or a map. Or all of that. It’s something that we at 18mph have been talking about for a while. So here we go.   It’s a personal test to see whether these expressions actually work. And if the feeling can be captured. Brian and I are planning some bigger springs rides, I’ll attempt to do the same with those. But let’s start here, with the grueling ride up Mariposa Highway. 

RIDE DRAWING: MARIPOSA HIGHWAY.

Sometimes a road ride is long enough, new enough, or interesting enough to warrant a drawing.

A visual expression of the feeling I got out there. A record, a diary, or a map. Or all of that. It’s something that we at 18mph have been talking about for a while. So here we go.  

It’s a personal test to see whether these expressions actually work. And if the feeling can be captured. Brian and I are planning some bigger springs rides, I’ll attempt to do the same with those.

But let’s start here, with the grueling ride up Mariposa Highway.