Orny's Cycling Journal

Back on September 10th, I completed the 100-mile Livestrong Challenge Austin ride and raised $875 for the Livestrong Foundation.

Rather than give you the usual chronological ride report, I’m gonna organize this mostly by themes, in hopes that it will be both more effective and readable. Are you with me here? Let’s start with the elephant in the peloton…

The Decision

My decision to participate will surprise those of you who know my feelings about Lance Armstrong, the Livestrong Foundation’s disgraced founder. I don’t ever want to contribute in any way to the fame or fortune he has amassed from lying to the public and terrorizing the people around him.

So what convinced me to do the Livestrong ride? Here are the factors that went into my choice:

• Lance has left the organization and is no longer involved in any official way. After suffering due to their association, Livestrong have wisely distanced themselves from him, although he remains their largest financial backer.
• There are surprisingly few century rides here in Austin, and it’s been a long eleven months since my last one (back in Pittsburgh).
• I hate cancer even more than I hate Lance, and Livestrong does admirable work for cancer survivors.
• I have two friends who are Livestrong bigwigs, and their vocal support of the foundation earns it a degree of approval. My childhood friend Scott is on their Board of Directors and is a survivor of testicular cancer; and Steven, the leader of the Pan-Mass Challenge’s popular Team Kermit, is a Livestrong Ambassador (i.e. a distinguished volunteer).
• Along with Steven, several other PMC friends from Boston come down to Austin for the Livestrong ride.

So while I hate the idea of being associated with Lance Armstrong, I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to take part in this ride. But I took perverse pride in wearing my 2011 PMC jersey during the event.

Poor Training and Lead-Up

Ornoth with Scott & MJ

Scott, Ornoth, & Steven before the start

Ornoth lined up in the VIP starting area

MJ & Scott, Steven & Ornoth ready for the start

Ornoth rolling out with Team Kermit

Rolling through the ranchland in Driftwood

Scenic level crossing on the Blanco River

ClimbPro showing Fulton Ranch hill

Team Kermit's Ornoth, Christophe, and Steve after conquering Fulton Ranch hill

Real-Time Stamina, estimating 21% or 17km remaining before bonking

Ornoth dragging himself toward the finish

Ornoth crossing the finish line

And having finished, collapsing

Not looking good post vomiting after the finish

Solar power gain, showing 71 minutes gained over a 9-hour ride

May, June, and July were filled with short rides focused on becoming Local Legend on the Ladera Norte hill. So I didn’t begin training for distance until August. And August’s training was cut short after badly throwing my back out. Right when my training should have been peaking, I was off the bike for ten days, while the small training effect I’d gained atrophied away.

Four days before the event, I was just getting back onto the bike when Team Kermit members started assembling in Austin. They were looking to meet up and ride every day, right when I would normally be tapering my training in order to be well-rested for the event.

Instead, on Thursday before the (Sunday) event, local Austin Kermit member Scott led a group of five of us up the Walnut Creek Trail, then back to 51th Street for lunch at Jewboy Burgers. Then on Friday I led a sightseeing ride up the Shoal Creek bikeway and back down Scenic Drive. We finished at event packet pickup, where I received a Livestrong Challenge cycling jersey and VIP rider bib tag #28.

I took Saturday off while the Kermiteers spent the day doing another long ride down to the Veloway park. I’d ridden 150 km in two days and was suffering for it. My back was still iffy, my ass was abraded, and my legs were too tired to tackle a hundred-mile ride without rest. At the same time, I hadn’t eaten or slept well, was already dehydrated, and down 1.8 kilos of body weight in a week. For the first time, my final ride prep included zip-tying a stuffed Kermit doll to my helmet, complete with white cowboy hat and rodeo bull-riding pose.

Quick Ride Summary

My Strava activity’s description summed my Livestrong Challenge up best: it was very good until it wasn’t.

After about five hours of sleep, I got up at 4:30am and set out in darkness at 5:45 on the 15 km ride downtown. I rode with Team Kermit from their hotel to the start, where we lined up in the VIP section before being set loose on the streets of Austin at 7:30am.

At the tail end of a brutally hot summer, the ride began under pleasant temperatures that warmed considerably, but not to the extremes that we’ve lived under for the past three months. South from Austin to Buda, then west and south through Driftwood.

Enjoying the freedom of having two water bottles rather than one, I skipped the first three rest stops out of a desire to stay ahead of the pack and beat the time limits for the 100-mile route, which the organizers had shortened by 30 minutes. So my first break came two hours in, after 57 km, (or 72 km if you include my 15 km commute to the start). As you might guess by such a long stretch without a break, I had been feeling good thus far.

I refilled my bottles and marshaled some strength for the long, steep hill at the end of the next segment. I enjoyed the pleasant tree-lined streets near Wimberley, and a stunning level crossing of the Blanco River. Then came the 15% grade climb up Fulton Ranch hill, which is essentially the halfway point of the course. It was quite manageable for a cyclist used to the much lumpier terrain back in Pittsburgh. At the top, a water stop beckoned; I pulled in at 10:30am, having taken three hours to knock out 77 km (or 92 km).

While resting here, Team Kermit members Christophe and Steve rolled in, and we would leapfrog each other for the rest of the 110 km trek back to Austin. But this would be the point when things slowly started going to hell. The temps climbed through the 30s, and I was feeling the effort in my feet, legs, lower back, traps, and hands.

As my reserves dwindled, my speed and power dropped, and my horizon shrank to simply reaching the next rest stop. I hadn’t eaten any solid food during the whole ride, and was pounding fluid in an attempt to address both heat and thirst. Extended 15-minute rest stops and hand towels soaked in ice water were just enough to keep me from blowing up.

I stopped twice to battle fatigue and nausea during the last segment to the finish, but completed the final loop around Auditorium Shores. The event photographers captured my grim visage as I crossed the finish line at 3:07pm. I’d completed the official 158 km official course in 7h 37m, but had fulfilled my 108th imperial century by riding 15 extra km to the start.

I collapsed in exhaustion underneath the Team Kermit tent and waved off others’ attempts at congratulations, accepting only a folding chair and an ice-water towel. And then came that feeling we’re all familiar with: a particular certainty that it’s time to find a convenient but discreet place to deposit some biological material. So I staggered nonchalantly over to a nearby trash can and retched about three gallons of undigested fluid that I’d carried with me over the preceding few dozen kilometers.

So my Livestrong Challenge ended successfully but ignobly. I managed to recuperate enough to stand for a team picture before I said goodbye, then met up with my partner Inna, who mercifully drove me those extra 15 km back home.

My First Century in Eleven Months

This was my first 100-mile ride since October 2022. Eleven months is a long layoff; I haven’t gone that long between centuries in fifteen years (since 2007-2008)! You ask me how it went? Go back and read the summary: it was very good until it wasn’t.

Mistakes were made. Looking back on it, nearly all of them were about my personal physical fitness and decisionmaking, not my equipment or the location or the event. So I guess that would be the logical place to start…

My Fitness and Decisionmaking

A century always demands a lot of stamina and will power from me, but this was an exceptional case. Despite being one of the first dozen riders out of the gate, then skipping three rest stops, I only marginally beat the last finishers on the course.

I could blame the Texas heat, but even at 37°C (98°C) it was mercifully moderate in comparison to the seventy days above 38°C (100°F) that Austin experienced over the summer.

Or I could blame my age. After all, I’m only weeks away from my sixtieth birthday, and that’s the kind of thing that can slow a guy down.

While those are valid considerations, there was a whole panoply of other factors that impaired my performance, leaving me with weak legs and zero stamina toward the end of the ride.

Despite not doing any long rides in nearly a year, I barely did any lengthy training rides prior to the event. I went into it fatigued and dehydrated from too little sleep and too much riding just before the event. I was insufficiently fueled due to an irregular eating schedule and not eating any solid food during the ride. And I still had lingering injuries to my lower back and my backside (the latter attributable to insufficient time in the saddle).

But the biggest wildcard was hydration. Consuming two bottles over the first five segments of my ride – especially since the first segment was a casual commute – doesn’t seem like an especially egregious error. But it set me up poorly for the second half of the ride, where my perceptions of thirst and heat were clearly malfunctioning, causing me to take in more fluid than I could digest. This is the biggest thing I’ll have to monitor on future long rides.

There were lots of physical niggles along the road, of course. Early on, I had to make a quick roadside stop to flush some stinging sunblock out of my eyes. In my cycling sandals, some pain developed in my big toes, but I got away without a repeat of the abrasions I’d gotten on top of my feet a couple weeks earlier.

And I’d expected pain in my hands due to a slight change in my position on the new bike. I did have some discomfort, but not the severe palsy that I’d feared. It would be prudent to address this soon by buying new cycling gloves and plush handlebar tape.

The New Bike

Like its owner’s ride, my new Specialized Æthos was very good until it wasn’t.

It looked like Pæthos came through its first century in flying colors, to the extent that I had very little to say about it, other than that it suited me well and earned my full confidence.

Two weeks before the event, I’d gotten a flat on a pair of brand new tires. That got me so worried about the rough chipseal of Texas back roads that I’d carried two spare inner tubes, in addition to a pump, a CO2 dispenser, and a Shrader-to-Presta adapter in case I needed an automotive air compressor. That was all overkill; Pæthos appeared to handle everything that was thrown at it.

Just before the ride, I’d also converted from one water bottle cage to two, which was a big win. That gives me the flexibility to ride farther unsupported or without stopping (e.g. skipping three water stops). But it also gave me the option of carrying both sport drink for hydration and clear water to pour over my head and body when the heat was at its worst. And I did lots of that on the Livestrong ride!

But those Texas roads did get me in the end. After I got home, I noticed a break in the carbon rim of my rear wheel, which most likely happened due to a rock strike somewhere along the Livestrong route. I took it in to Specialized to see if it was rideable or a case for a warranty replacement, and they chose to replace the rim. Pretty ridiculous that my first set of carbon wheels lasted a mere 4,000 km.

The New GPS Bike Computer

This was also the first century-length test for the Garmin Edge 840 Solar that I picked up last month, which delighted me in nearly every way. On top of flawlessly handling mapping and turn-by-turn navigation, it now sports graphical data fields (e.g. power and heart rate charts), and the new ClimbPro feature, which tracks your location on an elevation profile of the current climb.

While cool, I had already tested that stuff; I was more eager to try out some other features that could only be done on a century-length ride. After all, I couldn’t finish my full review until I’ve put it through all my typical use cases.

Top of the list was battery life. The battery on my old Edge 820 had deteriorated to the point where I had to plug it into a portable USB battery for any rides longer than 90 minutes. The new unit claimed 26 to 32 hours, and I finished my 10-hour day with a whopping 72% charge remaining. I think I can finally leave my USB charger at home for good!

Of course, that includes the benefit I derived from the unit’s solar charging feature, which in Texas is a painless way to give the battery slight boost. Over 9h 15m the unit gained about 72 minutes worth of solar power, or about 8 minutes per hour. Not revolutionary, but not trivial either!

The other major feature I wanted to test was Garmin’s new “real-time stamina” estimate, which supposedly learns your physiology and provides a real-time guess about how long you can go until exhaustion. At my first rest stop, it estimated that I had 55% stamina remaining, and – ominously – that my reserves would run out 40 km before the end. I monitored that number all afternoon as it fluctuated, but it consistently told me that I’d have nothing left in the tank for the last 25-35 km of the ride, which is exactly how things played out. It was surprisingly accurate, given the variables that it didn’t know about, like fueling and hydration.

One feature came as a complete surprise to me. When Kermit team leader Steven texted us to ask where we were on the course, I deliriously scrolled down through the usual canned, stock responses for something appropriate as I continued pedaling. At the bottom of the list was something my old unit had lacked: the ability to actually type a freehand text response right there on the head unit! So I was able to pound out a response that truly captured my feelings in the moment. In response to his “How far out are you??”, I answered “Lifetimes”.

The only glitch I had was a minor one. I’ve always had an alert set to pop up when I reached the 100 mile threshold, but it never showed up on the new computer. I’ll have to re-test that, the next time I get the opportunity to pound out a hundred-mile ride.

My Friend Scott

As I mentioned above, my childhood friend Scott is on the Livestrong Board of Directors and is a survivor of testicular cancer.

Our friendship goes back fifty years to 1972: 3rd grade back in Maine, Cub Scouts, then French and several other classes through middle and high school. After going separate ways for college, 25 years later we rediscovered each other and our common commitment to cycling to combat cancer. In 2008 he rode the Pan-Mass Challenge, so it seemed appropriate for me to take part in his preferred event, especially since I’m now based in Austin.

I ran into him and his partner MJ outside the hotel as we were both heading to the start, and got to chat with them a little more just before we lined up for the depart. It was the first time I’d seen him in ten years, and it was wonderful to touch base, although it was much briefer than it deserved… Hopefully another time.

Steven and Team Kermit

My friend Steven is both a Livestrong Ambassador and the captain of the Pan-Mass Challenge’s very popular Team Kermit, founded in honor of – and continuing in memory of – his son Jared. I have several connections in the group and have ridden alongside numerous Team Kermit riders in the PMC all the way back to their founding in 2005. Most recently, I’ve nurtured friendships with several Kermiteers by riding with them virtually on the weekly PMC Zwift indoor trainer rides.

While I’ve never ridden the PMC as part of a team, I thought it would be fun to bolster Team Kermit’s numbers on the Livestrong ride, so I registered as an official team member. The days preceding the ride were spent tagging along – and even leading – some fun local sightseeing rides for our traveling visitors. Taking charge was local Austinite and Team Kermit member Scott.

Riders Christophe and Steve I only knew from the Zwift group rides, so it was nice to put names with their faces. They rode with me for the second half of the century route, and their companionship was absolutely invaluable.

I’m very much a lone wolf, so there were several times when I felt awkward as a member of a team, especially a team who decorates our helmets with large, stuffed Kermit toy dolls, which gets a ton of attention and comments! But they’re truly good people, and I was happy to be allowed to represent them.

Riding in Texas

This was my first century-length ride in the Lone Star State, which I view as a milestone, since it’s such a vastly different environment from my familiar riding in the Northeast.

My top concern was the Texas heat, especially after months of temperatures hovering at or above 40°C. Riding in that kind of heat is seriously dangerous, and I wanted to be sure my first long ride offered the kind of generous support you get on large charity rides. Wisely, most centuries down here take place in the spring and fall, and we were lucky that event day hovered just below 40°C. But temperature concerns will always be present for every ride I do down here.

My second concern was the roads, not knowing quite what to expect in terms of traffic, surface quality, and space to ride. In the end, those things all vary. There were trafficky bits and quiet bits; there was smooth tarmac and ample rough chipseal; broad roads with dedicated bike lanes and narrow, single-lane roads without even a shoulder. Finding quiet, comfortable roads for long, solo rides is just going to require some investigation.

Once outside of the city and its immediate suburbs, the terrain was mostly what I’ll call scrubland. Plots of large ranches with low, hardy, weatherbeaten vegetation like juniper (which Texans call “cedar”) and live oak. There aren’t a ton of rivers and creeks – and those are nearly all dry after the summer’s heatwave – where you often see dramatic exposed limestone. It has a lot of character, without being entirely desert or prairie. The Blanco River crossing was really interesting, and I even shared the road with a roadrunner while climbing out of it.

At a macro level, riding in Texas is going to take some adjustment, but it should be amply doable, with careful scouting and route selection, and more experience managing my hydration.

Livestrong: the Event

This was also my first Livestrong ride. How was that?

The route was mostly fine. My only complaint was is that because the start/finish is downtown, a large percentage of the ride was urban and suburban strip mall hell, leaving less than a third of the route for scenic rural country roads. The entire second half of the ride paralleled ugly Interstate 35 on the run back to Austin. But the scenic bits we did get were thoroughly pleasant.

Ride support was generally great, with no less than nine water stops spaced about 16 km apart, well-stocked with ample ice and wet towels, although no cola was available until the end.

As a rider, the cutoff times for the century route were not especially generous, particularly after they were shortened an extra 30 minutes. Fortunately they weren’t an issue for me, though.

The fundraising minimum (ZERO!) was surprisingly welcoming, with premiums offered at varying – and entirely voluntary – fundraising thresholds. By raising $875, I earned an on-course tribute sign, a tote bag, a tee shirt, a cheap mini Bluetooth speaker, the ubiquitous water bottle, an event cycling jersey, and a finisher’s medal, plus the right to line up in the VIP section at the head of the ride. That’s a much friendlier model when compared to the PMC’s $2,000 to $6,000 fundraising requirement just to participate!

Unlike the PMC, where thousands of spectators — often former patients and their families – line the entire route and thank you for riding, community support was mostly non-existent on the Livestrong ride. Other than the crowd at the start/finish, a few bystanders waving from nearby bus stops, and water stop volunteers, during the entire ride I only encountered one couple sitting at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, cheering their hearts out. The two events couldn’t be more different in that respect.

It all adds up to a mixed picture: a well-run and rider-friendly event for an organization that has wisely distanced itself from its shameful founder, and which Scott and Steven have convinced me does admirable work helping cancer patients and their families. And even if it’s no Pan-Mass Challenge or Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, I’m very likely to participate again in the future, for the same reasons I outlined above.

Epilogue

So there you have it; it was a landmark ride. To encapsulate, it was:

• My first Livestrong ride
• My first imperial century in 11 months
• My first century of 2023
• My first century in Texas
• My first century on Pæthos, my new bike
• My first century with my new Garmin bike GPS
• My first event as an official member of Team Kermit (or any team, for that matter)

While this century included a grim struggle and an ignoble footnote, I hold to my words that it was very good until it wasn’t. Troubles aside, I completed the course safely and enjoyed the overwhelming majority of it, and gained lots of lessons to bring forward for future rides. I enjoyed it immensely and am glad to have done it.

I’ve already written (here) about turning my beloved R2-Di2 over to the manufacturer’s warranty team after discovering the frame was cracked. What follows is how my bike warranty claim played out and the introduction of my new riding partner.

Assisted Replacement Program

Specialized looked at my old bike and said the crack looked like impact damage, not a defect; but they still offered me 35% assistance on buying a replacement. That was great news, since bikes over 5 years old (mine was 10) get at best a 20% discount; usually a bike would have to be less than 3 years old to get a 35% discount.

Happily, that discount could be applied to other models. Despite riding Roubaixs for the past 18 years, I’m not very enthused by the newer versions, which have abandoned the performance endurance category that I inhabit. My other options were the aggressive, race-oriented Tarmac or their new lightweight climbing bike, the Æthos, both of which have positive reputations as solid, sporty performers. I would be delighted with either of those.

2023 Pæthos

The big challenge was availability, since the post-Covid bike supply chain is still completely shot. To make the most of my chances, I pared all my criteria down to my two most important factors: at my height, I have to have a large 61cm frame; and to match the equipment and quality level of my old bike, I wanted Shimano Ultegra Di2 electronic shifting.

At first, even this stumped my rep Jack, but a national search yielded a single hit: a 61cm Æthos Expert with Ultegra Di2 sitting in a BikeSource shop in Denver, Colorado.

It took time to coerce BikeSource to part with the bike and then box it up and ship it out, but I was willing to patiently wait it out. Since my last pre-move Zwift ride: my old bike had spent three weeks in a box while we moved from Pittsburgh to Austin; then two weeks at the Trek store before they discovered the chainstay was cracked; two more weeks for evaluation at Specialized’s warranty depot; and a final two weeks to have my new bike packed, shipped, and built up. In the end, I was without a bike for over two months.

However, on 2/23/23 I drove to the Specialized warehouse and test-rode the new beast, then took it home for my first real ride on the new bike!

On one hand, picking the bike up was incredibly sketchy. I had to go to a windowless, unmarked building in Austin’s warehouse district and wait in one of two specific parking spots. I wasn’t allowed to go inside, but after texting, a young man with a bike met me at my car. After he took the bike inside for a couple adjustments, I rode it around the block a couple times as an acceptance test. Then I packed the bike into the trunk and was asked to pay by entering my credit card info at an unfamiliar website that he texted to me. It was the kind of sketchy experience you’d see in a film noir.

On the other hand, the young man – Jack, Specialized’s warranty rep, whom I’d worked with from Day One – had consistently exceeded my expectations. He’d offered a replacement discount that was nearly twice as generous as Specialized’s policy required. He was extremely knowledgeable and flexible, and he quickly found a replacement bike that fulfilled all my requirements, despite the ongoing supply chain disaster in the bike industry. He made the process easy and ensured that I came away happy and still a delighted Specialized customer.

Goodbye R2

Of course, this was also the end of the line for my old bike…

R2-Di2

That bike – my second Specialized Roubaix, which I named R2-Di2 – was supposed to come into my life on April 15th 2013. However, that afternoon was the Boston Marathon, and as I sat in my condo a block from the finish line, two homemade bombs were detonated, killing three people and injuring hundreds. Needless to say, that New Bike Day was delayed by 24 hours and overshadowed by more consequential events. Here are links to that 2013 bike purchase, plus my experience of the bombing, and its Wikipedia article.

In the 10 years since then, R2 carried me for a total of 67,500 km (or 42,000 miles), 45,000 km outdoor, and an additional 22,500 on the indoor trainer. That included five Pan-Mass Challenges: two in Massachusetts in 2013 and my three-day 2014 ride; then, after a five-year hiatus, an indoor Covid PMC in 2020, an outdoor “reimagined” ride in 2021, and a weather-induced mixture of indoor and out in 2022, all taking place in Pittsburgh. Together we ticked off no less than 59 outdoor century+ rides plus 8 more on the indoor trainer.

R2 carried me for more distance and more century+ rides than any other bike I’ve owned. Despite it being my primary bike for longer than any other, I still feel like I could have happily ridden it for another decade. Its ride quality was unsurpassed: a wonderful balance of stiffness and compliance, performance and comfort, that instilled both confidence and ease. From Day One to the end, it felt like the perfect bike for me.

And so our sudden parting had left me stunned and saddened. There was no final ride, no final photograph, nor even time for a lingering glance of appreciation for the best riding companion I’ve ever known. Just a small bag with some parts I’d wanted to salvage. I’ll miss you and mourn you and remember you always, R2.

Hello Pæthos!

But this new bike… Let’s start out with what am I going to name this beastie? After all, names are important to me, as evinced by my previous choices: the Plastic Bullet and R2-Di2.

Specialized named this model the Æthos, which reminded me of ancient Greek words like ‘ethos’ and ‘pathos’. Bringing up the latter’s definition, I found it means “suffering; evoking compassion, pity, or sympathy”. Of course, one’s relationship to suffering is the essential core of both cycling and Buddhism, so the word has particular appeal to me, having written a blogpost about the link between the three as far back as 2003, before I even started practicing meditation!

So in a nod to how suffering is an essential aspect of cycling – and Specialized’s idiosyncratic spelling – my new bike will be known as “Pæthos” (with the long ‘ā’ pronunciation).

Vive la Différence

Now let’s focus on the bike itself. I haven’t ridden anything but a Roubaix since 2005, and the Æthos is a different model serving a different purpose. That’s good for me, because the Roubaix has recently gone from a stiffness-to-weight focused sporty endurance bike into a plush cruiser, compete with a gimmicky shock-absorber mounted to its mamachari-style riser handlebar.

I clearly wanted something racier than the Roubaix’s current generation, and – to my delight – the Æthos provides exactly that. It’s not a back-shattering race bike like the Tarmac, but more of a lightweight hill-climber, with classic round tubes and tastefully understated branding and paint.

Another big way that the new bike will feel different is because bike tech and equipment have changed dramatically in the ten years since I bought my last bike. That is most evident at the back end of the bike. We’ve jumped from 10-speed cassettes to 12, and fitted a long-cage derailleur that can handle a (much easier) 11-34 cassette, when the biggest I could go before was 11-28. Though I’ll be running a (slightly harder) 52-36 on the front, rather than a 50-34, so it all balances out.

Gone are the familiar quick-release skewers keeping the wheels in place, replaced by thru-axles. And I’ve finally had to give up my easy-to-maintain rim brakes, which have been supplanted by heavier but “better” hydraulic disc brakes.

Those disc brakes enable another big change: from alloy wheels with machined aluminum braking surfaces on the rims to all-carbon Roval C38 wheels. And I’m also experiencing deeper rim profiles and tubeless-ready wheels for the first time. I suppose I’ll have to actually try running tubeless at some point, but I’ll save that for a bit further down the road.

So the Æthos incorporates a lot of changes in bike design that have come about over the past decade. Combine that with it being a more performance-oriented model than both the new and old Roubaix models, and I’m expecting it to be a significant upgrade.

First Impressions

As this goes to press, Pæthos has accrued 160 outdoor km (including a 75 km longest ride) and 300 indoor km (including a 100 km longest ride). So after nearly 500 km I think I can verify that the new bike should suit me really well. I haven’t done a century on it yet, but that will come, and I’ll be sure to share my impressions in the inevitable ride report.

Although things didn’t begin very auspiciously: I don’t know whether it was a loose install by Specialized or my own fat fingers while transporting it home, but my gears were stuck in the smaller/easier front chainring for the entirety of my 20 km first ride! Happily, the fix was simply firmly re-attaching the Di2 electronic shifting cable.

Other than that, everything has been absolutely wonderful. I’m comfortable in the saddle and the bike is more eager to climb even the steepest gradients than my legs are. If I had to give up my old bike, the Æthos is exactly what I would have chosen to replace it with.

My few niggles are all minor. Putting the bike onto – and taking it off of – the indoor trainer is a bit more work thanks to the thru-axles. The deeper wheels require a little more attention in high winds. Riding a new bike on unfamiliar roads, I’m really timid descending, but that’s on me and temporary. And I haven’t yet given it a full-power sprint test; again, I’m still un-learning the habit of not sprinting that I picked up due to my old bike’s worn and unreliable chainrings.

But those are overshadowed by the bike’s overall performance and comfort so far. It’s exactly what I wanted: something more sporty and serious than the Roubaix, incorporating current technologies, and able to eat up long miles and help me over the humps when the road tilts skyward. And that’s exactly the kind of bike I need. Pretty darned good, for an emergency replacement during a supply chain collapse!

I hope we have a very long road ahead of us!

Watch on YouTube 15-second Pæthos reveal video!

Pæthos full frontal

Pæthos head tube badge

Pæthos cockpit

Pæthos top tube branding	Pæthos cockpit
Pæthos seat tube & stays	Pæthos drivetrain
Pæthos drivetrain	Pæthos crankset