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Boston Globe: Father and Daughter: Team Ultra

By Bella English

Father and Daughter Team Ultra

On Black Friday, while the rest of us are recovering from our Thanksgiving feasts, watching football, or hitting the sales, Kathy Laska and her dad, Dave Wilson, will be doing a 6.2-mile ocean swim, followed by a 90-mile bike ride up a volcano on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The following day, they’ll jump on their bikes and do a 171-mile ride with a vertical climb totaling 8,600 feet.

The third day is merely a double marathon: They’ll run 52.4 miles.

Each day’s event must be completed in 12 hours or less.

Are they crazy, or what?

“That’s not an unreasonable question,” replies Wilson, 65.

It’s called the Ultraman World Championships, and only 38 people in the world are competing in the invitation-only event this weekend. Twenty of them are from the United States, including two from Massachusetts: Wilson and Laska, 38. There has never been another father-daughter team competing in the Ultraman, and Wilson is the oldest in this year’s event.

Laska, of Millis, and Wilson, of Brockton, have each done one prior Ultraman, though not together: He took part 10 years ago and she, two years ago. So they know all too well what they’re getting into.

“There are all kinds of bizarre races all over the world,” says Wilson, a wiry 5-foot-6. “The Ultraman is one of them. Fringe races, I call them.”

As in lunatic fringe?

“It’s very difficult to pretend to have a normal life,” laughs Wilson, a mechanical engineer. “We like these endurance races and they take a lot of training.”

For one peak training day, Laska started at 7:15 a.m. and finished at 8:45 that night – a 10-hour bike ride and an hourlong run.

On a recent day, father and daughter are relaxing in her den, wearing their shirts from QT2 Systems, the training firm they’ve hired to help them prepare. Their triathlon bikes – a Specialized for him, a Seven for her – stand nearby. A shopping bag contains several large Ziplocks filled with power bars and gels.

“I’ll be only the third 65-year-old they’ve ever had and my goal is to beat the others’ times,” says Wilson, obviously excited about sharing the event with his only child.

Neither Laska’s husband, Brian, nor her mother, Janet, are into the races, except to support their team. Ultraman requires each competitor to have a team of at least two people. Crew members will follow the swimmers in a kayak and the bikers and runners in a car, providing food, energy drinks, mechanical help, and moral support.

Wilson has a friend and two Hawaiian volunteers on his crew; Laska has her husband, mom, and a friend.

Fear is a great motivator, and to Wilson and Laska, that first day with its endless ocean swim followed by a long, steep bike ride is the most daunting.

“I was incredibly anxious two years ago,” says Laska, who works in biotech sales. “I was afraid of taking too much time for the swim and not leaving enough time for the bike.” She completed the swim in a little over four hours.

Swimming conditions from Kailua Bay to Keauhou Bay vary greatly. “It’s going to take at least four hours,” says Wilson, “and if currents are bad, longer.”

He adds: “We’re not swimmers. We’re runners.”

Laska, in fact, did not learn how to swim or ride a bicycle until five years ago, at age 33. Growing up in Brockton with asthma, she skipped swimming class, and with poor eyesight, she didn’t bike.

“I gave up,” says her dad. “I couldn’t teach her how to balance.”

At Stonehill College, Laska earned a second-degree black belt in karate. After college, she started running to lose weight. At 30, she completed her first marathon.

“You could do an Ironman,” her father told her, and he set about to see that she did.

Five years ago, he told a training friend that he wanted his daughter to learn to swim. Jennifer Higgins met Wilson 15 years earlier, when they both swam at Walden Pond, and she agreed to be there for Laska’s first swim session.

“She showed up with one of those SpongeBob kickboards,” says Higgins, laughing at the recollection. “She couldn’t even put her face in the water.”

Laska also took pool lessons. “The only person who could teach me was someone who taught little kids; it was a joke,” she says. “This is all I can do.” She raises both arms in an overhead stroke.

Bicycling was a similar story. “Her father had to teach her how to bike, and she would be so skittish, he would crack up,” says Higgins, a running coach and yoga instructor. “I wobbled all over the place,” agrees Laska.

That was in the spring; by the end of that summer, she had completed a triathlon. With her father’s encouragement, she signed up for an Ironman triathlon. “I knew that if I signed up for it, I’d have to do it,” she says. She did, and was hooked. She’s done six.

Wilson was a late bloomer, too. He was 40 when he did his first triathlon, but he’s made up for lost time. In the past 25 years, he has completed 16 Ironman one-day events: 2.4-mile swim, 122-mile bike ride, and 26.2-mile run. He has done several half-Ironman triathlons and numerous marathons. He was 55 when he signed up for the Ultraman, in 2001.

Two years ago, Wilson had major back surgery; it was six months before he could train again. The following year, he did an Ironman.

“People ask me all the time if Dave will ever give up working out and doing races and I tell them not in this lifetime,” says his wife, Janet. “It can be very frustrating at times, but Dave and Kathy are both happy doing it and that is what counts.”

It’s not just about the training, either. For the upcoming Ultraman, Laska and Wilson have been working with professional coaches who have written a workout plan for each, along with a special diet.

“There’s a science to it,” says Wilson. “The key to endurance events is pacing and fueling.”

Tim Snow of QT2 Systems is one of their coaches. He’s known Wilson since 1998. “It’s great to see him going just as strong now as he was then,” says Snow, a professional triathlete. When Laska entered the triathlon world, she showed the same “mental fortitude and positive attitude” as her dad, he says.

“I have done many, many races, of all distances all over the world, but the thought of an Ultraman makes me cringe,” says Snow. Some of their individual workout days have included three-hour swims, nine-hour bike rides and three-hour runs, he says.

“I haven’t raked the leaves or cleaned the gutters,” Wilson says. “There’s only so much time in a day.”

In Hawaii, on each of the three race days, they will awaken at 3 a.m. to carbo-load for the 6:30 start time. Their coaches have written out an hour-by-hour diet for the event: before, during, and after. Even during the swim, they are to slurp down a power gel every 45 minutes and imbibe two sports drinks – compliments of their kayak crew.

Post-race, according to the plan, they can have: “WHATEVER YOU WANT!”

Though the anxiety is high for Day 1, Day 3 presents another big challenge: running a double marathon in Hawaii’s steamy heat.

“The second day, you’re riding high up, so it’s a little cooler,” says Laska. “The third day you’re running on black top, there are no trees and it feels like 100 degrees.”

Two years ago, it took her 9 hours to run the 52.4 miles. Ten years ago, it took him 11 hours.

Then there’s the cost of it all: the coaching, the entry fee, the air fare for them and their crews, the hotel, the food. “Oh geez, I don’t even want to think about it,” says Wilson. “If we can get out at $15,000 for the both of us, we’ll be lucky.” He is paying about 75 percent of the cost, his daughter the remainder.

When it’s over, there won’t be much rest for the weary. Wilson and Laska will begin training for their next events: Mooseman in New Hampshire, a half Ironman, in the spring; and Lake Placid, an Ironman, in the summer. Bella English can be reached at english@globe.com.

Seven Cycles in Embrocation Cycling Journal

Why You Need a Custom Road Bike

Forbes

Larry Olmsted: The Great Life

Diamas SLX
The top custom bicycle companies offer all materials like this top of the line aerodynamic carbon fiber Diamas SLX model from Seven Cycles.

If you like riding a bicycle, you will love riding a custom made bicycle.

Not everything is better in a handmade custom version: I’d rather fly in a jet from Boeing or Airbus than one some artisan made in a garage. But when it comes to road bikes, even the best off-the-rack bikes, even the models the top pros use, can’t compare to good custom versions. If riders in the Tour de France did not have paying sponsors, they would likely all ride custom models (and many ride custom versions of “stock bikes” you can’t buy anyway, or totally custom bikes by others painted to look like those from their sponsor). In fact, I was just in Mellow Johnny’s, the Texas bike shop owned by the most famous cyclist in history, 7-time Tour de France champ Lance Armstrong, and they had a hand-built custom frame on display with a placard saying that it was the first bike Lance EVER bought with his own money – and that was a recent purchase.

FYI, a new study written up in The Atlantic showed that in places where more people ride bikes to work, the citizens are happier, healthier, and more successful. I bet this is even truer for those who go custom over stock.

Axiom SLX
The completely bespoke and handmade titanium Axiom SLX is Seven’s lightest frame, and one of the lightest you can buy anywhere, yet it is priced competitively with better off-the-rack bikes.

What’s the big difference? Fit, performance, and quality, only the three most important things. There is also looks and jealousy from other riders, but that’s just gravy. I spend a lot of time in the saddle as a recreational rider, doing charity Centuries (100 mile rides) and weekly fun group rides, but nowhere near as much as many enthusiasts, and going custom has emancipated my back and neck from pain, eliminated numb hands on longer rides, and basically crushed all discomfort except that which comes for being out of shape. The more you ride, the more important these aspects are. My wife, on the other hand, has a high-quality stock frame, and has made repeat visits to bike fitters over the years for new stems, handlebar adjustments, etc., in an attempt to eliminate her neck and shoulder issues. It has helped, but not enough (she’ll go custom when it’s time to buy a new bike, meaning when the piggy bank gets bigger).

The other day I was riding with a guy who had a Serotta, one of the top companies for custom bikes, and he told me how he went to a fancy bike shop and they told him that due to his size and shape, no off the rack bike would fit him well. He naturally assumed they were scamming him into buying a high-priced custom, so he spent the next two years going from shop to shop, unable to find anyone who could offer to sell him a bike that fit, riding a painful compromise the whole time, before biting the bullet and investing in the Serotta, which he now wishes he had bought two years earlier.

Unless you are 100% “average” no premade frame will ever fit you as well as one custom made to your measurements, from inseam to reach to how far you bend at the waist while riding. When I got my bike made by Seven Cycles, there were over 100 different questions and measurements involved. While fit in a bespoke suit translates to looking better, fit in a bespoke road bike translates to feeling better and possibly avoiding knee injuries from massive repetitions of an off kilter pedaling stroke, along with the various back, neck and arm pains associated with riding.

Then there is the performance issue. I like to climb, a lot, long grueling climbs and I like to stand and grind. So when I got my custom bike, I told Seven Cycles this and they built in an oversized seat tube to add rigidity for my standing pedal stroke, an efficiency increase. Even if a stock bike fit me perfectly, no stock bike can change the diameter of the tubes and flex of the frame to suit my whims, but Seven can.

When I bought my titanium Axiom model, about 6 years ago, custom bikes commanded a huge price premium over stock, and you really had to make the decision to spend more. Unfortunately, the price of better off-the-rack bikes has skyrocketed in recent years, while many custom bikes have actually gotten cheaper, greatly narrowing the gap, with the silver lining being that custom is now a much easier pill to swallow – and sometimes less than non-custom. And while most custom bike companies used to sell mainly frames that you then had to complete a la carte, the most expensive way to by bike components, they are now offering complete finish kits in a range of quality levels and greatly discounted prices.

“We’ve done it to make the bikes more attainable,” said Seven’s marketing director, Mattison Crowe. “You don’t have to spend $6000 anymore to get a full custom bike. You can, but you don’t have to. Frame prices are misleading because our buyers want to know how much the whole bike will cost, so we have been moving to that model.” For instance, Seven’s entry level all-steel, completely bespoke Resolute LSX can be had for $3,699 fully built out and ready to ride. This is comparable to a higher end off -the-rack steel bike, and less expensive than buying a stock steel frame from a prestigious Italian manufacturer like Colnago and building it up. Outside Magazine picked six stock road bikes as the best in all categories, from beginners to racers, for its 2011 Gear Guide, and these ranged from $2,460 – $8,715 with only one option under $3,200.

The completely bespoke and handmade titanium Axiom SXL is Seven’s lightest frame, and one of the lightest you can buy anywhere, yet it is priced competitively with better off-the-rack bikes.

With off-the-rack models at these prices, you can’t afford to not go custom. But make no mistake: just because the prices have become similar, custom is still better and more desirable and the longtime dream of many riders.

While cyclists are famously always looking for the next great thing, investing in custom means a good fit and lightweight frame that will last forever (in steel or titanium, not so much in carbon fiber), or at least for a really long time, and you won’t have to upgrade , while you can always upgrade components. In my case, because titanium does not rust or fatigue appreciably, its useful life is until I die. When I went custom, I also stopped coveting a new bike each season.

The final thing to consider is the craftsmanship and looks. I was not planning to buy a Seven when I toured the company’s Massachusetts’s factory for research, but once I saw how beautiful the welds were, how perfectly and lovingly the frames were made, I had to have one. And with custom, you choose the colors, the finish, the lettering (right down to font), no lettering, special art, your initials, etc., for a truly one of a kind bike. If you love hot pink, your road bike choices are limited in the store, but unlimited with custom. My bike is far from new, but it elicits complements from strangers nearly every time I ride it.

But there is a fine line between form and function in the case of custom bikes. If you are an avid gearhead, you crave a bike by a one man shop frame maker who does each as a labor of love, famed artists such as Richard Sachs or Carl Strong, guys whose entire production is 30-100 frames annually, and 100 is a lot in this category. But the tradeoff is that while you are buying an instant collectible with a ton of wow factor, at least from those in the know, there is nothing instant about it – you might have to wait years to actually ride. Sach’s waiting list is now at 7 years for delivery, and you pay based on what it will cost then!

Also, individual frame makers are true artists and quirky imperfection is part of what you pay a lot for. In a recent interview with Men’s Journal Magazine, Sachs said, “My bikes aren’t going to make you a faster or better rider.” I don’t know if that is true or not, but I know my Seven, and my friends’ Sevens and Serottas and Penguins have made them faster, if not better, riders, because they are lighter and optimize efficiency while better comfort on longer rides reduces fatigue. The other “problem” with the small custom shops is that for the most part they only work in metal, and many only in steel, because titanium (better than steel) requires more specialized equipment (especially for welding) and carbon fiber (better for some applications, like time trial and aero triathlon bikes) even more so, while the bigger companies offer the full choice of materials. Seven and Serotta in particular look nothing like garages and run laboratory-like production facilities where tolerances are excruciatingly precise, and the materials, be they steel, carbon fiber, or titanium, are best in class. Just as not all wool is cashmere, not all titanium is the best titanium. I’d make a substantial wager that not just the fit but the materials and construction of these bikes are appreciably superior to even the priciest off the rack American or Italian frames. In comparison, companies like Seven Cycles, which I swear by, Serotta, and Independent Fabrication (IF) make true made-to-measure custom bikes, but employ a team of frame builders, and you can get them in a matter of months, not years, and know how much it is going to cost. I’m not knocking the frame building artists, but I think the point of a bike is to ride it, sooner rather than later, within realistic limitations. It’s worth waiting months for a perfect fit over off the rack today, but is it worth years? You might not even be able to ride when it arrives.

These larger companies generally do not sell direct and often sell only frames, so you go to an authorized bike shop and get fitted, then they order the frame for you and you pick the components and have the bike built. More recently, Seven, Serotta, and IF have begun offering a slate of complete comment finish kits you can order for less than a la carte, but your dealer still usually gets the parts and assembles the bike. This makes the bikes a bit cheaper unless you want to change something, like the wheels, in which case you might have to buy all the parts separately.

For these reasons, the most important choice in the process is not actually who builds your frame, but where you go to get fitted. High volume custom specialists like FitWerx in Vermont and Massachusetts, Bespoke Bicycles in San Francisco, or Signature Cycles, a passionate custom fitting expert in New York City and Greenwich, CT are excellent choices, but wherever you live, you should be able to identify a shop that does a lot of custom fitting, and usually they will have a special “fitting bike,” a stationary bike that is highly adjustable. Not only are these shops better skilled to measure you and assess your needs, they often sell more than one brand of custom bike and can help you compare. For instance, FitWerx carries Serotta and IF, and also smaller Moots and Parlee, all custom. Signature Cycles offers Seven, Serotta, IF, and Parlee.

So what’s the bottom line? Seven and Serotta both have an entry level steel road bike frame ($3,295 Serotta or $2,095 Seven). Step up to titanium and the frame price roughly doubles, while 100% carbon fiber is the priciest ($9,000 Serotta or $5,495 Seven). While carbon fiber models are better for time trials, triathlons, and wind cheating, the less expensive titanium is lighter, more durable, and rated better by Seven for centuries, touring, and recreational riding, another reason why it is important to consult a knowledgeable bike shop when deciding just what to buy. The titanium Axiom SLX is Seven’s lightest model, period, will last a lifetime, and can be purchased complete and ready to ride for $5800. If you start with the frame only, a good finish kit from either company runs $1300, and the best $5000. So basically, you can get a high quality entry-level total custom road bike for $3,700 from Seven or $5,000 from Serotta, or easily spend up to $14,000 for the supercar of road bikes. With an upper level component package and higher quality frame material, a good estimate would be $6-9,000 all in.

If you crave a high-quality, truly custom handmade bicycle without breaking the bank, consider a small local framemaker like Vermont’s Penguin Cycles.

If this is too rich for your blood, the alternative is going with a smaller but not famous custom bike maker who emphasizes fit over technology, which will give you the advantages of a bespoke bike without as much cache and likely at a slightly higher weight, though you will still have something truly unique other riders will certainly ask you about. There are tons of such companies across the country, and the annual North American Handmade Bicycle Show website is a good place to start. Where I live in Vermont, we have a local husband and wife company that several of my friends have bikes from, and everyone swears by them, at much lower prices but still totally custom – and significantly lower than quality off the rack frames too. It’s called Penguin Cycles, and all its frames, road and mountain and cyclocross, run $1275 including a high-quality Chris King headset, seat post clamp, water bottle mounts, brake mount, all necessary cable stops and guides, and a 2 color paint job with clearcoat. Penguins are all lightweight high quality steel and totally handmade, but since they sell direct and not through distributors, the best bet is to make an appointment and visit them in Vermont for a fitting. They can also get whatever components you want and build a total bike. This is a lot of bang for the buck: walk into a nice bike shop and try to buy a frame for less than $1275 – it’s not easy and not custom.

Wherever you get your custom bike you are going to be very happy with the fit, and anyone who knows anything about bikes will tell you that the fit is the single most important thing.

Silk Road Journey

Written by Kate Harris
Hostel bunk

There are places you can get to by road, and there are places you can only get to by being on the road, a state of mind you can carry, with concerted effort, to almost any context. Even a train swaying drunkenly on its tracks across Kazakhstan as men sway drunkenly through it, past aisles of people stacked in sleeper bunks like produce on shelves – some fresh, some overripe, some way past expiration.

After nearly a month of chasing down elusive visas, a month of spinning wheels that weren’t our bikes, we definitely belonged in the latter category. Getting sanction to cycle the Silk Road through Central Asia is the modern equivalent of the Great Game, a kind of diplomatic chess where enigmatic rules change on a dictator’s whim, where checkmate is risked with every move to a new country, especially a new ‘Stan. With Cycling Silk we couldn’t apply for visas ahead of time, since at our pace, on a trip this long, they’d expire before we arrived. So we’ve had to snag them along the way, which at times has meant intense frustration and desperate tactics to get where we’ve wanted to go. And there’s nothing like banging your head on borders to learn how impenetrable these arbitrary barriers can be.

The biggest hassle was Uzbekistan, a notoriously closed-off country with a special disdain for independent travellers who might well ride their bikes off the beaten track and write about it afterwards. When our Uzbek ‘Letter of Invitation’ (a prerequisite for applying for a tourist visa) didn’t arrive in Azerbaijan on time, we were forced to fly across the Caspian Sea to Kazakhstan; take a 72-hour train ride across the ninth largest country in the world; spend a week waiting in embassy lines and filling out forms in Almaty; and then board that same 72-hour train back to the Caspian Sea coast.

Rosy-cheeked baby

But once back on track, with visas securely in passports, spring securely in the air, and all of Central Asia’s borders wide open ahead of us, we could relish the charming absurdity that was the trans-Kazakh train. Whole families, generations upon generation, filled the train’s bunks and then some, including the cutest, chubbiest kids we’d ever seen. The origin of their colossal cheeks became clear when we saw how families packed entire kitchens to last the journey’s fast, including a pantry’s worth of food, silver cutlery, and porcelain plates, from which we were served generous portions of deep-fried dough and goat brain soup (we graciously declined the latter).

The kindness of the Kazakh people didn’t end with food. One night my blanket slipped off my bunk while I was sleeping and an elderly woman across the aisle thoughtfully placed it back on me. At which point I screamed, because in my dream it was not a blanket tossed on my legs but an evil, writhing snake. Then I apologized for screaming, thanked her profusely, and tried to explain my startledness in all the wrong languages, with all sorts of mad snakey hand gestures, to grins all around.

Out one side of the train, the breath-fogged windows revealed plains so level the idea of inclination lost all substance; out the opposite side were mountains so steep they folded the notion of flat forever out of sight and sense. Two irreconcilable views of the same world, neatly parsed by the train’s passage. But everywhere the sun was busy pulling green out of the ground, the land newly alive and kicking with life. We felt the same way. As we trundled back toward the Caspian Sea, back to the biking life, to the expedition as we’d originally dreamed it, the return train journey felt like the pause before the conception of a poem, or the silence that anticipates song. We were suspended between tracks, between seasons, all thoughts and worries vagabond, transported in the truest sense. On the road again.

Very loaded touring

We got off the train in Beyneu, Kazakhstan, and hit the ground rolling toward the westernmost border of Uzbekistan, determined to enter the country the very day our hardwon tourist visa began expiring. It granted us only 30 days to bike nearly two thousand kilometers on rough roads the long way across the country; interview conservationists in the capital city of Tashkent; boot it to the Tajikistan border; and along the way, explore the complexities and challenges of conservation on the Ustyurt Plateau, a transboundary desert straddling westernmost Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, tucked between the Caspian and Aral Seas, and our second case study of the expedition. So began our evasive maneuvers against the clock – and the heat.

Uzbekistan boasts various blades and poisons, from thorns to scorpions to nightmare-spawning serpents. But for us the heat itself was a kind of venom, effecting paralysis throughout the nerveless high noon of day. And here, high noon lasted all day long, with high winds chiming in as well. Our strategy was to wake to the stars at 4am, ride through dawn, rest out the heat of the day in whatever scrap of shade we could find or make, then bike again until we hit our mileage mark or total dark, whichever came first. Other than days off in the Silk Road outposts of Khiva, Bukhara, and Samarkand, those fabled cities of turquoise and tiles, we kept up this delirious nocturnal rhythm across the entire country.

Two bikes one rider at dusk

But if daylight in the desert was a torture to endure, duskier hours made existence not just tolerable, but enchanted. Biking beneath the stars every morning on the Ustyurt plateau was an extraterrestrial experience, our wheels purring on a road paved in night, the moon a chip of ice in the sky. I tucked it beneath my tongue to keep me cool as long as possible, which was never long enough. Then after melting all day, we reconsolidated in the relief of sunset, the sand still glowing hot as stars, dunes drawing new constellations in the night. The horizon seemed to precisely mark the boundary where inner meets outer world – no wonder the urge to chase that line. In these rarefied hours, no speed seemed impossible, no destination too far-fetched. It was like being on the moon or Mars only better, because we could breathe, sing, laugh out loud. Outer space makes you swallow all that.

Outer space is also lamentably bereft of antelopes, at least as far as we know. The Ustyurt, by contrast, is home to the saiga, a critically endangered species of antelope that claims the dubious distinction of being one of the fastest declining mammals on the planet. Poaching is mainly to blame, since the horns of male antelopes are a hot sell on the black market for Chinese traditional medicine. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, communities living on the fringes of the plateau were stranded with scant options for income, so understandably, they hunted saiga both for meat and medicinal sale. Today the saiga are protected by law throughout their transboundary migratory range, but there is paltry enforcement in the remote Ustyurt borderland, especially in impoverished Uzbekistan. The decline of this species, coupled with the drainage of the nearby Aral Sea – caused by intensive Soviet-era and ongoing cotton irrigation – makes this part of the world an extreme example of human-wreaked environmental havoc.

Campsiste for two cyclists

We didn’t see any saiga while we were on the Ustyurt, for those shy and hunted herds are savvy enough to avoid our species. And we didn’t see the Aral Sea either, for its dried shores were still a few hundred kilometres off our route. But in both cases, for better and for worse, these were deeply felt presences. The Ustyurt Plateau that the saiga call home and the Aral Sea are both huge stretches of territory unpopulated by people, ‘barren lands’ marginal to human desire, obtuse to economic exploitation. Local people deem both places wastelands, according to our interviews with conservationists. But deserts like the Ustyurt are beautiful and dynamic ecosystems, with the saiga as their flagship species, while the desertified Aral Sea is a disaster – the consequence of our thirst for cotton, and proof that the only genuinely barren lands are born of us.

The distinction between desert land as wilderness, versus desertified land as devastation, is a subtle but crucial one. Language carries an enormous burden of consciousness, especially when it comes to arguing for the protection of the natural world. Call a wilderness like the Ustyurt a wasteland, and who cares what happens to it? Call saiga horns medicine, and who cares about the rare antelopes that grow them, except as a poachable source of profit? In this way language is a prologue to the possible: it shapes perceptions, and perceptions shape actions, and actions shape our world.

Two bikes loaded for touing against a sunset

So the way we talk about wild things matters, even though wilderness itself is a concept as evasive as a saiga antelope, or a Central Asian tourist visa, as easily lost in translation as hand signals about snake nightmares. Like life itself, like love above all, wilderness is difficult to define; “it resists the intelligence,” to paraphrase Wallace Stevens, “almost successfully.” But know it when we see it, when we feel it. And perhaps especially when we don’t.

What a haunting fate that would be, though, for us to only grasp what wilderness is and means by its lack. To perceive the wonder of the Ustyurt Plateau only after recognizing the horror of the Aral Sea-turned-Sands. This is what Cycling Silk is fundamentally about: Mel and I are biking our legs and hearts out to do what we can, however puny our individual pedal strokes, to prevent the possibility of a totally tamed planet. To explore how definitions make up the world, and discover what happens – to deserts, to mountains, to minds – when they break down. To bang our heads on borders, at times painfully, to test their fallibility. And to ride into the soul of wildness, our own and the world’s. Even if it takes a train journey or two to finally get there.

“An old chronicle. To seek out the upright. No fall but preceded by a declination. He took great marching steps into the nothingness, counting them against his return. Eyes closed, arms oaring. Upright to what? Something nameless in the night, lode or matrix. To which he and the stars were common satellite. Like the great pendulum in its rotunda scribing through the long day movements of the universe of which you may say it knows nothing and yet know it must.”
—Cormac McCarthy

Rider in the sunset

NEXT: Time to get all tangled up in the Pamir knot, the glorious mess of rock and ice comprising the borderlands of Tajikistan, Afghanistan, China, and Pakistan. We’ll be exploring Marco Polo sheep conservation across borders as our next case study. Bring on the high mountains!

Bike Radar: Seven Axiom SL Di2 review

Axiom SL Di2

Seven’s titanium frame-building skills are superb, but what sets the Axiom apart is not the attention to detail but the ride.

The Axiom SL is no comfort biased, all-day mile-eater, this is a race bike through and through. The set-up is truly aggressive; this bike wants to go fast.

The front end responds instantly to input both through the pedals and in changes of direction. It’s more at home in fast criterium-style racing than long climbs over big cols, although the frame does a superb job of dulling vibrations and chatter from poor road surfaces.

The Di2 drivetrain is faultless and Seven has done a superb job of routing the wiring internally through the chassis. Mavic’s Cosmic Carbone clinchers may seem a strange choice on a titanium bike, but their weight penalty over a standard wheel is easily offset by the aero advantage that comes into play once you’re up to speed, and you can hold a high pace for much longer.

It’s easy to heap praise on what is a superb bike, but in a world obsessed with carbon bikes, the Axiom proves it’s possible to make a full-fat, Flat-out fast race machine from titanium, a material all too quickly dismissed as the choice for comfort and distance bikes designed to go longer but slower.

As with all Sevens, the build is fully custom, and UK distributor Sigma will design any build to suit your requirements.

What makes the Axiom special?

Rear dropout

Di2

Seven’s own titanium dropout is machined from solid billet, it’s larger (and thicker) than you would expect on a typical high-end race bike, but this is what keeps the back end anchored, all adding to the Axiom’s solid feel.

Di2 integration

Shimano’s Di2 flagship electronic shifting is the future and the Axiom has fully custom internal routing for the Di2’s cabling. It’s brilliantly executed, entering the frame on the down-tube and exiting at both the BB and chainstay.

Build quality

Di2

Tube welds are clean and uniform, and the braze-ons are perfect. The dropouts and head-tube have both also been machined to perfection, showing the high level of craftsmanship that’s gone into this beautiful frame.

Fork

The Seven’s carbon fork provides the perfect balance of vibration damping and sharp handling. It’s custom fnished to match the paintwork (Seven offers a range of 20 stock colours and a vast array of schemes).

Specifications

 

Name: Axiom SL Di2 (11)
Built by: Seven
Price: $10,899.00
Weight (kg): 8
Frame Material: Custom 3al/2.5v Ti, Di2 specific
Fork Model: Seven carbon
Rear Derailleur Model: Shimano Di2
Front Derailleur Model: Shimano Di2
Shifters Model: Shimano Di2
Rims Model: Mavic Cosmic Carbone SL
Saddle Model: Selle Italia Flite SL
Seatpost Model: FSA K Force carbon
Stem Model: FSA
Handlebar Model: FSA Alu Wing Pro

More info on the Axiom SL