Wednesday, February 11, 2009

In the Round

Our team sponsor loves us more than your team sponsor loves you and I have proof. For my lunch time workout, I headed to the ultra-secret team warehouse to do a little tire stretching so this weekend, I can put new tires on the new wheels that came in at the end of last week.


I had the opportunity to race these wheels last year and I have to say I love what Shimano has done. They didn't stretch the bounds of ultra light, they made wheels that just plain work. The hubs are very well designed and actually adjustable as opposed to "sealed" bearings that may or may not have lots of play in them.


I was sort of hoping for the new graphics, the ones that appeared somewhere once, but have never been seen again. They looked fast, very fast. By the weekend, I should be ready to put the final coats of glue on the rims and tires and smush it all together. That is, all the wheels but Brian's wheels, he threatened bodily harm if I touched his wheels. Some people won't ride tubulars glued by others and I can't blame them. In Brian's case, it isn't a matter of trust, it is a matter of doing it himself and practicing the craft. Having seen him work, I will vouch for his skills, that's why he's listed as one of the team mechanics on the team site.

Straying into the world of coffee geekdom, I decided since I have the tools at work to do so, I might as well make one of my old portafilters bottomless (crotchless, naked, call it what you will). I wandered into the hollow metal shop and told Sonny what I was looking to do. He looked at the portafilter and said, "Where does the weed go?" I think he meant coffee . . . maybe not.


Using the drill press and a 2 1/8" hole saw, we were able to make the cut through the brass fairly easily. The benefit of the naked portafilter is that you can watch the shot from start to finish to see how the extraction is coming along. It will let you know pretty quickly if you have issues with your puck, from the grind to the tamp, to other. Pictures to follow . . .

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