It Wasn't About His Bike--Or Him

A guy in my neighborhood rides an old Raleigh three-speed--based on its graphics, I'd guess that it's from the 1960s--to the stores, the laundromat and, I imagine, anyplace else he has to be.  

I know nothing about the man:  He talks to no one.  I'd guess that he is a bit older than I am.  Perhaps he's retired, whether or not by choice. There's a good chance he's living alone, or with a roommate in a similar circumstance.  Is he widowed or divorced--or did he never marry?  Did his kids move away, or did he never have any?  Does he live in an apartment he moved into when the city still had rent control, or is he in other housing circumstances, for better or worse?

I see him--a gaunt, Ichabod Crane-like figure in aviator glasses--pedaling, at a fairly brisk clip, all over the neighborhood on that bike, with a dropped handlebar turned upside down. (The drops are closer to the saddle than the grip area of the original upright bars, which allows for a more upright riding position.)  Most of the other parts seem to be original, including the wheels (with a Sturmey Archer three-speed hub on the rear), but I don't think the tires have matched in the last thirty years or so.

Once, I was about to take a picture of that bike but the man appeared, obviously not pleased.  Though I'm something of a voyeur, I respected the man's wish for privacy or whatever.  So all you have is my description, however thin, of him and his bike.

An article I read reminded me of that man and his bike. The subject of the story was not as anonymous as the man in my neighborhood because, well, he couldn't be:  He was a high-ranking executive in a large regional bank.  All of his colleagues and subordinates knew that he pedaled to his office every day, in all conditions, including an ice storm that seemed to  expanded the Wollman Rink to include the rest of Central Park.  On another occasion, someone jokingly asked him whether he'd ridden his bike through that day's snowstorm.  In all sincerity, he replied, "Yes.  Do you want to borrow it?"

Robert G. Wilmers, the CEO of M&T Bank, got a flat on his way to work. By the time he was ready to ride home, someone had fixed it for him. He did, however, suffer a fate of too many New York cyclists:  One night, he came out of his office building to find the bike's frame, sans parts, chained up where he'd left it that morning.

Robert G. Wilmers' bike on display in Seneca One Tower, Buffalo, New York. 

Given that last anecdote, it's understandable that his old black Ross was what some would describe as a "Frankenbike."  The tires almost never matched and the parts where not always what one might expect to find on such a bike.  He seemed not to care, though:  For him, his bike, equipped with a front basket, was transportation, nothing more, nothing less, never mind that it seemed to clash, if you will, with the well-tailored suits he wore.

He continued to ride almost to the end of his life at age 83, five years ago.  Now his bike is on display in the lobby of Seneca One, the Buffalo, New York tower where M & T has a significant presence.  The bank was founded and is still headquartered in "The Queen City" and, although Wilmers lived in worked in New York City, people who knew him say he would have approved of not only the bike's new location, but the occasion for its installation:  About 175 volunteers from M&T and other Seneca tenants have assembled 50 youth bikes that will be given to children to help them get to school and simply enjoy riding.  

In other words, they're helping the kids ride the way Wilmers did.  For him, for them and for the man in my neighborhood, it's not about the bike--or themselves.

Another Mixte In The Mix

Today's post won't be about Max, or any other cat.

It'll be about a bike.  Specifically, it'll be news about one of my own bikes--as if I haven't given you enough lately.

This item, though, has nothing to do with any of the bikes on the side-bar of this blog.  It has to do with my commuter "beast" bike that almost never enters my apartment.

For three years, that bike was a '70's Schwinn LeTour.  It was one of those rare bikes made in a woman's version big enough to fit (more or less, anyway) someone my height.  

(Funny that when I lived a man, I was of average height.  Now, as a woman, I am taller than about 90 percent of my sisters!)

Well, that bike was stolen.  That is one of the reasons, of course, to have a "beater" bike:  Losing it doesn't hurt as much as having a nicer bike disappear.  You buy such bikes cheaply and spend as little as necessary to make it do whatever you need it to do.  And, if you lose that bike, you repeat the process.

Anyway, I went to a few sidewalk and yard sales and checked Craigslist, where I found this:

From the information I've gleaned, Fuji made this Allegro during its 1986 model year.  The frame is constructed from "Valite" tubing.  How or whether it differs from the carbon steel Fuji and other manufacturers used on their cheaper models, I don't know--or care.  I must say, though, that the bike does feel livelier than the LeTour.  That may be a function of its geometery, which seems a bit tighter.  If nothing else, the wheelbase is shorter.

And, interestingly, this bike has SunTour dropouts with the "ear" for mounting a derailleur.  They actually look like the SunTour dropouts on my Trek 412, except for an additional set of eyelets:  a handy feature, as I've mounted a rack and fenders on the bike.

Originally, the bike had 12 speeds shifted with steel SunTour derailleurs and stem shifters.  As you can see, I took those off and turned the bike into a single speed.  The derailleurs were still operable, but the chain, freewheel and cables were rusted.  So were the springs and all of the other brake hardware.   In any event, I gave the derailleurs, brakes and some other stuff--including the flat-ish bars and brake levers that came with the bike--to Recycle a Bicycle.  And I replaced the brakes with a pair of Raleigh-branded Dia Compe centerpulls I had lying around.

If you read this blog regularly, you won't be surprised to see that I installed Velo Orange Porteur handlebars and bar-end brake levers.  I don't like the hand position on most flat bars:  The grip area of the Porteurs allows me to keep my hands in a position something like that of the ramp and brake lever hood area on the handlebars of my road bikes.  The Porteurs also allow me to use a stem with a slightly longer extension, which improves handling.

So far, this bike is working well as my daily commuter.  And, yes, it's a twin-tube mixte, so I feel at least like I'm riding with some style.  And isn't that what really counts? ;-)

A Bike Show, Then And Now

Today I did something I haven't done in nearly three decades:  I attended a bike show.  Specifically, I went to the New Amsterdam bike show in SoHo.


Naturally, I found myself making comparisons to the last show I attended, seemingly a lifetime ago.  That one was held, as the New York Bike Shows were for two decades, in one of the most unloved major buildings in the history of this city:  the New York Coliseum at Columbus Circle.   It was one of those boxy "International" style buildings constructed during the 1950's as part of one of the most cynical and duplicitous pieces of urban planning in the history of American cities, courtesy of Robert Moses.   


On the other hand, this year's New Amsterdam Bike Show was held in Skylight Soho, a renovated loft building that is part of a neighborhood that, around the same time the Coliseum was built, was nearly bulldozed for another one of Moses' schemes:  a cross-Manhattan expressway that would have connected the Holland Tunnel with the Manhattan, Brooklyn and Williamsburg Bridges.  It was one of his few ideas that, fortunately, never came into fruition.


All right, so you're not reading this blog for history lessons and half-baked ideas about architecture.  So I'll talk about some of the differences between the two shows, and how I was a different person at the time of each of them.


At the old bike show, the emphasis was on racing and touring bikes.  Mountain bikes were new; I think there was an exhibit or two of them.  But I don't recall any displays of utility or transportation bikes, which seemed to comprise the majority of bikes I saw at today's show.

Also, most of the companies that displayed at the old show were the "old school" names of the industry.  While a few American framebuilders and manufacturers exhibited, the majority of those who set up at the show were from Europe or Japan.  

On the other hand, most of the companies that showed their wares today were from North America:  mainly from the East and West coasts of the United States.  There were quite a few frame builders, a few manufacturers of bikes and even more smaller operations that made everything from purselike bags that attach to handlebars and racks to reflective clothing that looks just like stuff someone might wear to an art opening.  I'll talk more about some of those products in a future post.  While I liked some ideas and products better than others, I was glad to see all of those (mostly) young artisans, manufacturers and entrepreneurs: The stuff they're making might entice someone to ride his or her bike instead of a car to work or shop, or might entice someone else to ride a bike, period.  In contrast, most of the stuff at the old show had been made for decades and, through all of that time, was liked and disliked by the same people for the same reasons, and would entice no one into cycling for sport or recreation.


I mentioned that most of the people with interesting new ideas and products are young or youngish.  This is another departure from the old bike show, in which many of the companies were represented by the patriarchs of the families who started and owned them.  And, yes, all of them were male.




In fact, the only females I saw at the show back in the day were the wives, girlfriends and daughters of the men who exhibited or attended.  I take that back:  One bike company had a group of young women in lycra (which was new in those days) and high heels pedaling their bikes on a trainer.  


In other words, the women were props and accessories.  I was neither.  Now there were female artisans, entrepreneurs and sales representatives.  And I got to speak with one author.  I hope to be an author.  I can hope for that.  

Another difference between then and now is one that has to do with circumstances of my own life.  When I attended all of those years ago, I went with some guys with whom I worked in the bike shop, the owner, his wife and some of his friends.  I had known them for several years, but now I haven't been in touch with any of them for at least two decades.   Today I went to the New Amsterdam show with someone I had not met until the other day.  However, I have corresponded with this person for nearly three years.  I'll tell you more about that in a future post.  


At the old show, I didn't meet anyone I already knew. At today's show, I saw Charlie from Bicycle Habitat (who had an exhibit) as well as owners and employees of other bikes shops whom I knew at least in passing.  Plus, I met someone I hadn't seen in about a dozen or so years.  She has been a sales rep for one of the few big bike manufacturers I saw at today's show.  The last shop in which I worked sold those bikes, so she was in the shop pretty frequently. 


What did I say to her?  "My, you've changed!"  All right, that was a joke.  In reality, I passed by her table a couple of times before we caught each others' glances.  In a split-second, I did an FBI-style age-progression image in my mind and realized I was looking at an older version of the rep I knew all of those years ago.  Then she took a longer look at me.  "Should I know you from some place?"


The real question wasn't whether or not she should have. The real question was the way she knew me--and I knew her.  


Finally, at the old show, I think one or two cyclists' organizations may have set up tables.  But they didn't have nearly as active a role as the organization at today's expo.  One--which I never would have imagined back in the day--is a group of women who take social and training rides.  I signed up.  Back in the day, I never would have done that.

A Preliminary Ride Report: Vera's Verities

Vera, the 1994 Miss Mercian I bought in July, has become my commuter.  So, I have ridden her for a pretty fair amount of time which, I believe, gives me a basis for making some preliminary observations and comparisons.

As I expected, Vera offers a very nimble but comfortable ride.  Still, I was surprised (pleasantly) to find that she cuts as much as twenty minutes off my previous time for the ten-mile (each way) commute I do three times a week.  That, when carrying a full load of books and papers, a strong lock and sometimes a change of shoes.

What I really wasn't expecting, though, is that the rear triangle is not as stiff, or as stable, as that of Helene, my other Miss Mercian.  Vera's twin lateral top tubes extend all the way back to the rear stays, near the points where they're brazed to the drop-outs. In theory, this is supposed to make for a stiffer rear end than that of a more traditional women's or mixte bike like Helene, on which there's a traditional top tube that ends at the seat tube.

It occcured to me even though Helene and Vera are about the same size and are similar kinds of bikes, their geometries might vary, however slightly.  Measurements I took the other day confirmed this hypothesis:  Vera's chainstay is seven millimeters longer (434 vs. 427) and its overall wheelbase spans 19 more millimeters (1031 vs. 1012).  For comparison, the chainstay and wheelbase measurements are 987 and 415 on Arielle, my Mercian Audax road bike, and 980 and 412 on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear bike.

Now, of course, some of the componentry is different on each bike.  Though I'm running 700x32 tires on both Helene and Vera, the tires on the latter bike are about 170 grams heavier.  Plus, the components are a bit heavier on Vera, which makes her a somewhat heavier bike overall.  But those factors should not account for the difference in ride that I noticed, while the differences in geometry should.

What I've noted about Vera should not be taken as a complaint.  She is an extremely pleasant bike to ride; even though my commutes are faster, I feel less beat up after pedaling  over streets that, in some places, resemble the Ho Chi Minh trail.  For that reason, I could see taking her on longer rides; however, on multi-day rides, I would probably want a dropped road-style bar like the Nitto Noodle.  And, just for fun, I might try riding Vera with the lighter tires I use on my other bikes to see just how fast she can be.  I don't envision her as my "speed" bike, but I am curious to see what she can do.

On the subject of handlebars: Vera now has a pair of flipped-over North Road-style bars.   I believe that it, rather than the design of the frame itself, is the reason why--perhaps paradoxically, given its longer wheelbase and (seemingly) longer fork rake--the front seemed twitchier at first.  I flipped the bars back to the position for which they were designed, and the steering more stable, though still more responsive than that of other bikes I've ridden with upright bars.  That is to say, it felt a bit more like Helene.

So far, I am very happy that I gave in to my impulse to buy Vera.  She is both the fastest and most elegant commuter I've had:  Nearly any time I ride her, she gets compliments.

I will probably write more about her ride qualities, and those of my other Mercians, in later posts.

New York: Where Utility Bikes Are Made, Not Born

In Amsterdam and Copenhagen, one is struck by the degree to which bicycles conduct the flow of daily life.  People ride them to go to work, to go shopping, to run errands, visit friends and to do go to all of those meetings, appointments and other events that are part of daily life.  And one thing that's gratifying is that in those cities, many people who ride to work and such could afford to drive a car.  To be sure, ten-dollar-a-gallon gasoline is a strong incentive to forsake automobiles for short trips.  But I think that in those cities, people also see the practicality of cycling:  In those settings, it's often quicker and easier to ride a bike than it is to drive or even to take mass transit.  

It's been a while since I've been to the Dutch or Danish capital, but from what I hear, cycling is still as prevalent a mode of transportation as it was years ago.

What's also striking is the fact that in those cities, no matter what a person's occupation or income, he or she is likely to be riding a bike very similar to whatever someone else might be pedaling to a job, a store or a friend's house. Some might have more elegant paint jobs or a few more creature-comfort accessories, but the basic bike doesn't vary so much.  By now, most Americans have seen at least an image of the prototypical Dutch (or Dutch-style) city bike.  On it, weight is seemingly no object:  Carbon steel bikes with internally-geared hubs are fitted with racks, fenders and other accessories made of the same material.  And, of course, they have full chain cases and the women's bikes often have dress guards.  Convenience for someone who thinks of him or her self, not as a cyclist, but as a waiter, bookkeeper, technician, accountant, artist, writer or any other kind of worker on his or her way to a job on his or her bicycle.  Or, he or she is a shopper, or a grandparent en route to see the grandkids, or can have any number of other identites--and he or she is using a bike as a vehicle (in the original sense of the word) to fulfill tasks, wants, needs, or pleasures.

What I have described is true, if to a lesser degree, in other European cities. And they have their own variations on the "city bike," which have evolved out of decades or even a century or more of cycling as a part of daily life.  A French city bike, as an example, is likely to be a bit lighter than a Dutch bike, and is as likely as not to have derailleur gears rather than an internally-geared hub.  This has to do with the fact that most French cities are at least a bit hillier than Amsterdam or Copenhagen. (Then again, most cities are.)  Plus, even though Paris, Lyon, Toulouse and Bordeaux are relatively compact, given their populations, they are still a bit more spread out than Amsterdam or Copenhagen.  

Even so, they are not as hilly as many cities in the Americas.  (Lyon is an exception; even Toulouse, which is in the foothills of the Pyrenees, is relatively flat.)  And their ideas about how to ride to work are different from those Americans who ride their bikes to their jobs.

Plus...Here's something I've experienced first-hand:  Their streets are, for the most part, better-maintained than those in American cities, or at least the ones in New York.  There, bikes "age" and get "weathered;" here, a bike that's ridden  and parked on the streets every day gets beat up.  And, finally, it seems that there's more bike theft here than in European cities.

So, while shops here have begun to carry bikes that are meant to be utilitarian commuters (like the Pashleys and Abicis), I don't see that they are becoming "consensus" commuters.  I've seen a couple of those bikes hee, and a few more that strive to emulate (or cynically copy the most obvious features of ) them, like the Breezers and the city commuters marketed by Specialized, Giant and Trek.  But I think that if they are going to become standard commuters' fare in this city, that day will be some time in coming.

New York is still a city in which bikes become, rather than are made to be, commuters or utility vehicles.  I realized this when I passed by the Bel Aire Diner, which is three blocks from my apartment.  I often eat there, and I pass it (or at least see it) nearly every day.  There is always a gaggle of bicycles outside

Yes, those really are delivery bikes:  The diner does a lot of deliveries and employs more delivery men (Yes, they're all male.) than the average restaurant. 

They're like a lot of bikes that are ridden to jobs, schools, appointments and stores:  Far from their original owners and purposes.  About ten or fifteen years ago, most bikes parked on streets were bike-boom-era ten-speeds (Some of which had been turned, whether or not by design, into single-speeds.); some were English three-speeds or imitations thereof and some others were lower-end, first-generation (early-to-mid '80's) mountain bikes.

These days, those bikes, like the ones parked by the diner, are likely to be mountain bikes from the early-to-mid '90's or thereabouts.  There are a few road machines, and still a few "classic" bikes from the '70's. Even many of the so-called "hipster fixies" started their lives as multigeared touring or racing bikes from that era.  

But, even with all of the students who ride to Pratt or SVA on "hipster fixies," or all the mountain-bikes-turned-delivery-hacks, there is still no signature commuter or utility bike for this city as there is for its European counterparts.  And, somehow, I don't think there will be, at least not for some time.   

Night Commute

Today I rode to, and tonight I rode from, work--in a sundress. When I got to work, I slipped on a cardigan (which is half of a twinset) in a shade of blue like the one in the bands on the dress.


One of the things I'm enjoying about teaching an evening class is the commute home.  I'm only doing it twice a week, but it's enough to remind me of an aspect of cycling I've always loved.

Riding at night, even if only for a commute, has its own rhythms and therefore requires its own mindset.  What I've always loved, of course, is the calmness that fills the air, and me, from the time the sun sets.  I especially like it after teaching a class, which requires an energy entirely the opposite of what I feel on a ride under moonlight. Plus, as it happens, the route I took tonight (I have four different routes to and from work.) takes me through some residential areas that are possibly the most resolutely middle-class in Queens or New York City:  They are quieter than, say, the stretch of Broadway around the corner from my apartment. 


Ironically, for all that I'm praising night riding, I almost never end up riding at night by design.  It's usually been the result of working later in the day, as I am now, or of getting lost or otherwise seeing plans go awry.  One of the few times I deliberately went on a late-night ride was when I met up with a Critical Mass rally in Columbus Circle about a dozen or so years ago.   I didn't do another CM ride for a number of reasons.  For one, I'm not crazy about riding in such large groups.  And, for another, I really would prefer not to be arrested or go to jail, even if only for a few minutes.   Finally, I'm not quite certain about what organizers are trying to accomplish.


On the other hand, being out at night by choice can be enchanting, if you're in the right areas.  That happened to me during my tours in France and other places.  In particular, I think of the time I rode in circles (squares?) around Orleans and found myself pedaling ,or seeming to pedal, with the rhythms of moonlight reflected on a Loire that seemed to be just barely rippled by the breeze and in the almost silvery shadows of leaves on the vines and pear trees.


Now, I didn't see vineyards or pear trees, much less chateaux, on my ride home.  But I still had the air that was beginning to cool down after another day of 90-plus degree weather.

"New" Bike

So far, you may have noticed two things:  my favorite colors (purple, green, pink and blue) and my favorite bike maker (Merican).

Well, the bike I bought the other night is neither of those things.  That's probably a good thing--or, at least, it's a good thing that it's not a Mercian.  That's because I plan to park it on the streets.

It's a Schwinn LeTour III from 1978 or thereabouts.  I bought the bike because the frame is bigger than most step-through frames made today.  I'm amazed that most stop at about 20 inches (50 cm):  If anything, there are more women of my size (horizontally as well as vertically) than there were thirty years ago.

Also, I decided to buy it because it's a solid bike.  It's not light or fancy, but it will, I think, do the job I want it to do.  

Schwinn's LeTour series bikes were made in Japan by Panasonic.  Most of you associate Panasonic with electrical appliances and electronic goods.  But they made some very fine bikes, including the ones they made for PDM, one of the most prominent cycling teams of the 1980's.

This photo shows the roughest part of the paint job and an interesting feature this bike shared with some other women's and mixte frames of that era.  

Notice how the rear center-pull brake is mounted, and the long straddle cable.  This eliminates the need for routing the cable up the seat tube and back down again into a stop.  It's not only an aesthetic consideration:  The up-and-down cable configuration is one of the reasons why the rear brakes on so many women's and mixte frames didn't work very well.  I guess the bike builders figured that a good rear brake wasn't necessary, for they probably believed there weren't very many fast women (on bikes, anyway!).

The Schwinn Aprroved-branded brake is a standard Dia Compe centerpull, which is a Japanese-made clone of the Swiss Weinmann centerpull, which was found on Motobecanes, Raleighs and countless other European bikes of that time.

Even though I'm not going to paint the bike, I plan to modify it considerably.  I'm getting a pair of Milan bars and city brake levers, as well as a pair of fenders, from Velo Orange. (I highly recommend VO:  They have excellent products at fair prices, and Chris is a very nice guy.) I placed the order today:  Actually, I returned a seatpost I bought from them but didn't use.  (It's a good seatpost; it just has more setback than I needed.)  And, I also plan to turn the bike into a single-speed.  But it won't be a "fixie"; rather, it will have a single freewheel.  I have used them on commuter and "beater" bikes before, and I like them because they're simple and, most of the time, I don't need anything more for quick local rides.  

I also plan to add a rear rack and front basket.