A Way I've Never Commuted

In my four decades or so of cycling to and from work, school or any other place I had to be on a regular basis, I carried stuff in a variety of ways. 

Most recently, I've used my Koki pannier and Carradice Nelson Longflap saddlebags for the purpose.  At other times, I've stuffed the panniers I used on my previous bike tour with books, manuscripts, student papers, changes of clothing and shoes, lunch or other food and a few things I won't mention.  At other times, I've used backpacks, messenger bags (I was a NYC messenger for a year.), front baskets, milk crates zip-tied (or cinched with old toe straps) on a rear rack and plastic shopping bags tied to my handlebars orframe (or dangled from my fingers),  I've carried everything from baguettes to an Andy Warhol work under my left arm as I steered with my right, and even balanced things on my handlebars or head. I've even carried pizzas in a variety of ways, including balancing i in my raised left hand (a la the Statue of Liberty) while steering with my right, or clamping the corners of the boxes between my thumb and forefinger while grasping my handlebars with the other three fingers of each hand.

But for all of the ingenious (if I do say so myself) and stupid tricks I've employed as a bicycle commuter and messenger, I have nothing on this person:

From Bike Roswell

What Michael Carries In His Back-Pak

In one of my earliest posts, I recalled the messenger bag I carried before messenger bags became fashion accessories for hipsters.  I used it as I sluiced through the streets of Manhattan (and, occasionally, beyond) on my bike to deliver things legal and otherwise.  In that bag, I carried everything from prints (from a Soho gallery to Judy Collins. Yes, that Judy Collins!) to papers (for contracts to, and possibly on) as well as, believe it or not, pizza.  It also bore the weight of secrets I was trying to keep and issues I was avoiding by working a job where I never had contact with anyone for more than a couple of minutes at a time.

Some messengers still use bags like the one I had, except that they're made from different materials than the canvas that formed my workday luggage.  Since then, I've seen bicycle delivery folks use everything from "pizza racks" on the front, to panniers on the rear, of their bikes.  Some also use baskets of one kind and another.

Lately, I've seen another conveyance that looks the kind of insulated rectangular bags that are sometimes attached to "pizza racks,"  with backpack straps attached.  I imagine that they are handy for making deliveries, but I don't imagine that I'd want to use one to  carry loads for any significant amount of time:  The boxy shape doesn't look like it would be very comfortable on my back.

They are used, however, for a good reason:  It allows bicycle (and, increasingly, e-bike and motorized-bike) riders to make more deliveries in one trip than other kinds of bags or baskets would.  That would be especially important, I think, if those who receive the deliveries haven't had much, or anything, to eat in a couple of days--or if you wouldn't find them by knocking on a door or ringing a bell.

Michael Pak uses such a backbox. (Is that a good portmanteau of "backpack" and "box"?) So do some of his fellow delivery people in Los Angeles' Koreatown.  But they're not delivering kimchi to young software developers or hipsters.  Rather, the grateful recipients of their deliveries live on the neighborhood's streets.

One Monday in August, Pak put out an Instagram post asking for volunteers to help him deliver lunch kits on Friday.  "I picked up groceries on Thursday and packed them in my studio apartment while watching a movie," he recalls.  "Within an hour, I'd packed 80 lunches and called it a night."  He went to bed that night with no idea of who, if anyone, would show up the next day.

To his surprise, about 15 people came out to help him distribute the meals.  He realized, though, that his meal distribution could not be a one-time effort. "I realized that for this to work and grow, I had to be consistent and not be afraid to ask for help," he says.

Now, with the help of his friend Jacob Halpern and local volunteers, "Bicycle Meals" is making deliveries in Koreatown, to those without homes, on Mondays and Fridays.  The meals they deliver include a sandwich, fruit, water, snacks, hand sanitizer and a mask.  "The long term goal is to feed our neighbors every day," Pak declares.

To make his deliveries, he rides a BMX bike "gifted from a friend."  The "backbox," is, however, key.  "It can store up to 15 lunch kits at once," he explains.  "It's one of those Postmates delivery bags I found on Amazon."  

I carried a lot in my old messenger bag.  But I don't think I delivered anything as important as what Michael Pak delivers in his Backbox.

(Hmm.. Should we call it a Michaelpak?)

Photos by Wray Sinclair.

Balancing Acts

Meteorologists are saying that this is already the seventh-wettest year on record here in New York.  And we have almost three months left in the year.  So, while we may not have the wettest year ever, it seems that this year will almost certainly be among the wettest five, or even four.


Don't you just love it when TV and meteorologists talk about "going for a record," as if there's anything we can do about it? I mean, it's not like we're sprinters and this is the Olympics or the Tour de France. Or--given that this is October--it's not like we're Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera in the baseball playoffs.


It does seem, though, that anything done outdoors--whether riding a bike, playing a baseball game or holding a street fair--involves striking a balance with the risk of rain.  How much of a chance do you want to take?  How much can or will you do before the rain falls, and under what conditions do you want to continue?  


Anyway, the other day Lakythia, Mildred and I went on one of those "playing chicken with the rain" rides where we did some miles and stopped in a couple of bike shops. Mildred didn't like the bike she'd just bought, so she wanted to exchange it.  However, she also wanted to see another had to offer before going to the shop where she bought the bike.


She'd bought some absolutely hideous-looking Trek road model.  I don't know how it rode, but I could understand her wanting to exchange it because of its sheer garishness (Is that an oxymoron?) alone.  In its place, she got a much prettier (white with emerald green panels and black trim) Specialized Dolce, which I think also fit her better.  


Anyway, our ride ended when she exchanged the bike at Bicycle Habitat in Soho, where I was fitted for, and purchased, Arielle, Helene and Tosca.  I was going to ride with them to Brooklyn, then back to my place, but the Brooklyn Bridge was closed in the wake of the protests.  


And it was starting to rain.  I confessed, "I might just wimp out and take the train home."  


"I simply can't imagine you doing that!," said Lakythia.


So, even though the rain was falling harder by the minute, I rode.  The funny thing was that I somehow felt safer than I would have had the weather remained dry.  Perhaps it had to do with the fact that fewer people were out than one might normally expect when it's getting dark on a Saturday.


At least I didn't suffer what this rider experienced:  

No, I didn't ride with an umbrella the other night. However, I have done that trick before, and I've seen other cyclists--particularly in England and France--using one hand to navigate and the other to (perhaps futilely) keep dry.


Now, of course, everyone who's ever made deliveries on a bicycle has ridden one-handed while using his other hand to carry whatever he was delivering.  Plus, I'm sure many of us have stopped, bought (or picked up) something and carried it home in one hand.  


Once, I carried home a chair I picked up from a curbside.  Another time, I lugged a torchiere-style floor lamp.  I can recall a couple of times when I brought back pizzas that I balanced on one hand (once when I was drunk) as I piloted the bike with the other.  


But, perhaps my strangest (and noblest) bit of one-handed riding came when I picked up a little dog that, apparently, got lost or was abandoned and had never been outside her home before. She looked like one of those dogs that Posh Spice might carry as an accessory.  No one claimed her, and she had a collar but no tag.


I was riding home from a late class and I pedaled down one of the neighborhood's main commercial streets in the hope of finding a vet's office or animal shelter.  No such luck.  Even I'd found one, it might have been closed at that hour.  So, after ambling down that street, and another commercial area, I brought the dog--I don't know what breed she was, exactly--to the local police precinct.  I hoped that, from there, she made it home, or to a home.  At least, I figured, she was off the streets, where she could easily have been run over.  I have to admit, though, that I enjoyed bringing that dog in just to see the expressions on the police officers' faces:  There's nothing like watching macho guys get mushy.

What have you carried during a one-handed bike ride?

Smart Dumbbells And Other Tools

Recently, I saw this tool in a bike shop:



 The mechanic referred to it as a "smart dumbbell wrench".  

My first reaction is, of course, that a "smart dumbbell" is an oxymoron.  Then I remembered a tool I carried on bike rides--and sometimes even when I was off the bike--not so long ago.

 

This is the not-smart dumbbell wrench.  Actually, given the time it was invented, it was a smart tool, as recessed allen-bolt fittings were still uncommon.  As recently as the 1980's, Campagnolo's Gran Sport derailleur attached to the dropout with a hex-head bolt.

The tool was also called a "dog bone" wrench.  A smart--or, at least, a modern-- dog bone wrench might be this:

 

I'm sure you've seen it before.  I've mentioned it on this blog: the Park Tool MT-1.  It now serves the purpose my old dumbbell wrench did back in the day:  I even have one on my keyring.  

It really is a smart tool in all sorts of ways, not the least of which are its shape and style, which makes it sleeker and much easier to carry than the old dog bone or dumbbell wrench.

Speaking of old-style wrenches:  How many of you still have one of these?

 

 If you bought a Raleigh three-speed in the 1970s or earlier, you more than likely got one of these with it.  The smaller "tombstone"-shaped opening was, if I'm not mistaken, intended for installing or removing pedals, though you can't get as much leverage as I think you need, especially if you're removing a pedal that's been in the crank for a while.

Back in the day, we didn't use the term "multi-tool".  Nobody believed that  a spanner (or wrench to you Yanks) could be made to handle everything short of a full bike assembly, contrary to what some multi-tool designers of today seem to think.  We usually carried a small adjustable wrench or a small spanner with 8 and 10 millimeter heads, 6 and 7mm allen keys and a few other things, depending on how long we intended to ride and how far we planned to be from our favorite bike shops.

That way of thinking, I believe, gave rise to mini toolkits, like this one:

 

If you bought a Peugeot before the late 1970s, you got one of these Mafac tool kits with it.  They were pretty smart, actually, given the bikes and components of the time.  About ten years ago, you could get one for practically nothing.  Today, with all the collectors and others who are doing "period" restorations, and those who are building nouveau retro, if you will, bikes, those kits are fetching decent money.  Just recently, someone sold eight new-old-stock kits with the brown pouch (instead of the black one shown) for $39.00 each.

Are they smarter than the dumbbell wrench?  That depends...

Note:  Some Gitane bikes came with the Mafac kit in a bag shaped like the Mafac but with softer material and printed with Gitane's logo:

Tubes--And No Tubulars

 Tubeless tires have been one of the most-ballyhooed developments in cycling during the past few years.  I have not used any myself, but I can see the appeal for certain kinds of riding, particularly off-road:  Tires ridden at low pressures are more prone to "pinch" flats than to punctures.  

The debate over whether tubeless tires will displace their more traditional counterparts reminds me of the argument I heard when I first became a dedicated cyclist:  tubulars vs. clinchers.

My first "serious" bike, a Peugeot PX-10, came with tubular tires.  Their casings wrapped around the tube and were sewn together (hence the nickname, "sew-ups).  They were then attached with a cement with the consistency of applesauce (until it dried) to a rim with a crescent-shaped surface.

The fully-enclosed tube made for a more buoyant (not for nothing do the French call these tires "pneus boyeaux") and lively ride.  They also were lighter than any clinchers available at the time, which accentuated their performance advantage over "clinchers," the tires 99 percent of us ride.

Clincher (top) and tubular tire.

Tubed (left) and tubeless clincher tires

Getting a flat on any tire is not fun, but fixing one on a tubular is an ordeal.  We usually carried a spare with us and, if we flatted, we changed the tire, letting the cement dry to about the consistency of bubble gum.  Then we'd cross our fingers for the ride home. Professional racing teams are trailed by cars, which usually carried spare wheels with tires glued solidly onto them.

That is why, for my first tour-- which I did on the PX-10--I had a set of clincher wheels built.  In those days, some riders toured (with loaded panniers!) on tubulars, but I was not going to do any such thing, especially when I ventured into the countryside of a foreign land.  Those wheels--my first custom-built set--and tires, together, weighed about two kilograms (a pound and a quarter) more than the tubulars, even though they were among the lightest of their kind available.  The tires were less prone to flats and much easier to fix.

Over time, companies like Michelin, Continental, Panaracer and IRC developed lighter clincher tires with improved durability, and Mavic created  rims--the "E" series--that adapted the weight-to-strength ratio of tubular rims to clinchers and added a "hook" bead that made it possible to use high-pressure folding clincher tires.  (Any rim made today with even a pretense of quality, in whatever diameter or width, is based on the “E” rims’ design.) Thus, the gap in speed and road feel between tubulars and clinchers narrowed to the point to the point that whatever benefits tubulars offered no longer offset their fragility, at least for most riders.

After my brief foray into racing, I kept one set of tubular wheels for fast rides.  But, as I developed other ineterests (and relationships), I decided that I'd rather spend my time riding than fixing flats.  Also, tire-making companies were offering fewer options in tubulars, or stopped offering them altogether.  So, about twenty years ago, I rode tubulars for the last time.  I'd own my last set of such wheels and tires, briefly, when I bought "Zebbie," my 1984 Mercian King of Mercia, just over a year ago.  Hal Ruzal built me a nice set of clinchers (with classic Campagnolo hubs and Mavic Open Pro rims) and I sold the tubulars that came with "Zebbie" about a month after she came into my life.

I mention all of this to provide context for a story I came across yesterday.  It seems that the tubular vs. clincher, and not the tubeless vs. tubed, question has once again reared its head.

For the 2021 racing season (assuming, of course, there is one), both of Specialized Bike's  World Tour men's teams--Bora Hansgrohe and Deceuninck-Quick Step--have committed to abandoning tubulars for all races except the early-season classics.  Both teams plan, eventually, to get away from sew-ups altogether.

Roval Rapide CLX wheel

What might surprise some people, though, is that they are not casting their lot with tubeless tires.  While both teams used tubeless, as well as tubular, wheels and wheelsets during the shortened 2020 season, their decision to go with clinchers might have been inspired by Julian Alaphilippe's Tour de France stage win on them.  Also, Roval, the wheel-maker of choice for many in the peloton, is making two of its lightest road wheelsets for use only with tubed clincher tires. "When it's possible to create tubeless wheel/tyre systems that outperform tube-type clincher systems, that's what we'll recommend to riders," read a statement from the company that, for the past couple of years, looked ready to go all-in on tubeless clincher tires.

So, for the time being, some of today's young racers on high-tech carbon-fiber bikes have returned to the choice many of us made two or three decades ago:  clincher tires.  With inner tubes.

Before They Made Bikes: Cannondale

There are a few bike brands that even non-cyclists can name.  Here in the US, Schwinn is one of them.  Others include Raleigh, Peugeot, Motobecane and Fuji.  

Cannondale might also be included in that list.  I think they gained notice with the general public because when their bicycles were first introduced in 1983, they looked very different from the others.  While Klein may have been the first to make aluminum frames from large-diameter tubing, Cannondale made them a mass-market (relatively speaking, anyway) item.  To this day, those frames are the first thing most people associate with the name "Cannondale".

What most people, especially those younger than--ahem--a certain age, don't realize is that Cannondale was in business for more than a decade before they built their first bicycle.  Furthermore, even though the first product they ever made was bicycle-related, their early reputation was established as much on non-bike equipment as on accessories for two-wheelers.

In the late 1960's, Joe Montgomery was a self-described "grunt" on Wall Street.  The experience, he later related, taught him how businesses work.  Always an avid outdoorsman, he saw a growing enthusiasm for hiking, camping and related activities--and foresaw the North American Bike Boom.  He knew he wanted to build bikes but didn't have the necessary capital.  So, when he started Cannondale (and named it, as nearly everyone knows by now, after a Connecticut train station) in 1971, he knew he had to develop and market a product that would distinguish his new enterprise as well as help him raise the money he'd need to build bikes.

Thus was the world's first bicycle-towed trailer--the Bugger--born.  One funny thing about it was that it predated, if unwittingly, the luggage that people roll through airport lobbies all over the world.  That's because the Bugger was, in essence, a big backpack on wheels.  Since it was mounted on an angle, it transferred all of the weight carried in it to its tires and didn't add to the weight of the bicycle.  I never owned one, but had opportunities to ride with one.  While it increased the turning radius, it didn't affect other aspects of the ride nearly as much as I expected.

The original Cannondale Bugger, 1972.

Sales took off and in spite (or, perhaps, because) of the connotations of its name, it sold well in the UK.  That allowed the new company to create other products for which they would be known.  They included panniers and handlebar bags with innovative designs and sturdy construction.  

Within a couple of years, Cannondale was also making backpacks, sleeping bags, parkas, and other items for camping, hiking, snowshoeing and other outdoor sports.  LL Bean sold them through their catalogue; one was as likely to find Cannondale products in ski shops as in bike shops. 

The "Trackwalker" is on the left.  Mine was black, with tan leather and red tabs.

During that time, I used several Cannondale products, in part because the shops in which I worked (as well as American Youth Hostels, where I also worked) carried them.  For at least a decade, my "Trackwalker" backpack was my go-to bag when I was off the bike--and sometimes on it.  With its black body, tan leather bottom and red "spider" zipper tabs, it had a very distinctive look.  Also, I wore one of their parkas through a number of seasons.  They, like their bike bags (I used one of their handlebar bags and seat bags on my first few bike tours) were well-constructed and practical.  

But my favorite Cannondale product of all time (Remember, I owned and rode two of their bicycles) was the glove they made--by hand, in Pennsylvania--during the 1980's.  I don't think I've come across another sport glove--or, for that matter, any glove--made from such high-quality materials and with such good workmanship.  It was like a Brooks saddle:  stiff at first, but once broken in, a perfect fit that would last for many years.  I wore mine until the crochet backings deteriorated--a long, long time after I first started wearing the gloves.

The best glove ever made--by far!

I wish I could find a pair of them--or something as good--now.  Back then, a pair of those gloves retailed for $25-30, which, it seems,  is what a "good" pair of gloves costs now. 

 I'm guessing that Cannondale couldn't continue to make them in Pennsylvania--or anywhere in the US--without raising the price significantly.  So production of those gloves was sent overseas.  Later, that of their bike apparel and accessories and, finally, their bikes followed.  Around the time Cannondale introduced their bicycles, they stopped making and selling backpacks, parkas and other non-bike-related gear.

(If you want to learn more about what Cannondale was doing before they started building bikes, check out this site.)

From Pedals To Motors And Back In Detroit

Today everyone thinks of Portland as the cycling capital of the United States.  That is, everyone except us New Yorkers because, well, we know that the Big Apple is the capital of everything.

Anyway, we may have the nation's oldest bike lane in continuous use (the one in Brooklyn that runs along Ocean Parkway from Prospect Park Southwest to the ocean) and Portland can lay claim to the world's first handknitted granola guard that is compatible with Shimano, SRAM and Campagnolo.  However, the American city with the richest cycling tradition may be the one people least expect.

Shinola is now crafting some beautiful and useful two-wheelers.  However, contrary to what some people believe, they are not the first bicycle manufacturer in Detroit.  They are at least 130 years too late to make such a claim (which, to be fair, they never did):  John Shire was listed as a bicycle maker--Detroit's first--in the city's 1878 business directory.  The previous year, he was listed as a carriage-maker; the following year, he would patent his improvements on the velocipede designed to make it more comfortable on the city's brick-paved streets.

From Hometown History Tours

 Shire's trajectory mirrored Detroit's industrial history:  Before it became the nation's (and the world's) motor mecca, "the D" was the North American center of carriage making, and would become one of the major hubs of the nascent bicycle industry.  In fact, some of the early automakers--including Henry Ford himself--started off by building or fixing bikes.

Henry Ford

In the 1890's and the early part of the 2Oth Century, the city on the banks of the Detroit River (the city's name is the French word for "strait")  was a port of call, if you will, for racers and other cyclists from all over the world.  It was estimated that 80 percent of the city's population rode the heavy but delicate two-wheeled vehicles, some of which snapped in half on the brick-paved streets and potholed lanes.  

There are several reasons why cycling of all kinds was so popular. One is that, in part because of its location, it attracted people from many different places--including cities and countries that had cycling traditions.  Another is that Detroit is one of the flattest major cities in America.  And, finally, even though it had become the fourth-largest city in the US by 1900, it was still pretty compact, much like downtown Manhattan or many European capitals.  So, most people didn't have to ride very far to get to work or school, or simply to get out.

What makes the history of cycling in Detroit so interesting,though, is how vigorous the city's two-wheeled scene remained even as the people (except for children) in the rest of the United Stats largely abandoned bikes in favor of the automobiles that were being produced, ironically, in Detroit.  Through most of the 20th Century--even during the "Dark Ages" of the 1950's--the Detroit News carried announcements of the Wolverine Wheelmen's rides.  Until World War II, the only American six-day race more popular than the one held in New York (at Madison Square Garden) was Detroit's. Even after it--and most other competitive cycling in the US--disappeared during World War II, criteriums and track races maintained active participation and loyal followings.  

Among those active in the Detroit cycling scene was Gene Porteusi, who opened the Cycle Sport shop on Michigan Avenue near Livernois.  At the time, it was one of the few stores anywhere in the US that carried the best racing bikes and components, most of which were imported from Europe.   His Cyclo-Pedia was also one of the first, if not the first, mail-order catalogue devoted to such goods.

But Detroit's greatest contributions to the history of American cycling may have come during the 1970's:  in another irony, during the auto industry's last "golden age" in that city.  In a previous post, I mentioned Nancy Burghart, who utterly dominated women's racing during the 1960's.  As great as she was, it took the exploits of two other racers, both from the Detroit area, to bring women's cycling (and women's sports generally) to prominence--and to establish American women as the best in that field.

In the mid- and late- 1970's, one of the most interesting rivalries developed between Sue Novara and Sheila Young.  Both were track racers and both, interestingly, came into the sport after distinguishing themselves as speed skaters. (Young won Olympic gold for the 500 meter race in the 1976 Innsbruck games.) And, as it happened, both called the Detroit area home.

Sue Novara in 1976

Cycling helped to make Detroit one of the world's great industrial centers and maintain the fabric of its life through many decades.  Perhaps people pedaling two wheels can help to bring about a renaissance of the city David Byrne counts as one of his favorites for a bike ride.


 

I'd Rather Be In The Slipstream

I have carried all sorts of things on my bicycles. Of course, I hauled panniers and handlebar bags full of clothes and other items on various trips, and I've carried books and manuscripts.  I've hoisted chairs, folded tables and, yes, even bicycles on my shoulder after mounting my bike.

On the other hand, I have never pulled a trailer or anything else behind me.  And nothing I've ported on my velocipedes can compare with what French bicycle racing legend Alfred Letourner towed behind him:

I guess that's one way to use a recreational vehicle if the price of gasoline becomes too prohibitive.  Plus, how can you beat a Frenchman pulling an Airstream for style?

It doesn't seem to have slowed him any:  He set several speed records and was one of the dominant cyclists of the six-day races.  

Much as I admire his feats, I'd rather be riding in the slipstream than pulling an Airstream. 

(My new friends Suzanne and Deborah sent me the photo from Vancouver, where they found it on a restaurant table.)

Just What This Girl Needs: Another Bag!

Back in the day, I carried a boxy gray canvas shoulder bag.  I bought it from the sort of store that seems not to exist, at least in Manhattan, anymore:  Its merchandise was too disparate even to qualify the place as a "variety store" or flea market.  In fact, just in sheer size, or lack thereof, the place could hardly even qualify as a store of any kind:  It was just a few feet by a few feet of space that contained bins and a counter. And there didn't seem to be more than one of any particular item.


The shop or store or whatever you want to call it was on or near Canal Street.  The bag, if I remember correctly, cost 75 cents.  On its flap a serial number and a cross of the kind found on a few countries' flags were stenciled.  It had no stiffeners, so, when empty, it could be folded small enough to fit into a small pocket of a backpack or pannier.


I carried that bag through my last two years of college.  Then I took it with me on my first trip to Europe, where it served me nicely for carrying my camera and notebook when I was off the bike and wandering the back alleys of various towns and cities on foot.  When I lived in Paris, I used it to carry any number of things. And, after I returned to the States, I found that the bag served as a kind of musette.


When I first started carrying that bag, it wasn't socially acceptable for men to carry shoulder bags.  Then, a few men  would start to carry what others would refer to as "fag bags" and, later, "man purses."  And my particular bag, by the time I finally wore it through, would come to be known as a "Swiss Army bags."  When I first bought the bag, there was no benefit--at least from a marketing standpoint (What did I just say?)--to be derived from asociating it, or any product, with the Helvetian military.  Only those who actually worked in the outdoors (like rangers) and dedicated hikers and campers knew what a "Swiss Army Knife" was, much less used it.  


Fast-forward three decades.  Only stylized near-imitations of that bag are to be found now--at least, in any place where I shop.   I have, however, found something very similar, only better--and vintage, to boot.

I bought it from Out Your Backdoor (OYB).   The package in which it was shipped included, among other things, OYB's newspaper/magazine that reads like the copy on the label of the old Dr. Bronner's soap bottle if it had been written by hippies-turned-survivalists. The subjects include any and all outdoor activities from gardening and tree-planting to off-road biking, and music, literature and art from independently-produced "folk" artists.  Some of those writers, composers and performers wouldn't give themselves such labels, or may not even be aware that they exist.  It's not the sort of stuff people learn how to do in MFA programs.


Those stories, songs, drawings and such are a bit like the bag I bought:  Some might believe them to be too unrefined.  But if you like things with, or that can develop, a patina, you might like some of them.


In other words, the bag I bought from them fits perfectly into their ethos and aesthetic:  They're canvas with leather bottoms and fasteners and look used.  But they're not "treated":  The bags are military surplus, or at least look and feel the part.  


To these bags are added tabs and straps that allow them to be used as bike bags.  They're billed as "seven way" bags.  I tried three of those ways, and might try a fourth.


As a saddlebag, it would be good for a day ride.  It fits in a similar way to the Velo Orange Croissant bags and the Berthoud bag on which it is modeled, and seems to have about half again as much carrying capacity as either of those bags, but about half  as much as (or less than) a Carradice Barley.  Supposedly the OYB bag can hold three wine bottles.  But you didn't hear that from me, a non-drinker.


OYB provides three tan leather straps similar to the kind that come with the Carradice bags.  They work best on bag loops like the ones found on the Brooks B17 saddle, but can also be attached to the saddle rails.  As the bag is longer than its VO/Berthoud counterpart, its bottom may rub on the tire of a bike with a small frame, or one on which less than the traditional "fistful of seatpost" is exposed.  Of course, if you use a rack or fenders, or have a larger frame or more than a fistful of seatpost, this will not be a problem.


Also, the bag will install in somewhat of a convex shape if you mount it on saddlebag loops.  That takes away some of its capacity, but there's still enough room for almost anything you'd need for a day ride.

Without a support, the bag is surprisingly steady.  That may have to do with the structure of the bag which, while it has no stiffeners, holds some semblance of a distinct shape due to its thick canvas and leather.


The bag also makes a nice small shoulder tote in which you can hold a wallet, keys, pen, cellphone and a few other items, such as a hairbrush and compact.  I'm guessing that it would also be good as a handlebar bag  or small pannier for a small, light load, though I haven't tried using it for those purposes.  


Best of all, this bag is less expensive than just about any other saddle, handlebar or shoulder bag.  OYB will install a leather "blinky" strap for an extra five dollars.  Whether or not you choose that option, you'll get a bag that's sturdier than most others available today and has the cool "retro" vibe that looks great on vintage bikes, as well as current steel bikes.


I decided to try the bag on Tosca for the heck of it.  But ultimately it's going to Marianela, as I think its brown leather and brownish olive drab canvas will look nice on her.

Because We're The "Low Hanging Fruit"

 Five years ago, on Halloween, Sayfullo Saipov drove a rental truck into the bike lane between the Hudson River and the West Side Highway in Manhattan

Even if he hadn't killed eight cyclists, I would've been as terrified:  I have ridden that lane a number of times, for transportation as well as recreation.  For the cyclists who died that day, some of whom were tourists, it was most likely their only ride on that lane.

The fear and grief I have felt since then has turned to rage: Yesterday, during Saipov's trial, US Attorney Jason Richman recalled that the accused was "smiling" when he asked to hang the Islamic State flag in the hospital room where he was confined after the incident.  "He was proud," Richman told the jurors. "He was happy about the terrorist attack...He had done what he came to do."

We don't have the death penalty in New York State.  Federal law still allows for it, however, and since terrorism is a Federal crime, Saipov could be condemned. If he's not, he will be sentenced to life in prison.

Even his defense lawyers concede that Saipov carried out his attack.  They argue, however, that he should be acquitted of a racketeering charge because they dispute the charge that he carried out the attack so that the Islamic State would allow him to join.  They claim that to do something "so awful" (their words), he must already have been an IS member and that he "had an expectation that he would die by police shooting."

In other words, according to the defense, he wasn't carrying out a gang initiation rite.  Instead, he was trying to be a martyr for the cause.  How that absolves him of racketeering is beyond me, which is probably one reason why I'm not a lawyer.

Whatever Saipov's motives, to me he's no different from the motorist who yelled "More of you should be killed" to cyclists who staged a "die-in" where a truck driver ran down Sarah Schick, a 37-year-old mother of two.  She was riding down a bike lane along Brooklyn's Ninth Street that is protected up from Prospect Park West to Third Avenue, but is separated from a major truck route by nothing more than a couple of lines of paint west of Third--at the exact point where a mixed residential and commercial zone turns into an industrial area.  I know it well:  I used to ride that way quite often when I was living in Park Slope--and there wasn't any bike lane at all on Ninth, or almost anywhere else in the neighborhood outside of Prospect Park.  

Photo by Julianne Cuba for Streetsblog

That motorist and Saipov are also no different from a colleague who, during my second year at Hostos, remarked, "When I see bicyclists, I'd love to run them down." When I told her I am a cyclist, she accused me of "overreacting" and complained to HR.  When I told them about her comment, they said there was "nothing we can do" and questioned my motives for taking umbrage.  "Well, that wasn't any different from saying I should die because I'm trans.  She's saying I should die because of who I am." The HR person dismissed my comparison because cyclists aren't a "protected category" but admonished me to "watch what you say" because that faculty member was a member of a "protected minority"--as if I wasn't.

Anyway, I am disgusted by the way people can so casually call for, or even commit, violence against cyclists.  While Saipov may not have been targeting cyclists because they were cyclists, I am guessing that he saw them as the "low-hanging fruit" to carry out his gang initiation or bid for martryrdom. In that sense, he is no different from the motorist or colleague I've mentioned.   

Vera Helps Sandy's Victims

OK, so I didn't load Vera like this:

From Uphaa

But I did carry a good bit more than I usually take on my daily commutes.  I took a cell phone photo and accidentally deleted it!

I carried an old Compaq computer, which I strapped to my new Civia Mission rack.  On top of that, I strapped a yoga-type bag filled with half a dozen cans of tuna, two boxes of pasta, a box of raisins and some gloves, scarves, skull and watch caps and head bands.

And I attached one of my Carradice Barley bags to my saddle.  I didn't strap the bottom to the seat post. Rather, I let the bag rest horizontally on top of the stuff I'd lashed to the rack.

And, on the front, I carried a small parcel, which I'd intended to mail on the way but didn't until after my last class had ended.

So why did I carry so much?  At the college where I work, there's been a collection for victims of Superstorm Sandy.  In such emergencies, non-perishable foods are always in demand.  And, when the weather turns colder, people need warm clothes and accessories.

Finally, someone had put out a call for older laptop computers for students who'd been affected by the storm.  The tech support people at the college are going to update them with contemporary operating systems.  

I know, I could have taken the train or bus.  But I wanted to ride my bike, well, just because I could.  It's nice to know that Vera can handle it so well.

In The Bag At The New Amsterdam Bike Show

In "What I Carried In The Original Messenger Bag"--one of my early posts on this blog-- I talked about a role the eponymous bag played in my life.


It may have been the only bag I owned at that time in my life.  Or, I may have had one or two others.  Truth is, I didn't have much I could have carried with them. 


Even so, I was always looking at bags in stores and on street vendors' displays.  After I quit messengering  (I know, such a word doesn't exist, at least not officially!), I went to work for American Youth Hostels.  At the time, they operated an outdoor equipment store and mail order service from the Spring Street headquarters in which I worked. One of the first things I did after getting my first AYH paycheck (which, believe me, wasn't much) was to buy a shoulder bag that I hadn't seen anyone else carrying.  

These days, I seem to end up with more and more bags, even after self-imposed moratoria on buying new ones, and after giving away or selling ones I have.  Even so, I'll look at more bags, as I did today in the Brooklyn Industries outlet store where Lakythia and I stopped during our ride today.


You might say I have a bag fetish. It seems that other cyclists share it.  I say that after seeing how much time and space is devoted to discussions of them on various online fora, and the numbers of them available.  Plus, it seemed that at the New Amsterdam Bike show, which I attended yesterday, there were almost as many displays, and more makers, of bags than bikes.  

There were the classic, traditional saddlebags from Brooks, which also showed a couple of modern shoulder bags, tool rolls and other bags now in their line.  There were also the icons of cordura cartage--namely, messenger bags and backpacks from makers like Timbuk2 and Chrome.

A company called Truce is making some interesting-looking bags--including long backpacks that seem inspired by rock climbers' rucksacks--in just about any kind of bright color you can imagine.  Their name and palette seem to be a rebuke or parody of the pseudo-military imagery other companies try to invoke.  

At the other end of the spectrum, literally as well as figuratively, Elektra is offering canvas panniers that mimic, in many ways, the Berthoud bags--which, in turn, are modern renditions of the French panniers of old.


So, tell me, dear readers:  Do we, as cyclists, have an obsession with bags?  Or was the high number of them displayed at the New Amsterdam show just a passing fad?  Or could it be that there really is much greater interest in--and, thus, a bigger market--for bags because more cyclists want to use their bikes for transportation and in other practical ways?  

Booking

Most, if not all, of us have carried books on a bicyle. Having spent much of my life as a student or instructor, I have hauled more than a few volumes while pedaling to or from classrooms, libraries, bookstores, coffee shops, parks or my living space.  

Of course, I'm most often carrying books out of necessity. But sometimes I carry them just to have something to read:  I simply can't bear the thought of being in any place for more than a few minutes without something to read or write.  

And, I'll admit, sometimes I want to feel or simply look smart.  Sometimes I think that half of the people I see reading books on the subway are trying to impress themselves or someone--perhaps they don't even know whom--without seeming to.  I'm sure that tome-toters on two wheels have done the same.  But you all know that I never, ever do such a thing, right? ;-)

Anyway...I got to thinking about some of the ways I, and other people, carry books when they're riding.

Image by John Takai

Like many other people, I used a knapsack when I was a student and long after that.  But, to tell you the truth, I never liked carrying anything on my back--even a hydration system-- while pedaling.

A few times, I've simply strapped (bungee corded) books to the top of a rear rack.  That only works when you have a couple of books and if you're not riding over a lot of bumps and potholes.  It seems funny to me now that Pletscher-style rear carriers were often sold as "book racks." 

 



For nearly a year, I've been riding my LeTour to work.  I attached baskets to the handlebars and the top of the rear rack.  They are very useful, but I find that I still need to put the books in some sort of bag or other protective layer--or stack things on top of them--to keep them from getting shuffled, torn and dirtied.  This is especially true if I'm carrying a portfolio or manuscript, or any other papers not in a book binding.



I've also carried my novels, textbooks and poetry anthologies in Carradice-style saddlebags.  Because they're waterproof and sturdy, they protect the books well.  But books are bulky, and all except the largest saddlebags have limited abounts of interior space.  Plus, unless you create some sort of DIY quick-release, you have to pack and unpack the bag whenever you park your bike.



Probably the best solution for carrying books is a pair of pannier bags or baskets that attach the the sides of your rear rack.   If you do that, I suggest using panniers on both sides to balance out your load:  Books are heavy, and it takes only a couple on either side to imbalance you and your bike.  

For the moment, I can't use pannier-style bags or baskets on the LeTour because the basket is attached to the top.  That basket is handy when I carry shopping bags or the large bag of cat food but can be a bit unsteady.  I'm thinking of removing it so that I can use the panniers.  But then I'd have to find another way to carry that 8 kilo bag of CD Diet kitty chow.

Tell me...How do you carry books on your bike?  Or do you not carry them?