Thomas Avenia is often credited, along with a few other people, with keeping the flame of adult cycling alive during its "Dark Ages." He is also credited, again with a few others, of stoking that flame into the Bike Boom that began in the late 1960s. Among other things, he--who rode in the six-day races and the Tour of Somerville--was one of the first importers of Campagnolo components, Frejus bicycles and other high-end gear from Europe.
He had a shop in an Italian enclave of East Harlem, New York until the 1980s, when he moved to Stony Point, just south of Bear Mountain in New York state. I passed that shop a few times and stopped to hear his stories of racing, his old shop, his wife who died half a century earlier and his thoughts about politics and history.
He lived well into his 90s. After he died, his grandchildren took over his shop and moved it again--to Haverstraw, a town a few miles down the Hudson River. One thing I recall about that shop was its "shrine" to Tom, which included the Frejus track bike--with a Mafac front brake--he rode. To my knowledge, the grandkids didn't ride it: For one thing they, like most young riders of the time, were mountain bike enthusiasts. But I think they understood what that bike meant to their grandfather--and people like me, who understand that he is one reason why we have anything that resembles a bicycle culture in some parts of the United States.
Since then, I've wondered how many bicycles have been preserved as momentos, monuments or shrines to their owners. While Tom's grandkids didn't ride his bike mainly because they rode mountain bikes, I can't help but to think that they saw his Frejus as a kind of relic to be treated with reverence. When an avid cyclist or collector leaves a bike or a collection behind, what does it mean to whoever receives it?
For a 15-year-old boy in Rochester, Minnesota, the orange-and-black Scott Spark SC 900 bike was not only fun to ride; it was a way he re-connected with his father, who rode and passed it on to him. Karl Vielhaber passed away on the 13th from a brain tumor that was diagnosed less than a year earlier. He, his wife Jennifer and kids moved to Rochester from Wisconsin to be closer to the Mayo Clinic.
Last week, she went into their garage, only to discover that the bike was gone. That meant, not only that the bike was stolen, but that someone had entered the family's property uninvited.
Still, Jennifer insists that if the bike is returned, she will not press charges. Send information to: findkarlsbike@gmail.com.) She wants, not only the machine itself, but the memories--which include his joy in riding it--it represents for her and her kid.
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