Bikeways To The Future: I Hope Not!

Last week, I wrote about the current bicycle shortage and compared it to a similar scarcity during the 1970s Bike Boom.  Then, I waited three months for my Schwinn Continental, not a custom-built frame.  Today I want to talk about another parallel between then and now.

There probably was never a time, save for the 1890s (or now), when everyday people were more aware of cycling and cyclists as they were from about 1969 to 1974.  Back then, governments at every level from counties to the nation were floating plans to build "bikeways" (as bike lanes were called then) to, perhaps, an even greater degree than we see today.  

Back then, regular cyclists included Dr. Paul Dudley White, President Eisenhower's personal physician and a founder of the American Heart Association; Stewart Udall, the Secretary of the Interior under Presidents Kennedy and Johnson and one of the founders of modern environmental movements; and John Volpe, Secretary of Transportation.  Also among their number was Carl Bernstein, who helped to expose the Watergate scandal and, much to his chagrin, one of the Watergate "burglars" he exposed!

As transportation writer Carlton Reid notes, the 1970s Bike Boom offers hope, as well as cautionary tales, for today's "Boom".  One hopeful sign is that while, in some areas, cyclists are stereotyped as overprivileged milennials or hipsters--the bohoisie or bourgemians, if you will:  the very antithesis of a rebellion against consumer capitalism--back in the day, adult riders  were labelled as "bike freaks" who were hippies, commies or worse.  

More to the point, though, too many decisions about bicycle policy were being made by people who weren't cyclists and, worse, didn't have the collective memory, if you will, of cycling that Europeans and people in other parts of the world could  draw upon.  So there was an emphasis on "bikeways" that separated cyclists completely, not only from motorized traffic, but the community in general:  They were good for leisurely weekend rides, but not for transportation.  That is one reason why the massive bike sales of the early 1970s (which dwarfed mountain bike sales during their late 1980s-eary 1990s boom) did not translate into a culture in which bicycles were an integral part.  Once the "boom" ended, many people hung up their bikes for good.

That ignorance of cycling extended to law enforcement officials, as it too often does now.  I have been stopped by cops who insisted I broke the law when I didn't and that I should engage in practices that actually endanger cyclists, such as riding all the way to the right and following traffic signals when crossing busy intersections.

Also, as Reid points out, while bikes from that era are called "vintage" and sell for high prices on eBay, the fact is that most bikes sold during that time were of low quality.  In other words, when most people bought Schwinns or Raleighs (if they didn't buy department-store bikes), they weren't buying Internationals or Paramounts, they were shelling out their money for Records or Varsities--or for any number of low-end models from makers like Atala or any number of smaller companies that haven't been heard from since.  Most people never learned to even fix a flat, let alone take care of more complex problems, so when things went wrong, they never got fixed.  Moreover, most of the bikes sold really weren't designed for the way people were riding them.  That is why, for example, lower-end ten-speeds came with brake extension (a.k.a. "suicide") levers:  Most casual cyclists are better off with upright or flat handlebars than on drop bars.

So, Reid cautions that we must learn that--as Richard Ballantine argued in his 1972 book--"bikeways" alone are not  alone the answer.  For one thing, it's much better to take lanes and streets from vehicular traffic and to raise awareness of cyclists, pedestrians and motorists alike of cyclists' right to ride.  So are bikes that are suited to the riders' needs and inclinations.  Otherwise, a lot of the bikes purchased today will be hanging in rafters--or buried in landfills--by 2030.

Where Are The Bikes?

There is a national bike shortage, unlike anything I have seen before. This is due to increased demand and extensive disruptions to the supply chain. My advice: when you see something that you like – BUY IT. I expect to have a very limited inventory of our most popular bicycles very soon.

That message came from Charlie McCorkle, co-founder and owner of the Bicycle Habitat shops here in New York.  He is echoing somthing I've heard and read from sources all over this country, as well as in England, France and other places:  The shutdown or limited schedules in effect on transit systems, restrictions on travel and increased numbers of people working from home (or not at all) have boosted the demand for bicycles.  People who haven't been astride two wheels in decades are mounting saddles and pushing pedals to get to their jobs in hospitals, nursing homes, shipping centers and other places where essential work is done.  Other folks are riding bikes to shop at whatever places are open, and I've noticed more families (or, at least, adults and children) riding together than I can ever recall seeing.

But the restrictions on travel--and employees who are too sick to work or are self-quaranitining--mean that bicycle manufacturers, importers, wholesalers and shippers means that fewer bikes are being produced, and whatver bikes are produced are slower to arrive in shops.  Moreover, most bike dealers are, ironically, remaining open for fewer hours, and with fewer employees (due to social distancing regulations), so it takes longer for bikes to go from their shipping cartons to the shop floor.

This situation reminds me of the 1970s North American Bike Boom.  At its peak--around 1972-73--domestic manufacturers simply couldn't crank out bikes, and importers couldn't bring them to this country, quickly enough.  Customers frequently had months-long wait times for popular models from major brands.  I know, because I was one of those customers:  I placed a deposit on a Schwinn Continental in July 1972, just after my birthday, and didn't receive it until the middle of October. 

Back then, companies simply couldn't keep pace for a sudden surge in demand.  This time, though, the capacity is there, but the people aren't.  Also, during the Bike Boom, most bikes purchased in the US were made in-country or came from Europe or Japan.  Now, the vast majority of bikes and bike-related items sold here come from China or Southeast Asia, where production has decreased or stopped altogether.  So, while the bike shortage of the Bike Boom didn't extend to other pars of the market or economy, bikes are in short supply now for the same reasons medical suppliles and other goods are hard to find right now.

What If?: SunTour "Click Shift" And Freehubs?

Captain Ahab had Moby Dick.  Others have spent years, decades, even lifetimes hunting down one obsession or another.

Now, the "target" I'm about to discuss didn't do anything to harm me.  In fact, other products made by the company that manufactured my Loch Ness monster, or whatever you want to call it, have actually brought me pleasure, at least while cycling.

The company in question is SunTour.  For a time, I didn't want to use derailleurs or freewheels made by any other company.  And I once dreamed of building a track bike from Superbe Pro components, which I thought were even better (or at least more beautiful) than even Campagnolo's fixed-gear offerings.

The object of my obsession are really objects, plural.  They are parts of a system SunTour introduced in 1969 and, apparently, manufactured only during that year.  I have seen references to them in a number of sources, but have never seen the parts in person.  In fact, I had never seen images of them--until yesterday.

Well, I came across one component, anyway, on--where else!--eBay:

These "click shift" levers were part of an indexed shifting system SunTour made that year.  From the accounts I've read, it worked well, though it didn't sell well and no manufacturer outfitted a new bike with it as original equipment.  Although SunTour had patented its slant-pantogram derailleur five years earlier, it did not begin to export its wares until the year before the "click shift" system came out.

Interestingly, SunTour also introduced an hub with an integrated freewheel mechanism--much like today's cassette freehubs--in that same year.  It, too, worked well and,like other SunTour products, was well-made.  Like the click-shift system, it seems not to have been produced after 1969.

The simple explanation for the "freehub"s or "click shift"s lack of commercial success is that the market wasn't ready to depart from traditional screw-on freewheels or friction shifters.  But another reason why those items didn't make much headway is that they predated the '70's North American Bike Boom by a couple of years.  As Frank Berto has pointed out in "Sunset for SunTour," Shimano entered the American market in the late 1960s when low-priced American bikes like  AMF, Huffy and Murray (which were sold mainly in department stores) were outfitted with Lark and Eagle derailleurs.   On the other hand, Sun Tour derailleurs had to wait a few more years,  until Japanese bicycle manufacturers like Fuji, Bridgestone and Miyata--adorned with SunTour components--developed an export market in the US and, later, in other countries.  By the time those bikes, and lightweight bicycles in general, caught on with American adults, "Click shift" and the intergrated hub were several years out of production.

Ironically, Shimano's appropriation of those innovations--and SunTour's slant parallelogram design (for which the patent expired in 1984)-- would lead to SunTour's demise a decade later.  SunTour, in desperation, tried to develop competing systems.  But the indexed systems SunTour introduced in 1986 did not work as well as Shimano's and, worse, companies like Schwinn used their old stocks of freewheels, chains and cables, which didn't work very well with SunTour's indexed systems.

One can only wonder how things might be different had all of those Fujis, Miyatas, Nishikis, Panasonics, Centurions and other Japanese bikes  had been equipped with SunTour's "Click Shift" and integrated hubs.  Or, for that matter,what about those Schwinns, Raleighs, Motobecanes and other bikes that, a few years later, would be sold in the US with SunTour derailleurs and freewheels as original equipment.  What if they had "click shift" and integrated hubs?  Would those parts have become the de facto standards?   Would SunTour have come to dominate the components market the way Shimano has for the past three decades?  

(At the time Shimano introduced its SIS and freehub systems, the company was an afterthought in all but the lower price ranges, and their stuff was rarely, if ever, bought as replacement equipment, let alone after-market upgrades.)

Finally, I have to wonder what "retro" and "L'eroica" would mean today. After all, they are both defined, at least in part, by non-indexed shifting systems and screw-on freewheels.  Would the concepts of "retro" and "L'eroica" even exist?

Well, I know one thing:  I wouldn't have this obsession over parts SunTour made for only one year, in 1969.

Who Are We?

We're white.  We're male.  After our training rides in the park, we wheel our flashy carbon-fiber machines under canopies of luxury condo buildings.

We're male, too.  But we're brown and black.  We pedal dilapidated-looking-bikes--or bikes that we're not supposed to be able to afford because, well... We don't speak English well, or at all.  We're probably undocumented, to boot,

We are also male--and could be white, brown or black--but we're not likely to be yellow.  We are riding bikes because...we can't afford to drive.  Or we can't drive because we've lost our licenses, or couldn't get them in the first place.

The Rev. Laura Everett describes each of these stereotypes about cyclists in her Daily Beast editorial, "We Need To Ditch All The Old Cliches About Cyclists."  She makes a very good case against each of those cariactures, using data (e.g., that the majority of cyclists are indeed poor, but don't necessarily fit into the second and third stereotypes) from various studies I have mentioned in some of my earlier posts.

She also makes a very interesting point:  During the two previous "golden ages" of cycling in the US--1890-1910 and the 1970s--cycling was seen as a pastime of the leisured class.  And, once it lost that status, cycling fell into a steep decline.  The first "boom" ended when automobiles became affordable to average working people. (Interestingly, during the 1890s, a bicycle cost what an average worker earned in year!)  The second declined with a deep recession fueled by a spike in petrol prices and suffered its death blow when the election of Ronald Reagan ended the first major environmental movements in the US.

She sees that we are in a third "golden age" of cycling. In order to sustain it, she says, all of the stereotypes have to be shattered. Cycling will never become mainstream if it is not seen, by planners and the general public alike, as a vital link in the transportation system.  That, in turn, will not happen if cycling is seen only as a leisuretime activity of the privileged or as the "last resort" of the poor, nonwhite or criminal classes.

For her part, Rev. Everett says she began cycle-commuting because she was a poor recent graduate who was just starting her career.  Seven years later, she continues to ride because, as she says, it really is the best transportation option for her--and because she enjoys it.

To me, she sounds like the kind of cyclist the public needs to know more about if cycling is to become mainstream  And, I must add:  She's a woman.  Thus, she can't help but to break the stereotype.  I  like to believe that I am, too.

These Flytes Never Took Off

When you think of high-quality bicycle tires, some names that might cross your mind are Michelin, Continental, Panaracer, Schwalbe and Vredestein.

Panaracer is a subsidiary of the Panasonic corporation.  People who aren't familiar with the brand, or cycling, might think it odd that an "electronics company" makes bike tires--and some very nice ones, at that.  Or, for that matter,  bikes, which is probably the reason why they didn't sell as well in the US as, say, Fuji.

Schwalbe doesn't seem to be similarly connected to some larger industrial concern.  At least, I couldn't find any such connection.  All of their tires, it seems, are made for bicycles, e-bikes, scooters or wheelchairs.

The other three brands I mentioned--Michelin, Continental and Vredestein--make tires for motorcycles, automobiles and other kinds of motorized vehicles (including industrial machines) as well as bicycles.  In an odd way, their practices parallel those of North American manufacturers in the days when few adults rode bicycles--and, as a result, demand for high-performance bikes and tires was minimal--on this side of the Atlantic.

If you rode a balloon-tired cruiser, whether from Schwinn, Columbia or Huffmann (Huffy) or long-gone marques like Elgin, Rollfast or Monark, it probably was shod with rubber from Goodyear, Goodrich or one of the other companies that made tires in the US for motorized vehicles.

(In fact, B.F. Goodrich also marketed bicycles, manufactured by Schwinn and other bike-makers, under their own name before World War II.)

Another of those US-based tire manufacturers was Carlisle.  From what I could tell, they were the only one of those manufacturers to make the transition from heavy balloon tires to lightweight high-performance tires.  In fact, not long after Michelin introduced the "Elan"--widely considered to be the first high-performance clincher tire-- in the mid 1970s, Carlisle produced its own narrow low-profile clincher tire, available with a folding or wire bead, called the "Flyte".

I never rode Flytes myself, but they seemed to be of good quality, if a bit heavier than Elans and their imitators.  I had not thought about them for a long time until I came across a listing on eBay:

The tire for sale is wire-beaded, though a folding version was also made.  My impression of Carlisle 700C and 27 inch tires comes entirely from the ones I saw in the shops in which I worked.  I don't recall selling, or knowing anyone who rode, them.  

Part of the reason they didn't catch on, I believe, is that most cyclists who were looking for high-performance clinchers were, by that time, riding European and Japanese equipment.  We were, by then, already accustomed to looking toward companies like Michelin--and Wolber, Clement, Panaracer and IRC, which would adapt and, in some cases, improve upon, the design of the Elan--for our pneumatic needs.  

Panaracer and IRC, Japanese concerns both, would also make tires for a then-fledgling company called Specialized Bicycle Imports.  Today, of course, you know it as "Specialized", and its "Turbo S" tire was probably the first to weigh (with the tube made for it) less than most racing tubulars while offering most of the ride quality of such tires.

By that time--the early 1980s--Carlisle was just barely hanging on in the bicycle world.  In fact, it was the last company to manufacture tires for non-motorized two-wheeled vehicles in the USA.   Today it is part of a group called Carlstar, which makes tires for industrial and agricultural vehicles and machines, ATVs and other outdoor vehicles--but not for bicycles.  Interestingly, they also seem not to be making car tires, but they offer after-market and custom car wheels under their Cragar, Black Rock and Unique brands.

As The Sun Sets On Newtown Creek, A Ross From The Land Of The Rising Sun

In Greenpoint, Brooklyn, Manhattan Avenue--one of the neighborhood's main throughfares--dead-ends at Newtown Creek.  One recent year, the Environmental Protection Agency declared it the nation's most polluted body of water. (In other years, the Gowanus Canal has garnered that distinction.)  But when it doesn't win "the Prize", the Creek is almost always listed among the most polluted bodies of water in the nation.

Of course, I don't think about that when a late day ride takes me there and I take in the views.

There's a nature walk along the creek.  By its side, at the end of Manhattan Avenue, there's a green patch with a fence around it that's a popular place to lock--and, it seems, abandon--bicycles.

Sometimes the bikes left there are rather interesting in their own ways.  For instance, there was this Ross 3-speed:

Ross was known mainly for making "muscle" bikes like the Barracuda (which was intended to compete with the likes of the Schwinn Krate and Raleigh Chopper) and some of the early production mountain bikes.   Their factories were located in Rockaway Beach, NY and Allentown, PA, before production moved to Taiwan.

However, during the 1960s--on the eve of the North American Bike Boom--Ross imported three-speed bikes from Japan.  At that time, few Americans owned or rode bikes with derailleurs.  Thus, most adults who rode--and kids who wanted something lighter than the baloon-tired "bombers" made by Schwinn and other American companies--preferred three-speed bikes, which were called "English racers".

Most of those bikes were made by the likes of Dunelt, Sunbeam, Robin Hood and other companies--and, of course, Raleigh, which would later acquire most of those marques and all but monopolize the remaining market for that type of bicycle.

However, as demand grew, those old English manufacturers couldn't keep up.  Thus, bikes were imported from Japan. One of my first bikes--a Royce-Union--was one of those English-style Japanese three-speeds.   As you can see in the photos, bike-makers in the Land of the Rising Sun did everything they could to emulate, if only visually, the "English Racers" that were so popular in the US and elsewhere.

(When Centurion ten-speeds first came to these shores in 1969, they could very easily be mistaken for Raleigh Grand Prix machines of the same year--unless, of course, one noticed the SunTour or Shimano derailleurs, as well as a few other details.  At that time, most Raleighs came with Simplex or Huret derailleurs.)

Some Japanese bikes came with leather saddles, also made in Japan, that resembled the offerings of Brooks, Ideale and other British and European makers.  I don't know whether the bikes made for Ross came with them (I can find practically no information about the bikes), but somehow I doubt it.  Even if it came with a leather saddle, I doubt it would have been this one:

You probably think it's a beat-up Brooks B72:  the saddle that came with many British three-speeds.  It does indeed have the same looped under-carriage rails and saddlebag slots built into the saddle.  And the top is the same size, and has the same shape as the B72, with a couple of exceptions:

It is indeed a B18. The embossed floral pattern at the top is wearing down.  I don't know whether it's from use or abandonment.  Somehow I don't think it's an original-production B18 from the 1930s, worn as it is.  The design was resurrected about a decade ago, as classic-style ladies' city bikes became popular.  The curled front is designed to prevent a skirt from getting caught on the saddle.

Whatever the story, the saddle is a nice addition to the bike, though I think it deserves better than to have bird poop on it.  I have to wonder, though, how the bike rides with this bar and stem combination:

That extension of that stem must be about 120mm.  That makes the steering more sensitive.  And, of course, the bars increase leverage.  I would be curious to ride the bike just to see how a bike that's not made for quick cornering rides with touchy steering.  Maybe it's a good combination for riding in traffic.

Anyway, I hope the bike isn't abandoned.  It may not be anyone's idea of a "great" or "classic" bike.  But it certainly is practical (except for those bars!) and I am always glad to see a bike like it in circulation.  At least, I hope, it won't become part of the detritus in Newtown Creek!

Campagnolo Adapted Japanese Design; The Public Didn't Rally Around It

In an earlier post, I said that SunTour's invention of the slant parallelogram is one of the most important innovations in the history of cycling.  Just about any derailleur made today that has even a pretense of quality has incorporated the design, which was patented in 1964.  In the early '80's, you could practically hear other derailleur makers panting with anticipation of the day that SunTour's patent would expire, in 1984.  Within a year, Shimano was using the design in its new line of Dura-Ace derailleurs for indexed shifting.  Within another three years, all of Shimano's derailleurs would share their geometries with those of the SunTour VGT and Cyclone.  By the end of the decade, the other major derailleur manufacturers of the era--Campagnolo, Huret and Simplex--would also "borrow" the design as they tried desperately to reclaim the market share Shimano gulped down.

A sad irony  is that after all of those companies adopted the slant-parallelogram, SunTour tried to create an indexed ("click shift") system to compete with the Shimano juggernaut--two decades after SunTour developed an indexed system (and a cassette freehub) that, by all accounts, worked well but for which the world wasn't ready.  Sun Tour's new indexed system, which came out in 1987, didn't work nearly as well as Shimano's because SunTour didn't develop a freewheel or cassette--or a chain--that worked properly with their new derailleurs and shift levers.  Campagnolo made the same mistake with its "Syncro" (which some of us called "Stinkro") setup, in which indexed derailleurs sent stolid Regina chains clattering across imprecisely-cut teeth of Regina freewheels and chains.  Also, its first "Syncro" system used a modified version of its traditional dropped-parallelogram derailleur, which didn't adjust the distance between the top pulley wheel and the freewheel cog--vital for indexed shifting performance--as well as Shimano's new slant-parallelogram derailleurs with sprung top and bottom pivots.

Campagnolo Gran Turismo, circa 1971.  Don't you just love those red bolts? Unfortunately, they're the best thing about the derailleur.  Well, all right:  It was good for driving in tent pegs. I know, I did it.  From Speedplay.

I suspect that one reason why Campagnolo tried, in essence, to make their traditional derailleur design work with an indexed lever (which looked at least something like other Campagnolo levers of the time) had something to do with their experience with their Rally derailleur of a decade earlier.

SunTour VGT-Luxe, circa 1973.  From Disraeligears

Before SunTour came out with their slant parallelogram rear derailleur, most wide-range gearing systems--like the ones found touring bikes--didn't shift quickly or precisely.   After SunTour's Grand Prix, Competition and V-series derailleurs entered the market--at the dawn of the North American Bike Boom--Shimano, which was a very minor player in the bicycle components market, wanted to compete.  They couldn't copy SunTour's design for another two decades, so they found ways to modify Simplex and Huret's designs.  The result was something called the "servo pantograph", in which the parallelogram dropped at least somewhat (like Simplex) and the top pivot was sprung (Huret).  The resulting derailleurs--which would become the long-armed Crane and Titlist--shifted reasonably well over wide ranges--better, at least, than the European wide-range derailleurs but not as well as SunTour's.

Shimano Crane GS, circa 1972.  From Disraeligears,

Even so, the Shimano Crane and even the Titlist were seen as "better" derailleurs than the SunTour V and V-GT because they were more expensive and, to some eyes, more attractive.  That might be the reason why Campagnolo modeled the first edition of its "Rally" touring derailleur on the long-caged version of the Crane. 

Campagnolo Rally, circa 1975

I actually used one of those early Rally derailleurs for a time.  Once it was broken in (its parallelogram pivots had bronze bushings like the "Record" series derailleurs), it shifted about as well as a Crane--for about double to triple the price.

But certain segments of the European--particularly Italian--cycling community were not happy:  Up to then, the Japanese copied (with notable exceptions like SunTour derailleurs) European designs.  The reverse wasn't supposed to happen, or so they believed. 

Some of those who were upset that Campagnolo was making a "Japanese" derailleur (or, as one unfounded rumor had it, that a Japanese company was making it for Campy) felt vindicated when Rally derailleurs snapped in two at the "neck" just below the top pivot bolt.  Some Cranes and Titlists of the same era failed in the same way.  So, the Campagnolo birthers, if you will, believed that the design of the derailleur--which was Japanese--was to blame.

The second generation of Rally derailleurs addressed the problem by beefing up the "neck."  There were very few reported failures.  Then again, not many second-generation Rally derailleurs were sold.  Some who wanted all-Campagnolo touring bikes actually went back to using the Gran Turismo derailleur, which Frank Berto very aptly dubbed "Campy's Edsel".  Others--mainly in the US, and to a lesser extent in the UK--decided that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to equip their otherwise all-Campy bikes with a SunTour rear derailleur, which shifted much better, and lasted longer, than the GT or Rally-- at a fraction of the price.

Third-generation Rally derailleur, circa 1980

Although Campy's heart was always in racing, it didn't want to lose the high-end touring market.  So, some time around 1977, the Rally was redesigned.  Essentially, it had the same parallelogram as the Nuovo Record, but a longer cage.  Ironically, it mimicked a "hack" that many custom touring bike builders, particularly in England, devised:  They used to make long pulley cages to fit onto Campagnolo parallelograms.  In one way, it makes sense when you realize that the Nuovo Record was sturdier than almost anything else available (especially before SunTour came along) and mechanically simple:  an advantage when one is away from civilization!  Still, it didn't shift nearly as quickly or crisply as even the least-expensive SunTour derailleur, especially with bar-end shifters.

But at least it still pleased the blowhards purists.  And it would be another decade before Campagnolo "borrowed" a Japanese design again.  By then, Campy was desperate and the public was ready.

Spence Wolf grafted a home-made long cage onto this Campagnolo Record derailleur in the 1960's/

Into The Fold: A Bike For The French Army

I recall reading or hearing that Peugeot invented the folding bike.   Of course, I am skeptical about that, just as I am skeptical about any other claim of inventorship unless there is solid documentation.  To be fair, though, I must say that, if I recall correctly, Peugeot has never made any claim to having invented the folding bike, although they probably were one of the first bike-makers to mass-market them.

Peugeot did, however, enter into a consortium with Michelin and the French army to buy the patents of an early folding bike, which appeared in the Peugeot sales catalogue of 1899.  

Gerard Morel folding bike prototype, 1892

That bike had its origins in 1892 when Charles Morel, a wealthy French industrialist, fell under the spell of the then-current bike craze and built a prototype of a folding bicycle. Around the same time, a French army lieutenant named Henry Gerard envisioned the military usage of a folding bike and in June of 1893 filed a patent for one he created.

Drawing for English patent issued to Charles Morel and Henry Gerard, 1896

Lt. Gerard's design was, however, deeply flawed and didn't work very well.  While looking for help in fixing the design flaws, he was introduced to Morel, who showed his prototype bike to Gerard.  Morel suggested a meeting between one of his mechanics, named Dulac, and Gerard to come up with a working design.  That meeting was successful and on 5 October 1894, Monsieur Morel and Lieutenant Gerard entered into an agreement to manufacture the bikes. 

Illustration from Revue Militare Suisse, 1897

Production of the bike began the following April. In October, a retail store for the bikes opened in Paris.  Gerard got the job of selling the bike to the military, and he supplied 25 test bikes to the French army.  The experiment was successful; the army bought more bikes and Gerard was put in charge of a bike-equipped regiment.  Soon, he was promoted to captain, largely on the basis of his success with the regiment.  In the meantime, the Russian and Rumanian armies placed orders for the bikes.

Because of his stature as a military commander, Gerard became the public face of the folding bike venture and the bikes came to be known as "Captain Gerard folding bikes".  Apparently, he forgot that Morel had the initial idea for the folding bike and wholly financed the venture and started to believe, as many people believed, that he invented the bike himself.

So, Captain Gerard sued Monsieur Morel for what he believed to be his "fair share" of the profits.  Not surprisingly, that led to a falling-out between the two men and a dissolution of their partnership.  That is when Peugeot and Michelin came into the picture.

Peugeot folding bike, 1970s

During the 1970's Bike Boom, many Americans saw (and a few bought) folding bikes for the first time.  Most Americans' introduction to folding bikes came from the Peugeot model that came with fenders, rack and generator lighting--very French!--and the Raleigh Twenty.  Since then, there have been any number of designs (and improvements) from Brompton as well as other manufacturers and custom builders.

Raleigh Twenty, 1970's

Now, as to who "invented" the folding bike:  The answer depends on how you define "folding" and who and what you believe.  Do "break-away" or "separable" bikes count?  Whether or not you count such bikes, or others that are portable in one way or another, you still have to consider that many claims by many inventors in a number of countries were made.  Most can't be documented in a convincing manner, whether because the documents were lost or they were never created or filed in the first place. 

Whoever deserves credit for creating whatever you consider to be the first folding bike, it's not hard to believe that the idea isn't nearly as old as that of the bicycle itself.

A Proteus Bicycle: They--Or You--Could Build It

The other day, in writing about the Tokheim "Gear Maker", I mentioned that a number of American manufacturers tried to cash in on their country's "Bike Boom" during the 1970s, even though those companies had no experience in making anything bike-related.  Most, like Tokheim, were either out of the bike business or defunct within a decade. 

 

Then there were companies like Cannondale and Bellwether that entered the market during the decade, which also included a "boom" in hiking, skiing, camping and other outdoor activities.  Bellwether made bike bags and clothing; they are still in the bike clothing business.  (I still use some winter items of theirs I bought years ago.)  And, of course, Cannondale is one of the best-known names in cycling.  They still offer small seat and frame pouches, but not the panniers or handlebar bags many of us used in tours past.  "C" also has a line of bike clothing in addition to their bikes.  Ironically, when Cannondale first appeared on the scene in 1970, they did not make bicycles or bicycle clothing (those items would not be part of the company's offerings for another dozen years); the hiking, camping and skiing  gear they made in those days hasn't been made since the mid-1980's.

 

During the 1970s in the US, there was also something of a mini-boom in hand- and custom-frame building.  During the days of the six-day races, there were many such builders, especially in the New York, Detroit and Chicago areas, as well as in California.  Some hung on during the "dark ages" of cycling after World War II and catered to the small but enthusiastic community of cyclists still found in the 'States.  But most of those builders had either died, left the business or retired by the 1960s.  So, the American builders of the 1970s were mostly a new breed.

 

One of the most respected was Albert Eisentraut, who worked in the San Francisco Bay area.  One way in which he and the other new American builders differed from those of the previous generation is that they were home-grown and, in many cases, self-taught, in contrast to earlier builders who came from the other side of the Atlantic or had spent considerable time there.  Also, the new builders didn't even have the remanants of a racing or general cycling culture the earlier builders could draw upon.

 

That lack of precedent was both a hindrance and a help.  Of course, it was a hindrance because it steepened the learning curve for the newcomers; also, there were some (whom we don't hear about today) who didn't stay in the "game" because they overheated frame tubes or made other mistakes that resulted in their frames failing or simply not riding satisfactorily.  On the other hand, the lack of antecedents also gave the newcomers the freedom to approach their work in ways traditional builders never would have dreamed of.

 

 

A Proteus touring bike, circa 1977

 One of those new builders was really a collective known as Proteus Cycles.  Founded by Barry Konig, Larry Dean and Steve Schuman in 1971, they weren't French-style constructeurs who built the whole bike from the ground up with custom-made components.  They even, in some ways, parted company with British builders like Ron Cooper, from whom they learned many of their skills.  Builders like Cooper, Bob Jackson and Mercian usually sell frames, whether custom or stock, and customers or their local shop build them up with components the customer chooses (although those builders sometimes sell complete bikes).  But the frames you get from such builders are entirely their own work; while the customer might have a say in designing it, he or she leaves the actual building to the builder.

The customer could order such a frame, or a complete bike, from Proteus.  Or, he or she could let them build it, and finish it him or herself. Or he or she could build the frame and Proteus would finish it.

Dan Rovelli's 1979 Proteus.  From Classic Rendezvous

That last option was particularly intriguing.  You see, at its peak, Proteus held frame-building classes and even published a book about frame building, penned by a fictitious "Dr. Paul Proteus."  Konig, Dean and Schulman were, of course, the probable authors, and they recommended that anyone who wanted to build a frame should read it first--even before taking their classes or ordering one of the frame-building kits (which included tubing, lugs and other fitments) Proteus sold.  It was even possible to buy individual frame fitments, such as fork tangs, from the builders.

Ben Dillingham's Proteus, with modern touches

I like to think that Proteus was more like a studio or a gallery combined with an art-supply shop than a traditional bike-building enterprise:  the artists/artisans not only worked on their creations; they also conducted classes and the organization sold the materials needed as well as related publications.  To my knowledge, no European or Japanese (or, for that matter, any other American) builder offered such a wide range of products and services.

I have tried to find out when, exactly, Proteus stopped being, well, Proteus.  Apparently, that happened some time in the late 1980s or thereabouts.  At that time, technology started to displace craftsmanship in the bicycle world, and I think that people simply didn't have as much time (or money) to spend on classes or to build their own bikes. I know that when I have a limited amount of time, I'd rather ride my bikes than work on them!

Today there is a bike shop called Proteus that is a descendent of the legendary bike-building collective.  Apparently, the Proteus partners continued to operate a bicycle retail business after they stopped building frames and, in time, sold the business to others.  According to the shop's website, it holds social events and holds classes as well as rides.  I guess, in some way, they are keeping up the spirit of "Dr. Paul Proteus."

(P.S.:  Jill Di Mauro bought the shop in 2002.  In 2007, Di Mauro married her Canadian partner in Canada.  Though Maryland would legalize same-sex marriage four years later, federal laws--including immigration statutes--didn't recognize their union.  So, when Di Mauro's wife's visa expired, she had to return to Canada.  In 2012, Di Mauro sold the shop and moved to upstate New York to be closer to her wife while she applied to return to the US.)

 

 

Cycling And Recycling

Whenever I can, I volunteer with, donate to and buy from Recycle-A-Bicycle.  They, like similar programs in other places, re-use old bikes and parts that might otherwise have ended up in landfills. 

In my mind, bicycles and recycling are always linked.  Perhaps that's because the time when I first became a dedicated cyclist--the 1970s Bike Boom--also witnessed the first attempts to make recycling a mainstream idea. The first Earth Day several years earlier got people (some, anyway) to thinking about the environment.   People started using words like "ecology" and "pollution" in everyday conversations and started to see the value of things like emissions standards.

The problem was that both cycling and recycling became popular mainly among the young, the highly-educated and the upper-middle-class (or what someone I used to know called "The Volvo Set").  Blue-collar families and communities almost never included cyclists who were old enough to have drivers' licenses.  Also, they, like many whose lives were day-to-day struggles to survive, saw recycling and environmentalism as trifles of the elite. So, when the oil-price shocks of the mid and late '70s sent gas prices to levels Americans had never before imagined, instead of cycling or walking to work or for errands, working-class people clung ever more tightly to their automobiles, and saw environmentalism and recycling as threats to their ever-more-precarious job security.

Ronald Reagan and his conservative allies played on those fears and overlaid them with the notion that conservation was inherently un-Christian. Also, during that time, the price of petroleum and other commodities dropped or remained the same (so that they essentially became less expensive to those whose incomes were rising).  That further eroded whatever incentive people might have had to conserve and re-use.  In fact, because the cost of finding new petroleum and other natural resources had declined, it was actually much cheaper to manufacture new plastic, glass and other materials than it was to recycle them.  

It was also during that time that the number of adult cyclists, and the bike market, stagnated or even declined.  Sure, some of us were still riding for fun and transportation.  But, for years, we rarely saw new faces among those who were pedaling to work or the park.

During the past decade or so, the number of people choosing bikes instead of cars or even mass transportation has increased, at least in large urban areas.  Paris and other cities began their bike share programs, and new bike shops opened with a (and some established bike shops shifted their) focus on "city" bikes and other utilitarian bicycles.  At the same time, people started to take environmental concerns seriously in the wake of unusual weather and natural (as well as manmade) disasters.  Cities and towns began mandatory recycling programs, and increasing numbers of people have begun to make (or try to make) more environmentally-conscious choices in the ways they live, work, shop and get around.

It will be interesting to see whether the current interest in cycling and recycling continues if prices of petrol or other commodities continue to fall, or if we manage to halt or reverse environmental degradation.