I'll See You In (Or With) Ashtabula!

I'll look for you in old Honolu-la
San Francisco, Ashtabula
You're gonna have to leave me now, I know
But I'll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass, in the ones I love
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

That last line is the title of the song, from Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks" album.  Like most of his work, you listen to this for the lyrics:  I am only the 1,798,345,467th person to praise his songwriting skills.  And I actually like listening to him because he has a, shall we say, unique singing style--though I also admit to liking, quite a lot, Madeleine Peyroux's cover of this song.

Anyway, I can't help but to think that Bob was enough of a rhymester to write the song just to show someone--himself, perhaps--that he could use "Ashtabula" in a verse.  I'm sure it wasn't easy:  Witness the alteration to the name of Hawaii's capital to make the rhyme.

I can't help but to wonder whether some NPR producer wanted to do a story about the town just to be able to say the name a few times.  I mean, it's almost impossible not to sing it--even if you're reporting about the town's woes.

The hard times were indeed part of Jim Zarroli's report.  So is its rebirth, though not as the factory town and port it once was.  Instead, on those Lake Erie waterfront sites where ships unloaded iron ore and loaded steel pipes and other industrial products onto ships, waiters and baristas now fill glasses and cups with artisanal beer and coffee.  Rather than sending manufactured goods into the rest of the United States, and world, Ashtabula now attracts weekend tourists from Cleveland, Pittsburgh and other nearby cities.

But, if you have been reading this blog--or just about anything else related to cycling--you might associate Ashtabula with something neither Jim Zarroli nor Bob Dylan mentioned.  For that matter, I don't think many of the day- or weekend-trippers think about it, either.

1964 Schwinn Varsity with Ashtabula cranks and forks

I am talking about bicycle fittings--mainly cranks, but also fork blades and other items.  If you have an old Schwinn with a one-piece crank, the arms were probably forged in Ashtabula.  So were the forged flat-bladed forks and solid stems found on some Schwinns.

It was once common to refer to all one-piece cranks (used mainly on American bikes) as "Ashtabula", just as "Scotch tape" is used to denote all kinds of clear plastic adhesives and disposable facial tissues are often called "Kleenex."  But, "Scotch tape" and "Kleenex" are brand names used by particular companies.  So, not all clear adhesive tapes are "Scotch", and not all facial tissues are "Kleenex".  Likewise, not all one-piece cranks are "Ashtabula".

The Ohio company that made those fittings for Schwinn started out, perhaps not surprisingly, as a maker of iron hulls for battleships.  Later, they made anchors for aircraft carriers.  This heritage may have gone into making those cranks and forks, which weighed a ton (or tonne?) but were practically indestructible.  

Other one-piece cranks were heavy, too, as they were almost always made of steel, or even iron.  But, as someone who worked on more than a few bikes back in the day, I can tell you that the real Ashtabula stuff--which was usually stamped with "ABS" was, if not lighter, of significantly better quality than similar parts found on other bikes, which were usually found in department stores.  The threads on those Ashtabula Schwinn parts were almost uniformly even and clean.  The cheaper one-piece cranks and forks, usually found on department-store bikes, sometimes had bad threads and would need replacement.

So, my advice to Bob, Madeleine or anyone who wants to look for his or her lover on a bike with a one-piece crank is this:  Make sure that crank is an Ashtabula!  Otherwise, you might not make it to Ashtabula--and find the love of your life!

An Old Conversion

In an earlier post, I wrote about the Schwinn Super Sport, a bicycle Schwinn produced from 1962 until 1973. 

At the time, Schwinn marketed it as a “lightweight” model.  It was indeed lighter than the Varsity or Continental, which were essentially ten-speed tanks.  The Super Sport featured a frame made of Chrome-Molybdenum tubing and most of its components, including the rims, were aluminum alloy.  One of the notable exceptions was the one-piece “Ashtabula” crank of the kind commonly found on cruisers, heavyweights and kids’ bikes.  (Some of those kinds of bikes, on which weight is no object, still come equipped with such cranks.)

However, it was possible to take a couple of pounds off the bike by changing the crankset.  At least one company offered a bottom bracket assembly that allowed the use of cotterless alloy cranks on frames made for Ashtabula cranks.  They seem to have been most widely used on motocross bikes; around the time that sport was developing, Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze, Tom Ritchey and other early mountain bikers were using crank adapters on old Schwinn balloon-tire bikes they adapted for use with derailleur gears.  (Most of those bikes came with single-gear coaster brake hubs as original equipment.)  I haven’t seen, or even thought about such a crank conversion in ages—until today.

This bike was parked, with a few other bikes that were being used for deliveries, outside a bodega/takeout luncheonette not far from where I live.  I spotted it on my way home from a lunchtime ride:

Unfortunately, as the bikes were locked to each other, I couldn’t get a better photograph.  But I think you can see how the bike was converted.

I’m guessing that this conversion was done some time ago, as the crank is a Sugino Maxy from the mid-1970’s that shows its age.  At the time, they were one of the least expensive cotterless cranksets made.  Many mid-level Japanese bikes—including the Nishiki International I once owned—came with the Maxy as standard equipment.

It wasn’t bad:  It was definitely an improvement over the cottered steel cranksets found on most European bikes in the same price range, or Ashtabula cranks.  On the Maxy (and other cranksets like the Takagi Tourney), the large chainring was “swaged” (pressed) onto the inside of the right crank arm, and the smaller chainring was bolted to it.

That meant, of course, that the outer chainring couldn’t be changed.  But cyclists rarely wanted to make such a change:  Outer chainrings usually had 50 or 52 teeth, and the smallest cog on most freewheels had 14 teeth.  (Thirteen-tooth cogs were still exotic items used by professional racers.)  And, it was believed, few people would ride enough miles to wear out the large chainring. 

Anyway, the Super Sport was probably the one full-sized, derailleur-equipped bike on which such a crank conversion made sense.  (The next model up in Schwinn’s lineup, the Super Sport, came with a Nervar or TA cotterless crankset.) 

Because the Maxy is of more or less the same era as the bike (and the conversion kit), it didn’t look out of place.  All of the other components, save one, were original.  The rear derailleur—an all-black Shimano Deore—is definitely an improvement over the Schwinn-branded Huret Allvit that came with the bike.  I couldn’t photograph the bike from an angle in which I could show the derailleur, but I think you’ll understand (and perhaps agree) when I say that it screams “replacement part” in a way the crankset doesn’t.