They Were Sooo Continental

You don't wear Continental clothes or a Stetson hat!

That line comes from Otis Redding's Tramp.  The song is an argument between a woman and Otis.  She accuses him of being a tramp because, as she says, he's "straight out of the Georgia woods". 

 

 

We in the United States of America are as continental--in the literal sense of that word--as anyone in the world.  After all, we occupy a large part of the North American continent.  However, when we say "Continental", we use it in the way the British mean it:  of mainland Europe, particularly France, Italy or Germany.

Even though we Yanks like to think we tossed off the yoke of the British crown, it seems that we still emulate them in every way we can.  We speak their language. We may have a different accent, but so often, we mean it the way they do--sometimes even more so.

And so it is with the adjective "continental".  It not only refers to the geographical location; it also has the connotation of "sophisticated", "refined" or "elegant".  Or it can be just a politically correct way of saying "exotic" or a polite way of saying "sexy".  And here, as in Blighty, it is also a way of saying "French" without saying it.  (Hmm...What if "Freedom Fries" were called "Continental Chips"?)

That latter connotation was commonly employed in British cycle advertising just after World War II. Before the big fight, the worlds of British cycling and the British cycling industry were very insular.  Brits thought, as Americans would in the years just after the war, that if it was made in their country, it must be better. 

In some cases, their biases had at least some basis in truth.  Pre-war Schwinn Paramounts were built from Accles and Pollock tubing; all over the world, some of the finest frames have been, and still are, constructed from Reynolds tubesets.  Six-day racers favored BSA components, particularly their cranks, pedals and hubs; town bicycles all over the world were equipped with Sturmey Archer hubs and, to this day, all manner of bikes in every place imaginable sport Brooks saddles.

However, for all the vibrancy of the club-cycling scene, bicycling in Britain was still, in the main, utilitarian.  On the other hand, France, Italy and other countries on "The Continent" had lively cultures of racing, and many people, at least superficially, emulated the riders of the peloton.    It is said that British service members who fought on "The Continent" brought back a taste for Contiental bikes and parts--as well as other things.

British Cyclo Gears with 1/8" chain

British cyclists started to demand bikes with derailleurs.  However, until 1954, Raleigh did not supply any bikes with them.  And, in 1955 British Cyclo were still making most of their cogs for 1/8" chains, even though increasing demand for three- and four-speed freewheels meant that more and more riders wanted and needed cogs for 3/32" chains.  Other bike and parts manufacturers in Britain were slow to respond to those changes.  In fact, some simply continued to offer the same products the were making before the war, as if it were somehow unpatriotic to pattern new products after, let alone offer, the freewheels, derailleurs and such that were made mainly in France.

Once they started to make or import (as Ron Kitching did) those items, they were still loath to make Gallic references.  So, those items--particularly, for some reason, large-flange hubs--were called "Continental" parts.  In an article he wrote on the Classic Lightweights UK site, Steve Griffiths said this habit may have been inspired by the Prior hubs made in France during the 1930s, which had some of the largest flanges (and most profuse drilling) ever seen. 

Prior Hubs. I love them.  Did someone use Spirograph to design them?

The flanges on that hub were riveted to smaller flanges which, as on most hubs at the time, were attached to a steel shaft.  So, the British Hub Company did the same with their Airlite hubs.   Collectors pay more for Priors and Airlite Continentals than most people pay for bikes.  They look interesting and, from what I've read, they spin smoothly. However, they both share a problem:  Prolonged use can loosen the rivets.

They're Continental, all right.  So is Swiss cheese.

 

From Blogger To Advisor: A Reader Asks About A Mercian

If you blog about something for long enough, are you an expert on it?

(If you use "blog" as a verb, are you creative or just someone who didn't listen when your English teachers said, "Don't verb nouns!")?

Well, one of my regular readers asked for my opinion about a frame listed on eBay--a Mercian, of course.

Now, I won't tell anyone not to buy a Mercian unless it's the wrong size or has damage that can't be repaired.  The frame in question doesn't seem to fit in the latter category:

My dear reader says it's "a little on the small side" but rideable.  Some people don't mind, or even prefer, a frame that's a bit smaller than what's normally recommended for them.  There are legitimate reasons for that, and I wouldn't try to talk someone out of buying such a bike--especially if it's not available any other size.  (If you can't get the right size, too small is definitely better than too big.) Of course, my reader could get a new Mercian in the right size.  But, I think the reader likes the look--or, perhaps the spirit--of a vintage bike.  Or it may just be that the frame in question could be had for a good deal less money than a new one.

Speaking of which:  My reader wondered whether the price was "on the premium side."  Well, I told him, perhaps it's possible to find a similar frame for less.  But that might mean waiting, possibly for a good long while.   After all, there are only so many old Mercians--or any other old classic frames--being sold at any given moment.

I told my reader that if I were looking for another bike and it were closer to my size, I'd buy the frame in question.  I'd buy it even if I were simply looking for an interesting restoration project:  It looks like the frame has the old British-made TDC headset and, possibly, bottom bracket.  If I had the time and money to do a resto, I'd build it up with British-made parts like GB handlebars, stem and brakes, and possibly even a Benelux or Cyclo derailleur.  

I don't think my reader has any such plans.  I think I gave the best advice I could--although, in my heart of hearts, I think a Mercian is always worth it.

Bikes And Guns

I've never been too keen on guns.  Now, I'm not one of those people who thinks that getting a gun can turn someone into a mass murderer or serial killer.  (It seems that about 95 percent of the people I've met in the academic world believe something like that.) Two of my uncles were hunters; I simply never had any desire to join them.  And, although I had firearms training in my youth, I have  never had any inclination to own or use a firearm.

Most of the cyclists I know aren't gun enthusiasts, either.  I've known one cyclist who shot for sport, but only at inanimate targets on designated shooting ranges.  Other than that former riding buddy (a woman, actually!), the worlds of bicycles and guns have never, in any way, intersected for me.

What I just wrote would astonish or confound a cyclist of the 1890's.  Then, not only was it common for cyclists to carry "pieces" with them; it was more or less de rigeur.  And, Sears and Roebuck as well as other retailers offered revolvers, pistols and rifles designed especially for cyclists!

What's more, a few companies, such as Iver-Johnson and, yes, Smith and Wesson (!) actually made both guns and bikes.  The cities in which most firearms were made, such as Worcester, Springfield and Fitchburg in Massachusetts; Hartford, CT and Paterson, NJ, were also centers of the bicycle industry.l  Similarly, Birmingham and St. Etienne  also were the capitals of bike- and gun- making in England and France, respectively.  (They were also the centers of their nations' steel industries.)

As best as I can tell, guns made for cyclists differed from others in that they had shorter barrels so that they could fit into jacket or vest pockets.  Also, firearms for cyclists had mechanisms that prevented them from firing accidentally.   It would be an especially important feature, I think, for those who mounted "penny farthings" or high-wheelers, as riders tended to fall off them more often than those who pedaled "safety" bicycles.

The connection between firearms and bicycles extends, not surprisingly, to bicycle components.   Machine guns first became part of warfare during World War I.  A French soldier would study their mechanisms and use them as the basis for what remains, to this date, one of the greatest innovations in cycling:  Le Cyclo derailleur, which Albert Raimond designed and began to manufacture in 1923.  It is said to be the first reliable and practical derailleur made, and was seen on tandems in England into the 1970's.  Raimond would move to England and, with Louis Camillis, founded the British Cyclo gear company.  Their freewheels and other parts (including the derailleur, which became the Cyclo Standard) owed much in their designs and manufacturing techniques to the armaments used during the so-called Great War.

Cyclo Standard derailleur, 1930's.  From Disraeligears.

Today, few people make any connection between bicycles and firearms or warfare.  But, for better or worse, the development of the bicycle and that of firearms were once inseparable.  I wonder how our bikes today would ride, shift and brake had they not been such a relationship between wheels and revolvers.  Would frames have brazed-on brackets for carrying short rifles?  Hmm...