I have owned two folding bikes in my life. The first, a Chiorda from the 1970's, I didn't have for very long. But I rode the second, a Dahon Vitesse, to work for a year and a half.
As I've said in my post about the Dahon, I am not against folding bikes per se. In fact, I see a real need for collapsible bikes that give a satisfying ride. I just think such bikes are few and far between, although that could change one day.
That last statement is not just something I said to appease those of you who love your collapsible bikes or to prevent a flame war. My optimism about the future of collapsible bikes is based on the fact that a number of designers and engineers are creating new and interesting ones. Perhaps one really will be the folding bike of the future.
For some, getting a folder--or any bike--might be part of "going green".
It seems that Josef Cadek took that notion literally in designing his "Locust" folding bike. It seems that whenever someone is creating a "modern" design, he or she seems to think it must be done in shades of white, gray or beige. Not that I dislike those colors: I just like variety. (It drives me crazy that every other bike made is black, or so it seems.)
I have no idea of how the Locust rides. One thing I will say for it, though, is that it's hard to fault for its shape or size when folded. The same could be said about Thomas Owen's "One" which looks, well, more modern, at least in its tonal palette:
Since we live in a world in which we have to do so much in so little time, we have to "multitask." So must our devices and gadgets. So, since many cyclists ride with backpacks (I rarely do), Chang Ting Jen perhaps thought it was natural to come up with this:
Yes, a backpack bicycle! Supposedly, it weighs only 12 pounds. Of course, most people wouldn't want to carry much else if they have such a bike, as light as it is, on their backs.
You can read more about these, and some other interesting concept bikes on the Incredible Things webpage.
Mention folding bicycles today, and the first name that comes to most people's minds is Dahon. Discerning (or rich) cyclists would probably mention Brompton.
Those of us who came of age during or before the '70's Bike Boom recall the Raleigh Twenty and similar bikes made by Peugeot and other European manufacturers. For a few days, I owned an Italian-made Chiorda from that era.
Interestingly, "folders" may be the one genre of bicycles not made by Japanese manufacturers of that time. At least, I don't recall any from Fuji, Nishiki or any of the other bike-builders from the Land of the Rising Sun.
One of the most interesting folding bikes of all--at least for its time--is almost entirely forgotten now. However, it might be said to be the forerunner of today's folding bikes. Andrew Ritchie said the bike I'm going to talk about was his inspiration in designing the first Brompton bicycle.
Harry Bickerton was one of those eccentric tinkerers who so often come from England. He worked as an engineer at Rolls-Royce and De Havilland. In 1968, a driving ban made his commute difficult. Dissatisified with using his road bike and the best folding bike he could find, he set out to combine the best features of the two.
The result was patented four years later. It could fit into a shopping bag and, best of all, weighed only 17 pounds--less than almost any road, or even track, bike available at that time.
He achieved the feat with a hinge he developed that remained relatively rigid when the bike was opened up--and by constructing the frame from aluminum. Also, most of the components were made from aluminum alloy--in contrast to the all-steel folding bikes from Raleigh and other makers--and the handlebars were made to be folded relatively easily.
Notice that I used the word "relatively". In comparison to other folding mechanisms of the time, Bickerton's worked more smoothly and reliably. However, it had to be handled with care. As Tom Cuthbertson wryly noted, the manual that came with the bikes was one of the greatest pieces of instructional literature ever written because it had to be.
Perhaps the most unique feature of the bike, though was that there were no welds or brazes anywhere in the frame. Rather, it was constructed from aluminum profiles fitted together.
Like other aluminum bikes that preceded Klein and Cannondale, the Bickerton is an example of a "flexible flyer". Or, at least, a flexible magic carpet. People who rode Bickertons almost always said they were great as long as you didn't mind the flex.
I never rode a "Bickie" myself, but I suspect that its flexibility gave it more ability to absorb shock than other small-wheeled bikes. I would guess that if you rode into one of those potholes with its own Zip Codes that we have in some parts of New York, you might have more chance of coming out of it without the mishap I incurred on my Dahon.
Perhaps the Bickerton's floppy qualities made it less durable, and might be a reason why so few can be found today. Production stopped in 1989 and the factory closed in 1991, but bikes bearing the family name are being made in Taiwan for a company headed by Harry's son Mark. The new Bickertons look a heck of a lot like Dahons.
Bickerton has a distributor in Mexico but not in the US. Hmm...I wonder whether Dahon has anything to do with that.
Visitors to my apartment are sometimes amazed to see how many bikes and how much related equipment I've been able to fit--along with shelves full of books and a real bed and dining table. And Max and Marley share the place with me!
Actually, I don't know how I'd manage if I were living with another human, especially if said human were not a cyclist. I guess I'm more fortunate than most other cyclists--especially those here in the Big Apple--in that I've never owned a collapsible or folding bike out of necessity.
But I understand why such bikes are gaining in popularity. Higher housing costs mean that we're living in smaller spaces. Also, airlines seem to have become more ornery about transporting bicycles. And, finally, today's Bromptons and even Dahons are better than folding or collapsible bikes of the past.
Of course, there are other solutions to the problem of small living spaces:
In an earlier post, I wrote about the Dahon Vitesse D5 on which I commuted for about a year and a half. I think I gave the impression that it was the only folding or collapsible bike I've ever owned. That's more or less true, if you don't count another one I owned for a few days.
I was reminded of it when I came across this photo:
It's a Chiorda folding bicycle, just like the one I owned for a few days. It's even the same color, although--cosmetically, anyway--in slightly better condition than mine was.
I had an excuse for its rattiness: I found mine by the curb, next to some bags of trash. For some reason I don't recall, I didn't ride my bike that day to visit a then-friend who was living in Jackson Heights. I spotted the bike as I walked to the subway station.
But I didn't take the train home. I walked the bike to a nearby gas station where I inflated the tires. They held air long enough for me to ride the bike back to Brooklyn, where I lived at the time.
At that time, I'd ridden a few folding bikes, never for very long. The Chiorda was about what I expected from such a bike. Actually, I should qualify that statement: It was about what I expected from a folding bike, but slightly better than what I expected from a Chiorda.
You see, I developed an early prejudice against the brand. My first--and, for a long time, only--experiences with them came in the first bike shop in which I worked. A nearby R&S Auto (Think of it as a low-rent version of Western Auto or Pep Boys.) sold Chiorda ten-speeds for $69. The quality of the ones I saw ranged from ghastly to just plain scary. I don't recall seeing one that didn't have a misaligned frame; some had bottom bracket threads that stripped when you removed the cups, rear brake bridges that broke off the stays and various other problems.
At that time, bikes from Taiwan and Eastern Europe (except for the Czech-made Favorits) were considered the worst on the market; I think the Chiordas I saw were just as bad. To be fair, though, any of those bikes was better than the Indian three-speeds I fixed. And, I would learn that Felice Gimondi actually won the Tour de France on a Chiorda--though not, of course, the one I found or the ones I'd worked on.
But my ingrained prejudice prevailed. Even though the treasure I found in the trash was better than I thought it would be, I didn't expect to keep it. One day, a few days after I found it, I took it out for a spin. I stopped at a greengrocer, where I encountered a sometime riding buddy and local mechanic. He actually wanted the bike--for his girlfriend.
I guess I can understand why he wanted it for her: Even if it wasn't the greatest bike, it was kinda cute. So, for that matter, was she. He was, too. I haven't heard from him in years. Now I wonder whether she still has that bike--or him.
Some days, the gray cloudy sky spreads like a shawl over buildings and trees. But today, it's like the proverbial wet blanket.
So, I thought this might be a good day to talk about a bike I owned and didn't care for very much. In fact, it's part of a genre of bikes I'm not really crazy about, but not because I have anything against the genre. Rather, I find the bikes within them are all wanting.
That genre is folding bikes. I've often felt I'd like to have one, even though I'm not travelling more than a couple of times a year. Once, I did give into my curiosity and bought one: the Dahon Vitesse D5.
Part of my rationale for buying it was that I could fold it and bring it into the office I shared at the time. I was indeed able to do that, and folding the bike was easier than I expected. However, the bike was heavier than I thought it would be (I had to climb two flights of stairs to get to that office, and my classes.) though, to be fair, it may have been because of some of the things I added to it.
The bike came in a matte-black finish. It's not exactly my taste, but I think it was the only color choice available. Soon after I bought the bike, I swapped out the stock saddle for a Brooks B72 I picked up on Craig's List. That gave the bike, to which I also added a rear rack, a surprising elegance.
You've heard the term "flexible flyer." That's what some of us called certain bikes like the Peugeot PX-10E (which I'll write about in another post). Well, the Dahon was like a Broken Flyer: When it rolled, it gave a surprisingly nimble ride, albeit on what felt like a broken frame. Again, in all fairness, every folding bike I've tried--even the Brompton--felt like it was pulled apart in the middle. I suppose that if I weren't accustomed to high-quality conventional frame, I might be able to accept that quality. But, after about a year and a half of commuting and running errands on the Dahon, I was still distracted by it.
Another problem I had with the bike was its transmission. The Sturmey-Archer 5-speed hub that came with the bike was one of the most unreliable pieces of bike equipment I've ever had. I never could keep it adjusted; nor could the mechanics at the shop where I bought the bike. Someone suggested that the problem may have had to do with the fact that when the bike was folded, the shifter cable was pulled and twisted. I'm sure that was a contributing factor, but I noticed that even after adjusting the gears when the bike was unfolded, I experienced "ghost" gear changes while I was pedaling. Even changing the shifter from the twist-grip style that came with the bike to a more traditional "trigger" mechanism didn't make the shifts more accurate or smoother.
But the fact that the frame folded wasn't the only thing that made it an unsuitable ride for me. One one of the last commutes home I took on the Dahon, a small pothole I would just barely have noticed had I been riding one of my larger-wheeled bikes swallowed the front wheel and threw me off the bike--in traffic. Neither the bike nor I was damaged, and I sold the former soon afterward.
Perhaps one day I'll get another collapsible bike. But, for now, if I can't take one of my own bikes on a trip (or if doing so is overly expensive or cumbersome), I'll borrow or rent. Then I'll appreciate riding my own bikes all the more when I get home!
