Happy 69th To Eddy!

Sometimes I can't believe I'm in late middle age. It seems like I did my first multiday bike tour (at age 20), first century (same year).  foreign bike tour (age 21), and race (age 25) all last week.

And it seems that Eddy Mercx's legendary exploits happened a month before that.  He was the first racer I'd ever heard of, and I followed his career passionately. That might be the reason why, in my mind, I still hold an image of him as a young man with long dark hair and an almost-Latin kind of flair that belied his Flemish heritage.

And, of course, I always remember him on his sunset-hued bicycle.  I still think of that color as "Mercx orange" or "Molteni orange", in homage to him and the Italian team with whom he had his greatest professional achievements.

Call me sentimental, but I still think he's the greatest cyclist who ever lived (or, at least, who competed).  In contrast to more recent Tour de France winners, Mercx won hundreds of single- and multi-day classics in addition to his five Tour victories.  (Only Jacques Anquetil preceded him. and Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain followed him, in the five-Tour club.)  And he was a superb track rider who set an hour record that stood for twelve years--a geologic age in the world of cycling records.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, he is one of the four athletes who competed during my lifetime (and I had the privilege of seeing) and thoroughly dominated his sport.  

Happy 69th, Eddy!

(Aren't you glad I didn't mention a certain low-speed "chase" that happened twenty years ago today?'-)

It Wasn't Eddy's Bike

Ever since I started cycling, I've heard no end of debates about which frame tubing is "best." And, as long as I continue cycling, I'll probably never hear the end of such arguments.

Of course, for the first two decades or so I was a dedicated cyclist, nearly all frames were made of steel.  Even after other frame materials such as aluminum, titanium and carbon fiber first came onto the market, it took about a decade for them to appear in European pelotons.

So, in my youth, the Great Tubing Debate was mainly one of Reynolds vs. Columbus.  A few cyclists preferred Tange, Ishiwata or Vitus tubing, but nearly anyone who had a custom frame built--or simply had any pretensions of being a "serious" cyclist--chose Reynolds or Columbus.

Deep down, I always knew that it made only so much difference.  All of the tubings I mentioned are of high quality and can therefore be built into light, responsive and sturdy bikes.  The design and build quality of the frame matter far more than which company's metal is used.

The bike about which I am going to write today helped me to learn that lesson.

Back in the 1970's and '80's, a Mexican bicycle company called Windsor made a frame and bike called the "Profesional."  (Note the Spanish spelling, with one "s".)  If the decals were removed, most people would have had trouble telling it apart from the work of De Rosa, Colnago and other legendary Italian bike makers.

Like its old-world counterparts, the Profesional featured Columbus SL tubes (SP on the larger-size frames) joined with long-point lugs.  The Profesional even had the sunset-orange finish (which I have always liked a lot) of the De Rosas and Colnagos Eddy Mercx and his Molteni team rode to victories in the Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and just about every other race you can think of.

As a matter of fact, in 1972, Mercx broke the hour record on a Colnago painted in that color, but covered with Windsor decals.  That ride in the Mexico City velodrome probably was the first time cyclists outside Mexico knew that Windsor bicycles existed.

A complete Windsor Profesional bicycle with Campagnolo Record components could be had for about half the cost of a Colnago, DeRosa or other Italian iron.  The Profesional frame was available for about a third, or even less, than what one of those old-world steeds cost.

Not long after I bought my Colnago Arabesque, I acquired a somewhat-used Profesional frame with a seatpost and headset for $100, a good price even then.  It became one of my "parts bin bikes":  clincher wheels with Shimano 600 hubs, Sun Tour dearilleurs and Sugino cranks and, perhaps incongruously, Mafac 2002 centerpull brakes.

Aside from the fact that they were in my parts box, there was another reason I used those brakes:  They were gold anodized.  You can just imagine how they looked on the sunset-orange frame. And, oh yes, I installed a brown Ideale saddle and wrapped the bars with a brown leather tape Cannondale sold at the time.  That tape was one of two items I bought for the bike:  The bottom bracket that I used with the Sugino crank on another bike was made to fit an English-threaded bike, but the Windsor was built to Italian specifications.  

So how did it ride?  Well, this is where I come back to my point about frame tubing:  Although it was built from the same materials as the Colnago I'd just recently bought and the Gitane Professional I would later acquire, the ride did not compare with either.  The Windsor was at least as stiff as either but its rigidity felt more like that of a bike made of heavier materials.  In other words, it felt "dead" and not very responsive.  My perception didn't change when I swapped the wheels for the best set of tubulars (with sew-up tires) I owned at the time.  

I don't know why the ride was so unpleasant:  If I recall correctly, the wheelbase and angles were the same as (or close to) those of the Colnago.  As far as I could tell, the fit was about the same on both bikes, and I used handlebars and stems with the same dimensions as the ones on my Arabesque.  

For a season, the Windsor Profesional was my commuter and "rainy day" bike, though I did take it on a couple of long-distance fair-weather rides.  Some might say I needed more time to develop a mutually supportive relationship with the bike but the Colnago, Gitane, my Mercians and other bikes I've owned felt "right" to me immediately, even before I'd become acclimated to their particular idiosyncrasy.    So, the parts on the bike went back to my bin--for use on the next frame I would acquire--and I sold my Windsor Profesional for $50 more than what I originally paid for it.      

  

Splitting Vintage

Every once in a while, I'll walk by a seemingly-ordinary bicycle parked somewhere or another and, without knowing why, turn back to look at it.

That's what happened today at a local library branch.  This is the bike that made me backtrack:

At first glance, it seems like one of the current Merciers.  Not a bad bike, but nothing exceptional:  The welded Reynolds 520 frame sports a combination of inexpensive but functional components.  And the color and trim are rather nice but, again, not exceptional.

However, I noticed an interesting little detail upon looking at the bike for the second time:

The model name is "Galaxy."  Why would I notice something like that?

Well, as far as I know, when Merciers were built in France, there was never a "Galaxy" model.  However, another bike-builder--in England--offered a "Galaxy" model:

Dawes was a family-owned bicycle manufacturer based in Birmingham--the center of the British cycle industry--for nearly a century.  They were known mainly for their touring models; the Galaxy was billed as one of the least expensive stock (what the Brits call "off the peg") quality touring models available.

In materials, design and construction, it was very similar to the Raleigh Super Course, though the frame workmanship, in my opinion, tended to be a little better on the Galaxy.  Also, the Galaxy had, if I'm not mistaken, a somewhat longer wheelbase than the Super Course.

While not as popular as Raleigh in the US, many new American cyclists early in the 1970's "bike boom" bought a Dawes Galaxy as their first "serious" bike.  More than a few were outfitted with racks, full fenders (They came with useless half-fenders.) and lights and ridden on the Bikecentennial.  

What's interesting is that Dawes and Mercier--like Windsor--were bike brands that had somewhat-more-than-modest popularity in the US during that time. Now Chinese- and Taiwanese-made bikes bearing all three of those brands--as well as the hugely popular Motobecane--are sold on the Internet.  

Bikes sold under those brands in the US have no connection to the original manufacturers, which no longer make bikes in the countries in which they were founded.  Mercier, which had a successful racing team, went bankrupt in 1985; the same fate befell Motobecane, which became MBK and now manufactures motor scooters.  Windsor used to build bikes in Mexico based on European designs; its "Profesional" (note the Spanish spelling) was a knockoff of a Cinelli racing bike.  Eddy Mercx rode a Colnago bike bearing Windsor decals when he set the one-hour distance record in Mexico City in 1972.

So Dawes is the only one of those bike brands sold on the Internet whose original namesake company still exists. (Dawes bikes in the UK are sold by dealers and aren't the same as the ones in the US.) It's thus ironic to see the name of one of the most popular models in its history appropriated by a "ghost" bike label--that was based in France, no less!

Dawes Galaxy Road Test in Bicycling, May 1969

 

Le Quatorze Juillet: Victoire Sur Ventoux, Mais Pas Pour Un Cyclist Francais

Aujourd'hui, c'est la fete nationale francaise:  le jour de la prise de la Bastille.

If any Francophones or Francophiles are reading this, I apologize that I don't have diacritical marks on my keyboard!

Anyway, I spent le quatorze juillet in France four times, two of them on my bicycle.

In France, this date is always one of the most important in the Tour de France.  Or, at least, it's one of the dates on which the French pay most attention to the race.  Perhaps the best way I can describe it for Americans is this:  Imagine that, on the Fourth of July (le jour d'independence american), there was one baseball game.  Imagine what it would be like if most of the nation (or what seems to be most people in the nation) watched it before enjoying barbecues with families and friends and fireworks displays in their communities.

On all four of the years in which I was in France for le quatorze juillet, I was also there for le quatre.  On two of those occasions, I was in Paris and there were celebrations of American independence.  (The French--even Parisians--don't hate Americans, contrary to what you've heard.  It's more complicated than that.)  But in the other two years, when I was in les pays, enjoying the festivities of le quatorze made up for The Fourth simply being another day.  Well, almost:  The Fourth also happens to be my birthday!

Anyway, in the glory years of French cycling--when riders like Jacques Anquetil, Bernard Thevenet and Bernard Hinault won the Tour--a win in the stage on the 14th was almost expected.  And, in recent years, when the races has been won by cyclists from Spain, Italy, Colombia, the US (Greg LeMond still has his titles.), Germany and--helas (if you're French, anyway)--Britian, French cycling fans could console themselves with a victory--or the prospect of one--by a French rider on Bastille Day.

However, this year, it was not to be.  However, today's stage had an interesting outcome, in its own way.  Chris Froome--a Briton by way of Kenya and South Africa--won today's stage, which ended on the Tour's most difficult climb, Mont Ventoux.


Froome spoils French party by omnisport-uk

Ventoux is inherently a difficult (rated hors de categorie) climb.  But what makes it even more difficult for Tour riders is the fact that, unlike climbs like Galibier, les deux Alpes and Peyresorde (all of which I've done!), Ventoux is not part of a mountain chain.  It seems to come out of nowhere, so it's a shock to riders who've spent the day on the rolling-to-flat terrain that surrounds it.

One of the reasons why Froome's victory on Ventoux is so interesting is that the mountain claimed another famous British rider.  In 1967, Tom Simpson become the first cyclist from Albion to wear the yellow jersey, signifying the race leader, in the history of the Tour.  Some believed he would win the whole race, as he'd had an enormously successful racing season.

However, in pedalling up Ventoux, he suffered a stroke that killed him.  An autopsy revealed--to the surprise of few--that drugs played a part in his death.

There is a memorial to Simpson, and every Tour cyclist pays tribute--whether by waving his cap or with some other gesture--to the rider whose death, some argued, set back the hopes and dreams of British racers for at least a generation.

Three years after his death, one of Simpson's former teammates (on the French Peugeot team) won the stage that ended on le geant de Provence and paid tribute to him.

He was, arguably (Well, I won't argue, anyway!), the greatest racing cyclist who ever lived:  Eddy Mercx.

Croix de....?

Just a couple of pedal strokes away from my apartment, I chanced upon this:

I don't know whether the two crossed posts were intended to prop up the wires or the light fixture.  Perhaps they were intended as a monument to something.  Whatever their purpose, they looked ominious against a sky ready to drop its wrath.

For a moment, I recalled a cross I reached (but didn't bear) on bicycle:

Photo by Mute*

Yes, that is the Croix de Fer on top of Mount Royal in Montreal.  It's visible from just about anywhere in the city. (At least, it seemed to be when I last rode there, about a dozen years ago.)  The 1974 World Championships were held in Montreal; a Belgian racer said the climb up Mount Royal was one of the most difficult climbs he encountered in his career.

Said Belgian won the race.  Three guesses as to who he was...

(Yes, Eddy Mercx.)

Now, I wonder what the "cross" in my neighborhood was made from.  I don't think it's fer.

My First "Real" Bike: Peugeot PX-10

The other day, I wrote about my Peugeot U0-8, which became my first "fixie."  Now I'm going to write about another Peugeot I owned, which I didn't alter nearly as drastically.

When I bought my Schwinn Continental, I saw a Peugeot PX-10 in the shop.  I looked at its price tag:  $250 seemed like sheer insanity for a bike to someone who'd saved the $96 cost of the Schwinn from a year of delivering newspapers in the hinterlands of New Jersey.

Somehow, though, I knew I was going to end up with that bike.  As I wheeled my Continental out of the showroom of Michael's Bicycle Company (located next to a drive-in theater on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ),  I could feel the bike bug embedding its tentacles into my shins.

Well, about three years later, I got a PX-10 for $250--used.  And it was three years older than the one I saw in the showroom.

It seems that almost everyone who came of age during the '70's Bike Boom rode a PX-10 at some point or another.  For many of us, it was our first real racing bike:  Bernard Thevenet won the 1975 and 1977 Tours de France on PX-10s that differed from the ones we bought only in that the stems and handlebars were changed to fit his physique.

Also, the great Eddy Merckx began his professional career astride a PX-10 for the BP-Peugeot team in the mid-1960's.

Although $250 seemed like a lot of money for a bike in 1972 (and was probably even more so in 1969, when the PX-10 I bought was built), it was actually quite a good value.  First of all, the frame was built from Reynolds 531 tubing with Nervex lugs.  While the level of finesse in the lugwork and paint wasn't up to what one would find on a bike from a French constructeur or a classic British builder, it was nothing to be ashamed of.   

The chainstays, clearances and fork rake were all considerably longer than what would be found on later racing bikes.  However, racing bikes at that time had to be more versatile, as roads, particularly in small towns and rural areas of Europe, were rougher:  Some still hadn't been repaired after the bombings and shellings of World War II.  Also, racers and trainers at the time believed that a rider should spend as much time as possible on the bike he plans to use in upcoming races.  They also believed that, at least for road racing, outdoor training was superior to indoor, so the bikes were ridden all year long.  They--yes, even Merckx himself--rode with fenders and wider tires during the winter.

The longer geometry and rather thin stays meant that while the frame gave a lively ride, it could be "whippy," especially for a heavy rider, in the rear.  The flip-side of that, of course, was that the PX-10 gave a stable and comfortable ride in a variety of conditions.  This is one reason why many PX-10s were re-purposed as light touring bikes, or even outfitted (as Sheldon Brown's was) with an internally-geared hub and used for commuting.

The components that came with the bike were not top-shelf, but were at least good for their time.  The best of them, aside from the Brooks Professional saddle (Yes, it was original equipment on mine, though some PX-10s came with Ideale 90 saddles.) was probably the Stronglight 93 (63 on some earlier models) crankset.  It was beautifully polished and could be outfitted with chainrings from 37 to 57 teeth.  Mine came with 45 and 52, like most PX-10s of the era.  The 93 was a light, stiff crankset:  When I later got a Campagnolo Record for another bike, I couldn't detect any difference in rigidity.  The only problem with the 93 or 63 was that it had a proprietary bolt circle diameter that wasn't compatible with Campagnolo or other high-end cranksets of the time. These days, if you need to replace a chainring on your 93 or 63, you have to go to a swap meet--or eBay.

The wheels were also of very good quality:  Normandy Luxe Competition hubs with Mavic tubular rims (Some PX-10s came with Super Champion tubulars, which were equal in quality.) laced with Robergel spokes, the best available at the time.  Of course, I would build another set of wheels--clinchers--on which I would do the majority of my riding.



I rode many happy hours and kilometers (Hey, it was a French bike!) on my PX-10.  Like many other cyclists, I "graduated" to a more modern racing bike, and a touring bike and sold the PX-10.  Still, it holds a special place in my cycling life as my first high-performance bike.

Lance And Oprah

This morning, while doing my stretches and getting dressed for work, I was listening to the news.

I heard what I'm sure you've all heard by now:  Lance Armstrong, in an interview with Oprah Winfrey, has admitted to using banned substances.

To me, it's interesting that Winfrey said he "did not come clean in the manner I expected".  Of course, I won't know what she meant by that until I see the interview.  She said he "was ready" and "met the moment."

Now, I have to wonder what made him "ready" for a "confession".  And why did it take an interview with Oprah for him to "come clean".

While I am willing--however reluctantly--to believe his confession and guilt, I find it interesting, to say the least, that it's taken so long for anyone to establish his guilt. It seems that athletes in other sports--baseball in particular-- who were using banned substances were found out more quickly than Lance was.   

On the other hand, I don't think I have to wonder why there was so much more pressure on him to confess than there has been for other cyclists.  The first five-time winner of the Tour De France, Jacques Anquetil, once said something to the effect that nobody ever won the Tour on salad and mineral water.  

Other cyclists have admitted that doping was rampant in the sport.  But, none of them won the Tour seven times.  And none of them was American.   What's more, none of them did it the way Lance did it: He concentrated on winning the tour to the exclusion of many other races, including classics like Paris-Nice.  That is in marked contrast to riders like Eddy Mercx and Bernard Hinault who, between them, won about 400 more races than Armstrong did.

Plus, he managed to rankle other cyclists, including his teammates, in ways that no other winner did.  To be sure, they all provoked envy among the riders they defeated, and the ones who served as domestiques on their teams.  But, as fiercely competitive as they were on their bikes, they were gentlemen off their bikes.  Armstrong, from what I've heard and read, was cocky and often arrogant.  Now, I'm not saying that's a good reason to accuse him or to get him to confess.  But I think that other cyclists, as well as the sport's officials, wanted to see him brought down in ways they never wanted to see their old heroes dethroned.

Whatever their motives for bringing Lance to "justice", and whatever his motives for confessing, this is still a very sad time for the sport.  After all, he is one of the few larger-than-life personalities the sport has produced.  Other cyclists, like the ones I've mentioned and Miguel Indurain, were lionized for their athletic prowess.  But even Indurain himself admitted he wasn't much of a story when he wasn't pedaling.  As he once told a journalist, "My hobby is sleeping." 


I believe that the sport will continue even after Lance has been, in effect, excommunicated from it.  But it won't be the same.    About the only person who will benefit, I think, is Oprah.  To be exact, her network will benefit. After all, some people will look for it on their cable boxes for the first time.  

Holy Drillium, Eddy!

No matter how attractive you are, you have at least one photo of yourself that makes you wonder, "What was I thinking?"

It might be the hairstyle or clothing you wore when the photo was taken.  You can excuse yourself by remembering that they were en vogue at the time the photo was taken. Still, you wonder how you or anyone else dressed or looked that way.  

That's how I see most photos of myself.  Similarly, I look at pictures of some of my old bikes, and those my riding buddies and other cyclists rode, and wonder what possessed us to ride some of the stuff we rode. 

There are those scary '80's neon fade paint jobs.  And Benotto handlebar tape:  Available in colors to go or clash with those fade paint jobs!  But the first utterly pointless bike fade I can recall is "drillium."  Weight weenies of the '70's and early '80's drilled and slotted every part of every bicycle on which such things were even remotely possible--and even a few that nobody ever thought to drill.  As an example, holes were drilled in the toe clips of the bicycle Eddy Mercx rode to the hour record in Mexico City in 1972.

But I don't think even he went to this extreme:

Someone is selling it on eBay. Is it a seatpost with holes in it?  Or is it seatpost material formed around the holes?

Allez Eddie!

If you were following bike racing in 1974, when this photo was taken, you'd know that the racer in front is none other than Eddy Mercx.  I mean, who else had muscles like that in his legs?


Now, the question:  Was this photo taken in le Tour de France, which he won that year?


Well, from what I'm told, the fans were shouting "Allez! Allez!" to Eddy.  That would probably rule out le Tour, as French cycling fans actually weren't very fond of him.  


So let's see...Where else would people have been shouting 'Allez!  Allez!" ?  Specifically, where would they be directing it at Eddy?


Hmm...His home country of Belgium, possibly?  Of course, it would mean the race was in Wallonia, or possibly around Brussels, which is a bilingual city.  Either one is a possiblity:  He seems to have been popular in those areas, though not as well-loved in his home region of Flanders.


Switzerland is a possiblity.  After all, there's a mountain in the background.  And, he seems to have been more popular in the Francophone Helvetian provinces than he was in France.  


We could rule out the French-speaking African countries, as Eddy never raced them.  Ditto for French Guiana and the departements in the Caribbean.  


Saint Pierre and Miquelon?  We're getting closer:  At least we're on the right continent (more or less).  If we go a few hundred miles west, we come to a city whose flag is a white field with a clover, thistle, rose and fleur-de-lys.


You guessed it :  Montreal.  A few weeks after his fifth (and final) Tour de France victory, Eddy won the first World Professional Championship held in North America.  In the photo, he's ascending Mount Royal (for which the city is named), a climb he described as one of the most difficult of his career.

Now that we've placed it geographically, there are a few clues that tell us that the photo was indeed taken in 1974.  One, of course, is that Eddy is still young.  Also, the bike he's riding is a give-away.  But most important of all, in my opinion, are the clothes of a fan near him.  I mean, he wouldn't have gotten away with wearing them--especially those pants!--a year or two earlier or later.  

Classic Beginnings To Spring

Now we're having the sort of weather we normally get in the latter parts of November or Feburary.  So many people in this part of the world are wondering whether or not we had winter.


Officially, Spring began about a week and a half ago.  Of course, we all know that the beginning or end of a season hasn't much to do with an equinox. Or so it seems. 


Some Irish people argue that Spring begins on St. Patrick's Day.  Some old Sicilians say it starts with the feast of San Giuseppe (St. Joseph) on the 19th.  (I don't think it does; however, it's a great excuse for eating a sfingi.)  However, other Italians argue that the season commences with the Milano-San Remo race.  In fact, the race is commonly nicknamed "La Primavera." Other Europeans think la primavera or le printemps begins on the day of the nearest one-day "classic".  


One-day classics usually highlight a particular aspect of road racing such as sprinting (e.g., Milano-San Remo), climbing (La Fleche Wallonne) or the sheer ability to endure pain and torture (See the Paris-Roubaix, a.k.a., "L'enfer du nord.").  As one might expect, the first ones are held in Italy and, from there, they move northward to France, Belgium and the Netherlands.  


In times past, it was important for even the top racers to place well, if not win.  Cycling, which until the 1980's was sponsored mainly by bicycle-related companies and other mom-and-pop businesses, didn't pay as well as other sports like soccer/football.  Even Eddy Mercx built up his bank account--along with his muscles and his reputation--by winning more classics than any other racer in history.  That is one reason why, Lance's seven Tour de France wins notwithstanding, Europeans still hold Mercx in higher esteem--more than three decades after his retirement-- than just about any other racer.


Ironically, Australians won this year's and last year's Milan-San Remo.  In the native country of Simon Gerrans and Matt Goss, autumn was beginning when they won the race, as it was in 2009 when their countryman Mark Cavendish won.

Before Martina, There Was Nancy

Every once in a while, an athlete comes along who completely dominates his or her sport, at least during his or her career.  I'd say that in my lifetime, there were four such athletes:  Eddy Mercx, Martina Navratilova, Wayne Gretzky and Michael Jordan. 


(With all due respect to Lance, I think Eddy was the most dominant cyclist because he won every type of race that existed while he was competing.  Like Mercx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain also won the Tour de France and a variety of other races.  However, they never seemed to have the same aura of invincibility Mercx had in his prime.)


Of the four, perhaps Navratilova's timing was the most fortuitous.  She came along during the 1970's, when women's sports first started to achieve anything like a wide audience, and was at her peak during the early and mid 1980's.  


Recently, I learned of another great athlete who may have been on the other side of the mirror from Navratilova.

Nancy Burghart accepting the trophy for her 1964 National Championship from USI President Otto Eisele Jr.

Nancy Burghart (now Nancy Burghart-Haviland) won eight US National Championships during the 1960's.  She was one of the most versatile riders of her time, as she also won pursuit and sprint championships.  Nearly any time she mounted a bicycle, people expected her to win, much as they did when Navratilova entered a tennis court.


Some would say that Burghart had the misfortune of racing at a time when relatively little attention was paid to cycling, and to women's sports, in the US.  However, she garnered great respect from both the men and women in her sport, and even got some overseas press, which was no small feat in the conditions I've described, and in the absence of the Internet and 24-hour news cycles. 


During Burghart's career, the traditional cycling powers of Europe and Japan did not take American racing very seriously.  However, one could argue that, even then, American female cyclists were among the world's best.  In countries like France, Italy and Japan, bicycle racing, and the media that covered it, were focused almost entirely on male racers.  This could only have stunted the development in women's racing in those countries.  On the other hand, bicycle racing in the US during the three decades after World War II was entirely an amateur affair.   Some have argued that this is a reason why male and female racers were on more or less equal footing, and may have been what allowed women's cycling to gain more prominence in the years before Greg LeMond won the Tour de France.


In my research, I found another interesting detail about Ms. Burghart:  She was born and raised in the Jackson Heights section of Queens, barely a couple hundred pedal spins from the Kissena track--or my apartment.  That track, of course, is where any number of American racers have trained as well as raced.  And it's also where the trials were held for the 1964 Olympic team.


In 1957, when she was 12 years old, she won the Girls' Midget title.  Her twin sister Melissa also competed in the race, and others Nancy rode and won.  It would have taken plenty of determination for an American boy to pursue a bicycle-racing dream at that time:  Imagine what it must have taken for two girls!


From what I've gathered, Burghart-Haviland now lives in Maine.  Given her role in cycling, and American sports generally, I am surprised she isn't better-known.

Leaders On Two Wheels

Last month, French President Nicolas Sarkozy promoted Eddy Mercx to a Commander the Legion d'Honneur.


Can you imagine any American President giving Lance or Greg LeMond the Presidential Medal of Freedom?  As far as I know, the only Armstrong to win the medal was Neil.  And he got it from Nixon!  That's something like being given an ethics award by Bernie Madoff.


Anyway...I think Sarkozy making Eddy a Legionnaire begs the question of what kind of country we'd have with a President who was a cyclist, or who was at least cycling-conscious.


Monsieur Sarkozy is known to be something of a velo aficionado, and has been seen riding on holidays.  I'm guessing that other French, and European, leaders liked to tour on two wheels.


During his campaign, Bill Clinton was seen astride his Merlin titanium bike (They were all the rage during the '90's.) but apparently he lost his time or appetite (or both) for riding once he was in office.  Jimmy Carter became an avid rider and is often seen astride his Rivendell.  However, I somehow can't imagine either of the Bushes, Reagan or Nixon in the saddle.  Of course, FDR couldn't have ridden.  But somehow I don't think it's much of a stretch to envision Teddy Roosevelt, or even Harry Truman or Eisenhower on two wheels, at least before they became President.


To my knowledge, none of the current Republican candidates for the Presidency is a cyclist.  Nor, for that matter, is Obama.




Quite possibly the most famous thing any head of state did with or on a bicycle was when the King of Denmark abandoned his in Tivoli Square when the Nazis decreed that no Jew could own or ride one.


Would this, or any country be better off with a leader who rides a bicycle?  I'd like to believe so.