So What Does Frejus Have To Do With Gordie Howe?

In one of my early posts, I mentioned that I once rode into a southern French town called Frejus.  It has quite a history, dating back at least to the time of Julius Caesar.   That history, however, doesn't include bike-building, in spite of the fact that an extremely well-known bike brand bears its name.  

In fact, Frejus bikes weren't even built in France:  they hailed from Torino, Italy.  Back in the days of the North American Bike Boom, they were, to many of us, practically the dictionary definition of an Italian racing bike.  Their top racing model, equipped with a full Campagnolo Record gruppo, fetched the then-princely sum of $350--a seemingly-unreachable dream for the high school sophomore I was.

Although I would later see that other Italian bikes--as well as some bikes from other countries, including the Schwinn Paramount--actually had better workmanship, to my eye almost not other bike was prettier.  In fact, even after I "knew better", I somewhat  longingly eyed one of their track bikes with blue panels that looked like stained-glass windows on the fully-chromed frame.

I'm not sure that I had, by that time, gotten over the shock of knowing that the town of Frejus has--and, as best as I've been able to learn, never has had--anything to do with the production of bicycles, with or without its name.  In fact, I don't think even so much as a fender bolt has ever been made there.

It's still a lovely place and worth a visit if you're in the area (near Nice).  

Anyway, I got to thinking about that upon learning of the death of Gordie Howe, one of ice hockey's legends.  

Now what, you wonder, does his passing--at the ripe old age of 88--have to do with Frejus, France or Frejus bicycles?

Gordie Howe late in his career.  Don't let the receding hairline fool you:  He was outplaying players half his age!

Well, if you know anything about hockey, you know that when a player scores three goals in a game, it is called a "hat trick".  As I understand, this term is also used in the game the rest of the world calls "football" but Americans call "soccer".  A "pure" hat trick is one in whcih a player scores three goals and no one else scores in between them.

Then there is something called the "Gordie Howe hat trick". It has to do with his reputation as a player.  He liked to say he was "aggressive", but opponents as well as fans of opposing teams said he was "dirty".  The man could use his stick--to score goals and to make plays, some of which weren't quite legal, at least according to some referees' interpretation of National Hockey League rules.  And he committed more than a few pure-and-simple violations.

Because hockey is a fast and hard-hitting game, his stick work often led to fights.  Also, he wasn't averse to dropping his stick and gloves when he thought an opponent was messing with one of his teammates.

This reputation led someone--probably a sports-writer--to joke that if a player scored a goal and an assist and got into a fight, it was a "Gordie Howe hat trick."

The funny thing is that in his long career, which spanned thirty-one seasons from 1946 until 1980 (He retired in 1971 but returned two years later), from the time he was 18 until he was 52, he achieved his namesake hat trick only twice.  What's even funnier is that both of those games came in the same season (1953-54) and against the same team (the Toronto Maple Leafs, who at the time had a spirited rivalry with Howe's Detroit Red Wings).  

To put that into perspective, Rick Tocchet, who played 18 seasons, tallied 18 "Gordie Howe hat tricks".  And Brendan Shanahan--of all the players I've ever seen in their prime, the one most similar to Gordie--achieved 17 such games in his 21 seasons in the NHL.

Hmm...I wonder whether any of them rode a Frejus bike made in France? ;_)

A Lesson In Bicycle Economics

As the academic term begins in colleges all over this country (and world), thousands of students will purchase Professor N. Gregory ( Mankiw's Principles of Economics.


Those students will, I believe, learn more about economics  by shopping for the book than by actually reading it or attending their Econ 101 classes:  The most recent edition of Professor Mankiw's book goes for nearly $300. 

I'll put that in perspective:  The price of that book is nearly the same as my tuition for each of the first six semesters (out of eight) of my undergraduate schooling.

I mention this because of another lesson in economics I got, rather unexpectedly, a few days ago.  And it didn't come from Professor Mankiw or anyone else who served as a Presidential advisor.  Rather, it came from an authority I trust far more:  a bike mechanic I trust with any repairs or other work for which I don't have the tools, time or patience.

I'm talking about Hal Ruzal of Bicycle Habitat. He was re-tensioning the rear wheel on Tosca (my fixed-gear Mercian), which he built for me seven years ago.  That I rode it for so many miles--and, in fact, for a thousand or two on my DeBernardi before I transferred it to Tosca--is a testament to his skills.  

We chatted about one thing and another and somehow we got onto the topic of past jobs or our youth, or something related.  Anyway, he mentioned that during his senior year in high school, he had a job that involved drawing maps for an insurance broker.  In two weeks of working that job, he said, he'd saved up enough money for the bike he was lusting after:  a Frejus Competition.

As I mentioned in another post, that bike practically defined "Italian racing bike" for many of us who first got into cycling during the early days of the '70's Bike Boom.  I never owned one myself, but I admired it if for no other reason that it was one of the prettiest bikes available at that time.  And while accounts of its ride qualities vary--and the workmanship, while not bad, is not as nice as that of similar bikes I'd encounter later.

At the time Hal bought his, it retailed for around $375. The frame was constructed of Reynolds 531 double-butted tubes, rather than the Columbus SL or SP most Italian builders were using.  The frame was adorned with then-top-of-the-line Campagnolo Record components, including the Nuovo Record rear derailleur.   (Super Record was a couple of years in the future).  And, from what I've heard, Tom Avenia--whose New York City shop was, for decades, the main retailer of Frejus as well as other Italian marques and Campagnolo components--would replace the stock saddle (a Unicanitor, I believe) with a Brooks for an additional five dollars.

Hal, not given to hyperbole, put his job and purchase in perspective:  "Today, a kid could work all summer and not have enough for a 105 bike!"  Shimano's 105 components are good stuff--I've used some myself--but they are not top-of-the-line, as Campy Record was.  And, even though 105 derailleurs and brakes (or even cheaper ones) work better than anything produced at the time Hal bought his Frejus, nothing made today has the kind rugged construction or workmanship of those old Campy components.

Hal's lesson in economics followed one I heard recently in a lecture:  For the minimum wage to have the purchasing power it had in 1968, when it was $1.60 an hour, it would have to be $10.90.  Of course, even that doesn't get you much of anything--in terms of housing, food or clothing, let alone bikes--in places like New York (where I live), San Francisco or Boston. But what kind of lodging (or bike) can you get at the current minimum wage of $7.25?

If You Build Your Bike In Italy from Reynolds Tubing, Name It After A French Town

Today I saw a listing for a Frejus bicycle that was made in "Torino, France."


I wrote to whoever listed the bike to correct his/her geography:  Torino--known in the English-speaking world as Turin-- is, of course, in Italy.


One of the ironies of that listing is that the town of Frejus is actually located in France.  Granted, it's not far from Italy and was, at different times in history, ruled not only by Italy, but also by several Italian city-states as well as the King of Sardinia and the Dukes of Savoie (Savoy).  


And it was part of the Roman Empire.  That is evident in the ampitheatre in middle of the town.  In fact, when I was there, I recall reading something (a brochure?  a plaque? a book, maybe?) that said it is the oldest surviving Roman ampitheatre, not to mention one of the  oldest surviving structures, in France.  There are also the remains of an acqueduct as well as a number of other Roman structures.


Perhaps they built chariots back then.  However, nothing that I've read in French, English or Italian indicates that any bicycle, or even any part for one, was ever produced there, though--it being in the south of France, after all--quite a few people ride bikes for recreation as well as transportation. Well, at least they were when I was there.

Even if we never rode or owned one, Frejus bicycles are special to cyclists of my generation or the one immediately before us.  As Sheldon Brown points out on his page, they were often ridden by the few active racers in the US during the Dark Ages of the sport in this country.  And it was one of the bikes of choice for relatively well-heeled enthusiasts in the early days of the Bike Boom.


Accounts vary as to their ride qualities. And, as pretty as many of them were, the workmanship was actually pretty mediocre, even on their best Campagnolo-equipped models. But, for many of us, they defined what an Italian racing bike was.


They were imported and sold by Tom Avenia, who was also one of the first importers of Campagnolo equipment.  I met him when he was a very, very old man.  (He lived to be about 95, if I'm not mistaken.)  Frail as he was, he still rode and could tell stories about the Six Day Races in Madison Square Garden during the 1930's (which would be the last most Americans would hear of bicycle racing for about another half-century) as well as his own participation in such races as the Somerville Classic.  I could see how the man all but singlehandedly kept the torch burning, or at least flickering, on his zeal alone.

And he rode a Frejus track bike, equipped with a front brake, nearly to the end of his life.

And, yes, he reminded me that Frejus is actually a town in France, even though the bikes were made in Italy--of Reynolds 531 tubing.