Purple Ride

All you have to do is look at Arielle, Tosca and Helene--my three custom Mercians--to know what my favorite color is.

And, although I am more of a Purple Haze fan, I certainly loved Purple Rain--and the artist who made it his signature song.

I am talking about His Royal Badness, or The Artist Formerly Known As The Artist Formerly Known As Prince.  It's hard to believe that in not much more than two weeks, a year will have gone by since he left us.

Not surprisingly, there have been some lavish tributes.  But perhaps none is as unique or interesting as the one Erik Noren has just made for Anna Schwinn.

Anna Schwinn with her Prince tribute bike.

Yes, she is one of those Schwinns.  She had contacted Noren of Peacock Groove Bicycles about getting a custom bike built for her.  Then, after Prince's death, she decided to make it a tribute.

Erik Noren of Peacock Groove Bicycles

Although Noren has built tribute bikes and other machines in unconventional configurations, he says he was intimidated at first.  "How do you take his spirit, his music and what he did, and put that into a bike?," he wondered.

The first thing he thought about, he said, was style.  Prince "was never gaudy," Noren explained.  "He was always classic and classy."  After he constructed a color scheme and theme, word got out about his project.  Soon he received messages from vendors and even associates of Prince himself, offering to donate items and materials to be used in the commemorative cycle.

Noren is justified in believing that what he turned out befits its namesake. Last month, it won awards for the Best Theme and Best Bike In Show at the North American Handmade Bicycle Show.  While he is happy about the awards, he believes the greatest validation came from an audience of one:  Ms. Schwinn herself.

She took the bike out for a ride around Lake Minnetonka--only a few pedal strokes, if you will, from Prince's home--and dipped the wheels in the water.  Noren is glad she did that:  As visually striking as the bike is, he believes that it, like any other bike, "needs to be ridden."  The scratches and dings a bike picks up are "like scars on people:  they tell a story."  He is "excited that she's out making new stories on that bike."

I think the Purple One himself would approve.

When An Iris Doesn't Fit: Twofish

All four of my Mercians have a few things in common besides, well, being Mercians.  For example, they all have Phil Wood hubs and bottom brackets, Zefal HPX pumps, Brooks saddles and at least one part from Nitto.  In addition, all of them have Ruth Works bags, made by Ely Rodriguez, attached to them.

They also have King headsets.  Arielle, Tosca, Helene and Vera are also have another King in common:  water bottle cages, specifically the Iris model.  I have been very happy with them:  They are easy to use, hold the bottle well, don't bend and haven't shown any signs of breaking or even wear.  And, yes, I like the way they look.

Only recently have I discovered a "problem" with King Iris cages.  Actually, it would not have been a problem if I hadn't stumbled across the 1981 Trek I've been working on.  That frame doesn't have braze-on mounts for water bottle cages.  Most Bike Boom-era ten-speeds, even high-quality ones like my Romic and Peugeot PX-10, didn't have them. Around the time my Trek was made, a good bike was as likely as not  to have brazed-on water bottle mounts.

Most water bottle cages of that time, whether the high-quality ones from Specialites TA, Blackburn or REG, had tabs for clamps (which sometimes were supplied with the cages) as well as mounting holes.  On the other hand, many modern cages--like my Irises--do not have the provision for clamps and are made only for braze-ons.

I know that adapters are available.  Basically, they are plastic bands or zip-ties cinched with a plastic boss that contains a nut into which the cage is bolted.  I have never tried them, so for all I know, they may work just fine.  But I don't think they're worth $15.  Also, they just wouldn't look right on the Trek (or, for that matter, any other decent bike).

So, the obvious solution is to use a classic or classic-style cage with clamps.  Turns out, I had clamps but not, to my surprise, cages I could use with them.  So, I searched for some vintage or vintage-style cages.  In particular, I would have loved to find the single-clamp model TA made for a few years.  Back in the day, they cost about $4 or $5 new.  The ones I found on eBay were listed for $50 or more, and some of them looked as if they were fished out of the nearest bayou.  And other classic steel cages--or even the old Blackburn alloy ones and the near-clones made by Minoura and other companies--were expensive and some, shall we say, looked as if they had been more than used.  

Finally, I came across something that looks like a stainless steel version of those early Blackburn cages:


The welds on it are very clean and the finish is nice.  It weighs about twice as much as the Iris, or almost any other modern stainless steel cage:  The manufacturer lists a weight of 96 grams.  Then again, almost any vintage steel cage weighs at least that much--and if I were so concerned about weight, I wouldn't be putting my effort into a bike like the Trek 412, would I?

The cage is made in the USA by Twofish.  They make a similar cage with an attachment that allows it to be strapped onto a frame.  People seem to like it, but I would rather go with the more traditional clamp setup, especially on a vintage bike.

Perhaps the best part of all is the price.  When I bought my  Iris cages, I paid $14 to $17 each. To me, such prices are entirely reasonable for good-quality stainless steel cages, especially ones made in the USA.  And Ron Andrews makes those cages (as well as the titanium version) by hand in his Durango,Colorado garage.

Now, I don't know whether equally colorful individuals or little elves in Sequoia trees weld the Twofish cages.  But they are made in this country, in California:  one of the highest-wage states.  So imagine my delight in finding this cage for $10.50.

Unlike most modern cages, this one has "tabs" that will accommodate vintage-style metal water bottle clamps.  The ones I have will fit just fine.

And I think it will look right, and fine, on the Trek.  That is what matters most, doesn't it?

Cycling The Fall On The North Shore

Perhaps the fall is inevitable, which is exactly the reason some people live as if it will never happen to them.

Sometimes I think that is one of the messages of The Great Gatsby.  Though the novel was written, and take place, in the 1920s, a line from Prince is fitting:  party like it's 1999.

I got to thinking about Gatsby and what the fall means today because, while riding, I saw this:

and this:

along the North Shore, from Queens into Long Island and back.  

You know the old riddle:  If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?  Well, perhaps someone posed a parallel question:  If trees lose their leaves and nobody sees it, will the fall come?

Jay Gatsby, having grown up on a farm and aspired to the high life, probably never looked at a tree once he left the farm.   I doubt any of the other characters in that novel looked at very many trees or gave much thought to the changing of the season, whether in nature or their lives.

But fall comes to their North Shore playgrounds, just as it comes everywhere else.  For me, it made for a lovely, pleasant ride, one in which I didn't mind that I was pedaling into, or getting sideswiped by, brisk winds, or that as I rode along the water, the temperature dropped (or seemed to drop) to levels for which I wasn't dressed.

Today it was Vera's turn to enjoy the season.  She was dressed for the occasion.  Then again, she always looks right for the ride. So do my other Mercians.  

They have no reason to fear the fall. Nor do I.  

Vera's And Helene's Cousin?

And here I was, thinking that I rode the only Mercians with Velo Orange Porteur handlebars in New York City.

On my way home, I wandered, as I often do, through Greenpoint, Brooklyn.  It's just across the Pulaski Bridge from Long Island City, Queens--which, in turn, is just upstream (on the East River) from Astoria, where I live.

I was spinning the gears on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear, on Greenpoint Avenue, one of the neighborhood's main throughfares.  (I won't use the word "drag" because I don't want to create unintended connotations!)  Out of the corner of my eye, I tawt I taw, not a puddy tat, but an interesting bike.

My instincts proved correct.  Indeed, parked on the street was a Mercian.  Of course, I will find a bike interesting just because it's a Mercian, but this one--in spite of its classic panel scheme--would prove to be unique.

I wish a car weren't parked right next to it and that I had something more suited to close-range photography than my cell phone. I did the best I could by squeezing myself between the car and bike and doing my best imitation of Gumby.  At least I captured, I think, something of the bike's look, with its pewter-gray paint and its creme anglaise-coloured panels.  

The grips, I think, made those Porteur bars look like they belonged on the bike.  If I were building it, I would have gone with a honey or brown Brooks saddle, though I don't think the black seat looks bad.  I'm guessing that whoever put the bike together had that saddle on hand, possibly from another bike he or she had ridden.

One nice thing about the bike was that it looks as if it wasn't put together merely for looks or style.  For one thing, it is a Mercian, so it is built for a nice ride. (Why do you think I own four of them?)  The frame is constructed of a Reynolds 531 "Super Tube" set.  Reynolds 531, like other top-quality bicycle tubing, was made in different thicknesses.  The "Super Tube" sets combined different thicknesses. I suspect that, as the frame is a small size, lighter tubes were used on the top tube and possibly the seat tube. The components are all first-rate:  mainly Shimano, including Dura Ace hubs and rear derailleur. 

I was tempted to leave a note on the bike, in the hopes that its owner would contact me.  That is a risky thing to do here in New York (and, I suspect, in many other places).  So all I can do is hope that the bike's owner sees this post and contacts me.  I would love to know more about the bike--and, possibly, whoever rides it.  Perhaps he or she would like to meet Vera or Helene, my Mercian mixtes with Velo Orange Porteur bars!

Mercian Revives An English Tradition--For Now

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--around the tail end of the '70's Bike Boom--high-quality, performance-oriented bikes were marketed in two categories:  racing and touring.  Although there were elite touring bikes available, such as Schwinn's touring Paramount and machines from custom builders, racing bikes were seen as the more advanced and higher-quality machines.

By 1987 or thereabouts, major bike manufacturers had ceased making bikes designed for loaded, or even light, touring. 

For one thing, multiday bike touring was no longer as popular as it had been in the wake of the Bikecentennial.  Many people who bought touring bikes used them for once-in-a-lifetime treks, whether cross-continental tours like the Bikecentennial or an after-college ramble through Europe--or just a crossing of the nearest county or state line.  Then, "life intervened" or they simply lost their incentive to do another tour, and their bikes hung in rafters or barns, or collected dust in basements.  Thus, by the mid-'80's, there was little demand for new touring bikes.

For another, by that time, mountain bikes had come "of age", as it were.  The "racing/touring" dichotomy of the Bike Boom era was thus replaced by a "road/mountain" binary that lasted through most of the rest of the 20th Century.  The "hybrid" bicycle was supposed to be a cross between road and mountain bikes, but, as one wag noted, it had "the speed of a mountain bike and the comfort of a road bike".

During the race/tour and road/mountain eras of cycling, new cyclists came into the fold without knowing of other genres of bicycles that enjoyed popularity--and fulfilled clear purposes--throughout the history of cycling.  For example, most of us didn't know about the randonneuses made by constructeurs like Rene Herse and Alex Singer, let alone what distinguished them from fully-loaded touring bikes.  We also didn't know about cyclo-cross bikes or riding--and, when most of us did learn, the riding was introduced to us as if it were some kind of proto- or paleo- mountain biking.

And, until a few years ago, most of us hadn't heard of "path racers".  It's a British term for bikes that can be ridden on smooth dirt pathways as well as on roads. They are said to be inspired by fin de siècle French track bikes, which would account for the fact that they're usually ridden with turned-over North Road-style and other "riser" bars to give an aerodynamic position.

Even in England, a whole generation of cyclists came of age without knowing about these bikes, as their peers and France were forgetting about classic randonneuses.  Fortunately, Alex Singer (Ernst Csuka) lived long enough to see a revival in a demand for such bikes, and Rene Berthoud as well as builders in other countries are making such bikes.  Now it seems that the path racer is enjoying a revival in England.  Pashley, the country's last large-scale bike manufacturer, has been making the Guv'nor--a stylized version of such bikes--for several years.  Now one of Britain's best-known traditional bike builders is making a limited-path racer:

As of now, Mercian plans to produce only ten Path Racers. Given the new surge in popularity of such bikes, I wonder whether the folks in Derby might be persuaded to make more. 

Fixtures In The Landscape

Have you ever gone someplace--particularly a place very different from the one in which you were born, raised or lived--and felt as if the people there were always there, as if they were part of the land, sea, wind, stones or sky--or as if they were forms of the very light in which you were seeing them?  

I hope that I don't seem to be dehumanizing or merely trivializing him, but this fisherman, when I first looked at him, seemed to be part of the rocks and concrete slabs on the beach:

Perhaps he looked that way because I'd pedaled against the wind all the way from my apartment to Point Lookout before I saw him.  I wasn't tired:  I've been feeling really good on my bikes--especially Arielle, my Mercian Audax, which I rode today--lately.  If anything, I was feeling pretty giddy.  For some reason (or perhaps no reason), I've often felt that way while and after riding.


Somehow I felt that man will be there again the next time I ride to Point Lookout, along with all of those slabs and stones, and the tides, whether they're in or out--and, oh, yes, the Point Lookout Orca.  

I assured Arielle that she didn't have to become part of the rocks, or part of any art installation.  All I wanted was for her to take me back--with the wind at my back, all the way to my apartment.  After you're giddy, you get to exhale.

One Of My Teachers

In yesterday's post, you might have noticed Vera behind a repair stand.

 
 

No, she wasn't getting fixed.  As good as I felt, she might have done the ride even better than I did.  At least, she didn't shed any tears.  (And, if she had, she wouldn't have claimed that the wind was causing her eyes to well up--something her rider would do!)




That do-it-yourself repair station, with various tools dangling from chains, stands beside a bike shop that holds a special place in my cycling life.

The Peddler of Long Branch, NJ is probably the first shop focused on high-performance bikes (which, in those days, pretty much meant imported ten-speeds)  I ever visited. 

Back in those days, they were in a squat storefront that looked as if it had been built from driftwood. Located just across the street from the beach, it was the sort of place where, had you not seen the bikes in the window, you might have expected to find surfers and latter-day hippies. Actually, in those days, some cyclists fit into either or both of those categories. 

They're still in the same building, though it's expanded and been remodeled more than a bit.  I'm guessing that paint and aluminum siding were done in response to some sort of pressure to reflect the aesthetic (if one could call it that) of nearby Pier Village. 

All right, so it's not terrible-looking.  But it's hard not to feel a little nostalgia for the shop the way it used to be--especially because it's one of the places where I went to learn more about high-quality bikes. 

Anthony "Ducky" Schiavo, the founder, was very patient, thorough and friendly in answering my questions.  I would later learn that, prior to opening the shop, he'd been an elementary-school teacher.  He understood that nobody is born knowing the difference between Reynolds 531 and Columbus tubing, and that most of us didn't--in those days before the Internet or even before foreign cycling publications were readily available--have many reliable sources of information about cycling. 

In other words, he continued his teaching even after he left the classroom. And, given how well he could explain technical details in vivid language, I always suspected he was a very good writer.  

A writer.  A teacher.  A cyclist.  Someone after my own heart, you might say.  A role model.  He definitely furthered my education.

So...Would it surprise you to learn that I bought two bikes-- my Nishiki International and Peugeot PX-10--at the Peddler?  I didn't think so.

 

Family Portrait Day

Today is Family Day.  So you’re gonna see lots and lotsa pikshas.

In the previous sentence, my roots were showing.  I’m going to my hairdresser on Thursday.

Anyway…Now I’m going to show you some portraits of family members.  It’s a particular but close branch:  The Mercians.

Yes, I’m going to show you my bikes, after their winter makeovers and some riding.

First I’ll start with Arielle, the first Mercian to come into my life:

You’ve seen some photos of her already. But I wanted to show her after 500 miles, post-facelift (and overhaul):

I’m liking it more and more with the honey leather.  I think the bags have something to do with it:  The color of the canvas (“Nantucket Red”, which is really more like salmon pink) works with both the green and purple of the “flip flop” finish and the honey saddle, bar wrap and toe straps. What do you think?

As you know from a few previous posts, Tosca, my fixie (and the second Mercian I acquired) got a similar treatment.

I’m happy with the way the colors play off each other.  However, I wasn’t able to find a double track toe strap to go with the other leather accessories.  Then again, I guess the mismatch isn’t as noticeable as if, say, I wrapped the bar in a darker color.

The third Mercian to come my way is, I realize, one I haven’t written as much about lately.  Helene is a 2010 Miss Mercian with similar geometry (but with slightly more tire and fender clearance) to Arielle, which is a custom Mercian Audax.  

The rear bag is a bit larger than the one I use on Arielle and Tosca.  As you can probably tell, it was also made by Ely Rodriguez of Ruth Works SF. So is the handlebar bag, doubles as a clutch or shoulder bag when removed from the bike.

Finally, here is the last Mercian I bought. Ironically, it’s the oldest:  Vera, my “other” Miss Mercian.  It was made in 1994 and I purchased it in 2011:

Somehow the boxy randonneur front bag and larger saddle bag make the most sense—and look best—on this bike, although I could use them on my other bike.  Perhaps it’s because Vera has a longer wheelbase and is therefore the most stable with a load on it.  I wonder what it would be like on a longer tour.

She seems really happy to have those bags, and the Brooks B17 special.  So am I.  In fact, I’m happy with all of these bikes:  As similar as they might seem to someone who doesn’t know bikes or Mercians, each has its own character and personality.  Still, they all make me happy when I ride

Now, here’s the rest of my family:

 
La-Z-Boy, a.k.a. Max

 and La-Z-Girl, a.k.a. Marlee!