I should've known something wasn't good when I saw this:
Even though I haven't worked in a bike shop in at least fifteen years, I still have nightmares about this bike.
It's a made-in-India replica of the traditional English roadster--specifically, the Raleigh DL-1. Like the erstwhile velocipedic pride of Albion, this made-in-India machine has three speeds, rod brakes and one of those rear kickstands that lifts the rear wheel of the ground.
Someone once said that the Yugo took the worst features of the Fiat 128 and made them even worse. I would say something similar about the relationship between this bike and the DL-1. It's well-known that rod brakes don't do a very good job of stopping, and that steel rims give poor-to-nonexistent stopping in the rain. Well, the bike in the photo has inferior versions of those parts.
And while the DL-1s weren't much fun to work on, the Indian bikes were downright scary. Pieces broke and threads stripped under a normal amount of torque from riders' bodies as well as from bike shop tools. Seeing as much rust as you see on the bike in the photo wasn't unusual; what was scary was that brand-new bikes were already rusting from the inside when they were brought into the shop.
Plus, as much as I like pink, the shade of the bike in the photo looked a little too much like Pepto Bismol for my tastes.
The bike was parked in front of a pizzeria where I hadn't gone in some time. I used to stop there when riding along the Long Island City and Greenpoint waterfronts; sometimes I'd buy a slice or two of pizza and pedal over to the Long Island City piers, which are directly across the East River from the United Nations and directly in line for a nearly perfect view of the Empire State Building.
The pizza slices from that place were always pretty good. So was the one I had today. And the dour middle-aged proprietor who made the pizzas the first time I went there, at least a decade ago, is still plying his trade though, I suspect, he may be a senior citizen by now. That wouldn't be so bad if he didn't seem so worn, and the place sadder, shabbier-looking and not as clean as I recall from earlier visits.
Maybe the now-old man senses the end is near. Several storefronts around his are vacant, with "For Rent" signs in their windows. I'm not sure of whether they're the result of the economy, which has claimed a lot of restaurants, bars and stores, or of the changing neighborhood. The places that closed looked like their best days were past when I first saw them, around the first time I went to the pizzeria. I wouldn't be surprised if I learned that the now-closed bar specialized in Boilermakers.
I wonder whether that Pepto Bismol-colored Indian bike parked in front of that bar, or any of those other places that have closed, will be unearthed by some future archaeologist--from another planet, perhaps. What would that person/being make of them?
Even though I haven't worked in a bike shop in at least fifteen years, I still have nightmares about this bike.
It's a made-in-India replica of the traditional English roadster--specifically, the Raleigh DL-1. Like the erstwhile velocipedic pride of Albion, this made-in-India machine has three speeds, rod brakes and one of those rear kickstands that lifts the rear wheel of the ground.
Someone once said that the Yugo took the worst features of the Fiat 128 and made them even worse. I would say something similar about the relationship between this bike and the DL-1. It's well-known that rod brakes don't do a very good job of stopping, and that steel rims give poor-to-nonexistent stopping in the rain. Well, the bike in the photo has inferior versions of those parts.
And while the DL-1s weren't much fun to work on, the Indian bikes were downright scary. Pieces broke and threads stripped under a normal amount of torque from riders' bodies as well as from bike shop tools. Seeing as much rust as you see on the bike in the photo wasn't unusual; what was scary was that brand-new bikes were already rusting from the inside when they were brought into the shop.
Plus, as much as I like pink, the shade of the bike in the photo looked a little too much like Pepto Bismol for my tastes.
The bike was parked in front of a pizzeria where I hadn't gone in some time. I used to stop there when riding along the Long Island City and Greenpoint waterfronts; sometimes I'd buy a slice or two of pizza and pedal over to the Long Island City piers, which are directly across the East River from the United Nations and directly in line for a nearly perfect view of the Empire State Building.
The pizza slices from that place were always pretty good. So was the one I had today. And the dour middle-aged proprietor who made the pizzas the first time I went there, at least a decade ago, is still plying his trade though, I suspect, he may be a senior citizen by now. That wouldn't be so bad if he didn't seem so worn, and the place sadder, shabbier-looking and not as clean as I recall from earlier visits.
Maybe the now-old man senses the end is near. Several storefronts around his are vacant, with "For Rent" signs in their windows. I'm not sure of whether they're the result of the economy, which has claimed a lot of restaurants, bars and stores, or of the changing neighborhood. The places that closed looked like their best days were past when I first saw them, around the first time I went to the pizzeria. I wouldn't be surprised if I learned that the now-closed bar specialized in Boilermakers.
I wonder whether that Pepto Bismol-colored Indian bike parked in front of that bar, or any of those other places that have closed, will be unearthed by some future archaeologist--from another planet, perhaps. What would that person/being make of them?
