No, That Hole Is Not In Your Pants

Many, many years ago, I took chemistry.   Let's just say it wasn't my best subject.  I think I realized as much when I had to memorize the ninety-nine thousand elements of the  periodic table.  ( All right, I was exaggerating just a bit.) I think I remembered about five or six. Then we had an exam in which some of the questions consisted of a single word, which we had to spell with the elements from the table.  One of those words was a synonym for excrement, which of course, is spelled with Sulfur, Hydrogen, Iodine and Titanium.  Oh, right, Titanium is Ti.

It's also not the only element ending in '-ium":  lithium, sodium and potassium are among the best-known.  One thing I learned from working in bike shops, though, is that you shouldn't get all of your education, even in the sciences, from school.  Indeed, in those velocipedic variora, I found out there were other elements besides molybdenum and titanium.  Like "can't-affordium", that mythical material used to make bikes for those who spend more dollars than miles (or even kilometers) on their machines.  And then there was that material that developed holes whenever it was made into bicycle parts.  I am referring, of course, to drillium.

Now, some drillium bits were stylish and, on occasion, even made sense.  Drilling brake levers often improved their grippability:  That, I think, is one reason why Campagnolo and other companies actually made lever blades with holes or slots built into them.  Interestingly, the slotted Campy Record brake levers actually weighed a few grams more than the plain ones.  Someone from Campagnolo explained that the material was actually slightly thicker so that strength wouldn't be compromised. 

While drilling didn't serve any purpose, other than minute weight reduction, on chainrings, I think those are the components that looked best when touched by drill bits.  Some derailleurs also looked good with it, though on some components--like the Huret Jubilee--drilling was impossible and, really, pointless because they were so light. 

Believe it or not, there were also drillium saddles.  I was reminded of them when I came across this photo:

I wonder whether Monsieur Herse punched the holes in that seat.  Or was it made that way?  Back in the '80s, Tioga--the maker of some of the best parts and accessories found on early mountain bikes--offered a seat for BMX that wasn't what most of us would think of as "drillium", but was in the spirit of it.  The "Spyder" seat was very popular on the BMX circuit--and, interestingly, is still made today:

From what I've heard, some cyclists--time trialists, mainly--even took took off the covers and padding of Cinelli Unicanitor seats and drilled out the plastic base.  Of course, most people never saw their handiwork, at least if the padding and leather cover were glued back on.  But a few such cyclists took the plain plastic-shell model (without the padding and cover) and drilled that out.  Hmm...I wonder what it was like to sit on such a thing with unpadded shorts!

I imagine that not even those Unicanitors survived the treatment for very long, which may be the reason why we don't see very many "drillium" or "spyder" seats today!

Is the symbol for "drillium" "Dr"?  Or just "D"?  As I said earlier, it's been a while since I took chemistry!

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!

I suspect that many of gave your mothers flowers, candy or any of the other gifts we associate with this day.  I'll bet that none of you gifted your mother one of these:

In case you want to buy one for Mom, look here.

If you did, you must have even more of a cycling family than the Simeses or Herses ever were!

Many years ago, I gave my mother a Peugeot mixte for Mother's Day.  As far as I know, she never rode it.  It's probably the one and only thing for which I've ever had to forgive her! ;-)

But there have been so many other things she's done to make it possible for me to ride and do many of the other things that have made my life interesting and fulfilling.  And, while she never accompanied me on any of my bike trips, she has been with me on the journey of my life--and in the particular the part that brought me from being her son to being her daughter.  

Thank you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day to you!

Brazed-On Amnesia

When I first became serious about cycling--around the time that the early '70's Bike Boom was gathering steam--almost no bikes available in the US had brazed-on bosses for water bottle cages or shift levers/cable guides, let alone for racks. Most bikes didn't even have fitments for brake cables:  Most high--performance bikes of the time, like my Peugeot PX-10, had their rear brake cables clamped to the top tube.

Even the custom bike builders of the time didn't braze such fittings onto their frames.  All of the guidebooks of the time told us that brazing weakened the metal at the point at which it was brazed and therefore risked cracking or breakage.

A few years later, when I was working in a bike shop, I did see a couple of brazed-on shift lever bosses that broke off their frames.  But those were on cheaper bikes built from thin-walled tubing.   

Of course, at that time, I --like most novitiate American cyclists--did not know about the French constructeurs or British custom builders, who had been brazing bits onto their frames at least since the 1920's.  Actually, some of those builders--most notably Rene Herse--actually made racks, water bottle cages and such an integral part of the frames they built.

And, apparently, some not-so-elite pre-Bike Boom bikes had brazed-on bits, like this circa 1964 Schwinn Varsity I saw parked around the corner from my apartment:

Those levers, like the derailleurs on the bike, were made by Huret for Schwinn.  Those levers--like so many other French parts of the time--had style, if not engineering.  (Installing or removing cables--which you did often if you had a Huret Allvit derailleur like the one on the bike in the photo--was a project unto itself.)  As for the brazed-on bosses:  I think Schwinn was able to do them because the tubing on the frame was thicker than that of most other ten-speeds.

A couple of years later, the Varsity--as well as the Continental and Super Sport--would come equipped with massive stem-mounted shift levers.  And their top-of the line bike, the hand-made Paramount, would offer nary a brazed-on fitting.

What's Your Idea Of A "City Bike"?

What is your idea of a "city bike"?

Some--including Grant Petersen of Rivendell--think that an old mountain bike with a good rack is, if not ideal, then at least the best possible.

Others, such as hipsters and some messengers would tell you that a fixed-gear bike is the only thing you should ride in the concrete canyons.  They would argue for the sheer simplicity of it.  A few would even go for a pure track bike with no brakes and a tight wheelbase, which makes them maneuverable.

Then there are those who want a plush bike to ride over sewer grates, potholes and all of the other hazards of the urban landscape.  Such riders--particularly those who do no other riding but their commutes--might opt for a hybrid or mountain bike with suspension in the front fork, and even in the rear.  Or they might ride cruisers or other fat-tired bikes.

There's also the English three-speed camp.  They are probably the most immune to fads:  Such riders will clatter along on their vintage Raleighs, Dunelts, Rudges and other machines from Albion.  Because they're immune to fads (at least in bikes), they never think of their mounts as "vintage," even if they those bikes were made before they were born.

Cousins, if you will, to the English three-speed crowd are the ones who like Dutch-style city bikes.  Some might also argue that these cyclists are variants of the comfort-bike crowd.  The difference is that, not only are the Dutch bikes built for comfort and durability, they also come with features that you may have never thought of having on your bike but "might come in handy", such as built-in locks and lighting.

And then there are those who like the speed and nimbleness of the road bike, but want a more upright riding position and a bit more style.  They're the ones who ride French-style city bikes and porteurs, which are based wholly or in part by the elegant machines made by constructeurs such as Rene Herse and Alex Singer.

Finally, there are the rat-rodders.  In other words, any bike that looks like it's been to hell and back is the right bike for the city.  Lots of cyclists here in New York follow that credo, which makes a lot of sense when you have to park your bike in high-theft areas.  The rat-rod can be just about any kind of bike; these days, the majority (at least here in New York) seem to be ten- or twelve-speeds from the '70's or '80's, or mountain bikes from the '90's.  Think of the guy (Yes, he's almost always a guy.) who delivers your supper from the Chinese restaurant or diner:  He probably brought your meal on a "rat-rod."

A variant on the rat-rodder is the urban cyclist who rides a Frankenbike.  You've seen them: the Specialized Rockhoppers with Schwinn Varsity rear wheels; the Peugeot ten-speeds with high-rise bars and forks in a color (and style) that clashes with everything else on the bike.

In the nearly three decades in which I've been riding in New York, and through the years I biked the boulevards of Paris---and while biking on trips to other large cities like London, Prague, Amsterdam and San Francisco, I have seen my notions of the "ideal" city bike evolve and change.  Sometimes I want comfort; other times, I want a bike that I can leave in urban combat zones as well as those areas--like the neighborhood around St. Mark's Place--to which thieves gravitate.  At times, I've craved speed and the ability to slice between parked cars and belching buses; at other times, I've worried about preserving dental work.  But I've always thought about what's practical for my errands, commutes and other ride-and-park activities like shopping.  And, of course, I've changed, and so has the city in which I live.

What's your ideal city bike?  Has your idea of it changed?  If so, how?

Rene Herse Demountable

Imagine getting started in cycling (or just about anything else) without the Internet.

Well, if you're of my generation, you don't have to remember.  You relied on books and magazines--and your local club (if you had one) and bike shop.

I was reminded of this when I came across a page that archives some old articles from Bicycling magazine. 

I thought about the bikes I learned about--and, in most cases, never actually saw--while reading the magazine.  Their names alone were journeys into places I had yet to visit and times I would never see.   I mean, when you thought the choices in bikes were among three-speeds, Columbias, Murrays and Schwinns, names like Hetchins, Routens, Jack Taylor, De Rosa, Alex Singer, Mercian, Pogliaghi and Rene Herse seem other-worldly.


And, of course, there was no way I could have afforded those bikes.  All I could do was to save those copies of Bicycling and read about them--and look at the photos.

From Laek House

To this day, I haven't seen some of those bikes.  One I'd really love to encounter is the Rene Herse Demountable.  

Yes, it's a folding bike.  The mechanisms used to collapse were found on the down tube 

 

and the top tube

 

 Note the placement of the shift levers!


The Bicycling article makes folding the bike seem easy.  I wonder just how easy it--or, for that matter, transporting it--actually was.  If nothing else, I'm sure it was a better ride than just about any other folding bike ever made.


The demontable I'd really like to see is this women's model.

Super-rare Rene Herse women's Demountable.  Photo from Bikeville.

I can only imagine what some Japanese collector would pay for it.

Into The Fold Again?

Lately I've been debating to myself whether I want to get a Brompton (when I have the money, of course!).  On one hand, there are ways I could use a folding bike.  And most Brompton owners seem happy with their machines.


On the other hand, I have had one folding bike, which I sold within a year because I didn't like it.  That was a Dahon model with a five-speed internally-geared Sturmey Archer hub.  It's the only bike I've ever owned that felt both squishy and harsh at the same time.  On top of that, the quality didn't seem very good and there were a bunch of proprietary parts.  Hal at Habitat says that the Brompton has even more of them.  


Perhaps the folding bike I'd really want was made more than forty years ago:

Yes, it was by none other than Rene Herse, who is shown with his creation in the July 1970 issue of Bicycling!


Don't you just love those knickers he's wearing?