How "Kool" Is This Lemon?

Back in my youth (yes, I had one of those!), I bought a Schwinn Continental.  It was available in several colors.  One, as I recall, was called "Kool Lemon."

In fact, several Schwinn models were available in that hue.  One, a "muscle" bike with a "banana" seat and stick shifter (that may account for at least some of the decrease in birth rates), was called the "Lemon Peeler."

Somehow I'm surprised that Schwinn never offered a bike like this:

Hasta La Vista, Esquire!

Yesterday, I mentioned Vista bicycles.  If you became a cyclist around the time I did--or were in junior high or high school when I was--in the US, you probably saw a lot of them, if you didn't have one yourself.

Vista Esquire, circa 1972

I got my Schwinn Continental just as the '70's Bike Boom was building up steam.  At that time, shops routinely ran out of Schwinns, Peugeots and Raleighs, which were the most popular brands in bike shops.  I had to wait three months for my Continental, which was not unusual.  But not everybody was willing to wait for one of those brands, and dealers knew that such customers would buy pretty much any ten-speed that resembled, even in the most superficial ways, bikes from those companies.  

Head badge from early Vista bicycle.

Some accused Schwinn of suppressing production in order to create such a demand and, consequently, drive up prices.  Truth was, they, like most other bike manufacturers, simply couldn't keep up with the demand: US Bicycle sales doubled from 1970 to 1972.  Even the boatloads of bikes that arrived daily from Europe and Asia weren't enough to satisfy consumers.

Schwinn Collegiate, circa 1972

Schwinn, however, did something else that made their bikes--and, by extension, other ten-speeds--more difficult to find, especially in rural areas.  On the eve of the Bike Boom, in the 1960s, Schwinn tried to eliminate from its dealer networks the small-town stores that sold tractors, feed and fertilizer, hardware, guns, cars or whatever else alongside Schwinn bicycles. (Some kept only a couple of bikes in the store and if the customer wanted another model or color, or needed a different size, the shop ordered it.)  The company wanted their bikes sold in showrooms devoted to their bikes and that stocked a sizeable number of Schwinn bikes and accessories.  Jake's Feed and Seed or Rick's Rifles couldn't or wouldn't make the investment in showrooms and inventory and were thus shut out of what would become a lucrative enterprise.

Vista Esquire, circa 1971

In response, a group of manufacturers and suppliers formed the National Independent Dealers Association and put together a line of bikes.  It's long been rumored that one of those manufacturers was Columbia bicycles of Westfield, Massachusetts:  Early Vista bicycles, for all of their attempts to look like Schwinns, had the style of everything from welding to graphics seen on the Columbia bicycles found in department stores.  

I knew more than a few kids--and a few adults--who rode them when they couldn't get Schwinns.  Vistas sold for about 20 percent less and were lighter than the Schwinn models they were designed to compete with.  From my limited experience with them, they clattered in that same clunky way as department store bikes like Columbia and Murray.  

The early Vistas had the same components as Columbias of the time:  Huret Allvit  derailleurs and steel one-piece cranks-- which were also found on Schwinns-- and cheap sidepull brakes.  Around 1972 or 1973, however, Vista began to equip their "Cavalier" and "Esquire" with their own brand of derailleur.  At least, that's what a lot of people thought.

Made-in-Japan Vista 15 speed bike with 64 cm(!) frame, circa 1975

In-the-know cyclists, however, soon realized that Vista had simply rebadged the SunTour GT rear and Spirt front derailleurs, and the ratcheted "power" shift levers bolted onto the handlebar stem.  Folks like me who had the chance to ride those Esquires and Cavaliers simply couldn't believe how much easier, and more accurately, their gears shifted than the ones on our Continentals and Varsities--or even on some of the more expensive European racing bikes.

Made-in-Japan Vista Elite with Shimano 600 components, circa 1978

That move probably did as much as anything to popularize the Vista brand and to keep sales even after the Bike Boom died down.  Some time around 1975 or so, Vista began to offer a line of "professional" bikes made for them in Japan.  Those bikes resembled the mid-level ten (and later twelve) speed bikes from Takara, Azuki and other Japanese marques, with their lugged frames made out of high-tensile (and, in a few cases, straight-gauge chrome-moly) steel tubing outfitted with components from SunTour, Shimano, Sakae Ringyo,Takagi and other well-known manufacturers from the Land of the Rising Sun. By the early '80's, Vista was even offering an "aero" model with flattened chrome-moly frame tubes, early "deep V" rims from Araya and Shimano's 600 EX "aero" components.

Head badge from Japanese-made Vista

Those Japanese-made Vistas were good, but mostly indistinguishable from other bikes from the by-then-more-familiar Japanese brands.  Thus, thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds who bought American-made Vistas weren't, if they were still riding, buying Japanese-made Vistas when they went to college and beyond.  Instead, they purchased ten- (or, by that time, twelve-) speeds from such iconic brands of the 1970s and '80s as Fuji, Miyata, Motobecane and Raleigh.

The Vista brand seems to have disappeared some time around 1984 or 1985--a couple of years after those "aero" bikes came out.  By that time, Schwinn was making a series of missteps that would cost much of the market share it once enjoyed.  (As an example, the company's management acted as if mountain bikes were just a passing fad at a time when other manufacturers were making their mark in that discipline.)  And the quality of other American mass-produced bikes (with a few exceptions like Trek), which wasn't very good to begin with, fell off precipitously and, within a few years, nearly all production shifted offshore.

On The Way: More Memories Of Bikes Past

I'm going to start making good on a sort-of-promise that I made (or was it a promise I sort-of-made) in the early days of this blog:  I'm going to write posts about the bikes I've owned and, perhaps, a few that I've ridden and  haven't owned.

My bikes probably won't appear chronologically, or according to any other kind of scheme. However, I do plan to make a list of posts of my bikes past, and make that list available on the sidebar of this blog.

I've been looking through my old photos for some images of my old rides.  Now I just need to buy a scanner, or find one that I can use somewhere.  I don't have photos of some of my bikes; for those, I'll use old catalogue illustrations or borrow photos from other websites. 

If any of you have a time machine, I'll go back and take photos of my old bikes.  So far, I figure that I've had about sixty bikes during my lifetime. 

In case you're interested, here are some links to posts I've already written about pedals past:

Royce-Union Three-Speed

Nishiki International 

Schwinn Continental

Romic Sport-Tourer

Bridgestone RB-2

I don't know how long it will be before I post all of my old bikes on this blog, but I intend to do so.  I hope that you'll continue coming here, not just for those posts, but for all of the scintillating wit and wisdom I plan to write in between them.

Which Bike Was Pinned Up?

Back in my youth, millions of teenaged boys and young men had Raquel Welch pinup posters on their walls.  A couple of years later, they (or their younger brothers) hung images of Farrah Fawcett in their dorms.


Around the time FF replaced RW as the pinup queen, I started to work in a bike shop.  On my first day there, I was greeted by this:

Now, before I (however unwittingly!) turn this into a low-grade version of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, I'll bring this post back to the topic of bicycles--namely, the one she's, er, riding.


It's a Schwinn Super Sport.  You can look at it, without distractions, here:

 OK, so it's not the same bike.  But it's the same model. The bike, I mean.  And it's in a shade of red I like a lot.  I think Schwinn called it "bright Burgundy" or something like that.


In any event, the model in both photos is...not as well known as FF or RW.  Oh, the bike--In both photos, it's the Schwinn Super Sport.

Back when I bought my Continental, it was the next model up.  It cost, if I recall correctly, about 25 dollars more.  That may not sound like much, but its price was about 25 percent higher than that of the Continental.  That was a fair-sized chunk of change for most people, let alone a 14-year-old, back then.


Like most people, I couldn't see a huge difference.  However, the Super Sport had a couple of features that may well have made it a more performance-oriented bike.  Those same features also helped to make the SS one of the strangest bikes ever made.


The frame was filet-brazed from Chrome-Molybdenum steel, while the Continental was flash-welded from regular steel tubing.  The Cr-Mo, of course, made for a lighter bike that would have been more responsive.  So did the alloy rims (the Continental's were steel).  


So far, so good.  But if you look closely at the photo of the burgundy Super Sport, you will see a couple of incongruous features.


The most stunningly inappropriate part is the forged steel one-piece (a.k.a. Ashtabula) cranks.  With the steel chainrings and chainguard, it may have weighed more than the wheels.


What's even stranger is that those cranks are paired with aluminum alloy "rat trap" pedals made in France by Atom.  I always thought they were rather pretty, but when I rode a pair (on another bike), I learned that they were very fragile.


Plus, as I recall, the Super Sports had the same welded-on steel kickstands as the Continental and all lower models.  


I think that trying to make a budget "performance" bike is laudable.  But I always had the feeling the designers of the "Super Sport" weren't certain as to whether they were making that, or a two-wheeled tank for kids to pedal off curbs.

Seeing One of My Old Bikes, Perhaps, Again

It was probably a good thing that I was in a hurry.  Why on a Saturday, you ask?  Well, I was running late because I slept late.  


I'd volunteered to be on a panel in a discussion at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.  Silly me.  I gave up a ride on one of the best days we're likely to have for a while for the privilege of doing something I'm not crazy about in one of my least favorite places in New York City, if not the world.


Anyway... After I parked Marianela on 35th Street, just off Fifth Avenue, I turned the corner toward the GC-CUNY entrance.  About the best thing I can say about GC-CUNY--and the only thing that would ever tempt me to go to school there again--is that there are decent bike racks in front of the building.


On one of them was propped and locked a bike that, for a moment, made me--as Kurt Vonnegut said in Breakfast of Champions--woozy with deja vu.  I didn't photograph it, but I found an image of a bike just like it:

It's a Schwinn Continental from 1971 or 1972.  I can date it that closely because of the color:  Schwinn called it "Sierra brown;" it's sometimes referred to as "root beer brown."  The following year, the bike was available in a redder shade of brown.  I don't recall what Schwinn's catalogue copy called it.


As you've probably guessed by now, I had the "Sierra" or "root beer" brown Continental.  I bought it early in my freshman year of high school for the princely sum of $96.  My parents thought it was an absolutely insane amount of money to spend on a bike.  Little did they--or I--know what I was getting into!


The so-called "bike boom" of the Seventies was picking up steam then.  As I recall, I went to four different local shops that June, around the time school let out.  All were sold out and subsequent shipments from Schwinn were already spoken for.  None of the shops thought they could have a bike for me before November.  So imagine my delight when one shop--Michael's, on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ (next to a drive-in movie theatre)--got a shipment a month earlier than promised.  And, yes, there was one bike on which nobody had dibs.  "As long as you don't mind this color," the shop's owner said, a bit condescendingly.


In my high school--and, apparently, most others--most kids got the Continental in a lemon yellow, or the Varsity in a shade of dark bottle green.  They were fine colors, but I was taken with the brown:  It was more elegant, with a golden-bronze undertone, than the photo in this post depicts.  Without hesitation, I plunked down the cash I'd earned from delivering newspapers.


Even though the bike came a month earlier than promised, I had to wait about three months:  a near-eternity for a kid entering adolescence. Now that I think of it, I waited almost as long for that Schwinn as I did for at least one custom frame I've ordered!  


Schwinn referred to the Varsity and Continental as "lightweight" models, though either one weighed about twice as much as my Mercian road bike, on which I made no effort to save weight.  Those Schwinns even weighed about ten pounds more than Marianela weighed when she was new, and she was even a couple of pounds heavier than her competition, which included the Peugeot U08, Raleigh Grand Prix and Motobecane Nobly.

Yes, the Continental was a tank.  (So was the Varsity.)  I'll bet mine is still out there somewhere.  Maybe it's still being ridden.  Hey, for all I know, the one I saw today might've been mine!