Fantasies On Speed, Not Steroids

The other day, and the day before that, I wrote about vintage bike parts that were (and, in some cases, still are) elite, if not sublime.

Now I have to balance it out with the thoroughly ridiculous.  Also, I feel an obligation to show that not all crazy, impractical ideas are being conceived and carried out (of what?) today.

Specifically, I am going to write about a totally ridiculous shift lever.  Having been a cyclist for four decades, and having worked in bike shops, I've seen some doozies, including ones longer and wider than railroad spikes--mounted on top tubes, no less.  (Could that be a cause of the decrease in fertility?)  They are in the category of, "They don't make them like that anymore--thank Goddess!"

So is this shifter I found on eBay:

I mean, in what universe is a shifter shaped like that?  Or, for that matter, in what reality does one combine it with a speedometer.

I'll tell you what milieu I'm talking about, because I spent part of my childhood in it.  It's the decade or so--roughly from the mid-1960s until the mid- or late 1970s--when bikes were designed for boys who, from atop their banana seats and behind their "ape hanger" bars, dreamed of driving "muscle cars" on the Daytona flats.   

Said bikes were designed by like-minded boys, some of them in the bodies of 40-something men.  And the boys of that time are now the 40-, 50- and even 60-something men who still are driven (pun intended) by such fantasies.

I'll bet that someone like that will buy the shift lever/speedometer I found on eBay.  I mean, who else would?

Monkey, Longhorn Or Ape Hanger

One of my favorite non-bike blogs is Old Picture of the Day.  Sometimes the images are worth looking at purely for aesthetic reasons; almost all of the others are interesting in some aspect of life, past or present, they reveal.

In each post, a (usually brief) comment accompanies the photo.  Those are worth reading because they convey "PJM"'s deep appreciation--and, sometimes, personal connections--to the photographs he collects and displays.

His post today included this photo, along with a reminisce about his own childhood bike, which was very similar to the one in the picture:

One thing I found interesting about the responses he got to his post is how they described the handlebars.  I have heard to bars like the ones in the photo referred to as "Longhorn" bars (even though I grew up in Brooklyn and New Jersey!)  and the bars on bikes like the Schwinn Sting Ray and Raleigh Chopper (the ones with "banana seats")as "Ape Hangers".  But one commenter heard them referred to as "monkey" bars".  What's really funny, to me, is that some of the adults I knew during the  '70's "Bike Boom" referred to the those funny-looking dropped handlebars on those newfangled ten-speeds as "monkey bars"--meaning, I presume, that only a monkey could ride them.

 

Ape Hanger Tandem

Here in New York City, it seems that every other bike shop employee is a musician.  One example--who just happens to be one of my favorite people in the bike world--is Hal Ruzal of Bicycle Habitat.

Another is a guy named Dave who works at Bike Stop, probably the closest shop (geographically, anyway) to me.

People often say that musicians are "different".  I agree.  Some who know me might say that I'm an example:  Long ago, in a distant galaxy (OK, in a different part of the world), I was a drummer in a punk band.  We never got beyond playing in some local bars and, to tell you the truth, we didn't aspire to much more.  Had we wanted wider audiences, we would have had to clean up our act and lyrics--and ourselves.

Anyway, I've often noticed that the bikes of musicians who work in bike shops are different from other people's.  (Are you surprised?)  Even by those standards, Dave's made me do a double-take:

Seeing a tandem here in NYC is notable enough:  I've only ridden them a couple of times, but enough to know that they're not easy to maneuver in traffic or store in many of the cubicles that pass for apartments in this town. I've also ridden bikes for two just enough to wonder how anyone could ride one with these bars:

Dave says he loves it.  Then again, he's a musician. I was once a drummer in a punk-rock band; some would argue that doesn't count.