Bicycles And Sundown: History In An Ohio Town

Some cities are, or were, synonymous with certain industries.  The best-known examples in the US are automobile manufacturing in Detroit and steel-making in Pittsburgh. 

Some smaller cities and towns are linked to a particular company or another.  The Hartford insurance company comes to mind:  It's been a part of the Connecticut state capital that shares its name for over 200 years. 

Believe it or not, even during the "Dark Ages" of US cycling, a town in Ohio was best known for the bicycle company that bore its name.

I am talking about Shelby, a community about 150 kilometers southwest of Cleveland.  From 1925 to 1953, the Shelby Bicycle company fabricated its wares in the heart of town.  

Like most American bikes of that period, most Shelbys  were baloon-tired "cruisers".  Although the majority of  Shelby bikes  bore the names of retailers such as Montgomery-Ward, Spiegel, Firestone and Goodyear, and some were sold by AMF, a number of Shelbys were sold under their own name.  And, while Shelby made "theme" bikes--such as a "Lindy" bike honoring Charles Lindbergh and Donald Duck bikes--some were very stylish, even elegant.  Those bikes are prized by collectors.  

Now some folks in the town have formed a society dedicated to Shelby bicycles.  The Shelby Bicycle Historical Society, recently approved as an IRS 501(3)c tax-exempt organization, is looking for members. You don't have to own a Shelby in order to join; you need only to be interested in the bikes or the town's history. It's not there only to celebrate the company's "Whippet" bike Clarence Wagner rode to a cross-country record in 1927; it also exists to commemorate what was once a significant part of the town's economy and history.

There is another part of the town's history that nobody is trying to commemorate.  It was said to be a "sundown" town; according to some former residents, it even had a sign at its border telling black people they had better be out of town when the sun set.  Even after the sign was taken down, some people ran black folks out of town; others wondered aloud whether an African exchange student should be allowed to swim in the local pool.

(Levittown, on Long Island, is only 55 kilometers from my apartment. It, too, was a "sundown" town.  So was nearby Roosevelt--which, ironically, is now almost entirely nonwhite as a result of "blockbusting".)

While I hope that the good folks of Shelby (and America) will face up to their (and our) racist history, I am happy that they are commemorating something that, while it doesn't make up for that history (what can?), is at least an interesting and sometimes even delightful part of the cycling landscape.

How Much Is That Bike-ee In The Window?

According to bike lore, Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze and their buddies bombed down Marin county fire trails on pre-war Schwinn baloon-tire bikes they bought for five dollars at local thrift shops.  Their experiences with those machines led them to develop the rigs we now call "mountain bikes".

Now, I wasn't there to see the runs down Sonoma hills. But I can attest to the five-dollar baloon-tire bombers.  Around that time, I saw bikes like those--and others--in thrift stores.  Sometimes they cost even less than what Fisher and Breeze paid.  Or people would give them away when they moved or cleaned out basements or garages.

You see, in those days--the mid-1970s--the concept of "retro" didn't exist.  Old stuff was, well, old stuff.  Going to a thrift shop wasn't cool:  You did it because you were poor or "not with it".  Old baloon tire bikes were relics thought to be unsuited to the "Bike Boom", which prized ten-speeds, of whatever quality, above all else.

Fast-forward four decades.  If you can find one of those old Schwinns--or even a Columbia or Murray of that era--call your credit card company and request a spending limit increase before you bid on it.  

And what of those bike-boom era ten-speeds?  Well, you might luck into one without paying for it if you know someone who's moving in or out and has to clear out a basement, garage, barn, shed or other storage space. But, it seems, the days of buying one with the loose change you found in your couch cushions are over.

This Peugeot---I'm guessing it's a UO8--looks like it was just pulled out of the East River.  I mean, when a plastic Simplex derailleur looks almost as rusty as the chain, you know the bike hasn't been kept in a climate-controlled environment.

How much is that bike-eee in the window?  Well, if you have to ask....Seriously, it had a price tag:  $125.

Now, I know that's not high for a used bike these days.  But if you have any intention of riding the bike, you'd probably have to spend as much, or even more, to refurbish it.  

That price, by the way, is more than what the bike originally cost:  about 90 dollars, back around 1970.  I know the bike is from around that year because of certain details (I've seen lots of Peugeots) and because of the faded dealer sticker from Carl Hart Bicycles of 1120 Cortelyou Road, Brooklyn, NY, with a telephone number that had letters rather than numbers for its first two digits!

Given the other stuff that's in the shop, I suspect that if anyone who might buy that Peugeot isn't going to ride it.  Instead, he or she will use it for "wall art" in a coffee shop or bar or some such place.  Then, when the vogue for such decor dies out, where will the bike end up?  (That was a rhetorical question:  You know the answer!)