You Can’t Do That Here!

 Europeans sometimes forget that things they’re at are considered normal in their home countries can get them into trouble here in the good ol’ USA.

I was reminded of this about twenty years ago, when I was starting my gender affirmation process. Michéle (whom I’ve mentioned in my posts about my Paris visits) came to town with Jeanine, who has since passed away and Marie Jeanne.

It wasn’t the first trip to New York for any of them. They therefore weren’t interested in the usual tourist spots.  Instead, they liked to see unique and unusual sites.

So, that day, we took the D train to Brighton Beach. a.k.a. Little Odessa by the Sea. We, of course, did some shopping and bought, among other things, bread, sausages, cheese and pickled vegetables for a picnic on the beach.  

It was a warm summer day, so they all decided they wanted to go swimming. I would have liked to, I explained, but I didn’t have a bathing suit with me.  If I recall correctly, I was wearing a ruffled top and flowy skirt.

“Aucun problème,” intoned Jeanine.  She, it turned out, packed a swimsuit.  At first I didn’t think it would fit: She was about eight inches shorter than I am, though a bit wider in the hips than most French women. (Her grandparents were Russian and Azerbaijani.) 

She motioned for me to change. “Je pourrais être arretée pour ça!” I cautioned.

They shook their heads. “Ici n’est pas France,” I protruded.  They all gave me that, “come on, there’s nothing to worry about,” expression that I believe the French have patented.  Marie-Jeanne, the only one of the three anywhere my height, held up a beach towel to my right. Michéle, who is only slightly taller than Jeanine, held up a blanket to my left. Thinking, “I’ve done riskier and stupider things,” and seeing no cops, I changed.  Much to my surprise, I fit—though barely—into the swimsuit: It was made of Lycra or some other stretchy material.

(Turns out, Michéle, Jeanine and Marie Jeanne were wearing swimsuits under their clothing. Jeanine explained that they heard “Beach” and so prepared themselves—and that she always packed an extra swimsuit.)

Michéle and I laugh about that now.  But Laurens ten Dam and Thomas Dekker weren’t so lucky. The Dutch former professional road cyclists went to Kansas for this year’s edition of Unbound Gravel. After a training ride, they drove to a supermarket and department store in Marietta where, after previous rides, they’d gone to change out of their cycling clothes and freshen up before a meal.

Laurens ten Adam

But a tornado destroyed both the supermarket and department store. There were other options for meals, including the Mexican restaurant they chose. But where to change out of their sweaty cycling kit and wash up?

They came up with an idea that reminded me of my day with Michéle, Jeanine and Marie Jeanne at the beach. They opened the doors on one side of their car. Between them, the cyclists took off their bike gear and poured water over themselves for a makeshift “shower.”

Well, if they weren’t cognizant of a cultural difference between the US and a European country that is, arguably, even more liberal than France, it’s understandable that they wouldn’t know that there is almost as much difference between different parts of the US—like, say, Marietta, Kansas and my hometown of New York. 

As they “showered,” ten Dem recalled, “I heard a man screaming.” The next thing they knew, he and Dekker were in handcuffs and clad in a way they’d never anticipated: all in orange, but not that of the Dutch national football team. Oh, and they were fingerprinted.

They spent the night as Inmates ten Dam and Inmate Dekker in a Kansas jail cell under “inappropriate behavior in public spaces” legislation.

After spending the night in un-anticipated accommodations and paying a $185 bail fee, they continued their preparations for the Unbound Gravel race, where ten Dam finished 42nd and Dekker 50th.

The Last Race?

Sometimes, it seems, people in other countries know the US political system and races even better than Americans known them. So it was not a surprise when, during a recent phone conversation, a friend in France asked for my opinions about the candidates for the Democratic party presidential nomination.

For now, I said, I am leaning toward Elizabeth Warren, though I also like Pete Buttigieg.  We are a year away from the election, so more than a few things could change my mind.  

Here's one:  If some candidate pledged to fund bicycling in any shape or form in the US, that might be enough to get my vote.

Of course, if it's so difficult for candidates to commit to establishing a healthcare system that doesn't leave people in poverty, or worse, when they have major medical problems, I don't think those same candidates are going to prioritize two-wheeled transportation, let alone a bike race.

That is, in essence, one reason why the Amgen Tour of California has been put "on hiatus," and why The Philly Cycling Classic, U.S. Pro Challenge, Tour de 'Toona and other major American races disappeared in recent years.  No less than Jonathan Vaughters, the current EF Education First team manager--and one-time US sprint champion--says as much.  "Municipalities or government entities are not going to sponsor cycling.  Our political system doesn't allow for that."  A result, he says, that we are not going to have " big-money, massive state-backed races like this new race in Saudi Arabia or the UAE Tour."  The money, he says, has to come from private sources.

The Amgen Tour of California was the last remaining UCI World Tour race in the US. During its 14-year history, it brought some of the world's most talented riders to these shores.  In last year's Tour, Travis McCabe nearly out-sprinted Peter Sagan, regarded as one of the world's best in that discipline.  The loss of such a race in America could be a particular blow to the cycling scene in the US because it is "aspirational," according to Adam Myerson, president of Cycle-Smart coaching services.  "We need people to watch" races like the AMTOC, he explained, "and want to be racers because of it."  Of course, they can watch footage (although it is sometimes grainy) of events taking place in Europe and elsewhere, but nothing motivates young people like seeing a hometown hero on home turf.

Kristin Klein, president of ATOC and vice president of AEG Sports (the events company behind ATOC), says that AEG is "trying to determine if there is a business model that will allow us to successfully re-launch the race in 2021." Some observers believe that while the loss of the Tour is a blow to European-style racing in the US, it might force ride organizers to reassess the organizational structure of cycling events to determine what works, and what doesn't.

While European-style racing has struggled in the US, other events, like Gran Fondos and gravel racing, have grown in popularity.  Myerson and others envision a structure similar to that of the New York Marathon:  An elite contingent of 100 or so riders would challenge for prizes and championships, followed by thousands of other participants who have helped to finance it with their entrance fees.

In other words, the US cycling scene could be remade into something different, but no less interesting, than its counterparts overseas.  Or one of the candidates could pledge some money for cycling events...

The Moveable Feast Of Bicycle Racing

Recently, I mentioned Ernest Hemingway in one of my classes.  Not a single student had heard of him, let alone read any of his works.

I have very mixed feelings about that.  On one hand, I'm appalled that they'd gotten to college without knowing about one of the most famous American writers.  On the other, I'm not so sorry, as I've gone through periods of absolutely loathing him (the man as well as the work) for the all-but-complete absence of credible, let alone substantial, female characters and the testosterone-soaked world he created and image he projected.

Then again, there is an economy and precision in his language that few other writers have equaled--and which, ironically, makes him easy to parody.  And for all that he glorified masculine pursuits, few writers have shown war-weariness from a combatant's point of view as well as he did.  

Whether I've loved or hated him, there is one work of his I always loved:  A Moveable Feast, which was published posthumously.  Even after having lived in Paris and enjoyed a few extended visits in the City of Light, I am still moved by his descriptions of his life there.  Also, I always had the sense that if he ever let his guard down as a writer, he did so in writing that book.

If he was capable of sighing, he did it in that book.  In particular, he expresses regret--and seems almost apologetic--in talking about one topic about which he couldn't write: bicycle racing.

One of the things that all of those English teachers never mentioned while they were ramming The Snows of Kilimanjaro and A Clean, Well-Lighted Place down the throats of my generation was that, while in Paris, he became a big fan of bicycle racing and that he was an active cyclist through much of his life.  A friend of his, Mike Ward, introduced him to it after giving up betting on horse racing because, he said, he'd found something better in bicycle racing. 

 

Hemingway similarly became enamored of two-wheeled pursuits after turning his attentions away from the trotters.  Given that he wrote stories about hunting and fishing, which he also loved, it's no surprise that he would want to write about bike racing.  But, as he recounts in A Moveable Feast:

"I have started many stories about bicycle racing but have never written one that is as good as the races are both on the indoor tracks and the roads."

 He gives one possible reason why he couldn't write a story he liked about racing:

"French is the only language it has ever been written in properly and the terms are all in French and that is what makes it hard to write."  

Still, he is glad to have been introduced to the sport:

"Mike was right about it, there is no need to bet. But that comes at another time in Paris."

 Maybe it's time for me to read him again.

 

This Liberia Might Help Liberia

If you've been following this blog, you know that I'm interested in (and ride a few) vintage bikes, parts and accessories---in part because some of the stuff I rode in my youth (and even later!) is considered "vintage" now!

Anyway, if you pay attention to really vintage bikes (i.e., ones made before I was born!), you know that some bike-makers got creative with their parts, some of which they manufactured themselves.  Among them are the chainrings on cottered steel cranksets, which sometimes had interesting designs or the name of the bike manufacturer.

Here's one that's on eBay now:

 

Turns out, Liberia was a brand of bicycles made by Grenoble-based Manufacture Francaise Cycles (MFC), starting in 1918.  In MFC's early days, they also made motorcycles that bore the same name as the velos.

MFC founder Antoine Biboud was a keen cyclist (Why wouldn't he be in that part of the world?  Trust me:  I've ridden there!) who insisted on strict quality control.  Even his lowest-priced models had carefully-mitered tubes and carefully filed lugs.  His insistence on quality might be one reasons neither he nor his kids (who inherited the company and ran it for the rest of its history) ever tried to sell his bikes much beyond the Rhone-Alpes region of southeastern France. 

Biboud's motto translated roughly to "Don't follow the peloton, lead it!"  He passed it on to the teams his company sponsored during the two decades after World War II.  One of its riders, Henri Anglade, was the French national champion in 1959; other Libera riders took various honors in the Tour de France and other races.

After a two-decade absence from the peloton, Liberia teamed up with Mavic in 1988 to co-sponsor the RMO team, which featured such riders as Richard Virenque and the Madiot brothers.  Unfortunately, the successes of these cyclists weren't enough to buoy the company's fortunes. So, by the mid-1990's, Liberia, like many other mainly-regional French bike makers (and some national and international ones like Mercier) fell victim to the rising tide of Taiwanese bikes.

Even though I've seen a few Liberia bikes, I can't help but to think about the African country with that name.  And, someone who doesn't know much about cycling history might, at this point, be put off by the name, what with the Ebola virus.  

At least the seller, Reperagevelo, is a part of Repareges, a French non-profit that sends bicycles to Burkina Faso and Mali to provide much-needed transportation, as well as jobs and other help for disabled people.

A World Cup Tournament Of Cycling Nations

In an earlier post, I briefly described an interesting paradox:  Some of the nations that have dominated bicycle racing are also among those that have been among the world's elite in football (what we Americans call "soccer"). Yet, the wheel and the ball rarely, if ever, cross each other's paths.

I was thinking about this again, today, as the World Cup football tournament opened with host nation Brazil's team beating its counterpart from Croatia.  Brazil perennially fields one of the world's strongest sides and, playing in its home country, is expected to win the tournament.

I couldn't help but to notice that the teams that have the best chance of keeping the Brazilians from winning it all come from Argentina, Germany and Spain. Other teams believed to have at least an outside chance are those of Portugal, France, Belgium, Italy, England and Uruguay.

Now, I don't have to tell you about the cycling traditions of France, Belgium, Italy, England, Spain, Germany or even Portugal:  Each has produced a disproportionate share of winners of the world's top bicycle races.  Cycling is also a popular form of recreation in those countries, and using bicycles for transportation is making a resurgence in them. And all of them, with the possible exception of Portugal, have their share of notable bike builders.

Of the three South American soccer powerhouses in the tournament, Argentina seems to have more of a racing tradition and culture than the others.  In its relatively brief history, the six-stage Tour de San Luis has become an important part of the UCI Americas Tour, one of the Continental Circuits sanctioned by l'Union Cycliste Internationale.  Levi Leipheimer won the TdeSL in 2012, one of the last triumphs of his career.

Argentina was also home, for many years, to Spanish-born Francisco Cuevas, considered one of the most meticulous craftsmen among frame-builders.  He would later emigrate to the US and set up shop in Queens, a stone's throw from where I live now and even closer to the Kissena Velodrome.
Some other fine builders practiced their trade in the home of the tango, and a company called Saavedra produced some rather nice components, most of which were Campagnolo knockoffs.  One of their most interesting pieces was a headset that looked like a cross between a Campy Super Record and a Stronglight Delta.  But, at heart, it was more like the Delta with its roller bearings.  But perhaps their best-known product was their Turbo rim, which became popular among time trialists because it was the lightest--although far from the most durable--available.

Perhaps one reason why Argentina had a relatively strong bicycle culture and industry is that so many Europeans--particularly Italians-- emigrated to it. Indeed, it's often been called the most European of Latin American countries.

Uruguay doesn't seem to have the kind of cycling history Argentina can claim.  But, to be fair, it's a much smaller country, only about the size of Connecticut. On the other hand, a Google search of "bicycling in Uruguay" seems to turn up nothing but rave reviews in which two-wheeled tourists rave about the good roads, spectacular scenery, rich history and friendly local people they encounter.

That leaves us with Brazil.  It doesn't seem to have much of a history of road racing, but there seem to be a lot of downhill races in various parts of the country.  And, as some have noted, the popularity of cycling for transportation and recreation declined as the bicycle was increasingly seen as a "poor man's" vehicle.  But that image is starting to change, and a bicycle culture is developing in Sao Paolo and other cities.  

The only Brazilian bicycles I've ever seen were made by Caloi.  They make a variety of bikes, but all the Calois I've seen were mountain bikes.  I first started noticing them in the early '90's, around the time I took up off-road riding. Their aluminum bikes seemed like lower-rent versions of Cannondales.  I haven't seen any lately; then again, I haven't been a mountain biker in some time.

Brazil has won more World Cup football titles than any other nations.  How soon before a cyclist from that country wins Le Tour, Il Giro or La Vuelta?