A Voyageur In Astoria

Here in Astoria, as in other New York City neighborhoods, I see all sorts of re-purposed bikes locked to fences and signposts. Sometimes I wonder whether the folks who ride them have any idea of what they have.

A case in point is this World Voyageur I saw on a side street in my neighborhood.  

In the mid-1970s, Schwinn sold bikes that were manufactured for them in Japan.  Probably the best-known is the LeTour, which was basically a rebadged Panasonic Sport Deluxe and, it seemed, positioned to compete with bikes like the Peugeot UO-8 and Raleigh Grand Prix. 

The World Voyageur was a couple of steps up from the LeTour.  Both bikes had lugged frames, but the WV was constructed from double-butted chrome molybdenum tubing, in contrast to the LeTour's carbon steel.  While the LeTour's rims were steel, the WV's hoops were Araya alloy.  Both bikes had rebadged Dia Compe center-pull brakes, a standard on Japanese bikes of the time.  They also had rebadged Shimano derailleurs and hubs, though I think the ones on the WV were Titlist: at that time, Shimano's second line, behind Dura Ace.  It would form the basis of the popular 600 series Shimano would introduce a couple of years later.

Interestingly, Schwinn didn't try to rebadge the crankset:  a very nice Dura-Ace.  One reason why it didn't become more popular, I think, is that its chainring bolt circle diameter pattern, now called BCD or PCD, differed from Campagnolo's or other popular European cranksets of the time.  Ironically, Dura Ace's BCD--130 millimeters--would become the de facto standard for road cranksets a decade later.

What made me wonder whether the owner of this bike has any idea of what he or she has are the handlebars and stem.  My guess is whoever rides that World Voyageur inherited it from someone or bought it from someone who didn't know what they were selling.

My guess is that the bike in the photos is from 1973, as that seems to be the only year in which the World Voyageur was offered in that shade of blue.

A Clue To The Next Post

Just before Christmas, I spotted this bike on the Malcolm X Promenade, site of the World's Fair Marina.  

I've ridden that way a couple of times since, and the bike was still in its spot.

The brand decal seems to be "WTC."  That acronym, for me, denotes World Trade Center.  Perhaps some company wanted to say they were "giants" among bikes.

It looks like an old Schwinn Twinn tandem if it were made by Columbia, Huffy or one of the other department-store brand bike makers.  Tell-tale signs include the welded frame joints that aren't built up--and smooth and round--like the ones on the old Schwinns.  Also, the one-piece crank is a cheaper version of what Schwinn used.

 

What I found interesting, though, was the drum brake on the rear.  Schwinn used them on some of their "muscle" bikes and, I believe, their multi-geared Twinns. (Most people, I think, bought the coaster-brake model.)  I don't think it's an Atom--which Schwinn used--or an Arai or Shimano, supplied on higher-level tandems during the 1970s and 1980s.

Anyway, the location of this bike--on Malcolm X Promenade, which curves along the shore of Flushing Bay just east of LaGuardia Airport--is a clue to what awaits you, dear reader, in my next post! 

Fixie-ing A Ron Kit

 Every once in a while, I'll see another cyclist astride a Mercian.  About as often, I'll encounter somoene riding a Bob Jackson, Ron Cooper, Hetchins or Holdsworth.  While a significant part of those builders' work made its way to the United States, the segment of the cycling world who rides any high-end bike is actually very small. And each of those builders probably made fewer frames in a year than Raleigh or other manufacturers produced in a day.

It never occured to me, however, that one less-known (among cycling enthusisasts, let alone the general public) marque would be even rarer, at least here in the US, simply because I hadn't seen it here--until yesterday.  And I encountered it in a way I hadn't expected--but, upon reflection, makes perfect sense.

For three decades, Ron Kitching's catalogue was a kind of Whole Earth Catalogue for British cyclists.  He was the chief UK importer of well-known manufacturers like Cinelli and Specialites TA, and he introduced English riders to Shimano and SunTour.  The latter reflected part of his philosophy of offering products that offered high quality and good value for the money.  That ethos was also reflected in parts and accessories he imported, mainly from France and Italy and rebranded as "Milremo." 

Unless you've spent time perusing his catalogues, you might not realize (or might have forgotten) that he also sold high quality frames under his own name. The best of them were constructed, like most high-end British frames of the time, of Reynolds 531 tubing  by builders such as Arthur Metcalf and Wes Mason.  In fact, for a time, frames were sold under the "MKM" marque, with the middle initial representing the "silent" partner of Kiching between those of the builders.

I've seen, probably, a couple of MKM frames, as at least one mail-order company (Bike Warehouse, which became Bike Nashbar, comes to mind) offered them. But until yesterday, I hadn't seen one with Ron Kitching's name on it.

Finding it at all was surprising enough. But to see it only a kilometer from my apartmet--on 41st Street in Astoria--was even less anticipated. 

Should I have been surprised that it's in its current state?

It looks like it was intended as a long-distance race or audax bike, given its geometry--a race bike in its time, but more like an all-arounder today--and the lack of rack or fender eyelets on the dropouts.  So it makes sense as a single-speed or fixed-gear bike for the city:  It's probably responsive and maneuvarable, given its geometry and Reynolds 531 double-butted tubing and forks.

Yes, it's made in England.

Given how rare Ron Kitching bikes are in the US, I surmise that someone brought it with them in a move from England.  I'm also guessing that whoever brought it here gave or sold it to whoever is riding it now--who may or may not have any idea of the history behind it.  

The Only Tour We'll See?

I saw the Tour de France today.

If you thought that was a cheap trick to get your attention, well, maybe it was.  The Tour normally doesn't begin until early July, a little more than two months from now.  Its organizers say that it's been rescheduled to begin on 29 August and run until 20 September.  Given how many other races and other sporting events--not to mention concerts, festivals and other gatherings--have been canceled altogether for this year, it wouldn't surprise me if this year's edition of the race meets a similar fate.

But, I tell you, I really saw the Tour today:

OK, it wasn't the race.  For that matter, it's not like any bike that would be ridden in one of the world's major competitions.  It seems rather like any number of other basic hybrid bikes one can buy:  probably not terrible, but not fantastic either.  Not bad looking, though.

Oh well.  It might be the only Tour de France we see this year.

How Did It Get Here?

Now I'm going to subject you to another "look at what I found parked on the street" post.

I've seen this bike a few times before, locked to a post underneath the elevated tracks on 31st Street.  It's a spot I pass often, as it's right by Parisi bakery, a Dollar Tree store and a pub whose name I can't remember because I never go to it.

In my neighborhood, Astoria, you can see a greater variety of bikes than in most other New York City communities.  Even so, this one is unusual:  It's more like bikes I saw in Cambodia and Laos than anything I've found here.

First of all, that top tube has to be one of the thinnest I've ever seen.

And that internally-expanding rear hub brake is something, I believe, that has never been standard equipment on any bike made in, or exported to, the US.  I've seen brakes like it on a few older bikes in Europe, but not in the US.

I'm guessing that someone brought that bike with him or her from Southeast Asia or Europe.  

Does This Bike Need An RU Screw?

When you ride your bike to work every day, certain sights become familiar.  Sometimes, though, they're not the ones you anticipate.

If you live in a city, you probably see bikes parked in the same places every day.  Some leave in the morning, on commutes to work or school.  But others remain in the same spot and start to look like street fixtures.

This Royce Union three-speed has been parked on East 139th Street for three years, maybe more.  I say two years because that's when I started riding along a route that includes the block on which the bike is parked.


The bike is from the mid-60s or thereabouts.  I know that because I had a bike just like it--actually, the diamond frame, a.k.a. male, version.  Also, mine was black and white.  It was lovely but, oh, I would have loved the color of this one. (That tells you something about the kind of kid I was!)

Royce-Union started in England early in the 20th Century.  Later, they started to manufacture bikes in the Netherlands and, by the 1960s, Japan.   Later they would make their wares in Taiwan.  I'm guessing that by now, their stuff is coming out of China or possibly Malaysia.  You can more or less trace the geographical history of bicycle manufacture from the company's timeline!

Not surprisingly, those '60's bikes--like the one in the photos and the one I had so many years ago--were imitations of English three-speed .  Whatever market existed for adult wheels in those pre-Bike Boom days was filled mainly by so-called "English Racers" from Raleigh, Dunelt and other British manufacturers and, to a lesser degree, similar bikes from Continental makers and Schwinn.

One detail of this bike I just love is the white saddle bag.  My bike had a bag just like it, in black.  The saddle was also like the one I see parked in the Bronx, but in black.


I also had to chuckle at the "RU" on the bag and saddle.  I attended Rutgers University many years ago.  Of course, many items pertaining to the school are emblazoned "RU", though in a very different style and color.  I couldn't help but to wonder, though, whether the Royce Union had any non-standardized parts.  In a way, I hope it doesn't, because I'd love to hear someone go into a bike shop and ask for an "RU Screw."

(You have to have gone to Rutgers to fully appreciate that one!)

Bikes From The Night The Lights Went Out

I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, out for a spin this morning. My plan was to finish before the worst of the heat and humidity we would experience this afternoon.  I succeeded at that, and at avoiding the downpour that would end them.

My ride took me through, among other places, the non-hipster parts of Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  Believe it or not, they still exist, mainly south of the Williamsburg Bridge and east of Bedford Avenue.  They are, in some ways, time-capsules of what this city was like, say, 40 years ago.

On this date in 1977, one of the most infamous blackouts in history darkened New York City.  Brooklyn's Broadway, which cuts through the borough from the East River to East New York, incurred some of the most serious looting and arson that night in a city that was already suffering from a reputation for anarchy.  

At that time, all of Williamsburg--and much of the rest of this city--bore more resemblance to  today's South and East Williamsburg than it does to the nightlife capital to its north and west.  Hipster-equivalents of that time never would have ventured into such a place:  In fact, about the only young white people to be found were those who were born and raised there and hadn't gone to college, joined the military or gotten out in some other way.   And, perhaps, a few punk-rockers and anti-establishment artists, who are practically the antithesis of hipsters.

You see, in the year Howard Cosell supposedly exclaimed, "The Bronx is Burning!", most residents of neighborhoods like Williamsburg were poor or blue-collar.   If they were white (usually Italian, German or Irish) they weren't young.  Those who were young, or even middle-aged, were likely to be Puerto Rican, Black or Hasidic Jews--like the folks who live in the non-hipster enclaves today.

I saw them on the streets today: the kids running and doing the kinds of things kids do everywhere when school's out.  Their mothers were never more than a few steps away, propped against poles or fences or sitting on stoops in front of the houses.  

Even with the hipsters nowhere to be seen, I saw plenty of bikes.  Some were being ridden, mainly by folks like me who were pedaling through the neighborhood.  Others were chained to parking meters, signposts and other immovable objects.  Ironically, they might have been new--or, at least, not more than a few years old--during the days to which I've alluded, but I probably would not have seen them because, in those days, there were relatively few cyclists in this city, and almost none in neighborhoods like the ones I've mentioned.

I saw this French ten-speed bike from around the mid-1970's as I spun down Franklin Avenue:

Paris Sport was a "house" brand for bikes imported by Park Cycle and Sports of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.  They were made by several French manufacturers, most commonly Dangre-Starnord, a company based in Valenciennes (a northern French town along the Paris-Roubaix race route) that also sold bikes under the France-Sport and Nord-Star brands.

So it's not surprising that the bike resembles machines from Gitane, Jeunet and Mercier made in that era.  What I found interesting, though, were some of the apparent changes.

The reason this bike caught my eye was the Sun Tour bar end shifters ("Barcons").  One rarely sees them on any bike parked on a New York street, and they certainly were not original equipment on the bike.  More likely, the bike had shifters on the down tube or handlebar stem, and they probably would have been made by Huret, the manufacturer of the "Svelto" derailleur that probably is orignial equipment.

Seeing Weinmann "Vainqueur" centerpull brakes on a French bike is not unusual. However, if you look closely, you will see that the "yoke" that pulls on the straddle cable is not Weinmann's.  This one looks clunkier, and the cable hangers on the steerer tube and seat bolt are thinner than the ones that usually came with Weinmann brakes.  The hangers look like they could be Mafac, but may have been from CLB, whose  brakes and fitments (except for their later "Professional" sidepulls) looked like cruder versions of Mafac's offerings.

I am guessing that someone simply replaced parts as they needed replacing, or simply didn't have the money to do a complete "makeover".  (I mean, what else would explain such good shift levers with such ordinary derailleurs?)  I am also guessing that whoever rides the bike now "inherited" it from somebody and has no idea of what I'm talking about.

The same might be said for this bike parked a few blocks away:

It's the first time I've seen a Royce Union--or, for that matter, any bike with a chainguard like that--in such a color.

It looks like the same model as (or one similar to) the Royce Union three-speed my grandfather gave me about three years before I could ride it. Like my old bike, it was made in Japan.  But the color--and the head tube that could have passed for aluminum if not for the rust spots--reminded me of a bike I often saw a couple of decades later:

The Vitus 979 was, of course, one of the first widely-ridden aluminum frames.  It was available in anodized blue, green, gold, red, purple and the pink shown in the above photo.  As much as I love the other colors, whenever someone mentions the Vitus 979, that rose hue is the first that comes to my mind.

Somehow I doubt that the Royce Union came with such a finish.  I suspect that the bike had once been purple or magenta, or perhaps even red, and had faded--a common fate for the paint on Japanese bikes of the time.

At least it's being used, or looks as if it is, if not by its original owner--who may or may not have lived in the neighborhood the night the lights went out.

This Bike Is Like A Tatoo Because...

I've never had a tatoo, and I probably never will have one. Every once in a while, I see one I like.  However, even seeing such a tatoo has never made me want one.  

It's not that I have any religious or philosophical objection to tatoos.  Nor am I afraid of the needles, at least not anymore:  After all, I have had surgery.  And, even though I grew up in a time when tatoos were associated with outlaw bikers, prisoners and the sorts of military folk who live, work and die by the motto Caedite eos.  Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius, I have never had any fear of, or prejudice against those who have their bodies pricked and painted.  Perhaps my attitude is a result of having two uncles--one of whom is my godfather--with tatoos.

Even when I see a tatoo I like on someone else, I have no wish to get one for myself.  Perhaps it's hypocritical, but I find myself thinking, "Good for him (or her)."

I feel something similar about some of the wild bike finishes and color schemes I see.  I saw an example parked near Columbus Circle today:

I had to go inside a Starbuck's to take the photo because the bike was parked too close to the glass wall for me to take a photo from the outside. Believe it or not, I actually liked the look:  In some strange way, those colors and shapes actually work together.  

Still, I would never make any of my own bikes look anything like that.  And I definitely would not put wheels like those on any bike of mine.  But if that bike makes its owner happy, that's what matters.  Right?

A Good Bike Mystery

While I was riding yesterday afternoon, this bike caught my eye:

If you've been following this blog, you know my favorite color is purple, followed by certain shades of green and certain shades of blue.  Well, that bike is one of those certain shades of green. But somehow I knew it wasn't the only reason to look at it.

Clarks of Harrow.  Hmm, I've never seen that name on a bike before.  Obviously, it wasn't made by them.  But a close-up look provided me with some possible clues:

 

 

 

The lamp bracket on the front fork is almost a dead-giveaway that the bike was made in Great Britain for the British market.  Another clue to the English nature is this:

Flat-plate wraparound seat stay caps were used almost exclusively by bike makers in Blighty.  After establishing with near-certainty that it is indeed a British bike, I wondered who might have built it.

One possible clue lies here:

The lug, while fairly simple, seems to have been scalloped to a point in the manner of another English maker:

This 1966 Witcomb L'Avenir shows a lug style it often used during the 1960's and '70's.  Then again, so did a number of other British builders, including Holdsworth and Claud Butler.  I don't think Mercian ever used such a lug shape, and I simply can't imagine Hetchins having employed it.

In brief, it was a pretty nice bike that caught my eye. About the only components that looked original were the seatpost (I couldn't see an identifying mark) and Campagnolo steel headset.  The rest of the parts included a Velo Orange crankset, new Dia Compe 610 brakes, Shimano Tiagra derailleurs and Tiagra hubs laced to Sun M-13 rims and shod with Continental Gatorskin tires.

Mystery Bike

Yesterday I saw this bike parked on Greenpoint Avenue:

Of course, I loved the color and was fascinated with the way the twin-lateral tubes curved from the seat tube to the rear dropout. It's not the first time I've seen such a configuration.  Still, something told me there was something strange about the bike.

The Huret Allvit derailleur on the rear was more than likely original equipment.  To paraphrase Frank Berto, it shifts poorly forever.  The crankset also looked as if it had never been removed from the bike, although I suspect that, at some point, a chainguard was.

The shift lever was a plastic model from Simplex.  Perhaps the derailleur was a replacement after all. Or maybe the shifter was.  It was interesting, though, to see it on a brazed-on boss.  But what I saw in front of it:

Or at the bottom bracket:

Perhaps my initial belief that this bike was French was wrong after all.  Almost any Gallic ladies' or mixte bike of the era from which this bike appeared to be (the early 1970's or earlier) that wasn't made by a constructeur had lugs.  Perhaps I was looking at a cleverly-disguised masterpiece.

Not surprisingly, the wheels and pedals were replacements. So, too, was the rear brake, I suspect:

Nearly all modern caliper brakes are mounted in a hole through the front fork crown or a bridge connecting the rear stays. At one time, calipers that clamped like the one in the photo were common.  Later, they were used on bikes that originally were equipped with cantilever or rod brakes, which usually weren't drilled.  But no one, it seems, made such brakes after the mid-1960's or thereabouts.

Stickers from Transportation Alternatives and other cycling-related organizations indicate that this bike is, or had been, ridden regularly.  I wonder whether its rider has or had any idea of what he or she is or was riding.