Dripping With Its Age

Some bikes are classics, for all sorts of reasons.  Chief among them are that they give a good ride or that they look as "right" today as the day they were made, whether that day was yesterday or 30 years ago.

Other bikes, on the other hand, date themselves.  

This Marin mountain bike may well be a good rider.  And, I admit, I still like the drip/graffiti look, although I'm not sure I'd order a new bike with it.  Still, it's hard not to look at that bike of neon colorblock tracksuits and other artifacts of the late '80s.

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.

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.  

Where Has The Rider Gone?

Had you fallen asleep, say, a month ago and awakened today, you might check your calendar to be sure that it is indeed Wednesday, not Sunday or a holiday.   Your favorite stores, restaurants and public venues are closed, or open for only a few hours.  And there's practically no motorized traffic on the streets, save for men--almost all of them are men, and immigrants at that--delivering food on motorized or electric bikes.  

I also notice, surprisingly, fewer people on bicycles.  Since cycling is still allowed, as long as cyclists keep their "social distance" (2 meters or 6 feet), this is somewhat surprising.  Also, I would think that some people who still have to go to work might ride bikes, whether because the buses or trains they normally take are running less often or not at all, or because they wouldn't want to get on a bus or train--or share a car with anybody.

But the Citibike racks are close to full, and bikes that are normally parked overnight have remained on the streets for weeks.  I wonder whether their owners ride only to work or school, or are too scared to go out. (I've heard more than a few people say they planned to shut themselves in this week.)  Or--might they be sick, or worse?

Across the street from that Schwinn chained to the lightpole, I saw a sign that it is indeed early spring:

As the cliche goes, life springs eternal, even in the face of disease and death.

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.