It Folds. But It Won’t Come Tumbling Down.

 Last week, I wondered whether the folks at the World Meteorological Association were joking when they named a storm that dumped eight inches (20cm) in a day after a Shakespeare character who drowns.

Today I am going to question another naming choice.  Specifically, I have to ask why someone would name a folding bike after a structure whose walls came tumbling down.

No, I am not talking about Jericho.  And its designer isn’t named Joshua.  Nor is he named Donatien-Alphonse-François.

That last name, however, leads to a clue about the designer’s identity. D-T-F was the Comte de Sade, better known as the Marquis.  One of the world’s longest-running urban legends has it that he was in the confines of those walls when an angry mob stormed them.This myth has persisted even though he was transferred to another facility ten days before the revolt, probably because his most (in)famous work was later found in the rubble.

That facility is, of course, the Bastille prison. The bike in question is one that I might want to try:  It folds but, unlike Dahon, Brompton and other portables, the Bastille velo has full-size (27.5 inches, a.k.a 29ers). It would thus avoid one of the problems with smaller-wheeled bikes that caused me to sell my Dahon a year after I bought it:  getting caught in potholes.

To be fair, designer Gilles Henry—who also created the Voyo folding baby stroller—probably was thinking of the Bastille’s seeming indestructability:  It was a fortress before it became a prison.  Or he may realize that to many people, the name evokes the Place and Opera named for it and the fashionable cafés and shops that surround it.

A Columbia Folding Bike--From England?

I came of age as a cyclist during the '70's Bike Boom of North America.  Ten-speeds were the bikes of choice.  Of US bike manufacturers, only Schwinn had been producing derailleur-equipped bikes in the years before the boom.  Other manufacturers--such as Columbia, Murray and AMF--began to offer "lightweight" bikes made of flash-welded gaspipe tubing with derailleurs and hand brakes.  To be fair, Schwinn's "lightweights"--with the exceptions of the Paramount and Superior--were also tanks with derailleurs fitted to them.  

AMF Hercules three-speed, made in England

A similar scenario played out during the 1950s and 1960s.  While the number of adult cyclists--and the demand for adult bicycles--were nowhere near as great as that of the 1970s, both increased gradually during those two decades.  And American bike manufacturers were not ready to produce the bike requested by adults:  three speed "English racers".  None--not even Schwinn--had ever made such a bike.

Schwinn responded in the way they would to the demand for ten-speeds in the 1970s:  they fitted their heavy frames with Sturmey-Archer three-speed hubs and called those bikes "lightweights".  On the other hand, other American bike companies did something that would have, in an earlier decade, seemed unthinkable:  they imported bikes and re-badged them.  

So, English three-speed bikes were sold under the brands of AMF (Hercules), Huffy and other American companies.  Strip away their decals and they are indistinguishable from Raleigh, Rudge or other English three-speed bikes of the time.

Columbia was another American manufacturer who imported English three-speeds.  That fact leads me to believe that this Columbia might also have been made by one of those British manufacturers:

The tell-tale signs of a Raleigh folding bike are there:  the brakes, the Sturmey-Archer hub, the cottered crank (at least in the style seen on that bike).  But the frame doesn't look like any of the folding or "shopper" bikes Raleigh was making at the time.  The frames of most such machines had, in essence, a down tube but no top tube.  The reverse is true on the Columbia in the photos. I wonder how that affects the ride.

I watched the bike on eBay a few months ago. No, I didn't buy it!  I admit, I was tempted: It would have been an interesting project.  Apparently, not many of those bikes were made, and from what I could find, Columbia offered them in only one year:  1966.

Fifty years later, no bike like it--or, for that matter, the old English three-speed--is made today.  And, of the bike brands mentioned in this post, only two exist today:  Schwinn and Raleigh.  Both are owned by conglomerates and their bikes are made for them in China or Taiwan.  Which means, of course, that it's unlikely that any bike like the Columbia folder will be made any time soon.

Into The Fold: A Bike For The French Army

I recall reading or hearing that Peugeot invented the folding bike.   Of course, I am skeptical about that, just as I am skeptical about any other claim of inventorship unless there is solid documentation.  To be fair, though, I must say that, if I recall correctly, Peugeot has never made any claim to having invented the folding bike, although they probably were one of the first bike-makers to mass-market them.

Peugeot did, however, enter into a consortium with Michelin and the French army to buy the patents of an early folding bike, which appeared in the Peugeot sales catalogue of 1899.  

Gerard Morel folding bike prototype, 1892

That bike had its origins in 1892 when Charles Morel, a wealthy French industrialist, fell under the spell of the then-current bike craze and built a prototype of a folding bicycle. Around the same time, a French army lieutenant named Henry Gerard envisioned the military usage of a folding bike and in June of 1893 filed a patent for one he created.

Drawing for English patent issued to Charles Morel and Henry Gerard, 1896

Lt. Gerard's design was, however, deeply flawed and didn't work very well.  While looking for help in fixing the design flaws, he was introduced to Morel, who showed his prototype bike to Gerard.  Morel suggested a meeting between one of his mechanics, named Dulac, and Gerard to come up with a working design.  That meeting was successful and on 5 October 1894, Monsieur Morel and Lieutenant Gerard entered into an agreement to manufacture the bikes. 

Illustration from Revue Militare Suisse, 1897

Production of the bike began the following April. In October, a retail store for the bikes opened in Paris.  Gerard got the job of selling the bike to the military, and he supplied 25 test bikes to the French army.  The experiment was successful; the army bought more bikes and Gerard was put in charge of a bike-equipped regiment.  Soon, he was promoted to captain, largely on the basis of his success with the regiment.  In the meantime, the Russian and Rumanian armies placed orders for the bikes.

Because of his stature as a military commander, Gerard became the public face of the folding bike venture and the bikes came to be known as "Captain Gerard folding bikes".  Apparently, he forgot that Morel had the initial idea for the folding bike and wholly financed the venture and started to believe, as many people believed, that he invented the bike himself.

So, Captain Gerard sued Monsieur Morel for what he believed to be his "fair share" of the profits.  Not surprisingly, that led to a falling-out between the two men and a dissolution of their partnership.  That is when Peugeot and Michelin came into the picture.

Peugeot folding bike, 1970s

During the 1970's Bike Boom, many Americans saw (and a few bought) folding bikes for the first time.  Most Americans' introduction to folding bikes came from the Peugeot model that came with fenders, rack and generator lighting--very French!--and the Raleigh Twenty.  Since then, there have been any number of designs (and improvements) from Brompton as well as other manufacturers and custom builders.

Raleigh Twenty, 1970's

Now, as to who "invented" the folding bike:  The answer depends on how you define "folding" and who and what you believe.  Do "break-away" or "separable" bikes count?  Whether or not you count such bikes, or others that are portable in one way or another, you still have to consider that many claims by many inventors in a number of countries were made.  Most can't be documented in a convincing manner, whether because the documents were lost or they were never created or filed in the first place. 

Whoever deserves credit for creating whatever you consider to be the first folding bike, it's not hard to believe that the idea isn't nearly as old as that of the bicycle itself.

Shoppers

During the 1960's and 1970's, the "shopper" was a popular genre of bicycle in England.

Usually, it was a small-wheeled bike with a longish wheelbase.  This designed allowed it to be wheeled in and around marketplaces easily, and made it more stable than other small-wheeled bicycles when loads were carried on it.

People often mistook them for folding bikes as, to the untrained eye, they looked somewhat similar.  However, a shopper typically could not be folded.  More important, even when they are unfolded, "folders" are typically more compact than "shoppers."

Bobbin seems to be trying to revive the genre in Albion and introduce it to Americans.  I wonder how many Yanks, upon hearing the term "shopper", expect a bike like this:

 

Out Of The Fold Of My Past

In an earlier post, I wrote about the Dahon Vitesse D5 on which I commuted for about a year and a half.  I think I gave the impression that it was the only folding or collapsible bike I've ever owned.  That's more or less true, if you don't count another one I owned for a few days.  

I was reminded of it when I came across this photo:

It's a Chiorda folding bicycle, just like the one I owned for a few days. It's even the same color, although--cosmetically, anyway--in slightly better condition than mine was.

I had an excuse for its rattiness: I found mine by the curb, next to some bags of trash.  For some reason I don't recall, I didn't ride my bike that day to visit a then-friend who was living in Jackson Heights.  I spotted the bike as I walked to the subway station.

But I didn't take the train home.  I walked the bike to a nearby gas station where I inflated the tires.  They held air long enough for me to ride the bike back to Brooklyn, where I lived at the time.

At that time, I'd ridden a few folding bikes, never for very long.  The Chiorda was about what I expected from such a bike.  Actually, I should qualify that statement:  It was about what I expected from a folding bike, but slightly better than what I expected from a Chiorda.

You see, I developed an early prejudice against the brand.  My first--and, for a long time, only--experiences with them came in the first bike shop in which I worked.  A nearby R&S Auto (Think of it as a low-rent version of Western Auto or Pep Boys.) sold Chiorda ten-speeds for $69.  The quality of the ones I saw ranged from ghastly to just plain scary.  I don't recall seeing one that didn't have a misaligned frame; some had bottom bracket threads that stripped when you removed the cups, rear brake bridges that broke off the stays and various other problems.  

At that time, bikes from Taiwan and Eastern Europe (except for the Czech-made Favorits) were considered the worst on the market; I think the Chiordas I saw were just as bad.  To be fair, though, any of those bikes was better than the Indian three-speeds I fixed.  And, I would learn that Felice Gimondi actually won the Tour de France on a Chiorda--though not, of course, the one I found or the ones I'd worked on.

But my ingrained prejudice prevailed. Even though the treasure I found in the trash was better than I thought it would be,  I didn't expect to keep it.  One day, a few days after I found it, I took it out for a spin.  I stopped at a greengrocer, where I encountered a sometime riding buddy and local mechanic.  He actually wanted the bike--for his girlfriend.

I guess I can understand why he wanted it for her:  Even if it wasn't the greatest bike, it was kinda cute.  So, for that matter, was she.  He was, too.  I haven't heard from him in years.  Now I wonder whether she still has that bike--or him.