A Golden Gate To A Jersey Joke

Because I've been around bicycles for ever and ever (OK, since the last Ice Age, at least) and because I have a vivid imagination, I can answer all sorts of "What's that?" inquiries.  Sometimes I find myself doing that for customers in bike shops even though I haven't worked in one in years.

But I have to admit that yesterday I saw something that stumped me.  I was in Bicycle Habitat--where I bought three of my four Mercians--and I saw a bike hanging from the ceiling. 

At first glance, I thought it was just another fixie with a weird paint job.  I saw the "Langster" name  and realized it was yet another iteration of what may be Specialized's best-selling bike, at least in certain urban neighborhoods.  

I didn't mind the color scheme, but the graphics were a bit much for my taste.  But I couldn't help but to notice another strange detail:

When I saw it, I thought of all of those bikes I see with the stubs or bases of water bottle cages, the cage having broken off.  Very often, I suspect, the person riding the bike has no idea of what that piece is, as he or she probably inherited the bike from someone or bought it on Craig's List or in a thrift store. The cage had probably broken off before the person bought or inherited it and the bike probably sat around for years, or even decades.

So I wondered why someone would buy a brand-new bike with a broken-off water bottle cage.  One shop employee explained what it is:

"It's a bottle opener," he explained, "shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge."

"Ohh, I see...", which of course I didn't.  

All right, I thought, I can understand that someone would feel the need to have a bottle opener on a bike. Such a person probably doesn't carry a keyring, much less a pocketknife or any other implement that would have a bottle opener on it. (If that person were really in the know, he or she would have a Maillard Helicomatic tool, whether or not he or she has a Maillard Helicomatic hub!)  After all, such things would not fit into the pockets of a hipster's too-tight jeans--and would poke holes in the pockets of a $200 jersey.

Maillard Helicomatic Tool.  The left side is the world's best bottle opener.

As I was making that completely pointless analysis to myself, the Habitat employee said something that really got me scratching my head:  The Golden Gate Bridge bottle opener, he explained "adds about $300 to the base price of the bike".

"And it's a $600 bike".

"Yes, it is. Believe it or not, we just sold one of those--yes, for $900--to a guy from Jersey." 

OK, I won't make any snide remarks about Snooki's home state--and not just because I lived there for ten years!

Over The Rainbow

Whenever you see neon- or Easter egg-colored "deep V" rims on some hipseter's or messenger's fixie, console yourself with the thought that things have been much, much weirder.

From Bike Snob NYC

You see, all of the rainbow boys and girls are merely aping a trend of the 1890's.  Yes, they really had Velocity Deep V rims in "antifreeze green" in the days of the penny-farthing. I know:  I was there.

All right, so now you know I was pulling your crank--I mean, your leg.  But I can tell you that cyclists actually wore tweed in those days!

When we see images of cyclists and their mounts from the 1890's, they usually seem quaint.  I don't think that a century hence, people will see velo-images of the 1990's in the same way.  

Now, that was a time of some really weird bike parts.  First of all, mountain biking took off in the late '80's.  Around 1990 or so, mountain bikes and components appeared that were not derivatives of their road and touring counterparts.  (That's also when the first frames with suspension were built.)  By the mid-1990's, it seemed that every other twenty-something in California who had access to his father's machines was making derailleurs, brakes, seat posts, cranks and almost every other part.  Some were actually quite good and were improvements over what had been available.  On the other hand, some stuff was merely what we used to call "ELS", or Expensive Lightweight S**t.

In the latter category were nearly all cranksets made by those one-man cottage industries.  I knew riders who weren't built like NFL linebackers and still managed to break Kooka, Topline and some of those other over-machined, over-priced crank arms.  And then there is specimen:  a Cucamonga crank:

Whoever made these cranks seemed determined to incorporate every whacky idea and trend in bike components from the previous three decades or so.  On one hand, the holes are from the '70's, while the shape suggests the '80's mania for aerodynamics, or the pretense thereof.  And the pink anodizing is right out of the '90's.

I don't know anyone who actually rode those cranks.  Perhaps they were made to be "collectibles".  What will some future anthropologist surmise about '90's cycling and cyclists from them?

Hasidim and Hipster Fixies

Today I took one of those "no destination" rides.  Helene and I just sort of wandered from one place to another, doing about 30 or 35 miles in total without getting more than a few miles from my apartment.  Such is an enjoyable way--for me, anyway--to spend a warm, humid afternoon after waking up late.  


Along the way, I stopped in an Old Navy store. (They didn't stop me from bringing my bike in.)  I was looking for at least one nautical-stripe T-shirt.  For the longest time, I wore one that I bought in France. You've probably seen them:  the kind worn by Breton fishermen and Marseille dock workers and, for a long time, by sailors in the French Navy.  They are white, with horizontal navy stripes.  For a long time, it was the only white article of clothing I owned.  


I also used to have a wool sweater that was the inverse of the T-shirt:  navy with cream stripes.  It was one of those sweaters with buttons on the left shoulder.  I actually wore it on many a cold-weather ride, as the wool was of a very nice grade and tightly woven, and the sweater was of just the right weight and thickness for a variety of conditions.


There are imitations of them available in this country.  For all I know, they're not even being made in France anymore.  In any event, as I expected, Old Navy didn't have the originals.  But they didn't have any imitations, either.  On the other hand, I found interesting tank top with a tied back in a kind of "fade" from blue to green to purple.  And the green and purple just happen to be the shades, more or less, of Helene as well as Arielle and Tosca, my other Mercians.  So of course I couldn't pass it up.  One of these days, I'll post a picture in which I wear it--and, of course, I'm riding one of my Mercians.


I also rode to someplace I haven't been in quite a while.  It's one of the neighborhoods in which I spent my childhood:  Borough Park, in Brooklyn.  This is the church in which I was an altar server:

And, diagonally across the street is the school I attended. Here is a section of it:

They are the Holy Spirit parish and school.  Between them, I saw this:

Even if I hadn't seen that, I would have been surprised that the school, and even the church, were still open.  Even though the temperature rose to just above 90F, all of the females I saw on the streets were wearing thick hosiery (some with seams running down the rear) and long skirts, while all of the males were wearing even longer coats.  If they noticed me, I can only imagine what they might have been thinking.  For one thing, I was alone and riding a better bicycle than most of them even know exists. Plus, I was the only one riding a bike who was more than about ten years old.   And I was wearing a short (by their standards, anyway) denim skirt and a tank top.


I know, from an earlier experience, that the Hasidim don't like to be photographed. Of course, I respect that.  But at the same time, I wasn't about to ask any of them to take a photo of me with my bike!


You've seen Hasidim if you've been Williamsburg, another Brooklyn neighborhood. (In fact, shuttle buses run between the two neighborhoods.)  What's ironic is that they're in the hipster-fixie capitol of the universe. That makes for some very interesting visual contrasts.  One is between the black of the males' coats and hats and the females' skirts, and the day-glo or neon colors of the bikes rolling down the Kent Avenue bike lane or parked in front of the book and music stores, "retro" boutiques and self-consciously funky coffee shops and restaurants of Bedford Avenue.  The other contrast, of course, is between the presence of hipsters and their fixed-gear bikes in Williamsburg and the absence of same in Borough Park.


If I could have found a way to photograph what I've just described while respecting the wishes of the Hasidim, I would have done so.  All I can do is hope that I've described it enough for you to visualize, at least somewhat.

Why American Bike Designers Should Spend A Year In The Netherlands

The other day, for a change, my bike wasn't the only one parked at my main job.


Two of them were the kinds of bikes you buy in Costco.  The other was a current Schwinn hybrid.  Seeing it made me happy that I essentially turned Marianela into a hybrid-cum-city bike when I could've bought a new bike.


Aside from the workmanship, which is better even on the fairly low-end LeTour that became Marianela, there were a number of other things that reminded me that change isn't always progress, and progress isn't always for the better.  

Now what, pray tell, is a low spoke-count wheel in an impractical pattern doing on a hybrid bike?  The people who buy those bikes aren't racer wannabes, so there's really no "cool" factor in having such a wheel. 


(I admit I've fallen for a fad or two in my time.  But I never went for anything like these wheels.) 


Bike-industry types--and cyclists who don't recall a world without clipless pedals, STI or Ergo--often say that today's rims, especially ones with a "Deep V" section, are stiffer (and so, they believe, stronger), than older rims and therefore require fewer spokes.


I'm not an engineer, so please forgive (and correct) me if I misuse any terminology.  I'm going to explain my reasons for disliking lower spoke-count wheels in terms of more than three decades of cycling and about seven years of working in bike shops.


A strong or stiff rim will give a wheel lateral strength or stiffness.  So, yes, it will need less to support it in order to carry a given amount of weight.  However, this is not the only factor in the reliability of a wheel.


For one thing, fewer spokes means less bracing for the hub and rim.  This is particularly important to consider if you're riding a fixed gear, especially if you are riding with fewer than two brakes, as the hub flange and spokes are torqued more than on a bike with a freewheel.


That means, among other things, that it is easier to break a spoke because each spoke has to take more weight, tension and shock than it would if it were sharing those stresses with a greater number of spokes.  


It also means that there is more space on the rim between each spoke.  Even with a very strong or stiff rim, that means the rim is more likely to flex between spokes.  I especially noticed what I'm describing when I borrowed a pair of tri-spoke wheels like the ones pictured in the above link.  And, when I rode those wheels, I was younger and a good bit lighter than I am now!


Finally, the more spokes you have on your wheel, the more likely you (or your mechanic) will be able to repair them, if need be.  If you have 36 spokes and one of them breaks, for whatever reason, it will not cause as much of a problem as it would if that spoke were one of 24 or 18 or 3.  Actually, the spokes of tri-spoke wheels can't be repaired at all.  And, yes, they did fail on occasion.  What's more, the fewer spokes your wheel has, the more likely those spokes are to be of some proprietary design or another.  So are the other parts of the wheel.


All of my rear wheels have 36 spokes.  I've been advised that I could ride fewer spokes and, indeed, I have.  But for the extra twenty grams or whatever those additional spokes weigh, I like the more solid, secure feel they offer.  

When I first started cycling, nearly all bikes had 36 spoke wheels.  Some bikes had 36 in the rear and 32 on the front; Arielle, Tosca and Helene, my three Mercians, all have wheels so configured.  Many English three-speeds had Sturmey-Archer rear hubs with 40 spokes and front hubs with 32; others had 36 and 28.   


The cynic in me says that manufacturers started to equip mid- and lower-priced bikes with low spoke-count wheels because they're less expensive to make.  More than one "in the know" person has confirmed my belief.  


I guess I should be thankful for small things.  After all, the rims on that Schwinn weren't in some "hipster fixie" neon hue!