A Moment Of Fame And Fortune

In my youth (Yes, I once had that!), a couple of my poems were published in a small magazine.  It was a big deal to me, and I thought it would lead to fame, if not fortune.  Still, I was surprised when a stranger on the street recognized me as “the poet.”  I blushed.  “I’m not the only one,” I demurred.  

“But you’re going to be The One.  You’re going to be famous—and rich.”

He even said something about becoming a millionaire.  “Well, not many people become millionaires from poetry. Or even thousandaires.”  At that point in my life, I wasn’t even a hundredaire.

These days, I am just as surprised as I was then when a total stranger recognizes me.  If anything, I reassure myself that the statute of limitations has run out for anything I did—and I am a different person, literally, from the one I was—in my wayward, footloose days. 

Such concern, however, we’re unwarranted yesterday, as I was spinning along the Rockaway Boardwalk, when a young man pedaled up to me. “I read your blog!”

Turns out, Luca was on the return leg of a ride to Point Lookout.  So was I.  He had a bit further to go, though:  to Jersey City, where he manages Jersey Cycles.  He’s an “alumnus,” if you will, of a few area bike shops I’ve frequented.

Some of those shops have been taken over by Danny’s, a regional chain.  We talked a bit about the business: It’s tougher than most people realize.  And it’s changed in all sorts of ways. It occurred to me later that it might account for his, and my, tastes in bikes—and blogs.  In particular, he mentioned “The Retrogrouch.”

You might say that my encounter with Luca was a momentary brush with fame.  Ironically, he revealed a way I might’ve attained fortune.  One of the shops in which he worked was part of the Metro chain, which became part of Danny’s.  The entrepreneur who started those shops, Luca said, “was all about real estate.  He didn’t care about bikes.”  Hmm...Had I understood that when I had opportunities to open up a bike or book store, I might have retired by now.

Still, I’m glad I didn’t.  Although I wouldn’t mind having more money, I’m not sure about having a fortune.  As for fame—moments of it are fine, at least if the recognition comes from someone as cool as Luca.

Meeting The Urban Adventurer

Even as a writer, writing for so many years, I still sometimes find it odd that I have relationships with people that are formed entirely by words.  I even find it a bit unusual that I can have a connection with someone through images as well as words.

Those, of course, are the sorts of links one develops through blogs and other social media.  I have interacted with some of you through exchanges of comments on my posts. I have communicated with some of you through e-mail, and have even talked with a few of you by phone.  But, to date, I've met even fewer of you in person.

Well, two weeks ago, I finally came face to face with someone whose blog I've been reading for years--in its iterations on Blogspot as well as Word Press--and with whom I've corresponded by e-mail and post cards.  That last part is particularly interesting, as he created some of the cards himself.

I am referring to Shawn Granton, the author/artist of Urban Adventure League and the eponymous organization dedicated to human-powered explorations of the urban environment.  "Human-powered", of course, encompasses a number of modes, including feet and public transport, though Shawn's primary--and favored--means of travel seems to be the bicycle.

After work, I hopped on my bike and pedaled down to Oren's Daily Roast, a couple of blocks from the Metropolitan Museum. (Oren's costs a bit more than Starbucks but is worth it, both for the coffee and the relatively intimate atmosphere.)  We didn't have much time together, as he was trying to fit visits to a number of friends and relatives across several cities and states into a weeklong East Coast trip.  The time, however, was satisfying, as I felt no need for preambles.  Though I had never before seen his face, I felt that I already knew him at least somewhat, and that it felt a bit more like a reunion, however brief, of old buddies rather than an introduction.  That may be as much a testament to Shawn's easygoing personality as it is to anything else.

I wish only that we could have ridden together.  Perhaps another time...when he comes here again...or when I go to Portland?

 

A Meeting In Kool Orange

A week ago, I was pedaling Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, along the very northern tip of Manhattan.  I had no destination in mind:  I was simply enjoying a ride on an unseasonably warm day.  

Just before the Broadway Bridge, I stopped for a light.  So did a fellow crossing the intersection from my left.  I couldn't help but to notice what he rode:

We greeted each other. "Don't see that bike very often," I exclaimed.

Bill bought it, and another just like it in another color--yellow--in Princeton, from a Craigslist ad.  The person who sold it told him it came from a shop in that town.

It was most likely Kopp's, I told him.  At the time the bike was made--the early '70's, from what I could see--Kopp's was one of the few shops where one could have bought that bike.  It was one of the few shops that sold high-quality bikes before the '70's Bike Boom; even as the popularity of bikes surged, it was one of the few places that stocked Schwinn Paramounts and the bike in the photo.

It's a Schwinn Sports Tourer, second in Schwinn's line after the Paramount.  The Sports Tourer was the re-incarnation, if you will, of the Superior, which was made in 1962-63.  The model in the photo was made in 1971, the first year Schwinn made the Sports Tourer--which became the Superior in 1976.

The bike Bill rode, like other Sports Tourers and Superiors, was built around a frame constructed from filet-brazed Chrome-molybdenum tubing. The workmanship is quite nice:  the joints are very smooth and rounded.

Ironically, those joints are probably the reason the Sport Tourer and Superior didn't sell well.  Bike books and magazines published at the dawn of the Bike Boom claimed, almost unanimously, that high-quality lightweight bikes had lugged frames.  The brass filets brazed around the joints of bikes like the Sport Tourer and Superior served the same purpose as lugs and, like lugs, made it possible to use thinner gauges of tubing than those used on welded frames.

But those bikes made for nice touring and even all-arounder bikes. Bill replaced the wheels and derailleurs that came with his bike, as well as the handlebar stem.  But he kept the Specialites TA crankset, which he meticulously cleaned and polished.

He also kept another TA item:  the handlebar bag, which LaFuma made for TA.  That bag and crank--and the Brooks B15 saddle-- are almost worth what he paid for the bike!

We enjoyed a pleasant ride into Westchester County and back into the Bronx, chatting about our bikes and lives along the way.  After our ride, he sent me photos of his other bikes.  He has quite the collection, including an early Schwinn Super Sport--which replaced the Superior in 1964 and became Schwinn's third-line bike when the Sports Tourer came out in 1971. 

Perhaps we will ride together again--he, on one of his other bikes, perhaps, and me on one of mine.