Will There Be Another Bicycle Man--Or Woman--In Fayetteville?

I don't know at what moment, exactly, I stopped believing in Santa Claus.  I'm guessing that it came when I was about four or five years old and I saw four "Santa Clause"s on the same block of 18th Avenue in Brooklyn.

If my belief held on beyond that moment, it probably would have ended when I realized that Santa Claus would've been centuries old.  At least, he would have been the  Santa who piloted a reindeer-drawn sleigh across the sky and descended chimneys for kids like me was the same one that did those things for my parents, grandparents and other kids who came before them.

On a more serious note, it's hard not to wonder how many programs ,especially the informal ones, that distribute bikes and other things to needy kids survive beyond their founders or volunteers.

Moses Mathis, the Bicycle Man, with a kid whose Christmas he brightened.

That question entered my mind when I saw a news story about such a scheme--one that I'd mentioned in a post five years ago. One day, Moses Mathis asked a little boy in his Fayetteville, North Carolina neighborhood what he got for Christmas. "A raggedy old bicycle," he said.

"Bring it up here and we will fix it."

Word got around and other kids came by. The next thing he knew, the Mathis' garage was full of bikes. 

That's when the idea of a bike giveaway came to Moses. So, thirty-two years ago, Moses Mathis began a beloved holiday tradition  that earned him the moniker "The Bicycle Man." A few days before Christmas, he allowed kids to choose from among the bikes he'd fixed--without any adult, besides him, present.  He continued this holiday ritual every year until he died in 2013.  Ann, his widow, kept her promise to continue his legacy until she couldn't.

Ann Mathis, in blue top and black jacket, with some of "her" kids.

Well, that day has come.  She has announced that this year's bike giveaway will be the last.  When she started working alongside Moses, she was "a young girl," she explained.  "I'm old now."  After many years of service to her community, she wants to spend more time with her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The last day for donations will be the 15th of this month, and kids will be allowed to choose their bikes and helmets on the 17th.  

Will there be another "Bicycle Man" or "Bicycle Woman"--the local version of Santa Claus for three decades--in Fayetteville, North Carolina?

It's The Stories That Matter

During the past couple of days, it's been colder (in NYC) than it's been in, probably, a few years. Today is definitely a tomato-soup-and-grilled-cheese-sandwich kind of day. Now, to all of you dear readers in Minnesota and North Dakota, this might be a beach day (on Lake Superior?  the Red River?).  But you have to remember that those of us in the Big Apple, everything is bigger, brighter, dirtier, hotter, colder, and generally more intense, and everybody is tougher, stronger and smarter, than in any other place in the universe.

Of couse, I jested (Is that a real word?), but only somewhat, with my previous sentence.  But like any true New Yorker, that's what I tell myself.  And the tourist bureau wants you to believe stuff like that so you'll tell yourself that you'll never, ever come here--until you do.  And you meet someone like yours truly.  And someone else like me. (Yes, believe it or not, there such people.)  And another.  And another.  Then you go home and tell your friends that everything in New York is bigger, brighter, dirtier, louder, more intense--and more expensive--but, you know, those New Yorkers are rude and gruff but they have hearts of gold.

My late uncle Joe was that kind of person.  He was born and lived in Brooklyn until he was about 60, when he and my aunt moved upstate. He never lost his straight-out-of-Red Hook  (I bawt a boddle uv alluv earl in da staw on toity-toid and toid*) accent--or his sense of humor and generous spirit.  

I am thinking of him now because of a feature article in a local newspaper of a place I've never seen. Uncle Joe was an avid motorcyclist until he couldn't ride anymore.  I don't recall him riding a bicycle but he talked fondly of the one he rode as an adolescent in the 1950s:  a Schwinn Phantom, in black.  He said the bike always "felt right:"  in spite of its weight, "it moved."  And somehow, he said, the gearing felt just right:  "I felt I could pedal into anything!"

Now, perhaps that last exclamation had more to do with his youthful energy than the bike, or anything else--though, I must say, if his bike was anything like the two black Phantoms I've seen, he probably felt like a real badass when he rode it.  I know, I probably would have, too.

Howard F. Gordon of Lower Burrell, Pennsylvania has one of those bikes.  And, I would guess, another, perhaps in another color.  And other bikes from that period, and earlier--over 100 of them!

From what I read in the article and saw in the accompanying photos, all or most of those bikes are of the balloon-tired "cruiser" variety made by Schwinn, Columbia and many other American companies until the 1960s.  He calls his 1951 Monark "the Cadillac of bikes.

Even though he admits he has "too many" bikes, he's always on the lookout for new treasures, at garage and estate sales.  "There are so many bicycles in garages and attics that are worth money," he explains. Whenever he buys a bike, he disassembles it and cleans every part before reassembling and restoring the bike to something like its original condition.

One of his more interesting observations regards the condition of the bikes he finds.  Generally, he says, girls' bikes are in better condition because they were better cared-for. Boys, he observed, usually rode their bikes into the ground.

That observation is part of what keeps him interested in vintage bikes:  the stories, known or imagined, by them.  "Every one of those bikes had a rider who can tell you something about the adventures they took on it," he explains.  "A bike is a kid's first feeling of freedom."  Sometimes kids pedaled their bikes to places their parents never knew they went. (Can you see me and Uncle Joe winking to each other?)  

In case you were wondering, Gordon rides.  "My wife and I go on riding dates," he relates.  "We stop for ice cream.  We enjoy the nice weather.  It's great exercise."

That sounds like a story behind at least one of his bikes! 

*--Translation: I bought a bottle of olive oil in the store on Thirty-third and Third.

Photos by Louis B. Ruediger, for the Tribune-Review. 

New Life For An Old Ride

"Am I getting old? Or is the bike?"

I replied "no" to both questions because, well, it was the truth.  At that time, I wouldn't have called myself "middle-aged," and she was a good bit younger than I was.  And, as a sometime bike mechanic, I knew that most bikes, unless they've been crashed or left in an undersea cave, can be salvaged.

We used to ride together from work because she lived about halfway between our workplace and my apartment and I enjoyed her company.  Also, we left at night, and I had enough testosterone in me to see myself as her protector.

I offered to tune up her bike--a Dunelt three-speed that was probably even older than she was.  She offered to treat me to a "nice brunch."

She made good on her offer.  One day, I packed my bottle of Tri-Flo with my books and change of shoes.  During a break between classes, I jogged down to the campus bike rack.  She was nowhere in sight. I lubed her chain and inflated her tires with my Zefal HP frame pump.  That night, she marvelled that riding her bike seemed "so much easier." 

If I were a better (or simply nicer) person, I could have told her that she was getting stronger from her daily commute--which she most likely was.  Instead, I "confessed."

She marveled that simply keeping her tires inflated and chain lubed could make such a difference.  I admitted that they were a "major part" of bike maintenance, but reiterated my offer to make her bike "like new."  She never took me up on it.

Had she availed herself to my expertise, not only would her gears, brakes and other parts have worked better than she ever imagined they could; I would have shown her how simple it actually is to keep a bike (especially one like hers) running.

I thought about our offers to each other when I came across this article in Popular Science.  Its author, Stan Horaczek, understands something I've long known:  Most bikes can be "resurrected" as long as they haven't been crashed or have been stored underwater.    Better yet, most repairs that will make most long-dormant bikes functional don't require special tools.

So, if you want to start riding again and can't find a suitable ride at your local shop--or even Craigslist--there may be a "treasure" in your or a family member's or friend's basement or rafters.

From Blogger To Advisor: A Reader Asks About A Mercian

If you blog about something for long enough, are you an expert on it?

(If you use "blog" as a verb, are you creative or just someone who didn't listen when your English teachers said, "Don't verb nouns!")?

Well, one of my regular readers asked for my opinion about a frame listed on eBay--a Mercian, of course.

Now, I won't tell anyone not to buy a Mercian unless it's the wrong size or has damage that can't be repaired.  The frame in question doesn't seem to fit in the latter category:

My dear reader says it's "a little on the small side" but rideable.  Some people don't mind, or even prefer, a frame that's a bit smaller than what's normally recommended for them.  There are legitimate reasons for that, and I wouldn't try to talk someone out of buying such a bike--especially if it's not available any other size.  (If you can't get the right size, too small is definitely better than too big.) Of course, my reader could get a new Mercian in the right size.  But, I think the reader likes the look--or, perhaps the spirit--of a vintage bike.  Or it may just be that the frame in question could be had for a good deal less money than a new one.

Speaking of which:  My reader wondered whether the price was "on the premium side."  Well, I told him, perhaps it's possible to find a similar frame for less.  But that might mean waiting, possibly for a good long while.   After all, there are only so many old Mercians--or any other old classic frames--being sold at any given moment.

I told my reader that if I were looking for another bike and it were closer to my size, I'd buy the frame in question.  I'd buy it even if I were simply looking for an interesting restoration project:  It looks like the frame has the old British-made TDC headset and, possibly, bottom bracket.  If I had the time and money to do a resto, I'd build it up with British-made parts like GB handlebars, stem and brakes, and possibly even a Benelux or Cyclo derailleur.  

I don't think my reader has any such plans.  I think I gave the best advice I could--although, in my heart of hearts, I think a Mercian is always worth it.

You Won't Find Wah Chu Need For This Bike Here

While riding to an event at Grand Army Plaza, I found something very interesting:

 This machine doesn't vend sandwiches, ice cream, soda, cupcakes or, ahem, a substance that are legal only in a few states, and only for medicinal purposes. It also doesn't vend fishing bait.   Believe it or not, I actually saw such a machine in Angouleme, France, when I took a bike tour from Paris to the sea at Bordeaux.


The machine in the photo vends bike parts.  At any rate, it offers the stuff people need most often:  inner tubes, small bottles of Tri-Flow and such.  It also offers the caps and T-shirts of the organization that operates it:  Time's Up.


It's located, appropriately enough, in Williamsburg, literally in the shadow of the eponymous bridge.  Next to it is a "receptionist".

In case  you're not from Brooklyn, "'Chu Need" translates as "What do you need?"  I grew up with people who asked me "Wachoo need?"  I guess "'Chu need?" is a contraction of that.


I'd love for someone to teach that in an ESL class!


Now, if what chu need is a part for this bike, you're SOL:

I saw this cute Astra mixte--which, I would guess, is from the 1960's or early 1970's, at a sidewalk sale in Park Slope, just doors from where I used to live.  The shape of the twin laterals is beyond cute:

Here's how it looks at the bottom:

Time's Up's (Strange locution, isn't it?) machine might have an inner tube that fits, but not much else you could use on this bike.  So, if you're restoring this at three in the morning, you're SOL.  To be fair, you'd be in the same situation if you were restoring a 1972 Peugeot PX10 and needed a chainring or a 1969 Cinelli and needed a spring for your Campagnolo Record derailleur.


For the record:  I didn't buy the bike, or anything from the machine.  On the other hand, I did buy some tasty things--including foccacia and sourdough bread--from a Farmer's Market.  Also, I had what is probably the best ice pop I've ever had, from People's Pops, which are made from locally-grown fruits.  I had the plum and sour cherry pop; other options offered were blueberry with herbs and strawberry rhubarb.