When you see a bike like this, you realize why people like me like steel road bikes so much.
I spotted this Pinarello, which appears to be from the '80's or early '90's, parked near the site of the former World Trade Center.
It's not so unusual to see old racing bikes re-purposed as commuters. It's most commonly done by replacing the dropped bars with flat ones, as the owner of this bike did. However, I'm seeing more old road bikes with "mustache" bars or the Velo Orange Porteur (which I love).
But it's still fairly unusual to see full fenders on road bikes from the '80's or later, with their short wheelbases and tight clearances. Older racing bikes, like the Peugeot PX-10 and Raleigh International, were made to accommodate protection from the elements.
That's why I was fascinated to see the Velo Orange hammered fenders on this Pinarello. They're narrower than the ones I have on Helene and Vera, but of the same style. It's funny how it can make what had been a flashy racing machine into a classy, classic commuter.
What is your idea of a "city bike"?
Some--including Grant Petersen of Rivendell--think that an old mountain bike with a good rack is, if not ideal, then at least the best possible.
Others, such as hipsters and some messengers would tell you that a fixed-gear bike is the only thing you should ride in the concrete canyons. They would argue for the sheer simplicity of it. A few would even go for a pure track bike with no brakes and a tight wheelbase, which makes them maneuverable.
Then there are those who want a plush bike to ride over sewer grates, potholes and all of the other hazards of the urban landscape. Such riders--particularly those who do no other riding but their commutes--might opt for a hybrid or mountain bike with suspension in the front fork, and even in the rear. Or they might ride cruisers or other fat-tired bikes.
There's also the English three-speed camp. They are probably the most immune to fads: Such riders will clatter along on their vintage Raleighs, Dunelts, Rudges and other machines from Albion. Because they're immune to fads (at least in bikes), they never think of their mounts as "vintage," even if they those bikes were made before they were born.
Cousins, if you will, to the English three-speed crowd are the ones who like Dutch-style city bikes. Some might also argue that these cyclists are variants of the comfort-bike crowd. The difference is that, not only are the Dutch bikes built for comfort and durability, they also come with features that you may have never thought of having on your bike but "might come in handy", such as built-in locks and lighting.
And then there are those who like the speed and nimbleness of the road bike, but want a more upright riding position and a bit more style. They're the ones who ride French-style city bikes and porteurs, which are based wholly or in part by the elegant machines made by constructeurs such as Rene Herse and Alex Singer.
Finally, there are the rat-rodders. In other words, any bike that looks like it's been to hell and back is the right bike for the city. Lots of cyclists here in New York follow that credo, which makes a lot of sense when you have to park your bike in high-theft areas. The rat-rod can be just about any kind of bike; these days, the majority (at least here in New York) seem to be ten- or twelve-speeds from the '70's or '80's, or mountain bikes from the '90's. Think of the guy (Yes, he's almost always a guy.) who delivers your supper from the Chinese restaurant or diner: He probably brought your meal on a "rat-rod."
A variant on the rat-rodder is the urban cyclist who rides a Frankenbike. You've seen them: the Specialized Rockhoppers with Schwinn Varsity rear wheels; the Peugeot ten-speeds with high-rise bars and forks in a color (and style) that clashes with everything else on the bike.
In the nearly three decades in which I've been riding in New York, and through the years I biked the boulevards of Paris---and while biking on trips to other large cities like London, Prague, Amsterdam and San Francisco, I have seen my notions of the "ideal" city bike evolve and change. Sometimes I want comfort; other times, I want a bike that I can leave in urban combat zones as well as those areas--like the neighborhood around St. Mark's Place--to which thieves gravitate. At times, I've craved speed and the ability to slice between parked cars and belching buses; at other times, I've worried about preserving dental work. But I've always thought about what's practical for my errands, commutes and other ride-and-park activities like shopping. And, of course, I've changed, and so has the city in which I live.
What's your ideal city bike? Has your idea of it changed? If so, how?
Yesterday, "Velouria" , the author of Lovely Bicycle! posted about a possible trend-in-the-making for low-trail bikes.
Briefly, trail is the distance between the point where the "rubber meets the road" and the point at which the steering axis intercepts the ground. Racing bikes usually have more trail than touring or randonneuring bikes; that's why their steering is more sensitive. On the other hand, tourists and randonneurs have traditionally preferred the stability a shorter-trail bike offers, especially if they are carrying loads on the front.
I suppose that if I did loaded touring or randonneuring regularly, or if I hadn't spent so much time riding road bikes, I'd prefer a lower-trail design. That said, I won't try to dissuade anyone who actually prefers the ride of a low-trail bike and doesn't want it merely as the latest fashion accessory on which to hang a $200 front rack that will, as "Ground Round Jim" caustically comments, never carry anything more than a vegan croisssant.
Now if you really want low trail, take a look at this:
Gunnar and Velouria may not have ever met. But they have created a monster.
You see, they both used the word "pretty" in talking about the photo someone took of me the other day. So, when I stopped during my ride today, I asked random strangers to take photos of me.
Here's the first one, taken by a young Japanese woman on the George Washington Bridge:
OK, so it's not going to get me an endorsement deal, much less a modeling contract. But at that moment, I understood what Salvatore Quasimodo meant by writing the shortest poem I know of:
M'illumno
D'immenso.
That I was riding over the bridge at the beginning of rush hour but not dealing with the rush hour traffic was, in and of itself, pretty exhilarating. But it was an utterly glorious day: Yesterday's heat and humidity were nothing but memories (or bad dreams). Pedalling across the bridge felt like flight.
On the Jersey side, I turned left and pedalled down the road that winds a descent from the top of the Palisades to the shelves of rock that line the Hudson, which looked like the sun-filled atrium of one of those very peaceful houses in which everyone would like spent his or her childhood-- and some can visit in their dreams.
I spun the cranks of Arielle, my Mercian road bike, as I descended layers of sunlight to the ferry piers at Port Imperial. Then I followed the riverside road to Hoboken, where young people who work in downtown Manhattan were ascending from the PATH station. A day like this really feels like an ascent when you're coming from the grimy subterranean depths, and when you feel a cool if strong breeze before the sun begins to set.
In back of me is the old Erie Lackawana railroad terminal on the Hoboken waterfront. At times like that, I wish the government hadn't taken over the still-existing railroads after the Penn Central bankruptcy of 1970. After all, what use will anyone have again for such a beautiful word as "Lackawana?"
I continued down Washington and Jersey Avenues to the Jersey City waterfront. Marlon Brando's character certainly wouldn't recognize the place now. He might, however, recognize Richmond Terrace and the views from it:
I stopped in a nearby deli for something to drink during the boat ride. That, ironically, caused me to miss a boat, with the next one half an hour later. I had to spend that time in a penned-up "secure" area. Staten Island's terminal of its eponymous ferry feels more like a series of airport security checkpoints. A TSA employee even brings in a dog to sniff the bicycles.
Anyway, here I am in their version of Checkpoint Charlie:
Still, as you can see, I was in a great mood.
You may have noticed something pink attached to the saddle of this bike, and my fixed-gear. It's one of the more interesting products I've tried lately: a Bike Burrito. It's so named for the way it folds (or rolls) up. Inside it are a few small tools and a spare inner tube.
Back in the day, when I was poor, I used to roll up my repair kit inside a bandana and strap it to my saddle rails. The Bike Burrito is basically the same idea, except that it has pockets inside and is made of very sturdy duck cloth, much like Carradice bags. That canvas comes in various colors as well as a few prints as Jayme, who sews the Bike Burritos herself, finds them. I ordered the two pink ones with black interiors. They are "negatives" of a combination she offers regularly: black outside, pink inside. (That might be more anatomically correct, but what the heck.) I also bought another, in a multi-colored paisley, which will go on my Miss Mercian. That bike, because I'm building it with the Velo Orange "Porteur" bars, won't have the tape you see on my fixed and road Mercians.
Anyway...I recommend the Bike Burritos, which are available in three sizes. Jayme is very sweet and accomodating, in addition to being a talented designer and crafts person. And, her creations are compatible with Shimano, Campagnolo and SRAM shifting systems, as well as all other current and vintage components and bicycles.
And I recommend late afternoon-early evening rides along the Hudson that culminate in ferry rides back to the city!
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