Some things simply don't make any sense.
On the other hand, there are many more things that make sense to somebody--but not to me. Maybe they make sense to you, or someone you know. Or perhaps not.
The category of things that make sense to somebody is comprised, in part, of ideas and inventions that make you scratch your head. They make sense to whoever came up with them, and they might work "on paper" or in some alternative universe.
One such idea/invention is a bicycle that's pedaled with both feet together. How or why anyone came up with it is beyond me.
For one thing, pedaling with both feet together means standing up, then sitting back down to propel one's self. Now, I realize there are people who ride that way normally, but they are almost always novices and, if they continue to ride, eventually shed the habit.
The creators of "Swingbike" refer to it as "The Athletic Perfection." The reason, as I understand it, is that in standing up and sitting down through the pedal stroke, the rider has to pump his or her arms. I guess that's somebody's idea of a "full body workout."
I don't know whether the "Swingbike" was ever produced. Perhaps it was made under another name: After all, there are many other machines with the same name; in some cases, they're called "Swing Bike" (two words). Or, perhaps, it was aborted by copyright laws!
If you live any place long enough, you notice changes. Even if you find yourself with more choices in stores, restaurants or whatever--or if the buildings and parks get fixed up--you'll probably become one of those bitter or cantankerous people who grumbles, "I remember when..."
I'm starting to become one of those people in my current neighborhood of Astoria, Queens. Before I moved here, I lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn for eleven years. That was long enough for me to see it turn from "Dyke Slope" (The Lesbian Herstory Archives are still located in the neighborhood.) to a colony of affluent young couples who divided their work thusly: one worked worked on Wall Street or was running a tech startup, the other pushed the kid in a stroller from pre-school to soccer practice or dance lessons while toting a yoga mat (and wearing $100 yoga pants).
By that time, the joke was that the kids were the fashion accessories. If you saw the way those parents (yes, some of them were men) pushed their carts, with the kid (or, more precisely, the kid's outfit) prominently displayed, you might think it wasn't a joke.
When some of those parents crossed the street, I really thought some of them might be using the kids as human shields!
I was thinking of them when I came across this bike:
It would be perfect for them, don't you think?
In Bob Dylan's "Highlands", the narrator (presumably Dylan himself) wanders into a restaurant in Boston. He is the only customer; the only other person there is the waitress.
She says, "I know you're an artist, draw a picture of me."
He responds: "I would if I could, but I don't do sketches from memory."
Then she chides him, "I'm right here in front of you," but he continues to hedge.
Some would argue that all drawing (and writing and other creative and re-creative work) is done from memory. After all, any thought, feeling or other experience becomes past--i.e., memory--the moment it happens.
I, too, have been asked to draw from memory and "in the moment". I, too, find ways to hem, haw, hedge and politely decline. Long ago, I realized that I am not that sort of artist: When I displayed my sketches and paintings, I got a ticket for littering.
OK, so I made up that last story. But, even with the meager talent I have for such things, I might have continued to paint and draw--from memory--had I known what has been confirmed in many studies: Most people don't do any better than I did. In fact, most do worse.
That point was illustrated (pardon the pun) once again when, a few years ago, an Italian designer Gianluca Gemini asked people to draw men's (diamond-frame) bikes from memory. Most of their renditions bore, at best, only a passing (pun alert!) resemblance to anything anybody rode down the strada or through the piazza. Recently, he decided to render some of those drawings into lifelike 3D pictures.
The participants in Gemini's study ranged in age from three to 88 and lived in seven different countries. Across those generational and cultural divides, Gemini found some patterns, especially among genders. For example, men tended to overcomplicate the frame when they realize they are not drawing it properly.
I want to meet the dude who came up with that. What I find ironic is that for all of its sharp geometric lines--as if it were designed by Mondrian on crack cocaine--it actually looks good with "moustache" bars. Also, the brown leather seat and handlebar tape lend it a certain elegance.
Speaking of elegant, here is a bike that reflects a female pattern
Interestingly, most of the front wheel-drive bikes (the ones with the chains and gears attached the front wheel) were drawn by women. Gemini can't (or doesn't) offer an explanation.
I very much like that bike--at least, its looks. Had I more space and money, I'd have it made and use it for a wall hanging. Heck, I might even ride it. Put a Brooks brown saddle on it, and very few bikes would be lovelier.
Here's another bike from Gemini's study that caught my eye:
I mean, how can you not love a bike with track gearing, two fork assemblies, a wheelbase longer than the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge--and that yellow flag!
All right, I'll admit: I really like the color: a sort of periwinkle/lavender blue. If you've been reading this blog, surely, you're not surprised.
Gemini's participants also came from a wide variety of occupations, including students and retirees. Professional or employment status--or lack thereof--seemed to have little or no bearing on how realistic or whimisical participants' drawings came out. The most "unintelligible" drawing, according to Gemini, was made by a doctor. I wonder whether he or she is a surgeon!
If someone mentions a "track bike", you're likely to think of something that's meant to be ridden on the velodrome.
Such a bike will, more than likely, have a frame with a very short wheelbase and steep angles, a single fixed gear and no brakes. If you actually race with such a bike, you're likely to equip it with very light tubular (sew-up) tires and rims, a very sharply angled handlebar stem and handlebars with a large drop and a very small flat area.
Also, if you're racing, you are likely to, at some point, ride on the top part of the embankment. On some tracks, you will be riding almost horizontal position, as if you were riding along a wall. I found that the best way to do this was simply to look ahead, not down, and keep on pedaling at a steady pace.
Now, if you're not confident of your ability to ride on a track, you can always try this:
That bike reminds me of the first "mountain bikes" Gary Fisher and friends concocted from old Schwinn cruisers and parts modified to fit them. One difference is, of course, that those early mountain bikers barreled down northern California fire trails, while the bike in the photo would be ridden on railroad tracks, which are almost always flat.
Apparently, that bike wasn't "Stinky Pete"'s first "track" bike. A vintage Panasonic touring bike met an untimely demise when it derailed (and you thought only derailleurs were supposed to do that!) at 16 MPH.
Talk about "going off the rails"! Let's hope his second attempt stays on track!
