He Says We're Charity Cases

When laws or policies are enacted so that members of "minority" groups can love and marry whomever their hearts desire, get jobs commensurate with their education and skills, and live in communities they can afford--and where their children will enjoy the same opportunities as their majority-culture peers--some folks whine that we're getting "special privileges."

This phenomenon is, sadly, hardly unique to the US.  It persists in other places, though the "minority" group in question might be different.  And the fear and resentment echoed in that complaint might be expressed in different language or other ways.

An example Patrick Lefevere's answer when presented with the idea of starting a women's cycling team in the manner of Movistar, FDJ or Trek-Segafredo.  The Decuninick-Quickstep team boss, widely regarded as the most succesful cycling team manager in history, hails from Belgium, arguably the most cycling-intense country in the world.  So, if anyone seemed a likely candidate to launch a top-tier women's team, he would be the one.

So how did he respond?  "I'm not the OMCW"--a Belgian welfare organization.

To be fair, he claimed he doesn't have "the experience, time, money or desire" for such an undertaking.  Perhaps his pockets aren't as deep (or it's more expensive to start a team)  and the time commitment in running a team is greater, than we suspected. Also, he's 66 years old, so he may want to spend whatever time he has on other pursuits--or his grandkids.  

But his experience?  While female racers differ from their male counterparts, I think someone like him can spot talent and train people.

Belgian Team Liv member celebrates her victory ahead of Elisa Longo Borghini in La Vuelta Stage 4 (Getty Images)

Again, in the interests of fairness, I should point out that he doesn't know how to convince someone with the requisite talent and skills to become a professional cyclist--a pursuit that, at times, has more in common with the life of a monk or nun than a rock star.  And, he claims that there's a chasm between the level of Belgian female cyclists and their peers in neighboring Netherlands, which has turned out champions like Marianne Vos.

Now, if he'd stuck to his claims about talent levels or what he was able and willing, or not, to commit to a women's team, he at least would have had some credibility.  But to liken such an undertaking to a welfare organization is to say, in essence, that we're charity cases.  We aren't, any more than the US Women's Soccer team is.  

The Long And Short Of Women's Bikes: Terry

Smaller and cuter, preferably in pink.

I can remember when that was a pretty fair summation of bicycles and other sports equipment made for women.  It was assumed that girls wouldn't pedal, swim, run, climb or whatever as hard or as long as men did--and, most likely, would do so in the (possibly grudging) company of a husband, boyfriend or other male in her life.   Thus, she wanted to look good, or at least cute, by his side--or so the thinking of manufacturers and marketers seemed to be.  

Most bike manufacturers offered "ladies'" versions of one or two models in their lineups.  At first glance, they seemed the same as their men's counterparts, except for the dropped top tube on the frame.  This makes a "ladies'" bike less stiff and stable than its male peer, though how much less is a matter of debate.

1898 Cygnet "Swan" 

Anyway, some bike makers seemed to use this trait as an excuse for making sluggish machines with imprecise handling.  Granted, a bike with less torsional stiffness will not respond as quickly or efficiently to a rider's pedal strokes.  Still, there have been any number of diamond-frame (a.k.a. "men's") bikes with relatively slack angles and long wheelbases that nonetheless offered a sprightly ride.  So, it seemed disingenous--at least to me--to, in essence, say that someone who buys a women's bike shouldn't expect much.

Mind you, for most of my life I wasn't interested in having a really nice women's bike.  I did own a couple of inexpensive women's bikes that I got for little or nothing and  used as commuters and "beaters".  But on such bikes, which I didn't ride long distances, I wasn't as concerened with performance as I was on my "good" bikes.  If it fit well enough (which wasn't always to say "well"), or could be made to do so for little or no money, I was happy.

Perhaps it was working in bike shops and for American Youth Hostels, and thus having the opportunity to meet discerning female riders and try a number of bikes, that made me aware of what I've described.  Also, even though I was of average height for a male (which makes me taller than 90% of other women), I have a few abnormalities, namely somewhat longer-than-average legs and considerably shorter-than-average arms for a man (or even a woman) of my height.  

So, while I had little trouble finding a bike that was the "right" size (i.e., height or seat tube length) for me, it wasn't until I got a custom frame that I would ride something that truly fit me.  For years, I rode bikes with 55 or 56 cm (depending on whether they were measured center-to-center or center-to-top) seat tubes--and top tubes of the same length, or longer.  That meant riding stems with short extensions--sometimes as little as 8 cm--which made racing bikes handle (at least for me) like shopping carts.


Even though I had a harder time than most other men I knew in obtaining a good fit, I knew the situation was much worse for most women, a few of whom I rode with. For example, Tammy, who was about 8 cm (a little more than three inches) taller than me, had shorter arms and smaller hands than mine!

During the past couple of decades, various bike companies have tried equally varying methods of tailoring their offerings to women, particularly those who are more petite than the likes of Tammy or me.  Some tweak their geometries to make shorter top tubes; others have tried varying the shapes of both traditional diamond as well as mixte and step-through frames to accomodate the proportions of smaller women.  A few have even offered bikes with smaller wheels.  For extremely small women (and men) this could make sense; after all, it's hard to build a bike with 700 C wheels on which someone who's less than five feet tall can clear the frame while standing.

Perhaps one of the most interesting solutions was tried by one of the first bike-makers to really try to re-configure women's bikes.  From about thirty to about twenty years ago, I would see one of those bikes--usually ridden by someone on a club ride--during one of my weekend road rides.    You've probably seen at least one:

Terry road bicycle, circa 1990

From 1985 until 1994, Terry Bicycles offered road bikes with 700C rear and 24 inch front wheels.  Their quality was actually quite good:  During the first few years they were made in Japan.  I am guessing that Panasonic or Bridgestone made them, as their lugwork and finishes, as well as other details, looked much like those of bikes from those companies, or companies (like Schwinn and Bianchi) that had bikes made for them by those companies.  Likewise, the details on later models, which were made in Taiwan, lead me to believe they were made by Giant, who also made bikes for Schwinn and other companies.

I have never tried one of those Terry bikes with the small front wheels.  The accounts I heard about them varied:  Some women said that their Terrys were the first bikes that felt "right" to them, while others thought the bikes' handling was "weird" or unresponsive.  There were claims--which I suspect were exaggerated-- that the front wheel slowed the bike down, as was the inconvenience of having to carry more than one spare inner tube on a ride (or tire on a long tour).

In time, I saw fewer and fewer of those early Terry bikes.  Ironically, one of the last people I saw riding one was a man:  a very short (for a man, anyway) Latino.  These days, those bikes can be found relatively inexpensively on eBay and in other venues.

Forty Years Later--Bikecentennial, Punk Rock and Miji Reoch

Mention the year 1976 to most Americans, and they will think of their country's Bicentennial.

Mention that same year to most American cyclists--at least those of a certain age--and Bikecentennial will come to their minds.

Something else that became an important part of our lives is also about to turn 40 this year.

I'm not talking about punk rock.  (Whether you date it to the Ramones' release of their self-titled album in February or the debut of "New Rose" by The Damned that October, punk rock began in 1976.)  And I'm not talking about the founding of Apple or the debut of Big Red Gum or the Honda Accord--or, for that matter, the Laverne and Shirley series.

What I am referring to is the first race in Somerville.

But wait a minute, you say.  First of all, it's the Tour of Somerville, though it is in fact a race.  Second, it first ran in 1940.  Didn't it?

Well, yes--for half of the population.  For its first thirty-two editions (it was not held from 1943 until 1946 because of World War II), only men competed in what has been called "The Kentucky Derby of Cycling".  But in 1976, the Mildred Kugler Women's Open--named for the daughter of Somerville's first winner, a top competitor in her own right--ran for the first time.  Held on Memorial Day, the same day as the men's race, its list of competitors and winners reads like a who's who of women's cycling.  As an example, Sue Novara, one of the best of the generation of female racers  that put the sport "on the map" during the late 1970s and early 1980s, won the race four times.

The very first winner of the Women's Open is someone who, unless you are around my age or are immersed in cycling history, you probably haven't heard about.  But in her day, she--a few years older than Novara and Sue Young--was one of the riders who picked up the torch from those who kept bicycle racing in the US alive during its Dark Ages and became, not only a world-class racer, but later a coach to the generation of riders who included Young and Novara, as well as later riders like Rebecca Twigg and Connie Carpenter.

Mary Jane "Miji" Reoch first won the US National Road Race championship in 1971, at the age of 26. She would go on to win ten more national championships on the road and track before retiring from racing at the end of the decade.  She also led a contagion of American women cyclists on a tour of Europe, where they competed in, and won, still more events.

She also helped to shatter some prevalent myths about pregnancy and cycling.  While she was racing, most obstetricians--nearly all of whom were male--recommended that women stop cycling as soon as they knew they were pregnant.  Their advice was based on the notion, since discredited, that a woman would harm her fetus or baby if she continued to ride.

Well, Miji continued to ride all through her pregnancy.  In fact, she pedaled to the hospital where she delivered her baby!

Miji--almost nobody called her by her full name--managed to earn the respect and garner the affection of a generation of those who raced with and against her, as well as those she coached and fans of racing.   While coaching in Texas, she went for a training ride with one of her students on the morning of 11 September 1993.  She was riding behind that trainee to better study that student's position and technique on the bike when an out-of control motorist struck her from behind. 

That motorist--Mario Nambo Lara--was driving well over the 20mph speed limit on the wrong side of the road when he lost control.  Reports said that she flew more than 90 feet through the air before landing in White Rock Lake.  That night, she was pronounced dead at Doctors' Hospital in Dallas.  

The pickup truck Lara drove was later found, abandoned.  By then, Lara had fled to his native Mexico, where he was captured nearly three years later. It is believed that he was intoxicated on the day he crashed into, and killed, Miji.

The following year she was inducted into the US Cycling Hall of Fame.  Women's racing, as we know it, might not exist had it not been for her work.  And it's not hard to imagine how much more it could have advanced had Miji not met such an untimely and tragic death.  She'd be 70 years old now, but if she could cycle to her delivery room, it's not difficult imagine she'd be cycling and coaching now.