The Season of The Trompe d'Oeil

Here's one way to tell whether or not you have "bikes on the brain."

No bikes were harmed to make this picuture.  Actually, it's a couple of bike racks in front of the Scottish Parliament building.  

The photo reminds me, oddly enough, of this time of year:  You can't always trust some things--especially the weather--to be as they seem. The temperature reached 70F one day last week. It had been 60 the day before.  But the day after, the temperature had fallen to 30 and the wind increased.  

Yesterday, the weather was mild but rainy.  And now it's about to drop again.  

A day or two of mild weather in February seems like summer because of the perspective from which it's seen:  after two months of winter and a few snowstorms.  And those two recent "heat waves" melted most of the accumulated snow. That alone is enough to make it seem warmer than it is, or at least to make the spring seem as if it's closer.  There are still about three more weeks to go, I think.

Double Century

I've just completed a double century.


OK...This is my 200th post on this blog.  Is this an Imperial or Metric double century?


Have you ever done either kind of double century?  What is the most you've ridden in one day?


I'll confess that I've never done a double imperial century, though I've done a couple of metric double centuries (about 125 miles). 


Have you done a century of any kind since the beginning of the new year?  Do you plan to do any this year?

What The Weather Took And Left

Somewhere in my dim dark past I learned that when glaciers recede, they take away pieces of whatever they covered.


That theory would seem to hold up in light of what I saw this morning:

About two weeks ago, this bike was buried under about two feet of snow:

Now, I'd like to think that the bike had a seat (and post!) when it was parked before the snowstorm.  Although I'm a hardened New Yorker, I'd still rather believe that the seat and seatpost were swept away by retreating snow and ice than to know that they were taken by someone.  

And, just as the backtracking snow and ice cut crevasses and tear chasms into the earth, so did the retreating remnants of this winter's storm rend this vessel of urban transport:

Do we pity the bike or simply attribute what it's endured to the march of history?

Standing Out

While surfing eBay, I came across a listing for this classic beauty:

It's a Mercian from 1980, made--as nearly all Mercians had been, up to that time--of Reynolds 531 tubing.  The components on it are what one might expect on a top-level touring, randonneuring or audax bike from that time:  Stronglight triple crank, Huret Duopar derailleurs, early Phil Wood hubs.  


It's even in a color I like.  While my favorite is #57 on the Mercian color chart (Why else would I have three bikes in that color?), followed by numbers 17, 9, 53 and 39, I have a soft spot for British Racing Green.  Most bikes I've seen in that color have white lug outlines, panels and other details.  But I thought the gold panels on this Mercian gave BRG a glow and warmth I hadn't expected.  


Now, tell me, how can anyone so deface such a lovely bike?

Around the time that Mercian was made, the tacky accessory you see on its downtube first came onto the market.  It's called the Flick Stand, and it was made by Rhode Gear.


The idea was, of course, to keep the wheel steady when the bike was standing.  It could have been very useful when there was a load on the bike.  In fact, I had one on my bike for my first European tour.  It lasted about three days:  The part where the metal loop attached to the bracket cracked and broke.  


Every once in a while, I see a Flick Stand.  I also sometimes see remnants of them:  The metal loop broke off and the bike's owner didn't bother to remove the clamp. 


If that design flaw had been eliminated, the Flick Stand could have been very useful.  It still would have been ugly on a nice bike, though.

A Bike Boom Baby: Weyless

I first started to ride long distances at a very interesting time, at least for cycling.  The so-called Bike Boom of the early-to-mid 1970's was in full swing. I, like other Americans, was learning about the differences between various drop-bar bikes and what made one derailleur better than another.


Adolescents like me could only drool and dream over bikes with Campagnolo kit.  However, there was a small group of cyclists who were engineers or machinists by profession and believed that Campagnolo's products could stand improvement.  In fact, Weyless** founder Bill Tabb was said to be envisioning an entire line of components, all of which would have had more advanced design than any others that were available at the time. 

The first products Weyless (Aren't their graphics sooo '70's?) offered were their hubs.  They weighed about 25 percent less than Campagnolo's counterparts.  And they cost about that much less.   They were made with sealed cartridge bearings.  Today that seems commonplace; however, when those hubs were introduced around 1974, it was exotic.  So was the mirror-bright finish that was anodized with a clear coat. 


That same year, Weyless came out with a pedal that was orginally designed and made by Bob Reedy.  If it looks familiar, that's because a number of pedals that came into the market, and which are in use today, were inspired by--or are outright copies of--this simple, elegant design.

Soon afterward, Weyless came out with a two-bolt seatpost that served as the inspiration for SunTour's Superbe post as well as other designs.  So far, so good.  Right?


Well, a couple of things happened that neither Tabb nor anyone else in the company anticipated.  The first was the Oil Shock of 1974.  That should have gotten more people to ride bikes and use their cars less.  But, for reasons no one has explained, things didn't work that way.  


By the time the Oil Shock hit, most people who were inclined to buy new bikes had already bought them.  As good bikes are durable items, their owners would not be on the market for another any time soon after buying their first (or only) bike.  Plus, many people bought bikes and rode them once or twice before giving up.  That's why some of you have been able to find some nice vintage bikes in good condition.


That also meant fewer people were in the market for bike parts, let alone cutting-edge ones.  And, instead of going ahead with the rest of a component lineup--which could have found a niche market--they decided to make a line of bike clothes out of what may have been the first high-tech Merino wool.  


That in itself might not have been a problem save for the fact that those garments were guaranteed not to shrink.  And guess what happened?  What the company had to pay in replacements and reimbursements for their jerseys alone was enough to sink it.  It seems that, all told, Weyless was in business for no more than five years.


Today Weyless is one of those names that's been relegated to the footnotes of cycling history.  But, whatever the faults of their clothing or business model were, their parts--which were made in Rochester, NY--would serve as models or inspirations for other bike parts made decades later.


**The Weyless company I'm discussing in this post bears absolutely no relationship to a line of parts  and mountain bikes by the same name that was marketed by the mail/online retailer Supergo during the late 1990's and the first years of the 21st Century.  Supergo would be acquired by Performance Bicycles, which apparently killed off the Weyless and Supergo brands as well as Scattante, Supergo's house brand of road bikes.