As Smooth As Friction

• SunTour VGT rear derailleur 
• Shimano Titlist front derailleur 
• Huret shift levers (similar to Simplex retrofriction )
• Stronglight 93 crankset and chainrings 
• SunTour Pro Compe freewheel
• Sedis “sedicolor” chain (gold, to match the freewheel!)

• Huret Jubilee rear derailleur 
• Campagnolo Super Record front derailleur 
• Simplex retrofriction (“teardrop “) levers
• Campagnolo Super Record crankset and chainrings 
• Maillard 700 freewheel 
• Regina chain

So what do those two lists have in common? Each of them comprised the drivetrain on one of my bikes. The first ran on an iteration of my Peugeot PX-10 when I repurposed it as a touring bike. The second graced the Colnago Arabesque I rode for much of my inglorious racing career!

One thing you’ll notice is that neither set was composed entirely of parts from the same company. Until the mid 1980s, that was the norm, as no component manufacturer—not even Shimano or Campagnolo—offered a truly complete “gruppo”: Neither company’s lines included chains, and Campagnolo didn’t offer freewheels.

Another reason why most were casseroles , so to speak, rather than purées is that, for the most part, one firm’s derailleurs could be used with another’s shift levers, freewheels, chainrings and chains. It also didn’t matter if you switched from, say, a six- to a seven-speed freewheel: As long as your derailleurs could handle the range (smallest to largest cogs) and the total gear difference (the combined range of your front chainrings and rear sprockets), it didn’t matter that the other parts weren’t from the same maker.

That all changed 40 years ago, when Shimano introduced SIS: the system with shifters that “clicked.” It

worked extremely well—as long as your freewheel (or cassette) cogs, chain, derailleurs, shifters and cables were all Shimano SIS. (Many of us soon discovered that Sedisport chains worked as well as, and lasted longer than, Shimano’s offerings.) By the end of the decade, nearly all new bikes had SIS or its variants, two of which I’ll mention. “If it doesn’t click, it won’t sell,” became a bike industry mantra.

Seemingly in a panic, Campagnolo and SunTour offered their own “click shift” systems. (SunTour actually made one in 1969. It reportedly worked well, but the still-relatively-small derailleur-equipped bike market wasn’t ready for it.) Both failed—Campagnolo’s Syncro system was panned as “Stinkro”—for essentially the same reason. While Shimano designed an integrated system, it seemed that Campagnolo and SunTour simply made indexed levers. The “clicks” didn’t always mesh with the gear change because they were the calibrated to the distance between the cogs. 

Campagnolo’s Syncro wasn’t produced for very long and seems to have found popularity mainly among collectors. “Campy” was able to redeem itself during the ‘90’s, when it made an integrated system (with Ergo levers) that worked well. SunTour, on the other hand, never recovered from its failed system (and, to be fair, other missteps). Its reputation was made worse because bike-makers like Schwinn used their old stocks of French cables and chains that didn’t play nice with SunTour’s click shift.

SunTour’s fate is a particularly sad irony when you consider that a generation of cyclists like me could replace a malfunctioning Huret Allvit, Simplex Prestige or Campagnolo Valentino or Gran Turismo—or an ailing Atom or Regina freewheel—with something from SunTour without re-doing the rest of the bike.

Part of the reason why that was possible was “friction “ shifting, as Eben Weiss points out in his latest Outside article. He cites that compatibility as the reason why, after decades of using indexed shifting and a brief fling with electronic changers, he’s converting all of his bikes to friction shifting.

I may do the same. It wouldn’t be difficult, really.Of my seven bikes, five have derailleurs. (The other two include a fixed-gear and single-speed.) Two of the five shift with Simplex retrofriction levers. The other three—Dee-Lilah (my Mercian Vincitore Special), La-Vande (King of Mercia) and Vera (Miss Mercian mixte) have Dura-Ace 9-speed downtube levers. I’m using them in indexed mode but they can be converted to friction levers simply with a turn of the adjuster ring. I would do that, of course, if I were to use 8- or 10-speed cassettes instead of the 9s I’m currently running.

Leading

 Have you ever heard your bike calling out to you?

Well, I can’t say I have—at least, not literally.  But when I pedaled La-Vande, my King of Mercia, to Greenwich, Connecticut on Saturday, she seemed to be leading me there—the way Marlee does when she rubs against my ankles and steers me toward the sofa.

Well, Saturday was a nearly perfect day for a ride of any kind, of any length on any bike.  But I think La-Vande had ulterior motives.

She wanted to pose against a backdrop she knew would flatter her.

Sunday was almost as nice a day for a ride. So to Point Lookout I went, this time with Vera, my Mercian mixte. She didn’t seem to be “leading “ me there, but I believe she enjoyed the breeze off the sea, and the sun.

Oh, and when I got home, Marlee “led” me to the couch, and curled in my lap.

A Feast In More Ways Than One

 Saturday was warm, sunny and breezy.  Even though Monday, Labor Day, was the “unofficial “ end of summer, people flocked to the beaches. I followed them—by bicycle, of course.  On Vera, my Mercian fixed-gear, to be exact.

However we got there, the conditions were all but perfect for however one chose to enjoy the sand and water, as this couple did in Point Lookout.

There are some people, however, who make me wonder why they bothered to  go:

However you go and whatever you do when you get there, you need sustenance.

I’ve passed that house, on an Ocean Boulevard closed to traffic, many times.  But I’d never seen that giant squash.  Vines with those plants covered the side of that house. There was even an audio description of that plant species.

Of course I didn’t pick the squash.  I’d packed some Ghirardelli’s dark chocolate and a few strawberries.  They were great and the day nourished my psyche.

To Their Own Hues, And Others

Earlier today, I wrote a post about something people might not associate with Spring:  a survivor pedaling among the wreckage of Mariupol.

To me, this season is about the living beings who make it through winter--whether it's a season of cold, snow and darkness or the death and destruction of war (another kind of darkness) as well as the new life that rises, whether from the ashes or a well-tended garden.

Because I've encountered the latter on afternoon rides, I am more fortunate than the cyclist in my earlier post.  It's funny, though, how Dee-Lilah (my custom Mercian Vincitore Special), Vera (my Miss Mercian), La-Vande (my custom King of Mercia) and Tosca (my Mercian fixie) always seem to find reflections of themselves.

Or, at least they, in their differing shades of purple, are drawn like moths to the flame of color.

Even if it isn't their own.

 

Untangling His Brakes

All of my bikes have steel frames.  Some, however, were made recently and have modern componentry.  The others are older and have components that are more or less "period correct."

Even if one weren't well-versed in the nuances of modern vs. retro machines, he or she could tell which bikes are which by one tell-tale detail:  the brake cables.  My modern bikes have aero levers with concealed cables (or, in the case of Vera, my Mercian mixte, inverse brake levers with cables hidden under tape) while my older bikes have traditional cables that loop from the tops of the brake levers.

Hidden "aero" cables were designed, as the name implies, for aerodynamics.  For my purposes, that doesn't matter much.  The reason I use aero levers are that they're designed to work well with modern brakes--and because I like the feel of one lever in particular:  the Cane Creek SCR5/Tektro RL 200.  

(Cane Creek's lever is a Tektro with a nicer finish and little gekkos embossed on the hoods.  Both levers, lamentably, were discontinued several years ago.)  

When I was an active mountain biker, I wished there were an "aero" version of mountain bike brake levers.  I found that, even though my mountain frames were smaller, I needed longer cables and housings because in tight technical stretches, I was more likely to make a sharp turn, even to the point that my bars were almost parallel to the top tube.  

The problem came when riding through areas of bush and bramble:  The cables, on occasion, would become entangled in them.   Siddesh Dubal, a Purdue University student and researcher, had the same problem.  Unlike me, he came up  with a solution.  "I created this device based on my own experiences while mountain biking in India and other places," he explains.  

I'm probably not the first person to look at it and wonder, "Why didn't I think of that?"  Apparently, he used a modified top cap from a headless headset (which practically all new mountain bikes use) to rout the cables through the steerer tube rather than across the stem and along the top tube.  The result, Dubal says, is something that "provides safety and convenience for riders, and is also simple and cheap to manufacture and install on a bike."

Will it make him rich?  Who knows?  Somehow, though, I think Siddesh Dubal has a bright future--as a cyclist and in whatever career he pursues.

A 400-Year Debt

My birthday is 4 July:  US Independence Day.  So, what I am about to say may seem treasonous, or even sacrilegious, to some.

The most important, if not the singular defining, event of US history did not happen on 4 July 1776.  Rather, it occurred 400 years ago on this date.

On 20 August 1619, the White Lion (you can't make this stuff up!) landed in Point Comfort, near present-day Hampton, Virginia.  Of the White Lion's commander, one Captain John Jope, colonist John Rolfe wrote, "He brought not any thing but 20.  And odd Negroes, which the Governor and Cape Merchant bought for victuals."

The details that would have fleshed out Rolfe's clinical description are lost to history.  Did he mean that  twenty-some-odd black people disembarked from the vessel?  What sort of "victuals" were exchanged for the captive human beings?  Peanuts?  Corn?  Barley?

What is not in doubt is that the dark-skinned arrivals from Africa were the first documented black slaves in America.  This does not mean, of course, that they were the first black slaves in the so-called New World:   Columbus reportedly brought slaves on his second voyage, and some historians argue that there were Africans--who may or may not have been slaves--on this side of the Atlantic even before Columbus' arrival.  But the arrival of black slaves on the White Lion is the first documented importation of African slaves to the soil of what would become the United States.  Moreover, it is the first documented sale of slaves.

The White Lion was not the first ship in which those slaves would be imprisoned on their way from the West Coast of Africa to the East Coast of North America. They started their terrible journey on the San Juan Bautista (really), bound for the Spanish colony of Vera Cruz on the coast of what would become Mexico.

But just a couple of days before the San Juan Bautista would have reached port (Transatlantic journeys in those days typically took about two months), it was attacked by pirates looking for Spanish gold.  Some of those pirates were on the White Lion; the others sailed on the Treasurer, which would arrive in Virginia a few days later.

As James Baldwin has pointed out, African-Americans are the only race of people (save for Native Americans) to be conceived in America.  And, at the time he was writing his seminal essays, the United States was the only nation besides South Africa that had a legal definition for black people--and used it to subjugate them.

I believe, as some black historians and writers believe, that the arrival of slaves (even if they weren't the first) on this date 400 years ago marks the real beginning of American (or at least US) history.  For one thing, it marked the beginning of European subjugation of a land and its people, which would not have been possible (at least under the conditions that prevailed) without the forced labor of black people.  The wealth of this country was built, literally, on the backs of Africans, even in those parts of the country where there weren't plantations and slavery ended before the Emancipation Proclamation.

What is commonly forgotten is that during our Civil War, there were large pro-Confederate contagions in some northern cities.  In fact, New York, which then consisted only of the island of Manhattan, was a bastion of Dixie sentiment, as many of the city's bankers and merchants had ties to the cotton- and tobacco-growing industries of the South.  (In contrast, Brooklyn, which was then an independent city and didn't have the same ties to plantation owners--and where freed and runaway slaves settled in Weeksville and other communities--was staunchly pro-Union.) 

So, no matter where one was at the time of the Civil War--or long afterward--its economy was, in some way or another, a product of slavery.  Everyone in this country is a beneficiary, in some way or another.  I include myself:  My grandparents, as poor as they were, still had more rights in this country than any African (or Native American) had the day they arrived in a port built, at least in part, by the labor of those people who had no freedom--and the profits of those who traded them, or traded with plantation owners, merchants and others whose prosperity built by them.

Of course, it wasn't just our economy that "benefited" from slavery.  The terrible experiences endured by slaves--and their children who were "freed"--were the raw material of some of the greatest art this country has produced.  I am talking, of course, about works by writers like Baldwin and Toni Morrison, but also jazz--the only truly American musical genre besides country and western--which has influenced all of the music, everywhere in the world, that's come along since.

And, finally, it's hard not to think that the "generational trauma" and prejudice experienced by the descendants of slaves motivated some of the greatest athletes this country has turned out.  Forget about "some of":  I am willing to say that the four greatest athletes to come from the United States are Muhammad Ali, Serena Williams, Jackie Robinson and, of course, "Major" Taylor, the incomparable cyclist who became the first African-American champion in any sport.  

The country in which I was born and have spent most of my life owes, I believe,  much more to what took place on this date 400 years ago than most people realize--or I was taught in school.

(In my next post, I'll return to matters more directly about cycling--my own and in general!)

For The Woman Who Had (Almost) Everything In 1951

What I am about to say is not a boast; it's a fact.

I don't know anyone who owns or rides a mixte frame as nice as Vera, my Mercian.  And the only person I know who rides a full-on women's frame (in which the top tube is dropped even further than the twin parallel tubes on the mixte) is Coline, who sometimes comments on this blog.  And I know her women's bike is as good as Vera because a.) it's a Mercian and b.) I used to own it.  I sold it to Coline only because I prefer the style of the mixte. 

Truly high-quality mixte or women's bikes have long been relatively rare.  In France and other countries, stylish and utilitarian bikes that don't have the "diamond" ("men's") configuration are relatively common.  Some are very good, but rarely does one see such a bike with a frame constructed of Reynolds, Columbus or Vitus tubing, or with components that rise above mid-level (though they are, for the most part, at least serviceable).  Certainly, one almost never see mixte or women's bikes that rise to the level of the best diamond-frame racing or touring bikes.

Such bikes have always been even rarer in the US--and they were probably rarer yet in 1951, during what Sheldon Brown has called "the dark ages" of cycling in America.  Who would have made such a machine?

One answer:  Emil Wastyn--or his son, Oscar.  If that name rings a bell, you are: a.) my age or older; b.) know more about the history of cycling in the US than 99.99 percent of the population;  c.) are a Schwinn geek or, d.) are from Chicago.

The bike in the photos isn't a Schwinn, but it could have been.  Oscar Wastyn built it.  His father is the one who convinced Frank Schwinn that his company should build top-of-the-line racing and touring bikes at a time when enthusiasm for six-day races  (which basically kept racing alive in the US during the Great Depression) was waning and the world was on the brink of war.  Those high-end Schwinns, known as the Paramount line, were built by the Wastyns from the marque's inception in 1938 until 1955.


Until the 1960s or thereabouts, the Paramount was the only true high-performance racing or touring bike built in the US, save for the few that were made by a handful of regional builders (mainly for the small-but-active cycling scenes in places like New York, Chicago, Boston and, ironically, Detroit).  Certainly, the Paramount was the only high-quality US-built bike one could buy or order from a local dealer anywhere in the US.  

From what I can see in the photos, the workmanship on the frame is meticulous and in keeping with the style of the times.  I don't know which tubing was used to make it, but I suspect that it was either Accles and Pollock (used on the original Paramounts) or Reynolds, which Wastyn would use when Accles and Pollock stopped making bicycle tubing. 

Also in keeping with the period is the Sturmey Archer three-speed hub.  American cycling at the time was, not surprisingly, influenced by the British, who had yet to embrace the derailleur for their high-speed and long-distance machines.  And, of course, the fenders and chainguard would have been found on any bike, no matter how high its quality, that wasn't a dedicated racer.

As for other parts on the bike, they are typical of the period--save, perhaps, for the front hub and cranks, both of which are "Paramount", the same ones used on Wastyn's bikes bearing that name.  To my knowledge, Paramounts from that period are the only American bikes besides those made by the aforementioned small builders (such as Dick Power and George Omelenchuk) to use three-piece cottered cranks.  Cotterless cranks were still relatively new and expensive, and were still not seen as durable or reliable as their cottered counterparts.  The front hub looks much like Campagnolo and other racing hubs of its time.

I don't know who bought that bike for whom:  Few American adults, and even fewer American adult women, were riding bikes--let alone top-quality ones--in 1951.  Whoever bought it, though, had taste and whoever rode it did so in style.  

I Christen Thee Negrosa

Finally!  She's together!

No, that's not what someone said about me after I figured it all out.  (As if I ever did!)  I'm talking about...another bike.  I mean, what else could I be talking about on this blog, right?

Specifically, I'm referring to the 1973 Mercian Olympic (I mistakenly identified it earlier as a King of Mercia; Grant at Mercian confirmed that it's an Olympic) I bought in June.  The funny thing is that I didn't have to do much to it, but it took me longer to finish than it took to get Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, ready after the frame arrived.

In the case of Dee-Lilah,  I had all of the parts, and Eli (of Ruth SF Works) made a couple of bags for me and once Hal put it all together, it was ready to go.  I haven't found any need to adjust or change anything yet.

On the other hand, for the Olympic, I had to look for a couple of things, and make a couple of other choices. 

Right from the beginning, I replaced the tires, which were cheap and mismatched, with a pair of Continental Grand Prix 4 Seasons.  I also swapped out the SunTour freewheel for another SunTour--the ProCompe  that came with the bike (and is now on another) for a New Winner--and the unknown-brand chain for a Sedisport that'd been in its package for 30+ years. 

Old Cinelli logo.

After a couple of rides, I knew I wanted to change the stem from the 9 mm extension that came with it to a 10.  The stem and bars that came with the bike were Cinellis, in the old 26.4mm clamp diameter.  I like the bars, so I didn't want to buy new ones.  That meant looking for a stem in the proper diameter.  I also wanted to find one that had the old-style oval logo, like the one that came with the bike, but had no luck there.  Oh, well.  Cinelli has never produced an ugly logo, so I don't mind having the newer one.  Besides, the logo switch seems to have been made not long after the frame was built.

Now, stems before the 1990s didn't have "faceplate" clamps.  So, if you want to switch stems, you have to unwrap the bar tape.  I didn't mind, as the tape that came with the bike was a mess:  It was faded and felt as if it had been epoxied onto the bars.  And the rubber hoods were disintegrating on the brake levers.

Luckily for me, I managed to find a pair of original-style Campagnolo gum hoods for not much more than they cost 40 years ago.  Best of all, they were fresh and supple.  As for the tape, I decided to go with something basic but classy:  black Tressostar cloth tape.  I spiced it up a bit, though, with red bar plugs.

To match those plugs--and the red parts of the frame--I found some vintage red Christophe straps.  And the one truly unsightly part of the bike as I got it--apart from the brake hoods and tape--were the toe clips, which were rusted and pitted even though nothing else on the bike was.  They were from "Cycle Pro", which offered some decent stuff back in the day.  But, since we're talking about a vintage Mercian with Campagnolo parts, I thought only Christophe clips would do.  And they're what I put on those Campy pedals.

Now, of course, we all know that we really make our bikes our own with accessories.  I could have sworn I had a Silca frame pump somewhere--but I couldn't find it for the life of me.  Oh, well.  Hal had one, but it looked like hell.  He made a suggestion:  a Zefal HP or HPX.  I just happened to have one in the latter, in just the right size.  And, while it's probably from the 80s or even later, it looks good, if not period-perfect, on the frame.

And, yes, that's a real, live Specialites TA cage on the handlebars.  Like the brake hoods, it was in pristine condition before I mounted it.  I found, though, that I needed to use longer screws than the ones that came with the clamp.  I have a feeling they were designed for old French handlebars, which are narrower at the "sleeve" area than my Cinellis.

Yes, the bike came with that saddle!

The bag is from Acorn.  I have another, larger, black bag that Eli made.  

Even with those minor changes, I still can't believe my luck in finding that bike--with a Brooks Professional saddle in perfect condition, no less.  And so soon after getting Dee-Lilah:  It was like getting two birthday presents!

After accessorizing, there's one more thing you (or I, anyway) have to do in order to make your (my) bike your (my) own: name it.  So, after putting that bottle cage on the handlebars, I christened her Negrosa. 

Now I really have decisions to make whenever I go out for a ride:  Dee-Lilah, Negrosa, Tosca (my Mercian fixed-gear), Arielle (my Mercian Audax) or Vera (my Mercian mixte).  

I’ll Get Used To Them—Or So I’m Told

Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, has been, well, a delight. She hasn’t been in my life for very long, but I feel as if I’ve been riding with her forever.

In other words, I haven’t had to adjust to her.  I must say, though, that in designing my bike, I had Arielle, my Mercian Audax and other bikes I’ve ridden to inform my consultations with Hal of Bicycle Habitat and Grant of Mercian Cycles.

On the other hand, Vera, my Mercian Mixte, took some getting used to—but not much. I bought her second-hand, but she fits me well and my experience with other bikes told me it would serve my purpose well.  

Actually, it doesn’t take long for me to adjust to most bikes I try, unless it’s radically different from anything I’ve ridden before. Given how many bikes I’ve ridden and owned, that is not a frequent occurrence.

Electronic devices, however, are another story.  Perhaps it is, as some have suggested, a result of my combination of life experience (a.k.a. age) and lack of experience with cell phones, tablets and the like. Maybe they’re right. I must say, though, that adjusting to my new iPhone and iPad has been a frustrating ordeal—and grows even more so the more  I hear how “intuitive” Apple stuff is supposed to be.

Oh, why did my slide-phone have to start dying on me?  

8 Years Already!

So why am I posting a picture of an 8 year old girl?

From Thanks, Mail Carrier

Well, she looks really cute on that bike. But she is relevant to this blog.  Better yet, she has something in common with it.

What?, you ask.

Midlife Cycling turns 8 years old today.   I wrote my first post on 2 June 2010.  I'm still "at it," 2567 posts later.  And I'll keep it up as long as I enjoy it.  Since I've never stopped loving cycling or writing, I don't think I'll lose the pleasure I've found in this blog and you, my audience.

So what has changed?  Writers are the worst judges of their own work, but I'm guessing that this blog has developed a "voice", whatever it may be.  In the beginning, I was probably making some effort to imitate other bike blogs I'd read, especially ones written by women. (I'm thinking particularly of Lovely Bicycle.) But I am a very different sort of woman, and cyclist, so I realized that I could do no more or less than follow my own instincts and inclinations.  Sometimes I write about my own trips or bikes; other times I write about other people's rides and machines; still other times I veer into topics that don't have much of a relationship to cycling.  Others will judge the results, but I am happy to be writing this blog and that others are reading it.

Aside from the blog itself, some other things in my life have changed since I started.  For one thing, I now have four bikes I didn't have back then:  Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special; Vera, the twin-tube Miss Mercian mixte I bought about a year after I started this blog; Josephine, the Trek 412 estate-sale find and Martie, the Fuji Allegro that's become my commuter/errand bike.  And I no longer have Helene, the Miss Mercian I bought not long after I started this blog, and the two Schwinn LeTours I acquired and used as commuter/errand bikes.

Oh, and I now have one cat, Marlee, who wasn't even born when I wrote that first post.  Sadly, Charlie and Max, my feline buddies back then, are gone.  

On a happier note:  I have taken, in addition to hundreds of day rides, trips abroad which have included cycling: Prague, Paris (twice), Italy (Rome and Florence) and Montreal.  And I've been to Florida a number of times to visit my parents but also to enjoy some warm-weather riding in the middle of winter.  

I don't know what changes and adventures lie ahead.  All I know is that you'll read about them here!

A Twist In The Mixte

Most Americans never saw a twin-tube mixte frame before the 1970s Bike Boom.  That, of course, is also the first time most Americans saw a bicycle with a derailleur.  So, perhaps, it's no surprise that bike manufacturers like Peugeot, Motobecane, Raleigh and Fuji sold boatloads of ten-speed mixtes--though, to be accurate, many more diamond-frame (men's) bikes were purchased.

Nearly all of the mixtes available then, and now, have more or less the same design:  a pair of narrow parallel tubes that slope from nearly the top of the head tube to the rear dropout, or some point near it.  The twin tubes usually crossed the seat tube about halfway down, or maybe a bit lower.  The result was a frame that wasn't quite as "open" as the traditional women's frame, with a single curved top tube, but easier to mount than the traditional diamond frame.

What's not commonly known is that mixte frames with twin top tubes mixte frames, or at least frames that resemble them, have been made almost since the first "safety" bicycle (ones with two wheels of equal, or more-or-less equal, size) was introduced in the late 19th Century.  And they have taken on a variety of configurations, such as this example from Geoffrey Butler:

The South London builder made it to the specifications of a then-young woman who owned it until recently.  Its  eBay listing doesn't specify the tubing used to build the bike, but my guess is that it's some variation of Reynolds.  All of the parts are what one might expect to find on a touring or club bike from its era (1962):  all British, except for the Michelin tyres. (Yes, I had to spell it the British way!)  And, I must say, it is lovely.

I was struck in particular by two things.  One is, of course, the configuration of those top tubes:  They don't slope down as far as those on the more familiar kind of mixtes.  In fact, they don't seem much less horizontal (Is that a real phrase?) than the top tubes of most diamond-frame bikes.  Moreover, they end at the seat tube in a sort of semi-lug, which I find to be an interesting touch.

(Don't you just love seeing that pump between the parallel tubes?)

The other thing I immediately noticed is its size. I can't recall seeing a mixte that was too big for me:  For that matter, I haven't seen many mixte frames as tall as Vera, my Miss Mercian.  If the measurements listed are accurate (and, from what I see in the photos, I believe they are), it's indeed larger than my Miss Mercian, or almost any other mixte.  In fact, at 58 cm (for the seat tube) it's even larger than all but one diamond-frame bike I've ever owned. 

With all due respect to Vera, it is a rather uniquely (Is that a real phrase?) lovely bike.  If I were about three inches taller--or had the money and space have a collection--I probably would buy it.

She's Back. And She's Like I Remember Her, Only Better!

She's ready.



In late June, I sent Vera, my Mercian mixte, back to England for some rejuvenation.  She was riding just fine as she was, but I wanted to fix a couple of things.  One was the seat lug:  I think someone tried to jam a 27.2 seat post in it when the bike really takes a 27.0.  As a result, I had to use a shim to keep the seat post from slipping.

Vera no longer has that problem.  The folks at Mercian replaced the seat lug.  They also took the old cable guides off the down tube and replaced them with bosses that can be used for shift levers--like the ones that are on the bike now--or the cable stops that are used with Ergo/STI shifters, which I would need if I ever change to bar-end shifters.

I also wanted to clean up the bottom bracket, headset and other threads.  Not surprisingly, they did a good job at Mercian--Hal, at Bicycle Habitat, told me everything went together easily.

So why, if I have worked as a bike mechanic, did I let him put the bike together?  Well, he's the one who introduced me to Mercians.  Also, Vera was getting special treatment, so I figured it was only appropriate to give the job to someone who's been working with bikes for far longer than I did.  Plus, he enjoys working on Mercians.


Finally, though, I wanted to allow Vera to be the pretty bike she is.  That's why I had her re-finished.  I liked the old finish (British Racing Green with gold transfers and lug lining) well enough, but I thought Vera should get a chance to kick up her heels.

I decided that I don't want all of my bikes to be the same color, but I want to keep them in a "family", if you will, of colors I like.  As I've mentioned, the Vincitore Special I ordered is going to be painted Lilac Polychromatic (#17) with Deep Plum Pearl (#56) head tube and seat tube panels, topped off with white transfers and lug lining.

Because of the slope of the twin top tubes, it's difficult to put panels on a mixte frame without distorting the proportions of the frame.  At least, that's how I feel.  So, I opted for a single color:  Mauve Pearl (#53), with white transfers and lug linings.

And I simply could not resist the '50's style headbadge.

I was pleasantly surprised to see a seat-tube transfer that matches the headbadge.

  

And, perhaps, one of the more esoteric decals of all:

I knew that Reynolds made "respray" decals, but I hadn't seen many of them.  

You may have noticed something else about Vera's new look.  Hal convinced me not to use metal fenders again:  He believes I broke a couple of pairs of aluminum fenders on this bike because the aluminum is thin and because I "squeezed" them into the frame.  He also convinced me that this bike would look better with black fenders than with shiny (or matte-finished) silver ones.

The SKS/Bluemels fenders Vera now wears have piping on their sides.  They reminded me, somewhat, of the "ribbing" on some of the classic English and French fenders--and the Velo Orange Facettes I had on this bike before the "makeover."

The piping, though, serves a non-decorative function:  They're reflective. 

The bags were made by Ely Rodriguez of RuthWorks.  I will most likely keep the seat bag on the bike, but I may use one of the other bags Ely made for me on the front, where I have a Nitto M12 rack.

This "makeover" didn't change Vera's ride.  Then again, I didn't want it to:  It's nimble and comfortable.  And, yes, stylish:  Isn't style the point of having a twin-tube mixte?

As much as I love Vera, getting her back now makes me even more eager for the Vincitore Special I ordered.  Just five more months, if all goes as planned!