Propelled To Insanity

If you are of a certain age (i.e., my age), you recall the early years of Saturday Night Live.  Some of the most memorable moments came during some of the shows-within-the-show. 

One such show was "What If?", which took zany, absurd takes on historical figures and events. One episode featured Superman landing in Nazi Germany instead of Kansas; another had Napoleon fighting the Battle of Waterloo with a B 52 bomber. Perhaps the most famous episode of all was the "What If Eleanor Roosevelt Could Fly?" sketch. 

That got me to thinking:  What if the Wright Brothers couldn't--or didn't--fly? 

Or what if they had stuck to their original occupations as bike mechanics and designers?

I found this propellered bike on Strangefunkidz.com, but couldn't find any other information about it.  I'd love to know how it was built and how much it was ridden--or whether it's still intact!
 

My Two-Bit Observations Of A "Smart" Lock

A few years ago, it seemed that if you were a Smart Young Person --or just wanted to look like one--you came up with an idea for some tech gadget that did nothing you couldn't have done without it.  

And you "crowdsourced" it through a Kickstarter campaign.

Some of those ideas never came into fruition.  Others took longer to execute and deliver than anyone anticipated.  Many more, though, simply were not what they were hoped or hyped to be.

Nearly three years ago, some folks in San Francisco (where else?) concocted the Bitlock, which promised "keyless bike security" and "low-cost bike sharing", and launched a Kickstarter campaign to pay for its initial development and manufacturing costs.  

According to its developers, Bitlock allows users to lock and unlock their bikes based on the proximity of their smartphones to their bikes, or directly within the app.  That, of course, allows users to ditch those clangy, clunky metal keys they've been carrying.  It also allows users to share bikes by allotting and revoking digital keys as they see fit.  

Upon launching their campaign, Bitlock's developers promised that their product "cannot be defeated using any kind of bolt cutter or hacksaw" and that its internal electronics were sealed and waterproofed to operate "under an extended temperature range".  Perhaps best of all, its projected battery life was five years, based on five locking/unlocking motions a day.

According to the company's initial press release, the program for the lock also show the location (based on the smartphone's GPS) where the bike was last locked, as well as activity data such as time and distance ridden.  And if a user loses his or phone, there were other alternative ways of opening the lock available.

Well, it seems that three years later, Bitlock has experienced many of the problems that have bedeviled other Kickstarted tech gadgetry:  delays in manufacturing and shipping, poor quality control (at least in early batches) and issues with suppliers.  This, naturally, has led to customer complaints  and the company trying to do damage control.

While I respect the efforts of the Bitlock's makers, I still have to wonder why, exactly why anyone still wants one.  More to the point:  Who needs it?  

Perhaps even more to the point:  I have to wonder whether this lock--or any other electronic lock--is actually more vulnerable than a lock with a metal key.  After all, hackers have found ways to break into "keyless" cars.  Perhaps I am uninformed about such matters, but I would think that it would take more time to pick a lock with a conventional key than it would to hack a "smart" lock.  Also, to pick a conventional lock, the would-be thief would have to put his or her hands on it, while a hacker does not have to be in such proximity as long as he or she has a way to replicate or bypass a code or password.

Even if the flaws of Bitlock or other electronic locks are worked out, I don't anticipate buying one:  I don't have a Smartphone and don't plan on getting one any time soon!

Off The Railroad And Onto Bikes: Reading, Pennsylvania

Whenever a city builds bike lanes or starts a bike share program, there is resentment.  As often as not, it's voiced as a class argument:  Cyclists are seen as young, rich and "privileged", and that poor working blokes are subsidizing their fads and fetishes.

One reason for this, I believe, is that most urban bike lanes have been built, and most bike share ports installed, in central downtown areas or in nearby areas where the young and affluent (who, as often as not, come from someplace else) congregate.  As an example, here in New York, the first Citibike ports installed outside of Manhattan were placed in the Brooklyn and Queens neighborhoods closest to Manhattan:  the "Hipster Hook" communities situated directly across the East River and at the ends of bridges.  You won't find many marked paths or  Citibikes in East New York or South Jamaica, or even in relatively affluent (but further from Manhattan and less hip) areas like Mill Basin and Fresh Meadows.

What is often forgotten, however, is that in neighborhoods like the South Bronx and East New York--and in cities like Newark--there are people who ride to work, or wherever else they need to be, not because it's fashionable, but because they can't afford any other way besides walking.

They don't have the funds or a credit card to buy a new Linus "Dutch" bike or a Trek Chelsea.  The bikes they ride, in fact, may have come from tag sales or dumpsters, or been given to them.  Those machines may have parts that were not intended for them:  For example, a wheel may have been replaced by one of a different size.  And those riders aren't stopping in the trendy bike cafes for Marin Macchiatos or Linus Lattes.  If anything, they might be holed up in the local Dunkin' Donuts, if they can afford even that.

The communities in which they live have low percentages of people who ride to work.  Part of the reason for that is, well, a lot of them don't work:  They lost jobs and weren't able to find others, or they didn't have jobs in the first place.  

Many of them live in areas where there is little or no mass transit--and, even if it was available, it would be a strain on their budgets, if not financially out of reach altogether.  Or the nearest bus stop or train station is, say, a 45-minute walk away (as is the case for some residents of Red Hook, Brooklyn).  That makes it difficult, to say the least, to keep appointments with doctors, government agencies and the like, let alone get to work on time and have any time left for anything besides commuting and working.

Reading resident Harrison Walker doesn't own a car and bikes everywhere.

Almost everything I have said in the previous four paragraphs can be said about the city of Reading, Pennsylvania and its people.  Once a thriving railroad hub (If you've played the classic version of Monopoly, you've bought and/or sold the Reading Railroad!) situated halfway between the anthracite coal mines of central Pennsylvania and Philadelphia, this city was beset by many of the problems older industrial cities like Detroit and Cleveland experienced when their industries died or moved away.   

Five years ago, the New York Times published an article declaring Reading the poorest city (of 60,000 or more people) in the United States.  More than 40 percent of its residents were living below the Federal poverty line.  Things seem not to have changed much:  While the official unemployment rate has dropped, at 8.3 percent it still is three percentage points higher than the national average.  And, of course, that number doesn't include the people who gave up on trying to find a job or whose unemployment benefits ran out--or those who returned to school or entered some sort of retraining program after they could not find jobs in the industries in which they had been working.

Those un-, under- and never-employed Reading residents make up most of the city's cyclists. "Reading's poor, and a lot of people who live here are poor," explains Dani Motze of ReDesign Reading, a nonprofit group that's trying to revitalize the city.  "[S]o bike riding is how they get from place to place."  

The demography of Reading's cyclists may be a reason why the city hasn't attracted the attention of urban planners involved with cycling infrastructure--until now.  Craig Peiffer became the city's zoning administrator a few years ago.  He was shocked at what he found.  "As a planner here in Pennsylvania," he relates, "I've seen smaller towns--significantly smaller towns--where they were already putting in designated bike lanes."

He and a colleague decided they were going to make Reading a more hospitable place for cyclists. However, their aim in doing so would be different from what has motivated officials in other cities to make them more "bike friendly."  In those communities, bike amenities are often used to attract outsiders--especially affluent millennials and sustainability advocates.  "Other cities have used biking because biking is cool and hip," declares Brian Kelly, executive director of ReDesign Reading.  He has no problem with that, he explains, but that is not the point of what he, Peiffer and others are trying to do in Reading.  

Jason Orth, manager of the Reading Bike Hub, fixes a bike for a customer.

Instead, they are--in addition to working on acquiring the money for bike lanes--making cycling more affordable and convenient for the city's residents.  Bike racks have been installed on all of the city's buses.  The city has also launched a bike-share program.  But, perhaps most important of all, it opened Reading's first bike shop. Unlike the bike boutiques of trendy neighborhoods, the Reading Bike Hub, in addition to conducting safety workshops, sells used bikes and affordable parts--and loans tools.  "If I were to go buy this tool, I'd have to go to Sears,"  says Harrison Walker, who rides his bike "everywhere".  The tool he had just borrowed from the Hub would "probably cost upwards of $20 just for this one wrench," he observes.

I am glad that the folks at National Public Radio, where I learned of Reading's programs, were able to see and communicate some of the challenges faced by people who are forced to rely on their bicycles for transportation.  It is only with such knowledge that American cities can make bicycles a viable transportation option for all of their citizens.

The 9/11 Memorial Trail

You all know what happened fifteen years ago today.  In fact, you probably remember where you were that day.  Perhaps you knew someone who lost a family member or someone else he or she loved; you may know someone who was affected in some other way, whether physically or emotionally.

On this date last year, I wrote about a particular source of the shock and grief that day's events generated:  a lot of people, including a messenger whose bike was found a month later, went to work but never made it home.  As terrible as the deaths of firefighters and police officers were, they go to work every day with the knowledge they might not see their families or friends at the end of the day.  Messengers, as well as accountant, lawyers, maintenance mechanics and most other kinds of workers and professionals, do not have that spectre hanging over them:  They know that, barring some sort of accident, on any given day they are unlikely to encounter any situation that will end their lives before the day is over.  

I have been fortunate in that sense:  Through nearly all of my working life, I have been in jobs and professions where there was little chance of encountering any life-threatening danger.  Even when I was a bike messenger--arguably the most dangerous job I had--my situation was safer than that of any police officer or firefighter.  Even though I was living alone, there are people who would have been shocked by my not making it through the day.

On this date two years ago, I wrote about a bicycle rack recovered from the ruins of the World Trade Center.  When I learned about it, all I could think about were the people who rode the bikes locked to it. (At the time I wrote, only one bicycle had been claimed.)  Did they commute to offices in the Towers?  Did they live or work in the nearby buildings, stores, coffee shops or other businesses that served the ones high above lower Manhattan?   Were they among the ones who never made it home?  Or were they so traumatized that they didn't retrieve their bikes--or that they left New York altogether?

In the end, there really is no way to ameliorate or memorialize not only those for whom, to paraphrase Albert Camus, death came out of the clear blue sky, but those who have yet to recover the possessions, jobs, lifestyles and sense of themselves they might have had before disaster struck.  And that is exactly the reason why we try, and must continue to do so, in whatever ways we can.

One group of people who is commemorating the tragedies of that day fifteen years ago is doing so in a unique way:  They are creating the 9/11 Memorial Trail, which will connect the World Trade Center  with the Pentagon and Shanksville, Pennsylvania:  the sites of that day's attacks.  Some of the network will consist of already-existing lanes such as the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal towpath, the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath and sections of the East Coast Greenway.  When finished, the network will be a 1300 mile (2100 kilometer) triangle linking the three sites.

Along the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath, which would become part of the 9/11 Memorial Trail.

As much as I love the idea of the trail, and hope to pedal the parts of it I haven't already ridden, I also hope that no more such memorials will be necessary.

The Real Presidential Race

I'm going to say something you've heard before:  This year's US Presidential campaign is the most dispiriting I've ever seen.  Perhaps it's the most depressing in history:  The only one I can imagine being worse is that of 1852, in which Franklin Pierce--probably the most undistinguished individual to occupy the White House--defeated Winifield Scott. (Quick question:  To which party did Scott belong?)  Tell me:  Would you have voted for either of those guys?

That contest, like this year's, features two major-party candidates that generate almost no enthusiasm:  People support one or the other, to the degree that they do, only because they think the other is worse.  Even the 1984 election, which ended in a landslide re-election for Ronald Reagan, wasn't nearly as soul-crushing:  At least his opponent, Walter Mondale, actually stood for some positive things.  And Reagan himself wasn't the volcano of bile and venom Trump has been on the campaign trail.

I also realize a reason why this year's election is so alienating:  It's the first in a long time in which neither candidate was seen on a bicycle.  In fact, it's difficult to imagine either of them ever having been on a bicycle.  Even Reagan seems to have had a more recent two-wheeled history than Hillary or Donald.

The 2004 election was another story.  I wasn't happy with the outcome, but at least I didn't cringe while voting for John Kerry.   And, quite honestly, this year's candidates almost make George W. Bush look good, at least to me.

John Kerry on his Serotta road bike during the 2004 campaign.

From a cyclist's perspective, though, that election was the best in recent memory.  Both candidates are avid cyclists, though Kerry is mainly a road rider while Bush favored mountain biking.  

George W. Bush on  the trail during the 2004 campaign.

Hmm...What if Bush had been a roadie or Kerry an off-road rider.  Now that would have made for a race!  I think Kerry would have won whether or not Bush cheated!

A yellow dog.

A Columbia Folding Bike--From England?

I came of age as a cyclist during the '70's Bike Boom of North America.  Ten-speeds were the bikes of choice.  Of US bike manufacturers, only Schwinn had been producing derailleur-equipped bikes in the years before the boom.  Other manufacturers--such as Columbia, Murray and AMF--began to offer "lightweight" bikes made of flash-welded gaspipe tubing with derailleurs and hand brakes.  To be fair, Schwinn's "lightweights"--with the exceptions of the Paramount and Superior--were also tanks with derailleurs fitted to them.  

AMF Hercules three-speed, made in England

A similar scenario played out during the 1950s and 1960s.  While the number of adult cyclists--and the demand for adult bicycles--were nowhere near as great as that of the 1970s, both increased gradually during those two decades.  And American bike manufacturers were not ready to produce the bike requested by adults:  three speed "English racers".  None--not even Schwinn--had ever made such a bike.

Schwinn responded in the way they would to the demand for ten-speeds in the 1970s:  they fitted their heavy frames with Sturmey-Archer three-speed hubs and called those bikes "lightweights".  On the other hand, other American bike companies did something that would have, in an earlier decade, seemed unthinkable:  they imported bikes and re-badged them.  

So, English three-speed bikes were sold under the brands of AMF (Hercules), Huffy and other American companies.  Strip away their decals and they are indistinguishable from Raleigh, Rudge or other English three-speed bikes of the time.

Columbia was another American manufacturer who imported English three-speeds.  That fact leads me to believe that this Columbia might also have been made by one of those British manufacturers:

The tell-tale signs of a Raleigh folding bike are there:  the brakes, the Sturmey-Archer hub, the cottered crank (at least in the style seen on that bike).  But the frame doesn't look like any of the folding or "shopper" bikes Raleigh was making at the time.  The frames of most such machines had, in essence, a down tube but no top tube.  The reverse is true on the Columbia in the photos. I wonder how that affects the ride.

I watched the bike on eBay a few months ago. No, I didn't buy it!  I admit, I was tempted: It would have been an interesting project.  Apparently, not many of those bikes were made, and from what I could find, Columbia offered them in only one year:  1966.

Fifty years later, no bike like it--or, for that matter, the old English three-speed--is made today.  And, of the bike brands mentioned in this post, only two exist today:  Schwinn and Raleigh.  Both are owned by conglomerates and their bikes are made for them in China or Taiwan.  Which means, of course, that it's unlikely that any bike like the Columbia folder will be made any time soon.

The Bike Lane Follies Never End

Sometimes I feel as if I could devote an entire blog to bike lanes that are poorly conceived, constructed, simply useless or bad in any number of other ways.

I've seen some doozies here in New York.  But the worst I've seen in The Big Apple is, apparently, sane compared to some that have been constructed in other parts of the US and world.

Some of the lanes I hear about are almost comically bad because it's simply impossible to understand how they can be imagined even by someone who has never seen a bike in his or her life.  When I'm in a charitable mood, I tell myself that the designers of such lanes assume that bicycles and cyclists possess extraordinary powers that mortal drivers and cars can't even dream of.

I mean, some are built as if we can pedal through steel columns or even stronger stuff.  As an example, check out this gem posted on the blog of Bike Shop Hub in Tucson, Arizona:

 

 Unfortunately, there's more where that came from--or, at least, where I found that gem.  Scroll down the page I've linked and check out, in particular, the ones posted by Marlo Stimpson and David Common.

Electric Light Races

It has been argued that the modern world began on 4 September 1882. 

At 3 o'clock that afternoon, Thomas Edison switched on his generating station's electrical power distribution system, located on Pearl Street in lower Manhattan.  It provided 110 volts of direct current (DC) electricity to 59 customers near the plant.

While Edison's plant wasn't the first attempt to light streets, businesses or homes by electricity, it was the first facility to make electricity available to large numbers of customers at a price that could compete with the price of gas. Previously, only individual homes and businesses--as well as a block of l'Avenue de l'Opera in Paris--were illuminated by electric light.  And those buildings and streets were powered by individual, self-contained generators.  

Edison, in short, created the world's first central power plant.  It was also the world's first co-generation plant, as the steam engines used to create electricity created a thermal byproduct, which Edison would use to heat nearby homes.
  

Edison's power-generating plant at 255-57 Pearl Street in New York City

In those days, people were even more fascinated with technological innovations than we are now.  In the case of electricity, it's easy to understand why:  Having such a readily-available power source for artificial lighting freed people (in the cities, anyway) from the cycles of daylight and darkness.  Activities that previously ceased at sundown could continue in the light of the moon and stars--and Edison's electrical lamps.

Le Velodrome by Paul Signac, 1899

Bicycle races were no exception.  In particular, night races on the track became feasible.  One of the first such races took place in Riverton, New Jersey--just across the Delaware River from Philadelphia--on 25 September 1894.

 

From the Philadelphia Inquirer, 17 September 1894

Apparently, that race was a "hit" with the public, as this report from the Trenton Evening Times of the following day attests:

Now, 4000 spectators may not sound like a lot.  But Riverton's track was a 1/4 mile (400 meter) circuit, which wouldn't have allowed for a large seating capacity--if the track had a grandstand.  Plus, the borough of Riverton had, at the time, a population of around 1200. (In 2015, it could claim 2748 residents.)  Any event that can attract more than three times as many people as live in the community that's hosting it sounds like a success to me.

Sketch of the Riverton velodrome. From the New York Times, 9 June 1895

Anyway, "electric light races" became popular all over the US and Europe.   Soon enough, Edison's development would make it possible not only to hold night races outdoors, but also to stage indoor races--and other sporting events--at any time of day or night.  

Keeping Hermine At Bay

Sometimes I think meteorologists give us dire weather forecast for long holiday weekends out of resentment. After all, while the rest of us are having fun, they have to stare at computer screens or whatever else they have to look at to tell us The World As We Know It is about to end.

So it was for the weekend that just passed.  First Hurricane/Tropical Storm Hermine was supposed to land on our shores late Saturday afternoon. I figured I could do a ride to Point Lookout before then.

 For much of the day, that prediction seemed accurate:  Ominously dark clouds darkened the sky as the sea churned.  But--wonder of wonders--the clouds broke somewhat and the sun shone through.  So, instead of heading home from Rockaway Beach, I continued along the boardwalk and boulevard to Riis Park and Coney Island, and along the Verrazano Narrows promenade toward my apartment.

We got more or less the same forecast on Sunday:  Hermine in the afternoon.  So I thought I could sneak in a pre-lunch ride, say, to the Rockaways and back.

The weather belied the forecast:  With each mile I rode, the skies brightened, even as  the sea grew choppier and the wind stiffened.  I decided to "play chicken" with Hermine:  I would ride as if I could keep the rain at bay simply by riding.   After a while, I actually started to believe that I could!

Once again, I rode a good bit longer than I originally planned.  I was happy for that:  I did two good days of riding when, according to the weather forecasts, I should have had only one.

But Hermine was still rearing her head.   When I got home, I heard more dire predictions of her paying us a visit some time Monday, Labor Day.  Once again, I took a ride, hoping to get in a few kilometers (or miles) before the storm struck.  But I didn't "play chicken": I stuck with my plan to ride along the North Shore to Fort Totten, a two-hour round trip with a stop to enjoy the view at the Fort.

The rest of the day, though windier, was even brighter than the morning or the day before.  I had a few things to do, so I didn't go back out to ride.  Still, I was happy to have done three rides:  one long , one of medium length and a shorter one.  

Finally, the rain came this morning, just as I was about to go to work.  I lingered just long enough for another cup of tea, and to stroke my cats a few more times.  The rain passed, and I--almost without effort--more than made up for the time I procrastinated and arrived at work a few minutes earlier than I'd planned.

 


The next time someone asks you about the benefits of cycling, tell them that one cyclist (yours truly) "saved" Labor Day weekend:  She kept a hurricane away simply by riding! ;-)   

And to think we all can change so much more by cycling!

They Busted Their Unions And Broke Their Brands

Two years ago, on Labor Day, I wrote about the strike metal platers, polishers and buffers waged against Schwinn and Excelsior-Henderson (two motorcycle manufacturers Schwinn owned) in 1919.  

Although the Bike Boom that spanned the last decade of the 19th Century and the first of the 20th had gone bust, Schwinn continued to prosper because it was one of the first bicycle manufacturers to market bicycles as children's' toys as it continued to make bikes for adults.  Also, Schwinn acquired other bike manufacturers as well as the aforementioned makers of motorcycles, which were ascending in popularity.  

The metalworkers knew that Herr Schwinn could, shall we say, afford to buy the products his company made, in whatever quantity he desired. The same could not be said for his workers.  They rode his bikes to work, but often had to purchase them on installment plans.

They made demands that Schwinn found outrageous:  a 44-hour workweek and wages of 85 cents an hour.  He could not believe their audacity, not to mention their ingratitude, and did what any good industrialist who saw his financial life flashing before his eyes would do:  He got injunctions against the unions whose members were canceling orders, or not placing them in the first place, in sympathy with the strikers.  He also had strikers arrested on trumped-up charges, hired thugs to use "friendly persuasion" to convince strikers to cross picket lines--and made his foremen  use said workers for target practice.  After all, a strike is stressful and, as a friend of mine pointed out, going to the shooting range is "relaxing".

Anyway, all of the labor journals of the day urged readers to support the strikers in any way they could, whether by standing with them physically or participating in the boycotts--not only against Schwinn, but against the companies that did business with the bike-maker.

Well, it turns out that wasn't the last instance of Schwinn trying to subvert labor organization in its plants, at least according to more than one source.  In the early 1980s, Schwinn began to manufacture in a new Mississippi facility.  Now, to be fair, the old Chicago complex was outdated and would have needed extensive reworking to make the kinds of bikes for which demand was developing. But, it also just so happened that workers in that facility organized (affiliating themselves with the United Auto Workers) and struck in 1980.  Mississippi, like other southern states, has a long history of hostility to unions. 

Anyway, during the first few years of production, the quality of those bikes from the Magnolia State left something to be desired.  Again, to be fair, so did the quality of the bikes Schwinn would import from Hungary a few years later.  And, while the company had already shifted some of its production overseas, it was late to develop working relationships with their Japanese--and, later, Taiwanese and Chinese--subcontractors.  It also was slow to identify trends such as mountain bikes.

The result, of course, was bankruptcy, and its acquisition by a conglomerate that owns an number of other bike brands.  Like bikes bearing those names,  "Schwinn Brand" bikes are made in China and sold in big-box stores. (The "Schwinn Signature" series, which consists of higher-quality bikes and accessories, is sold only in bike shops.)  So have the mighty fallen.

Again, to be fair, Schwinn is not the only, or even the first, bike manufacturer to break its workers' union and, in doing so, sow some of the seeds of its destruction.

Some you may have owned or ridden a "Roadmaster" bicycle.  The brand first saw the light of day in 1936, when Cleveland Welding Company (CWC)--which made bicycles for a number of other companies--introduced it.   American Machine and Foundry (AMF) purchased the Roadmaster children's and youth bicycle lines in 1950.  I couldn't find much information about the transaction, but my uninformed guess is that CWC went out of businesses, or was simply divesting itself out of unprofitable enterprises.

1937 Cleveland Welding Company "Roadmaster" Bicycle

AMF then formed a wheel goods division, which made tricycles, pedal cars and tractors, and wagons in addition to bicycles.  Like the Chicago Schwinn plant of the 1970s, the CWC facilities AMF inherited were antiquated and AMF executives looked into replacing them.

And, in an eerie parallel with Schwinn in 1980, AMF workers in Cleveland--who were organized by (you guessed it) the United Auto Workers--struck in 1953.  The labor stoppage was, like Schwinn's in 1919 and 1980, long and acrimonious.  And AMF resolved it the way Schwinn did their second strike:  by opening up a new factory in a state where unions were (and are) all but non-existent.  In AMF's case, the new locale was Arkansas--in the capital, Little Rock, to be exact.

1964 AMF Roadmaster "Skyrider"

Now, no one ever equated the quality of AMF/Roadmaster bikes with those of Schwinn, not even the ones made in Mississippi or Hungary.  But the company, again like Schwinn, enjoyed prosperity during the Baby Boom-fueled population growth of the 1960s and 70s--and, of course, one of its offsprings, the '70's Bike Boom.  Then the Little Rock factory, like Schwinn's Chicago facility, became outdated and--even though Arkansas AMF workers didn't unionize--the company's management whined about labor costs. So, off to the mystic East they went.

Now Roadmaster is owned by Pacific--ironically, the same company that now owns Schwinn.  I'm not saying that avoiding and busting unions or outsourcing alone led to the subsumation of Schwinn and Roadmaster.  But I think that the "race to the bottom" in production costs helped, along with other bad management decisions, to debase the quality of what each company was selling and, subsequently, its reputation (more so in the case of Schwinn).  Now Schwinn bikes, once the dream of so many American kids--and the mount of Olympians--are indistinguishable from other brands sold alongside it in Wal Mart.  Like Roadmaster.