Raleigh Super Tourer: It Didn't Sell In 1974. But Everyone Wanted One In 2014.

A few days ago, I recounted a chance meeting with a fellow named George in Greenwich.  He complimented Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and showed me photos of his very nice Raleigh Competition GS, on which he converted the drop bars to uprights and made a couple of other changes.

George's 1978 Raleigh Competition GS

His "conversion" is nothing unusual these days (except that his is nicer than most):  Lots of people are taking nice (and sometimes not-so-nice) vintage ten-speeds and turning them into city or country bikes, upright tourers or stylish commuters.

In a comment on my post, George said he was trying to replicate a Raleigh Super Tourer.  It's a bike one rarely finds:  I've seen only  four or five of them.  And I don't recall seeing one on eBay, Craigslist or any of the sites that list used and vintage bikes.  (Then again, I check those sites only occasionally.  Really! ;-))

One reason why it's so rare is that not many were made--at least, in comparison to other Raleigh bikes. As best as I can determine, it was made during four model years:  1974 through 1977.  Another reason is that not many Super Tourers were exported to the US, and even fewer sold.  The few American shops that ordered Super Tourers, as often as not, got "stuck" with them for years.  I would suspect that more than one Super Tourer owner came by his or her steed the way George encountered his Competition GS:  A bike shop had it in the back room (or on the showroom floor) a few years after production ceased.

This parallel between George's experience and the possible scenario I have envisioned is not coincidental:  In essence, the Super Tourer and the Competition (the original as well as the GS) were the same bike.  Well, more or less, just about, anyway.  

Raleigh Super Tourer, ten-speed version 1975

Both iterations of the Competition and the Super Tourer had frames constructed of double-butted Reynolds 531 tubing with quality lugs and dropouts.  As a matter of fact, the original competition and the Super Tourer even had the same geometry.

Much of the componentry was the same: mainly high-end French stuff.  The pre-GS Competition had Normandy "Luxe" hubs and Huret Jubliee derailleurs; so did the Super Tourer.  The short-cage Jubilee--which came on both bikes--shared an interesting trait with other European derailleurs of the time:  It could wrap up miles and miles of chain, even though it wasn't made to handle a rear cog larger than 26 or 28 teeth (depending on your dropout's configuration).  Thus, it could handle triple and wide-range double front chainrings. That is one reason it was often used on randonneuses from the constructeurs.

1974 Super Tourer, 5-speed version (saddle not original)

The Specialites TA three-arm crank graced the pre-GS Competition. Interestingly, the first GS version had the three-arm Campagnolo Gran Sport crankset--with a chainguard! 

Now here's where things started to get weird:  The Super Tourer was made in ten- and five-speed versions.  The ten-speed had what seemed to be a triple version of the Stronglight 93 crankset, with a guard (very pretty, actually) where the outer chainring would have been. The five-speed sported a Specialites TA "Criterium" chainset:  essentially, a a Pro-Vis 5 (a.k.a. Cyclotouriste) with one chainring, and a chainguard..  

For some more weirdness, the Competition GS came with Weinmann "Vainqueur" centerpull brakes while the first year's production of the Super Tourer had Weinmann's short-lived "Dynamic" brakes--sidepulls.  In those days, sidepull brakes came only on bikes at the very top and bottom of the price spectrum; almost everything in between came with Weinmann, Mafac, Dia Compe or Universal center-pulls. The high-end sidepulls like Campagnolo's were ridden mostly by racers.  Most cyclists never saw them:  The only sidepulls they saw were the lower-end models found on cheaper bikes. As an example, the Schwinn Continental was equipped with centerpulls, but the Varsity came with sidepulls. 

So, some people assumed the Competition was a "better" bike because it had centerpulls.  Or, if they knew how good the Super Tourer frame was, they wondered what sidepulls were doing on it.  Unfortunately, they had good reason to wonder--about those sidepulls, anyway.   A few years earlier, Altenberger made the "Synchron", an early version of dual-pivot brakes.  Like most of the company's offerings, it was cheap and crudely finished, intended for lower-end bikes.  Weinmann tried to clean it up a bit. The stopping power was OK, at least in the beginning, and with the levers that came with the Super Tourer. But, in time, the pivots worked loose and, as we used to joke, the Dynamic would devolve into a brake with the worst features of centerpulls and sidepulls.

(And you thought Shimano invented dual-pivot brakes in the early 1990s!)

The Super Tourer also suffered because of another notion novice American cyclists developed during the Bike Boom.  It's a notion I admit I had for a long time:  A "serious" bike had dropped handlebars and a narrow saddle--usually leather Brooks or Ideale, though Italian-style plastic-and-foam saddles were starting to make their appearance.  Shift levers were mounted on the down tube, and such a bike didn't have fenders.

You guessed it:  the Super Tourer had fenders.  The ten-speed version had some pretty neat-looking Bluemels Classiques, which were black plastic with a ribbed chrome stripe down the middle, a white mud flap on the front and a white-framed reflector on the rear.  The five-speed sported silver plastic fenders--which, I believe, were also Bluemels Classiques.  

Fenders?  Fenders!  And upright handlebars.  (I think they were North Road, or some similar bend, from GB.)  And...and...stem shifters!!

Oh...and the first year's production of Super Tourers (the ones with the Synchron brakes) came with mattress saddles. Yes, you read that right:  a seat even thicker than one of Dagwood's sandwiches--with springs!  Vertical springs!  Horizontal springs!  And bag loops that looked like they could carry the biggest offerings from Carradice, Karrimor, Chossy and all of the other classic cycle luggage makers, all at once.

In 1975, the Brooks B66 replaced the mattress saddle.  It had springs but at least it was a...Brooks.  Tensioned leather.  But the bike still had those bars.  And fenders!

You simply couldn't show up on a club ride, let alone ride in a pack of wannabe racers, in the mid-1970's with a bike like that unless you were 90 years old and accompanied by your grandparents--even if that bike had a hand-brazed Reynolds 531 frame, Huret Jubilee derailleurs, Stronglight or TA cranks, etc.   You could just as well have shown up in a petticoat or a chain of mail.

I actually prefer this brown finish--with silver "sable" panels and headtube--of the five-speed model to the green on the ten-speed version!

Now, you're thinking that it's very, very ironic that George and other people are turning classic road machines into bikes like the Super Tourer--forty years after you could have bought such a bike, stock, off a showroom floor--or asked a Raleigh dealer to order it for you.  (Vera, my green Mercian mixte, is really just a female version of such a bike--which is what I wanted it to be.)   Perhaps it's even more ironic that there are new bikes that are, at least conceptually, modern versions of the Super Tourer.  (One could argue that some  Rivendell and Velo Orange bikes are, at least to some degree, updated versions of the Super Tourer.)  A lot of people want sprightly but comfortable rides: something that's relatively quick but will allow them to ride the same clothes and shoes they wear to work or to shop, date or simply hang out.  Or, age and other things have caught up with them and they're not as flexible as they used to be--or simply have lost their pretentions to racing.

What if Raleigh were to introduce that bike today?  They wouldn't have to change much, really:  perhaps only the shifters, which would move to the handlebars from the stem, and would be indexed to accommodate contemporary derailleurs and cassettes. (I have always liked the Jubilee, but I don't imagine it would work very well with handlebar shifters or more than seven sprockets in the rear.)  And, of course, the 27" wheels and tires would have to be replaced with 700Cs.  Otherwise, Raleigh could re-introduce the bike "as is", I think.

Finally, if you think it's ironic that people are seeking out bikes like the Super Tourer--or are converting other bikes into versions of the ST--you'll appreciate (or perhaps wince at) this story.  Near my undergraduate university campus, there was a bike shop that seemed to be there for even longer than the university itself.  Its owner was ready to move to Florida, or any place with warmer winters than New Brunswick, New Jersey.  Nobody wanted to buy the shop, mainly because of its location on what was then the town's Skid Row.  So, he had to sell off his inventory, which--you guessed it--included a Sports Tourer he'd stocked several years earlier.

And, yes, he did sell it--after swapping the upright bars for dropped bars, the mattress saddle for a Brooks B17 and the Synchron brakes for Weinmann centerpulls.  And he took off the fenders.  In essence, he turned the Sport Tourer into a Competition.

Still, he took a loss on that bike.  I wonder whether the person who bought it still has it.  Wouldn't it be funny if he or she--or whoever has it now--"converted" it to an upright commuter or tourer?

Farce And Tragedy On Bastille Day

Yesterday, I complained about the lack of drama in this year's Tour de France.

Well, I guess I should have known better than to write such a post on the day before Bastille Day.  It's the French national holiday and, let me tell you, it's not boring. At least, the Bastille Days I've spent in France weren't.

Today, though, provided the sort of drama that I think almost nobody wanted.  For one thing, defending TdF champion Chris Froome--along with Richie Porte and and Bauke Mollema--crashed into a motorbike on Mont Ventoux, just a kilometer from the Stage 12 finish.

Chris Froome runs up Mont Ventoux

His own bike was wrecked, and his team's support car was five minutes behind.  So he ran until he could grab a neutral service bike; about 200 meters later, he switched to a bike from the Team Sky car, on which he finished the stage.

I have great respect for Froome's determination and conditioning.  But let's just say that when he's riding, he's no Stephen Roche.  Few elite cyclists ever looked more fluid and graceful while pedaling than the Irishman who won the Tour, Giro d'Italia and World road championship in 1987.  On the other hand, Froome's limbs seem to move at every angle except the one in which he's pedaling.  While running, he looked even more ungainly, if that were possible.

But the crash and Froome's run seemed rational and orderly compared to some of the roadside spectators.  Now, I have to make a confession:  On Chamrousse in 2001, I leaned within a tire's breadth of Lance Armstrong to take a photo of him riding to victory in the time trial.  Still, I am going to chide all of those spectators who simply had to get their .15 seconds of fame; one or more of them may have caused that motorbike to lose control.

Now, I've been in France enough to know that French people like spectacle as much as anyone, and they are not averse  to farce.  But I suspect today's events at the Tour de France might have been a bit much even for them--especially since it's their national holiday and they were hoping for a victory from one of their countrymen on a stage that ended with one of the Tour's most iconic climbs.

Then again, the French I know have perspective. (Wars, occupations and such will give you that!)  Anything that happened, or could have happened on today's Tour stage pales in significance with the tragic event in Nice.  Whoever drove that truck into the crowd, and whatever his or her motives, it was an act of terror:  It seemed to come out of nowhere and struck a place and people who were celebrating a holiday in one of the loveliest seaside cities I've ever seen.

Why Aren't You Paying Attention To The Tour de France?

Funny he should mention it:  The Tour de France is in progress.  

Yesterday, "Retrogrouch" said he is "barely" following this year's race.  I could say the same thing.  In fact, other cyclists I know who've followed Tours (and Giros and Vueltas) past say that they're paying little or no attention to the latest editions of these contests.

It got me to wondering why this is so, and whether it's just an American phenomenon.  Could Europeans' interest in those races also be waning?

Now, to be fair, the Euro football (soccer) championship ended three days ago.  It's held every four years, like the Olympics, and this year's version was held in France.  As it happens, les bleus made it to the championship game, which they lost to the Portuguese side.

Then again, the tournament was held in France in 1984 and 2000, both of which the French won.  This year's final matchup brought Cristiano Ronaldo-- who some regard as the world's best player-- and Antoine Greizmann--who could become his successor, according to some experts--onto the pitch as opponents.  So, even those football fans who aren't French or Portuguese (or simply fans of those teams) could find something interesting to watch.  Also, there was the "feel good" story about the Icelandic squad, which made it all the way to the quarterfinals against France (and, along the way, beat England).  This is especially shocking when you realize that more people live on Staten Island than in Iceland, where there are no professional leagues!

Stories like those keep casual fans interested in major sporting events.   Such drama seems to be lacking in this year's Tour.  There are favorites and "dark horses", to be sure.  But there aren't the sort of compelling rivalries, in part there is no rider-of-his-generation like Bernard Hinault and, thus, no one who's in a position to ascend to the throne, if you will.   There is also not a "feel good" story like the pre-fall-from-grace Lance Armstrong's (though, even in his heyday, there were whispers that he was doping).  




And, let's face it, there's nationalism in sports.  It's no longer startling to see British riders dominate the race, just it was no longer a shock to see Americans win after Greg LeMond.  While there are some very good riders from the former Soviet Bloc countries, none of them yet poses a challenge to the established order.  One reason, I think, is that those riders tend to dominate in sprints, often at the expense of other events, just as the best British riders--until about fifteen years ago--were time trialists.  Even Peter Sagan doesn't look ready to make the "breakthrough", and even if it did, it wouldn't excite fans in the US or the major cycling nations of Western Europe.

Finally, I think some people have given up, or are giving up, on cycling because of the widespread doping.  While football and other sports have their share of "juicers", the problem doesn't seem anywhere near as rampant.  At least, that's how fans seem to see it.

Anyway, if you want to read about a really exciting Tour, Retrogrouch wrote a very nice account of the 1986 version, which had everything this year's edition seems to lack.

A Compliment From Someone Who Would Know: George, WIth A Competition GS

Three days, three rides, three bikes.

Arielle

Yes, after riding Vera (my green Mercian mixte) the other day and Tosca (my Mercian fixed gear) yesterday, today I pealled Arielle, my Mercian Audax.

And today I rode, again, to Greenwich CT.  One of the reasons I've been doing that ride is that I'm finding more and more of the East Coast Greenway in the process.  Also, the ride offers different kinds of vistas, terrain and road (and trail) surfaces--actually, quite a bit of variety for the area in which I take the ride and its distance.

Also, the ride calms my inner cynic.  You see, when weather forecasters say the winds are "light and variable", my IC says, "You guys just don't know.  Admit it!"  But, on the ride, the winds (or breezes) can vary because it ranges from urban streetscapes to marshland, low hills and the shores of a large bay and three different rivers.

Plus, today I realized one of the reasons why I ride to Greenwich specifically.  The parks and old houses have their charm, certainly.  But going to the shopping area--lined with designer boutiques and a "thrift" store where I once found a "pre-owned" pair of lavender made-in-France Chanel ballet flats for the modest (ha, ha) sum of $300 (Alas, they wer the wrong size!) also helps me to put my passions and obsessions into a different kind of perspective.  

That's the lesson I learned today from a fellow who, as I was about to mount Arielle for the ride back, remarked on what a "beautiful" bike she is.  (I used the quotations because he used that word.)  "The attention to detail is amazing", he exclaimed.  He liked everything from the paint job, the pinstriping on the lugs (especially the strokes in the "windows" of the lugs) and the Brooks Pro seat, bar tape and the RuthWorks bags.  Plus, he liked the fact that all of the equipment is first-rate--including the Dura Ace derailleurs (the first parts he noticed) and Mavic rims.

Now, I don't mean to boast when I say I get a lot of compliments about Arielle. (In fact, I got another--from a woman pushing a stroller-- on the way home when I stopped for a traffic light in the Bronx, near Parkchester.)  But the fact that this man--George--went into such detail intrigued me.  Which meant, of course, he had a nice bike--whether or vintage or new--with a lugged steel frame.  He pulled up some images of it for me.  If he ever sends them to me, I'll post them.  But for now, I'll post one that's on Old Ten Speed Gallery:

George's 1978 Raleigh Competition GS

George's Raleigh Competition GS is from 1978, the first year it came equipped with Campagnolo Gran Sport parts (and Weinmann Carrera brakes).  Through most of the '70's, the bike came with Huret Jubilee derailleurs and other high-quality French parts.  Now, as you well know, I like the Jubilee and the TA three-arm crankset that was standard equipment for a few years.  But some of the Campy parts--such as the hubs--were a clear improvement.

George says the bike was sitting in the back of a now-defunct shop on Gun Hill Road in the early '80's, when he bought it.  At some point, he changed the three-pin Campy GS crankset for a five-pin Chorus model "because I thought I wanted a 53 T chainring".  Later, he swapped out the dropped bars and stem for a Nitto stem with a longer quill and "riser" bars--which meant, of course, changing the brake levers. He also swapped the Camapagnolo GS quill pedals for MKS touring pedals.   "But I've saved all of the original parts," he reassured me.

Even with all of the changes, I think it's still a very nice-looking bike.  I told him as much.  Part of the reason is that silver finish, which Raleigh offered for the first time in 1978.  That year, the bike was also available in black, as it was through most of the '70's. I think that even after silver became available, more black bikes sold--at least, I've seen more black than silver bikes from the late '70's and early '80's, when the bikes came with Campy GS equipment.  I like the black, but I prefer the silver, which I think is more elegant.

I don't know whether it's my imagination, but the workmanship on those frames--constructed of Reynolds 531 double-butted tubing--seemed to improve when Raleigh switched to Campy GS.  At least, the lugwork and graphics look cleaner.  If I'm not mistaken,  Competition GS bikes from that period were among the last to be made in Raleigh's Carlton facility, where the top-line models (such as the Professional and International) were built by hand.  Carlton bikes have always been more esteemed than the rest of Raleigh's producton, justifiably so, in my opinion.

"Some people think we're crazy to spend as much time and money as we do on our bikes," George mused.  "But look at that car over there"--he pointed to a custom Bentley.  "That's about $800,000 right there.  And for what?  At least we know we're spending on something that will get us somewhere faster, or in more comfort or style, than a cheap bike will."

He had a point.  There were, probably, other cars on that street that cost more than I've made in my entire life.  And I'm sure that some of those people who were sauntering from store to store--and Starbuck's--probably spend money on things, and in ways, I simply can't imagine.

So, George taught me this:  That no matter how much we spend on our bikes, it doesn't come anywhere near what others pay for less practical, less fun--and, to my eyes, less beautiful--things.  That makes me feel better. But it's probably a good thing I didn't come to such a realization when I was younger.

Brooklyn Heights: Another Reason I Am Not A Racer

Yesterday, I wrote about the things that caused me to realize that I am not, at heart, a racer, even though I pretended to be one for a few years.  In brief, I care more about the feelings and memories I have, or associate with, my rides than I do with how fast or how far I rode.

Well, today, I had another insight as to why, even after a third-place finish in a race, I couldn't have pushed myself to "the next level"--whatever that might have been--even if I'd had the talent, trained harder and simply wanted to win more.

This afternoon I spun Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, through some Brooklyn and Queens streets.  Part of my ride took me through Brooklyn Heights, which today is--at least in the eyes of many--the very epitome of an urban "brownstone" neighborhood.

In 1965, the City's newly-formed Landmarks Commission--created in the wake of the outrage generated by the destruction of the original Penn Station--designated much of the Heights as the city's first Historic District.  Good thing, too:  During the two decades following World War II, Americans set their sights on modern houses in the suburbs, not historic buildings in the inner city.  As a result, those beautiful old houses began to decay, and Robert Moses thought they--and similar houses in nearby Park Slope--were simply obstacles to building the expressway he wanted to carve through Brooklyn.

I stopped to read the plaque on one of the houses that would have been razed--a Federal-style building on Middagh Street. No racer, I think, would have interrupted his or her ride in that way--or to look at other houses.  The fact that I had just a crappy cell phone with me--and, therefore, couldn't take good pictures--would have been enough of an excuse for a racer (or the racer wannabe that I was) not to stop and look at buildings.

And if I were training for the next Tour or Giro or whatever, I probably wouldn't have noticed that in a neighborhood full of Federal and Greek and Italianite Revival-style buildings--which brought the neighborhood its landmark designation--there was something that stood out:

The Cranlyn Building is beautiful, but it's not what people normally associate with the Heights.  If anything, it's practically a textbook example of Art Deco.  It would fit seamlessly on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx (though the Cranlyn is in be tter condition than most Bronx buildings) or even in Miami's South Beach.   But it's not just the visual contrast between it and the houses (and the Church of the Assumption) on Cranberry Street that's so interesting. 

To me, the Cranlyn has a different kind of energy to it. Yes, it is an apartment (condo) building with a chrome-zinc-and-glass Italian cafe on the ground floor on a street mainly of single-family homes.  More important, though, the building feels like jazz--just look at the pattern of those lines!--in a neighborhood that is, perhaps, more Mozartian.

The way those lines unite Art Deco with jazz reminds me of the relationship betwen graffiti, break-dancing and hip-hop. Just watch "Beat Street" (corny, I admit, but with great music from early hip-hip artists!).  Pay attention to the dancers and to the graffiti-covered subway trains as they rumble along Bronx viaducts:  Look at the way those lines of graffiti move, look at the dancers' movements and pay attention to the beat.  That relationship is, I think, something the movie captured brilliantly.

The funny thing is that, even though I was riding at a slow speed (for me, anyway!), I was still going about five times as fast as anyone walking the street.  Yet no one seems to notice the building, or its contrast with the rest of the neighborhood.  Even more ironically, as a pedestrian, I never noticed what I'm describing:  I first noticed it from the saddle of my bicycle.  

And, in the strangest twist of all, during my racing days, I had experienced the Heights only as a pedestrian:  I never rode through the neighborhood!

I'll Be Fine: I Went For A Ride

I once held a racing license.  And I actually rode in a few races.  Ergo (and you thought it was only the name of Campagnolo's "brifter"!), I was a racer.  Right?

Well, maybe not so much.  I fancied myself as one.  I even managed to convince a few people (and a couple of actual racers) that I was one.  I rode racing bikes, wore racing jerseys, shorts and shoes and ate and drank what I thought racers put into their bodies.  

And I actually placed well in a couple of races.  A third place, even!  For a time, I thought that if I rode just a little longer and a little harder....

(These days, it's difficult for me to think about doing things longer and harder.  But that's another story:  perhaps one for my other blog!)

Realistically, I knew I wasn't going to challenge Bernard Hinault.  But I thought that if I moved up a category every year I could become...a champion (of what?)...a pro?

So what, exactly, caused me to realize that I wasn't going to realize such lofty goals?  No, I didn't crash and break my leg and wreck my Colnago during my next race.  Nor did I admit that, even at the relatively young age I was, I didn't have much (if any) of a "window":  There were riders my age who, even if they hadn't won a major race, had at least been riding for years in the European peloton.  The pack in Prospect Park, as invigorating as it could be, simply didn't compare. But even such an admission would not have been enough to make me realize that I wasn't a racer.

I think I finally understood, today, for the first time, why I never  was, or could be, truly a racer.  It has to do with an observation someone I was trying to woo years ago made about me.  According to this person, I don't care about things or experiences so much as the emotions and memories I have about, or associate with, them.

To this day, it remains one of the most perceptive things anyone has said about me.  Of course, back then, I didn't want to hear it, because she was one of the many attractive women I tried to make my "arm candy", I mean companion, in order to convince the world (in reality, myself) that I was indeed a macho heterosexual guy--if one with a sensitive soul.

Anyway, today I took a ride that really was bits and pieces of other rides I've done, spliced together.  I packed a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa I made into the Ruth Works Randonneur bag on Vera, my green Mercian mixte.  I intended to enjoy a roadside picnic somewhere along the way.  But that is not the only reason I chose Vera:  Yesterday, we had heavy rains; puddles and even mini-ponds lined the streets and roads, not to mention the paths.  Vera has fenders, with a flap on the front.

A gray glacier of clouds crept across the sky; after riding along the World's Fair Marina and Flushing Bay to Fort Totten, drops of rain stuttered across my skin as I ascended Bell Boulevard to Northern Boulevard, where I turned left and rode across a roadway that slices through a tidal marsh to Nassau County, where I followed no planned route.

So I found myself pedaling through shopping centers, suburban subdivision, country clubs and a couple of parks that had something resembling nature in them.  Finally, I found myself on a road that twisted through a wooded area--not exactly a virgin forest, but green nonetheless:  actually, quite soothing under the cloud cover that seemed to follow me, even if it didn't spill any more rain.

From Cyclopology

I knew, generally--though not specifically--where I was.  That is to say, I knew I was somewhere in the middle of Long Island, probably heading south or east, but to where I didn't know.  If I was lost, it wasn't such a big deal: I could get only so lost.  If I rode south for a few miles, I'd reach the ocean; if I pedaled east, it would take me a good bit longer to reach the Atlantic. (That's why it's called Long Island!)  And if I went west, I'd be in the general direction of home; going north would take me back to, well, the North Shore, where I could turn left and head in the direction of my apartment.

The real reason I was riding, though, wasn't to explore or get lost--or to challenge myself. (The wind would do that for me when I pedaled into it on my way home!)  Instead, I was riding with the echo, if you will, of a conversation I had last night with someone I hadn't talked to in a few years.  There was no "falling out" or other rupture in our friendship; life had just taken us in different directions for a while.  

We actually worked together for a time; neither of us is at that job anymore.  She decided to return to school and is almost done with the coursework for her PhD and, luckily, found work that allowed her to support herself.  But, along the way, she broke up with the fiance she had the last time we talked.

I, too, ended a relationship I was in at the time.  But mine didn't end as amicably as hers; it couldn't have.  She knew that and asked, several times, how I'm doing.  Better than I was in that relationship, I said.  

"Good.  Don't look back."

"I don't."

The funny thing is, the tears that rolled down my cheeks as I descended from the ridges in the center of the island to the South Shore weren't for him, or for what knowing him cost me (two jobs and an apartment)--or about what it took to get him out of my life.  I am happier in my current job than I was in the ones I lost.  

And, to answer another question my friend asked, I am finally working, again, on a book I started writing years ago--even before I knew her.  "Great!  You're going to be all right!", she intoned.

I hope she's right.  No, I take that back.  I know she's right.  I have no idea of how that book will turn out, but I know I have no choice but to write it.  When I started it, I was a different person, living a different life--literally.   But I know I was carrying much of what's in that book--at least in its current state--long before I started to write it.  

She understands:  She is a writer, too.

"Just keep writing it.  You'll be fine."


That is how I felt while riding today.  I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I'd be fine.  Whether or not by design or choice, where I'd been had gotten me to where I was.  All of it:  All of my rides, all of my work, all of those days and years I lived a life not quite my own and, finally, in a relationship with someone who, just as I was claiming my own self and life, almost kept me from living it.

The road that had gotten me to today's ride: My old friend reminded me of it, and why I continue--even if I don't know where the ride, the journey, continues or ends.

Has any racer ever thought of his or her ride that way?

Would You Buy A Used Bike From These Guys?

Would you take investing and financial advice from Bernie Madoff?

You probably think that question is rhetorical, or a smart-ass answer to a stupid question.  Or a joke.

Then again, Will Rogers once said, "The problem with practical jokes is that they very often get elected".  Or that they're like fiction:  Reality is even stranger and funnier.

I was reminded of that last truism after reading a Business Insider article someone sent to me.

By now, you have heard the sordid saga of Lance Armstrong. The world needs no more commentary on it, so I will offer none.

What I will mention, however, is that pretty much everyone who ever rode with him on the US Postal Team has admitted to some level involvement or another in doping.  Some of them say that Lance, in essence, bullied them into it.  

Whether or not that was true--or whether "everyone else was doing it" (My last boyfriend used to say that whenever I caught him lying or showing his lack of integrity in any other way!), the image of those riders, the team--and, to some, the entire sport of bicycle racing--has been tarnished, to say the least.

"Le train bleu":  The US Postal Service Team in the 2000 Tour de France.  The "train" was running on...

Knowing that, if you were an aspiring racer--or simply someone who wanted to get into peak physical condition without joining the Marine Corps--would you hire Levi Leipheimer, Kevin Livingston, Tyler Hamilton or Tom Danielson?

Apparently, some people have answered that question, "Why not?"  Danielson haswritten a book on training for cycling and owns a company that runs training camps for cyclists.  Livingston runs such a company--located in the basement of Mellow Johnny's Bicycle Shop, owned by none other than Lance.  (Really, you can't make this stuff up!) Hamilton manages a like company--and sells real estate.  And Leipheimer is a cycling coach who also makes promotional videos.

Maybe you wouldn't take their advice if you want to win races--by the rules, anyway.  Perhaps you would prefer the advice of an admitted doper who's become an anti-doping advocate.  If that's the case, Jonathan Vaughters is your man.  He now manages Cannondale Pro Cycling, a team competing in the TDF.  And you thought it was all about the bikes?

 All right.  Perhaps you're not interested in becoming a racer--or willing to take the advice of the guys I've just mentioned.  But you might want to listen to what Frankie Andreu and Christian van de Velde have to say about the race you're watching.  Yep, that's what those guys are doing now:  They're commentators on broadcasts of races.

Now, if you're the sort of person that believes it's all about what you wear, you might want to look up George Hincapie.  Lance's most loyal teammate and trusted lieutenant now runs a cycling-apparel company.  Hmm...I wonder whether those jerseys have special compartments.  

Whatever the design of those jerseys, there's no point to them unless they're mated with a great pair of shorts.  Of course, even the best of shorts will get uncomfortable if you ride as long and hard as, and in the conditions, those guys rode. Dave Zabriskie has just what you need:  chamois cream. 

He just happens to run a company that makes it.  I would love to see the list of ingredients.  If one of them is, uh, shall we say,  a substance that's legal for medical purposes in a few states (including Colorado), Floyd's of Leadville should carry it.  Yes, you guessed it:  Zabriskie's and Lance's old teammate, Floyd Landis (who had his 2006 TDF title stripped over doping allegations) started the business, which sells cannabis products.

I wish the Presidential campaign could offer such mirth!

If He Hollers, Let Him Squall

I haven't spent a lot of time around antique dealers.  (I guess I hang with the wrong crowd.  Oh well.)  From my limited contact with them, my image conforms to the stereotype:  very discreet and low-key, always speaking in restrained, if not hushed, tones.

Those of you who spend a lot of time around antique dealers might say that I have indeed been hanging with the wrong crowd--of antique dealers.  For all I know, there might be loud, extroverted sellers of paintings and family heirlooms.  They might be the ones catering to the nouveau riche rather than the haut bourgeiosie.

I was just riding through a neighborhood where those two worlds meet--at Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, where Brooklyn Heights meets Boerum and Cobble Hills.  By the looks of things, the latter two neighborhoods are well on their way from becoming nouveau to haute.  (The Heights has been HB for a while.)  The antique shop on the corner where I stopped for a traffic light looked like it was catering more to the haut crowd, at least from what I saw through the window.  But then I saw this sign hanging above it:

Holler & Squall?  Two things I would never expect an antique dealer to do.  I'm not sure I'd want anyone to do either if I were handing over large sums of money for an irreplaceable object.

At least I could laugh openly when I saw that sign.  I had to suppress my laughter when I was writing for a newspaper and interviewed a police commander named Lawless.  (Really!)  Or a veterinarian named Barker--or a psychiatrist named Looney.

Maybe one of these days I'll take a ride back to the antique shop and see whether anyone hollers or squalls.  Of course, I won't go on a bike named Squeak.

Bike Shares-- And Social Class?

Yesterday, I wrote about the bike-share program that begins today in Los Angeles.  I was happy to learn that such a program is commencing in one of the first cities people associate with the automobile.  And I found it interesting, to say the least, that city officials hope that the bike-share program will help to bolster ridership in the city's Metro system, which has been on the decline.

If that goal is realized, it will buck trends seen in other cities that have bike-share programs.  In some places, like Washington DC, those who commute on share bikes are using them in lieu of subways and buses, not automobiles.  

Although I have not seen such data for my hometown, New York, I would suspect something similar is happening.  After all, the commuter who is most likely to ride a Citibike--or to be a bike commuter--lives somewhere in Manhattan below 125th Street, or in Astoria (where I live), Long Island City, Greenpoint, Williamsburg or other Brooklyn or Queens neighborhoods just across the East River from the United Nations.

Before they started riding bikes to work, those commuters were probably taking the subways, which bisect their neighborhoods. If they work in downtown or Midtown Manhattan, they would have been riding the subway for only a few stops:  fifteen or twenty minutes, no more than half an hour.

In contrast, someone who drives to work--or takes one of the express buses or trains--probably lives further away, in southern and eastern Queens neighborhoods like Bayside or Cambria Heights or southern Brooklyn areas such as Mill Basin or Dyker Heights.  Or they live outside city limits altogether.  Typically, those who drive to work or are taking the Long Island Rail Road (Yes, it's spelled as two words!) or Metro North have commutes of an hour or more each way.  Needless to say, few of them are going to start riding bicycles to work, even if Citibike installs ports in front of their houses!

Now, some of those commuters--particularly those who live on the North Shore of Nassau County or in certain parts of Westchester and Bergen counties--are rich. But most are middle- or working- class people who live in those areas because they simply could never afford a house, or even an apartment, big enough for their families in Manhattan or the nearby Brooklyn and Queens neighborhoods.   More than a few of them are contractors or have other kinds of businesses that requir them to haul a lot of equipment into, and out of, Manhattan or the areas near it.   I am not a sociologist, but I feel confident in concluding, from my own observations, that most such commuters are not cyclists.

I mention all of these things because reading about the launch of the LA bike share program got me to thinking about things I've noticed during the three decades I've been cycling in New York.  As I've mentioned in other posts, back in the mid-'80s, the neighborhoods that now comprise what I call Hipster Hook were mostly blue-collar, white-ethnic enclaves (Greeks and Italians in Astoria, Poles and Irish in Greenpoint, for example).  In those neighborhoods, people simply didn't ride bikes once they were old enough to drive. (Many never rode bikes, period.)  Very often, I would ride along the East River and New York Bay from Astoria Park all the way to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge--or even to Coney Island--without encountering another cyclist.

People who rode for fun, or even to commute, lived mainly in places like Greenwich Village, the Upper East and West Sides and Park Slope.  Those were home mainly to single people or young couples with varying amounts of disposable income--and without children.  Most didn't live far from where they worked, or they were artists or independent business people of one kind or another.  

In those days, the blue-collar and middle-class people I've described rarely, if ever, encountered cyclists--or anyone--from the milieu I described in the previous paragraph. But, as places like Williamsburg started to fill up with trust-fund kids on fixed-gear bikes, older and poorer residents looked at them as "privileged children" who were "taking over" their streets and sidewalks--and other public spaces.

Thus, older residents started to equate bicycles with privilege.  I guess it's easy to resent someone who looks like he or she is having fun--and is younger and fitter than you--when you're fighting traffic (or the crowds on the buses and trains)  to get to and from a job you hate so that you can pay for things your kids don't appreciate.  

I can't help but to notice that any time people express their displeasure over new bike lanes that take away one of the lanes on which they were accustomed to driving, or when a Citibike port appears on their block, they say that the city is catering to "privileged children".  Yes, they--as often as not--use that phrase.

I guess that, even at my age, I am one of the "privileged children"!

Joking aside, I got to thinking about the experiences and observations I've described when I learned that LA city officials hope that the new bike share program will bring riders back to the Metro system.  What I found especially revealing is the finding that one cause of the decline in Metro ridership is gentrification:  working- and middle-class families are being priced out of the areas that offer mass transportation.  So, while I hope the new bike share program is successful, I can't help but to wonder how it will entice people who've had to move further away from their jobs--and, possibly, had to take second jobs--to ride bicycles to a Metro system--or jobs--that are further away from wherever they were living before they were dispalced.

In brief, I couldn't help but to wonder whether the LA Bike Share program--or, more important, the hope that it will bring people back to the Metro--might reveal, or magnify, social and economic class differences in the way people commute.  

LA Bike Share Launches: Will It Save The Metro?

New York, my home town, is known as the City That Never Sleeps.

Los Angeles, on the other hand, has been called The Place Where Nobody Walks.

Like most labels, neither is completely true, though there is at least a kernel of truth to both.  About the Big Apple:  I know that at least one person sleeps because, well, at my age, it's harder to stay up at all hours than it was in my youth.  It's been a while since I've been to the City of Angels, but as I recall, it's not as conducive to pedestrians as, say, Paris. (Then again, how many cities are?)  And I don't recall seeing other cyclists when I rode there.  For that matter, I don't recall seeing anyone else walking on the Walk of Fame when I walked it. (OK, now you know another one of my dim, dark secrets! ;-))

Now, if any of you are reading this blog from Southern California, please don't hate on me.  I'll admit that I preferred San Francisco (and, hey, how can you not prefer the Central Coast to almost any other coastal area?), but I found things to like about the LA area, even though family members I didn't want to see were living there the last time I stayed.

Anyway...Something interesting is happening in one of the first metropolises to be developed for and around the automobile. (According to at least one history I've read, the motel was invented there.)  Could it really be that Angelenos are giving up their automobiles?  Might people go motorless in Santa Monica?

Well, perhaps things won't go that way just yet.  However, an idea that's taken hold in other cities around the world is about to come LA's way.

Tomorrow, the City of Los Angeles and Metro, its mass-transit authority, are launching a bike-share program.  About 1000 bikes will be available in 65 locations around the downtown area, including Union Station, City Hall, the Convention Center, Chinatown, the Arts District, Little Tokyo and the Fashion District. 

 Many of the bike ports will be close to Metro rail and bus stations.  This is not surprising when one considers that in other places, like Manhattan, people ride share bikes to subway and bus stations or from suburban commuter lines.  However, the reason why LA Metro bikes will be so placed is one I have never heard before:  Officials want to use the bike share program to not only reduce the number of automobile trips, but also to increase Metro ridership.

According to at least one report, the number of people who ride the buses (which comprise about 75 percent of the Metro system) and trains has been declining.  A number of factors have been cited, including fare hikes.  Interestingly, one reason given for the decline has been gentrification.  Working-class families are being priced out some neighborhoods that offer convenient mass transportation.  So, they have to move further away from their jobs, often to areas that don't have mass transportation.  They may also have to take on an additional job. Getting to either or both on time via mass transit--even if it is available--is often difficult, if not impossible.  Thus, another car is part of the next jam on the 10 Freeway.

This scenario contrasts with what has happened in other cities, like New York, where gentrification has actually contributed to increases in mass-transit ridership and may have saved previously-moribund lines from shutting down.





If the bike share system actually increases Metro ridership, it will create another contrast between Los Angeles and other cities with bike share programs.  In Washington DC, as an example, commuters are using the bike share program instead of the rail and bus lines.  In one way, that is not necessarily a negative development, as the rail lines are congested and there is neither the space nor the money to build new ones.  But is it a harbinger for what could happen in Los Angeles?

Whatever the case, I am glad that the Los Angeles bike share program is set to launch tomorrow.  If it gets more people on bikes, it's a success.  And if it can get people out of their cars, so much the better.

The Ice Man Cometh--On A Bike!

Yesterday I managed to slip out for a ride before meeting a friend for dinner and to watch the fireworks.

So what, exactly, did I have to escape from in order to get on my bike?  Well, none other than Max and Marlee.  Who says humans are the only creatures who don't know how to let go?

Anyway, I had no particular destination in mind.  Perhaps the only real intention I had was to avoid beach areas, because I knew that they were crowded.  That turned out to be a good choice:  I had most of the Queens and Brooklyn streets to myself!

I did find myself just up the street (Rockaway Parkway) from the Canarsie Pier. But I didn't go to the pier because it was packed with families and other groups cooking burgers, 'dogs and chicken wings on little grills.  Everything smelled good, even mixed with the aromas of beer and other kinds of alcohol.  

So, I made a U-turn and pedaled through a soundscape of liliting Caribbean music and accents along Canarsie side streets, and along Rockaway Avenue (almost traffic-free) to Brownsville, Ocean Hill and Bedford-Styvesant--areas of Brooklyn hipsters and gentrification still haven't found (though that could change very, very soon!).  Soon, I found myself in the tatoo capital of the Western world--Wilson Avenue in Bushwick.  There, I stopped at a shaved-ice cart, where I asked the man to make me a cone (paper) of ice con citron y cereza--with lemon and cherry syrups.  

I actually wante that cone.  But buying it was also a pretext for talking to the man about his cart.  

He says he made the cart, and attached the bicycle, himself.  It's easier and faster to move that way than it is to push the cart around while on foot.  Also, he doesn't have to worry about parking, as he would if he were driving the cart.

And, yes, that ice hit the spot.

Happy Fourth Of July. Be Safe!

I am going to share a secret with you:  It's my birthday.  Really!  

Oh, yeah, it's also the birthday of the country in which I was born, raised and have spent most of my life.  Whether or not you celebrate--or whether it's just another day wherever you are, I hope you enjoy it.  And, please, don't try this:

From World of Bikes, Iowa City

I mean, maybe I don't do enough night riding. But don't you think that's going just a bit far to get get a good bicycle lighting system--one that will actually allow you to be seen by drivers?  

A Great Ride, "In Spite Of"

Sometimes we say that a ride was good or great "in spite of"...the rain...the wind...the cloud cover...the traffic...the flat or mechanical malfunction...the fill-in-the-blank.

Yesterday's ride was one of those rides.   I didn't experience any disasters or mishaps.  And while the temperature reached 28C (82F) in the middle of the afternoon, it never seemed that warm.  Heavy rains the other night dissipated the humidity, and the bright sunshine forecast for the day was muted, at various times, by a scrim--sometimes a curtain--of clouds.  As much as I love sunshine, I appreciate such movements of clouds, especially when they don't bring any threat of rain with them.   After all, one thing cycling--or anything else--will never cure is my, ahem, melanin deficiency!

Image by John Hart.  From the Centre for Sports Engineering Research at Sheffield Hallam University (UK).

Anyway...the one complaint I could have made was the wind.  In that regard, this year has been very strange:  March, supposedly the windiest month, didn't seem particularly so, but every month since then has brought us more steady streams, and even gusts, than the one before.

And so it was yesterday.  I decided to take, intead of an "out and back" ride, one in which the route away from home would be different from the one that brought me back.  It wasn't quite a circular ride:  If anything, if I were to draw it on a map, it would probably be shaped more like an almond or an eye socket.

That was interesting and rewarding.  And, for most of the way out, I pedaled against the wind, sometimes gusting to 50 KPH (30 MPH).  Normally, I don't mind that, for it means--in most circumstances--that I would have the wind at my back on the way home.

Except that it didn't happen that way.  You guessed it:  I spent most of the trip home pedaling into wind just as strong as what I encountered on the way out.  I know that sometimes the wind shifts direction during the course of the day.  I also know that in particular locations, even ones only an hour's bike ride apart, the wind can blow in a different direction.  (Believe it or not, in the NYC Metro area, we have micro-climates, even within Manhattan!)  So, the plan of riding into the wind so you can let it carry you home works, except when it doesn't.

Arielle

But I didn't mind.  All told, I rode about 130 kilometers (80 miles) on Arielle, my Mercian Audax.  With a name like that, you know she rides like the wind!  Now you know why I had a great ride, "in spite of"!