Beach Walkers, Sheep Dogs, Marc Anthony And The Prince

Mornings fill with one commitment or another.  So, for me, it's a good thing the days are getting longer: On an afternoon ride, I can look forward to more hours of daylight. I don't avoid riding in the dark altogether, but I really prefer to ride in daylight, especially in heavily-trafficked or unfamiliar areas.

On Friday, I started another 120 km Point Lookout ride after midday--at 1:45 pm, to be exact.  That meant my last hour or so of riding was in darkness.  But I was treated to some light and vivid or stark, depending on your point of view, colors by the sea.

The public beach and playground area of Point Lookout are closed to repair erosion and prevent more of the same.  But I ventured on to a nearby side-street where, surprisingly, the gate was open to an area normally restricted to residents.  A couple of people--one a man walking an English Sheepdog, another an elderly woman--passed me on their way out.  Both greeted me warmly and didn't seem to care (or know) that I don't live in the area.  

I think people who are out walking the beach on a chilly, windy day have respect for anyone else who's doing the same.

On Saturday, I got on, La-Viande, my King of Mercia, with no particular destination in mind.  I found myself wandering along the North Shore from the Malcolm X Promenade (Flushing Bay Marina) to Fort Totten, where I took a turn down to Cunningham Park and Nassau County, where I pedaled down to Hewlett (part of the Five Towns and up through the town of Hempstead, which contains more contrasts in wealth and poverty, and residential grandeur and squalor, than any place in the area besides New York City itself.

As I saw the blue sky tinge with orange, I started toward home--or so I thought.  Instead, I found myself wandering through suburban developments that gave way to the SUNY-Old Westbury campus and long lanes lined with mansions and horse farms.  I saw a sign announcing that I'd entered Brookville--which, it turns out, is home to Marc Anthony and Prince Felix of Luxembourg.

I didn't take any photos on my Saturday ride because my battery had less power than I thought and I wanted to save it for an emergency that, thankfully, didn't happen.  But I had forgotten, until that ride, how such a rural setting could be found only 50 kilometers from my apartment!

And I ended my day with that ride--and the day before with a ride to an "exclusive" beach.  

What's Your Tune?

Do you sing while you ride?

Or do you ring a bell (or bang a gong)? 

Bike Across "Bago

Eight years ago, the Winter Olympics were held in Sochi--which has a climate more like that of the coastal Carolinas or Georgia than what one might associate with Russia.  And this year's games are in Beijing, which receives little, if any, snow in any given year.

You almost have to wonder whether or not some winter sports will continue, what with climate change.  I mean, if glaciers are melting in polar regions and the world's highest mountain ranges, how long will folks in places l wonder how long people in the more temperate regions will be able to enjoy skiing, skating, ice fishing and the like.

Some folks in Wisconsin say as much. They worry that shorter, warmer winters could result in less snow and thinner ice covers on the area's lakes.  But they also seem intent on enjoying as much as they can for as long as they can, and adapting wherever necessary.

Case in point:  Bob Dohr and Keith Uhlig, participants in "Bike Across 'Bago," an "informal, mostly-annual" event organized through Fox Cities Cycling Association. Actually, as Uhlig writes, "organized isn't quite the right word."  On its Facebook page, the FCCA tells cyclists that the safest route across the lake has been scouted and marked.  (Ice on any lake is never completely safe. But the folks who mark the route ensure that it's as safe as it can be.) 

Photo by Bob Dohr, for USA Today Network-Wisconsin

So what is it like?  Keith writes that the scene on Lake Winnebago was "otherworldly."  He "couldn't tell where the ice ended and the sky began."  It warps your perspective because "there is no color out there." But "like an excellent black and white movie, the grays take on a beautiful nuance of their own, and you begin to revel in that weird desolation."

From what he says, it seems that slipping and falling is an all-but-inevitable part of the ride. But there is the inevitable "feeling of victory" when "the dark line of a distant shore appears." 

I've never biked on ice, but I hope that, for their sake (and, perhaps, mine--some day!) that the winter doesn't completely disappear!

 

What Are They Really Trying To Stop?

Is it really a public-safety issue?

Nithya Raman thinks not.  She joined three fellow Los Angeles City Council members in voting against a motion to draft a law that would prohibit the repair or sale of bicycles on city sidewalks.  

But ten other councilmembers, including mayoral candidate Joe Buscaino, out-voted them.  One of their reasons, they claim, is that the folks who fix or sell bikes create hazards by blocking the sidewalks.  While that is a legitimate concern, Raman thinks it's not the real reason for the motion.  After all, as she points out, there is already an ordinance against unnecessary obstruction of sidewalks.

Those "no" voters also don't believe another stated reason for the motion, voiced by Busciano:  It would be a way of combating bike theft.

That claim is specious at best and simply dishonest bigoted at worst.  

While some of the bikes might well be stolen, that is usually impossible to prove because, for one thing, many thefts go unreported.  Perhaps more important, most stolen bikes are never seen or heard from again by their owners or anyone else.  Part of the reason for that is that bikes are often end up in "chop shops."  But another, and possibly more important reason, is that most law enforcement agencies simply don't take bike theft seriously.

I think the real reason anyone is calling for a law against repairing or selling bikes on sidewalks is that many who engage in such activities are un-housed*--and people of color.  The bikes are usually fixed and sold where those people live--under bridge and highway underpasses, for example.  One of those denizens, Denise Johnson, points out that many of those bikes--like the ones her husband assembles and she sells--are built and fixed from salvaged bikes and parts.  

Denise Johnson, with bike frame and parts her husband will assemble.  Photo by Genaro Molina, for the Los Angeles Times. 

She might've echoed what Pete White, the executive director of Los Angeles Community Action Network, said about the proposed ban.  He believes it's "a facial attempt to declutter 'targeted sidewalks' but whose real goal is to banish homeless people from their community."  In other words, it's a version of the now-discredited "broken windows" philosophy of crime-fighting.  

The most obvious explanation for the motion is political:  It's hard not to think that Buscaimo is using it to score points in his mayoral campaign.  The cynic in me says that it's another way for the police to avoid actually dealing with bike theft as the serious crime it is. (The monetary value of some bikes alone should merit attention; more important is that, for many owners, our bikes are as important as cars and other vehicles are to their owners.)  Also,  I can't help but to think that it's a way for law-enforcement to go after the "low-hanging fruit" of cyclists and un-housed people:  It's easier to demand proof that someone  owns the bike on which they're fixing a flat, or to chase people who sleep in bus shelters, than it is to go after a motor-scooter or car driver who runs red lights or hedge funds that operate "dark stores." 

*--Herein, I will no longer refer to people who live on streets or in other public places as "homeless."  The bridge, highway and trestle underpasses, bus shelters and other places where they sleep and keep their stuff are, in essence, their homes.  It can thus be argued that many such people have formed communities of one kind or another.

Great Chain Robbery

 Just after Hurricane Katrina, I talked with Bill Laine, the now-retired owner of New Orleans-based Wallingford Bikes.  

Katrina devastated the city, prompting an unprecedented total evacuation. Some folks defied the order and took advantage of the desolation by looting homes, stores and warehouses.

Bill explained that his business was spared because, he thought, thieves probably were looking for bikes but found saddles (The biggest part of their trade was in Brooks), bags and other parts and accessories.

These days, thieves know better. COVID-19 pandemic-induced shortages have affected bike parts as well as complete bikes.  One result has been a spike in bike thefts as well as burglaries and robberies of bike shops. 

Some seemingly-professional thieves in Germany have moved up the food chain, if you will. As a truck driver took a break at a rest stop, a well-organized gang released sleeping gas into the vehicle’s cab and raided the trailer filled with Shimano parts destined for BFI, the Czech Republic’s largest bike producer.

One particularly disturbing aspect of this crime, as a BFI spokesperson explained, is that it seemed to be intricately pre-planned to the point that “in all likelihood, the truck had been followed from the time it was loaded.” Also alarming is that the thieves knew what they were looking for: They left nine boxes of low-end parts but took the more expensive components.

This story reminds me of something I reported when I was writing for local Queens and Brooklyn newspapers:  Car thieves were turning their attention away from luxury vehicles in affluent neighborhoods to good, solid everyday cars like the Toyota Camry in middle- and working-class neighborhoods.  Those cars were targeted because they proved more lucrative when sold to “chop shops” for parts.

A Guide Against The Wind

Yesterday afternoon I had some time.  There were things that had to be done, but as long as they got done when they needed to be done, it wouldn't matter when I started working on them.  I guess that's a definition of having, if not free, then flexible time.

Since you're reading this blog, you know what I did.  Of course.  This time, though, an hour or two in early-to-mid-afternoon stretched into, well, very late afternoon. That may have had to do with having the wind at my back and mild (at least in comparison to the past week or so) temperatures as I pedaled down through Queens to Rockaway Beach.  

Of course, when I'm riding with the wind, I know that I'll have to pedal against it to get home.  But I was feeling so good that I just wanted to keep on going.  Which I did---to Point Lookout.  

I hadn't planned to go swimming.  Still, it was a bit of a surprise to see the beach closed, even if it was for work to ensure that the beach is still there in the future.  

So I hung out for a bit by the bocce court.  In contrast to the boardwalks of the Rockaways, Atlantic Beach and Long Beach, where I saw more people than I expected, I had the court and playground all to myself.

By the court, there are stones commemorating family messages and with messages of hope.  I couldn't help but to notice the juxtaposition of these stones:

The one on the left reads, "Mangia bene, Ridi spesso, Ama molto"--Eat well, laugh often, love much. Will those things lead to, or result from, the top-notch lawn care in the slate on the right.  

Even though I was pedaling along a route I've ridden many times before, I felt as if I were being guided to, or through, something--the wind that had grown stiffer, perhaps--along the Rockaway Boardwalk.

As I photographed sun rays coruscating through clouds, I chanted some lines from the Sardinian writer Salvatore Quasimodo:  

M'illumno 

d'immenso.

Maybe that should be engraved in one of those stones by the bocce court on Point Lookout.

Ride Noir?

I ride in the rain, sometimes.  The cold, too.  But rain and cold together is a no-go for me, unless a ride starts off without one or both but they converge somewhere along the way.

Most of yesterday moved through cycles of rain and freezing rain.  I had a class and other commitments, so I didn’t mind.  Fortunately, the rain stopped near the end of the day and the temperature seemed to rise a bit. So I decided to take a short ride.

Mist rising from the river to the bridge made Astoria Park feel a bit like the setting for a noir film.  So I wasn’t surprised to see a film or television crew. (I didn’t ask; they looked focused on task.) 

I’m curious to see how they use those vistas—and whether they took a shot of a latter-day Weegee on a Mercian fixie!

Winter Vista On A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Yesterday the temperature rose into the balmy (at least for those of you in places like North Dakota) 20's, or around -5C.  So I went for an afternoon ride which, among other things, zigzagged the border between Brooklyn and Queens.

The border between the US and Canada has a Peace Garden.  Probably the closest thing our interborough boundary has is Highland Park, with the Ridgewood Reservoir as its centerpiece.

Somehow it feels even more like a reflection of deep winter than all of the displays or any day-after-snowstorm vista in this city.

I usually see at least a couple of cyclists there. Yesterday I was riding solo, though I saw a fair number of people walking their dogs, or with each other. Some looked happy to be there, but others eyed me, and other strollers, with suspicion, as if we'd intruded on their own private Idaho, if you will.

I can't say I blame them.  I know I've referred to Highland Park as our local Montmartre for its location on the highest point in the area and the views it offers.  Of course, it doesn't have the onion-domed cathedral (my favorite building in Paris) and I reckon that fewer people visit the park in a year than visit one of the most iconic places in the City of Light in a year.

It's kind of ironic that in writing about it on this blog, I'm more likely to tip off someone in Belleville or Berlin than the folks in Bensonhurst or Belle Harbor about a place where I go for a quick ride and the cheapest form of therapy (along with  a cuddle from Marlee) I know about.

  

WWMS: What Would Marshall Say?

 Marshall McLuhan famously said, “The medium is the message.” 

What would he have thought of this?:

I encountered it while riding down Driggs Avenue, one of the north-south thoroughfares of northern Brooklyn. The corner gifted with that message is South 2nd Street, just a couple of blocks from the bridge named for the neighborhood.

Given that Williamsburg, Brooklyn (at least the part north of the bridge) is the world’s capital of trust fund kids posing as hipsters, I have to wonder whether it’s one of their lame attempts at being “ironic.”

C-L: A Classic

 A few years ago, Andy Richman resurrected a classic name in British cycling:  Chater-Lea.  It had shuttered its factory and offices three decades earlier.  

From 1890 until its demise, the company made components and frame fittings that were, arguably, of superior quality to anything else made.  Indeed, when Richman persuaded the owner of Condor cycles to sell him a 1948 Condor frame, the owner remarked, "You do know there's only one set of components worthy of going on this bike? Chater-Lea."

That meant, among other things, that their stuff wasn't cheap. Lower-priced imports, along with the rise of the motorcar, helped to fuel the company's decline.  Also, as well-made as their products were, late in their history, they didn't keep up with changes in the cycling world.  For example, they never produced a cotterless chainset (what the Brits call a "crankset") or bottom bracket and clipless pedals would displace high-end traditional cage or platform pedals on the kinds of bikes that would have been adorned with Chater-Lea stuff.

But Ron Kitching, whose catalogues were eagerly awaited by cycling enthusiasts for decades, blamed the company's demise on another factor: By the 1960's Raleigh had achieved a near-monopoly on the British cycle industry, which allowed it to force down suppliers' prices and put many out of business.

I am glad Richman decided to resurrect a part of cycling history, albeit with somewhat updated designs and superior materials.  In keeping with one of the company's traditions, the new Chater-Lea parts have their own distinctive looks, just as the old stuff did.

Notice the "CL" embedded within the pattern.  It's kind of funny that people pay insane amounts of money to wear a designer's initials (or waste their money on knock-offs that begin to fall apart the moment they've paid for it).  But somehow I wouldn't mind bearing the monogram of Chater-Lea if I were riding a bike with its equipment.  

Will Bicycles To Bring Them Back To Buffalo?

For at least a couple of decades, young people, particularly the educated ones, have gravitated toward cities like San Francisco, New York, Boston and Washington, DC.  All of them--with the possible exception of Washington, government basically is the economy--are what might be called "post-industrial" cities, where the chips and digits have largely replaced furnaces and smokestacks.

Buffalo, in media depictions and the public imagination, is anything but such a city.  It might one of the "poster children," along with Detroit and smaller cities like Youngstown, Ohio and Gary, Indiana, for what is commonly known as a "Rust Belt" community.  Because they have--or are perceived to offer--few opportunities, the educated and ambitious young rarely move to them, in spite of other attractions and resources some offer, not the least of which is housing (and an overall cost of living) that are a fraction of that in the coastal metropoli.

That incentive could become more powerful if the trend toward working at home continues.  But most such cities and towns will need to offer even more, such as cultural events and lifestyle amenities.  In the latter category is something I'll mention in a minute and relates to one of the disincentives to move to some place like Rochester, New York.

The home of Kodak was the smallest city in America with a subway line until 1956, when the downtown track beds were used to construct sections of two Interstate highways.  Other "rust belt" cities suffered similar fates when the Interstate system was built and automobile companies bought subway and trolley systems to destroy them and eliminate competition. (Buses, or at least the parts for them, were made by the auto companies.)

Buffalo had a similar story.  Ironically, it has a subway system "from nowhere to nowhere" that was built during the 1980s.  But, in a similar way to Rochester and other cities, it had a system of streetcar (tram) lines that connected different parts of the city and the city itself to some surrounding communities from the 1830s until 1950.  

I mention this history because it points to a disadvantage many of many "Rust Belt" cities:  the lack of a transportation system, whether because, like Rochester and Buffalo, it was disbanded or because the city never had one in the first place.

So, some folks in Buffalo--specifically, the Buffalo News editorial board--understand that making their city more bicycle-friendly might help to lure some young residents.  They seem to understand that many of us (OK, I'm not as young as the folks they probably have in mind!) bike to work, school or shop simply because it's often the most convenient or even fastest, not to mention the least expensive (aside from walking) way to go.  

Go Bike Buffalo members painting arrows for the area's first protected bike lane--which lasted only a year due to protests from motorists.  Photo by John Hickey for the Buffalo News.

Perhaps even more to the point, they understand that there's more to  making their city more amenable to young cyclists than building bike lanes. They also mention that such efforts must include "re-educating resistant drivers and residents who think the roads are theirs, alone" (That's the first time I've seen a comma used in such a contenxt in a long time!) or people who "don't see the advantages of creating spaces that might attract new, younger residents."

The folks at the Buffalo News sum up their case thusly:  "Making the roads safer for cyclists makes it safe for everyone, improves the quality of life and atracts young people to the area."

They won't get any argument from me.  I just hope Buffalo doesn't become Williamsburg-on-the-Niagara, complete with $15 slices of avocado toast and $25 craft beers.

 

Here's What You Need To Climb The Next Hill

Racers and cycling's trendistas (who generally spend more than they ride) have long been obsessed with having the lightest bikes and equipment possible because they've bought into the notion that lighter=faster.  Now, it's true that a lighter bike is easier to accelerate, all other things being equal.  However, once a bike reaches a given speed, a heavier bike will maintain its speed with less input from the rider: This phenomenon is known as momentum.  But it will also decelerate at a faster rate because of headwinds or other factors.

Anyway, during the 1970s and early 1980s, the obsession with weight led to a fad called "drillium."  It's what it sounds like:  holes were drilled (or slots were cut) into parts to reduce weight.  In most cases, the mass saved--a couple of grams, usually--wouldn't make any difference for any rider save perhaps a time trialist.  

Interestingly, track riders--whom one would expect to be most obsessed with weight-- don't seem to have embraced the "holey" look as much as other riders.  did. If I'm not mistaken, NJS, the governing body for Japan's Keirin racing system, prohibits the practice. And when some companies offered pre-drilled or -slotted parts--like Campagnolo's brake levers--they were actually heavier, if ever so slightly, than their smooth-surfaced counterparts.  The reason, I was told by a company rep, is that the Campy used slightly thicker material to compensate for what they believed was a loss of strength that resulted from drilling or slotting.

That leads me to another point about "drillium:" the parts that were drilled or slotted were usually among the lightest to begin with.  As an example, I've seen Huret Jubilee derailleurs--to this day, the lightest made--with pinpoint apertures in it pulley cages. And the poked and gouged parts were almost always intended for racing.

So, I was surprised (even if I shouldn't have been) to come across this:

Now, the SunTour Vx-GT wasn't porky:  Even by today's standards, it's more than reasonably light for a rear derailleur that can handle a 34 tooth rear cog. (And, it shifted better than almost any other wide-range derailleur made before indexed shifting became the standard.) But that capacity is the main reason why racers and others who rode with narrow-range gearing didn't use it:  If they rode a derailleur from the Vx series, they used the shorter-caged version.

So...I guess someone thought he or she simply had to save weight on the rear derailleur to make up for something he or she carried in a pannier or handlebar bag.  It reminds me of someone I knew who made floats with Haagen-Dazs ice cream--and Diet Coke:  the lack of calories in the latter, she said, balanced out the abundance of same in the former.

What You See Depends On Your Vantage Point

 Philosophical question of the day:  Is a groundhog more likely to see his* shadow as an active cyclist

or as a passenger?

I ask because today the critters didn't get their stories straight:  Punxsawtney Phil, the most famous groundhog, saw his shadow, but our local forecaster, Staten Island Chuck, saw his.  According to Phil, there are still six more weeks of Winter, but Chuck says Spring is arriving early.

Which one glimpsed from the saddle, and which one got his view from a basket?

*--It seems that all of the groundhogs consulted for the seasonal forecast are male.  Does that mean that only they have the power to predict?  Or could it be that it's a big deal when they rise from hibernation because the females have been awake all along?

Helping Healers Stay Healthy

I have passed the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center many times, by bike and on foot.  Every time, I noticed two things:  few, if any, bikes parked in its vicinity--and how many people in lab coats or scrubs were smoking just outside its doors.

And I've been accused of "ignoring the risks" for cycling in Manhattan, and other parts of New York City. 

(For the record, I've never smoked, wear a helmet, am fully vaccinated and wear a mask when I'm within a couple of meters of any other person.)

Anyway, I have noticed more health-care workers of all kinds riding bicycles.  As a matter of fact, in the pandemic's early days, I gave the old Cannondale M300 mountain bike I fixed up to someone who works in Mount Sinai-Queens, a block and a half up the Crescent Street bike lane from my apartment. His is not the only bike I see parked in the racks outside the facilities.  

I mention all of this because I wonder whether what I'm experiencing and observing is indicative of wider trends, as they say in academic and marketing (!) circles. The question particularly interests me in light of a story that came my way:  the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Minnesota, has been named a Bronze-Level Bicycle Friendly Business by the League of American Bicyclists.  In conferring this designation, the LAB cited "improved bike racks, secure parking rooms and tips for employees to ensure a safe and secure ride to and from work" as bases for so categorizing the Mayo. 

We've all heard the admonition, "Healer, heal thyself" (Cura te ipsum.)  It looks like the Mayo is taking steps to encourage its employees to follow that nugget of wisdom.  I hope other health-care facilities are doing the same--which, I admit, can be a difficult thing to do when perhaps no other profession has so many stressed-out people, especially in a time like this.      

After A Snowstorm

From Friday night through Saturday, we in New York experienced one of the biggest snowstorms we've had in a while.

Now, if you live in a place like Vermont or Montana or the Alps, you might think it's funny that we'd make such a big deal about 30 centimeters (12 inches) of snow.  But city officials and media are expressing gratitude that the storm--which brought winds of up to 110 kph (70 mph) and a low temperature of -12C (10F)-came our way at the start of the weekend.

Because the temperature has remained well below freezing, the snow hasn't melted.  I have to wonder, then, how snow accumulates in the ways and places it does:

I also can't help but to wonder about vehicles parked on the street.  Are they parked with the knowledge of the approaching storm?  Or do people leave them, go and do wherever and whatever, and the weather just happens to turn:

Does anybody make knobby or studded tires for scooters?

Really, I Didn't Crash!

 In nearly half a century of cycling, I have had two incidents that sent me to the emergency room.  Both happened in 2020:  I was "doored" in October after suffering a "face plant" in June.  I hope not to endure anything like either of those accidents again (or something worse!).  But if I do--and I'm not seriously hurt--this is how I'll explain it:

As Kucharik Goes, So Has The World Of Bicycling Gone

Steel to aluminum to carbon.

Hand-built wheels to boutique wheelsets.

Hubs and freewheels to freehubs and cassettes.

Quill stems to threadless; threaded headsets to threadless.

The "baselines" for bikes and components have changed so much in the past couple of decades.  While some of those changes are beneficial to some cyclists, too many simply added cost and complication for others.

Those changes have also brought innovators and investors with deeper pockets than the mom-and-pop operations that dominated cycling until the 1980s.  One way you can see what I mean is to look at the sponsors of riders and teams:  Jerseys in the 1960s and 1970s bore the names of local or regional enterprises like Molteni and the bikes and components were made by companies (or sometimes individuals) that were involved mainly, or solely, in the bike industry.  Now bike and component makers tend to be parts of larger conglomerates, and sponsors include them as well as large companies (like Coca-Cola) that have little or nothing to do with the design or manufacture of bikes or parts.

Like all changes, the ones I've mentioned have brought casualties, if you will.  Some once-revered bike, component and accessory makers no longer fabricate their wares in Europe, Japan or the United States--or might build one or two of their most expensive models in their home country while outsourcing the manufacture of their mass-market goods to low-wage countries.  Still others are no longer in the bike business--or in business at all.  

And then there are smaller (what might be called "niche" in other industries) enterprises that ended when the main or sole proprietor--or even employee--retired, died or simply wouldn't or couldn't change with the rest of the industry.  I think in particular of small-scale frame builders like Ron Cooper and Brian Bayliss who had small but devoted followings.

Another change came with the ones I've mentioned. When I first became a dedicated cyclist, nearly half a century ago, high-mileage cyclists almost always wore wool--year round.  Those black shorts you see on cyclists from the 70s were made from it; so were there jerseys.   That, of course, is why bike kit of that time wasn't as flashy as today's:  Since colors and patterns have to be knit into wool, it's much more difficult (if not impossible) to include some of the intricate (or busy) graphics and loud colors you see on the "billboard" jerseys and matching shorts (or bibs) of today.      

During the North American Bike Boom of the 1970s, some companies got into the business of making bike clothing.  Most are gone now--offhand, I can think of Protogs and Weyless.  And there were the European, mostly Italian, makers. One reason the American apparel makers--aside from one I'll mention--didn't last more than a few years was that many cyclists had an attitude expressed by one shop employee I encountered:  "Buy right, buy Italian."  Also, Weyless (which made some nice components) claimed their wool clothes wouldn't shrink.  Well, shrink they did, and it's said that the warranty claims torpedoed a business that was already sinking as the tide of the Bike Boom receded. 

And, honestly, most of the Italian clothes fit (at least folks like me in those days) better. But one American company, almost entirely unknown save to dedicated cyclists, made wool shorts, jerseys, arm and leg warmers and other apparel that were better-constructed with higher-quality wool.

That company was based, seemingly incongruously, in Southern California.  Well, that location seems incongruous to anyone who doesn't understand wool:  Because it wicks moisture, it helps to keep you cooler.  And it keeps more of its insulating qualities than other materials when wet.  That is why it's been worn by people who live in areas that experience both extreme heat and cold, as well as other kinds of harsh weather.

John Kucharik Jr. has been extolling those virtues for the past 50 years.  He's about to turn 69 and, he says, he promised his wife they would "travel and do some stuff." So, although his company's sales grew during the pandemic, he is about to close the business his father, who died at age 93 in 2008, founded 88 years ago. 

That anyone can keep a business going for that long, with the family's surname, while making products that changed little, if at all, is an achievement.  And he's done it with the same workforce--seven people--for the past thirty years.  That, I think, may be a reason why he's closing up rather than selling out:  They're "my family," he says.  "I tell people:  They don't work for me; I work for them."

It will be sad to lose one of the last companies to make bike apparel from wool, or any other natural material (e.g., cotton and leather in the gloves).  But the cycling world will lose something else:  a place that repairs bike bibs, shorts and other items.  "I don't make money on repairs," Kucharik explains,  "I just do it because I do it.  My dad did it; I did it."  Their repairs include replacing or re-sewing pads and fixing zippers.  "[T]hese guys pay $200, $250, $300 for a bib short. They ride it once and they can't ride it again.  A bike shop doesn't want it back."  He said his shop was averaging about 40 such items--none made by his company--a week.

The closing of Kucharik Bicycle Clothing company also is another change in the bike industry.  Call me a cynic, but the more expensive bike clothes (and other items) become, the less durable they are.  And the bike industry has become more like the fashion industry and others in that it seems more oriented to affluent cyclists who won't ride a jersey, a pair of shorts or bibs--or a bike--for more than a season.

 

   

Barelli: Raising The Bar On The Hill

Throughout my life, I've read various books, poems and other works of literature that brought me into other worlds.  Among them are, of course, Shakespeare's plays and Charlotte Bronte's Villette (which I liked even better than Wuthering Heights). Currently, I'm reading Colson Whitehead's Nickel Boys, which brings me into yet another world I can scarcely imagine.

While it wasn't a work of great literature, in its own way the Palo Alto Bicycle catalogue did something similar for me.  Its pages were filled with images and descriptions of equipment even more exotic--and less affordable--than Campagnolo's.  At that time, I probably could've counted, on one hand, the number of Campy-equipped bikes ridden by people I actually knew.  So, in perusing the pages of PAB, I found myself imagining, not only the components themselves, but the folks who rode (or simply bought) them.

Among those parts were pedals that, to this day, I have not seen in "real life" but recently came across on eBay when I was looking for another part. In the mid-1970s, it seemed that every other cyclist with an engineering background, or simply a lathe, was trying to improve in one way or another in what they were spinning in races or club rides.  Among those folks were Bob Reedy, the folks at East Rochester Tool and Die--and Geoff Chapman.

A member of Cambridge (Town & County) Cycle Club in the UK, Chapman owned an engineering firm in nearby Bar Hill.   He would use a near-anagram of that name, with an Italian touch,  for the brand of his products:  Barelli.

At that time, the North American Bike Boom had crested.  Many of classic British builders were still producing their legendary frames, but the country's bike component industry was in steep decline, in part  because some manufacturers didn't update their designs or factory equipment.  As an example, Williams, which made some of those pencil-thin cottered cranksets found on classic British lightweights, finally produced a cotterless crankset--years after Campagnolo, Stronglight, Specialites TA and other companies introduced theirs.   And Sturmey-Archer, which was all but synonymous with internally-geared hubs, was losing not only because derailleurs had become more popular, but also because the quality of its products was slipping. (SA 3-speed hubs made from about the mid-80s until 2000, when the company went into receivership and was bought by SunRace, are all but unrideable.)  

So it was interesting, to say the least, that someone like Chapman would not only try to improve upon the design of what he was riding, but would also produce something worthy, quality-wise, of a Jack Taylor, Bob Jackson, Mercian, Hetchins or Ron Cooper frame.

Barelli Supreme

Barelli B-10

He seems to have produced two models: the Supreme and B10.  The former looks like an amalgam of platform pedals like the Lyotard Berthet and traditional quill pedals.  The latter took a shoe cleat that fit into the body and was secured with a traditional toe clip and strap.  (Shoe cleats of that time typically had a slot that fit onto the pedal cage.)  The B10, perhaps not surprisingly, seems to have had some following among track riders because it had such a secure hold which some described as "impossible to get out of."

That might be the reason why Barelli didn't share the same fate as Reedy and ERTD, whose designs were used by companies like SunTour. While Reedy and ERTD were really just lighter and more aerodynamic versions of traditional pedals (albeit with sealed bearings and a nicer finishes), Barellis--especially the B10--might have been just too radical.  Or the difficulty of dismounting B10s might have reminded them of the Cinelli M71, often nicknamed the "suicide" pedal.

So, while I'd like to see some Barellis in "real life," and might buy a pair if I were more of a collector (or simply had more money), it's probably a good thing I couldn't afford them when they appeared in the Palo Alto Bicycle catalogue.

A Symbol Of....?

I don't often talk about my attempts to draw or paint, and I won't now. But I think that some of them, at least, were better than this:

I mean, I could draw a better bicycle--if that's what it's supposed to be--about the time I could pick up a pencil.  I could just see some archaeologist a thousand years from now (if indeed there are still archaeologists and stuff like this for them to find) chancing upon this and wondering whether it was a symbol for a fertility goddess--or a sketch for some sort of device or weapon. Or, perhaps, this future Indiana Jones muses, it might have been an emblem for some secret society.

Now, since it's next to an anthropomorphic shadow-figure, and I'm writing about it in this blog, you know it's supposed to denote the cycling side of a bike-pedestrian lane.  Perhaps not surprisingly, the lane, which winds its way through Maidenhead, a market town about 50 kilometers west of Charing Cross, London, is as bad as the drawing itself.  I'll admit that my perceptions were influenced by that photo:  It looks like cyclists and pedestrians are sharing two meters of space, if that, at that bend.  But some comments confirm my impressions about the lane.

Heck, I probably could do a better job of designing a bike lane--and painting or drawing its markers!

 

Entry, Late In The Day

Yesterday, for the first time in a week, we had more than a couple of hours with temperatures above freezing (0C or 32F).  Breezy still, the day refracted hues of sea and sun stretching into, and stretching, the end of the day.

A late afternoon ride along the North Shore meant riding home into the sunset along the Malcolm X pier between Flushing and LaGuardia Airport.  I think of passengers on descending flights and how some of them are coming to this city for the first time--and how the skyline they've seen in countless images is so close, but is still so far away--something as clear yet impenetrable as the window of a plane keeps it all even more distant from them, at least for the time being, than the lattice of tree limbs along the cold gray water.

Do they get to see the skyline as a reflection of the water that channeled all of us--from the Maspeth tribe to Milennial tech workers--into streets where we can get lost, or find ourselves?

He Understands The Value Of A Bike

Bicycles are extremely valuable pieces of equipment.  Quite often, they are more valuable than the motor cars their owners possess.

That insight comes from William Hart.  That is, Judge William Hart to you—and me.

The Bristol Crown Court magistrate made that observation in sentencing Michael Whatley and Steven Fry to 66 and 4O months, respectively, for charges that include stealing several high-end bikes from Friction Cycles in Bristol.

For that statement alone, I would be willing to sponsor Judge Hart were he willing to abdicate Her Majesty’s justice system and bring his wisdom to this land of anti-vaxers. Of course, it’s difficult to imagine why he’d want to do such a thing—or that he would need sponsorship from me, or anyone else.

I am guessing—or at least hoping—that such a wise and worldly person would understand that the value of bikes to their owners, whether intrinsic or relative to their cars, is more than monetary—especially for folks like yours truly who don’t have a car, or even a driver’s license.  

If nothing else, the Honorable William Hart merits my respect—and, I am sure, that of many readers of this blog—simply for understanding that bike theft should be taken as seriously as other kinds of crimes: something too few of his colleagues, or law enforcement officers, in the United States do.