Commuting on the Fifteenth of November

If you looked at my other blog around this time two years ago (Now why would you have done that?) , you'd know that one of my favorite descriptions one person has ever given of another was what Gertrude Stein said about T.S.Eliot:  "He looked like the fifteenth of November."

Today looked, well, like the fifteenth of November:

As gray and overcast as that sky was, it posed absolutely no threat of precipitation.  And it won't until late tomorrow afternoon.  The weather was cool-to-chilly, also typical of this date. I don't mind riding in these conditions at all.   To me, a day like this one is as much a reason to commute by bike as a sun-drenched morning in late spring is.

The street on which I live dead-ends onto the one from which I took the photo.  I was a mile or so from my apartment and had about an hour of daylight remaining.  That gave me enough time to notice the particular (and sometimes peculiar) geometry of that area of Long Island City, Queens:

The funny thing is that I don't like either of those buildings.  The one on the left is owned by Citicorp; it's across the street from the company's main tower, which is the tallest building in Queens:

"Citicorp" as in "Citibank":  When I had an account with the latter, I used to refer to them as "Shittybank."  And I wasn't the only one who did!

Anyway, I re-shot the second photo from another angle.  Did I unwittingly create a commentary on the government bailout?

It makes the fifteenth of November seem downright balmy.

Just What This Girl Needs: Another Bag!

Back in the day, I carried a boxy gray canvas shoulder bag.  I bought it from the sort of store that seems not to exist, at least in Manhattan, anymore:  Its merchandise was too disparate even to qualify the place as a "variety store" or flea market.  In fact, just in sheer size, or lack thereof, the place could hardly even qualify as a store of any kind:  It was just a few feet by a few feet of space that contained bins and a counter. And there didn't seem to be more than one of any particular item.


The shop or store or whatever you want to call it was on or near Canal Street.  The bag, if I remember correctly, cost 75 cents.  On its flap a serial number and a cross of the kind found on a few countries' flags were stenciled.  It had no stiffeners, so, when empty, it could be folded small enough to fit into a small pocket of a backpack or pannier.


I carried that bag through my last two years of college.  Then I took it with me on my first trip to Europe, where it served me nicely for carrying my camera and notebook when I was off the bike and wandering the back alleys of various towns and cities on foot.  When I lived in Paris, I used it to carry any number of things. And, after I returned to the States, I found that the bag served as a kind of musette.


When I first started carrying that bag, it wasn't socially acceptable for men to carry shoulder bags.  Then, a few men  would start to carry what others would refer to as "fag bags" and, later, "man purses."  And my particular bag, by the time I finally wore it through, would come to be known as a "Swiss Army bags."  When I first bought the bag, there was no benefit--at least from a marketing standpoint (What did I just say?)--to be derived from asociating it, or any product, with the Helvetian military.  Only those who actually worked in the outdoors (like rangers) and dedicated hikers and campers knew what a "Swiss Army Knife" was, much less used it.  


Fast-forward three decades.  Only stylized near-imitations of that bag are to be found now--at least, in any place where I shop.   I have, however, found something very similar, only better--and vintage, to boot.

I bought it from Out Your Backdoor (OYB).   The package in which it was shipped included, among other things, OYB's newspaper/magazine that reads like the copy on the label of the old Dr. Bronner's soap bottle if it had been written by hippies-turned-survivalists. The subjects include any and all outdoor activities from gardening and tree-planting to off-road biking, and music, literature and art from independently-produced "folk" artists.  Some of those writers, composers and performers wouldn't give themselves such labels, or may not even be aware that they exist.  It's not the sort of stuff people learn how to do in MFA programs.


Those stories, songs, drawings and such are a bit like the bag I bought:  Some might believe them to be too unrefined.  But if you like things with, or that can develop, a patina, you might like some of them.


In other words, the bag I bought from them fits perfectly into their ethos and aesthetic:  They're canvas with leather bottoms and fasteners and look used.  But they're not "treated":  The bags are military surplus, or at least look and feel the part.  


To these bags are added tabs and straps that allow them to be used as bike bags.  They're billed as "seven way" bags.  I tried three of those ways, and might try a fourth.


As a saddlebag, it would be good for a day ride.  It fits in a similar way to the Velo Orange Croissant bags and the Berthoud bag on which it is modeled, and seems to have about half again as much carrying capacity as either of those bags, but about half  as much as (or less than) a Carradice Barley.  Supposedly the OYB bag can hold three wine bottles.  But you didn't hear that from me, a non-drinker.


OYB provides three tan leather straps similar to the kind that come with the Carradice bags.  They work best on bag loops like the ones found on the Brooks B17 saddle, but can also be attached to the saddle rails.  As the bag is longer than its VO/Berthoud counterpart, its bottom may rub on the tire of a bike with a small frame, or one on which less than the traditional "fistful of seatpost" is exposed.  Of course, if you use a rack or fenders, or have a larger frame or more than a fistful of seatpost, this will not be a problem.


Also, the bag will install in somewhat of a convex shape if you mount it on saddlebag loops.  That takes away some of its capacity, but there's still enough room for almost anything you'd need for a day ride.

Without a support, the bag is surprisingly steady.  That may have to do with the structure of the bag which, while it has no stiffeners, holds some semblance of a distinct shape due to its thick canvas and leather.


The bag also makes a nice small shoulder tote in which you can hold a wallet, keys, pen, cellphone and a few other items, such as a hairbrush and compact.  I'm guessing that it would also be good as a handlebar bag  or small pannier for a small, light load, though I haven't tried using it for those purposes.  


Best of all, this bag is less expensive than just about any other saddle, handlebar or shoulder bag.  OYB will install a leather "blinky" strap for an extra five dollars.  Whether or not you choose that option, you'll get a bag that's sturdier than most others available today and has the cool "retro" vibe that looks great on vintage bikes, as well as current steel bikes.


I decided to try the bag on Tosca for the heck of it.  But ultimately it's going to Marianela, as I think its brown leather and brownish olive drab canvas will look nice on her.

Seeing One of My Old Bikes, Perhaps, Again

It was probably a good thing that I was in a hurry.  Why on a Saturday, you ask?  Well, I was running late because I slept late.  


I'd volunteered to be on a panel in a discussion at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York.  Silly me.  I gave up a ride on one of the best days we're likely to have for a while for the privilege of doing something I'm not crazy about in one of my least favorite places in New York City, if not the world.


Anyway... After I parked Marianela on 35th Street, just off Fifth Avenue, I turned the corner toward the GC-CUNY entrance.  About the best thing I can say about GC-CUNY--and the only thing that would ever tempt me to go to school there again--is that there are decent bike racks in front of the building.


On one of them was propped and locked a bike that, for a moment, made me--as Kurt Vonnegut said in Breakfast of Champions--woozy with deja vu.  I didn't photograph it, but I found an image of a bike just like it:

It's a Schwinn Continental from 1971 or 1972.  I can date it that closely because of the color:  Schwinn called it "Sierra brown;" it's sometimes referred to as "root beer brown."  The following year, the bike was available in a redder shade of brown.  I don't recall what Schwinn's catalogue copy called it.


As you've probably guessed by now, I had the "Sierra" or "root beer" brown Continental.  I bought it early in my freshman year of high school for the princely sum of $96.  My parents thought it was an absolutely insane amount of money to spend on a bike.  Little did they--or I--know what I was getting into!


The so-called "bike boom" of the Seventies was picking up steam then.  As I recall, I went to four different local shops that June, around the time school let out.  All were sold out and subsequent shipments from Schwinn were already spoken for.  None of the shops thought they could have a bike for me before November.  So imagine my delight when one shop--Michael's, on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ (next to a drive-in movie theatre)--got a shipment a month earlier than promised.  And, yes, there was one bike on which nobody had dibs.  "As long as you don't mind this color," the shop's owner said, a bit condescendingly.


In my high school--and, apparently, most others--most kids got the Continental in a lemon yellow, or the Varsity in a shade of dark bottle green.  They were fine colors, but I was taken with the brown:  It was more elegant, with a golden-bronze undertone, than the photo in this post depicts.  Without hesitation, I plunked down the cash I'd earned from delivering newspapers.


Even though the bike came a month earlier than promised, I had to wait about three months:  a near-eternity for a kid entering adolescence. Now that I think of it, I waited almost as long for that Schwinn as I did for at least one custom frame I've ordered!  


Schwinn referred to the Varsity and Continental as "lightweight" models, though either one weighed about twice as much as my Mercian road bike, on which I made no effort to save weight.  Those Schwinns even weighed about ten pounds more than Marianela weighed when she was new, and she was even a couple of pounds heavier than her competition, which included the Peugeot U08, Raleigh Grand Prix and Motobecane Nobly.

Yes, the Continental was a tank.  (So was the Varsity.)  I'll bet mine is still out there somewhere.  Maybe it's still being ridden.  Hey, for all I know, the one I saw today might've been mine!