How Does It Become "Retro?"

To see more about this bike, go to http://rhp3.com/Scwinn_Superior.htm

When she commented on my post from the other day, "Velouria" of Lovely Bicycle! raised an interesting question. She says longtime bike mechanics joke about Ross bikes and say things like "we couldn't sell them the first time around, but now kids are buying them second hand."  


So, I wonder, how and why does something become "cult," "classic" or simply "retro" when it was scorned, dismissed or ignored when it came out?


One example of what I mean is a Schwinn model that was sold as the "Superior" during the early 1960's and mid-to-late 1970's, and as the "Sports Tourer" during the intervening years.  Particularly in the final years of the bike's manufacture, it didn't sell well because other similar bikes from Europe and Japan were lighter, and to many consumers, its filet-brazed joints were indistinguishable from the flash-welds on Schwinn's less expensive models like the Varsity and Continental.


Now I see lots of "wanted" listings for Superiors and Super Sports.  I guess one reason why is that they're among the very few filet-brazed frames to be mass-produced.  And, although somewhat heavier than the bikes they're supposed to compete against, they were solid, and can be made into good, responsive bikes with modern tires, rims, derailleurs, cables and brake pads.  Even though they have long chainstays, and therefore longish wheelbases, they still have a "solid" feel in the rear, where many lightweight bikes (like my old Peugeot PX-10E) could feel whippy.  That is no small consideration if you install a rear rack and load it up. Plus, the Superiors and Super Sports had larger tire clearances than most current road bikes, which makes it easy to install fenders and convert the bikes to commuting and touring machines.


Some of what I've just said about those old Schwinn models apply to the Rosses--and, for that matter, many other bikes of their era.  Perhaps that's one reason why they're sought-out now.


But sometimes you just can't understand why some things aren't consigned to the dustbin of cycling history after being ignored or scorned the first time they came around. One example is some handlebar tape we threw away in the first bike shop in which I worked.  It was shiny; it was slippery; to most of us, there was no rationale for using it--at least then.


Fast-forward a few years.  I'm working in another bike shop, and we have to back-order that same tape because our order of it sold out within a day of our receiving it. The difference was that,by the time I was working in my second shop, the Seventies had turned into the Eighties.  And we all know what happened to bike finishes:  Those elegant silver Cinellis and constructeur bikes, not to mention the understated but meticulous work of American and British framebuilders of that time, was falling out of favor.  In its place came what we now call the "dreaded Eighties paint jobs":  lots of neon colors and fades.  


That tape we threw away at my first shop was now in demand because it was shiny and came in a lot of different colors.  Those of you who recall that time know that I'm talking about Benotto tape (which, by the way, was made in Mexico, not in Italy, as is commonly thought).  


Even when it became popular, it could be found for less than two dollars. These days, it sells for many times more than that on eBay.   If I'm correct,  it hasn't been made in some time, which might account for the prices people are paying for it.


Those Rosses, Superiors and Super Sports are no longer being made, either.  Yet there are other long-extinct marques of bikes and accessories that aren't sought-after these days.  And some of those other bikes and parts have some of the same attributes and assets I've described, as well as others that should make them attractive to somebody.  So why do they continue to languish in obscurity while other products, like Ross bikes, are sold within hours of appearing on Craigs List?

The Wonder (Light) Years

If you've been reading this, you know that I love the looks--and sometimes function--of older bike accessories.  Not for nothing do all of my bikes have brass Japanese replicas of the bells used on French constructeurs.  And all of my bike bags are canvas.


Now, of course, there is absolutely no earthly reason to buy some of the other bike accessories from le temps perdu. I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I see someone spending half a paycheck (for me, anyway) on a model of pump that folded when I used it in my youth, or for a model of fenders that cracked or broke the first time I rode them in cold weather.


Still, one retains a soft spot for some things from one's youth.  And today I came across one of them on eBay:

For years, I kept one of these in whatever bag was attached to me or my bike while I was riding. It had a red lens on the rear and white on the front; both lenses were bounded by a translucent red band.  This light was sold as an "armband light," and many runners and hikers, as well as cyclists, used them that way.  


However, I found that they were more effective (if a bit less comfortable) when strapped onto my leg, just below my knee.  Motorists and pedestrians who saw that light bobbing up and down  gave me some strange looks from (though, truth be told, I can't blame them all on the light), and I'd bet some cyclist in New Mexico or some place like that was mistaken for a low-flying UFO.


So...The light definitely did its job, which was to make its user more visible.  And it did so cheaply:  The light didn't cost more than a couple of dollars and took two "C" batteries.


The only problem with it--or, at any rate, the version in the photo, which is the original and was made in France--was that it often broke off at the point where the head screws onto the body.  A Japanese near-clone corrected this problem but wasn't quite as bright as the original; it was sold under Schwinn, Raleigh and other names and, if I remember correctly, made by Sanyo.


Of course it, like nearly all bike lights made more than a decade or so ago, is functionally obsolete.  Remember, the light in the photo was made before halogen bulbs, let alone LEDs, were available in bike lights. But, given that comparatively primitive state of bike light technology, the Wonder and Sanyo arm/leg lights were actually very good options.  In fact, it is the only light Tom Cuthbertson recommended in Anybody's Bike Book and Bike Tripping.


I'm tempted to buy that light.  I mean, even though it's plastic (albeit with a canvas strap), it just reeks style.  It almost makes me want to jump on the  next Peugeot PX-10 or Gitane Tour de France I see and take a moonlight ride.

Ross: The Ramones' Lament?

If there is a cycling Nirvana, would all of the ugly places be airbrushed out of it?


A fact of life, at least in this part of the world, is that to ride to a beautiful place, you sometimes have to pass through some blighted spots.


Here is one I sometimes pass on my way to or from the Rockaways (as I did today) or Point Lookout:

In any industrialized country, you can find thousands (or even more) places like this. It's hard in the shadow, literally, of the MTA's Rockaway trestle, on which the A train rumbles and clatters.  Yes, that A train:  Duke Ellington's A train.  (I chose the link I included because on it, Ella Fitzgerald sings.  The slide show, ironically, shows pretty much every kind  of train except for the titular one.  It doesn't even show a NYC subway train!) This is nearly the opposite end of the line, literally and figuratively, of the subway route Ellington made famous.  Stay on the train for about an hour and a half and you'll be in Harlem, just a couple of stops from the line's terminus at the very northern end of Manhattan.


On the other side of that trestle are bungalows in various states of disrepair and the beach.


That beach is one you've heard of if you have even the most basic knowledge of 70's popular music:  It's the Rockaway Beach of the Ramones' eponymous song.  It sounds like a Beach Boys song as Brian Wilson might have played it while in withdrawal from something.


So, why should you care about any of this if you're a cyclist?


Well, not so long ago, the site in the photo was a rather important part of American cycling:  It was the home of the Chain Bicycle Corporation.


Now, if we'd had bicycle companies called Sprocket, Derailleur, Crank, Wheel or Frame, American cycling history might have been different.  How, I don't know.  But I digress.


You've probably seen, and you may have ridden,a bike that CBC made or sold.  CBC was the parent company of Ross bicycles.  Those bikes were sold in the first two bike shops in which I worked.  While I was working in my first shop, Ross bikes were at the lower end of the market:  sturdy bikes, mainly for kids, but also a few utility bikes.  They didn't have the cachet of Schwinn although many of their bikes were similar, and were aimed at similar audiences.

   If you're of my generation, you might remember a show called "Wonderama."  It was an extravaganza, marathon or ordeal, depending on your point of view, that aired all day Sunday, or so it seemed.  The show featured, among other things, games and competitions involving kids from the studio audience.  Ross Apollo bicycles were often given as prizes.

Anyway, after the vogue for "chopper" or "muscle" bikes passed, Ross started to aim for the more dedicated (and affluent) adult cyclists.  So, by the time I was working in my second shop, Ross was offering its "Signature" series of bicycles and frames, which seemed to be designed to compete with Schwinn's Paramount line.  The very best signature bikes were actually very nice.  They were built by Tom Kellogg, considered one of the best American custom builders of that time.  Most of those frames were constructed from Reynolds 531 tubing, though he occasionally made frames from Columbus and Ishiwata tubings.


I actually had one of those frames for a time.  It had been built as a kind of sport-touring frame.  But it, like the other "signature" bikes, was even more expensive than other premium bikes from top builders.  And people who were buying high-end touring bikes usually wanted cantilever brakes.  The frame did not have bosses for them.  So the owner of the shop sent the frame to Ross to have the bosses brazed on.  By that time, Tom Kellogg was no longer working for Ross.


The frame had been made for 700C wheels.  Ross, in its infinite wisdom, brazed on bosses for 26 inch wheels.  So it was even less salable than it had been; as a result, the shop's owner was willing to let me take it as pay for a couple of days' work, if I recall correctly.  I proceeded to build it up into a sort of cross between an audax/randonneuring bike and a mountain bike with slick tires.  


I rode that bike whenever I wasn't riding my racing bike.  It was a lot of fun:  I took it on trails, on the streets and in lots of other places.  Unfortunately, the fun didn't last very long:  About two years after I got it, I crashed it into the back of a taxi by the backside of Madison Square Garden/Penn Station.


By then, most, if not all, Rosses were being made in Taiwan.   I'm not sure whether they're still being made at all.  And, these days, it seems that anyone who's cycling through the Rockaways doesn't live there.