While riding to Randall's Island last week, I passed the block--9th Street, from the Noguchi Museum to a construction-supply store-- on which I lived before I moved to my current locale.
The day I moved there, nearly a decade ago, was almost frighteningly clear and blindingly hot. I had just left the last long-term relationship in which I'd been involved; I knew I was going to embark upon a part of my life I'd spent my life avoiding but which was absolutely necessary to become the person I've become, for better or worse.
I was struck by how much the light and shadows looked like the ones I saw the day I moved there:
When Velouria came to town for the New Amsterdam Bike Show, we rode down this block. It just happened to be along the way.
I made a wrong turn in the Bronx...
It sounds like the title of noir film, doesn't it? If such a movie were made today--in Hollywood, anyway--someone would tack a "happy" ending on it and the critics would call it "life-affirming" or some such thing.
Anyway, after teaching a class, I took a spin along the East River and into the Bronx. (Sounds so idyllic, doesn't it?) Because of construction (Why do they call it that when they're tearing something apart?), I had to take a detour. I found myself under the ramp for the Willis Avenue Bridge. If you've ridden the Five Boro Bike Tour, you've rolled across that bridge.
Underneath that overpass are some interesting old industrial brick buildings. It's sort of like DUMBO. From one of those buildings hung one of the more interesing--and, unless you know the area, incongruous--signs I've seen:
When I first saw that sign, I thought perhaps someone was making a film. Turns out, the place tunes, repairs and stores pianos. In fact, they've probably tuned at least some of the Steinway pianos that are made in Queens, not far from where I live.
That's all the more reason for me to be surprised if someone hasn't made a film (or part of one) there. It's hard to find a locale that looks more Victorian, in a shadowy sort of way, than that spot where Bruckner Boulevard begins.
Can you guess what comany made this bike, or even where it was made?
At first glance, it looks like a Dutch bike, doesn't it? And, in many ways, it resembles one. But it's at least a few pounds lighter.
I'll show you the men's version of this bike:
Its owner added braided cable housing,toe clips, a TA one-clamp water bottle cage and a Brooks saddle bag. Even if you can't see the decals, there's one detail that should give you a clue as to where these bikes were made.
The headlight has a yellow lens. Until recently, the bikes (and cars) sold in a particular European country came so equipped. That country is, of course, France.
Now do you know who made these bikes? Clue: They were the largest bicycle manufacturer, and one of the leading auto-makers, in Gaul. Oh, yeah, and they made those great pepper mills.
Yes, those bikes were made by Peugeot. When I worked at Highland Park Cyclery, I actually sold one of the women's version. Back in 1982, there was practically no demand for such bikes in the US. And, no "serious" cyclist rode anything but a diamond (a.k.a. "men's") frame. But the customer wanted a stable, upright, sturdy bike. Plus, she liked the style of it.
She wore a skirt when I was fitting the bike to her. She mentioned, just casually (ahem!) that she had long legs for a woman her height. As if I hadn't noticed...
Our relationship lasted, if I recall correctly, about a year. Looking back, I'm surprised it held as long as it did: I was in my early 20's and she was about a dozen years older. She was a surprisingly durable rider, and was a writer. However, beyond cycling and writing, we didn't have much in common. Plus, as the self-help folks like to say, each of us had our issues.
Still, I have some rather fond memories of riding with her. And, I am responsible for the only sale of the women's version of that bike--the Peugeot VX-40--at Highland Park Cyclery. In 1982, that was no small feat, if I do say so myself!
