The FIrst Bike Lane?

Now  here's an interesting way to commute by bicycle.

Arthur Hotchkiss envisioned this monorail for bicycles as the future of getting to and from work when he built it during the 1890's.  Most roads then would make today's potholed city streets seem like magic carpets; amazingly, many cyclists still pedaled "high-wheelers" or "penny farthings, which were much less stable  and were more likely than today's bikes to be toppled by ruts and potholes.  Hotchkiss' bike "railroad" spanned muddy fields as well as a stream. 

Hezekiah Smith backed the project.  He owned a factory in a western New Jersey hamlet--named for him-- that, at the time, was making about a quarter of America's woodworking equipment.  Poor conditions, particularly when it rained, caused tardiness in his workers.

The bicycles that glided along the rail bore little resemblance to today's two-wheelers.  They had two mismatched wheels (one 20 inches in diameter, the other 12). Instead of pushing on pedals, the cyclist had to repeatedly depress a ratchet mechanism as if he were pumping air into a tire.  

There was only single rail.  So one cyclist had to dismount and allow the other to pass before resuming his trip.  As you can imagine, head-on collisions were frequent and tempers flared.

But these problems were not the ones that doomed the "railroad."  Rather, the introduction of the "safety" bicycle (with both wheels the same size, along with improving road conditions, made bicycle commuting more feasible.  So, the railroad's ridership declined and it went bankrupt in 1898.  No trace of it--or Smith's factory.  His company didn't survive the Great Depression.

It's interesting to think of what bike lanes would be like today if Hotchkiss and Smith's "railroad had survived a few more years.

Forever Locked To History

To myself, I debated whether or not I wanted to publish this.  Most of the "commemorations" of the 9/11 attacks seem like mindless chatter or grandstanding to me; I can scarcely stand to hear anything about it save from people--or their families or friends--who were directly affected by it.  

But I thought this photo would be a simple yet eloquent reminder of what happened on that day:

These bicycles and the rack were retrieved from the wreckage of the Twin Towers and are now housed, along with other items recovered from the World Trade Center, in Hangar 17 of John F. Kennedy International Airport.


Some of these bikes are twisted, almost mangled.  But they are still locked to the rack.  People rode them--probably to work--and locked them to the rack, where they will probably stay forever.

Holy Drillium, Eddy!

No matter how attractive you are, you have at least one photo of yourself that makes you wonder, "What was I thinking?"

It might be the hairstyle or clothing you wore when the photo was taken.  You can excuse yourself by remembering that they were en vogue at the time the photo was taken. Still, you wonder how you or anyone else dressed or looked that way.  

That's how I see most photos of myself.  Similarly, I look at pictures of some of my old bikes, and those my riding buddies and other cyclists rode, and wonder what possessed us to ride some of the stuff we rode. 

There are those scary '80's neon fade paint jobs.  And Benotto handlebar tape:  Available in colors to go or clash with those fade paint jobs!  But the first utterly pointless bike fade I can recall is "drillium."  Weight weenies of the '70's and early '80's drilled and slotted every part of every bicycle on which such things were even remotely possible--and even a few that nobody ever thought to drill.  As an example, holes were drilled in the toe clips of the bicycle Eddy Mercx rode to the hour record in Mexico City in 1972.

But I don't think even he went to this extreme:

Someone is selling it on eBay. Is it a seatpost with holes in it?  Or is it seatpost material formed around the holes?