My Tour To Somerville

Memorial Day was cool and a bit windy.  The former part I like; the question was what to do about the latter.

Of course, if you're a savvy old cyclist, you plan a ride in which you're pedaling into the wind on your way out.  That way, the wind blows you back home. 

Plus, Arielle was begging not to go on just any old ride.  She wanted to see a race. 

 
Because she's been good to me, I granted her wish.  Actually, she granted mine, too:  I felt like taking a nice, long ride.

Where did we end up?

  
No, we didn't go to the hotel, as interesting as it is.  But we went to the eponymous county--out in West-Central New Jersey.

Said hotel is located in the county seat, just down the street from the courthouse.  The name of that town is Somerville.   If you're a bike racing fan, you've heard of it:

    
The Tour of Somerville Cycling Series is a three-day event that includes several races (including a women's race) andculminates with a Senior Men's 50-mile race on the afternoon of Memorial Day.  The series has run every year since 1947.  Actually, 1940 witnessed the first Series; World War II suspended it from 1943 to 1946.  The Senior Men's Race is  officially named the Kugler-Ross Memorial Tour of Somerville, in honor of the first two winners:  Furman Kugler (1940 and 41) and Carl Anderson (1942).  Both were killed while fighting the war.

For a long time--particularly during the Dark Ages of US cycling (roughly the two decades after World War II), the ToS was, arguably, the sport's biggest--or only--showcase in the US.   Whoever won the race was generally acknowledged to be the best American cyclist.  

Calling the race a "tour" in not some francophilic (or europhilic) affectation.  Rather, it was a legalism the race's founder pulled off just so it could be held at all.   At the time, New Jersey state law prohibited racing for prizes on highways.  Somerville's Main Street is State Highway 28.  So Fred Kugler (Furman's father) labelled the Somerville event a "tour".

As you might expect, many townspeople and residents of nearby communities turn out for the event, as there is no admission charge.  Also, because the races are held on a loop of closed-off street and are therefore fast and full of tight turns, they excite even non-cycling fans.

One of the more amusing aspects of the race is watching people cross the street after the peloton has passed--until the next lap, anyway.

 
They have to be quick:

 
 Otherwise, they could meet an unhappy ending:

 
 All right.  He didn't cross the path of the peloton. He wandered into US Highway 22, which I crossed en route.  Perhaps another race will be a memorial for him.

Seriously, everyone else seemed to be having  a good time. And, given the routes I took, I ended up doing a century.  I mean, an Imperial, not a Metric One.  101 miles, to be exact.

New York Pretzels

Time was, not so long ago, that every true New Yorker had eaten a hot pretzel sold on a street cart at least once.  And, if you were a tourist, that was part of your "New York experience."

As often as not, we bought those pretzels from the same carts that sold hot dogs--usually the Sabrett's brand.  You could find such carts in just about every neighborhood in the five boroughs, and, it seemed, on nearly every corner in the busier parts of Midtown and Downtown Manhattan.

By Francisco Companioni

But I've noticed that in the past fifteen years or so, those carts have been disappearing.  Or, perhaps, I just don't notice the existing ones as much, as The Big Apple's street food offerings have become more diverse.  Now it's possible to find carts and trucks from which crepes, waffles, fried chicken, various Middle Eastern and Indo-Pakistani delicacies, sushi and even Maine Lobster rolls are vended.  Back in the day, carts that sold pretzels and Sabrett's hot dogs pretty much were New York street food.

Truth be told, most of the time the pretzels weren't that good.  Usually, when you bought one, it spent hours over the warmer, so it was probably as dry as the salt crystals that coated its top.  Now, I don't claim to be a pretzel aficianado, but if I'm going to eat a big, hot pretzel, I want it to be chewy.  If I want hard pretzels, I'll stick to the smaller ones that you can buy in most grocery stores.

Anyway, as those Sabrett's carts have disappeared in New York, I've noticed another kind of pretzel.  I found this sample on a Tribeca street today:

That doesn't even come close to being the worst I've seen.  Here's something even more bent:

From Abandoned Bicycles of New York

When I worked in bike shops, we used to say such wheels were "pretzeled".  But a wheel like that can only be found in the Big Apple, I think.

The street pretzel vendors of yore didn't seem to realize that it doesn't take very long to turn something into a pretzel--which is the reason why their snacks were usually dry and hard.  But seriously: Once I parked on a street near the UN for about 45 minutes.  That's all it took to turn my rear wheel into one of those twisted treasures.  The difference is, the New York pretzels on bikes can't be made edible by slathering them with mustard!

A New Neighbor

I pedaled into wind that felt more like a boomerang of January than the first wave of summer.  Only a block from my apartment, I felt as if a season, an age, had passed. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed this:

Even at this distance, something told me this wasn't a typical bike parked on a street in my neighborhood.  I made a U-turn so I could take a look.  

What else could have set off my radar?  I hastily snapped this photo, the one above it and another

when the bikes owner showed up.  I internally braced myself; he smiled warmly and said "hello."

Noah is from Montreal but now lives a couple of neighborhoods away from me.  He bought his 1981 King of Mercia from a woman on the Upper West said who, he said, was offered more money than he paid for the bike.  The would-be buyer was a collector; the woman, who'd stopped riding, still appreciated the bike enough that she preferred to sell it to someone who would ride it.  

Shortly after buying it, he converted it to a single speed but kept the old components. He set up the original crankset with a single ring but, of course, installed a new pair of wheels and pedals.  However, he rides the bike with the really nice Sun Tour Superbe brakes that came with it.  And he replaced the original saddle with one that really belongs on that bike:  a Brooks B-17.

In the course of our conversation, I might have talked him out of repainting his bike, even to "restore" it to its original look.  Actually, I was talking myself out of doing the same to Vera. Truth is, I can't justify spending the money, given my current finances.  But Noah said he was "glad to hear" that I'd considered refinishing  but thought better of it.  "It's really a beautiful bike."

So is his.  Refinishing it would only make it look new, or newer.  That, I think, is the real beauty of bikes like his.