Recently, I met a seminarian who used to work in the fashion industry. (Now there's a journey!) She recounted dressing Christy Turlington for a show: "Her arms were so thin I thought I'd snap them off!", she recounted.
We all know that most bicycle racers are thin. Jan Ullrich, who won the 1997 Tour de France and might've won in 2001 had he not crashed, was often criticised for his weight. Even so, he was fitter and trimmer than 99 percent of people in the industrialised world.
Believe it or not, back in the 1890's, some fans as well as trainers believed "bigger is better" in cycling. The rationale seemed to be that bigger men had more muscle and more weight to propel it, which would make them more powerful cyclists.
There was even a cyclist who went only by the name of "Grimes" who carried 257 kilograms (567 pounds) on his 183 cm (6 foot) frame. His chest measured 157 cm (62 inches) in circumference; perhaps that gave him more lung capacity.
Here he is, on a bike specially designed for him:
This illustration accompanied an article called "Grotesque Forms of Cycles" in the 30 December 1899 issue of Scientific American. Check it out for illustrations of other bike that live up to the title's claim.
I took a walk on the High Line (Is that the title of a Lou Reed song?) shortly after it opened. I enjoyed its green space and overall attractiveness. But I also had a sinking feeling in my stomach. About two years later, I realized why: Upon returning about two years later, it had become, essentially, an elevated version of Times Square with more trees and more expensive lattes. It became an "it" destination for tourists to the Big Apple in a way that the Viaduc des Arts, after which it was modeled, never did in Paris.
Now, that all might be unrelated to what I am about to discuss, save for the fact that a proposed bicycle highway made me think about the High Line.
No less than Sir Norman Foster, Britain's most prolific architect (and a passionate cyclist) backs a "Skycycle" thoroughfare that would allow two-wheeled commuters and tourists to whisk into, out of and through Central London. The elevated lanes would be built above existing railroad tracks so that buildings and other structures would not have to be demolished.
On one hand, I like the idea. One thing I actually liked about riding in the Five Borough Bike Tour, as well as other organized rides, was the opportunity to ride on elevated expressways (and the lower deck of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge) that were closed to automobile traffic. Although I missed the street-level contact I'd normally experience in riding through some Brooklyn neighborhoods I know well, I enjoyed the views of the harbor and waterfront.
Some might argue that building an elevated bicycle highway might entice people who are intimidated by traffic into riding to work. That may well be true, if the increase in the number of cyclists following the construction (or, in some cases, segregation) of bike lanes on New York City streets is any indication. However, as Mark Ames points out in the Sustainable Cities Collective blog, a bicycle highway is probably unnecessary. He argues that there is plenty of room for cyclists and pedestrians on London Streets, but not for cars. Therefore, he says, the solution is to limit the number of cars in the central city, which London does through a "congestion surcharge."
Mike Bloomberg floated the idea of such a levy for Manhattan below 60th Street. It was about as popular as the notion of banning bagels. The loudest objections came from family-owned construction companies and the like that are based in the far reaches of the outer boroughs but do much of their business in Midtown and Downtown.
I hope that our current Mayor, Bill de Blasio revisits the idea. Perhaps he will if he's elected to a second term. From what I've seen, he is smart enough to realize that if it's simply not possible to squeeze more cars and trucks into Manhattan right now, we might be near that point. I don't think he'd want to be remembered as the mayor who was in office when Manhattan froze in a state of permanent gridlock.
Then, about all anyone will be able to do is to sip those $15 lattes on the High Line.
When I saw this photo, I remembered why I love classic frames a lot but classic gear systems, not so much.
The Stucchi frame is indeed elegant, especially with the wooden rims and chromed parts. Back in the days when Gino Bartali ruled the pelotons, racers rode bikes much like it.
Most of the bike would not seem out of place today. But the Vittoria gear system would. Still, it represented an advance over anything that had been available previously.
Before derailleur-type mechanisms were created, racers typically rode double-sided rear hubs, sometimes with two sprockets on each side. To change gears, a racer had to dismount and move the chain by hand (if he wanted to use the second gear on the same side of the hub) or "flip" the wheel.
Choosing the right moment for such a maneuver was part of a racer's strategy, and legend has it that breaking a wingnut while trying to "flip" a wheel on a cold day led a certain racer named Tullio Campagnolo to invent the quick-release axles and skewers we use today.
Gear systems like the Vittoria still required the rider to move the chain by hand from one sprocket to another. However, the cyclist did not have to dismount or remove the wheel. He could push the lever on the downtube draw the pulley on the chainstay inward, which slackened the chain and made it possible to push the chain from one side to another with his gloved hand--without getting off the bike.
Bartali won the Giro d'Italia on a Legnano equipped with the Vittoria system. But he didn't win the Tour de France with it, as the race's organizers still forbade derailleurs!
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