Ride The Lane: You Are Traffic

Three and a half decades ago, John Forester's Effective Cycling was published.  To this day, no one (of whom I'm aware, anyway) has done a better job of elucidating what needs to be done in order for the bicycle to be seen as a viable option for commuting and other purposes.

Essentially, he said that in order for the bicycle to be seen as a vehicle, and not merely a toy, we have to ride as if our bicycles are indeed vehicles.  In explaining what that meant, he showed the folly of bike lanes and other planners' attempts to "accomodate"  us.

In the ensuing years, not much has changed, save for the number of cyclists.  If anything, the situation has gotten worse:  more and more bike lanes are being built and lots of neophyte cyclists believe they are safer in them, and that said lanes are a sign of their city's "bike friendliness" or simply its "cool factor".  

Here is an example of how, not only bike lanes, but prevalent notions of how cyclists ride in traffic, put us in more danger than taking a lane and thus making ourselves more visible to motorists:

By Keri Caffrey

 

The Tour Of The Pearl Of The Antilles

Now that the United States seems to be on the road to recognizing that Cuba does indeed exist (Was it just some black hole from which a species of aliens called "Cubans" came? So that's why we have that prison in Guantanamo!), it's hard not to wonder about the future of cycling there.  

Of course, American groups have been taking bicycle tours in Cuba for years--under the pretense of "cultural exchange" as, officially, Americans aren't/weren't allowed to visit Cuba as tourists.  Everyone, it seems, who's gone on such a tour there raves about it:  The roads are quiet, there are plenty of places to stay, the people are friendly--and it's cheap, once you get there.  Hey, I could be enticed into going there.  All I'd have to do is get myself and my Spanish in shape.  About the latter:  I recited a short poem by Federico Garcia Lorca in the original at a recent poetry reading, and all of the Spanish-speakers understood it.  A few even complimented my Spanish afterward.  So maybe I'm better in that category than I thought.  And the rides I've taken lately have felt really good.

Anyway, in cycling the word "tour" can refer to the kind I've mentioned:  riding, seeing the sights and mingling with the people.  But there is another kind of "tour", as in Le Tour de France or other multi-day races.  Unbeknownst to most norteamericanos, "The Pearl of the Antilles" had its own multi-day race that covered much of the island.

Poster of the 1969 Vuelta a Cuba, by Jose Papiol.

La Vuelta a Cuba was held for the first time in 1964 with Sergio "Pipian" Martinez winning.  He would take four of the first six editions of La Vuelta.  Not surprisingly, most editions of the race were won by Cuban riders--and, until 2002, the only non-Cuban winners came from Soviet-bloc countries.  That year, Italian Filippo Pozzato of the Mapei-Quick Step team took the honor; the following year, Todd Herriot became the first and only US rider to win.

The race was not held from 1991 until 1999.  Although no one seems to have said as much, that suspension may have been a result of the fall of the Soviet Union, which probably funded much of Cuba's cycling program (and much else in the country).  Races throughout the former Soviet bloc met similar fates during that time.  Some were discontinued; others, like the Peace Race (which ran through Poland and the former Czechoslovakia and German Democratic Republic), held on for some years but finally succumbed to the difficulties of finding funds after state sponsorship disappeared.

Somehow La Vuelta de Cuba was revived in 2000.  It was held every year until 2010.  In all, the race was held 35 times.  (There was no race in 1970, 1975 or 1982.)  Sergio Martinez's four victories were exceeded only by the six Eduardo Alonso attained, in 1984 and every year from 1986 through 1990.

 

When The Sun Was Rising On The Bike Boom

Yesterday I talked about something people younger than "a certain age" probably wouldn't have known:  Cannondale's pre-bikemaking history (1971-1982).

Now I'm going to mention something else us oldsters (some of whom ride roadsters) will remember:  a time when Japanese goods were considered inferior to everything else on the market.  Bike parts, particularly derailleurs, from the Land of the Rising Sun were starting to gain respectability right around the time the 1970s North American Bike Boom was exploding; the bikes would soon follow.

I'm giving you this capsule history because I recently acquired a new-old-stock part from that period.  Although there's nothing exceptional about it, it's interesting and, I believe, good.

I knew I'd had one of an "endangered species" when I saw the packaging:  It looked as if no one had touched it in forty years.  More to the point, it bore signs of an earlier time:

In the days before Shimano came out with its Crane derailleurs and the Dura-Ace gruppo of which it would become a part, nearly all of its parts bore the "wings" "lifting" the "333" logo.  After Dura-Ace and Titlist (the forerunner of 600 and Ultegra) came to market, only Shimano's internally-geared three-speed hubs bore that emblem.  On that basis alone, one could date this hub from 1973 or earlier.

I have tried to show the logo engraved in the hub body and what appears to be a date code:

The letters are "R" and "U".  In every explanation of Shimano's code I've seen, the first letter is the month and the second letter is the year.  The month code goes from "A" to "L", with "A" being January and "L" being December.  The year code starts with "A" in 1976, goes through "Z" (2001) and begins again with "A" in 2002.  

One site suggests that Shimano was using this sequence before 1976 or, at least, that "Y" could be 1974 and "Z", 1975.  If that is the case, the "U" on my hub might mean that it was made in 1970.  But what about the "R"?  Could there have been another code in use for the month?  

Or might those letters mean something else--or nothing at all?

Whatever the case, it's pretty reasonable, I believe, to assume this hub was made before 1973, perhaps even during the late 1960s.  Here's another piece of evidence--which you may have noticed in another photo--that, I believe, supports my hypothesis.

I