A Real Race Face

Today, most of us would cringe if we were to see a white performer in blackface.  I could barely contain my rage when I found out that the only film version of The Tragedy of Othello available in the library of a college in which I taught was the one in which Laurence Olivier is in blackface.  I know he was legendary, but I didn't think I--let alone my students--could stomach the sight of even an actor of his stature in that mask of oppression.

You might think I've been infected with the hypersensitive political correctness of the academic world when I say that this photo nearly made me jump out of my skin:

 

He is Barry Hoban and, thankfully, he wasn't channeling Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer.  Rather, he was wearing a mudpack to protect himself against the terrible weather he and other riders encountered in the 1972 Paris-Nice race.  Hoban was also wearing two layers under his team jersey and two pairs of gloves. 

By the way, he won that race.  In 1969, he became the first Briton to win two consecutive stages (Nos. 18 and 19) of the Tour de France, and the only Englishman to do so until Mark Cavendish did it in 2008.  He also won six other Tour stages from 1967 through 1975, and completed 11 of the 12 Tours he started.  To this day, no British rider, and almost no other rider from any other country, has finished more Tours.

He also won two stages each of the 1964 Vuelta a Espana and the 1974 Ghent-Wevelgem.  In the latter race, he finished ahead of Eddy Mercx and Roger de Vlaeminck in the overall standings.  In addition, he won a number of one-day classics and stages of longer races.

In the 1967 Tour, he won the stage from Carpentras to Sete the day after Tom Simpson collapsed and died during his ascent of Mont Ventoux.  Two years later, Hoban married Simpson's widow, with whom he had a daughter and raised two stepdaughters.

This is what he looked like without the mudpack:

 

Sound: Of The Wind, Or From It?

April Fool's Day was nearly two weeks ago.  Still, I thought the e-mail someone sent me about a certain bicycle accessory was a joke.  Then again, I think a lot of bicycle accessories are jokes, whether or not they are intended as such.

Anyway...It has to do with the sounds you hear when you're riding.  Me, when I'm riding, I like to be aware of my surroundings.  That is why I never ride with headphones:  I want to hear traffic and such, so I can be alert to any possible hazards.  When none exist, I like to enjoy the sounds of birds chirping, ocean waves spilling,  the wind rippling and rasping,  and snippets of conversation--or simply silence, depending on where I am.

When I was a kid, Radio Shack used to offer transistor (Is that what I am to my siblings?) radios that clamped onto the handlebars.  I was tempted to buy one, mainly because they were offered in every color in which jellybeans were ever made.  Or so it seemed.  But since that fancy passed, I never had any desire to add an accessory that made sounds I couldn't already hear from my saddle.

I guess others don't feel the same way.  For them, Korean designer Joseph Kim created Sound From The Wind, which, as its name tells us, takes the breeze that blows in your face and turns it into something that sounds like a flute or an ocarina.  The funny thing, though, is that the device looks like something a kid of my generation might've put on a Sting Ray or Chopper to pretend he was piloting a fighter jet.  Like such devices, Sound From The Wind grows louder as you ride faster.  The pitch can be altered with switches on the handlebars.

Hmm...I wonder whether the way one rides also determines what kind of music comes from the device.  I mean, how would I have to pedal if I wanted to hear Vivaldi's La Tempesta di Mare?  Or a Chopin nocturne?

P.S.  Gotta wonder about that brake lever...
 

An Ovation That Hasn't Found Its Audience

We've all seen, or at least heard of, "solutions in search of problems." They seem, as often as not, to come from engineers, inventors or simply geeks who have too much time on their hands.

The bicycle world has seen its share of such "solutions".  What's sad or funny, depending on your point of view, is that even if no problem is found for the solution and said solution fades away quietly, someone might revive it.  An example is elliptical or ovoid chainrings, which I discussed in an earlier post.

I remember hearing about another innovation that left me wondering, "And the purpose of this is...?"  I hadn't thought about it in a long time until someone passed along a video of it:




I guess somebody figured that if four-wheel drive works for jeeps, two-wheel drive would work on bikes, especially mountain bikes. 

The bike in the video made its debut in a 2005 robotics show.  I have to wonder whether its inventors knew that, nearly a decade and a half earlier, someone else had the same idea. And it shared the same problem with its descendent:  It didn't work very well. 

The Legacy Ovation first saw the light of day in 1991.  I remember reading about it in one of the magazines at the time.  If it looks like a conventional mountain bike with an oversized speedometer cable running through it, well, that's pretty much what it is.  Besides the cable, the other major difference is in the front wheel, which is a rear wheel, and the fork, which has a diameter of 135 mm (most front forks are 100 mm) to accommodate the wheel. 

 

As you can probably tell, the rear wheel (the one that's actually in the rear) is powered in the same way as rear wheels on other bikes.  Each end of the cable has a rotor-cut gear mounted on the side opposite the freewheel.  So, the rotation of the rear wheel causes the front wheel to turn.

The idea actually sounds pretty good.  One of the problems, though, is that of "fighting" the gear, which has a lot of resistance.  Also, having such gears exposed leads to rapid wear and deterioration, which was the downfall of the few Ovations that were ridden.

Solutions like the Ovation don't always find a problem, thankfully.  But sometimes they find a market.  And the bicycle's developers confidently predicted that their invention would capture "20 to 40 percent of the market over the next few years".  It, of course, didn't, and neither did the bike shown at the robotics show.  From what I understand, there have been a couple of other attempts, since then, to create a two-wheel drive.  They didn't gain traction (pun intended) with the public, either. 

Still, even if the two-wheel drive bicycle doesn't find the problem it's supposed to solve, the idea probably won't die.  As long as there's the potential for finding an audience, would-be inventors and entrepreneurs will probably continue to work on this "solution", whether or not it ever finds its problem.