Happy New Year!
I began this year with a whole wheat bagel from Lots o Bagels. I brought another of their whole wheat bagels on my first ride of the year, to Point Lookout: a 120 kilometer (72 mile) round trip.
That, after ending last year with 140 kilometer ride to and from Connecticut. I encountered more traffic than I anticipated, but at least most of them, I assume, hadn’t begun to drink.
The moral of this post? The best way to begin or end is to ride.
Hmm...Does that apply to the book I’m writing?
I hope you are enjoying a holiday.
Since today is Christmas, I thought I'd share some images of the most Christmas-like object I own:
Yes, I've been doing some work on the Mercian King of Mercia I bought a few weeks ago. For one thing, the sew-up wheels are gone: I actually sold them on Craigslist. In their place are a set of wheels with classic Campagnolo Record hubs with modern Mavic rims and DT spokes:
One reason I decided to use those hubs is that the rear one allowed me to employ an old trick:
The rear dropouts are spaced for 126 mm, as were most road bikes of the KoM's era (1984). I rearranged the spacing on it so that both sides are even. The good news is that I have a wheel with no dish. The bad (depending on your point of view) news is that the right side spacing will allow me to use only 5-speed or Ultra (narrow)-6 freewheels---which is what I'd planned to use anyway.
And it allowed me to use the lightweight Open Pro rim. It's actually a very strong rim for its weight, as Mavic rims tend to be. Also, for a rim as narrow as it is, it can accommodate fairly wide tires--like the 700X32 C Paselas that adorn them now.
Probably the next most-significant change I made was in the derailleurs. Getting a Rally derailleur was nice, but I actually like this one better:
I saw more than a few otherwise-all-Campy bikes equipped with Cyclone derailleurs from the mid-'70's to the mid-80's, so I don't feel as if I'm committing some sort of sacrilege. With that change, I also swapped out the Campy shifters for ratcheted SunTour levers.
One more Campy part went from this bike to my parts box: the pedals. They don't seem to have been ridden much at all, so I wrapped them carefully and am saving them for "future reference." The MKS platform pedals--my current favorites--bear enough resemblance to classic platform pedals like the Lyotard Berthet (#23) or the ones SR made that they don't look out of place on this bike.
The fellow who bought the sew-up wheels also took the deep-drop Cinelli bars that came with the bike. (What such deep drops--or sew-ups--were doing on a touring bike, I'll never know.) And I sold the stem--which had too long of an extension--on eBay. In their place, I installed another favorite--Nitto Noodle bars with an NP (formerly Pearl) stem. The Noodles bear enough resemblance to randonneur -style bars that I can justify (to myself, anyway) them on a bike like this.
If you saw my original post about this bike, you probably noticed three other changes:
The brake cable housings were cracked. I like to replace cables on secondhand bikes anyway. As luck would have it, I found these gold braided housings on eBay.
And I had to remove the leather sleeves that were stitched on to the handlebars in order to remove the brake levers. Perhaps I will re-stitch them onto the new bars some day, but for now, I wrapped them with Tressostar brown and green cloth tape. I also replaced the original Campagnolo gum rubber hoods, which were dried and cracks, with new items from Rustines.
Finally, I replaced the Avocet saddle with--what else?--a Brooks Professional.
This will give you a taste of things to come:
This bell bracket came from Velo Orange and will sport one of those lovely brass Japanese ringers. And, of course, I will add bottle cages, a pump and a front rack for a bag.
Funny, isn't it, that a bike--which can be ridden all year round--can look as much like a Christmas ornament as anything that's hung on a Fraser fir.
One of my graduate school professors said, "If you can't say it in English, say it in French. If French doesn't work, go to German. If you still can't say what you're trying to say, try Latin. If that fails, there's always ancient Greek."
Well, I could follow his advice only partway: Although my French was, and is, good, I had reading, but not conversational or writing, ability in Latin. And I only knew all the German I learned in one semester and while biking through the country, just as I know a few words of Greek acquired just before, and during, my most recent trip. (I wonder, though, how much Socrates' Greek was like the language I butchered in the marketplaces of Milos and cafes of Thissio.
I got to thinking about my old professor's advice when I heard about another professor--Louis Vivanco, a cultural anthropologist at the University of Vermont. His specialty is the anthropology of environmental movements, and he had a particular interest in cycling. So, not surprisingly, he spent a lot of time looking at old newspaper articles about the "maladies" that afflicted early cyclists in Vermont, and other places. There were warnings about "bicycle face," a mask into which a cyclist's face contorted itself, as well as explanations about "cyclist's neuralgia," a condition that manifested itself with, among other symptoms, shriveling penises in men and "spinsterhood" (oh, my!) in women.
He wanted to present his findings to a wider audience. That brought him to a crisis: He realized that an academic paper could not do them justice. For a researcher like him, that's akin to a writer learning that words don't do justice to anything (You mean they don't!) or a mathematician realizing that numbers can't express the relationships he or she is trying to elucidate.
His "crisis", if you will, came to a head while he attended a symposium on comics in academia. At the end of a lecture, he went up to the presenting professor and asked "How can I do this myself?"
That professor's advice: "Go get yourself an illustrator."
Such advice is sound, except for one problem which I, as an educator, can relate to: Vivanco couldn't afford to hire such a professional. So, he decided to "give it a shot" and draw the illustrations himself. "I try to be kind an idiot savant: I look at art and books and comics and then I do my best to reproduce what I see."
That work has led to comics about cycling throughout history, and in the present. They illustrate, if you will, much about the way larger society related to cycling and cyclists. Today we lobby for better cycling infrastructure, or to get any such infrastructure at all. So did cyclists 120 to 130 years ago, in Vermont and other places. The difference, as Vivanco points out, is that because bicycles were far more expensive in relation to people's incomes than they are now, cyclists tended to be well-off and well-connected, and therefore had connections to leaders or power-brokers, if they weren't those leaders or power-brokers themselves. Thus, cycling clubs in places like Brattleboro and even larger cities were part of the political establishment and were quite effective in getting safer roads and other amenities. Today, in contrast, cyclists are, in most places, organizing and lobbying as outsiders looking in at the lawmakers and institutions they're trying to influence.
From what Professor Vivanco says, media like comics are a way to help open the doors by making information more available to non-specialists. He points out something I know very well: Academic discourse has a language and culture all of its own and, because they are learned by relatively few people, reach very few people. The same could be said for any number of professions related to urban planning and policy-making, such as law, engineering and environmental psychology. Comics and other graphic media can also help people who are not specialists--and busy professionals who don't have the time or inclination to read lengthy tomes or ponderous articles on topics outside of their fields--to better understand how the struggle to get better conditions for cyclists is related to other efforts to make cities and other environments more livable and sustainable.
Most important, perhaps, comics like Professor Vivanco's can show how demands for better air quality and bike lanes are not new, and are not battles that can be won today and forgotten tomorrow.
I'll close by saying that I like Vivanco's drawings: They remind me of the work of Rick Morrall, who did the illustrations for Tom Cuthbertson's bike-related writings. At least, I think that's what Morrall's work would look like if Bike Tripping had been published in 1892 instead of 1972.
