A Model For Bike Policy?

 For years, a rumor or urban legend--what's the difference between them?--said that bicycles were illegal in the People's Republic of Korea (PRK), a.k.a. North Korea.  Given the country's reputation as one of the most totalarian states, and the fact that almost no one in the West could be sure of what was happening in the country, the story seemed plausible.

Turns out, bicycles weren't officially banned.  But they were frowned upon as a primitive means of transport for a country whose leader saw it as a modern socialist utopia--until 1992.  That year,  cycling gained official acceptance, though the country's leader, Kim Jong-Il, officially banned it women because he thought the sight of a woman striking a "seductive" pose on the saddle would corrupt public morals.

Now, I must say that it still surprises me that anyone  has ever found  me "seductive," "sexy" or even cute in any position, whether as the woman in, ahem, late middle age that I am now or the dude I once was.  And, to my knowledge, the only ways in which I've ever "corrupted" anyone was to have them read essays, poems or books that provoke "subversive" thinking--or to have those people write what they were really thinking or feeling at that moment.

Anyway, for someone who thought he was turning his country into a socialist paradise--which, one presumes, is for the benefit of common people and not based on religious orthodoxy--Kim Jong-Il's attitudes, at least when it came to women and bicycles, weren't much different from those of the leaders of Saudi Arabia or other extreme theocracies.  His son, King Jong-Un, from what I understand, hasn't been enforcing that ban, in part because in a country where few people have cars and mass transportation isn't widely available, especially in rural areas, much of what's grown in that country--by women--would never get to market if women couldn't port it on bikes.

Kim Jong-Un has been pictured on amusement park rides and horses, but not on bicycles.  But, ironically, his non-enforcement of the ban on women riding bikes isn't the only thing that makes his country's capital city, Pyongyang, 'bicycle friendly."  Bicycles are not just socially acceptable; they dominate the streets as they did in Chinese cities a generation ago, for the same reason:  There are few cars.

Interestingly, while some cite bicycles outnumbering people in Dutch and Danish cities as reasons why cycling and cyclists are respected to a greater degree than they are in the US, bicycles aren't fetishized, the fact that they are a, if not the, major means of transportation in Pyongang and other PRK cities is the reason why they are status symbols, in more or less the same way as cars in other places.  Japanese-made bicycles are the most-after (Hmm...Perhaps I should have saved my Miyatas just in case I ever take a trip there!), followed by locally-made bikes that are rumored to be made by prisoners.  Chinese-made bikes are at the bottom of the heap, just as they were in the US about a generation ago.

Could it be that UK Transport Secretary Grant Shapps was looking to the PRK rather than the Netherlands, Denmark or France in proposing a new bike-related policy?

No, he's not looking to get more cars off the road or women on bikes, or to build more bike lanes.  Rather, he wants to adopt one of the PRK's more controversial policies:  registration plates, like those on automobiles, prominently displayed on the front of every bike.  

Oh, but he's looking to go even further than King Jon pere ou fils:  He wants to require insurance and impose speed limits for bicycles.  Moreover, he wants to impose a system of penalty points similar to the ones for motorists who violate the speed limit or other regulations. 

Now, to be fair, he's not the first British public official to propose such regulations.  But I think more citizens, whether they favor or oppose such rules, are paying attention because of the increasing numbers of people who are cycling for fun or to get to work, school or the store.

Whatever happens, it is ironic that an official of a Western country that is often seen as "liberal" would take one of the world's most illiberal states as its model for policies related to a form of transportation and recreation that can do more than almost anything else to liberate women--and men and children.

Riding By A Canvas

The past few days have showcased, for me, some of the ways I choose my rides, especially familiar ones.

On Saturday, I pedaled to Connecticut because the conditions seemed perfect: a not-too-warm day with not-too-high humidity and a moderate breeze that I pedaled into on my way up--which meant, of course, that it blew at my back on my way home.

On Sunday, I felt really good and not in need of "recovery" from the previous day's ride. Still, I wanted to do something slightly less challenging, but still fairly long.  So I pedaled out to Point Lookout.

I also rode to PL yesterday, into a stronger wind than I'd experienced during my two previous rides.  Also, I was starting a bit later than on my weekend rides, and I knew I could ride at a reasonable pace and still get home well before the end of the day.  But the other day, Monday, I did a shorter ride, in part because I had to do a few other things.  But, also, I wanted to explore some nearby nooks and crannies I don't often see, their proximity to my apartment notwithstanding.

One of those enclaves is part of what we half-jokingly call "Astoria's San Francisco."  The streets in that area, north of Astoria Boulevard and west of 21st Street, are indeed hills, though not as steep as, say, Lombard Street.  They are also, like so many San Fran streets, narrow.

Another thing that makes that part of Astoria interesting is the mix of buildings.  Most are residential. Some are landmarked, including mansions which, as I understand, are still owned or even lived in by descendants of the families who built them.  But, a block or two away from such edifices, one can find a seemingly-typical New York bodega that was once a cafe which, as rumor has it, served as the major Mafia gathering place in the area.  Also in proximity to the grand old buildings, which ranging from the stately to almost derangedly rococo, are some old storefronts and warehouses that serve as canvases for local talent.

Through the decades, I've cycled for fun and health, physical and mental.  I've toured cities and countryside, in the United States and other nations.  I also raced, albeit briefly. And, of course, I have commuted to work and school on my bike. Sometimes I think that one of the things that keeps me riding are the sensory surprises and stimulations I encounter along the way.

In 1962, It Was Superior

It was what Sheldon Brown called "the Dark Ages of American Cycling."  Or it was the "dark before the dawn" of the North American Bike Boom that began, depending on whom you ask, around 1969.

I am talking about 1962: 60 years ago. At the end of Bob Seger’s "Night Moves," the reminiscing narrator is "humming a song" from that year: the Ronette's "Be My Baby,” according to Seger. 

That year, Algeria won its independence--at least, in name--from France as Jamaica did from England.  A certain English band was playing at the Star-Club in Hamburg, West (yes, it was West) Germany. And--what I am about to reveal might cause some of you to never read this blog again--my favorite baseball team, the New York Mets, made their lovably, comically inept debut. (Their manager, Casey Stengel, lamented, "Can't anybody here play this game?")

And, although there were custom builders who made frames for the small but enthusiastic cycling communities of New York, Boston, Detroit, Chicago and a few other American locales, the name most Americans associated with quality bicycles was Schwinn.

Their company's top model, the Paramount, was built by hand in a separate area from the other bikes.  I have heard, from more than one source, that Schwinn actually lost money on Paramounts.  That sounds plausible:  Similar British, French and other European bikes with Reynolds tubing and Campagnolo components cost less (1962 Paramount price:  $175.00), mainly because the labor was less expensive.  Supposedly, Schwinn continued to build Paramounts because they were the official bike of the U.S. Olympic team and Arnold Schwinn saw equipping the riders who represented his country as an act of patriotism.  It also helped to support Schwinn's reputation as the only American bike-maker of that time with even a pretense of quality.

In 1962, Schwinn's second-line bike was the Superior.  Its frame was similar to the model of the same name Schwinn introduced in 1976:  chrome-molybdenum tubing filet-brazed without lugs into smooth joints and forged rear dropouts.  Both bikes also had Weinmann centerpull brakes (the cool engraved version on the 1962 bike) and rims with Schwinn-approved large-flange hubs made in France, probably by Normandy.

Oh, and I love the stem and handlebars--made for Schwinn by Gerry Burgess (GB) of England.  I can't get over that "lugged" sleeve on the handlebar:

 

 

Beyond those features, though, the 1960s and 1970s versions were very different. While both had Huret rear dropouts, the older version was equipped with the Huret Allvit derailleur:  standard touring gear of that time.  

The later Superiors came with Schwinn-branded Shimano or SunTour rear derailleurs--with, interestingly, Huret front derailleurs and shifters.  While the Shimano and SunTour mechanisms shifted much better in almost any condition, they seemed to have an almost unfair advantage on the 1970s bike, a ten-speed with the Nervar crankset that used the Specialites TA Pro Vis 5/Stronglight 49D bolt pattern and a wide-range rear freewheel.  On the other hand, the Allvit had to wrap up the yards and yards (OK, that's just a slight exaggeration) of chain necessitated by this:

The 1962 Superior certainly had 15 speeds--exotic for that time.  To achieve it, Schwinn used something I've seen maybe a couple of times in all of my years of cycling and working in bike shops:  a triple (with three chainrings)  Ashtabula (one-piece) crankset. Made from solid forged steel, it probably weighed as much as the frame!

To be fair, there weren't as many cotterless cranks, or triples,  available as there are now.  Schwinn used three-piece cottered cranks only on their early Paramounts.  Even the heaviest cottered cranks were lighter than any Ashtabula cranks, and some companies like Chater Lea, Stronglight and Duprat made cranks with pencil-thin arms.  But, once Stronglight and Campagnolo came out with durable alloy cotterless cranksets, cottered cranks disappeared from high-end road bikes (though they would continue to be used on the track until around 1960).  

Still, even in light of what I've just mentioned, that Ashtabula crank seems so incongruous with the rest of the bike.  But, for most Americans in 1962, the Superior would have seemed as other-worldly as a spaceship.

By the way:  the Superior cost $132 in 1962.  That model was made for only another year and, interestingly, the price dropped to $126.50.  From 1964 until 1970, the Super Sport--basically, a ten-speed version of the Superior--was Schwinn's #2 bike behind the Paramount.  In 1971, the Sports Tourer would knock the Super Sport to #3 and become the new Superior in 1976.