A Bike And A Bike Lane Done Right

Today I'm going to talk about a bike and a bike lane.

First, what I rode for three days in Paris. I'd already mentioned it in an earlier post.  I wanted to come back to it because it's unlike any other rental bike--or any other bike, period--I've ridden.

It's like the other bikes that comprise Paris a Velo's current rental fleet.  When I availed myself to their services four years ago, the bike I rode--which, again, was like the others in their rental fleet at the time--was a kind of hybrid/city bike.  It wasn't made for fast riding, but it sucked up abuse and neglect pretty well.

The same could be said, perhaps even more so, for the bike I rode on this trip.  Victor assured me that the tires were "flat resistant" and that the bike shouldn't give me trouble. He was right on both counts.  What I found interesting about this machine, though, were its construction and its ride.

About its build: While it, not surprisingly, doesn't have the fine filet-brazing of a constructeur bike, it did incorporate at least one principle of those old masters: structural integrity.  The rear rack is of a piece with the frame, and the front end is braced for strength.  One result is a surprisingly stable ride given the small wheels.

Those wheels, perhaps not surprisingly, got me to thinking about the one small-wheeled bike I owned and rode for any period of time:  a Dahon Vitesse.  (I briefly owned an Italian folding bike that I found on a curbside and "flipped" a few days later.)  One major difference, of course, is that the Paris a Velo bike doesn't fold.  That might be the reason why the PV bike felt so much more stable and was unexpectedly easy to accelerate.

(Oh, and I want to add that Victor included a really nice rain cape with the rental. I was tempted to ask whether I could buy it from him.)

One of the first places where I rode it was a bike lane along the Seine, toward the Notre Dame.  Too often, when I see new bike lanes in the US, I ask, "Why did they bother?"  If a lane isn't demonstrably safer than riding in traffic, there simply is no point to it.  Whoever designed that lane must have understood as much:  It's physically separated from the roadway by barriers that motor vehicles can't easily cross.  Better yet, there's plenty of room for cyclists traveling in both directions.  Too often--as with the Crescent Street lane in front of my apartment--a cyclist coming from the opposite direction risks a head-on collision or forces one cyclist to veer into traffic traveling in the opposite direction. (Crescent is a one-way street.)

So...while there might not be one "right" way to do a bike lane or city rental bike, I am happy to have experienced both done right.

Une Vraie Parisienne?

While riding (or walking) Paris streets, one encounters bikes not normally (if ever) seen in the United States, even in New York.  In the 11th Arrondissement, a lively area between the Place de la Bastille and Place de la Republique, I spotted this:

I had a difficult time photographing the whole bike because it was so closely parked.  Nontheless, I got to see the tidy lugwork and worn but tasteful paint job.  The only identifying mark I could find was the "S" on the head tube, so I don't know its provenance.  Somehow I don't think the frame is from a constructeur, as nicely done as it is. Perhaps seeing such basic equipment, such as a long-cage Huret Eco derailleur (not the Duopar; this one was almost never exported to the US) and a lower-end swaged triple crankset (from Nervar or Solida, perhaps), prejudiced my judgment.

What I couldn't help but to notice were some details one almost never sees on a bike in the US. One example is the front rack in the first photo.  It, like the rear, is attached to the fender, in the manner of the constructeurs.  I can't help but to think that rack was designed with panniers in mind.

I also loved the "guards" around the front and tail lights. Those, along with the fenders, rack and wide tires, show that this bike is meant to be ridden in all sorts of conditions.

The wheels are obviously not the originals:  The hubs look like the sort found on basic-level repair wheels.  I wonder whether this bike originally had a set of touring wheels with, say, Mavic MA3, Super Champion/Wolber 58 or Weinmann Concave rims and a nicer set of hubs--like the Maxicar?

Whatever the original intent purpose, and the provenance, of this bike may have been, it looks like a classic Parisienne!

Riding To A Light Show

More about my Paris trip--including the bike I rented and one I saw on the street--are on the way, I promise.  I'm still under the weather, just as the new semester is beginning.

In the meantime, I'll show you a treat that awaited me during one of my rides in the City of Light.

You were expecting a crepe or some such thing?  Actually, I did enjoy one with creme de marron (chestnut paste--much better than Nutella!) at a nearby stand. The fellow who made it was, in his own right, an artist.  So was the person (or were the persons) responsible for that riot of light and color.

No, a rabid painter or eccentric designer didn't storm his or her way into the abbey of Saint Germain des Pres.  The artist or artists in question did their work long ago and, perhaps unwittingly, made another kind of art--something we might call an "installation"--possible.

Ironically, the abbey stands across the eponymous Place from a cafe--Deux Magots--renowned as a haven for artists, writers, composers and other creative people during the first half of the twentieth century. Most who make the pilgrimage to the cafe and the surrounding area for its literary and artistic heritage do not, I suspect, visit the church for which the Place is named.  Likewise, I don't think most who enter the church are much interested in the walking in the footsteps or imbibing the  nectar that nourished the talents of Sartre, de Beauvoir, Hemingway and their contemporaries.