A New Olympic Cycling Event: The Omnium

During the past week or so, I haven't posted much.  One reason is that I've been watching the Olympics.

For some reason, I'm more interested in them this year than I was the last time around (2008) or the time before that (2004).  It may have to do with my having spent some time in London and knowing  of some of the venues in which the Games are being held, as well as other landmarks.  It may also have to do with the fact that I've been home, whereas during the previous two Olympiads, I was away:  visiting old friends in France in 2004 and my parents in Florida (for the first time since I began my transition) in 2008. So, I guess, you could say I was occupied.

While I'm always glad to see cycling, I wish there were more coverage of it.  I guess the networks figured that there would be more interest in the road and track races and the time trial than in some of the other events.  I'm sure that a lot of casual cycling fans wanted to see the time trial because it was contested by, among others, Bradley Wiggins--whose victory in the Tour de France a week earlier was the first by a British rider--and his countryman and teammate/rival Christopher Froome.  And, a lot of Americans probably tuned into the road race because they thought Kristin Armstrong, who won a gold medal, was Lance's ex.

One event that seems to get almost no attention outside of the Olympics--and is unknown to nearly all Americans--is the omnium, in which Lasse Hansen of Denmark won the gold medal today.  (French cyclist Bryan Coquard won the silver and Britain's Edward Clancy took the bronze.)  One could think of it as the hepathlon of cycling, except that, instead of seven events, it has six:

• A flying lap--This is a race against the clock.
• Points race--Cyclists score points for sprints that occur every 10 laps.
• Elimination--This race includes an intermediate sprint every two laps; the last rider is eliminated after each sprint.  Think of it as a kind of Musical Chairs for cyclists.
• Individual Pursuit--Riders start at opposite sides of the track and race against the clock. (4000m for men, 3000m for women)
• Scratch Race--This is a straightforward race to the finish line: 16km for men, 10 km for women.
• Time trial--Each competitor rides the course, aiming for the fastest time.  (1km for men, 500 m for women)

Now, I can understand why most Americans have never heard of it:  It's a new sport in the Olympics and was added to the World Championships Program only five years ago.

It will be interesting to see whether the omnium will be part of future Olympiads.  Even bronze medal winner Clancy says that although it's "great entertainment" and was good for him personally, he feels that winning depends on luck more than it does for other events.  "I don't know whether this fits in with the 'higher, stronger, faster' ethos of the Olympics," he explained.

He may be right about the role luck plays in it.  Then again, the same could be said for nearly all sporting events:  How many winners and runners-up were decided by injuries, illnesses or even weather conditions? Or how many times have people gotten jobs, promotions and even the loves of their lives simply because they were--sometimes unwittingly--"in the right place at the right time?"  Heck, even my students' grades have been determined by factors beyond their--or my--control.

What's New? Old Brakes

To get your bicycle to do what you want to do, have to listen to it--especially when it's telling you it likes, or doesn't like, something.

A corollary to that pearl of wisdom is this;  Just because something fits on a bike, that doesn't mean it will work well --for the bike or you.

So it was with linear=pull (a.k.a. "V")brakes on Vera.  I never could get them adjusted quite right.  They had lots of stopping power--as long as I pulled my brake levers all the way.  In other words, I experienced the "all or nothing " response some people experience with V brakes.  I couldn't decelerate with them; I could make only "on the dime" stops.

Also, I simply could not keep them centered, especially on the front.  Instead of standing vertically from the posts on which they were mounted, the brake arms stuck out at one- and eleven=o'clock angles.  That was more than an aesthetic concern:  It made the brakes difficult to adjust.

Finally, even when I unhooked the cable, it was difficult to remove the front wheel because the brakes and pads fit so closely.  The likely reason for that, and possibly the other problems I mentioned, is, I discovered, that V-brakes are designed to be used on frames and forks with the brake bosses spaced further apart than they are on Vera.  In fact, most older touring and cyclo-cross bikes, and road (or roadish) bikes made for cantilevers, have brake bosses that are more narrowly spaced than they are on mountain or post-1996 hybrid bikes.

I installed the V-brakes (Shimano Deore LXs) to replace the low-profile cantilevers that came with the bike.  Those brakes just seemed weak, at least compared to cantilevers I had back in the day.

So, guess what I did?  I found a cantilever brake like the ones we used back in the day:

I found these vintage 1985 Shimano Deore XT-MC70 brakes on eBay for a reasonable price.  While they protrude from the frame more than the other brakes, they have more power than the low-profile cantis--and better modulation than V-brakes.  I also found them surprisingly attractive on the bike.  

Of course, I changed the pads:  Even if they look OK, twenty-year-old pads have dried out at least somewhat.  Plus, Kool-Stop (Mathauser) salmon-colored pads are kinder to lightweight alloy rims than the old Shimanos.

(The current Tektro 720s seem to be patterned, at least to some degree, on these brakes).

One other benefit--at least from my point of view--of the cantilevers is that they allow me to use inverse (bar-end) brake levers like the ones I have on Helene.

I'll try to give a follow-up report on how these brakes work with Vera.  So far, everything seems good.

Colors At The End Of The Day

On my way home yesterday, I rode the promenade at the World's Fair Marina.  It runs just to the northeast of LaGuardia Airport.

While it isn't the Big Sur, it does have its own local color, especially at the end of the day:

A long, long time ago, one of my science teachers told us that we don't actually see anything; instead, our eyes collect the light reflected from it and form an image that is projected onto our retinae.  I hadn't thought about that in a while, until I saw this photo, which captures, not the sun, but a reflection of it on the water.  

Amazing, isn't it, that even the murky waters of Flushing Bay can provide such a palette of hues?

Isn't it also amazing that cell phones these days can record stuff like this?

Motorin'

A month ago, I ranted and raved about electric bikes.


As "Ailish" and other commenters pointed out, bikes with motors, or other non-human assistance, are nothing new.  In fact, there have been motors of one kind or another on bicycles for almost as long as there have been velocipedes.  


So, as ironic as it may seem, it's really not surprising that some bicycles have "motor" or some similar term in their names even though the bike's only engine is human.  Perhaps the most famous example of this is the French line of Motobecane bicycles.  "Becane" is a colloquialism for "bicycle" in France, so, in essence, "Motobecane" means "motorized bike."


(Note:  Bicycles currently sold in the US with the Motobecane name have absolutely no connection to the company in France, which no longer makes bicycles.  The company that markets the current Motobecanes simply purchased the right to use the name in the 'States.')


Other bike makers have used automotive motifs, particularly on models intended for pre-teen boys.  I think now of the "Chopper" and "Krate"-style bicycles, which had stick shifters meant to evoke the ones found in race cars, as well as racing stripes, checkered flags and such.

Schwinn actually made a model that was called "Motobike." As a kid, I remember seeing one in the basement of my great-aunt's house; if I remember correctly, my great-uncle or their son (my mother's cousin)--or, perhaps, both--rode it when they were boys.


I have no idea of where that bike is now.  But I found a photo of one in an eBay listing.  According to the seller, the bike was made in 1938.  


Another eBay listing revealed the perfect accessory for that bike:

Believe it or not, it was made in the USA--in Illinois, to be exact.

Isn't it interesting that the box reads "Bicycle Ignition"?

Serendipities

On any given day--especially in an urban area--one is bound to see a pre-1980 three-speed bike from Raleigh or another English maker.  In fact, I've owned a couple and ridden a few more in my time.

Now I'll show you one that I owned for about three days.  I didn't ride it home, even though I could have. In fact, I rode it only once.

The bike is just like this one--same color and, I believe, even the same size.  But mine was in even better condition when I got it than this one appears to be.

It's, of course, a Raleigh Superbe with a Dynohub generator on the front and a Sturmey-Archer AW 3 speed hub on the rear..  Mine was made in 1956; this one probably came from the Raleigh factory within a year or two of that date.  

The only reason I didn't ride it home is that I found the bike while I was riding down Surf Avenue in Coney Island, near the New York Aquarium.  So I wheeled the bike I'd been riding with one hand, and my new find with the other, onto the D train, which took me to Park Slope, where I was living at the time.

That was about fifteen years ago.  By then, the faded glory of the Coney Island boardwalk had faded; Surf Avenue, like nearly all of the rest of the neighborhood, was as splintered as driftwood and, at night, as desolate as the ocean that stretched from the sand in front of the boardwalk.  

Still, it had a certain charm--though not of the discreet sort of the bourgeoisie.  And, at that time, there were a bunch of semi-abandoned storefronts and warehouses across from Astroland that became impromptu flea markets on weekends.  The men--they were all men--who operated them were even more weathered than the wooden planks on the pier and, if you couldn't read their body language, could be just as treacherous.  

So, with my best poker face, I entered one of those storefronts and, among books and records that were forgotten the day after they were released and clothes that were out of fashion but not yet "vintage" (which wasn't quite hip at that time), I stumbled upon my unexpected treasure.

The old man asked forty dollars for it.  I shuffled around, and pretended to look at his other wares.  "Thirty," he rasped.

"I'll give you twenty."

We settled on twenty-five; if I'd waited a bit longer, I probably would have gotten it for twenty.  

A couple of days later, I rode it to Emey's Bikes, then located on East 25th Street. Although my steed consisted of two road bikes (one of them a tight custom criterium frame) and a hard-tail mountain rig, I was taken with the ride of the Superbe.  However, the shifting wasn't quite right and the Dynohub wasn't working at all.  I was going to ask Emey to work on those things.

He looked like a young  Dick Van Dyke with a pot belly, and talked with E.G. Marshall's voice and Jack Klugman's accent (at least, the one he had in The Odd Couple).  In addition to those qualities, Emey Hoffmann had other eccentricities that were, well, not quite as charming.  Still, the guy knew from Raleigh three-speeds:  People came from out of town to have their vintage Sturmey Archer-equipped bikes serviced.  

After I described the shifting and lighting problems, he asked to ride it.  That didn't surprise me; I used to do the same thing when I was working in bike shops.  

He came back about half an hour later.  "What do you want to do with this bike?"

"Fix the gears--overhaul the hub if you need to.  Same thing with the Dynohub."

"Hmmm..." He puffed on one of the little, unfiltered cigarettes he always smoked.

"Think you can do it?"

He took another puff.  "Wanna make a deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll make you a trade."


"You mean for the repairs?"

"No, for the bike."  

He offered me a mid-level road bike--a Fuji, I think--from the early '80's or thereabouts.  I hemmed.

"Well, what would you like?"  

I glanced toward a Specialized racing bike from around the same time the Fuji was made.  It was a model I knew: I put a couple of bikes just like it together when I worked in Highland Park Cyclery.  

The tomato-red paint had faded only slightly:  The bike hadn't been out much.  The frame was made from a high grade of chrome-moly steel, double butted.  And the components were a combination of Cyclone and Superbe (but not Superbe Pro) parts.  If I remembered correctly, it was the second bike in  Specialized's road bike lineup.  

"Get us a slice of pizza and let me think about it."

One of my favorite pizzerias at that time--Mariella's--was about five blocks from Emey's shop.  I bought a medium pie; 
Emey and I each ate a slice. So did his son, who happened in.  I left the rest "for the house."

He gave me the Specialized racing bike, which I rode home. I thought about keeping it, but a couple of days later one of my riding buddies saw me on it.   The bike was nicer than the one he had; he asked whether I wanted to sell it.

"What's it worth to you?"

He offered three hundred; I asked for five; we settled on four Benjamins.    

I never told him how I got the bike.  Maybe he's reading this now.