Remembrance of Bike Past: Romic

So why am I posting a photo of a weird bike I've never seen in person?


Well, believe it or not, it's personal for me.  


Those of you who know me, whether in person or through this blog, know that I have never owned a bike that even remotely resembles that one, and that I've ridden such bikes maybe a couple of times in my life.


Did some hipster use his fixie in an anger management class?Or did some messenger smoke too much of, shall we say, something that's not made by a subsidiary of RJ Reynolds?


Actually, the original owner of that bike had the frame built that way.  Apparently, it was built as a pursuit track frame.  

One thing that makes it more interesting is that the frame was built by a builder with a conservative reputation (in building practices, anyway:  I know nothing about his politics!).


Romic bicycles were built by Ray Gasiorowski in Houston from the mid-70's until the mid-90's.  On some frames he used Nervex-style lugs; on others, he used plainer but elegant long-point lugs.  His work was very clean and solid, if not blingy.  

     
This is a road-racing bike he made, apparently, some time during the early '90's.  Like most of his bikes, it was constructed of Reynolds 531 tubing.  


Here is a Romic touring frame:

Some non-Reynolds Romic bikes were made of Columbus or Tange tubing.  Some of the builder's touring and sport-touring frames had Reynolds 531 main triangles and Tange rear triangles and forks.  I suspect that such was the case with the pictured bike.


My suspicion is an informed one: I had one of those bikes.  It was a sport-touring model, which featured geometry somewhere between the racing and touring bikes in the photos. It was the first frame I ever bought and built up.  


At the time, it was my only bike.  And it was the kind of bike you wanted to have if you were going to have only one:  I toured and raced with it.  The rear triangle was surprisingly stiff for a bike with its geometry; it gave a zippy ride when I put a pair of tubular wheels and tires on it but was remarkably stable when I rode it, with a rack, panniers and handlebar bag, through England and France.  


One of my youthful follies was deciding that I needed a "racier" bike.  So I sold my Romic and bought a Trek frame made from Columbus tubing.  In those days, some Trek racing frames--including the one I bought--had even shorter chainstays and wheelbases than most Italian criterium bikes.  A few cyclists still seek those Trek frames from the late 70s and early 80s for their stiffness.   However, some of them had a problem that could prove painful:  the seat clusters broke off them.  


As far as I know, nothing like that ever happened to a Romic.  Better yet, I still remember the bike--and, more important, the ride--all of these years later.  When I ordered Arielle, I had that Romic in mind.  You might say that my Mercian road bike is an updated, somewhat tighter, version of that Romic from my youth.


Note:  Romic mountain-bike shocks have no relationship to Romic bicycles.  In fact, I think the first Romic shocks were made after Ray Gasiorowski died in 1996.

Even Better Than A Rockette

This morning, I had to go to my doctor's office in Chelsea for a blood sample.  Along the way, I saw this bike parked outside Radio City Music Hall:

Yes, it's a Mercian Vincitore.  Check out the head lugs:

OK, so the pants band blocks the lower head lug.  But what you see on the top lug is a fine example of Mercian's work.


The color is an indigo-ish purple.  The seat tube and head panels are a kind of light beige, with a tint of yellow. The owner/rider, it seems, decided to highlight the yellow  with the rims, pedals and handlebar tape.  While I'm not crazy about the "hipster fixie" touches,  I do like the overall look of the bike.  Plus, it's a Mercian, which by itself makes the bike interesting.

Cinco de Mayo Bike Jam

In my time, I've cycled on pretty much every holiday you can think of, including ones I never celebrated.  For that matter, I've probably cycled on holidays without even knowing it.

I'd guess that, in most years, I've ridden on Cinco de Mayo, whether it was a weekend day ride or simply a commute to work, as I did today.  But I never did a ride like this:

I suppose that's about as appropriate a ride as any for this fete.  This ride was scheduled for today in--where else?--Texas.  It was in Austin, to be precise.  If I'm not mistaken, that's Lance Armstrong's hometown.


I wonder whether he ever did a ride like that.  BMX is one of the few kinds of riding I've never done, mainly because I was a bit old for it by the time it came along.  That, and bicycle polo.  But who'd play a game of bicycle polo on Cinco de Mayo?   I would, just because "bicycle polo on Cinco de Mayo" has a nice ring to it, verdad?  (I couldn't type an upside-down question mark before "verdad.")  


Anyway...Did you do a ride to commemorate this day?  Or did you just do a ride and eat Mexican food afterward?  Actually, that's what I did.  And I washed it down with a "virgin" margarita. That's how I reward myself for doing something I enjoy.  Es una buena vida, verdad?

A Bike I'll Own For Two Weeks

I wasn't going to mention this.  But if you've been following this blogs, you're probably curious about the bikes that come my way.

Here's something I bought--albeit very cheaply--on impulse:

It's a Bridgestone MB-6 from, what I can tell, 1994.  That would make it one of the last Bridgestones to be imported to this country.  In the mid-1990's, the dollar lost a lot of value against the yen, which caused Bridgestone, along with Japanese bike makers,to cease their operations in the US.

I debated whether to keep it or sell it.  If I were to do the latter, I could almost certainly make a decent profit, given how little I paid for the bike and the fact that some cyclists and collectors seek out Bridgestones.  Plus, the bike is in excellent condition.  I don't think it was ridden much.  Or, it may have been ridden a lot for a season or two, then stored.    From what I can see, all of the equipment is original.  And there are a couple of large scratches, but the paint is in excellent condition overall.  It's a dark metallic blue with a slight tinge of purple--something like the color of the Velo Orange mixte frame.

After some careful consideration--keep or sell--I decided to do...neither.  No, I'm not being indecisive again.  Rather, I decided to take a third course of action.  

Some of you may have already figured out what I'm doing:  I'm donating the bike. In a previous post,  I mentioned a program in Westchester County that helps immigrants.  They actually have a bicycle workshop where they repair and refurbish donated bicycles that are given to the immigrants, mainly young men, who use them for transportation.

Actually, as I understand, the bikes are used as rewards for completing other tasks and taking English classes.  That made the idea of donating this Bridgestone even more appealing:  Whoever ends up with it will be getting a really good bike, but will have merited it in some way. So, I hope, that person will appreciate it.

I mean, I feel better about donating something I might have used myself.  Better yet, it's a bike I might have--say, when I first started riding off-road--bought with money I earned.  So I don't feel like I'm merely "getting rid" of the bike. 

On Tuesday, I'm going to bring it to work, where my co-worker who volunteers with the program will pick it up and give me a receipt. 

After Work: Following The Darling Buds Of May

Last night, after work, I rode to Fort Totten. It's become one of my favorite places to "decompress" because of scenes like this:  

At the end of a sunny day that warmed up considerably, clouds gathered at the end of the day.  Still, I find the view rather striking.  Steel suspension bridges are great for that:  they glow in the rays of the setting sun as well as they reflect the grays and blues of the bay and sky.


Apparently, other people felt the same way:

This place even seems to calm down my bikes.  All right, I don't think Helene has been there yet.  Her turn is coming.  Arielle and Tosca feel peaceful yet energized by that place; Marianela likes it after carting me and my books at the end of the day:

She leadeth me beside the still waters...All right, I won't blaspheme something some of you may still revere.  Besides, the waters weren't exactly still.  She didn't lead me down a straight and narrow path, either.  (Now tell me:  You didn't think I did straight and narrow, did you?)  What she led me to, instead, was a trail of the darling buds of May:

I'm greatly relieved that they're not rose petals.  Love would be great right about now.  Marriage, not so much.  Besides, as curious as I am, I don't follow every trail I encounter. I guess that's one of those things that happens when you get older.


I'm happy that they're the buds of cherry blossoms.  It seems that there are more of those trees in this city's parks and in front of people's houses every year.  I've always loved them; few things say "spring!" more than that bright pink color.  I don't remember seeing them when I was a kid:  Is the planting of them in this city and country a recent phenomenon?


Anyway...I followed that trail of petals.  They led me home.  And I fell into a very restorative sleep.

Is It Still A Boardwalk?

Yesterday, before meeting Avi and Jesse (the guys who were riding "stacked" bicycles), I'd ridden along the Rockaway Boardwalk.  That is normally part of my trek to and from Point Lookout.  However, part of it was closed because it was being reconstructed.

The past couple of years, and this past winter in particular, have not been kind to the boardwalk.  Many of the wooden slats were rotting away or had grown brittle even before the bad weather, and it seems that we've had more coastal storms during the past two or three years than at any other time I can recall.  

I guess the city's Parks Department saw how much hard wood costs these days and decided to use concrete instead. I'm guessing that it will hold up to the elements better or, at least, won't splinter and rot the way wood does.  

Some cyclists might actually prefer the smoother concrete surface.  But there's still a part of me that likes the clackety-clack of my tires across those boards.

Romantic notions of seaside rambles aside, there is one very good, practical reason not to like the new concrete slabs:

There is a section of the eastern part of the boardwalk, near Far Rockaway, where the work is complete and the concrete boardwalk is open.  There are two gaps, as large as the one in this photo, that run along the length of the walk.  

Of course, it's a good thing that there are only two such gaps, as opposed to the dozens of spaces between the wooden boards.  On the other hand, the gaps between these concrete slabs are much wider than the ones between the wooden boards, and are thus more likely to catch a bicycle wheel.  Plus, falling on concrete is more painful than falling on wood--assuming, of course, that you don't get splinters.

Even though I'm not so crazy about the aesthetics of the concrete walk and worried about the gaps, I'll reserve my judgment until I've ridden the concrete at least a few times.

Still, I must ask:  If it's made of concrete slabs, can we still call it a boardwalk?

Reaching For The Skies On Our Bikes

Twice I have pedaled through clouds and once, when looking into the horizon, I saw a jet cruising at an altitude a few hundred feet lower than the peak I had just ascended on my bike.


So, as you can imagine, I have respect for Avi and Jesse:

They were riding down a side street near the boardwalk in Long Beach, on the South Shore of Nassau County.  They had just ridden on that boardwalk, as I would soon afterward.  

Avi, who's in this photo, and Jesse are members of a hardcore-punkish-funkish band called White Goblin.  As if that isn't enough to make realize how middle-aged and bourgeois I am, they said they've been to nearly every Critical Mass ride for the past ten years or so.  


They--especially Avi--are very engaging, and that is almost reason enough to go to their next performance.  I wonder whether they'll go to it on the bikes they rode today:

They built their two-story bikes from a variety of frames and parts.  They even did their own welding.  It's not the most elegant work, but I give them "props" for it. After all, I've never welded anything.  


And, yes, Jesse was riding in his bare feet.


Perhaps that's not as shocking as the three-high bike he told me he built, or the double-decker tandem (made from two tandems) Avi says he made.

For these guys, a Pedersen would be a "comfort" bike.


They expressed as much admiration for Arielle as I did for their bikes.  


Then it was off to Point Lookout, for my first ride there this year. 

And Arielle soaked up the rays:

Motorists With Spring Fever

Today was one of those spring days when the wind, brisk as it was, felt like a form of light and the mild, almost warm, air held nary a hint that there could be strife in this world.


We, as cyclists, live for days like this.  Actually, I can't think of anyone who wouldn't look forward to such a day.

But every year, on the first definitively Spring day (as opposed to the first day with spring-like weather), some people lose their grip on themselves, especially when they're driving.  Some might be young and have just fallen in love; others simply are intoxicated, perhaps. 


So, along with the lovely weather came some absolutely crazy drivers.  You know the kind I mean: the ones who cut across lanes and make turns without signalling, or simply don't pay attention to the road ahead or beside them.  Or the ones that drive close enough to you to scrape the crochet backing off your gloves and let their dogs bark, drool or chomp out of the back windows. "Awww...isn't he the cutest thing you ever saw..."


I think that such weather, and the beginning of spring,  coming later than usual affets people, including me, in all sorts  of ways.  Sometimes it's fun, but when someone cuts across the lanes, not so much


Oh well.  I made it home from work.  And tomorrow we  will have more l

Kneecapped by Walmart?

It's a conspiracy, I tell ya.  The other night, my flight from Atlanta was delayed by almost three hours.  So I got home late Monday night and didn't feel like doing much of anything. (When I go to my parents', I usually fly to Atlanta, then to one of the NY Metro area airports.)  

Then, last night, I didn't have any internet connection.


Ya no, I got to thinkin' that Sam Wall himself was behind everything.  Mr. Wall, I'm sorry about all of those terrible things I said about your fine retail establishment.  I will never, ever use the name "Wal-Mart" in the perjorative, ever again.  Yes, I promise (as I use Catholic school birth control, a.k.a., I cross my fingers).


So now you think I'm a conspiracy theorist.  Well, not really.  I haven't said anything bad about Obama since he showed his birth certificate.  (All right, I never was a "birther.")  But sometimes I think certain people-- e.g., certain retail plutocrats--have it in for me.  Or could it be that the gods of something are angry--or crazy?


And I haven't done any cycling since I got home.  Something's afoot, and it ain't my old Detto Pietro shoes with TA Anquetil cleats (the kind that nailed onto the sole).  

I know.  I'll get to ride again.  At my age, I should know that.  Still, I worry that I'll lose this spring, the way I lost most of last spring.  Well, not quite:  Last spring, I had infections and other illnesses.  At least this year, my excuses are Life and the weather.  (For a few moments just after noon, the sky grew ominously dark and  I thought we might see another tornado here in NYC.)


At least for the last couple of days I had memories of a couple of pleasant, if short, rides from my parents' house.


  

Buying A Tire at Wal-Mart

I promise:  This won't be merely a rant against a corporate monolith.  However, I am warning you that this post will contain one.  So proceed at your own peril.

Yesterday, as I mentioned, I got a flat.  Since Mom and Dad don't ride, and the bike was borrowed, there was no spare tire or tube in the house.  So Dad took me to Wal-Mart, which was the only store open, to get them.

I bought a mountain bike tire and two tubes.  The total cost, with tax, was $25.88.  That doesn't sound bad, except that I know that I could have gotten something of better quality online, or even from my local bike shops, for less money.  And these tires and tubes were the only ones offered in the store.

The tire and tubes were from Bell, which seems to have become a generic brand of bike parts and accessories without being, or admitting to being, generic.  I've used Bell helmets, which were fine. But I see, at best, a tenuous connection between whoever is making the tires and tubes and whoever is making the helmets. 

So, it seems, Wal-Mart is now taking advantage of the apparent lack of competition in the area by offering a limited selection and inferior quality at whatever prices they can get away with charging.  

And don't get me started on the way the company treats its employees.  That they were working on a holiday, for minimum wage,  was bad enough.  But the workers--even the young floor manager--didn't seem very healthy.  And the cashier--one of those wonderful Southern women of a certain age who calls everyone "hon" and "darlin'"--was missing nearly all of her teeth.

She probably couldn't have afforded the tires and tubes I'd just bought.

Not A Swamper

I've never pretended, even for a moment, that I could be a "swamper."  Even though I was born in Georgia, which has more than its share of swampland, I spent only the first few months of my life there.  And I know that, as much as I love Sweet Home Alabama, I will never have the same feeling for the places figure into that song as the ones who wrote and performed it.

However, spending a few days in Florida, especially when I have the opportunity to ride, allows me to appreciate the beauty of the wetlands I see here.  For one thing, they're full of flora and fauna one simply doesn't find on drier lands, or any lands north of the Potomac.  And, for another, these swamps glisten in the sunlight in ways that no other kind of landscape can.  I suppose that if I spent more time in and with it, I could describe it better.  For now, all I can say is that their perpetual greenness somehow makes the water seem bluer, and gives everything a feeling that is pristine and ancient at the same time.  It's as if those lands, and the water and plants that cover them, could neither reflect nor belie the ways in which the human race has or hasn't touched it.

But when you're out in the middle of one of these swamps--or even riding a bike lane that cuts through it--in the middle of a bright summer today, like the one I experienced today, it's just plain hot.  And it's even hotter when you get a flat and there's no shade to cover you when you're fixing it.

Now, having fixed it and eaten an Easter dinner (ham, baked sweet potatoes, Italian-style asparagus and tomato and mozzerella slices drizzled with olive oil, among other things), I can sit here and celebrate the beauty of what I saw. 

Route A1A and The Nomclemature of Two Wheels

It wasn't exactly jet lag.  But when I got to my parents' house last night, I was exhausted.  And as much as I appreciate you, dear reader, I wanted to spend whatever waking moments I had with my parents.  After all, they're getting on in years.  Then again, we all are, I guess.

Anyway...Today was very much a summer's day:  the temperature reached 90F (32F).  And the sun lit a nearly turquoise sky and a sea that was only slightly more opaque.  The temperature was a few degrees warmer than normal for this time of year in this part of Florida, but some brisk winds tossed flags about, particularly along the ocean.

Along the way, I stopped at Flagler Beach, where an outdoor market filled with people who shopped the produce stands and whose kids had just hunted for Easter eggs in a nearby park.  In the market, a woman who makes jewelery from beads and shells was selling her wares at discounts because it's going to be her last day at the marketplace until the fall.  Naturally, I bought a few items and got into a conversation with the woman, who says she's going to spend her summer in Wyoming, where she is going to manage the Native American jewelery section of a National Park's gift shop.  She can't sell her work there, she says, because it would be a conflict of interest.  However, being there will give her the opportunity to collect some Native beads and other items, as well as some ideas, she might use. And she'll be able to hike and camp in the mountains.

After shopping, I ate a banana, a pear and a Lindt dark chocolate bunny and washed them down with a bottle of spring water while sitting on a bench facing the ocean.  Another woman on a bike walked by; we exchanged pleasantries about what a beautiful day it was.  Her cell phone rang and her family said that they'd finished doing whatever they were doing, so she was going to meet them. 

She motioned to a bar across the street.  "I'm going to the bikers' bar," she explained.  "The one for the real bikers."  Of course--given that we were on Route A1A, about halfway between Daytona Beach and Saint Augustine, she was referring to the ones whose motorcycles, mainly Harleys, were parked outside that bar.

From "Motorcycle and Bicycle Illustrated, July 12, 1917

I didn't have the chance to ask her what made them "real" bikers, as opposed to us.  Now, if she'd said that they were "bikers" and we are "cyclists," that would have made some sense to me because I've never referred to myself as a "biker" and most other people I know who ride bicycles reguarly refer to themselves as "cyclists."  

Not so many years ago, "cyclists" were referred to as "wheelmen" and the first club to which I belonged was affiliated with what was then known as the League of American Wheelmen.  That organization dated from the days of penny-farthing or high-wheeler bicycles and, I guess, hand't yet heard about feminism.  Then again, if they had, what would they have called themselves?  "Wheel men and women?"  "Wheel people?"

Can you tell that I got more sun today than I've gotten in the past four or five months?

The Navy Yard Bike Lane

If you've been reading this blog, you know how ambivalent I feel about bike lanes, especially ones that are next to parking lanes.  Now I've seen something that makes me feel more ambivalence on top of what I already felt about bike lanes:

This lane, which runs alongside the westbound lanes of Flushing Avenue in Brooklyn, has a  three-foot high concrete wall separating it from the rest of the street. It parallels the southern boundary of the old Brooklyn Navy Yard.  


Most of the Yard is fenced off, but it's possible to catch a few glimpses of some of the old buildings.  Yes, they do have a sense of history to them, as do many buildings that were used for the purpose of war.  On one hand, I feel about them the way I do whenever I'm on the any site where death reigned:  A combination of anger and grief over the sheer futility and waste of lives.  On another hand, I find it interesting in the way old industrial areas are:  Such places represent ways of life that have come, or are coming to an end and skills and knowledge that are, or are becoming obsolete but that were once indispensable to large numbers of people.  In other words, they're a bit like the nearby docks of Red Hook and Bush Terminal, where male relatives of mine worked in jobs and trades that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exist.  For that matter, neither do the jobs my mother and grandmother worked in the factories that once operated very near the Navy Yard. 


I sometimes think that the only real advance the human race could make is to realize that war is obsolete, or at least ultimately useless.  But, of course, that would also mean the end of large parts of the economy as Americans and many other people in this world know it.  


All right...I'll get off my soapbox.  Standing on them is risky when you're wearing high heels, or bike shoes with Speedplay cleats.  (Look cleats are somewhat less risky.) Besides, what I've just said about the military-industrial-financial complex is not the only reason why I'm ambivalent about the bike lane I just found.


I decided to ride the lane on my way home from DUMBO.  It's narrow, but as long as you're looking ahead of you, the oncoming cyclists won't be a problem.  The problem I found is the lack of a connection between the point where the lane meets the exit ramp of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and the bike lane that parallels Kent Avenue along the Williamsburg waterfront, just north of the Navy Yard.  The gap between those two sections of bike lane isn't more than a hundred meters, I'd guess.  But cars are exiting the highway, and I'd bet that most drivers don't know about the lane.  And any cyclist who is riding the lane for the first time probably won't know that there's a point where the lane meets, but doesn't cross, the highway exit ramp.


Perhaps, in another post, I'll tell you about something that happened to me along that stretch of Flushing Avenue before the lane was built.  Don't worry:  It wasn't terrible, just ironic.

Beware of Indian Three-Speed Bikes

I should've known something wasn't good when I saw this:

Even though I haven't worked in a bike shop in at least fifteen  years, I still have nightmares about this bike. 


It's a made-in-India replica of the traditional English roadster--specifically, the Raleigh DL-1.  Like the erstwhile velocipedic pride of Albion, this made-in-India machine has three speeds, rod brakes and one of those rear kickstands that lifts the rear wheel of the ground.


Someone once said that the Yugo took the worst features of the Fiat 128 and made them even worse.  I would say something similar about the relationship between this bike and the DL-1.  It's well-known that rod brakes don't do a very good job of stopping, and that steel rims give poor-to-nonexistent stopping in the rain.  Well, the bike in the photo has inferior versions of those parts.  


And while the DL-1s weren't much fun to work on, the Indian bikes were downright scary.  Pieces broke and threads stripped under a normal amount of torque from riders' bodies as well as from bike shop tools.  Seeing as much rust as you see on the bike in the photo wasn't unusual; what was scary was that brand-new bikes were already rusting from the inside when they were brought into the shop.


Plus, as much as I like pink, the shade of the bike in the photo looked a little too much like Pepto Bismol for my tastes.


The bike was parked in front of a pizzeria where I hadn't gone in some time.  I used to stop there when riding along the Long Island City and Greenpoint waterfronts; sometimes I'd buy a slice or two of pizza and pedal over to the Long Island City piers, which are directly across the East River from the United Nations and directly in line for a nearly perfect view of the Empire State Building. 


The pizza slices from that place were always pretty good.  So was the one I had today.  And the dour middle-aged proprietor who made the pizzas the first time I went there, at least a decade ago, is still plying his trade though, I suspect, he may be a senior citizen by now.  That wouldn't be so bad if he didn't seem so worn, and the place sadder, shabbier-looking and not as clean as I recall from earlier visits.  


Maybe the now-old man senses the end is near.  Several storefronts around his are vacant, with "For Rent" signs in their windows.  I'm not sure of whether they're the result of the economy, which has claimed a lot of restaurants, bars and stores, or of the changing neighborhood.  The places that closed looked like their best days were past when I first saw them, around the first time I went to the pizzeria.  I wouldn't be surprised if I learned that the now-closed bar specialized in Boilermakers.


I wonder whether that Pepto Bismol-colored Indian bike parked in front of that bar, or any of those other places that have closed, will be unearthed by some future archaeologist--from another planet, perhaps.  What would that person/being make of them?

A Japanese Moulton from Bianchi?

Paint your bikes green, call them "whites" and they'll sell like hotcakes all over the world.


Believe it or not, a company has actually been doing what I've just described. 


I'm talking, of course, about Bianchi.  Time was when a Bianchi was a Bianchi, and you couldn't buy them everywhere.  They were available in a few countries outside Italy and in the US, a relatively small number of shops sold them.  The Bianchis available outside Italy were almost all mid- to high-range road bikes, and they were all made in Italy.


Things started to change during the 1980's when Bianchi had some of their bicycles manufactured for them in Japan.  As far as I know, those bikes were sold only in North America, and were--intentionally--much like the better Japanese bikes of that time from makers like Miyata, Panasonic and Bridgestone.  Bianchi's finest racing machines were still made in Italy, but they apparently realized that in the less-expensive road bikes (I'm talking about the real ones, not the ones that mimicked their paint schemes), Japanese frames were offering arguably better workmanship and clearly better components, particularly in the drivetrains, than the Europeans were, or could.


That was the beginning of a major shift for Bianchi.  Up to that time, you sought out a Bianchi if you were a racer or other high-mileage cyclist who cared at least somewhat about speed.  And you knew that getting a Bianchi meant getting a particular kind of Italian road bike.  If you weren't the type of cyclist I've just described, you had probably never heard about Bianchi at that time.  But, from the 1980's onward, Bianchi became, in essence, a number of different bike-makers in a number of different countries.  As an example, they marketed one of the first hybrid bikes in the US, where that type of bike first appeared.  They also offered mass-market versions of high-performance mountain bikes made by the pioneer mountain bike builders in the US. Later, they would make and sell one of the first mass-market fixed-gear bikes--and helped to spawn, if unintentionally, the "hipster fixie."  And they have sold various types of utility and recreational bicycles in other countries.  Those bikes are tailored to the needs and tastes of the local markets.


I've never been to Japan.  So, in all honesty, I couldn't tell you what cyclists ride there.  All I know about the Japanese cycling community and markets, I've read in bike magazines or heard from people familiar with Japanese cycling.  And, oh, yes, from seeing what the Japanese buy on e-Bay.


I never would have guessed that their tastes ran to bikes like these:

Martin, the owner of this bike, brought it and himself from Japan.  He says it's a kind of bike the Japanese call the "mini-sprinter":  a machine with a relatively tight wheelbase, straight fork and small wheels (on this bike,  20 X 1 1/8).  He tells me that when people see it, they ask him how to fold it.  I remarked that in some ways, the bike--which is called the Mini Velo 9 Drop--reminds me of the original Moultons.  


According to Martin, Moultons are sought by collectors in Japan, where they fetch even higher prices than they do here in the US.  And, he said, a lot of Japanese believe that it's possible to go faster with the smaller wheels.


I've always wanted to ride a Moulton just to experience it.  If I had money to burn, I might buy one even though I'm not a collector.  I'm sure that the ride of Martin's bike is different, however subtly.  If I had more time, I might want to try both a Moulton and Martin's bike.  I wonder which one I'd like better.  In any event, I'm sure that the shifting and braking are better on the Bianchi than they were on the Moulton.  My love of vintage (and vintage-style) bikes, bags and other accessories doesn't extend to components. 


However, Martin does have two things on his bike that, if they weren't standard equipment on Moultons, were almost certainly installed on many of them.  He has a nice brass Japanese bell like the ones Velo Orange sells.  More important, he has a nice brown Brooks B-17 on his Bianchi.
  

In-Your-Face Gray

It's been a gray, rainy day.  You know the kind of day I mean: one in which you just can't escape the gray. It's not about my mood; I've actually been feeling good these past few days.


Here's another example of gray that you can't escape--or, more precisely, something gray that somehow manages to be in-your-face:

Now, of course, the bike seems even more in-your-face with an orange bike behind it.  Of course.

Just having the name "Giant" on a bike is pretty audacious.  Now, I've never owned one and have only test-ridden two.  I don't mean to disparage the bikes:  One of the Giants I tried was actually a nice ride.  I don't remember which model it was; I recall only that it was a mountain bike.


Anyway...I never realized a gray bike with black trim could be such an eclat to the senses!

The Last Bike Standing Follows The Moon On Friday Night

Until recently, there was a TV show called Friday Light Nights.  I never watched it (I watch little to no TV) but the title is apropos of tonight, at least for me.


I was the last one--well, the last cyclist, anyway--to leave the college tonight. 

After getting something like a real night's sleep last night, the ride today felt really good.  It was a few degrees cooler than it was yesterday, so the ride in was brisk, as was the ride home.  I was almost underdressed for the latter:  At times, I wish I'd worn a light jacket over my sweater and blouse.   I did, however, wear pantyhose under my skirt, which felt right--at least temperature-wise.


Today was the last day before Spring Recess.  At least it was for my classes:  Tomorrow, Saturday classes have their last meeting before getting a week of for the holidays.  The students in today's class are normally an interesting and stimulating group; today, they didn't seem as eager to leave as I would expect students to be the day before a recess.  I showed them the filmed version of Shakespeare's  Othello in which Lawrence Fishburne plays the title role.  Othello is one of my three favorite Shakespeare plays (The Tempest and Macbeth are the others) , and I'd say it's probably the one which I've had the most success teaching.  


Now, you may ask, what do teaching Othello and cycling to and from work have to do with each other?  Well, I think that, if nothing else, my experience today led me to a circle of questions:  Do my rides feel good because I feel good?  Or is it the other way around?  And was the confidence I felt on my bike and in my class a result of both going well?  Or did things go well because I was feeling confident and happy?


And when is my enjoyment of cycling enhanced by my enjoyment of other things?  Or does my enjoyment of other things enhance my enjoyment of cycling?

I guess that's a bit like asking whether cycling leads us to follow the moon or following the moon leads us to cycle.

Bike and Bed, or Bed and Bike

So why didn't I post yesterday?  Let's see...Should I be creative?  Or tell it straight?  Ha!  Me, doing anything straight.  What a concept!


Anyway...After my first longish ride of the year--which I did on my fixed gear--instead of taking a bubble bath or doing something sensible like that, I did some work.  And got about three hours of sleep.  No, I take that back:  That's how much time I was in bed.  And then I went to work.


So, when I got home last night, late, I went almost immediately to bed...and to sleep, even after having eaten a takeout dinner with way too much sodium and having drunk some tea.

I couldn't have slept any better-- not in my grandmother's arms, not in the plushest bed in Buckingham Palace, nor even in the Bed and Bike Inn--than I did last night.  I slept so deeply that the fog didn't have to come in on little cat's feet (This is probably the only time I will ever quote Carl Sandburg; Do you forgive me?).  It could have echoed in one of the horns of the boats in the harbor and I would have dreamt through it--and not remembered what I dreamt.


Nights like last night make me believe that nothing's better than cycling-induced sleep.