A Schwinn From The Bottom Of The River And Tosca By Flatbush Falls

While riding with a friend yesterday, I chanced upon this gem:

To say it's in rough shape is to be kind:  It looks like it was fished from the bottom of the river.  But it was probably a very nice bike of its type in its time, and could be so again today with lots of TLC.

I noticed this chainguard before I noticed the rest of the bike.  In a strange way, it's baroque, art deco and modernist all at once.  I'm guessing that it was chromed before turning into rust; if it was, it would have really been something to behold!

In addition to a major overhaul and refinishing, the bike needs a seat. It also might need a skirt guard.  At least, I'm assuming that was the reason for the holes in the fenders.

Is this an ancestor of today's suspension systems?  Or maybe it just adds to the bike's aura of invincibility.

As you may be able to discern from the headbadge, the bike is a Schwinn.  From what I could see, I guessed it's from the 1930's or 1940's.  I wonder whether the bike originally came with the "holey" fender.  For all I know, Schwinn ladies' bikes from that time might have had skirt guards.

But the surprises didn't end with the bike:

Now, where do you think I was?  The Brooklyn Botanical Gardens?

Actually, I wasn't very far from the Gardens.  But this place is nothing like the Gardens:

Believe it or not, Flatbush Falls (what I decided to call them) is, as you can see, in front of an apartment building. (It's at the corner of East 16th Street and Avenue I in Brooklyn.  Of course, stopping to look at it was a dead give-away that I'm not from the neighborhood.  Actually, even if I hadn't stopped, I would have stood out in that neighborhood--which is home to thousands of Orthodox Jews--bceause of the bike I was riding and the way I was dressed.

Tosca's a great bike. But she's definitely not one someone in that neighborhood would ride.  Nor, for that matter, is the Schwinn I saw.

A Cuevas Leads Me To A Beacon To Hollywood

For part of yesterday's ride to Point Lookout, an interesting fellow on an interesting bike accompanied me.

His name is Augustine, and this is his bike:

At first glance, it seems like another vintage road frame converted to single-speed usage.  In fact, it is.  But this is not just any old vintage from.  Oh, no. 

All right.  Looking at the headtube and fork crown may not give you a hint as to who made the frame.  But you can see that the builder did nice work.  You can especially see it in the seat cluster.  

It's a sure sign of someone who did some of the nicest lug work ever done in the United States: Francisco Cuevas.

He was born in Barcelona, Spain, where he learned how to make frames as a teenager.  But a little thing called the Spanish Civil War came along, followed by a Franco's dictatorship.  So, in the early 1950's, Senor Cuevas set sail for Argentina with his wife and young children.

He built frames for Argentina's national team, as well as other cyclists.  However, he and his family found themselves living under another military dictatorship, and emigrated to the US in 1970. After a stint with Metro Bikes, he built frames for Mike Fraysee's Paris Sport line, and then opened his own framebuilding shop only a few pedal strokes (literally!) from where I now live.  Senor Cuevas built Augustine's frame there.

When Cuevas came to the US, the "bike boom" was about to start.  During the "boom," boatloads of bikes came into the country, some bearing brands never before, or since, seen or heard about.  One name in the latter category is Beacon.

Apparently, there was a manufacturer of that name in Wisconsin, and a company by the same name that imported bikes.  I don't know whether they're related.  What I do know is that the importer had several house brands, including Astra (made by Motobecane in France) as well a line of bikes called Beacon, which were made in Japan and, later, Taiwan.

Like many Japanese bicycles sold in the US during the "bike boom" of the 1970's (including Nishiki, Azuki and the Japan-produced Univegas), they could be found only in the US.  In contrast, Fuji, Miyata and Panasonic made bikes in Japan that were also sold there, in addition to the bikes that were exported.

Like many of the Japanese bikes made strictly for the US market during the "bike boom," they have solid, reliable lugged-steel (usually mild steel, but sometimes chro-moly) with clean, if not flashy, lugwork and paint.  Those are the very qualities that make them good city and upright bikes, like the one I saw in Rockaway Beach:

I think about the only orginal components on Peter's Beacon are the headset and, possibly, the seatpost.  His wheels were built around a Shimano internal-geared rear hub and dynamo front hub.  Velo Orange rims are laced to them.

The rims aren't the only VO components, as evidenced by the crankset, chainguard and fenders.  This bike is practically a  "poster child" for VO!

Finally, when I got to Point Lookout, I espied this old gem by the playground:

This one looks like it's from the 1960's.  And it doesn't look big enough for most adults.  Could it be that some little girl rode her mother's--or grandmother's--Schwinn Hollywood to the beach?

On The Rocks, Into The Sunset

When I rode to Point Lookout today, I realized something about the place.  So did this couple:

Everyone and everything in Point Lookout must perch on the rocks.  I think that's actually written into the local ordinances.

Arielle understands as much.  And for being a good citizen, she (and I) got to end our ride in grand style:

For Two, For History

As I've mentioned on other posts, I haven't spent a lot of time riding tandems.  Logistically, it's more difficult than riding a single:  You need, in addition to the bike itself, a partner, a place big enough to store the bike and money, for tandems tend to be high-maintenance.  

Once I was the pilot (the cyclist in front) for a blind woman on a charity ride.  I was riding a basic heavy-duty tandem--from Schwinn, if I remember correctly.  I think I rode a lightweight road tandem only once.  It's something I wouldn't mind experiencing again.  However, if I were to ride a tandem, I think I'd be even more interested in riding a track tandem.  I mean, for two riders to pedal a fixed gear, both have to be skilled cyclists who communicate well.  Were I to do a ride on such a bike with such a rider, I'd probably feel supremely confident in my abilities as a cyclist.

And I think I've seen the tandem I'd like to ride:

From Classic Rendezvous

This Schwinn Paramount track tandem is  believed to be the very first one ever made.  Jackie Simes and Jack Heid pedaled it to victory in a three-mile tandem race that ran through Johnson Park in New Brunswick, NJ in June 1951.  It would be the last professional bicycle race held in the United States for nearly a quarter of a century.

Johnson Park is near the campus of Rutgers,where I did my undergraduate degree. I took many a ride there, and witnessed a couple of races.  I knew that some important cycle races had been held there, but I didn't know, at the time, that the last professional race was run in that bucolic setting.

Check out this detail of the front"

The Lighthouse Guides Another Ride

There may not be many lighthouses that still guide ships into and through harbours--at least not here in the US.  However, many are all but irrestistible as destinations, or at least landmarks for bike rides.

This one is only a few minutes' ride from my apartment.

It's at the northern end of Roosevelt Island, that sliver of rock between Manhattan and Queens.   It's what I usually envision when I'm pedaling over the bridge to the island, and it's the point at which I feel an escape from the city becomes a meandering, however brief, along the coast.

Ironically, following the lighthouse yesterday may have been one of my last opportunities for an after-work ride in daylight. 

A Pinarello's Replacement On The Campus Bike Rack

In one of my early blog posts, I mentioned seeing a Pinarello on a campus where I worked.  I contrasted it with the near-absence of bicycles on another campus in which I worked, and that whenever I parked at the latter campus, my bike--even Marianela, the old Schwinn LeTour III on which I was commutig--was by far the best.

Well, the young man who used to ride the Pinarello has graduated.  But, yesterday, I saw another bike that surprised me almost as much as seeing that Pinarello did.

Seeing a late-model Cannondale, particularly in an upper middle-class suburban area like the neighborhood that surrounds the campus, is not remarkable in and of itself.  Seeing a Cannondale track bike is somewhat more unusual but, again, not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

What shocked me was how well-equipped that bike was.  Most track, fixie or single-speed bikes parked in campus bike racks have serviceable, but not spectacular components.  However, this Cannondale sported Mavic Ellipse track wheels, an FSA carbon crankset, a Ritchey Pro seat post, Salsa stem and Nitto bars.  

The only components that seemed incongruent were the flat pedals, intended for downhill mountain biking, made by Crank Brothers (makers of the Egg Beater pedals).  Don't get me wrong:  They're a high-quality component.  But they did seem odd on a bike that otherwise seemed to be built for the velodrome.

I wasn't able to get a better angle to take close-up shots because a motorcycle was parked next to the Cannondale.  But I think you can see why it stood out even in a bike rack that has hosted a Pinarello--and Vera, my green Mercian mixte.

Mike From Far Rockaway

At the first rest stop of the Tour de Bronx, I chanced upon this machine:

A guy named Mike was riding it.  He built it himself, from a stock frame.  He said he plans to rebuild the wheel with a blue rim, but he wanted to ride the bike in the Tour.  I can see why:  I'm not the only one who noticed it!

He says he builds different types of bikes--single speeds, fixies, cruisers, kids' bikes as well as others--from stock frames.  I didn;t get a chnce to ask who (or what company) makes the frames.

He told me he works out of Far Rockaway, through which I pedal whenever I ride to Point Lookout, and that I could find him on the web.  However, my searches so far have proved unfruitful. I told him about this blog, and hope he remembers it.  Mike, I hope you see this!

Tour de Bronx

These cyclists are assembled at the gate of...

Actually, they're not really assembled.  They're just waiting to continue the Tour de Bronx from its first rest stop/checkpoint.

At that rest stop was a sure sign that the ride was taking place in New York:

Bagels!  They were very good--not mere bread doughnuts.   I ate one with sesame seeds; poppy and plain were also offered.  Cream cheese, butter and jellies were also offered. 

There were granola bars and bottles of Dasani water at the  next two stops--and pizza at the end.  All of it free.

In fact, the ride is free, which the ride's organizers attribute to the "generous support" of sponsors.

I  heard some riders express disbelief that there were so many "beautiful" sights in the Bronx.  In particular, people seemed to be taken with the maritime views from the State University of New York (SUNY) Maritime College:

and from Orchard Beach:

not to mention some of what could be seen at the New York Botanical Gardens, where the ride ended:

Interestingly, the route took us through two cemeteries, St. Raymond's and Woodlawn.  The latter necropolis has vast monuments to rival those of Brooklyn's Greenpoint Cemetery and Pere Lachaise in Paris:

Yes, that's a monument for one person!

Of course, the Tour does have its share of less idyllic sights.  After all, it wouldn't be a Tour de Bronx without them:

There was a twenty-five mile and forty-mile tour.  Naturally, I did the latter.  Both rides take about the same amount of time, but the 40-miler is done at a faster pace.  Also, the terrain varies more. (Yes, there are real hills in the Bronx!)

The 40-mile ride is roughly the same length as the more-famous Five Boro Bike Tour.  I rode some of the early 5BBT's, and a few after that.  I was even a marshal in two 5BBT's.  In some ways, the Tour de Bronx reminds me of what 5BBT was in its early years, in part because of the smaller number of riders.  Also, like those early 5BBT's, the Bronx Tour isn't as tightly organized as the 5BBT has become in recent years.  In some ways, Bronx feels more like both a cyclists' event and simply a "fun day out" for those who might take a ride of such a length, say, once or twice year.  On the other hand, the 5BBT has become something of a media spectacle.  (That is not to say, though, that I'm not happy 5BBT exists or that it's become as big as it is. It's simply not my kind of ride anymore.)

And, most important, not all of the streets we rode for the Bronx tour were closed to traffic.  There is certainly a certain amount of "safety in numbers," but I think one has to be more vigilant on the Tour de Bronx than on the Five Boro Bike Tour. On the latter ride, all of the streets it traverses are closed to traffic.

Another thing I like about the Tour de Bronx is that it reallys shows the diversity--geographically, architecturally as well as culturally--of the only New York City Borough located in the mainland United States.  In contrast, most of the 5BBT runs through Manhattan and Brooklyn.  Cyclists on 5BBT spend very little time in the Bronx or Queens, and only slightly more in Staten Island.

In case you were wondering, I rode Tosca:

Fashionistas On The Tour de Bronx

OK, so I'm never going to be a fashion photographer.

All I could get were shots from behind.  I tried to get these young women to turn around. But then came the call to continue to ride, and I simply couldn't balance my bike, take photos and navigate my way through hundreds of cyclists passing through a gate about four feet wide.

Oh well. 

A Tale Of Two Pedals (A Review Of Two Products)

It's the best design; it's an old design.

All right, now that I've got Dickens spinning in his grave, I'm going to tell you about two pedals that, in most ways, are very similar.

The designs of both pedals' bodies are based, to a large degree, on that of the Lyotard Berthet #23, one of the most popular pedals in the history of cycling.

Both have long, curved "tongues" that allow for easy entry and exit from toe clips and straps.

The "tongues" of both pedals lead to relatively wide flat surfaces that nonetheless allow for good grip with a wide variety of shoes.

Both pedals have sealed cartridge bearings that spin smoothly and require little, if any, maintenance.  

Both are available in either silver or black.

A pair of either pedal weighs approximately the same:  300 grams, give or take.

I have ridden one of the pedals in question for nearly two years, while the others have been part of my daily commute for almost two months.

So, you want to know, what pedals am I talking about?

Well, the ones I've been riding for nearly two years are the White Industries Urban Platform pedal.  The pedals I've been using on my rides to and from work are made by Mikashima (MKS) and are called--you guessed it--the Urban Platform pedal.

In one of my earliest posts, I wrote about the White Industries pedals.  In the nearly two years since I wrote that post, I've scarcely thought about them at all.  They run smoothly, are comfortable on long rides and, so far, I haven't had to clean, much less overhaul, them.  Plus, the ones on Tosca (my Mercian fixie) and Arielle (my Mercian road bike) seem not to have been affected, at least functionally, by bumps, scrapes and a couple of tumbles.

The pair pictured in that post went on Arielle.  Subsequent pairs found their way onto Tosca and Helene (my custom Miss Mercian) in that order.  The pedal in this photo is on Helene:

White Indstries Urban Pedal

The WI pedals on Arielle and Helene are silver; the ones on Tosca are black.  While I liked the look of the black ones in the beginning (especially in how it offset the brass dustcap), I wouldn't buy them in black today, as the ones I have scuffed and scratched.  The silver ones don't show such wear.

All in all, the White Industries pedals are among the finest components I have ever used.  In their design and quality of materials and workmanship, they are (I believe) in the same class as Chris King headsets, Phil Wood hubs and bottom brackets, Mavic Open Pro rims and Nitto handlebars, stems and seatposts--all of which I have used for years.

MKS Urban Platform Pedal

Now, I can't speak for the durability my the MKS Urban Platform pedals, which I've been riding on Vera, the 1994 Mercian mixte I purchased last year.  However, if they are anything like other MKS pedals I've used, they should provide me many years and miles of service--barring an accident, of course.

While the basic form of the MKS pedal is much like that of its White Industries counterpart, there are some subtle differences.  There are more pronounced "ridges" on the MKS pedal, which one would expect to provide somewhat better grip.  However, I haven't noticed any real difference in that area between the two pedals.

Also, on the WI pedal, the transition from the pedal body to the toeclip is smooth and flat.  In contrast, the toe clip mounts slightly below the edge of the MKS Urban pedal, as it does on the GR-9, the other platform pedal MKS makes.  I did not feel any discomfort as a result of it; then again, I have been used WI pedals on longer rides, and for a longer period of time, than I've used the MKS Urban.

The platform width of both pedals is about the same, and each is slightly wider than the Berthet and significantly wider than the GR-9.

Another difference is between the two pedals is that the MKS Urban has a one-piece cast body, while the platform of the WI is attached to a precision stainless-steel spindle with sealed bearings.  What that means, in terms of aesthetics, is that while the two pedals look very similar from above, the MKS Urban looks more like the GR-9 from below, while the WI looks a bit more like the Berthet.  What that means in terms of function, I don't know:  They work in similar ways, and seem to have the same amount of ground clearance.  

Underside of White Industries Urban Pedal

Perhaps the clearest difference between the pedals, apart from their appearance, is price:  My MKS Urbans cost about half of what I paid for each pair of WI pedals I now ride.  I got what was probably the lowest price available on my WIs from Universal Cycles of Portland, OR; coupons brought the price down even further.  I purchased my MKS Urbans from Bell's Bike Shop of Philadelphia, which sells on eBay. 

Underside of MKS Urban Platform Peal

As happy as I am with my White Industries pedals, I might not have bought them had I known about the MKS Urban pedals, or had I not found the deals I got.  Or, perhaps, I would have bought them for one, or possibly two, of my bikes.  That is not to say, of course, that you shouldn't buy WI pedals, especially if you truly appreciate fine design and workmanship and/or can score a good deal.  But for half of the price of the White Industries Urban pedal, you can get the MKS Urban Platform, which, in my estimation, is about 95 percent as good.

The World's Best Front Basket

The other day, "adventure!" suggested that I install a front rack or basket on the Trek 560 I just built.  It makes sense, especially given that I installed Velo Orange Porteurs (which have become my favorite non-dropped handlebars)  on it.

I might actually do "adventure!"'s idea one better:

I found this photo on a site called, not surprisingly, Ridiculous Bicycles.  There, you can find all sorts of examples of what can happen when unemployed engineers have too much time on their hands--or bike mechanics smoke funny little cigarettes.  Check out the circular bicycle built for eight!  

What happens if one of those cyclists falls?  Well, I guess the guy with the shopping basket could cart him or her to the emergency room!

Japanese Girl Cycling On Autumn Day

There was a time in my life when my walls were covered with posters of Japanese paintings, prints and woodcuts.  To me, Hokusai was (and still is) as great an artist and visionary as Michelangelo, Titian, Rodin, Gaugin and Picasso.

Today's post on Riding Pretty includes this photo of a painting outside of one of the author's favorite Japanese restaurants.  If you'd like, you can tweet her with your guess as to where she took the photo.  I'm not even going to try:  I'd just like to know who did the painting!

Reminder: WE Bike Party Tonight

Tonight is the WE Bike Party, in which we celebrate the end of our first cycling season.

Doors will open to this event at 7 pm at The Grand Victory in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  The venue for our party is at 245 Grand Street, at the corner of Roebling Street.  (Roebling is the engineer responsible for the Brooklyn Bridge.)

I'm going to call one of the raffles, which will be held every hour.  And I'll be at the door for an hour. At other times, I'll be helping out in other ways and helping myself to some of the refreshments.  You'll recognize me because I'm wearing a maroon/burgundy WE Bike T-shirt. ;-)

The cover charge is 8 bucks.  Not bad for a night out in a hip place in Williamsburg!  

Arriving In An Autumn Garden

One of the things I have always loved about cycling is that, even during and after the most routine rides, my senses are sharpened.  Food tastes better, my cats seem cuddlier and I see colors more vividly.

I was reminded of this when I got to work today.

That, in the garded in front of the administration building.  The ride in was otherwise unremarkable, save perhaps for the fact that I was once again "playing chicken with the rain."  I did encounter some drizzle on my way home, but I rather enjoyed it.  Perhaps it was an after-effect of seeing seeing a bright autumn garden at the end of my ride this morning.

All Of The Bad Bike Lanes Aren't In The US

Great Britain has a longer, and more continuous, cycling tradition than what the US has.  Cyclists continued to ride for recreation as well as transportation, even as automotive traffic increased from the 1950's onward.  So, one might expect more enlightened thinking in Albion when it comes to bikeways and bike safety.


Turns out, England has--at least to hear the Brits tell it--plenty of poorly-conceived, designed and constructed bike lanes.  There are enough such asphalt atrocities, in fact, that a book of them has been published.

I haven't cycled in the UK in a long time, so I can't comment on the authors' contention that the the Queen's land is criscrossed by monuments to ineptitude in design.  However, if what I noticed when I was there is representative of the state of cycling and cycling lanes, I'd have to say that England has a situation that's similar to what we find in the US:  The people who design bike lanes aren't cyclists themselves and are acting on their fears and stereotypes. And many cyclists don't want to speak out about how dangerous sme lanes are, because they are afraid of alienating the authorities with whom they cultivated cordial working relationship

Now I can't help but to wonder what the situation is like in other countries.

Parking Is Difficult, Even For Bikes, In This Town

I always knew that finding a parking space in this town could be impossible.

There were no spaces on the street for this benighted bike, unfortunate umbrellla and maladjusted mop.  So they all huddled in front of the window of a nail salon in my neighborhood.  

I wonder:  Is this good for business?

The Delta Function In An Autumn Bike Ride

I've been reading a novel called The Delta Function by Spanish writer Rosa Montero.

I'm mentioning it, not because I'm going to critique it (In case you want to know, I like it a lot so far.) or even because it's terribly relevant to cycling.  Rather, I'm bringing it up because of the title.

As I understand, The Delta Function is an attempt to measure phenomena that take place in almost no time (i.e., nanoseconds) but are of nearly infinite intensity.  From what I can see, it would be very useful to astro- or nuclear physicists.  But it's an interesting idea in its own right, I believe.

Anyway, it occurred to me today, as I was riding, that my rides often consist of "Delta Function" moments and events.  It may be because my senses are more open, and I'm generally more alert when I'm on my bike.

As an example, today, in passing a postage stamp-sized park on Rockaway Boulevard, I had, for a fleeting moment, the full sight of colors and sensation of leaves rustling that I experienced during early-autumn rides in  the Delaware Valley,Vermont, the Finger Lakes region, and the Vosges in France.  All it took was a few feet of pathway lined with fallen yellow leaves:

Of course, Rockaway Boulevard is a long way from any of the places I mentioned in my previous paragraph.  And today's ride was really incidental in my running of errands and fulfilling other obligations.  However, that sight, that moment transformed them, if only temporarily.

And, on the way home,  I saw something else that, for no particular reason, gave me a momentary rapture:

I know it was just a bush next to somebody's house.  But it heightened my awareness of the light and color of this season, if only for a moment.

Freedom Of Expression

If you have left comments during the past few days, you may have noticed that I'm not moderating them. 

One thing I've found, at least on this blog, is that my commenters have been civil, and most have been friendly.

  

Some have even been entertaining and enlightening.  In the two years of this blog's existence, I have had commenters who've disagreed with me, and each other, but no "flame wars" or anything resembling them.    I really haven't had anything worse than spam, which at least is nothing worse than annoying.

I thank you for helping to keep this blog free of hostility.  As long as it remains so, I think I will continue to allow unmoderated comments.  

Now, my other blog...That's another story!

P.S.  I am going to make another change soon.  Don't worry:  This will still be the blog you know and (I hope) love!

The Ultimate Rain Gear?

Rain began to fall just as I locked my bike to one of the campus bike racks.

It seems that all week, I have been playing chicken with the rain.  The other day, I ran headlong into a line of showers when I took the Trek on its first commute ride.  At least, today I was riding Arielle, with her full fenders and flap.

Days like this get me to thinking about what might be the best gear for biking in the rain.  Some might say I found it while web-surfing when I should have been doing other things:

From: Speed Studio Designs

Hmm...I guess it's not bad if you're not worried about aerodynamics.  Then again, why would you be?

When I first saw the illustration, I thought someone had crossed a motor scooter with a golf cart.  Come to think of it, someone may have done just that.  Or, if no one has, I may have given someone a ridiculous idea.

Judging from the illustration, the bike shield looks only slightly larger than my first helmet!

 

 

A Reflection On My Treks Past

The bike I rode yesterday is the third Trek I've owned.

So, naturally, I got to thinking about the other two.

My first Trek was also the first "pure" racing bike I owned.  It might well have the tightest geometry of any road bike I've ever had.

The Trek 930 frame was made from 1977 until 1981.  Mine, I believe, was from 1979 and was made by master frame builder Tim Isaac, who began building frames for Trek that year.  

The 930--which should not be confused with a singletrack mountain bike bearing the same numerical designation, which Trek offered during the 1990's--was a classic lugged bike constructed from Columbus SL tubing.  (The larger sizes used the slightly thicker-walled Columbus SP.)  The one in the photo is the same size as mine was:  a 56cm seat tube.  But, like other racing bikes of the time, it came with a top tube of the same size as the seat tube.  That meant I had to ride with a short-reach stem, which made the steering less than optimal.

But the bike could accelerate, thanks to its short chainstays and wheelbase.  Being young and full of testosterone (and other substances), I could blast that thing on the flats.  Oddly, though, it didn't climb quite as well as some other bikes I've had, including ones with longer wheelbases and chainstays.

And there is one other difference between my 930 and the one in the photo:  Mine was black.  However, it had the same style of lettering you see in the image, and, unlike some other Treks, didn't have a contrasting-color band.  I equipped it with a mixture of racing components, a tan Ideale 2002 saddle and red handlebar wrap and cable housings.

Trek 930 with period components--except for the seat, of course.

I bought the frame while I was working at Highland Park Cyclery. If I remember correctly, I took that frame in lieu of three or four days' pay.  Later, I acquired my second Trek in a similar way.

That frame, a 1982 Trek 510, became the bike I would ride on my second European tour, which took me from Rome and up the coast of Italy into France.  If you have, or have ridden, a Rivendell Rambouillet, you have an idea of what that bike was like.  In the 1970's and 1980's, a number of bike companies offered bikes like it, which were called "sport tourers."  As you might have guessed, their geometry wasn't as tight as that of a racing bike, but it didn't have the "lumber wagon" dimensions of many touring bikes.  It's the sort of bike you could take on a quick training ride, or to which you could attach a rack and panniers for a short or light tour.  

The bike had a longer wheelbase and chainstays than the 930, although it was the same size.  Strangely, though, it had a top tube of the same length.  But I didn't mind riding a short-reach stem on the 510 as much as I did on the 930 because I often rode the 510 with a handlebar bag.

It was constructed of Ishiwata 022. I don't know whether Ishiwata tubing is still made, but a number of bike builders were building some nice frames from it.  Like Tange tubing, it was made in Japan and was a chrome-molybdenum steel.

My 510 came in the same colors--a burgundyish red with a silver/grey band on the seat post--at the one in the photo.  However, I didn't use yellow accessories:  My water bottle cage, like the rack I installed on it, was silver.  And I rode it with a tan leather saddle and brown leather handlebar tape--from Cannondale, I believe.

I actually got it after I'd "officially" stopped working at Highland Park.  However, Frank, the then-owner, let me work a couple of days to pay for it.  I think it was a "leftover" from the previous year that he wanted to move.

For about a year, I owned both the 930 and 510.  Then I sold the 930 so I could buy "the bike of the future."  But that's a story for another post.