Cross Tubular

Today was cold, but at least the air was calm.  But tomorrow the temperature will drop and winds will gust over 20 MPH; tomorrow night is supposed to be the coldest in six years.  And it won't be much warmer during the coming week.


It all means that the patches of ice on the street--not to mention the mounds of snow that stretch like soot-stained alabaster dunes between the streets and sidewalks--aren't going away any time soon.


I didn't ride today because I had a bunch of errands to do.  I might take a short ride tomorrow.  I'll probably take Marianela, just because I don't want to clean a lot of slop and salt out of my derailleur-equipped bikes.  And I just replaced the chain, chainring and cog on Tosca.  


But there's another good reason to ride Marianela:  She has the knobbiest tires.  A few weeks ago, I installed a pair of cyclo-cross tires on her.  Well, their manufacturer (Kenda) calls them cyclo-cross tires, but I rather doubt that anyone actually uses them for that purpose.  They're heavier than most cyclo-cross tires.  And, being much cheaper than most tires used in cyclo-cross racing, I have to wonder how long they'll last.  If they get me through this winter, I'll be happy, as I paid only nine dollars for each of them.    


So, while they're good for the money and the purpose for which I'm using them, they'll never be mistaken for what some regard as the finest cyclo-cross tubular ever made:

These are the Grifo Neve tires, which were made in Italy by Clement.  Back in the day, Clement tubulars were often regarded as the finest tires available.  The pros rode them, and they were often original equipment on Campagnolo Nuovo Record-equipped bicycles.


Like those tires, the Grifo Neves were made with silk casings.  Less expensive tubulars used cotton and, later, nylon casings.  


I used to ride tubulars, but not the Grifo Neves or any others that were intended for cyclo-cross.   I wonder what the ride might have been like.  Do any of you have experience with them?

Taliah Lempert's Vintage Rollfast

I recently came across Taliah Lempert's website.  She is a Lower East Side artist who is known for her "bicycle paintings."  She's a cyclist herself, and she owns and rides a stable of bicycles that includes everything from a folding bike she rescued from the street to a nice Bob Jackson track bike.  (It's definitely not a "hipster fixie.")


Actually, I'd seen some of her paintings before.  But, until I found her website, I knew--as many other people know--her only as the "bicycle painter."  I don't mean that to dismiss or pigeonhole her:  I thought of her that way simply because, somehow, I managed not to know her name.  


I like her work because it actually manages to capture both the aesthetic pleasures as well as the dynamic beauty of bicycles.  That, I believe is a result of her deep love of bicycles and cycling.  


Among her paintings, I was most taken, oddly enough, by this one:

I say "oddly enough" because it's a bike I've never ridden.  In fact, I've pedaled astride a tandem exactly twice in my life.  Each time was pleasant enough.  But it's difficult to find good partners and situations for riding a tandem.  Plus, the care and feeding of one is difficult and expensive, not to mention that storing one in a one-bedroom apartment isn't easy.


So, living in New York, one doesn't see many tandems.  And one is even less likely to see the one in the painting, for it hasn't been made in at least thirty years.  That was about when I saw the only specimen I've ever seen of this particular tandem, which was made by Rollfast.


I saw a fair number of Rollfast bikes when I was a kid.  That's not surprising when you consider that I grew up in Brooklyn and New Jersey, and Rollfast was a locally-produced bike.  They were first made during the 1890's by the D.P. Harris hardware company, located just three blocks from the former site of the World Trade Center.


At that time, that part of Lower Manhattan--which includes, in addition to the former World Trade Center site, parts of what are now known as Tribeca, Soho and slices of what would become Chinatown-- was known more for grimy factories and musty warehouses than fashionable stores and trendy bars.    If you saw Tribeca or Soho today, you'd have trouble remembering that those were once gritty manufacturing districts. Fifty years ago--before much of the neighborhood was cleared out for construction of the World Trade Center-- there were factories that made everything from ladies' hats to construction machinery.   One out of every four books purchased in the United States was printed and bound in that part of town.  And, of course, Harris was making Rollfast bicycles --and later, parts, after Harris entered a partnership with the H.P. Snyder Company of Little Falls, NJ and Snyder took over the manufacture of the bikes.


Although Harris wasn't driven out by the World Trade Center, most of the other manufacturing companies were.   What seemed to cause Rollfast's decline--and retreat--was the ten-speed bike boom of the early 1970's.  All of Rollfast's bikes were heavy, and most of them  had balloon tires.   Plus, they were sold through department stores like Montgomery Ward and J.C. Penney, though often under those stores' private labels.  So, even if the quality of Rollfast was equal to that of, say, Schwinn--which, in fact, it wasn't--they never would have had the same cachet as Schwinns or other bikes sold by bicycle dealers.  But Rollfasts were sturdy and sometimes quite lovely.


Perhaps one day they will have the status of an old Schwinn, or possibly a Ross.  The latter brand will probably be the next "hot" vintage bike because they were well-made, if heavy, and because it's now all but impossible to get a vintage Schwinn at anything like a sane price.  Rollfast's  day will come, too, I believe.  

With The Light Of This Day

Today the temperature went over 40F.  Yesterday it came close to that.  For the first time this year, we've had consecutive days on which the temperature rose above freezing. 

As a result, all of the ice and much of the snow that had accumulated since Christmas were gone.  So I rode to and from work for the first time this week.  It might be the last time, too, as the temperature is supposed to drop by twenty degrees tomorrow and we're supposed to get another snowstorm.

Last week, one of the office assistants asked how I rode to work.  I had to think fairly hard.  I actually have three or four distinct routes, and a couple of permutations of each one.  I don't think much about which way I'm going;  somehow I just know where to turn.  In a similar fashion, lots of passengers know, without seeing any signs or hearing any announcement, when the train is pulling into their station.  Sometimes the passengers don't even have to see the station, or anything around it.  

What guides them to disembark at the right stop?  Is it some sort of internal clock?  Or some other cue?

To tell you the truth, sometimes I'm just navigating by nothing more than light.  Somehow the glare of signals and the way in which the day's light fades--or grows brighter--is enough for me to know which way to go.  Sometimes.

They're Coming Along For The Ride Now

I haven't made a habit of checking the statistics about my blogs.  But today I took a peek. 


It seems that during the past week, one of my early posts on this blog has been viewed more times than any of my other posts has been in the history of my blog.  In fact, that particular post is now the most-viewed in the history (such as it is) of this blog.


I wonder why they're all reading "Edvard Munch Comes Along For The Ride" now.

Takin' It Slow In The Snow

When there's snow on the ground and ice on there road--the conditions we've had here since Christmas--you ride more slowly.  Of course, it makes sense, especially if you ride in the dark, as I sometimes do when I'm riding home from work.  There's nothing like hitting a patch of ice you didn't see when you're pedalling at 20 mph!


Even though I know it's sensible to ride more slowly in the conditions we've had, I don't make any effort to do so.  Somehow I just find myself pedaling, sometimes, as if the cold air were turning into molasses.  I wonder:  Does cold air slow us down?  Or is it the somnolence I often feel on winter days?  The latter makes some sense:  After all, most primates move more slowly--if, of course, they're not hibernating.  Does it have to do with the shorter days?


Or maybe it has to do with the fact that, about this time of year, I'm starting to lose whatever conditioning I built up during the summer and fall. 


Another good reason to cycle more slowly, I've discovered, is that brakes--rim brakes, anyway--seem to take longer to stop than they do in milder weather.  I wonder whether the cold surface of the rim has anything to do with it.  Or, perhaps, brake pads harden a bit in the cold.

From Cyclelicious

If my hypotheses are correct, do they also apply to disc brakes?  I've never owned a bike that had them, and I've ridden them only a couple of times, never in the cold.  But those of you who've ridden them--or all of you scientists and engineers:  What do you think?


I experienced the inverse of what I described the first time I cycled into the Alps. Just outside of Pontarlier, I had just crossed the border from France into Switzerland and, on a descent about a kilometer into Switzerland,  I got a flat.  When I pulled on my brake levers, it took more and more force to get the bike even to keep the bike from accelerating, let alone to slow it down or stop it.   Fortunately, the turns in the road weren't especially sharp and  only one car passed me from the time I pedaled out of Pontarlier.  So, I was able to stop the bike not far from the base of that descent.  


When I took off the wheel, my finger glanced off the side of the rim as if I'd touched a frying pan.  And my fingertip throbbed red for the rest of the day.  


I wonder what riding in winter there would've been like.

Pro-Flex Reflection

Today I took a very short ride along the river to the Long Island City pier.  Along the way, I saw someone riding a bike I haven't seen in a long time.  


Back in the day,  a couple of my riding buddies had them.  I even knew a guy who raced on one.

If you were a National Off-Road Bicycle Association (NORBA) member in the early to mid 1990's, as I was, you knew someone who rode this bike if you weren't riding it yourself. This bike, the Pro Flex, was one of the first mass-marketed full-suspension mountain bikes.  

The first time I saw one of those frames, I thought that the rear was something Salvador Dali might've made if someone had stolen his palette and brushes and left an Erector set in their place. 


I never owned one, or any other full-suspension bike. However, I did have the chance to ride it.   I was not prepared for the springiness and cushiness of the ride, accustomed as I was to hardtail mountain bikes and very stiff road bikes.  In fact, I found the bike's bounciness disconcerting--like something I might expect of a pogo stick on wheels.  


I suppose that had I raced off-road, or simply become a more dedicated off-road rider, I would've appreciated the Pro-Flex or some other full-suspension bike.  But having such boingy ride was rather distrubing to me:  I felt that I had less control over the bike.  


Plus, I came to feel about this bike, and full-suspension bikes, the way I came to feel about carbon-fiber bikes: They're great if you're willing and able to replace them every couple of years.  (I was riding a lot, and hard, in those days.)  A year or so after I first saw those bikes, the suspension mechanisms broke on some of them.  Once, during a ride on a trail upstate, I saw a guy lash the ends of his frame together so he could ride his suspensionless suspension bike back out to wherever he parked his car.

Later versions used elastomers.  They were shaped sort of like miniature tires, and performed one of the functions of a tire:  shock absorption.  The problem was that, in time, the elastomers either hardened or they collapsed like deflated tires.  In either case, they no longer absorbed shock.  They were replaceable, but not easily.  Plus, they were a proprietary part.  Thus, anyone who still has one of those bikes would need to find replacements on eBay or, as "Citizen Rider" did, improvise new parts.


I'm guessing that ProFlex bikes have been out of production for at least a few years now.   That would account for their relative rarity these days.  Plus, performance-oriented mountain bikes simply don't last as long as good road bikes because they get more wear and tear.  I know that because I  wore out more chains and sprockets, and broke more parts, in my first two years of off-road riding than I did in twenty years of road riding.


It will be interesting to see whether this bike develops "cult" status and collectors start buying them.  That brings me to another parallel with carbon-fiber bikes:  They date themselves, which means that they don't grow old gracefully.  A quality lugged steel road frame will always look and feel right, whether it was made in 1930 or 1960, or just last year.  The same can't be said for a full-suspension bike from 1990.  That means, I believe, that neither the Pro-Flex nor any other full-suspension bikes will become "classics" in the way some iconic road bikes have.

Midwinter Reverie

It just figures:   Right after a snowstorm, I'm surfing the web.  And but what to my wondering eyes should appear?

At one point in my life, I would've said that I wouldn't mind seeing those ladies.  Now, since I have become more honest--or, truth be told, since I've started to turn into one of those crotchety people who doesn't care what anyone else thinks--I will say that I want to be one of those ladies.  In my next life...

I found it interesting that both of them were using toe clips.  I, for one, like to use some sort of foot retention on all of my bikes, and for all kinds of riding.  Plus, having ridden with some European commuters and urban cyclists, I know that their cycling is no less "serious" or "intense" than that of sport cyclists.

Speaking of which...I find myself thinking about taking a new European bike trip.  I don't think I'll do it this year:  I want to be in better shape, physically and financially.  Plus, I don't want to go there merely to do rides (or other things)  I've done before or to pursue ghosts.  I simply want to enjoy the ride.

Women on Ladies' Bikes--or Ladies on Women's Bikes?

Wouldn't you know it?  Today's "Lovely Bicycle" post shows three images of women on or with bicycles--specifically, transportation/commuter bikes.  Some of the comments that follow the post deal with the question of what a "ladies'"or "women's" bike is.   Some hate those terms; others, including Velouria, the blog's author, think that such terms denote distinctions that are more meaningful and useful than "unisex" or related terms.  Plus, "ladie's bike" or "women's bike" is simply shorter than the alternatives.




So...I read her post and the comments that followed.  Next thing you know, I'm seeing images of women on bikes everywhere I look--at least, everywhere in cyberspace.  Even though I was researching an entirely unrelated topic, I kept on finding images like this one:

Now there's a way to shake up the Miss America contest.  Instead of the swimsuit struts and talent charades, why not have the contestants ride "ladies'" bikes down the Atlantic City boardwalk.  Of course, the young women would have to wear dresses or skirt outfits.  I mean, wouldn't you rather  that your country was represented by someone who can pedal with grace and style instead of some other contestant who can only sing pale imitations of songs that were popular when your mother was born?


Somehow, though, I don't think Grace or Sally from Louis Malle's Atlantic City would ride a bike down the boardwalk. And even if they did, I don't think they'd convince very many other Americans to do the same.

Before The Next Storm: Last Bike Standing

The week before Christmas, the bike rack was as full as it was in September.  Throughout this winter intercession, there have been two bikes--until today.  Then there was one:

Yes, that's Marianela.  She doesn't seem to mind the cold so much as being perched on a snowbank that's turned to ice.  She doesn't seem forlorn or lonely.  But I think she wouldn't mind a warm blanket and some hot cocoa.  There's noting like imputing one's own wishes to a bicycle, right?


Actually, if she had her own volition, she would've wanted to get home after seeing this:

That's the "It's gonna snow any  second" sky.  Light snow began to fall about five minutes before I got home.  If it snows as steadily and heavily as the forecasters expect, I probably won't be riding into work tomorrow. 


 Mine was the last bike standing today

Fixed On Ice

After the winter storms we've had, there are patches of ice and encrusted snow on little-used sidewalks and streets.  Fortunately, I did not encounter any of them on my ride to work this morning.  I also didn't find any on my way home, except for some I found along the path in Flushing Meadow-Corona Park.

Sometimes I like to detour through the park, even though it adds to my commute, because the park is both nice and has a lot of resonance for me.  If you saw Men In Black, you'd recognize it as the site of the Unisphere, perhaps the most iconic structure of the 1964-65 World's Fair, which my family attended when I was a child.  

Going through the park also allows me to avoid the area around Main Street in Flushing, where I encounter the heaviest and most chaotic traffic to be found between my apartment and my job.

But at least those streets are kept clear.  Such is not the case for sections of the park, which sees few visitors on weekdays in the midst of winter.  

As you may know, I installed a fixed gear on Marianela last week.  There's a very fine art to riding one on a glazed street or path.   

Of course, you probably won't embark on a ride across a glacier on your fixie, if you're going to ride anything at all.  But when you come upon a frozen puddle in your path, the best thing to do is to keep your line and move ahead.  

As best as I can tell, the way to do that is simply to release all of the tension in your muscles, at least to the degree that you can.  A white-knuckled grip will only make you more likely to skid and fall; so will any sudden attempt to stop or any attempt to accelerate.  

The best way to pedal is to let your legs continue to spin at whatever pace you were riding before you saw the ice.  Not only shouldn't you try to accelerate; you also shouldn't try to dramatically slow down (or stop) your bike.  You just want to let your legs keep up their momentum.  

Any attempt to accelerate or to make a stop will land you on your side, or some place where it will hurt even more.  So, for that matter, will making a turn.  If there's an obstacle on the ice, you're better off trying to ride through than to turn or slow down for it.  

Ironically, I took a minor fall today, but not on ice.  I was about fifteen minutes from home tonight when I somehow jerked my handlebar when pushing down on my left pedal after the traffic signal turned green.  I flipped onto my side, spilling the contents of my baskets.  Fortunately, two very nice young Asian men saw me and helped me to get up and gather the stuff that spilled.    They really must respect their elders in their culture!