Sun, Rocks, Waves And Arielle

Yesterday was brutally, if not frightfully, hot and humid.  Today was merely hot, and less humid.

 So, during my ride to Point Lookout, I didn't sweat as much as I normally do on such a ride.  And I didn't even feel tired until after I'd had supper.  Now I realize why I'm ready to fall asleep:  I rode 65 miles in direct sunlight.  Even though I stopped twice to replenish my sunscreen (and did so when I reached PL), my skin must have absorbed a pretty fair amount of solar radiation.

The "rocks" at PL are, as you can see in the photos, concrete blocks.  That means, among other things, that the "beach" looks different every time I see it.  If I were a painter or better photographer, I could do all sorts of interesting things with the lines and light that present themselves.

Somehow, even my bikes look different whenever I ride them there

From The Land Of The Rising Sun To L'Arc de Triomphe

In perhaps no other nation is track racing more closely followed than it is in Japan.  At least, one could easily have such an impression upon seeing how much money is bet on the keirin races and how many people watch them.


Also, more bicycles are equipped with components from Shimano than from any other company.  In fact, Shimano's offerings displaced their Campagnolo counterparts as racers' equipment of choice for much of the 1990's and in the early 2000's.


So, perhaps, one might wonder why so few Japanese cyclists have raced outside of their own country.  I thought about this today, when I watched the sixth stage of the Tour de France on NBC.  One of the commentators (not Phil Liggett) pointed out that two of this year's riders, Yukiya Arashiro and Fumiyuki Beppu, are among only four Japanese racers who have completed the Tour de France in its history, which has spanned more than a century.

Fumiyuki Beppu (l) and Yukiya Arashiro.  From Velo News

Now, to be fair, for a variety of reasons, through most of the Tour's (as well as the Giro d'Italia's,  Vuelta d'Espana's and the Milk Race's) history, nearly all who rode in it came from a handful of countries in western Europe and, to a lesser extent, the British Isles.  In fact, no American rode it until Jonathan (a.k.a. Jacques or Jock) Boyer entered in 1981.  He didn't make it to l'Arc de Triomphe that year, but he finished a more-than-respectable 12th two years later.


Since Boyer competed, the American contingent has become a significant part of the peloton in le Tour as well as other European races.  Also, increasing numbers of riders have come from the former Soviet bloc countries as well as Latin America and Canada.  However, Japanese cyclists have remained conspicuously absent.


Part of the reason for this may be that road racing isn't nearly as strong as keirin racing in Japan.  That almost seems paradoxical in a country where parents often tell their children, "The nail that sticks out is hammered down."  One would think that road racing, in which most riders participate as members of a team, would be more popular than track racing, which tends to be more individually focused.  Then again, non-team sports like sumo wrestling are wildly popular, while sports like soccer have nowhere near the following they enjoy in Europe, Latin America or even in other parts of Asia.


I can think of one reason which might, at least partially, explain the relative lack of popularity of road racing in Japan:  It's a country about the size of California with about four times as many mountains and five times as many people.  In such a place, I imagine, suitable roads for racing are scarce, and if the logistics of devising a course from them are daunting in European countries that have a century-plus history of racing, things must be even more difficult in Japan.


On the other hand, the Japanese are noted for overcoming difficulties.  For that reason alone, they may become even more of a presence in international racing in the future.  Perhaps Toshiba, Panasonic, Shimano and other Japanese companies will sponsor teams that will carry the Rising Sun around l'Arc de Triomphe.

Why Aren't You Riding In The Bike Lane?

The other day, I was riding along 21st Avenue in East Elmhurst.  A driver made a careless turn in front of me.  I yelled a few things not allowed in PG-rated movies and flashed the one-fingered peace sign.


The driver--a woman a few years younger than me--rolled down her window.  "You shouldn't be riding here," she yelled.  "You should be on the bike lane."


"There's none here," I shouted.

"Well, there's one on 20th Avenue."



"But it won't take me to where I'm going."

"You still should use it."


"Would you drive along a street that doesn't take you where you want to go?"


She then started to lecture me about how riding on a bike lane is safer than riding on a street.  Mustering all of the patience I could gather within myself, I explained that bike lanes can be more dangerous than the streets for cyclists.   "Some drivers seem to think the bike lanes are for passing or double-parking."  


Her eyes widened.  "I don't do those things!"



"I wasn't accusing you. I said some drivers do them. "  I was about to tell her that I have been "doored" twice, and on both occasions I was riding in a bike lane.  But she had to go somewhere, so that debate didn't come to pass.


Afterward, it occured to me that her misconceptions about bicycle safety are considered "common knowledge" and guide the decisions of too many urban planners.  That is the reason why so many bike lanes are poorly-conceived and -constructed, and people like the driver I confronted simply cannot understand why we don' t use them. 

A Softshot Slingride

Today I saw someone riding a bike I hadn't seen in a long time.  Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me and I couldn't get my cell phone out of my bag quickly enough.  Fortunately, it was easy enough to find a photo of it on the web:

Production of Softride bicycles seems to have begun during the late 1980's.  Apparently, they're still being made.  Although I haven't seen one on the road recently, I understand they're still popular with triathaloners. 


Softride bicycles appeared around the same time that Rock Shox forks first came onto the market, and other then-radical bicycle designs were being developed. 


Nearly all other bikes with suspension are designed to suspend the bike.  This makes sense when you realize that modern suspension systems were first developed mainly for mountain bikes.  Someone who's hopping over creeks or "jumping" from a rock face doesn't expect to be comfortable upon landing.  However, he or she wants the bike to remain as stable as possible, as this is the best way to keep the bike moving forward and prevent an accident.  


At least, I came to that conclusion from my own experiences of off-road riding. 


On the other hand, according to the designers of Softride, their stated goal was to "suspend the rider, not the bike."  Now, I'll admit that my time on a Softride was very limited and I thought it was uncomfortably bouncy.  However, other riders seemed to master it, or simply became accustomed to the sensation.  If they did, I can see why some liked it:  The shocks incurred on the road aren't nearly as great as one experiences in the woods and mountains.  Plus, road riders tend to spend more time and ride longer distances on their bikes.  So some might like a cushier bike. And, I suppose triathaloners might like the comfort of such a bike because they have to switch, sometimes abruptly, from the swimming or running segment to the cycling part of the race.


Around the same time Softride bikes made their appearance, an old riding buddy took to both the roads on a bike like this one:

This was yet another approach to suspension.  My old riding buddy, an engineering school dropout, once explained the principle behind it for me. I've since forgotten how it's supposed to work--or maybe I never understood it in the first place.  But he swore by Slingshots:  He had a mountain as well as a road version. 



I rode his bikes a few times.  While I wasn't entirely convinced by them, they made more sense to me than Softrides ever did.  


It's been at least a dozen years since I've ridden a Slingshot (or, for that matter, a Softride).  So, please forgive me if my memory is faulty and my description of the ride is less-than-detailed.  

People who have driven the Citroen GS or its descendants remark upon the fluid tautness of its suspension.  I have only ridden in such a car, but I could feel the difference between it and the "springier" suspension of American cars. The Slingshot's suspension felt something like the hydropneumatic system of a Citroen, on steroids.  


I might actually buy a Slingshot if I were going to have a barn full of bikes. (They're still being made, as they were back in the '90's, in Grand Rapids, Michigan.) But being limited to four bikes (still more than most people have, I know!), I am leery about paying full price for such a radical bike.


If I were a collector, I'd probably have at least one Slingshot and a Softride.  What I'd really like, though, is for Slingshot and Softride to collaborate on a mixte frame!

Six Days Of American Ascendancy

When people think of "American" sports, baseball, basketball and what we call "football" usually come to mind.  

The Six Day Bicycle Race (1935) by William L'Engle

On the other hand, very few people would think of bicycle racing, in spite of wins by American riders over the past quarter-century.  One reason why so few people still think of bicycle racing as an American sport is that no living person can recall the time when the US was one of the dominant cycling nations.  Also, there's almost nobody alive who can remember when one of the dominant forms of racing was the one that was most associated with riders who carried the Stars and Stripes.

Six Day Bike Race (1924) by Alexander Calder

I'm talking about the six-day race.  Although it began in England, it really became one of the prominent forms, if not the most dominant type, of cycle-racing after Madison Square Garden began to host them in 1891.  Those races did much to make cycle racing one of the most popular sports among spectators for four decades afterward.  Well into the 1930's, the only American professional athletes who made more money were the best baseball players.  Nearly all cities had velodromes; in fact, bicycle-racing tracks outnumbered all other kinds of athletic arenae with the possible exception of baseball fields.

Start of Six-Day Race In Madison Square Garden, 1936.  Note Jimmy Durante at far left.   From Reminisce.

As important as they were, six-day races--and bicycle racing in general--were all but forgotten in the US for a generation or so after World War II.  Interest in the sport wasn't rekindled until the 1980's, when American riders became competitive with the best of Europe and other parts of the world.  

Major Taylor (center) and other prominent Six-Day Racers.  Photo montage by  Michael Neubert.

Perhaps some future historian will write about the significant role bicycle racing--and the six-day variety in particular--played in a country that was in the process of becoming the world's dominant economic, political and cultural force.

A Breeze, Gunz 'N' Rizers And Il Postino

Maybe it had to do with the full moon we had last night.  On  my ride today, I saw some interesting and unusual bikes.

This one was parked not too far from my apartment.  From its joints and the style of the head badge, I am guessing that it's a Schwinn "Breeze" from the 1960's or early 1970's.  The "Breeze" was one of Schwinn's "lightweights" and was equipped with a single-speed coaster brake rear wheel.

This chainguard is really interesting:  Some older Schwinns had "textured" guards rather than the flat ones found on later models.  


Take a look at the "barbershop pole" stripe on the rear fender:

I like what the person(s) who repainted the bike did to the front fender, too.  However, I'm not sure that the front fender is the original, as I don't think the "Breeze" (or any other Schwinn, for that matter) ever came with a ribbed fender.  This one looks like it came from an old Raleigh (or other English) three-speed.

Contrast the Schwinn with this bike I saw parked along Kent Avenue, near the old Domino Sugar refinery,  in Williamsburg:

By now, you've probably seen similar "funny bikes," with one frame stacked on top of the other.  I couldn't help but to notice the relatively thin chain and lock used to secure the bike:

At first, I thought that perhaps the bike isn't such a target for thieves.  After all, most bike-nappers probably wouldn't know how to ride it and would therefore not get very far.  Back in the day, that was also the reason why you could leave a fixed-gear bike unlocked, at least for a short period of time:  A would-be thief was likely to break his legs when he tried to coast or slow down.

But I digress.  I think I saw the real reason why nobody would steal this bike:

I did see one more interesting feature:

I guess it's a handle.  Unless you're as tall as the buildings on the other side of the East River, you couldn't "walk" or carry the bike by grasping the handlebars and saddle.

On the other hand, this bike is all about carrying things:

According to Liz of Bike Works NYC, it's a bike used by the Italian Post Office.  I don't know whether the bike was called "Il Postino," but I couldn't resist referring to it that way.  I mean, it's not hard to imagine the mail carrier in the eponymous film bringing letters from publishers and Nobel Prize committees to Pablo Neruda.  

I'll tell you more about Liz (on left), her friend, Bike Works NYC and what I was doing there in a near-future post.

A Climb

If you've ever thought there were no hills in New York City, take a look at this:

At the bottom of these stairs  is the Morris Heights section of the Bronx.  Climb them and you're in the aptly-named University Heights neighborhood.  The latter was home to a New York University campus until the early 1970's.  Now that campus is occupied by the Bronx Community College.

I rode up that way this morning.  And, yes, I ascended those stairs on Tosca, my fixie. All right, I climbed with Tosca on my shoulder.

Purple To Green And Back

In case you were wondering what makes Mercian flip-flop (#57 on their color chart) so unique, take a look:

 Here you can see it turning from purple to green.

Then it reverted to purple.

The Wisdom of Our Elders

As I'm sure you've heard by now, most of the US is having hot weather. 

This part of the country has not been spared.  On my ride today, I stopped in Isham Park, near the northern tip of Manhattan.  Given its location, it's quite bucolic; on a hot summer day it's not surprising to see elderly people and couples with young children whiling the afternoon away in the shade.

The man in this photo may have had the best idea of all for coping with the heat:

He must have had an influence on me:  I fell asleep, for about an hour, on a bench near the one where he was dozing.

When I woke up, he was still in dreamland.  Actually, I think he would have been in dreamland had he awakened:  The ambient light of such a hot, hazy day spreads across trees, rocks and benches like a linen gauze.  

Maybe I'm closer to that man's age than I want to admit!

Remembrance Of Jerseys Past

Now I'm going to make a confession:  I used to ride in "bike clothes."  In fact, I used to have a full wardrobe of jerseys.  However, only once or twice did I ever buy matching shorts:  I usually stuck with basic black.  Then again, when I started buying bike clothes, matching shorts and jerseys weren't available, and nearly all shorts were black.

I don't plan on buying any team jerseys this year, or for the rest of my life.  However, I'll admit I did see a couple I liked:

 What's interesting about this jersey from the Basque team Euskatel is that it's not as loud as you'd expect it to be, given its combination of yellow and orange.  That, to me, shows some excellent design sense.  But even if the jersey were louder, people would like it because of all of the talented riders--some of whom have a chance to win stages of the major tours--on that team.

We all knew it was just a matter of time before argyle started to appear on team kit.  (Hipster uber alles?)  At least it was done--at least to my eye--in a very appealing way here, with an eye-pleasing color scheme.

If you like that, how can you not like the Sky team's kit?:

Team kit hasn't gotten much more fashionable than that.  The only problem I can see with it is having to wear it when making a climb on a 100 degree day.




Now I'll show you some jerseys I actually owned and rode:

 All right.  You can forgive me this one, can't you?  First of all, all you have to do is take a look at my bikes (and this blog) to know what some of my favorite colors are.  Plus, I did my young-adult riding during the '80's.  Actually, for a jersey of that era, this one is pretty tame, wouldn't you say?


Speaking of the '80's, here's another popular jersey from that time, which I owned and rode:

The Vetements Z team featured Greg LeMond, the first American to win the Tour de France.  So did this team:

 Bernard Hinault, the last Frenchman to win the Tour de France, also rode for the team La Vie Claire, a French chain of health-food stores.  This is my favorite jersey of all time, if for no other reason that it's the best use anyone ever made of Piet Mondrian's work.

Here's another version of that jersey:

Speaking of French riders and teams:  They didn't win the Tour in the '90's: Miguel Indurain, like Eddy Mercx in the '70's, was simply unbeatable.  However, French riders (e.g., Laurent Jalabert and Richard Virenque) and teams managed to finish second and third in more style than any other athletes in history:

There are other examples, but I always liked this Credit Agricole jersey a lot (enough that I actually paid for one!).  It's colorful, but not over-the-top, and has a rather clean, streamlined design.

I also liked this jersey, though I never bought it:

 Cofidis is the team that dumped Lance Armstrong when his cancer was revealed.  Also, they never escaped from the shadows of doping accusations and other scandals.  Still, I thought they had a pretty cool jersey.

But for sheer style, it's hard to beat those all-wool jerseys from the '60's and earlier. Too bad I never got to wear them:

Finally, no discussion of team kit would be complete without one of the most iconic examples of the genre:

I mean, who hasn't seen the Peugeot checkered flag? In their long history (which has included many different co-sponsors), the team has had some of the sport's most famous riders ride for them, including some guy from Belgium who would win five Tours de France.  Yep, Eddy Mercx began his professional career in this jersey.  And BP wasn't yet associated with an oil spill in the Gulf.