Freak Bikes

With Halloween only a few days away, I thought it might be fun to look at some "freak bikes".

Turns out, there's a page filled with images of them.

This bike caught my eye.  It was posted on Bike Thing.  The blog's author, Tyler Stickley, says, "You suck at Photoshop when you make a monstrosity like this."

The ovalized wheel alone is enough to make this the Thalidomide Baby of bicycles.  

But I wonder:  Who is pedals what on this bike?  And how does one rider's shift affect another rider's ride?

At least we know only one person can ride--and pedal--this thing:

From Yabai Bicycle Club's blog.

I can just see a member of the NYPD's Bike Patrol riding this--in 1888 or thereabouts!  Said officer might have been chasing this guy:

From Tree Hugger.

The Trek Changes Its Status, But Remains A Single

I've made a change to the Trek 560 I recently built.

As you may recall from earlier posts, I'd equipped the bike with a Velosteel rear coaster brake hub.  Well, I swapped it for a single speed rear hub.

  

I might use the Velosteel hub on another bike, perhaps an old mixte or mountain bike.  I hadn't quite gotten used to its idiosyncrasies   They include the "dead" pedal stroke of half a pedal revolution I experienced when I started pedaling again after braking and that when I backpedaled, it seemed that the hub had to find its "sweet spot" before the brake engaged.  (Other coaster brakes I've ridden would stop the bike as soon as I backpedaled.)  I suppose that if I rode the hub more (I put about 200 miles on it.) I'd get used to it.

But even if I were to grow accustomed to, and like, riding with the hub, I don't think I would have wanted to keep it on the Trek--assuming, of course, I decide to keep the Trek. It's a good bike, but a little bit too large for me.  Plus, for a winter/beater bike, I think I'd rather have something that can accept wider tires.

One thing you might have noticed is that some of the spokes are silver and some are black.

I didn't plan it that way:  It just happened that I had 28 silver and 12 black spokes in the length I needed, and the wheel needed 36 spokes. I used all of the black spokes and 24 of the silver ones.  So, every third spoke is black.

Somehow I think that might actually be a selling point!

Autumn Morning Commute

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I teach.  

One thing I like about my morning commute is that it offers me some time in solitude and reflection.  Perhaps that seems paradoxical, as the ride is focused on getting to a particular place by a particular time for the purpose of working with and for other people.  

But I am fortunate in that, at least for now, I can avoid the morning rush hour.  I leave a bit later than most people and have a couple of routes that take me away from heavily-trafficked thoroughfares.  And at this time of year, the weather is neither too hot not too cold for my liking.  Plus, pedalling seems to open up my senses so that, for a moment, one of the many millions of trees that are changing,or have changed. color and the park benches on either side of it seem like the most beautiful things.

I'm not getting rich, or anything like it.  But, at least, I don't have to contend with the traffic on the LIE or GW, or start my day with all of those angry, depressed and indifferent people you see on the 6:42 from Ronkonkoma!

The Race Of Your Life

Now, this looks like a tough bike ride:

Actually, the image is part of an announcement for Park Avenue Bike's annual Halloween Cyclo-Cross Race.

The Rochester shop that sponsors the race describes the course as "fast, fun and challenging" and the event as "a ghoulish recipe for fun".  Mountain bikes are allowed, as long as they don't have bar-ends.

Seeing that photo is almost a temptation to go to Rochester for the ride.  If it's any indication of what the race is like, I'll lose a bunch of weight very quickly!

A Ride Becomes A Gallery Tour

To me, one of the great things about cycling in an urban area is the opportunity to see public art.  That was one of the highlights of living in Paris:  Few, if any, cities have as many artifacts--particularly sculptures exhibited en plein aire as the City of Light offers.

New York is not without its offerings.  The wonderful thing about The Big Apple is that sometimes treasures, or at least things that are interesting or amusing, appear when you weren't looking for or expecting them.


I saw this in the former Coast Guard station across the road from the deactivated Fort Tilden:

To me, it looks like one of those creatures in a cartoon that could either eat or play a really wicked joke on one of the characters.  

The gargoyle stands next to the pier from which tour boats depart during the season (which ends in September).  Was it supposed to welcome, or scare off, anyone who wants to take a cruise?

On my way down to my meeting with The Rockaway Orca (my working title for him/her/it), I chanced upon this mural near the Greenway in Williamsburg (where else?):

Sometimes my bike rides seem like surreal gallery or museum tours!

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.