Silver Lilacs

After yesterday's deluges, riding to work this morning under a sun thinly veiled by high cirrus clouds was simply delightful.  Doing the commute with an engaging man--and good cyclist--made it even better.

His name is Allen.  Or is it Alan?  However, he spelled it, he was keeping up a good pace--and riding an intriguing bike.  I'd seen one or two like it before, but his was the first I'd seen in a large frame size.  I didn't get a chance to photograph it, but I've found images of that model on the web.

It's a Motobecane Le Champion.  He said he bought it used in 1981, in his native California.  I'm not surprised that he's still riding it: The frame, which was hand-brazed with Reynolds 531 tubing, is as solidly as it is beautifully built.  

If I recall correctly, Le Champion was the top Motobecane racing model until the Team Champion, on which Luis Ocana won the 1973 Tour de France, came out.  Allan's Le Champion appeared to be from about 1974 or so, based on decals and paint that looked like this:

Sometime in around 1975, Motobecane started to use blockier lettering rather than the script you see in the photo.  But, in 1974, Le Champions were offered in the color shown. The catalogues referred to it as "silver lilac."  It's one of my favorite bike colors of all time, because it has the character of purple that I so love, but it also has, to some degree, the elegance of silver Cinelli bikes from that same era.  

"Velouria"--who inspired me to start this blog--has a Mercian fixed-gear bike  in a similar color, although I think hers is a bit more purplish.  I love it, too.  It's what I would have chosen for my own Mercians if I hadn't gone with the purple/green (which actually looks purple most of the time) finish they sport.

Le Champions were equipped with a combination of high-end French and Campagnolo components. Alan, or someone else, swapped out the original Campy Nuovo Record derailleurs for Sun Tour Cyclones which, in my opinion, shift better.  And modern Mavic rims were laced to the vintage Campagnolo hubs.  But the bike still had its original Stronglight cranks, Campagnolo brakes and other parts.

He said he'd like to give the bike a "facelift."  Whatever he does, I hope he keeps the original color.

When I Ride--And Don't Ride--In The Rain

I am often asked whether I ride in the rain.  The most precise answer I can give is, "within reason".

What does that mean, exactly?

Well, if it's raining and the temperature is less than 40F (5C), I won't ride.  Likewise, I won't start a "pleasure" ride in the rain unless it's warm and I'm at a seashore. And, unless I absolutely have to be somewhere (e.g., my workplace) and there is no alternative means of transportation, I won't ride if it's raining so heavily that I can just barely see out of the windows of my apartment.

The latter condition prevailed today, just when I had to leave for my commute.  The rain stopped for a few brief interludes throughout the day.  But I knew more was coming.  I think this cell-phone photo I took from the Queensborough Plaza train station tells today's weather story:

The clouds envelop much of the Empire State, Chrysler and UN buildings which, on most days, are clearly visible from the station platform.  

And, yes, more rain came. It fell even harder than what came down when I was leaving my apartment.

An Unintended Victory For Cyclists

Today, 8 May, is celebrated as VE, or Victory in Europe, Day in some countries.

I never paid much attention to that date until I was living in Paris and I encountered a street named for that date.  I was fascinated with the custom of naming streets after historical dates--a practice almost wholly absent in the US--and the number of Parisian streets named after historical figures.  As Google didn't exist in those days, I spent a pretty fair amount of time in the bibliotheques.  That is where I learned, among other things, the significance of 8 mai 1945.

From  Denes.us

I also learned about the significance of bicycles in that conflict.  Though we hear a lot about the evolutionary advances in military technology--such as the ones in aircraft, submarines and munitions--pedal-powered two-wheeled vehicles also played an important role in the war, to the degree that all of the combatant nations (including the US) had bicycle patrols or batallions, and transported bicycles in their ships, tanks and other vehicles.

Germany--which was, at the time, the most technically advanced nation--discovered, as the British, Japanese and Americans soon would, that their most sophisticated forms of transport were all but useless in some of the terrain they encountered.  As an example, when Italian forces landed in Albania, they found that the only ways to advance on the rocky coastline were on bicycles or on foot.  In addition to the harsh terrain, the narrow streets and roads found in much of Europe weren't conducive to motorized transport.  

But, interestingly enough, the armed forces on both sides of the conflict encountered a problem that civilians faced on their home turf:  There simply wasn't enough fuel and other resources.  Sometimes bicycles and even horse-drawn carts were used to transport the very supplies soldiers found in short supply and civilians, at times, couldn't get at all.

From mjgradziel

The severe rationing imposed in nearly all countries that participated in the war--and many that didn't--led, ironically, to improvements (or at least changes) in bicycle technology that we today take for granted.  Rationing would make bicycle production difficult; however, governments in the US and other countries realized that, in the face of gasoline and other shortages, bicycles were the only viable transportation option for many people who were working in jobs deemed essential to the war effort.

From Behance

In 1941, the average bicycle built for adults in the US weighed 57 pounds.  Yes, you read that right.  Bikes built for boys and men often had two top tubes (or a "crossbar" underneath the "camelback" top tube.)  Bikes made for women and girls had long, curving top tubes, and sometimes had another, paralell tube underneath.  Those frame tubes were thick, and (at least on American bikes) joined by welds reinforced by additional metal.  Also, bikes--especially those made for children--typically had "tanks" built between the top tubes.  They contained large batteries that powered the lights and horns that were built into them.

Nearly all of the bikes' components were made of heavy-gauge steel or even cast iron.   Those metals, as well as other materials used in building bikes, were needed for the war effort.  So, in addition to imposing rationing for any and all kinds of resources, the US Government also imposed new regulations on how, and what kinds of, bikes could be built.  Frames had to have a minimum size of 20 inches, which all but ended the production of children's bicycles.  Bicycles built for men could have only one top tube, and were to be built in the "diamond" configuration so familiar to us today. Gone were the "crossbars" found on many bikes.  

Along with the design changes, the government mandated that bicycles use less material.  In 1942, the government told manufacturers that their new bicycles had to weigh 47 pounds or less.  That weight limit further decreased as the war raged on.

So, as much as it pains me to say this, the war was actually good for cyclists, as it led to lighter bicycles--just as the rationing the conflict engendered led to shorter skirts and fewer ruffles and pleats (as well as less of other kinds of ornamentation) on other garments.

A Beacon Or Deterrent To Thieves

If you live in an urban area (in the US, anyway), you've probably seen bikes with tacky or simply ugly paint glopped or blotched on them.  

The bikes' owners so deface them in order to make them less appealing to would-be thieves.

However, some argue that it can have exactly the opposite effect:  Crooks, they say, know that the bike must be good if someone made such an effort to make them visually unappetizing.  

In any event, the bike in the photo turned out to be,  on closer inspection, just a typical '70's Bike Boom ten-speed turned into a single-speed.  It's perfectly reliable transportation, I'm sure, but nothing special. Or, at least, it's not special enough that its owner had to make it seem less special.
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Methode VTT (Velo Tout Terrain)

On New Year's Day, you may have shared a bottle of "champagne" with friends or family members. 

Chances are, though, that it wasn't Champagne.  More than likely, it was probably a sparkling wine prepared according to the Methode Champenoise.

Now, I haven't drunk very much Methode Champenoise wine--or, for that matter, Champagne itself. So, I don't mean to be snobbish or condescending when I make the distinction between sparkling wines. I mention it only because  someone who drinks, makes or sells Champagne, though, would probably be upset if you used the name of their product for the bubbly you drank over the holidays.

What got me thinking about that distinction?, you ask.  Believe it or not, it was a bike parked a couple of blocks from my apartment:

Now, what does a bike from which a Huffy would be an upgrade have to do with a drink some blind French monk invented by accident?  

Take a look at the downtube:

It reads "ATB Style."

I guess it's supposed to mean that the bike is an ATB-style bike.  In what sense, though?  Sure, it has fat tires, upright handlebars and gears.  But it also has the wretched cheap long-arm sidepulls found on so many bad bike-boom ten-sppeds.  Worse, the brakes are supposed to do their work on steel rims--which means that in wet weather, they will hardly work at all.

And, of course, the bike is twice as heavy and about half as strong as a real ATB.  

What I find interesting is that All-Terrain Bike was coined because Joe Breeze, one of the early builders of bikes in this genre, patented the term "mountain bike" and wasn't too happy when Gary Fisher, Fat Chance and other fat-tire pioneers were using the term.    So, one might say that "ATB" is the methode champenoise of off-road bicycles.

Then again, for all I know, ATB might be the monogram of a fashion designer or clothing store.