I've worked in a bicycle shop during the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. A kid and his or her parent (or some other adult) would come in with the bike the kid got as a present. One or both of the wheels would be shaped like tacos, pretzels or some other appetizer or snack served before or after the holiday dinner.
The kid or adult would claim the kid "was just turning the corner" when "it bent." When the kid's puppy-dog eyes didn't elicit a free replacement of the wheel or bike, the adult would demand a refund.
Other current and former bike shop employees have told me similar stories. No doubt the one who made this graphic has heard it, too:
Back in 1984, Levi's was the official outfitter for the US Olympic Team. That year, the Games were held in Los Angeles. In those days, Levi's blue jeans were made up the coast, in San Francisco.
That was during the time in my life when, off the bike, I wore nothing but Levi's 501s with button-down, polo, rugby, flannel or T-shirts, depending on the occasion. Sometimes I wore those things while riding, too. And, of course, when the weather was warm enough (and I could get away with it), I wore 501 cutoffs.
I know lots of cyclists could have said the same thing about their sartorial habits. I'll bet there are plenty of cyclists today who could. Thus, I am still amazed that Levi's never came out with a line of cycle clothing--at least to my knowledge.
I got into this rumination of threads past when I saw this ad:
Apparently, someone named M Schwab designed it during the 1970's. I wonder what he/she is doing now.
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I was feeling sad. One reason is that a few people who have mattered to me died around that time of year--including a family member who was a couple of years younger than I am now and a female friend who committed suicide. But another cause of my tristesse is the days growing shorter.
Interestingly, I don't notice the lack of light as much when I'm riding my bike. In fact, the graying November sky becomes rather comforting, like a shawl spread across bare, wizening limbs and rocks:
And the November dusk has its own sort of lumination, like a sort of wisdom revealed:
A little bit of that light crossed my path--or so it seemed:
When I stopped, he rubbed against my ankles. When I dismounted and squatted next to my bike, he rubbed his face against my hand.
He brought me joy tinged with a note of sadness: A cat so friendly could only have been abandoned by someone.
In that sense--as well as in his physical appearance--he's like Max. My friend Mildred, who rescued him, told a similar story: He, who had never before met her, approached her as she walked down the street.
I didn't have a bag or basket, but I was tempted to find a way to bring my new-found friend home. I gave myself all of the reasons why I couldn't. A woman sitting on a nearby bench told me not to worry: He's been living on that stretch of the Rockaway boardwalk for "about three years" and she and other people feed him.
I guess he manages to sleep and survive with that sky as his blanket and the sand as his mattress.
It looks like we're about due for a wave of insane measures to save weight on bike parts. Of course, some might argue that we are in one. In any event, it seems that such a cycle comes every other decade.
In my cycling life, I have witnessed two such bouts of insanity. The first came during the '70's. Those of you who weren't into cycling (or weren't around) then probably remember other ridiculous fads like disco, droopy mustaches, pastel-colored suits and mood rings. Well, in cycling, there was something almost as absurd: an attempt to turn seemingly every bicycle part into a wedge of Emmentaler (or, for us Americans, a piece of Swiss cheese).
Ah, yes, drillium. I remember it well. Along with it came slotted brake and shift levers. Ironically, Campagnolo's cut-out Super Record brake levers actually weighed a few grams more than their smooth-surfaced Record levers. A company rep said that Campy made the material thicker so to make the levers safe for slotting.
Along with grunge rock and "indie" everything (To me "indie" meant, in the '90's. more or less what "gourmet", when used as an adjective, meant in the '80's: "pretentious".), the final decade of the 20th Century took slotting one step further. It seemed that every kid who had an Erector Set as a kid came of age during that decade and either made bike parts or opened a "high concept" shop that sold them:
What will this decade's insane attempt to save a gram bring us? I would argue that it already gave us one such trend: almost everything made of carbon fiber. Now, I can understand why racers would want a carbon fiber frame, and perhaps even a set of wheels--as long as his or her sponsor is paying for them. But a carbon fiber seat post rack? Any kind of rack made of that material? The day we see a carbon fiber GPS system for bikes will be the day when, as Pere Teilhard de Chardin said about the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, technology has triumphed over reason.
As you may know, my bicycles were made in a part of England that was part of the ancient kingdom of Mercia. Some people and things from that region--like my bikes--are still called Mercians.
So, not surprisingly, there's a Mercian Regiment of the British Army:
I always find it kind of amusing when military and paramilitary organizations make "ladies'" pendants, brooches or other accessories. I think I gave my mother such a pin on some occasion from Scouts or the Army, I forget which. Maybe she still has it.
Anyway, learning about that regiment, for me, begged the obvious question: What bicycles do they ride?
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