I Bought It Anyway

Even though I have never, ever wanted what this ad promised, I bought the product. In fact, I bought it several times, for several bikes. 

A Professional Gypsy, Or: How Italian Was My French Bike?

For a few months, my post about my old Peugeot PX-10 has been among my most popular. I think it has much to do with the fact that the PX-10 was the first high-performance bicycle many cyclists of my generation rode or owned.

Riding it after pedaling any Schwinn bike besides the Paramount, or other popular ten-speeds like the Raleigh Grand Prix or the Peugeot U0-8—let alone three-speed “English racers” or the balloon-tired behemoths Schwinn, Columbia and other American companies made—was like getting onto a rocket after spending your life on a donkey cart.  I didn’t realize until later, when I rode other high-performance bikes, that the PX-10, while lighter than most of its competition, was also less stiff and “whippier” than other racing bikes with tighter wheelbases and angles. On the other hand, it gave a more comfortable ride over long miles.

The PX-10 was similar to many other French racing bicycles of the time.  Their designs hadn’t changed much since the days just after World War II, when many roads were damaged and racing teams, not to mention individual racers, had small budgets.  Those conditions made versatile bicycles that could be ridden in a variety of conditions necessary:  There wasn’t a lot of money available to buy different bikes for different conditions. 

The stability or stagnation—depending on how you see it—in French bikes was even more pronounced in the bikes’ components than in their frames.  When Huret introduced its “Challenger” derailleur in 1974, it was the Nantes-based manufacturer’s first significant design change in nearly three decades.  Likewise, Mafac’s center-pull brakes, better than anything else available when they were introduced in the 1940’s, seemed as outdated as whalebone corsets three decades later even if they were still more powerful than almost any others—including Campagnolo side pulls.

French bikes and components, long benchmarks by which others were measured, seemed to develop an inferiority complex, at least in the perception of racers and other high-mile cyclists. They, and wannabes, moved on to Italian or custom English or American bikes.  Even those who continued to mount their Gallic steeds would replace components, whether or not by necessity, with newer designs and more exotic finishes from Campagnolo and, to a lesser extent, Japanese manufacturers. 

Bike and component manufacturers operating sous le drapeau blanc, bleu at rouge would update their designs in the late 1970’s and 1980s.  Mafac and CLB, the two country’s two top brake manufacturers, finally developed professional-quality sidepull brakes as well as centerpulls with tighter clearances than their older counterparts.  Specialties TA and Stronglight made cranks with chainrings interchangeable with those from Campagnolo.  And, of course, venerable rim and wheel manufacturer Mavic came out with a gruppo of components that was more advanced in design—and, to some people (including yours truly), of higher quality and more beautifully finished—than the famous Italian components that had become de rigeur in European pelotons.

Even more important, French racing frame designs began to mimic those of Italian bikes like Colnago, De Rosa and Cinelli.  Wheelbases became shorter and frame angles steeper; around the same time, curly-edged Nervex lugs gave way to spear-point frame joiners.  And French bike makers started to employ the same kinds of paints and graphic schemes found on their well-known Italian counterparts.  By the mid-1980’s, some of us joked about “French bikes in Italian drag” and "Italian bikes in French drag".

Actually, a few “French” bikes were really made in Italy and had French decals applied to them.  But even more Gallic manufacturers followed a trend Motobecane started in the mid-‘70’s with their “Team Professional” frame.

(Aside:  Around the same time, Motobecane became the first European manufacturer to equip bikes—mostly entry- and mid-level—with Japanese derailleurs, freewheels and cranksets. Those bikes also looked more like English or Japanese than other French bikes available in those price ranges.) 

For a time, I owned and rode a French-made “Italian” bike:  a 1985 Gitane Professional.  I bought it seven years  after its was made from a man who owned a bike shop he sold during his divorce.  He told me he raced it, but the bike didn’t seem heavily used in spite of his not-inconsiderable girth. (In those days, I didn’t share that trait and could therefore note it without anyone accusing me of being a pot who called the kettle black, or however that metaphor goes.)

How Italian was my French bike?  Well, its nearly shared the geometry of the Colnago Arabesque I owned at raced at the time.  My Gitane was even made of Columbus SL (the company’s standard racing tube set at the time) with longpoint lugs and was equipped with Campagnolo components and Vittoria sew-up tires.  I believed my Colnago to be somewhat more responsive and Gitane to be a bit cushier (though not cushy). I may have had that perception, however, only because one bike was a Colnago and the other was a Gitane.

I bought the bike, frankly, because I couldn’t not:  The man took $200 for it. That was a steal, even twenty years ago. He was one of the first riders I knew who abandoned steel frames: “In ten years, they will be extinct,” he said.  If I recall correctly, he’d been riding a Cannondale and had just bought a Merlin titanium frame.

I bought his Gitane not long after a random stranger bought my Schwinn Criss Cross.  That summer, I put one of my sets of clincher wheels on the Gitane and took it on a tour from Paris into the Loire, Indre and Burgundy regions and back. I’d packed light, so the bike didn’t seem unstable; in fact, I liked its responsiveness, especially when I pedaled up hills. 

Somehow it seemed appropriate I was doing such a trip on a “Gitane,” which means “gypsy.”  I had not mapped an itinerary:  I bought a round-trip ticket to Paris and my only concrete plan was to visit a friend there at the end of my trip.

I probably would have taken more trips on that bike—to Italy, perhaps—had it not met its demise only a couple of months after I got home.  Some guy whose headphones rendered him oblivious to his surroundings sideswiped me and caused me to crash on a turn in Prospect Park.  I saw him a few times after that and, naturally, he pretended not to see me.

Had he been more skilled or careful, perhaps I might have owned and ridden a dozen or so fewer bikes than I have in my life.  Still, in its brief time with me, my Gitane left me with some pleasant memories.  But it got me to thinking about the expression, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”  Could my it be that my Gitane Professional, a French bike with Italian style, behaved like a Frenchman when it was in France?

Riding To End The World As They Knew It

In an earlier post, I wrote about a remark Susan B. Anthony made:

"Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. It has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world.  It gives women a feeling of freedom and self-reliance."

Historians, professional and amateur, are taking notice of something that has been neglected, or simply overlooked, for a century:  the relationship between cycling and women's liberation.

It's more than interesting to note that the heydays first modern feminist movement and the first "bike boom" almost exactly coincided during the last decade of the 19th Century and the first decade of the 20th. As I and others have noted, the bicycle gave women, for the first time, an independent means of transportation and led to the design of clothing that was less restrictive than the hoopskirts and corsets "proper" ladies wore until that time.

Of course, those were the very reasons why some--almost all of them men--thought that in seeing their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters astride two wheels, they were witnessing the decline and fall of civilization.   To wit;

 “Cycling tends to destroy the sweet simplicity of her girlish nature; besides how dreadful it would be if, by some accident, she were to fall into the arms of a strange man.” 

As "Sam B.", the author of the blog Fit, Feminist and (Almost) Fifty wryly notes, "I can't imagine falling off a bike into someone's arms (that would take rather a lot of coordination)".  As for me, no one ever said that anything destroyed the sweet simplicity of my girlish nature.  For that matter, no one has ever imputed sweet simplicity to me. At least, I'm not aware of anyone who's done such a thing.

But I digress.  The irrational fear expressed in the minister's quote about how cycling makes good girls go bad was, unfortunately,  shared by some doctors.  Worse, those male medical professionals amplified such nonsense with "scientific studies" claiming that cycling also made women infertile. 

(Ironically, every fifteen years or so some doctor or another claims that cycling causes infertility in men.  Hmm...I guess all of those Tour de France winners who had children are the exception.)

Anyway, those fears were not expressed during the second bike boom and modern feminist movement--which, like their earlier counterparts, coincided.  The difference is, of course, that Betty Freidan, Gloria Steinem and the other "Women's Libbers" of the 1970's did not see the bicycle as a vehicle for female independence.  In fact, they seemed not to think about bicycles at all:  I don't recall them mentioning pedaled two-wheeled vehicles in any way.  

Perhaps one could argue that the bicycle had already done its job in liberating women.  But there was another striking paralell between the two convergences of feminism and cycling:  At the beginning of each, racing and long-distance cycling were almost entirely male preserves. If anything, more than a few women, especially the young, were discouraged from becoming serious cyclists for that very reason.  Rather than predict the moral decay that would ensue from women mounting steel steeds, many male cyclists instead made--sometimes unwittingly--rides and clubs less than hospitable to women.

These days, I see a lot more women on bikes than I did in my youth or even just a few years ago. In yet another interesting reflection of an earlier time, many of the women I see on bikes are riding independently, or with other women.  In other words, they're not trying to become members of a "boy's club": Instead, we are making ourselves more independent, like the women of whom Ms. Anthony spoke more than a century ago.
 

  

Faux Winter

An ex of mine grew up in the Miami area.  I made a few trips there,including couple during the winter, with her. 

In those days, the stores sold what seemed to be fake winter clothes.  They had the plaids, weaves, muted colors and other visual cues of garments worn to keep the cold off our bods and Jack Frost from nipping at our toes.  I even saw jackets with faux-fur collars and hoods and fuzzy mittens.

But that is where the resemblance between those clothes and the ones I could buy in New York--or from, say, LL Bean--ended.  The garments and accessories sold in Sunshine State stores had about as much insulating value as a candy wrapper.  I'm not even sure those faux cold weather vetements could have shielded their wearers against that meteorological feature found in Florida's nickname.

I found myself thinking about those clothes when I came across this image:

From:  Language Architects

Could it really be that Pee Wee Herman is riding his bike through a fake winter scene?  I'm shocked, I tell you...

Product Review: Ruth Works SF Brevet Bag and Small Seat Wedge

 I am going to write a valentine to someone. It's OK if his wife sees it.

But I warn him, her and you:  It won't be the last one I'll write for him.

Actually, I love the person of whom I'm writing in the same way I love people who create my favorite works of art and literature, food and, of course, bicycles.

I will begin this "Valentine" with a photo I've posted previously:

As one commenter noted, in this bike, Tosca (my Mercian "fixie") is sporting two bags she hadn't before.  The person of whom I am writing in this post made them.

Some of you may be familiar with the work of Ely Ruth Rodriguez of San Francisco.  I have never met him in person but I have spoken to him on the phone and, of course, corresponded with him by e-mail. He is a friendly and engaging person who exudes the enthusiasm of someone who loves what he's doing.

That passion comes through in the bags he creates.  

The little hearts stamped into the back of this bag are only a symbol of it, charming as they are.  If you look closely, you will see his impeccable stitching and finishing.  You will also notice this detail:

Those initials are mine.  That bag is the one you see on the front of my bike.

In addition to its beautiful workmanship, it has some of the best design I've seen in a bike accessory.

Those inside flaps are absolutely brilliant:  They keep the contents in the bag if I ride with the top flap opened.  This is especially desirable when you're riding with your camera or smart phone.

This fine piece of cycle luggage is called the Ruth Works Brevet Bag.  It fills a need I've felt for a long time:  It's about half the size of a traditional handlebar bag but larger--and more solidly constructed--than typical "handlebar purses."

The canvas from which this bag is constructed seems heavier and stiffer than on Carradice, Berthoud and other bags I've used.  Like the sacs from those well-known makers, my Brevet Bag kept my camera, phone and wallet dry during a rainstorm into which I rode.

The color you see is called "Nantucket Red".  It's really more of a salmon-pink color, rather like some flowers I've given and received.  Believe it or not, it's one of Ruth Works' standard colors.  (The others are black and a Berthoud-like grey.)  Ely will make your bag in other colors for an additional charge.  He will also make your bags out of other materials:  For example, he has made vegan versions  for several of his customers. 

If you buy a Brevet bag, as I highly recommend that you do, remember to pull the leather straps as tight as you can when you install it.  That is best accomplished by threading the straps through the bag the way Peter White recommends threading them into Carradice saddlebags. Also, at the same time I bought the bag, I replaced my brake cables, as I do every year or so.  I actually cut the new cables a bit longer than the old ones so I could loop them to rest on top of the bag straps. Of course, if you use traditional non-aero levers, or are installing this bag on upright, "porteur" or "mustache" bars,you will not have to think about cable routing.

The other bag you see on the bike was also made by Ely:

  

  
It's the small seat wedge, which will hold a spare tube (or two), your multi-tool, patch kit, tire levers and mini-pump (if you use one) with room to spare.  As you can see, it has a "roll" top secured by a strap and buckle.  Actually, there is velcro at the mouth of the bag, so if you expand and fill it so that you can't buckle down the flap, the bag will remain closed.

(Note:  In the photo, I used a toe strap because I temporarily misplaced the strap made for the bag. Ely supplies a leather strap that matches the one used to lash the bag to the saddle rails.)

If you like, Ely will make this bag with a zipper instead of the roll top and velcro.  I prefer not to have zippers on my bike bags, although zippers are not a "deal breaker" for me in choosing a bag.

I have also purchased other bags--yes, in this color-- from Ely.  I'll write more about them later.  I chose to write about the Brevet Bag and tool roll first because I have used them the most, and have ridden with them on Arielle (my Mercian Audax) and Vera (my green Mercian mixte) as well as on Tosca-.   Based on my experience so far, I love these bags' functionality and workmanship--and, let's face it, the way they look on my bikes.

I have mentioned some of the ways in which Ely will modify bag designs to your preferences.  He will add--or omit--pockets and other features as you like, or even build a bag to your design.  Also, he makes bags for musical instruments, martial arts equipment and other purposes.  Just call or write to him and discuss what you have in mind.        

Preserved?

Every generation or so, someone finds a tool or other artifact, a piece of human remains, or even a wooly mammoth encased in ice.

Whenever I have learned of such things, I wondered how those people and creatures and things got themselves cryogenically preserved without the aid of Bird’s Eye.  Did a glacier overtake them from behind?  Did the temperature suddenly drop when they were underdressed?  Or were they buried in snow by some stone proto-plow?

(I read somewhere that Clarence Birdseye came up with the idea of deep-freezing fresh vegetables during an ice-fishing trip in the Yukon.  But I digress.)

I found myself speculating on these frosty aspects of our natural history when I saw a report showing cars encased in ice while parked alongside New York City streets.  Apparently, they were buried in snow plowed off traffic lanes.  Since the weather between snow- and ice-storms hasn’t remained warm enough for long enough for snow to melt, today’s snow is piled on top of last week’s layer, which in turn was dumped on the previous week’s accumulations—which turns to water from the pressure, then freezes.  

If I correctly recall what I learned an ice age ago in the one and only geology course I took, those benighted Buicks and unfortunate Toyotas were caught up in a process identical to the one that forms glaciers.  The difference is, of course, that plows don’t push new snow onto the old:  Instead, the snow that’s turning to ice is blanketed from above.

If we are indeed entering a New Ice Age, will some future hiker of climber find fenders, hubcaps or even whole cars englaciated in the remains of our urban lanes and country roads?  Or will they find tri-spoke wheels and frames that look as if they were designed by Salvador Dali tethered by a rusted Kryptonite lock to the pole of a parking meter encased in an ice cube too big for a glass of artificially colored and sweetened fizzy water?

Some Of My Old Commuter/Beater Bikes

I am both delighted and amused that Bike Boom-era ten-speeds are en vogue, at least with certain (mostly young and urban) segments of the population. 

Go to Bushwick, Brooklyn or any other enclave of the young and self-consciously hip (and bohemian poor) and you’ll find flocks of vinage Fujis, packs of old Peugeots, ranks of stalwart Raleighs and gaggles of Gitanes and other classic names promenading through plazas or chained to railings.

One reason is, of course, that such bikes are—as long as they haven’t been crashed, submerged in a deluge or otherwise abused—as good now as they were then.  While nobody would try to race those bikes, most of which had mild steel frames and cottered cranks, they offer rides that are reasonably quick yet comfortable.  The frames geometry, while maligned by racers and other performance-oriented riders, make the bikes versatile in ways that few contemporary bikes are.  That is the reason why so many have been converted to single- and fixed-gear urban cruisers.

What that means, of course, is that such bikes sell—especially in New York and other urban areas—for far more than they did a few years ago.  Even so, it’s often less expensive to buy such a bike, convert it and add racks, baskets or whatever else one likes, than it is to buy a new “urban” or “Dutch” (really, some marketer’s idea of “Dutch”) bike.

However, I can recall a time when Bike-Boom era ten-speeds could be had for a song, or even less.  As I recall, that time commenced around the mid-‘80’s, when mountain bikes became the machines of choice for the few (at least here in the US) bicycle commuters and “ride around the park every other Sunday” cyclists of the time.  Most people who bought ten-speeds in the ‘70’s and early ‘80’s rode them only for a short time before relegating them to garages, basements, barns and other “out of sight, out of mind” sites.  Eventually, they’d be sold in garage or estate sales, or even given away.  Some people used them in trade-ins for mountain (or, later, hybrid) bikes, so old ten-speeds could be had for very little money even from bike shops.  

For years—about a decade and a half, in fact—I used such bikes for commuters and “beaters”.  When I could, I rode them “as is”—of course, after inflating the tires, lubing the chains and such.  Usually, I changed the saddle and one or two other parts, and added a rear rack and fenders if the bike didn’t already have them.  As parts (usually wheels) broke down or wore out, I replaced them, sometimes with parts I had on hand or friendly shops allowed me to scavenge.  My ability to build wheels came in handy, as I could get discontinued models of rims cheaply and re-use the hubs that came with the bike, or get inexpensive replacements.

From the mid-‘80’s to the mid-‘90’s, bike theft was (I believe) even more rampant than it is now.  That was a further incentive to use such bikes, as losing one wasn’t as much of a financial (or emotional) blow as losing one of my better bikes would have been.  On average, I would say that I would ride one of those bikes about a year before losing it to a thief.

None of my photographs included any with any of those bikes in it.  However, I can recall, fairly accurately, each of those bikes and when I rode it.  I will list them below:  The year or decade in parentheses is the time, as best as I could determine, the bike was manufactured.  The year(s) on the right side indicate when I used the bikes.

Follis Tour de France (1960’s).  1985-87.  Stolen.

Raleigh Record (1960’s or early 1970’s). 1987-89. Stolen.

Jeunet (1960’s or early 1970’s). 1989-90. Crashed.

Peugeot U-09 (1978).  1990.  Stolen.

Motobecane Mirage (1960’s-early 1970's).  1990-92. Crashed.

Windsor (model unknown, 1970’s). 1995-97.  Loaned it to someone who later bought it.

Atala (model unknown, 1960’s). 1997-2001. Cracked after landing from a jump.

Motobecane Nobly (1970’s). 2001-2002. Was too big; sold it.