Fit For A King (Or Prince, Anyway)

Mention "British bicycles" to aficionados, and names of classic builders like Jack Taylor, Mercian, Hetchins and Bob Jackson will come to our minds.

However, the first name most people will think of is Raleigh.

Apparently, that is one way in which members of the Royal Family--at least some of them, anyway--are like commoners.

If you' think you've seen him before, you're not thinking of  a cheesy way to start a conversation.  While not as famous as some of his relatives, Prince Edward indeed has one of the world's most familiar faces.  In this photo, he's pedaling to one of his classes at Cambridge University in 1983.

Speaking of family members, here's one some would rather forget:

Yes, he is none other than Prince Charles.  To be fair, I have to say that he increased my capacity for empathy:  I never thought I could feel sorry for a member of the Royal Family until I watched Lady Diana exchanging vows with him in 1981.  

Ambrose Bierce wrote, "For every sauce invented and accepted, a vice is renounced and forgiven."  I suppose we can forgive a prince for something when he takes a spin on one of his country's classic bikes.



 

How Would My Childhood Have Been Different?

When my family moved from Brooklyn to New Jersey, I found myself taking turns at a new chore:  mowing the lawn.

Frankly, I thought lawns were the stupidest things in the world:  the grass grew, and you cut it every couple of weeks.  You couldn't eat, drink, smoke or do much of anything else with it.  And, if the weather stayed dry enough for long enough to lie on the grass, it was too coarse and wiry.

But, to tell you the truth, what I hated most about lawn-mowing was that I had to do it on Saturdays, when I could have been doing all sorts of other things--like riding my bike.

Maybe I would have been a more obedient and less cranky kid had I had one of these:

From Pink Bike

 

When You Can't See Liberty

Today's post hasn't much to do with cycling, perhaps.

But I thought I'd share two photos someone passed on to me.  They were taken today in lower Manhattan:

From here, you can't see the top of Liberty Tower, the building that replaced the twin towers of the World Trade Center.   

Here's another image that will give you an idea of how low the fog was today:

How A Windsor Became A Raleigh

Sometimes “parts bin bikes” become other “parts bin bikes”.

That’s how it seems to work for me, anyway.  In any event, that’s what happened to the Windsor Professional I built up.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I didn’t like the ride.  So I sold the frame and transferred the parts to another.

Back in those pre-Internet, e-Bay and Craig’s List days, we learned who was selling what by word of mouth, bike club newsletters and bike shop boards.  And, here in New York, we checked the board at the American Youth Hostels store on Spring Street.

It was on the latter that I saw a listing for a Raleigh Competition frame.  Built from Reynolds 531 tubing with “sport” geometry, it was, in concept as well as ride, similar to the Peugeot PX-10.  Actually, I’d say the Competition—at least the one I had-- was a bit stiffer, but not harsh.

I’m not sure of whether Raleigh sold only the frame.  During the 1960’s and into the late 1970’s, it was equipped with quality French components such as the Specialtes TA three-pin crankset, Normandy Competition hubs, AVA tubular rims and Huret Jubilee derailleurs. The brakes were Weinmann centerpulls, as they were on all derailleur-equipped Raleighs except the Professional. In the late 1970’s, the wheelbase was shortened a bit and, possibly, the angles were tweaked a bit to make it stiffer.  At that point, Raleigh started to equip the Competition with Campagnolo Gran Sport components and Weinmann Carrera side-pull brakes.  The rims were switched to narrow Weinmann concave clincher rims.

In both incarnations, the frame was finished in glossy black with gold lug linings and graphics.  The lettering and other elements of the graphics were updated when the Raleigh changed the specifications.  My frame was the later version, from 1978.

I liked the ride quite a bit:  not quite as aggressive as the Colnago I owned at the same time, but stiffer and quicker-handling than my old PX-10. And it didn’t have the hard, dead ride of the Windsor Pro it replaced, or of the Cannondale I rode a couple of years earlier.

Actually, it was like the Romic I mentioned in an earlier post, and a slightly less aggressive version of my current Mercian Audax Special, a.k.a. Arielle.

So why did I strip and sell it?

 If I recall correctly, the frame measured 58 cm or 23 inches.  Normally, I ride 55 or 56 cm, depending on the design of the frame.  I believe that by the time I bought the Competition, Raleigh stopped making it—or, at least, they were making a very different bike  and calling it the “Competition”.  Also, around the time I bought the frame, Raleigh had shifted most, or possibly all, of its production out of England.

More important, even if I could have found another used Competition, it probably wouldn’t have fit me.  You see, Raleigh had this habit of sizing their bikes in two-inch (five-centimeter) increments.  So, if the bike was offered in a 23” frame, the next-smallest would be 21”.  I probably could have ridden that size with the seatpost extended.  However, other proportions of the frame might not have been right for me.

I know someone—whom I mentioned in an earlier post-- who has a Raleigh Competition just like the one I had.  He turned it into a Randonneuse, with fenders, racks and an Acorn handlebar bag.  He loves it.

It Wasn't Eddy's Bike

Ever since I started cycling, I've heard no end of debates about which frame tubing is "best." And, as long as I continue cycling, I'll probably never hear the end of such arguments.

Of course, for the first two decades or so I was a dedicated cyclist, nearly all frames were made of steel.  Even after other frame materials such as aluminum, titanium and carbon fiber first came onto the market, it took about a decade for them to appear in European pelotons.

So, in my youth, the Great Tubing Debate was mainly one of Reynolds vs. Columbus.  A few cyclists preferred Tange, Ishiwata or Vitus tubing, but nearly anyone who had a custom frame built--or simply had any pretensions of being a "serious" cyclist--chose Reynolds or Columbus.

Deep down, I always knew that it made only so much difference.  All of the tubings I mentioned are of high quality and can therefore be built into light, responsive and sturdy bikes.  The design and build quality of the frame matter far more than which company's metal is used.

The bike about which I am going to write today helped me to learn that lesson.

Back in the 1970's and '80's, a Mexican bicycle company called Windsor made a frame and bike called the "Profesional."  (Note the Spanish spelling, with one "s".)  If the decals were removed, most people would have had trouble telling it apart from the work of De Rosa, Colnago and other legendary Italian bike makers.

Like its old-world counterparts, the Profesional featured Columbus SL tubes (SP on the larger-size frames) joined with long-point lugs.  The Profesional even had the sunset-orange finish (which I have always liked a lot) of the De Rosas and Colnagos Eddy Mercx and his Molteni team rode to victories in the Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and just about every other race you can think of.

As a matter of fact, in 1972, Mercx broke the hour record on a Colnago painted in that color, but covered with Windsor decals.  That ride in the Mexico City velodrome probably was the first time cyclists outside Mexico knew that Windsor bicycles existed.

A complete Windsor Profesional bicycle with Campagnolo Record components could be had for about half the cost of a Colnago, DeRosa or other Italian iron.  The Profesional frame was available for about a third, or even less, than what one of those old-world steeds cost.

Not long after I bought my Colnago Arabesque, I acquired a somewhat-used Profesional frame with a seatpost and headset for $100, a good price even then.  It became one of my "parts bin bikes":  clincher wheels with Shimano 600 hubs, Sun Tour dearilleurs and Sugino cranks and, perhaps incongruously, Mafac 2002 centerpull brakes.

Aside from the fact that they were in my parts box, there was another reason I used those brakes:  They were gold anodized.  You can just imagine how they looked on the sunset-orange frame. And, oh yes, I installed a brown Ideale saddle and wrapped the bars with a brown leather tape Cannondale sold at the time.  That tape was one of two items I bought for the bike:  The bottom bracket that I used with the Sugino crank on another bike was made to fit an English-threaded bike, but the Windsor was built to Italian specifications.  

So how did it ride?  Well, this is where I come back to my point about frame tubing:  Although it was built from the same materials as the Colnago I'd just recently bought and the Gitane Professional I would later acquire, the ride did not compare with either.  The Windsor was at least as stiff as either but its rigidity felt more like that of a bike made of heavier materials.  In other words, it felt "dead" and not very responsive.  My perception didn't change when I swapped the wheels for the best set of tubulars (with sew-up tires) I owned at the time.  

I don't know why the ride was so unpleasant:  If I recall correctly, the wheelbase and angles were the same as (or close to) those of the Colnago.  As far as I could tell, the fit was about the same on both bikes, and I used handlebars and stems with the same dimensions as the ones on my Arabesque.  

For a season, the Windsor Profesional was my commuter and "rainy day" bike, though I did take it on a couple of long-distance fair-weather rides.  Some might say I needed more time to develop a mutually supportive relationship with the bike but the Colnago, Gitane, my Mercians and other bikes I've owned felt "right" to me immediately, even before I'd become acclimated to their particular idiosyncrasy.    So, the parts on the bike went back to my bin--for use on the next frame I would acquire--and I sold my Windsor Profesional for $50 more than what I originally paid for it.      

  

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.