When you get to be my age, you realize that had you saved the stuff you wore in your youth, you could sell it today as "vintage." It seems that some people are trying to do the same thing with bike parts. I find myself shouting things they don't teach you in French 101 whenever a Craigslist or eBay listing refers to a Simplex Prestige derailleur as "rare" or "vintage."
Whenever I see that testament to French plastic technology--or the Campagnolo Gran Turismo with its scimitar-like cage or the Huret Luxe Super Touring, which looked like a disjointed crane's neck made from steel plates--I think, "They don't make them like that anymore--Thank God!" If those things are "vintage", I'm all for the present and the future
But there are a few no-longer-made components that can be called "vintage" without making me wince. Such parts are, of course, sought out by collectors or even still used on everyday riders. Such parts were not only "good for their time" but still are valid today because they have some feature or another that today's stuff lacks.
Sometimes that factor is aesthetic. Let's face it: Most bikes and parts from the past look better than almost anything made by anyone besides a custom builder or small-scale manufacturer today. I admit that there are some things I own and ride for that reason alone. But some of those same bikes and parts--and others--are designed in ways that are more practical or versatile, or simply "made better", than what you can buy today.
And, believe it or not, some old parts are actually lighter. A case in point is the Huret Jubilee rear derailleur.
I actually owned and rode two--a short-cage and a long-cage version-- for a number of years. I raced, toured and even did some "rough stuff" on them. And I even took a tumble or two on them.
My short-cage Jubilee adorned my Cannondale racing bike for a few months. Then it graced my Colnago Arabesque--on which I raced and trained and did a number of long rides--for another half-dozen years. I rode the long-cage version for a couple of years on a Bianchi that I turned into a light tourer, then on my Miyata 912.
On all of those bikes I shifted the Jubilee with what is, to my mind, the best non-indexed lever ever made: the Simplex retrofriction. And I had the "teardrop" version--to my eye, the prettiest shift lever in history--on the Cannondale and Colnago.
With those levers, the Jubilee shifted quite well, especially given the standards of the time. It wasn't quite as easy or accurate as the SunTour Cyclone (or, for that matter, anything in SunTour's "V" series). But I actually preferred the Jubilee to any other manufacturer's (besides SunTour's) top-of-the-line derailleur. For one thing, it shifted as well--or, at least, not noticeably worse than--the Campagnolo Record series, Simplex LJ or Shimano Crane. To be more precise, the Jubilee shifted about as quickly and perhaps a bit more accurately, and definitely more smoothly, than any of those mechanisms.
I bought my first (short-cage) Jubilee from Frank Chrinko, the proprietor of Highland Park Cyclery, where I worked for a time. He thought well of them (and used the Success, Huret's other high-end derailleur) and said he hadn't noticed any problems among the (admittedly few) customers who used them. On the other hand, I heard horror stories about how if you looked at it the wrong way, it would explode into a million little pieces. Such fears, I found, were greatly exaggerated: Both of my Jubilees survived falls and continued to work as well as they had been working.
I think that Jubilees lasted longer than many people expected precisely because they were so minimalist: There weren't as many ways it could be struck or snagged. That is the reason why, interestingly, a few early mountain bikers and some cyclo-cross riders used it.
The Jubilee also holds the distinction of being one of the few rear derailleurs that was completely disassemblable for cleaning and maintenance. Huret actually offered spare parts, though they weren't easy to find (at least in the US). I'll admit that, once disassembled, it wasn't the easiest thing to put back together, especially if you didn't have a diagram (which was even harder to find than the spare parts).
So how did the Jubilee get its name? Huret was founded in 1920 and in 1970 decided to celebrate by creating the lightest derailleur ever made. They succeeded--the short-cage version weighed only 140 grams (the long-cage version weighed 157). Ironically, the later "drillium" version was five grams heavier!
The Jubilee was first introduced in 1972 (the same year as the Simplex Super LJ and SunTour VGT) and found its way to the US a couple of years later. The Motobecane Grand Jubile came equipped with it and other high-quality French components; so did the Raleigh Competition. In 1974-5, Raleigh's two-steps-up-from-entry-level Super Course, with a frame that had straight-gauge Reynolds 531 in its main tubes, came with a version of the Jubilee that fitted to the non-forged dropout with a "claw" hanger. From what I heard in bike shops at the time, Raleigh was trying to offer the lightest bicycle available at its price point (about $175 at the time), and the Jubilee shaved those few grams that gave the bike its edge over whatever the next-lightest bike was in its price category.
Sachs took over Huret in the early 1980s and continued to produce the Jubilee until the end of the decade. Later versions bore the Sachs-Huret logo, and later simply "Sachs", in the black-and-gold badge that sported the Huret name in the familiar cursive lettering for so long.
Late in the 1980s, Sachs (which had also taken over French component makers Maillard and Sedis) became part of SRAM. It seems that around that time, the Jubilee was discontinued as all of the SRAM-Sachs derailleurs were modeled after the Shimano models with slant paralellogram bodies and two sprung pivots.
I ended another ride by the sea as the sun set. But this time I wasn't on Coney Island or Long Island. I rode to someplace I hadn't been in twenty years.
No, I wasn't in Cap Ferret or anyplace else on la Cote d'Argent. In fact, I was on this side of the Atlantic.
Now, how is that possible? you might ask. Well, at the point I reached the ocean, the coast curves inward, to the southwest. So, from there, it's actually possible to look south and see the sun setting on the ocean.
Where was I? The city is one that you may have heard of; if not, you've heard of at least one very close to it. Said neighbor is Asbury Park; the burg in question is none other than Long Branch, New Jersey.
Incongruously, the neighborhood containing that part of the coast is called "the West End." Almost everything in Long Branch that isn't north of it is to its west; only the charming village of Elberon is to its south.
I got there via a route I hadn't quite intended. Once again, I took the PATH train to Newark and started riding there, through the industrial necropoli of Essex and northern Union counties that were as deserted on Sunday morning as, well, most churches during the rest of the week. I continued, as I did a week earlier, down State Route 27, a.k.a. St.George's Avenue, past Rahway and down to Route 35 to the bridge over the Raritan River. I saw almost no traffic up to that point, which probably isn't so unusual for a Sunday.
But after the crossing, the road takes some sharp turns and narrows. And it loses its shoulder. And, suddenly, cars and trucks multiplied. As I did last week, I took some roads that paralleled 35 until they didn't. After making a "wrong" turn, the chemical tanks gave way to gravel yards, then to bare trees and brown fields. On the last day of November, they weren't beautiful so much as they offered an austere sort of calm.
That austerity soon turned into barns and houses just a little too fancy to be farm houses. I had wandered into the horse country of western Monmouth County, in the communities of Holmdel, Colts Neck and Lincroft. None of it seemed to have changed at all since I last saw it, at least two decades ago.
Time seemed to stand still, as well, along Newman Springs Road, which I rode from Lincroft to the part of Red Bank away from the main shopping district. From there, I was back on 35, though it was wider and less trafficked than before, in spite of the mall and stores along the way. Then, after passing the former Fort Monmouth, I turned onto Route 36, which is drab (the highlight being the Motor Vehicle Inspection station) until you pass the campus of Monmouth University in West Long Branch.
I knew I had arrived in Long Branch without seeing the sign that welcomes visitors. This told me where I was:
The central district, West End and Elberon are full of such architectural delights. Some are basic, charming gingerbread houses, but others have their own unique characters.
At one time, the city was one of the most fashionable resorts in the area, if not the whole United States. Seven Presidents--Chester A. Arthur, James Garfield, Ulysses S. Grant, Benjamin Harrison, Rutherford B. Hayes, William McKinley and Woodrow Wilson--made summer visits there. Monmouth Race Track is nearby, and during those heady days in the second half of the 19th Century and the first two decades of the twentieth, the city's casinos brought in flocks of gamblers. And, the city's vibrant theatre and nightlife scene made it a kind of proto-Hollywood where celebrities performed as well as lived and vacationed.
But, along with Prohibition came laws that severely restricted gaming, so Long Branch's casinos closed. And, with the ascendancy of Hollywood, Long Branch lost much of its allure and went into a slow but steady decline. This downward slope steepened in the 1950s, when the Garden State Parkway and New Jersey Turnpike (which is part of I-95) opened and offered easy access to beaches further south. Panicky white residents fled after the 1970 riots (on Independence Day weekend) in nearby Asbury Park. By the late 1980's, much of the city was like a piece of driftwood that grew more and more battered with each wave, with each passing storm, but somehow survived like the inhabitants of the island in Gulliver's Travels.
One area that had become seedy has been redeveloped into Pier Village. It's pretty but a bit too twee, lined with stores that don't have much of anything I'd ever buy even if I could afford them. Thankfully, my favorite parts of the city were spared such a fate. And you can still see the sunset on the ocean without crossing the Atlantic or the continent!
I have a question for those of you who have kids: Did you ever have to explain to them that, no, you didn't see things in black-and-white when you were young?
Believe it or not, I actually had to reassure one of my students that we were not colorblind back in the day. Of course, that student could have taken that statement as an explanation of why we needed to have the Civil Rights Movement. And I've been accused, at different times in my life, of seeing things in the presence or absence of all colors. They'll say that about you if you have convictions and stand up for yourself.
I got to thinking about the world before technicolor because I came across a copy of a 40-year-old issue of Bicycling! magazine. Everything printed in it was in black and white. The November 1974 issue was one of the first I read, and I was introduced to all sorts of things not mentioned in Eugene Sloane's Complete Book of Bicycling. (The mid-'70's was probably the last time an American could publish anything with such a title without seeming arrogant or ignorant or both.)
In addition to Reynolds and Columbus (which Sloane referred to as "Columbia" in the first edition of his book) tubing, I learned about Tange, Falk, Vitus, Ishiwata and Durifort. That last name was the trademark of a high-quality French carbon steel tubing (Those terms weren't considered mutually exclusive in those days) that came in straight-gauge and double-butted.
"Club racers"--a kind of bike all but banned from the US market when a bunch of lawyers with too much time on their hands decided they were "dangerous"-- were often made from it. The Stella SX-73--of which reviewer Larry Burke wrote glowingly forty years ago--is an example of such a bike, if with slightly longer (and therefore more amenable to light touring) geometry.
Such bikes typically had racing geometry and came with basic or mid-level components, save for tubular ("sew-up") tires and rims. The idea was to offer a fast, responsive bike at a reasonable price, or one that could be used, without too much modification, for light touring.
(These are different from British "club bicycles" of the 1930's to 1960s, which were typically constructed from Reynolds 531 tubing and had higher-quality components. However, they usually had Sturmey-Archer internally-geared hubs--usually one of the higher- end or close-range models--or a "flip-flop" hub on the rear, as derailleurs were not widely used in the British Isles until the 1960's. Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian, is modeled somewhat on such bikes.)
A few people crashed those French club racers and the frame tubes collapsed. When the CPSC lawyers got wind of stories about them, they decided the public simply had to be protected from them--never mind that most riders walked away intact from such crashes in spite of not wearing helmets, as was the practice in those days of "leather hairnets".
Anyway, I've noticed that a few high-end builders and producers are offering their own versions of "club racers". Could British club bikes be next? Then Tosca will get even more attention than she gets now, and nobody will remember her in black and white!
I'll close this post with a funny story: I actually used the photo I've posted in a paper I wrote about circadian rhythms. The trees look somewhat autumnal, but the guy on the bike is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Even though the weather was warm, the trees were still losing their leaves, as they are wont to do at that time of year.
If I recall correctly, I got an A on that paper.
We all know that cyclists are the highest form of humanity. We are the ne plus ultra of evolution.
This is not a biased opinion. It's cold, hard scientific fact--or, at least, a very well-founded theory. I have evidence:
That T-shirt can be found on Zazzle, where I also found this poster:
among other fun and interesting cycling gifts.
Hmm...Is it hypocritical of me to promote the purchase of gifts the day after I wrote a diatribe against Black Friday? If it is, I'm sorry: I'm human--though the most evolved sort because I am, after all, a cyclist.;-)
"Toys come in boxes. Real bicycles come assembled and ready to ride."
I don't remember who said that. I'm guessing it was the proprietor or a salesperson in one of the bike shops in which I worked. And I'm guessing the proprietor or salesperson was admonishing someone who brought in a department-store bicycle for assembly or who tried to assemble such a bike and made a bad thing hopeless.
I'm recalling that bit of wisdom, if not the sage who imparted it, because today is Black Friday.
For those of you who are not in the US, this day--the day after we give thanks and exchange heart-warming stories (or get into fights) with people with whom we would not sit at the same table at any other time--and give thanks for, well, whatever. This is the day on which stores--mainly the big-box variety--run "sales" on some of the worst junk imaginable, much of which will end up under Christmas trees four weeks later and in landfills four years--or even four months--later.
The boxes full of stuff meant to be assembled into bicycle-shaped objects are among the sale items I'm talking about. One of the "big-box" retailers--which, thankfully, does not have a store anywhere near me--has offered, on each of the few Black Fridays--a "freestyle BMX" bike with pegs and helmet for $49.99 and boys' and girls' 20 inch bicycles for $29.
If you're a vegan, bear with me for a moment as I use an analogy most people (Americans, anyway) will understand. It's scarcely possible to get a steak dinner, let alone a good one, for $29. Add drinks and dessert and you'd be hard-pressed to keep the tab below $50. At least, that's the case here in New York.
Now, you might be thinking that buying a cheap bike for a kid isn't such a bad idea because he or she will trash or outgrow it within a couple of years. Or you might be on a tight budget (Trust me, I understand!) and are shopping for a few kids or grandkids. I don't have kids or grandkids, but I understand the joy in seeing a kid's eyes light up on Christmas morning. (I've experienced it with my nieces and nephews as well as the children of friends, if that counts.) However, I'd think about what I'm teaching kids when I give them disposable junk.
More to the point, though, I'd be concerned about giving a kid (or anyone) something that's potentially unsafe. In bikes, as in most things, you get what you pay for (up to a point, anyway). Cheap bikes are made cheaply, from cheap materials. Now, if I were buying such a bike for a kid (which, of course, I wouldn't), I at least have some residual level of skill as a mechanic and could at least ensure the bike is properly assembled. However, not everyone who buys such a bike can make such a claim. Nor can some of the "mechanics" employed by some stores that offer assembly.
If you were to bring such a bike to a shop to be assembled, you'll pay enough for the service that it, combined with the price of the bike, will total not much less than the price of a bike shop bike. Shops don't charge what they charge out of spite or to gouge customers: Proper assembly and repair (which bikes in boxes sometimes need) takes time and therefore costs money. And a mechanic in any bike shop worthy of the name wants to take the time to do it right because the shop's reputation rides on the work done in it.
So...If you really, truly, must participate in that orgy of consumerism called Black Friday--which has been likened to the running of the bulls--don't buy a bike, especially one for a kid, in a big-box store. If you're a regular reader of this blog, I don't have to tell you that. But you might want to tell your less-informed (about bikes, anyway) friends and relatives what I've said--or pass along this post.
If you grew up in the US, you probably made "hand turkeys" for Thanksgiving. If you're still making them now, don't worry: It'll be our little secret! ;-)
Since we're grown-up cyclists (Well, most of us, anyway!), we have to make more sophisticated Thanksgiving props or decorations. In other words, we have to make them from bike parts.
For all of you messengers, hipsters and other urban rider, here's a bird made from single speed parts:
Those of you who insist that everything you ride must be NJS-compliant probably don't approve. Just indulge yourself--and us--for one day, today. After all, isn't Thanksgiving the day when it's perfectly acceptable for people to go off their diets and do all manner of things they never do at any other time?
Since, ideally, this day should be a feast for the senses, I am including this image from Ecovelo:
Happy Thanksgiving!
Of course we all know that sex sells. Not for nothing are photos that highlight velocipedic lines and curves called "bike porn".
Some parts, and some types of frames, lend themselves particularly well to hints of eroticism. The classic handlebar stem (often referred to as a "gooseneck"), crank arms come to mind for me. And, during the late 1970's and early 1980's, it seemed that every other hub was made in an hourglass shape.
It seems, though, that some people thought hubs were sexy even before that time:
Now tell me...what do you make of a poster with a fadeout of a nude model--for a hub called Mussel-man?
Hey, it gets even better. Read this morsel from the penultimate paragraph of the copy:
These beautiful broad flanged hubs appeal to all riders who like to go places and do things in Olympic fashion. Their dazzling brilliance and rugged racy lines appeal to every boy who hears the call of the open road.
A siren call? I find it interesting that the first sentence is an appeal to "all riders" but the second is to "every boy".
With Mussel-man hubs, would he get the girl? Would I?
Christmas will come exactly one month from today.
We and our bicycles must be ready for the holiday season. Now, some of you might fret that spending time on such preparations will take time away from your cycling, or vice-versa. Is there a suitable compromise?
I remember seeing a movie called "The Electric Horseman" in my youth. Starring Robert Redford and Jane Fonda, it was like a lot of other movies that came out around that time: The hero got as mad as hell and wouldn't let him--or, more precisely, his horse--take it anymore. But what was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery turned into mushy, sentimental tripe about a romance between two characters played by actors who, while they looked good together, had absolutely no chemistry.
But I digress. Not long before "The Electric Horseman" was released, the much better "Breaking Away" came to movie houses. What if someone made a movie called "The Electric Cyclist"? Would the title character look like the figure in the photo?
Before screening, the producers could have had a dinner with a platter that looks like this:
Note: Photos originally appeared on CELL Bikes.
I wonder whether he/she rides a bike:
I mean, when someone has a name like Shimano-witz, how could I not wonder?
That sign crossed my path during my ride the other day. So did this one:
At least it was no surprise. I actually rode to, and into,Cheesequake in my youth. I also hiked and camped there with the Scouts. If they could see me now...;-)
I long ago gave up trying to convince anybody who isn't from New Jersey that the park--or, at least, the name--actually exists. When I say it, they think I'm joking or hallucinating, or that it's the name of a fromagerie on the San Andreas Fault.
Maybe Shimano-witz would ride to such a place.
I love roses and sunshine and rainbows as much as the next person. I mean, really, who doesn't. Still, the kinds of light that really touch the core of my being are what one sees on an overcast day at the seashore, or on just about any kind of coast. (I love the sea and whatever borders it, though I don't consider myself a beach lover. I never understood the point of lying on sand and frying myself. But I digress.) I also love the soft, diffuse light one sees on overcast days in much of France and in parts of neighboring lands.
I love just as much the shawl of clouds the November sky spreads over windows that lose their guile as they gain the depth of their own clarity, surrounded by splintered frames, bubbled paint and stone that is worn but not broken. A long sleep, if not a dream, awaits.
Well, yesterday's ride offered me two of those three kinds of light. I didn't get to France. (How is it that the cheapest way to get to Paris from New York is by way of Moscow or Istanbul?) But I was treated to the fine gravity of an autumnal littoral sky.
I encountered that scene in Laurence Harbor, NJ. I hadn't really intended to ride to that particular spot, though it is more or less along the way of the ride I'd planned on taking, and the one I actually took. And, as you can see, I got there late in the afternoon, not long before sunset.
Before I set out, I left enough food to last Max and Marley through the night. I knew what sort of ride I needed to take; there were a few things I needed to sort out in my head. I knew that I wanted to head out to the part of the New Jersey coast I cycled so often in my youth, when it seemed that riding was one of the few things I understood. (Sometimes I think I don't understand a whole lot more all of these years later!) I considered the possibility of riding late and checking into a motel or, better yet, a bed-and-breakfast, if one was open.
Well, I started a bit later than I should have. And, along the way, I found roads and bridges closed, some still damaged from Sandy. So I found myself wandering through parts of Newark and Union County I know hardly, if at all, and, just before I entered Monmouth County, a road that, I thought, paralleled Route 35, until it didn't. Then I wended through some county roads and residential streets in areas where suburban sprawl gave way to tightly-kept blue-collar areas where many homes have fishing boats in their driveways or yards. None of the drivers honked their horns at me; women who were walking to and from neighbors' houses and stores, and men to and from VFW halls, waved and greeted me with "Howya doin"" and "Hopeyer having'a good weekend." I smiled back.
I did, finally, find myself pedaling along boardwalks and quiet streets where the lazy waves of the bay lapped against rocks, then sand, then rocks again. I got as far as Ideal Beach in North Middletown, which was known as East Keansburg when I was a teenager. (Apparently, someone realized that having "Middletown" in a community's name was better for property values than "Keansburg" in that part of New Jersey.) It's actually cleaner--if a bit more self-consciously "beachy"-- than I remember it from the days when we snuck there when we were cutting classes or otherwise looking over our shoulders, or simply didn't have any money.
Because I got lost (I can admit that now: I'm a woman!), it took me nearly two hours longer to get there than I'd planned. Oh, and I was riding into 20-40KPH winds all the way down. Really. So I knew I wasn't going to get to Long Branch before drinkers and drunks started pouring into and out of the bars and their cars. Plus, I figured that if I would encounter even more damaged or destroyed roads, paths or bridges--and therefore need to take more detours--than I already had. In fact, I might not be able to get to some areas at all.
So, sadly, I turned around and started riding back. I figured I'd ride to the nearest train station--or at least the first I found. That's how I found myself in Laurence Harbor. comforted by the November sky.
Oh, and my favorite flowers are lilacs. Nothing against roses, mind you. Just my preference. Some might say that it's the flower that looks best under such a sky.
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