Navigating A Pre-Dawn Fog

The past few mornings, I've been going to work early to get a few things done before students and others come around.  

That's meant riding in the dark.  Living in an urban area, I don't experience true darkness very often:   The city always flickers with ambient light from street lamps, skyscrapers, bridges and such.  Still, a lot of familiar sights are rendered invisible, especially in a foggy, misty pre-dawn like the one that surrounded me today:

Over the East River at Hell Gate, the world drifts or streams by, or suspends itself in points of reflection on those currents, all of them forms of light.

Sometimes I feel as if I navigate better by following those points and streams than by looking at signs and maps (or GPS devices)!

Protecting The Body (Or Bicycle) Electric

I can still remember when it was a big deal to see a Mercedes-Benz or BMW, much less a Porsche, on the road--at least here in the US.  I think I saw maybe two Jaguars before I turned thirty.

The joke was that you had to be really rich to drive a "Jag"--or to call it that--because you couldn't own just one.  The other was in the garage, especially after a rainy day.

One of my brothers told me that.  Back in the day, he fixed them, and other luxury cars, in a garage that catered to all manner of high-income (and high-maintenance) customers. He privately laughed at folks who spent $50,000 (probably $150,000-$200,000 in today's dollars) for "a car that doesn't start in the rain".  Garages that serviced "Jags" used to get death threats from customers who discovered its most unfortunate feature when the weather turned frightful.

The problem, according to my brother and others familiar with those vehicles, was the Lucas electrical system which, as one engineer joked, "hasn't changed since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution".  Another joke said that the English drink warm beer because Lucas makes their refrigerators.

From what I understand, Jaguars' electrical systems have been redesigned and better-protected against the elements. One would think (Gotta talk like the Queen now--she never uses first or second person!) that Jags, coming from soggy England, would have been so designed all along.

I got to thinking about that today when I saw a guy making a delivery on an electric bike--in a downpour.  I wondered whether any of those bikes ever shorted out or were otherwise disabled by the weather.

Apparently, it's happened--or someone has realized that it could: an e-bike shop near me is offering these shields:

The World's Worst Place To Ride...And He Would Know

I started reading Bicycling! magazine as a teenager in the mid-1970s.  I came in, so to speak, for John Rakowski's around-the-world bike tour.  Every month's issue included another installment of his epic ride, whether in India or Afghanistan or South America. 

As I recall, after three years and something like 50,000 kilometers of riding, he made a list of "favorite" and "least favorite", "best" and "worst", among other categories.

The former included countries (As I recall, Spain and Thailand were among his favorites.) while the latter included food, beer and cycling conditions.

As far as I know, Thomas Andersen has not yet made such a list.  But he has declared a "worst", as in "worst place for cyclists".  That distinction, he says, belongs to Australia. He singles out Sydney for particular criticism, saying he was shocked by the regular abuse from drivers.  "Australia has wonderful people, but some just don't like cyclists," he says.

Thomas Andersen in Sydney

Andersen is following in Rakowski's tire tracks and circumventing the globe on two wheels.  He's pedaled over 30,000 miles in 25 countries and is now pedaling through Ecuador. 

"In most countries, people drive fast but are usually happy enough to give some space to a cyclist on the road," Thomas says.  "I think the worst attitude I met toward cyclists was the day I cycled into Sydney in Australia."

He believes that one reason for such hostility is the lack of infrastructure.  For example, he cites the lack of lanes. "You have them for a bit, and then a gap."  Such a lack of continuity makes it difficult for cycling to develop as a viable means of transportation, he says.

But another reason he gives is, in my opinion, far more relevant.  In Denmark, his home country, many people cycle to work and for recreation.  On the other hand, he says, he saw few cyclists in Sydney or the rest of Australia, where he cycled some 5000 kilometers.

In previous posts, I have said that having such a critical mass, if you will, of cyclists, is far more important than bike lanes or signs or anything else for improving cyclists' safety and causing the bicycle to be seen as a viable means of transportation.  More cyclists brings more awareness of cycling, as greater numbers of motorists are likely to be, or more recently have been, cyclists.

I don't recall that John Rakowski had a "worst place for cyclists" on his lists.  If he had, I wonder whether he would have agreed with Thomas Andersen.

Bicycle Safety Camp Rap Video (Priceless!)

Ah, yes, the 1980s.  What was not to love?  (Well, except that Reagan and Bush pere were President.)  "Power suits" with padded shoulders.  Ghostbusters. (The best English-language translation of Caesar's declaration of victory is reason alone to see the movie!) Televangelists.  Miami Vice.  Neon-colored ski wear.  Trashdance, I mean, Flashdance.  Jolt cola. 
 

And in the world of cycling we had...fade paint jobs. And the Campagnolo Stinkro system.  

And Shimano took over the world.

As for music...The decade gave us the worst song in the history of rock'n'roll--and the best old-school rap.

Let me tell ya, tho'---The Sugar Hill gang and The Beastie Boys had nothing on these kids!

Embracing My Inner Magpie Leads To Englightenment (Or, Being More Informed About Cycling Advocacy, Anyway)

One thing you learn (sometimes, anyway) as you get older is to accept what you are and work with it--or let it work for you.

For a long time, I tried to suppress my inner magpie.  So, yes, I'll admit it:  I like pretty, shiny things, especially if I can recognize my own reflection in them. Then again, given what I've just said, a pretty, shiny thing is something that will, by definition, allow me to recognize my own reflection.  And vice-versa.

OK, enough of these extremely amateurish philosophical ramblings.  I accept that I like looking at pretty,shiny things and it leads me to images like this:

Instead of turning my nose up at this two-wheeled contraption (which is, however you define it, a bicycle), as I might have done not so long ago, I allowed myself to be drawn in by the pretty, shiny lights.  It led me to blog, which also contains this image:

That blog, is the most important find of all: Chicago Bicycle Advocate. I looked at a few posts on either side of the ones containing those photos.  The stories in them are all-too-familiar to urban cyclists:  getting doored (been there, done that!), a police officer who struck a cyclist and lied about it and  a driver who darted in front of a cyclist and tried to blame the cyclist for the ensuing crash.  But there are also inspiring stories, like that of the 13-year-old girl who came up with an idea for a signal system after seeing a man "doored" while she rode with her mother.

In reading those posts, and others, I was impressed by the level of analysis and clarity in discussions of the issues involved with accidents and other incidents involving cyclists.  I am going to subscribe to it, even though I live nowhere near Chicago.

Hooda thunk it:  Embracing my inner magpie has enhanced my understanding of the legal issues around cycling!

A Rocket In His Pocket

We've all heard the declaration, "I know it when I see it".  Most of us have probably used it, or some expression that means more or less the same thing.  Nobody knows who first uttered it, but it's most often attributed to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart in an obscenity case.  He admitted he couldn't define pornography, but he knew it when he saw it. I'd love to know how he, or anyone else knows!;-)

(By the way:  He decided that the work in question wasn't pornography.)

I think most people would respond in the same way as Justice Stewart if asked to define a "bicycle".  Just about everybody agrees that it has two wheels.  (That, after all, is the literal definition of the word.)  I think most would also say that it has pedals, or is powered by human energy in some way or another.

Very few people, I believe, would define anything with a motor on it as a bicycle.  Even fewer, I think, would say that a bicycle is powered by a rocket.

 

That makes the record held by Francois Gissy questionable, to say the least.  His 263KPH (163MPH) ride is listed as the land speed record for a bicycle.  At least one rider has reached 260 KPH with his own feet:  He was paced by a racing car, but pedaled to his record nonetheless.

Cycling Out Of Poverty?

Time was, not long ago, when one "graduated" from riding a bicycle.  In the US, that usually happened (and, sometimes, still happens) when someone gets his or her driver's license.

In much of the world, though, people have left their bicycles behind when they moved up on the socio-economic ladder--or when automobiles and petrol became more affordable.  Some of the newly-affluent (or middle-class) have continued to cycle for recreation, but for the most part, new motorists distance themselves from motorless two-wheeled vehicles in much the same way they might try to get as far away from the slums and working-class districts in which they had been living.

The phenomenon I've just described happened with increasing frequency in Europe:  It seemed that I saw fewer and fewer cyclists on each trip I took from 1980 until 2001.  Lately, though, there's been a resurgence in cycling, mainly among young people,in northern European cities like Amsterdam and Copenhagen.  In the Danish capital, people who can easily afford the high auto and petrol prices choose to cycle because it's easier to navigate the city's traffic on two wheels, and because it's a way to de-stress.

We are also seeing people cycle because they can, though perhaps on a lesser scale, in some North American cities like Portland, San Francisco, New York and Montreal. However, in urban areas of emerging countries like China, the bicycle is still seen as something one escapes from, rather than on:  In Beijing in particular, automobiles are signs of prosperity and two wheels spin in a cycle of downward mobility.

However, there are still parts of the world in which the bicycle can be a vehicle out of poverty, so to speak.  One such place is East Africa, where New York-based Bicycles Against Poverty sells bicycles to local people on installment plans matched to their circumstances and conducts repair workshops, among other things.  

The best part, though, is that BAP engages with local communities by buying bicycles from Roadmaster, a Ugandan manufacturer--and, best of all, training local staff to conduct workshops and in financial management.  Bicycle distribution is determined by the answers received on applications; as the organization's website says, BAP "aims to strike a balance between an individual's need for a bicycle and their (sic) ability to pay for it".

It will be interesting to see where this model leads those who buy the bikes. One cause for optimism is that the BAP model seems to avoid the colonial paternalism of too many aid programs, which almost invariably leads to mismanagement and corruption. Will that lead local people to develop their own sustainable communities?  Or will prosperity lead them away from the bicyles?

The Best Kind Of "Retro": Simplex "Teardrop" Shifters

Yesterday I wrote about what may have been the most jewel-like bicycle component I ever rode:  the Huret Jubilee rear derailleur.

Today I'm going to write about the part that might be a close second in the beauty contest.  I mentioned them in yesterday's post:  Simplex "retrofriction" levers--in particular, the "teardrop"-shaped ones. 

Most retrofriction levers in that shape were made to fit brazed-on lever bosses. I rode with those levers on several of my bicycles, including the Colnago Arabesque and Miyata 912.  The levers were also available in other configurations, including a "coke spoon" version made for Gipiemme.  

Simplex also made the levers in other shapes and colors for Mavic, Galli and other component manufacturers.  And, of course, there was the original version, which was usually attached to a clamp but was also available to fit braze-ons:

Although they all functioned in the same way, the Gipiemmes might have offered the best hand-feel.  (I am only guessing, as I never tried them myself.)  But whatever their shape, they offered the smoothest action of any lever I've ever used.  That is because they had a spring-clutch mechanism on the inside that kept the lever from slipping (and, thus, the derailleur from shifting accidentally) but allowed a shift with a lighter touch than was needed for other levers.  

Campagnolo and other friction levers, on the other hand, relied on nylon bushings and D-shaped screws to hold them in place--which made them more balky to shift.   The ratcheted SunTour levers were like Simplex's retrofrictions in that they,too, stayed in place when they weren't shifted but were easy to shift.  However, they had a clunkier feel and it was a bit harder to fine-tune shifts on them in much the same way that a one-bolt seatpost with notches is more difficult to adjust to exactly the right seat angle than one without notches, or a two-bolt post.

So, SunTour's "power" shifters tended (at least in my experience) to work better with wide-range slant-pantogaph derailleurs on which only the lower pivot was sprung like the SunTour's VGT or Cyclone GT.  On the other hand, Simplex's more nuanced action seemed to work well with just about every derailleur, with narrow-range racing or wide-range touring gears.  But they seemed especially well-suited to derailleurs that required smaller amounts of cable travel, such as the SunTour Cyclone S and Superbe, Campagnolo Record--and, of course, the Simplex Super LJ.

And, oh, yes, the Huret Jubilee.  It and the retrofriction levers seemed to go together like croissants and coffee.  The original Jubilee levers were made with a large drum that pulled too much cable for the Jubilee, which caused it to overshift.  Later, Huret made a lever with a smaller drum that was intended for both the Jubilee and the titanium Success rear derailleur.  But Huret's lever operated on friction, so Simplex's shifter was smoother.

If I were going to set up a bike with friction shifting, I'd definitely want the retrofriction levers.  However, that would mean using no more than seven cogs in the rear:  what made them so pleasant to use with derailleurs like the Jubilee is the small drum, which cuts down on the amount of cable the levers can wrap up.   In other words, even pulling the lever all the way back probably won't get it to shift onto an 8th cog.  (At least, it didn't on my bikes.)

But, of course, if I wanted to choose components purely on aesthetics, I would choose the Simplex retrofriction levers--and Huret Jubilee rear derailleur.

My First Piece Of Jewelry: The Huret Jubilee Derailleur

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.

This Ride: A Long Branch Of A Memory

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!