Aren't You Glad He Didn't Call It "Dagny Taggart"?

There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves Orcs. --John Rogers

It’s been a while since I’ve read either of the books Rogers mentions. I know I read both—at what age, I don’t remember, but I’m sure at a time before my cerebral cortex was fully formed. Actually, now that I think of it, I read them about the same time I started taking bike rides of more than a few miles, which fits into Rogers’ timeline.

To tell you the truth, I don’t think either changed my life significantly. The funny thing is that, even at the tender age I was when I read it, I thought The Lord of the Rings had more developed, more believable characters than Atlas Shrugged.  Saying that J.R.R. Tolkien was a better writer than Ayn Rand is a bit like saying that a Mercian is better than a Murray:  In other words, it almost doesn’t need to be said.  But I simply never have been able to get myself terribly interested in fantasy or science fiction.  It’s not snobbery on my part, as an old partner of mine (whom I accompanied to see a film version of Rings) alleged.  I’m just not interested in science fiction or fantasy in much the same way that I’m not interested in, say, skateboarding: I don’t look down on anyone who loves it, but have no wish to participate in it myself.

On the other hand, for a time in my life, I considered myself a Libertarian. Actually, I still do, at least my opposition to the death penalty and wars other than those purely for defensive purposes—and in my beliefs about individual liberty.  As an example of the latter, while I urge cyclists to wear helmets, I oppose laws mandating the practice.  But I never became one of those people who participated in “Who is John Galt?” discussions because, frankly, I always thought Atlas was a book of shallow thinking and shoddy writing, not worthy of discussion.

I would guess that if a cyclist were to be influenced by—or simply enjoy—either book, it would most likely be Tolkien’s.  One of the best things about his writing is the “journey” aspect:  It’s found, not only in the narrative arc of the story, but in the cadences of the language itself.  Even though I have never developed a taste for the type of stories he wrote, I can imagine reading Rings or The Hobbit again for the writing.  Plus, somehow, I can imagine sharing a cup of tea or even an evening with Tolkien:  He seems like that learned, urbane and friendly prof you liked in college.  Judging from her writings and comments—and some things I’ve learned about her life—I can’t imagine spending such time with Ms. Rand.

I don’t know whether Grant Petersen, the founder of Rivendell Bicycle Works, ever read Atlas or anything else Ayn Rand wrote.  But, of course, we all know he has long been a fan of Tolkien’s tales.  I don’t know when in his life he first read them, but I would guess it was, if not in high school, then in college, especially considering that Tolkien first gained his readership in the US with college students during the 1960s.  Anyway, whatever else I’ve said about him or the stuff his company sells, I’m glad he was influenced by the Oxford oracle.  Think about it:  Wouldn’t you rather ride a bike called “Bombadil” than “Galt”?

Aren't you glad this isn't called a "Dagny Taggart"?

Also, I’ve noticed that fans of Tolkien tend to be more interested than Rand acolytes in literature generally.  Petersen, apparently, as also read, in addition to Tolkien, some of my favorite poets, such as William Wordsworth.  I’m glad:  After all, even though I probably won’t buy one, I’m happy to see one of his bikes named for Betty Foy rather than Dagny Taggart!    

Look How Many Teeth You Have, Grandma!

Some of us pine for our youth---or at least some parts of it.  

Me, I wouldn't want to have to live it again as someone for whom the "M" box was checked off on her birth certificate.  But I wouldn't mind doing, again, some of the things I did in those times.  And I certainly would be happy to be in the kind of physical shape I was in for the fifteen or so years before my gender transition.

At age 40, I was something of a hero to the guys with whom I used to ride, some of whom were about half my age.  For a time, I was riding my Land Shark with 56-42 chainrings and an 11-21 nine-speed cassette.  And my knees never hurt. Nothing ever felt stiff, either.

But I had nothing on whoever rode this bike:

From DoobyBrain.com

 Now, whoever that person is, his or her mechanical skills didn't match his or her riding abilities-- or that person had a terrible mechanic:  The front fork is on backward.

Then again, perhaps it was meant to be.  After all, someone would ride with such a big chainring only for a motor-paced record attempt.  For such a ride, the cyclist would want the shortest wheelbase possible and the lowest possible amount of air resistance.

I don't know who might have ridden this bike or what record he or she might have broken.  But, from what I can see, the chainring has 124 teeth!

That Bike Ride Was A Real "Trip"

If I were to offer advice to the young, one thing I'd tell is that they should look forward to getting older because the statute of limitations runs out.


Thus, I can admit to having done some riding in my youth after intaking substances that may or may not be banned by the UCI and WADA, if not Federal and  State authorities. 


Thankfully, there are many more substances with influences under which I never rode.  For that matter, I never took any of those drugs.  I have to wonder, though, what it was like to ride under the influence of what Albert Hofmann took before his ride home on 19 April 1943.


Herr Hofmann had synthesized several derivatives of ergot, a fungus found on rye, in search of a new stimulant drug to induce childbirth.  He accidentally ingested a small amount of his 25th derivative while synthesizing it, and recorded the effects thusly:




“… affected by a remarkable restlessness, combined with a slight dizziness. At home I lay down and sank into a not unpleasant intoxicated-like condition, characterized by an extremely stimulated imagination. In a dreamlike state, with eyes closed (I found the daylight to be unpleasantly glaring), I perceived an uninterrupted stream of fantastic pictures, extraordinary shapes with intense, kaleidoscopic play of colors. After some two hours this condition faded away.”


Three days later, on the 19th, he intentionally took 0.25 milligrams--what he believed to be the "threshold dose"--of his new drug.  However, he soon realized that he had greatly underestimated its potency.  Within an hour, he was experiencing vast shifts in his mental perceptions.  Because of wartime vehicular restrictions, he asked his lab assistant to escort him home by bicycle. 


After he awoke on his couch and his physician assured him that he indeed had not been poisoned, he recorded his "trip":


 “… little by little I could begin to enjoy the unprecedented colors and plays of shapes that persisted behind my closed eyes. Kaleidoscopic, fantastic images surged in on me, alternating, variegated, opening and then closing themselves in circles and spirals, exploding in colored fountains, rearranging and hybridizing themselves in constant flux…”


By now, you probably realize that what Hofmann made and ingested was not one of today's energy bars or Red Bull.  It was Lysergic Acid Diethylamide-25, or what we now call LSD or "Acid".

Trippers and stoners today refer to 19 April as Bicycle Day, in honor of the world's first "acid trip".  (I would argue that the first trip was actually experienced, and recorded, by the author(s) of the Book of Revelations.)  Hofmann had never dreamed of such a thing, or the late 1960s Haight-Ashbury scene, for he had envisioned his drug as an aid to psychotherapy:  Its "intense and introspective nature", as he described it, would limit its popular appeal.


Note:  In writing this I am not endorsing the use of LSD-25 or any other hallucinogen or banned substance, whether or not I used them in my long-ago youth!

High Wheels, High Heels And Snow

"I have great respect for you, ma'am.  Anyone who rides today deserves 'props'!"

A security guard said that as I was locking up my bike at work.  The flurries that fluttered onto my helmet about five minutes into my commute had turned into harder, though not driving, snow.  Some of it was starting to accumulate, but I wasn't worried because the forecasts called for no more than an inch.  Plus, I knew that even if there were more on my way home, some of the streets would be plowed by that time.

It's funny that our first snowfall of the season came just days after I put a pair of Panaracer Tour tires, with thick but not knobby treads, on the LeTour.  In case you were wondering:  Yes, I rode to work in a skirt. But I was wearing fairly thick black tights under it.  On my feet, I wore my black LL Bean duck boots and carried my heels in a bag.

It wasn't an exceptional winter ride or commute, really, although I enjoyed it.  Still, whatever "props" that security guard gave me, I have nothing on these guys:

Now there's something I probably will  never do:  ride a penny-farthing in the snow.  But I guess the guys in that photo didn't have a choice, as the "safety" bicycle hadn't been invented yet.  And they were in Montreal.  If you're can't or won't ride in the snow, it essentially means that you're not going to ride in The City Of A Hundred Steeples (as Mark Twain called it) during the winter.

The Real Pista

In an earlier post, I recounted my misadventure with my first "fixie" conversion:  a Peugeot U-08 on which I tried to lock down a fixed cog and lockring to the stock Normandy hub by the force of my youthful hormones.

Before that, I wrote about what might have been the wildest bike I've ever owned:  a KHS Aero Track.   Since then, you've read about my many adventures on Tosca, the fixed-gear Mercian I now ride.

While Tosca's frame has track geometry, more or less, I never intended it as an NJS-approved (or -approvable) velodrome bike.  Instead, I think of it as a cross between a track bike and the British "club" machines from the 1930s through the 1950s:  Something I can ride for a couple of hours, or more rather than the minutes or seconds it takes to sprint around banked curves.

And, yes, it has a "flip-flop hub" (as those club bikes often had) brakes (!) and water bottle braze-ons (!!)--and bags, even.  

But I once had a track bike that had  none of those things. It wasn't even drilled for brakes. (The KHS was.) It had a "flip-flop" hub--for fixed gears on both sides. The bike I'm going to write about was intended as a track machine, pure and simple.

It's a name you've all seen, but in an iteration you haven't seen unless you probably haven't seen unless you've been cycling for a couple of decades.

It's---drumroll--a Bianchi Pista.  But not the one that all of the hipsters in Williamsburg were riding around 2005.  That, while probably a decent bike, is a Chinese knockoff of the Pista I rode for about five years.

This BIanchi Pista was made in Italy, in the same factory as their other racing bikes.  Its tubes were Columbus Cro Mor, which were said to be stiffer than the SL tubes of my Colnago.  

Actually, given that and the tight track geometry, the Pista wasn't quite as stiff or harsh as I expected it to be.  Mind you, it's not what I'd ride on a hilly century, but I found I could put in an hour or two without feeling that my dental work was going to fall out.

Then again, I very rarely rode it on anything rough.  Most of my rides on the Pista were in Prospect Park, only a couple of blocks from where I was living (in Park Slope, Brooklyn) during the time I rode it.  For laps starting in Grand Army Plaza, the Pista was great.

But, eventually, I got tired of that and, if I recall correctly, needed some cash for some harebrained venture I came up with.  The guy who bought it from me had aspirations of actually becoming a professional racer. (I don't think he did, but that says nothing about the bike, really.)  He talked me down a bit in price because he didn't like the color (which, of course, I loved) but still preferred it to "Crest toothpaste green", as he called BIanchi's Celeste finish.

When I first got the Pista, I had my Mondonico--my first purple bike--and, by the time I sold it, I was riding my Land Shark--my first purple-and-green, and my first custom, frame. Also, at the time I bought the Pista, I was just starting to do some fairly serious off-road riding on a Jamis Dakota and, later, my Bontrager Race Lite.

Pathway To The Gate of Hell

We've all heard expressions like "Highway to Hell" and "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions".

I couldn't help but to think about them as I rode through Randall's Island yesterday.  A bike lane recently opened, connecting the Fire Academy with the Bronx spur of the RFK/Triborough Bridge--and the foot/bike bridge that seems to have been under construction since a time before Randall's Island or the Bronx even existed!

The bike lane has one of my favorite names:

"Hell Gate Pathway?"  Can you beat it?  I mean, haven't you always wanted to ride my bike to the Gate of Hell?


Actually, I have ridden to the Gates of Hell--during at least two of my trips to Paris.  Of course, you can't wheel your velocipede right up to Rodin's masterpiece.  But you can ride to the museum and walk up to his gates.

I'm dying (pun intended) to do that again, soon.  But for now, the path I rode yesterday and my imagination will have to keep me content.

 

A Hex On This Monark

It's easy to believe that all bikes made up to the early 1980's or so had round steel frame tubes that were 28.6 mm (about 1 1/8"), or thereabouts, in diameter.  When I first became a dedicated cyclist in the late stages of the '70's Bike Boom, about the only bikes that weren't made with such frame tubes were "Chopper"-style bikes with stays and other frame members made out of flat bar stock or thin twin-lateral tubes.

Turns out, though, that there have been all sorts of variations of tubing diameters and shapes since the "safety" bicycle first appeared late in the 19th Century.  Even before Cannondale and Klein started to make frames with oversized aluminum tubes, bike makers used larger-diameter tubes with thinner walls in an attempt to make bicycles stiffer and lighter.  The problem with them was that knowledge of metallurgy (Reynolds 531 and Columbus tubings weren't created until the 1930's) and welding or brazing wasn't as advanced as it is now.  So, frames built with large-diameter thin-wall tubing usually met early demises.

And frame tubes and stays did not start to deviate from having spherical cross-sections when mountain bikes and carbon-fiber frames reached the mass market during the 1980's and '90's.  There have been many variations on tubing shapes and configurations.  One of the most famous is, of course, the curly rear stays found on some vintage Hetchins frames.  (Sheldon Brown prized his.)  Other frame builders and bike makers experimented with tubes that were triangular or shaped in other ways in the name of aerodynamics.  Of course, what those makers and builders soon realized is that, in the end, a bike can't be more aerodynamic than the cyclist perched atop it. 

Then there were other variations that were made for no apparent reason.  I get the feeling that the companies and builders that employed them were trying to make their bikes look "distinctive".  In other words, they were probably little more than marketing gimmicks.  But, I'll admit that some of them looked pretty cool, like this 1947 Monark Silver King with hexagonal (!) frame tubes:




The shape, and the stripes on the head tube, give the front an odd sort of Art Deco look



and the appearance of raw industrial power at the bottom bracket.



Whatever you think of the frame tubes, how can you not love a bike with a rear fender reflector like this?



Now, if the frame looks like it was made of aluminum, there's a good reason:  It was.  That, of course, begs the question of how the headtube and bottom bracket were joined to those hex-shaped tubes.  

Well, they were neither welded nor brazed together.  Nor were they glued ("epoxied") like the ALAN frames of the 1970's or Vitus frames of the '80's and '90's.  Instead the tubes were "mushroom wedged" into the "lugs".  I have not found anything that describes how "mushroom wedging" is done.  I can only imagine.

As for the Monark brand:  They should not be confused with Monarch bicycles of the 1890s which share one characteristic with Monarks:  they were made in Chicago. (And you thought Schwinn was the only bike maker in the Windy City?)  Monark of Chicago also should not be confused with Monark of Sweden which, to this day, continues to build bikes as well as mopeds and other items.

Monark Silver King Inc., as the Chicago bike maker was officially known, started off as a battery manufacturer early in the 20th Century and began to make bikes under their own name, as well as for house brands of Montgomery Ward and Firestone, in 1934.  They made some of the most stylish and unique baloon-tired bikes of the 1940s and '50's.  

Apparently, they stopped making bicycles--ironically enough--during the early 1970s, when the Bike Boom in North America was picking up steam.  Rollfast, a manufacturer literally steps away from where the Twin Towers rose in New York, met a similar fate around the same time.  The Bike Boom translated into sales mainly for "lightweight" (i.e., ten-speed) bikes and all but destroyed the demand for balloon-tired and middleweight bicycles, the mainstays (or, in some cases, the entire production) of companies like Monark and Rollfast.  

Is Snow The Only Thing Falling?

I woke up to snow fluttering down my window.  The flakes weren't turning into mounds, or even a scrim of powder on the streets, so I thought I'd go for a ride--and, maybe, catch some snowflakes on my tongue. (It's one of my guilty pleasures!)  But, as soon as I got out the door, the snow turned to sleet and the streets and sidewalks were being glazed with slush that, in spots, would slick with ice.  Even on my bikes with fenders, I wasn't going to ride in that.  

In my youth, I might've.  Actually, I more than likely would have.  Riding in conditions nobody else would was a point of pride, almost of definace.  I think now of the time in Vermont when the temperature dropped from 50 to 15F (10 to -10C) and a partly cloudy day turned to rain, sleet, then snow, the latter of which fell as I was descending a mountain.  I also remember the time I rode down a virage in the French Alps, near Arly-sur-Praz, on a fully loaded bike as rain fell and a loaded lumber truck rumbled--and, was that a skid I heard?--around one of those hairpin turns.  And, when I was a bike messenger, I had to ride in conditions worse than what I saw today.  

Am I getting lazy, soft, or just old?  I don't think the day was a waste:  I read, wrote and had lots of cuddle time with Max and Marley.  Still, I have to wonder about what's becoming of me.  Perhaps I no longer cast a shadow.  Then again, nobody does on a day like this.

Photo by Roland Tanglao

Not Plugged Into Courtesy And Safety

I'm no fan of electric bikes, or e-bikes, as they're commonly known.  Actually, what bothers me even more than the bikes themselves are their riders.  Here in New York, it seems that just about all of them are delivery men (I haven't seen a woman doing that kind of work) for restaurants and stores.  

Now, as a long-ago bicycle messenger, I can understand some of the challenges of their job.  I'm guessing that most of them are paid per delivery, as I was when I sluiced asphalt slaloms through canyons of glass and steel to bring everything from legal documents to slices of pizza to packages with their own "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policies, if you know what I mean.  In those days, I was young (Weren't we all, once?) and in good shape, which made me a fast rider. That, of course, is why I made decent money--better money, in fact, than I did in the next two jobs I had after I stopped plying the courier trade.

Speed equals money.  That, of course, is the reason why those delivery people ride electric or motorized bikes.   I get that.  But I don't condone their disregard for the basic rules of the road and their lack of consideration for other people.  

 

Last night, while riding to my bank's ATM and a store, I was nearly half of a head-on collision with some guy making deliveries on an e-bike.  I was riding between the traffic and parking lanes, both of which were full on a stretch lined with restaurants, bars, clubs and stores that remained open for the holiday.   

He was riding in the opposite direction, at least twice as fast as I was moving into the wind.  From what I could tell, he was not paying attention to the traffic or anything else. For that matter, I don't think he spoke English--or, at least not enough to understand "Watch out!" and the curses I yelled at him after he missed me by the breadth of the string in his hoodie.

It's not the first, or even the worst, instance of such careless riding I've seen by e-bikers.  I have stopped patronizing a restaurant near me because the owner refuses to talk to his delivery men--especially one in particular who routinely rides on sidewalks and, in one incident I saw, nearly killed an elderly woman who was walking by.  

Anyway...I know that a new year has begun, and this is supposed to be a time of good cheer.  But one thing I would love to see in this new year are the two "c's"--consciousness and courtesy--on the part of pedestrians, motorists and cyclists, e-bikers and motorized bicycle riders alike.

The Year Of The Bird Or The Year Of The Snake?

A few of my New Years have included resolutions to ride more.  At least a couple of times--when I was young--I kept them.  It was easier then.

Other times, I've made resolutions regarding skills or equipment. One year, I resolved to learn how to fix my bike.  That's when I got my copy of Tom Cuthbertson's Anybody's Bike Book.   

(Years later, when I first heard of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States, I found myself thinking of Tom Cuthbertson's book.  If Zinn were a cyclist, he'd've been Cuthbertson's kindred spirit.   But I digress.)

Another year, I decided to learn how to build wheels.  Not long after, I came across an article Sheldon Brown--this was the first time I'd heard of him--wrote about it in Bicycle World, if I remember correctly.

And then there was the time I resolved to get myself a track bike.  No more silly fixed-gear conversions, I told myself.  Some time in the middle of that winter, I got a good deal on the Bianchi Pista (a real, made-in-Italy one), about which I'll write a post on some snowy (or rainy) day.

For all the times I've made resolutions (I don't make them anymore), there were others when I thought the year would start off on a good note with a book (whether or not it was bicycle-related) or some nice new piece of equipment--say, a jersey or an accessory.

Bicycling! magazine promotes that sort of thing.  It's a good way to launch new products, especially those you don't actually need but could enhance your cycling pleasure.  I thought this one, from last year, was cute:

Made by Portland Design Works

It's called, naturally, a "Bird Cage".  If I were to get one, I'd have to forget about the name:  One reason why I have never had, and don't want, a bird for a pet is that I can't think of any living thing as a pet if I have to keep it in a cage.  (Did someone mention boyfriends? ;=) )

It made me think of a bottle cage I had years ago.  I think I gave it to myself as a Christmas or New Year's gift:

I installed it on my Jamis Dakota.  I think I transferred it later on to my Bontrager Race Lite.  I liked it, actually:  It held the bottle securely, even when I rode over rocks and such.  If I recall correctly, it was made in Arizona or Utah or some Western state that's not Colorado or California by a company called Innovations that made some other cool bike accessories.

So...The year of the Bird?  Or the year of the Snake?  All right, I know I'm butchering Chinese cosmology here, so I'll stop and wish you a Happy New Year!