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.