Seeing Old And New Friends

For the first time since the beginning of the year, I rode to Rockaway Beach.  Although the temperature flirted with 5C (40F), there was still a lot of snow and ice, particularly in the areas between the parked cars and traffic--i.e., where you end up riding on a lot of streets.

I was pretty whupped when I got to the beach. I was chiding myself for being out-of-shape when one of the locals assured me that it's OK, she's tired, too.

Then I remembered that I'd been pedaling into 25-35KPH winds just about all the way there.  My snowy friend assured me that flapping her wings in such conditions is work and she gets tired, too.

I got to Rockaway Beach in time for their St. Patrick's parade.  It seems that all through March, there are parades (here in New York, anyway) for that Englishman who was kidnapped by Irish raiders and sold into slavery.  According to legend, a vision of an angel inspired him to escape and go to the continent to become a monk.  Then he returned to the Emerald Isle and, during the next thirty years of his life, covered it with churches and monasteries.  

So they're celebrating an Englishman who colonized their island?  Of course, the difference between Patrick and the later British conquerors is that he accomplished his dominion through ecclesiastical means, in contrast to the military and economic stranglehold the Crown would later have.

Rockaway Beach has long been a predominantly Irish-American community, and it seemed as if every single resident was on the streets.  A few even sauntered and shuffled on the sand by the ocean.  Most of them were too drunk--or, at least, had imbibed enough Guinness Stout not to care about history, the weather or much of anything else.

Heck, this guy didn't even care that he was riding an orange bike:

Don't get me wrong:  I love orange bikes.  I've had a few in my time.  But I have to wonder whether orange is the right color for St. Paddy's Day.

A Monument To This Season

With all of the snow and ice we've had this winter, it seems as if some bikes will be frozen in place forever, for some future archaeologist (extraterretrial, perhaps?) to find like one of those ants they sometimes find encased in amber.

The ones that aren't fully or partially buried seem like public statues. Snow layers them in much the same way that it drapes the outstretched arms and wings, and the impassive faces, of those figures of metal and stone.

(I must admit that, during the past few weeks, my bikes haven't moved much more than the ones I've been describing. Or so it seems.)

Last night, I saw an example of a velocipedic monument to this season on Manhattan's West 57th Street, just east of Columbus Circle:

 

Booking

Most, if not all, of us have carried books on a bicyle. Having spent much of my life as a student or instructor, I have hauled more than a few volumes while pedaling to or from classrooms, libraries, bookstores, coffee shops, parks or my living space.  

Of course, I'm most often carrying books out of necessity. But sometimes I carry them just to have something to read:  I simply can't bear the thought of being in any place for more than a few minutes without something to read or write.  

And, I'll admit, sometimes I want to feel or simply look smart.  Sometimes I think that half of the people I see reading books on the subway are trying to impress themselves or someone--perhaps they don't even know whom--without seeming to.  I'm sure that tome-toters on two wheels have done the same.  But you all know that I never, ever do such a thing, right? ;-)

Anyway...I got to thinking about some of the ways I, and other people, carry books when they're riding.

Image by John Takai

Like many other people, I used a knapsack when I was a student and long after that.  But, to tell you the truth, I never liked carrying anything on my back--even a hydration system-- while pedaling.

A few times, I've simply strapped (bungee corded) books to the top of a rear rack.  That only works when you have a couple of books and if you're not riding over a lot of bumps and potholes.  It seems funny to me now that Pletscher-style rear carriers were often sold as "book racks." 

 



For nearly a year, I've been riding my LeTour to work.  I attached baskets to the handlebars and the top of the rear rack.  They are very useful, but I find that I still need to put the books in some sort of bag or other protective layer--or stack things on top of them--to keep them from getting shuffled, torn and dirtied.  This is especially true if I'm carrying a portfolio or manuscript, or any other papers not in a book binding.



I've also carried my novels, textbooks and poetry anthologies in Carradice-style saddlebags.  Because they're waterproof and sturdy, they protect the books well.  But books are bulky, and all except the largest saddlebags have limited abounts of interior space.  Plus, unless you create some sort of DIY quick-release, you have to pack and unpack the bag whenever you park your bike.



Probably the best solution for carrying books is a pair of pannier bags or baskets that attach the the sides of your rear rack.   If you do that, I suggest using panniers on both sides to balance out your load:  Books are heavy, and it takes only a couple on either side to imbalance you and your bike.  

For the moment, I can't use pannier-style bags or baskets on the LeTour because the basket is attached to the top.  That basket is handy when I carry shopping bags or the large bag of cat food but can be a bit unsteady.  I'm thinking of removing it so that I can use the panniers.  But then I'd have to find another way to carry that 8 kilo bag of CD Diet kitty chow.

Tell me...How do you carry books on your bike?  Or do you not carry them?

What If Sanko Ruled The World?

Most of us who came of age around the time of the '70's Bike Boom believed that in the beginning, good bikes and components came from England, France, Italy and a few other European countries.  Reliable but heavy and clunky bikes were made in the US; Japanese manufacturers copied what Europeans and, sometimes, Americans did.  And, until the time of the Bike Boom, the Japanese stuff was of lesser quality.  Some of us still believed that narrative long after reality proved otherwise.

Thus, we thought that if you were a racer, super-high mileage rider or simply wanted to ride without being weighed down by your wallet, you equipped your bike with Campagnolo components, especially the Nuovo Record rear derailleur.  In our heart of hearts, we knew that SunTour derailleurs shifted better.  But if a Campy costs four times as much, it must be better, right.

So, while racers and other active riders--or rich blowhards--opted for Campagnolo, in-the-know cyclotourists, recreational riders and other types of cyclists soon learned that, whatever their gearing needs, a SunTour VGT (or, later, Cyclone) was their best bet.  Eventually, racers and those with pretentions toward being racers would realize that SunTour derailleurs--and, by extension, other top-flight Japanese components--had "caught up" with or, in some cases surpassed, their European counterparts.

The funny thing is that none of us knew that more than a decade earlier, a Japanese manufacturer made a derailleur that far surpassed anything else that was made at the time.  Legend has it that so much was spent to reseach, develop and make this derailleur that it bankrupted the company.

Just a year after Nabuo Ozaki designed the single most influential derailleur in the history of cycling--the Sun Tour Gran-Prix--a smaller Japanese company came up with a "best of" derailleur that incorporated the best design features--except for SunTour's slant parallelogram--of other derailleurs.  To be fair, whoever designed the derailleur I'm about to mention may not have known about SunTour's design, as it may not have gone into production and in those pre-Internet days, such information would not have traveled as freely or quickly.  Also, I think that even had this derailleur's designer known about SunTour, he wouldn't have incorporated its design as it was so new and radical.  He probably would have thought it best to copy, as closely as possible, European designs, as most Japanese bike and component manufacturers did at the time.

The derailleur in question was, apparently, produced for only one or two years and was never exported, at least not in any significant quantities.  Thus, to this day it remains all but unknown to cyclists outside of Japan. Even within Japan, not many were sold, as it was more expensive than the Campagnolo Record or any other derailleur.  Because of its rarity and quality, it is one of the most sought-after components by Japanese collectors, who tend to favor vintage French (and sometimes British) stuff.

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The derailleur I have been talking about is the Sankyo Procyon PV-III.  I have never seen one in person, but what I've seen in photos of it leads me to think that it was indeed of the extraordinary quality attributed to it.  The knuckles and parallelogram plates were made of nicely-finished aluminum.  Recall that at that time (1965-66), Campagnolo's top-of-the-line derailleur, the Record, was still made of chrome-plated bronze.  

The Procycon had two sprung pivots, as Simplex derailleurs had. (Only the lower pivot on the Campagnolo Record was sprung.)  This allowed, in the absence of a slant parallelogram, for the chain to ride closer to the cogs than it would with a Record.  Also aiding the shift was a clever mechanism that kept the cable stop and cable clamp in alignment, and a pulley cage with an offset pivot.

And the build quality, from what I've read and heard, has never been surpassed, not even by Campagnolo's or Mavic's derailleurs.  While SunTour derailleurs had an overall better design, they didn't have the otherworldliness, or perception thereof, that the Procyon had.  

Now here's something to consider:  What if the Procyon, rather than the Campagnolo Nuovo Record, had become the derailleur of choice in worldwide pelotons?  Would SunTour have become as influential as it did?  If SunTour derailleurs had less influence, would Shimano have copied their most salient design feature and created a successful indexed shifting system?  And what would, or wouldn't, other derailleur makers like Huret and Simplex have done?

When Does Width Matter?

The importance of tire width is one of the cycling world's long-running debates.

Because I came of age in the aftermath of the '70's Bike Boom, I was inculcated with the notion that, in the immortal words of Robert Browning, "less is more".  That meant, among other things, that a lighter bike is always a better bike.  Not surprisingly, the minimalist aesthetic ruled:  What other decade could have brought us the Huret Jubilee or SunTour Cyclone (first version) rear derailleurs--or drillium?

(The Jubilee is so minimalist that the version with drilled-out cages almost seems extreme.  Talk about "less is more"!)

So, it makes sense that I would also grow up with the idea that narrower tires would make your bike faster.  All other things being equal, they do, because less rubber on the road means less resistance.  But I've since come to learn that riding too narrow a tire for your purpose can actually slow you down if it's making you ride more cautiously--or simply wearing you out with the extra shock and vibrations it transmits.

If a very narrow tire can defeat the a cyclist's purpose in riding it, then I think it's fair to ask whether too wide a tire can do the same.  Or, more precisely, is there a point at which any additional tire width doesn't add traction, resiliency or durability?

Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that on loose, powdery snow, a tire's tread or compound makes more difference than its width.  On the other hand, on deep, heavier-packed snow, knobby mountain bike tires are a better idea.  

But what about ice?  My guess, based on limited experience, is that a wider rear tire might help with initially gaining traction, but once the bike is moving, whether you slip or fall isn't going to have much to do whether you're riding 700X23 or 26"x2.5 tires.  If anything, I think having studs or spikes on your tires will do more than anything else to help you across a glacial expanse.  

From Jonny Cycles

Hmm...It looks like someone might have actually tested my hypotheis.  I wonder what his conclusion might be.

My Princeton Education From A Guy Named Fritz

Four decades ago, when I first became a dedicated cyclist, we didn't have the Internet.  So we learned about cycling from the few books and magazines that were available in the US at the time.  Often, they contained misinformation:  I recall an article that dubbed the Campagnolo Gran Turismo as the perfect derailleur for bicycle touring.  I couldn't help but to think that the author of that article had never actually ridden Campy's white elephant.   After all, much better wide-range derailleurs from SunTour were widely available in the US, and they quickly became the most common upgrade for folks whose Simplexes snapped in two, Hurets (or, more specifically, Allvits) that snapped cables or Campagnolo Valentinos and Veloxes--and Gran Turismos--that shared only the Campagnolo name with the then-vaunted Nuovo Record.

We also learned about cycling from each other:  In those days, the few longtime cyclists I met always seemed willing to share what they knew as well as some entertaining stories.  I'd also talk with other cyclists when I went on the few (at least, compared to today) organized rides held on weekends or at meetings of the clubs to which I belonged and for which I would later organize and lead rides. 

And, of course, there were shops.  Some were Johnny-come-latelies, while others were "family" shops where parents bought kids bikes for Christmas, birthdays and such.  There was nothing wrong, really, with those the second category:  They at least had some working knowledge of what worked with what.  Most of them sold some lightweight bikes; some, like the first shop in which I worked, might keep one high-end bike on display but if you needed a different size or wanted a different color--or different model--it had to be ordered.  The first shop in which I worked--Michael's Bicycles on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ--kept a Schwinn Paramount on hand but, among the bikes they regularly stocked, the most expensive was a Raleigh Super Course.

Then there were the few shops that dealt in high-end racing and touring bikes, even during the Dark Ages of cycling.  The nearest one, in those days, was Kopp's Cycle in Princeton.  The proprietor, Fred "Fritz" Kuhn was one of those gruff but friendly people you might expect to find in a coffee shop in a working-class neighborhood in, say, pre-hipster Brooklyn.  But the man was a veritable encyclopedia of cycling knowledge:  He was a six-day racer in the heyday of that sport and became a coach for Olympic cyclists as well as the Princeton Cycling team, one of the few such collegiate squads at the time.

Fred "Fritz" Kuhn

In fact, it was he (or someone in his shop) who built my first set of custom wheels, which I mentioned a couple of days ago.  Even though Japanese bikes and components were rapidly gaining popularity in the US, he did not stock them.  He thought Japanese designs and manufacture hadn't stood the test of time. "Best to stick with the tried and true," he'd growl.  By that, he meant Campagnolo and other European makes.

I would later learn that the real reason he wouldn't stock Japanese goods was that his son was killed by a soldier from that country.  Ironically, the fact that he never shared that made him a natural fit with the Princeton gentry.  But as I came to know him a bit better, I realized that it was a manifestation of something people often said about him:  "He's a gentleman."  And, as I recall, he didn't bad-mouth anyone, not even those who were his competitors in cycling or in business.  He even said the company that produced the Excel Dynamic--believed to be the first US-made derailleur and a copy of the by-then-obsolete Huret Allvit--was a "good company" but that they "should have stuck to what they do well. "

Kopp's Cycles, more or less as I remember it.

I am thinking about Fritz, his shop and the cycling scene of those days because I recently came across a few articles mentioning Kopp's Cycles.  It's still in business, as it has been since 1891.  Fritz bought it from the Kopp family, for whom it is named, in 1948.  I recall his daughter, Marie, and son, Charlie, working there while in high school and college.  Now Charlie is in charge of the shop.  While he has updated the shop's offerings, it still has the "old world" atmosphere I recall from so many years ago.  I'm sure that whoever goes there will come away educated.  And, oh yeah, there's a university in the town, too!

Snowbound

According to the National Weather Service, we’ve just had the coldest February since 1934.  I haven’t spent much time on my bike during the month; in fact, only once did I take a ride that wasn’t a commute or an errand.

Mounds of varying combinations of snow, slush and ice, all tinged with soot, line curbs and rim building entrances.   Some cars and bikes still haven’t been dug out.  Everything and everyone, it seems, has been frozen into place, like this plant in front of an apartment building on the corner of my block:

Losing Two Teeth

We all lose teeth in various ways.  Of course, when we’re kids, we lose all of them so that our “grown-up teeth” can grow in. (A boy in a poetry workshop I conducted wrote, “My teeth are like stars, they come out at night”.)  Then, as time goes on, our teeth fall out or fall apart because of neglect, diet or simply age.  Or we might get into an accident or fight that knocks out an incisor.  Or two.

Wednesday night, I lost two teeth.  No, I didn’t win or lose:  I didn’t fight.  And I didn’t fall on my face.  Rather, those teeth were the casualties of a bungee cord.

Yes, you read that right.  I was pedaling home from work when, in the middle of a turn through a busy intersection, I rode into a pothole.  Just as I reached the other side, in front of a gas station, I suddenly couldn’t pedal.  No matter how hard I pushed, they wouldn’t move. Then, I budged them slightly; they moved as if my whole drivetrain had been stuffed with horsehair.

A bungee cord I’d hooked across the top of the rear basket on my LeTour popped off and entangled fell into the rear wheel. One of the hooks latched onto the non-drive side spokes.  That pulled the body of the chord into the space between the fixed gear sprocket and the hub flange and coiled it.

The hook was so tight in the spokes and the cord so tautly wrapped between the cog and flange that I couldn’t get it out by hand.  Rotating the wheel only seemed to pull it tighter.  I had to borrow a pair of pliers and a knife from an attendant, which I used to bend the hook out of the spokes and cut it away from the cord, which I could then unwind.

At first I didn’t notice the missing teeth.  I felt an odd skipping when I applied any kind of pressure while pedaling.   I figured that something was bent and, as it was late, I crossed my fingers and kept on riding.

I made it home with my chain going ker-chunk, ker-chunk every couple of pedal rotations.  I propped the bike and found nothing bent or warped, not even a chain link. Then, after a couple of more pedal rotations, I saw 

that I’d lost two teeth—and, of course, a chunk from the body of that cog.

So, I flipped the wheel to the freewheel side, gave the chain (a SRAM PC-1) a couple of shots of oil, and everything ran fine.

The cog was generic.  Maybe I’ll spend a few extra dollars and get something better.  Phil Wood cogs are great (I use them on Tosca, my Mercian fixed-gear), though I’m not sure I want to spend that much, or whether they’ll fit the Formula hub on the LeTour.  Perhaps I’ll get a Surly.  I don’t want to lose more teeth.

Bike Nation: Netherlands

In a game of word association, if I were to say, "bicycle commuting", I'd bet a lot of people would say, "Portland".

Or they might say, "The Netherlands" or "Holland".

The following image, which originally appeared on the Lonely Planet website, and I found on Wired UK), is a pretty good statistical portrait of cycling in that country.  Plus, ya gotta love the orange in it.  (I'll admit that I was sorta rooting for the Dutch team in the World Cup football tournament, just because of their uniforms!) 

Missy's Must-Have Accessory, Circa 1993

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Melissa--but we all called her Missy--and we wanted all of her accessories.

OK, this isn't about fashion, or a fairy tale, though I suppose it could be.  It's a story about cycling and, in particular, a part of it in which I was active for a few years. 

Some of you may have figured out that I'm talking about mountain biking and the girl in question is a girl in the "You go, grrrl!" sense:  none other than Missy "The Missile" Giove.


 She dominated her sport to a degree--perhaps to an even greater degree--than Eddy Mercx did two decades earlier.  If anything, I'd say her domination was more like that of Martina Navratilova in tennis a decade earlier.I actually saw her ride twice and I don't think I've ever seen a fiercer competitor anywhere. I take that back:  She wasn't a competitor because she couldn't be:  No one else could have competed against her.  

Perhaps it's more accurate to say that she was simply the fiercest athlete, and one of the fiercest people, I've ever seen.  I say that with great admiration:  Her firepower came from her intensity and an innate need to better herself rather than from hyped-up rivalries and petty jealousies.  She reminded me, in an odd way, of the first two lines in one of Emily Dickinson's most famous poems:  "Because I could not stop for Death/He very kindly stopped and waited for me."  Missy did not stop for anything because, really, I don't think she could:  The only way to catch up to, or with her, it seemed, was to wait.

To say that she was the first superstar of downhill mountain bike racing, a sport then in its juvescence,  would be to trivialize her dominance.  For a time, she held the world's downhill speed record.  Not just the record for women, mind you:  The Record.

Now tell me:  If you saw someone like her, wouldn't you want her accessories, too?

Perhaps the most iconic--and, at the time, best-selling--of them were her Onza handlebar ends.  For those of us who spent a lot of time riding dropped-bar road bikes before trying mountain biking, one of our biggest complaints was the lack of hand positions on the flat handlebars.  Most of us change hand positions, sometimes frequently, on rides of more than a few minutes.  The Onza bar ends offered at least a forward, somewhat aerodynamic position and a forward-facing flat section that somewhat resembled the "ramps" of road handlebars.  

I still see Onza bar ends fairly often.  Most often, they're on a Specialized or Trek or other mountain bike from the early- or mid-'90's that someone re-purposed as a delivery bike or "beater" and simply didn't bother to take them off.  I'm guessing that the ones that were actually ridden off-road are in landfills simply because most other mountain bike accessories and components that were ridden hard are there, too.  No matter how good such items are, they, like anything else, can only take so much abuse.

Other companies imitated the Onza bar end and some offered them in a rainbow of colors.  (If I recall correctly, the Onzas were available only in black because they were heat-treated--or, at least, that was the rationale the company gave.)  But most riders found that they didn't use the forward bend much, if at all.  Plus, trail and woods riders found that the shape made them easy to entangle in branches, brambles and other obstacles.  Furthermore, mountain bikers (some of them, anyway) were becoming weight-conscious--about their bikes, that is.  Onzas and similarly-configured bar ends weighed more than some of the handlebars to which they were clamped.

So, after a few years, those J-shaped extensions were replaced by more minimalist pieces that kept the "flat" but eliminated the forward bend:

Even so, Onza bar ends and their carbon-copies were a "must have" for about half a decade.  Very few other accessories last for more than a season, even if they're used by a smokin' hot chick named Missy: