Schizophrenic Measurment Systems

On a Montreal street, I saw a sign like this:

In French, “foot” is “pied”.  Apparently, the same translation is made when “foot” refers to the unit of measure rather than the bodily appendage. 

Such a sign is not remarkable until you realize that Quebec, like the rest of Canada and the world, uses the metric system.  Thus, that speed limit sign that reads “50”—in kilometers per hour, of course-- translates into a speed limit of about 30 miles per hour. Likewise, those one-pound packages of pasta, chips or other food become 500 kilograms (about 17.5 ounces, or one pound and 1.5 ounces) and gasoline, beer and milk are sold by the liter rather than the gallon, quart or pint.

That “pied carre” sign is oddly reflective of the standards (if they might be called that) in bicycle measurements.  Until the 1980s, British bikes, as well as most Japanese and high-quality American bikes, used British standard measurements for everything from bottom bracket threads to frame sizes.  Often, the metric equivalents were provided along with their Imperial counterparts.  So, for example, a one-inch steerer tube would also be marked as 25.4 mm.

The other main standards of bicycle measurements were Italian, which is still (mostly) in use and French, which was found on most continental European bikes not make in Italy.  Both standards were metric, although some of the Italian measurements (such as bottom bracket and steerer tube sizes) were metric “translations”, if you will, from Imperial sizes.  I can find no explanation of why they were so; I am guessing that they were leftovers from the days when Italian racers, like their counterparts in other European countries, were using BSA components.

Only the French system of threading and measurement was completely metric. The handlebar stem quill (the part that inserts into the fork) diameter was 22.0 mm; the British and Italians used 22.2 mm, which is 7/8”. Most American bikes and some Japanese bikes exported the US took 5/6” diameter, which the Japanese usually listed as .833” and is today known as 21.1 mm.  My Schwinn LeTour, made by Panasonic in Japan, uses that size. So did my old Nishiki International.

At one time, it was commonly believed that if the worldwide bicycle industry were to adopt a single set of standards, it would be the French system, as it was the most consistent and because almost every country besides the US was using the metric system for everything.  But, because of the influence the American bicycle market came to exert over that of the rest of the world, the ISO standards became a veritable mishmash of metric and inch measurements.  Bottom brackets are 1.37 (or 1-3/8) inches by 24 threads per inch and headsets are 1 or 1-1/8 inches.  (A few tandems and early downhill mountain bikes are 1-1/4.)  On the other hand, everything from seat post diameters to axle lengths are expressed in millimeters.

Perhaps the most bizarre aspect of bicycle measurements comes in frame sizing.  British and American frames-- even customs and Paramounts—and Japanese bikes made for export up to 1980 or so were built with inch sizing.  So, my International was 23 inches; the next size down was 21 and the next-largest size was 25.  My Romic and first Trek were 22  inches; my subsequent road bikes had 55 or 56 cm frames.

Now almost all road bikes have frames measured in centimeters.  However, most mountain bike frames are, and have been, marketed (at least in the US) with inch measurements.  So, while my Bontrager Race Lite had an 18-inch frame, the Land Shark road bike I would get a few months later was 55cm.

A certain cartoon exhorted its viewers to “BlameCanada!”  Hmm…Could our neighbors to the north be the reason behind our schizophrenic system of measurements?  Then again, “pied square” I saw was the only instance of Imperial measurements I saw in Montreal. (You won’t find it in Paris, or anywhere else in Europe.)  And it was used only in reference to real estate.  I wonder why that is.

What Are You Wearing For Your Halloween Ride?

Tomorrow the New York City Marathon will wind its way through the Big Apple's five boroughs.  Knowing that, the pub crawls that will snake their way through various Gotham neighborhoods--as well as cities all over North America--today seem oddly appropriate.

Hmm...I wonder how many people will make the rounds of bars today and round the turns of tomorrow's run.

The first time I heard about Halloween pub crawls, it occured to me that it's what people do when they don't want to grow up but are too old for "Trick or Treat."

Most of those becostumed kids who knock on doors are in cities or relatively compact suburbs or towns.  And, of course, all of those pub crawls are in urban enclaves of young professionals.

So what does one do when separated from his or her nearest neighbors by miles of prairie or mountains or soybean fields or whatever?  Do kids in such places go Trick or Treating?  (I'm guessing there aren't many young professionals in such places,and whatever twenty- and thirty-somethings are living in them have other things to do!)  If so, how?

Well...I have a hard time imagining their parents driving them from one potential shakedown site to the next.  Could it be that they're riding from house to house on bicycles?

Why not?  I've seen racer-wannabes in team kit who looked more ridiculous than anything I've shown in this post.

Happy Halloween.

Autumn Twilight In New York

Is the spectacle of day turning into evening the most autumnal part of the day?  Or is Fall the twilight of the seasons?

During my short but exhilirating late-day ride today, the time of day seemed to mirror, perfectly, the time of year.  Day was turning to dusk; leaves were falling and spreading a shawl of deepening hues across the aging, wizening ground just as the setting sun cast its glow across the deepening cold of the river and sky.

Some have said that cycling sharpens our awareness of our surroundings.  I agree that it does, in part because it opens our internal vistas in much the same way skies and trees open before us.

On my way back, I stopped in Queensbridge Park.  The bike path along Vernon Boulevard, which wends its way along the Queens side of the East River, detours into the park and brings cyclists, runners, skateboarders and dog-walkers within the shadow of the bridge for which the park is named.  The park is named for the bridge.  But, while people use the name in reference to the park (and a nearby housing project and subway station that share the name), they never use it to refer to the bridge, which is more widely known as the Queensborough or 59th Street Bridge.

Anyway, the park--about two kilometers from my apartment--is wonderful and interesting in all sorts of ways. One, of course, is the views of the river, harbor, skyline and, of course the bridge--especially when the lights are turned on.  Another is the way that it seems to stand, almost defiantly, against its surroundings.  

As I mentioned, there is the housing project across Vernon Boulevard from its eastern side.  There are also small factories and warehouses.  The bridge looms over park's southern side. But to the north is a Con Ed power plant:

During the summer, the leaves on the trees at least partially obscure those smokestacks, depending on the spot from which you're viewing.  Now, of course, the trees offer no such cover.  However, they seem to be as inseparable in this autumnal vista as this season and time of day.

A Crusader's Bike Lane

Some people have streets named after them.

For the longest time, I hoped to have a bridge named after me.  That dream began during my childhood when, from the roof of the building where my family lived, I watched workers pull cables and link girders that would become the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

Sometimes I'd still like to have such a span named after me.  But now, if I were going to have anything named after me, I wouldn't mind a bike lane.  Not too many people have that, at least not yet.

One member of that club is a heroine of mine.  If you weren't living in New York during the 1990s, you probably haven't heard of her:  Julie (J.A.) Lobbia.

Every day, clad in bike gear, she'd roll her wheels into her office, where she'd change into one of the vintage dresses she found in flea markets.  At her desk, she'd write the stories she found while pedaling all over New York City, from the streets of Bed-Stuy to the avenues of Astoria, from East New York to the Upper West Side.

One of her rides uncovered a path of arson that predated the wave of gentrification that spilled over Williamsburg and other parts of Brooklyn. On other rides, she found everything from eviction notices to shards from construction sites led her to her stories.

But she was not a mere reporter or even just a researcher; she was a crusading journalist in the tradition of Jacob Riis, one of her idols.   She was also a kind of Sister of Mercy, if you will:  When an X-ray technician lost his job and home, she got him mattresses, pillows and blankets.  One day, she saw an eviction notice on a Chinese-speaking neighbor's door.  She spent a workday having it translated and later left a note under the door, in Chinese, explaining what that neighbor should do.

At least one of my commenters has said that cyclists have a stronger sense of justice than most people.  In my own unbiased view ;-), said commenters are right.  J.A. Lobbia was proof. 

In 2001, at the age of 43, she died of ovarian cancer. She asked to be buried in her favorite dress and bike shoes.

The sign in the photo stands at the intersection of Sixth Avenue and 33rd Street, just a block east of Penn Station and Madison Square Garden.

The Most Famous, If Not The Better, Mousetrap

You might be riding rattraps.  If you're of (ahem) a certain age and rode them, you may also have ridden with a mousetrap.

No, I'm not assuming that you are, or have ever been, an exterminator.  Instead, I am talking about a type of bicycle component and a style of a certain bike accessory.

Rattraps, of course, are what are commonly called "cage" pedals.  On such pedals, the metal (aluminum or steel) plates have serrated edges on both sides, the better to grip the sole of your shoe.  (I actually rode a pair barefoot. I think I can still see the marks.)  Those cages usually don't have the "quill" common on traditional-style racing pedals.  And, because the cages have the same serrated surfaces on both sides, they can be ridden with or without toeclips.

Examples of "rattrap" pedals include the MKS Sylvan and the Lyotard 460D:

MKS Sylvan

Lyotard 460D.  They were usually silver, but for a time were also available in blue, red or black.

Many different companies make, and have made versions of the "mousetrap".  Some claim to be better versions of the most famous (if not original) one:  The Pletscher Model C.

I bought one for $2.75, new, at Michaels's Bicycle Co. on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ.  That  rack ended up on about three or four bikes I owned during my youth.  It was actually good for a light load, but would sway a lot when used with panniers. (I don't think most panniers made today would fit.)  Some people didn't like the Pletscher rack because the clamp that held it to the bike chewed up the paint on the seat stays (and, on some bikes, the seat stays themselves).  I think, though, that many people forgot to use the "T" bar that attached to the brake bolt and had two holes for the rack clamp screws.  Also, it helped to cover the stays with tape or a piece cut from an inner tube.

The "mousetrap" clamp on top was good for a baseball glove, a pair of shoes or sandwiches--if you didn't mind eating things in shapes you never saw before.  It also held a soccer ball or basketball firmly.  However, when I tried to carry books in it, they ended up all over the street.  (Ironically, many shops and catalogues sold the Pletscher or its near-facsimiles as "book racks".)  And, when I got my Pletscher, bungees hadn't been invented--or, at least, they weren't available in any place I shopped.  (When I first found them, they were called "sandows".)  So, if we wanted to carry things on the platform that wouldn't fit into the mousetrap, we used string, rope, duct tape and almost anything else you can imagine.

Even if you are young, you have probably seen hundreds of Pletscher racks, or imitations of them.  They have been attached to just about every kind of bike you can imagine:  I have even seen them attached to the struts of "banana" seats.  And--perhaps not surprisingly, given their ubiquity and low cost--people have actually used them as front racks, with varying results.

I wonder what, if anything, the rider of that bike carries on the rack. Whatever it is, it would have to be bound pretty tightly, or it would slide off the rack and into the path of the front wheel. I guess that's one way of making yourself a cold Panini, if that's what you want.

If seeing the on the front, slanted like the right side of an accent circonflexe isn't enough for you, look at how the rack is attached to the fork crown:

We didn't have zip-ties back when I bought my Pletscher rack for $2.75, new, at Michael's.