A Road To Recovery Begins With VetBikes

Here in the US, today is Veterans' Day.

If you have been reading this blog for a while, you might have noticed a seeming contradiction:  although I am anti-war, I have written a number of posts about how bicycles have been used in the military. The real irony is that I have become more interested in such things as my opposition to armed conflict (in 99.9 percent of cases) increases.

As I have said before, studying military history in its truest sense (not what is commonly derided as "drum and bugle history") offers all sorts of lessons into other areas of history--and life. It shows us, very clearly, the sorts of mistakes leaders can make through their own egotism or arrogance, or through pure-and-simple misjudgment or miscalculation.  It also shows us, I believe, human nature in its most naked forms.

Now I'm going to present you with another seeming contradiction about myself:  the more I adopt an anti-war stance, the more pro-veteran I become.

Actually, my explanation for that will probably make sense (I think):  It is because I am opposed to war that I believe anyone who is sent to fight should never want for anything.  It's a disgrace that someone who has put on a uniform and faced danger should be sleeping under a bridge or railroad overpass.  I have seen a few on my way to and from work.   

Thus, I am willing to put in a good word for any organization that might help improve the lives of veterans.  Today, I learned about one such organization.

VetBikes.org is a veteran-run non-profit (501c3) that provides adaptive bicycles to recovering veterans.  VetBikes began in Seattle, but has recently opened a second location in Denver.   

Some of the machines VetBikes has provided were tailored to obvious physical disabilities such as the loss of limbs,  but most look like bikes most of us would ride, with small modifications.  According to VetBikes' website, its mission is to use bicycles, and cycling (mainly of the sport variety), to help veterans cope with their new lives.

To that end, VetBikes takes referrals from social workers, medical doctors and other profssionals for veterans suffering from combat wounds, substance abuse problems, homelessness and even blindness.  However, by far the largest number of referrals is for veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). 




With those realities in mind, VetBikes does not merely lend bikes or have them available for the vets to take out:  It gives each vet a machine.  But  VB's program doesn't stop there:  It also offers mentors, placement in local cycle clubs (to help with community integration), professional mechanical instruction and, according to its mission statement, "an introductory path to a career in the cycling industry". 

The site doesn't mention anything about expanding beyond Washington State and Colorado, but it would not surprise me if someone in the organization has that in mind:  The need certainly doesn't stop at the borders of the Evergreen and Centennial States.  It does, however, say that it can use help, whether as a volunteer, or through donations of cash, bike parts or bikes. 

His Wheel Is A Mirror

In one of your English or art classes, you might have seen--or created--examples of "concrete poems".  They're the ones shaped like their subjects:




Il Pleut, by Guillaume Apollinaire, is one of the most famous of its type.  The text of it goes like this:

Il pleut des voix de femmes comme si elles étaient mortes même dans le souvenir

c'est vous aussi qu'il pleut merveilleuses rencontres de ma vie ô gouttelettes

et ces nuages cabrés se prennent à hennir tout un univers de villes auriculaires

écoute s'il pleut tandis que le regret et le dédain pleurent une ancienne musique

écoute tomber les liens qui te retiennent en haut et en bas


Here's a rough translation:

It's raining the voices of women as if they'd died even in memory

and it's raining you as well, the marvelous encounters of my life, O little drops

those rearing clouds begin to neigh a whole universe of auricular cities

listen if it rains while disdain and regret weep to an ancient music

listen to the fall of chains that hold you above and below


Another one of Apollinaire's famous concrete poems is Coeur Couronne Miroir:

Here's the text:

 Mon Coeur pareil a une flamme renversee

Les rois qui meurent tour a tour
Reanaissent au couer des poets

Dans ce miroir je suis enclos vivant et vrai
Comme on imagine les anges
Et non comme sont les reflets

which, in English becomes Heart, Crown and Mirror:

My heart is like an inverted flame

The kings who have died one by one
Are reborn in poets' hearts

In this mirror I am captured alive and true
The way you imagine angels
And not only as a reflection.

I couldn't find anything that would hint at whether or not Apollinaire was a cyclist. Given the time and places in which he lived, however, I imagine he rode a bike for at least some time in his life. 

From Strange Vehicles

If he'd written a concrete poem about a bicycle, would he have said the wheels were mirrors of his heart?  Or would it have been like this?:

By Anwar Choukah

A Bike Spanner That Isn't Raleigh

If you bought a Raleigh bicycle before the 1970s, it might have come with this:

Even if you have never owned a Raleigh, there's a good chance that you've come across the Raleigh spanner (or what Yanks call "wrench").  You might even have one.  I did, for a long time.  I don't know whether I loaned it and never got it back, or simply lost it.

Anyway, Raleigh wasn't the only British bike maker to offer a spanner.  Check out this, from Claud Butler:

Like Raleigh's tool, the Claud Butler spanner has a hooked end for a bottom bracket lock ring.  I am guessing that the
hex side of the wrench fit the bottom bracket cup--or, possibly, the headset.  In the 1960s--when, it seems, the tool in the photo was made--if a customer bought a frame, it was as often as not supplied with those components.

Claud Butler is long gone, and bikes under his name, and Holdsworth, have been made by other British bicycle manufacturers for some time.  CB also offers a line of tools similar to those of other bike manufacturers, but when Claud was still alive, they had their own discrete line, which were probably made by Cyclo or some other Birmingham bike parts company.

A Ride, A Reflection

I have just taken an easy ride through the heart of Queens, to the far end of the borough and the near end of Nassau County.  It's Sunday, and the blaze autumn colors will soon turn into the ashes of fall, the foreshadowings of winter. 

I think I took the ride more for the opportunity to reflect on a few things than I did to exert myself physically.  I do that sometimes, especially at this time of year.  For me, there is something paradoxically clear and benevolent at the same time about the nip in the air and the light of days growing shorter.

There have been seasons that ended with my wishing that I had ridden more, harder or to different places.  I feel no such yearnings now.  Of course, having the opportunity to cycle in Florida, Paris and Montreal, as well as taking rides from my place to Connecticut and various points in New Jersey and Long Island has given me kaleidoscope of images to take with me through the winter.  I don't plan to stop cycling: I never do that except, perhaps, for physical injuries or ailments (which, thankfully, I don't experience often) or when there's a lot of ice on the streets, as there was through much of last winter.  But, realistically, I know that I won't cycle as much between, say, Thanksgiving and March or whenever the weather breaks.


Today I was satisfied, no, I was happy with the riding I did this year.  Perhaps I could have ridden even more, but I don't wish that I did.  I also don't wish that I had the strength and stamina I did when I was younger.  Well, all right, I'd like to have those things, but I know I don't need them to keep on riding, to continue my journey.

From Health Unlocked

As I rode today, I was thinking about a particular ride I took many, many years ago.  I had taken the day off from working as a messenger, hopped onto my Peugeot PX-10E and pedaled across the bridge, up and down ridges, and back up some old mining roads in the Watchung Mountains. The cloud cover was not a shawl that kept the ridges and cliffs warm and forgetful; rather, it seemed to keep the chill and ashen tones of the coming winter all around, and within, me.  

I had, in not much more than a year, experienced the deaths of two of my closest (emotionally and spiritually) relatives and the suicide of a friend.  There was nothing to do but pedal up that steep mining road; it could have been the last thing I did; I wanted it to be; there would be no wishes, no regrets left.

But no matter how hard I pedaled or how fast I ascended that hill, the young man I was could not have met up with the woman I am now.  If he could have, I would have told him that he would be OK, he is riding, he is on his journey, it was all that mattered.  

In short, I could not have understood what it would be like to have taken the ride I have taken to where I am now. 

Pete On His Feet

In an earlier post, I wrote about one of the great paradoxes of sports:  Some countries, particularly in Europe, that are cycling hotbeds are also powerhouses in what they call "football" or Americans call "soccer".  Yet one never sees anyone who competes--at least at a high level--in both sports.  That is all the more perplexing when one realizes that the skills and training for both sports are, in some many ways, similar.

In that post from a year and half ago, I posited that some of the reasons why the twain rarely, if ever, meet between the worlds of cycling and football because their seasons are more or less concurrent, both sports require intensive training to the exclusion of almost everything else (at least, if one wants to compete at an elite level) and that cyclists, even when they ride for teams, are competing mainly for individual honors while football is all about the team.

Peter Sagan of Slovakia is one of cycling's great young talents:  Just a few weeks ago, the 25-year-old won the men's road race of the UCI championships.  He has also won the points classification of the Tour de France and other races, and has a number of stage victories.  Not many people would be surprised, I think, if he wins the Tour--or the Giro d'Italia, Vuelta a Espana or other major multi-stage races over the next few years.

More surprising might be a switch to a professional football career.  Or would it?



 

A Late Summer Ride In November: No Sweat!

Today was a very strange day, weather-wise.  When I got out of bed at 7:30 am, it was already 20C (68F).  The normal afternoon high temperature  at this time of year is around 15C (60F).  By mid-afternoon, we had a high of 25C (77F).

What made it all even stranger is that in the morning, the rain that had fallen in the wee hours dripped and slicked all over everything.  Most of the day remained overcast, although there was no real threat of rain.  The sun peeked out briefly about three and a half hours into my ride, but it pulled the blanket of clouds across its face almost as soon as I saw it. I have often ridden, happily, in such conditions in coastal areas in the US and Europe.  

The sun peeked out briefly about three and a half hours into my ride, but it pulled the blanket of clouds across its face almost as soon as I saw it.  The combination of warmth--more typical of early or mid September--and cloud cover could have made for very sticky conditions.  However, even on a 125 km (75 mile), about a third of which consisted of sequences of climbs with very little flat or straight stretches between them, I wasn't sweating--or drinking water--very much.  And I didn't feel tired, in the middle, late in the ride, or in the end.

Perhaps I was energized by the light I saw:  the trees and bushes radiated their autumnal colors, just past their peak in upper Westchester County, against a gray sky particular to November, I feel:  aging, like the earth beneath it, and  rather melancholy, but not oppressive. 

Now that I think of it, that might have been the reason why I sweated so little, in spite of the climbing and heat:  When the late summer sky is shrouded with thick cumulus clouds on a late summer day, you can still feel the intensity of the sun, and of the heat that almost everything seems to absorb after several weeks of summer. But, even if the sun had shown itself more today, I don't think it would have drained me, and my waterbottle:  It would have been less intense, and it would not have been aided by the the ground, streets and other things that absorb its heat in the "dog days".

Of course, I might have just felt really, really good to be on Arielle, my Mercian Audax, again after riding to and from work all week on my LeTour.  

How Rattraps Became Beartraps---In 1899

Last week, I wrote about "rattrap" pedals.  They were the kind of pedals that came on most '70's Bike Boom-era ten-speeds, and have continued to enjoy popularity with cyclo-tourists, motocross riders and commuters. The great advantages of them are that they can be used with or without toeclips, and ridden on either side (unlike most quill and road clipless pedals, which must be flipped to the right side).  As I mentioned, two of the most popular models of rat-traps are the Lyotard 460 (which hasn't been made in at least two decades) and the MKS Sylvan.

Road "quill" pedals, which were all but displaced by the advent of easy-to-use clipless pedals from Look and Time, would sometimes have the "sawteeth" on the side of the pedal on which the cyclist pedaled.  The other side was usually cut away, and thus unrideable.  They were so made to improve cornering clearance, a definite concern for criterium and track riders.

(Track pedals usually had cages like those of road "quill" pedals, without the "quill".)

Famous examples of road quill pedals are the Campagnolo Record and its many imitators, and Lyotard 45. 

Double-sided quill pedals were all but nonexistent until around 1980.  At that time, the cults of BMX and mountain biking were spreading beyond their respective Southern and Northern California cradles.  That was also about the time equipment was being developed specifically for those new disciplines.



SunTour BMX pedals, circa 1980

Possibly the nicest double-sided quill came from  SunTour.  They had the same bearings, axles and bodies as SunTour's wonderful track and road pedals, which were made by MKS.  (The "Supreme" and "Nuevo" pedals, currently made by MKS, are virtual clones of the pedals made for SunTour.)  Some of the early mountain bikes came with those pedals; "bear trap" pedals, developed soon after, were essentially BMX pedals with curved plates.

SunTour "bear trap" pedals, circa 1985

When double-sided quill pedals first appeared on the market, many of us wondered why no one had ever thought to make them earlier.  Well, it turns out that someone had:

In 1899, the Bay State Stamping Company of Worcester, Massachusetts introduced the Bennet pedal.  Don't you just love the clover cutouts in the cages?

I tried to find out how long these pedals were produced.  They were introduced just as the first American Bike Boom was about to dissipate.  So, I suspect they weren't made for very long, and the design--like many others from that period--was forgotten.

Aside from the cage shape, the Bennet had a couple of other interesting features.  One is a dust cap that springs into the body and is held by latches. In contrast, most other dust caps are either screwed on or pressed in and often fall off, especially when the bike is ridden over rough roads or trails.   The other innovation was a bearing cone that was keyed rather than threaded to the axle, and held in place with a set screw.  According to the manufacturer, this system allowed for one-tool adjustments.  It also eliminated the problem of locknuts that came loose and allowed the cone to screw up and crush the bearings.

I would love to know how well those features worked. If they were effective, the Bennet was certainly well ahead of its time.  Even if they weren't, the Bennet is interesting as a kind of proto-BMX or -mountain bike pedal.

An Umbrella On The Trail

There are films I see for their artistry or historic or cultural significance.  Then there are movies that, I admit, I watch solely as entertainment, as harmless diversions. 

Then there are cinematic works that I simply must look at again and again because, really, there's nothing else like them and they defy categorization.  Among them are Vittoria de Sica's The Bicycle Thief and The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, Fracois Truffaut's The 400 Blows and Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

That last one is perhaps the most uncategorizable of all.  If someone had told me, beforehand, that all of its dialogue is sung, I probably never would have looked at it, as I am not a fan of musicals.  However, it would never work if someone tried to cast it as a musical, whether on film or stage.  Hey, I think that even translating it into English would be almost criminal.

Also, the film is shot in a way that doesn't remind me of any other.  It's been compared to an Impressionist or Pointillist painting--which, in some ways, is a valid comparison.  It often uses color and form in ways similar to those of Auguste Renoir or Georges Seurat. It's actually worth seeing for that reason alone:  It's purely and simply beautiful to look at.  (So, for that matter, are Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuova.)  It reminds me of why someone described melancholy as "beautiful sadness".

I got to thinking about  Umbrellas and the painters I've mentioned after coming across this image:

 

Trying To Shed Some Light

Early the other morning, Daylight Savings Time ended.  That meant moving the clocks back an hour, which means that it gets dark an hour earlier.  Of course, that means day begins an hour earlier, for now.  But within a few weeks, we'll "lose" that hour, as well as an equal amount of time at the end of the afternoon, as the days grow shorter overall.

That means, among other things, that most of my rides home from work will be done in the dark.  I suspect the same is true for other commuters.  And some of us will be doing at least some part of our "fun" rides in the dark, whereas we might have been doing them in daylight a couple of weeks ago.

Many of us will therefore be using our lights more than we had been--or using them, period, after months of not using them at all.   I fall into the former category:  I don't avoid night riding; in fact, there are times I enjoy a ride begun after sunset.  However, during the weeks and months of long days, I do my nocturnal rides mostly by choice; some of the riding I'll do in the dark for the next few months will be out of necessity.

Thus, I and other riders will be making more use of our bike lights. 

It used to be that here in New York--and, I suspect, in other American cities--one rarely saw a cyclist with a high-end lighting system.  The prevailing wisdom has always said that bike lights in the city are "for being seen, not for being seen by".  Most city streets are well-lit enough that you don't need a bright headlight to see potholes or other road hazards, not to mention the traffic and turns ahead. If anything, I think that for city riding, a headlight needs to offer more side than front visibility so that drivers approaching an intersection without a signal can more readily see a cyclist approaching.  Also, I think good side visibility is useful in very tight intersections where, even if the cyclist stops well short of the crosswalk or the "stop" line, a driver could turn into the cyclist's path--or the cyclist him or her self--if he or she is not seen.

Schmidt hub generator (for disc brakes)

If anything, it always seemed (at least to me) more important to have a good tail light, preferably a good, bright "blinky".  That is assuming, of course, that you are a nice, law-abiding cyclist (which you are--right?) who always rides in the direction of the traffic.

These days, though, I'm seeing more cyclists with more sophisticated (and expensive) lights than the removable "blinkies" I use.  Some are riding with hub generators; others with rechargeable battery packs carried in water bottle cages in other attachments.  And I have seen some very high-tech looking lights mounted on handlebars, brake bolts and fenders.

Planet Bike Super Flash

Such systems no doubt have their advantages.  But, for the time being, I still prefer the Planet Bike Super Flash  I've been using on the rear and PB's Beamer for the front.  I think I've spent more on batteries for them than I spent on the lights themselves--and it's not because the lights "eat" the batteries:  the lights simply hold up well.

Planet Bike Beamer

I think I'm reluctant to buy anything more complex or costly because, well, what I have seems to have worked for me (for seven years) and because I often park where theft is a concern.  Once, when I parked my Bontrager mountain bike, someone cut the White Industries hubs out of my wheels; I worry that someone might do the same to a generator front hub if I were to use it. 

"Bottle" generator

Bottom-bracket mounted generator

Also, even though I've heard that the all of those new generators and super-lights are better than what was available before, I'm skeptical.  Perhaps it's because when I came of age (as a cyclist, anyway), most of the bike lights available were, simply, junk.  "Bottle" generators were inefficient, chewed up tires and made a lot of noise ; generators that mounted on bottom brackets and ran off tire treads also ate up tires, didn't work on treads that were too knobby or too smooth, and simply skidded over tire treads if they were covered with rain or snow.  Battery lights were heavy, clunky, mounted on flimsy brackets and put out less light than the ones powered by generators.  Really, the best light--as Tom Cuthbertson noted in Anybody's Bike Book--was the "armband" flashlight made by Wonder and a few other companies.  I used to wear one on my left leg, just below my knee, on the theory that the light bobbing up and down would signal, to motorists, that a cyclist was ahead.

Wonder "armband" light

Maybe one day, if I ever decide to build a dedicated tourer or randonneuse, I'll build a wheel around a Schmidt hub dynamo or something like it.  But as long as I have to park on city streets, I think I'm going to stick to relatively inexpensive removable lights.

How I Learned That Size Matters

Youth is a time of transgressions.  Maturity is about discretion.  And one's, shall we say, august years are right for confessions.

I am going to confess something to you now.  No, I am not going to tell you about some crime I committed--though some might argue that the other party involved in this story is guilty of at least a misdemeanor--at least by the laws of civilized society, whatever that is..

Steve's comment to the post I wrote a few days ago moved me to disclose my past misdeed.  No, I am not talking about a sexual indiscretion (though I committed, uh, one, or maybe two or three, in my day).   I am talking about the sort of mistake that I prevented more than a few customers from making when I was working in bike shops.

You see, I bought a bike that was too big for me.  Way too big, in fact.  Now, I want to emphasize that I bought the bike and paid for it with some of the very first money I earned.  Previously, I had one other bike that was too big for me when I got it.  But at least my well-meaning, if misguided, grandfather gave it to me with the idea that I would "grow into it."  He didn't live to see me ride it.

On the other hand, I lived through a couple of periods of development in my life while riding the too-big bike I bought.   I was beating other kids in impromptu races and, at the age I was, I could ride bikes and wear clothes that didn't fit, and eat just about anything, and be none the worse (or so it seemed) or wiser for it.

The bike in question was the Schwinn Continental I mentioned in previous posts. In the peak months of the bike boom, dealers of popular brands like Schwinn, Peugeot and Raleigh were taking orders for basic ten-speed bikes months in advance.  In all of my local shops, bikes from those brands--and others--sold out before they even left the factories.  It wasn't unusual for every ten-speed in a dealer's stock, or that a dealer had on order, to be reserved for someone.  When I was ready to buy my Continental, there was an five-month waiting list--until Michael's Bicycle Co, on Route 35 in Hazlet, NJ, got a shipment in earlier than expected.  The bikes sold out almost immediately--except for one.  "As long as you don't mind the color," the shop's owner said, a bit condescendingly.



This Schwinn Sports Tourer, from the same era as my Continental, has a 26 inch frame.




So, instead of living through five months--an eternity when you haven't yet turned fourteen--I only had to sit tight for six weeks--the time it would take for the shop to assemble the bikes that had been ordered first--for my 26-inch (66 cm) frame.

Mind you, all of the road racing and touring frames I've had since were in the 54 to 57 cm (21.25-22.5 in) range.  A 66cm/26 inch frame is commonly recommended  for a rider with a 97cm/38 inch inseam; such a rider is likely to be anywhere from 194 to 201 cm (6'4"-6'7") tall.  In contrast, at the time I bought the bike, I was 173 cm (5'8") tall and had a 79 cm/31 in inseam.  (Now I am 178 cm/5'10" tall with am 81 cm/32 in inseam.)

No one  in the shop made any effort to convince me I shouldn't buy the 26-inch frame.  Perhaps they thought that, even at the peak of the '70's Bike Boom, the shop might find itself "stuck" with such an odd-sized bike.  They needn't have worried:  Even after the Boom died down a bit, a couple of years later, I sold the bike for as much as I paid for it.  And I don't think it fit the person who bought it any better than it fit me!