She Would've Had Us Riding In Style--And Comfort!

When you think of female clothing designers (which, I assume, you regularly do! ;-) , names like Coco Chanel, Miuccia Prada, Vera Wang, Betsey Johnson, Carolina Herrera and Sonia Rykiel probably come to mind.  They have influenced what we--and, yes, you guys, too!--wear today. 

We American women, especially those of us who are active in any sport like cycling, owe perhaps an even greater debt to someone you probably don't know about unless you're, ahem, of a certain age. Or if you teach at FIT or Pratt.  Or if, of course, you are a fashion designer.

According to Jennifer Minniti, the chair of Pratt's Fashion Design Department (and herself a designer), the person of whom I am writing "is known as the inventor of American sportswear or ready-to-wear."  That's not an overstatement:  She was probably the first designer to understand how American women's lives were different from those of upper-class Europeans (who were, traditionally,  the main customers of most designers) and how they therefore needed clothing that was more functional and adaptable while still elegant and stylish.

Most important of all, her creations fitted and moved with the body, something that could not be said of the work of other designers, whose clients still largely eschewed physical activity. It is no surprise, then, to see that she created this "cycling costume" in 1940:

 

I don't expect to see that in the peloton. But, hey, forget that it isn't in Lycra--wouldn't you wear it? 

 

 

Claire McCardell, who designed it, was the first American fashion designer to garner name recognition.  She was so well-known in her time that in 1950, President Harry S. Truman presented her with the Women's National Press Club Award, making her the first fashion designer to be voted one of America's Women of Achievement.

Hmm...How would she have dressed the man who quipped, "I like riding a bicycle for two--by myself"?

 

A Path Racer's Companion?

Yesterday, I wrote about Mercian's new limited-edition Path Racer.  It is quite a lovely machine.  For that reason alone, it's easy to see why path racers--a category of bikes all but unknown in the US and all but forgotten in England, France and other countries where it was once popular--is enjoying a revival.  Aside from the fact that they can be very practical, especially for someone who lives in a rural area and wants to (or can) own only one bike, they can have some of the most graceful lines and curves to be found on two-wheeled vehicles.

After writing yesterday's post, I came across another bike with graceful arcs and stunning symmetry. Unlike the new path racers, which harken to past bikes, this one is futuristic (both in the lower- and upper- case "F" sense of the word) even as it retains a classical aesthetic. (All right, I'll stop writing like the art critic I'm not!) This bike--the "Humming Bird"--is inspired by R. Buckminster Fuller's Dymaxion car, according to its builder, Cherubim:

Somehow I can see it next to the Mercian Path Racer.
 

Mercian Revives An English Tradition--For Now

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--around the tail end of the '70's Bike Boom--high-quality, performance-oriented bikes were marketed in two categories:  racing and touring.  Although there were elite touring bikes available, such as Schwinn's touring Paramount and machines from custom builders, racing bikes were seen as the more advanced and higher-quality machines.

By 1987 or thereabouts, major bike manufacturers had ceased making bikes designed for loaded, or even light, touring. 

For one thing, multiday bike touring was no longer as popular as it had been in the wake of the Bikecentennial.  Many people who bought touring bikes used them for once-in-a-lifetime treks, whether cross-continental tours like the Bikecentennial or an after-college ramble through Europe--or just a crossing of the nearest county or state line.  Then, "life intervened" or they simply lost their incentive to do another tour, and their bikes hung in rafters or barns, or collected dust in basements.  Thus, by the mid-'80's, there was little demand for new touring bikes.

For another, by that time, mountain bikes had come "of age", as it were.  The "racing/touring" dichotomy of the Bike Boom era was thus replaced by a "road/mountain" binary that lasted through most of the rest of the 20th Century.  The "hybrid" bicycle was supposed to be a cross between road and mountain bikes, but, as one wag noted, it had "the speed of a mountain bike and the comfort of a road bike".

During the race/tour and road/mountain eras of cycling, new cyclists came into the fold without knowing of other genres of bicycles that enjoyed popularity--and fulfilled clear purposes--throughout the history of cycling.  For example, most of us didn't know about the randonneuses made by constructeurs like Rene Herse and Alex Singer, let alone what distinguished them from fully-loaded touring bikes.  We also didn't know about cyclo-cross bikes or riding--and, when most of us did learn, the riding was introduced to us as if it were some kind of proto- or paleo- mountain biking.

And, until a few years ago, most of us hadn't heard of "path racers".  It's a British term for bikes that can be ridden on smooth dirt pathways as well as on roads. They are said to be inspired by fin de siècle French track bikes, which would account for the fact that they're usually ridden with turned-over North Road-style and other "riser" bars to give an aerodynamic position.

Even in England, a whole generation of cyclists came of age without knowing about these bikes, as their peers and France were forgetting about classic randonneuses.  Fortunately, Alex Singer (Ernst Csuka) lived long enough to see a revival in a demand for such bikes, and Rene Berthoud as well as builders in other countries are making such bikes.  Now it seems that the path racer is enjoying a revival in England.  Pashley, the country's last large-scale bike manufacturer, has been making the Guv'nor--a stylized version of such bikes--for several years.  Now one of Britain's best-known traditional bike builders is making a limited-path racer:

As of now, Mercian plans to produce only ten Path Racers. Given the new surge in popularity of such bikes, I wonder whether the folks in Derby might be persuaded to make more. 

It's All About The Spectacle--And Food!

Sometimes sporting events aren't only about the event itself.  Rather, the event becomes a platform for all sorts of communal rituals and spectacles, if not outright marketing.

The Super Bowl, which will be played tonight, is the perfect example of that. Two out of every three Americans, according to one poll, plan to watch the game. Of them, 45 percent don't care which team wins.  

Part of the reason why so many people have no interest in the outcome of the game is that they don't have a rooting interest in either the Denver Broncos or Carolina Panthers,the two teams that are contesting the match.  Another, possibly more important, reason is that many will not be watching the game as football fans:  They are attending or hosting Super Bowl parties in their or friends or family members' homes, or in sports bars.  

Really, the Super Bowl has become like another holiday that is an excuse to get together with friends and/or family to eat, drink and let loose.  Just as the American holiday of Thanksgiving has such traditional foods as turkey with stuffing and pumpkin pie, Super Bowl Sunday is associated with chicken wings (barbecue or Buffalo style), pizza, tortilla chips with guacamole and beer. 

Also, plenty of people will watch the game to see the halftime shows and, most of all, new commercials that will debut.  On one hand, it's distressing to think that some of the greatest and most creative minds in this country are employed to sell colored sugar water and cars that will be in landfills long before they are paid for.  On the other hand, the commercials can be fun to watch because they are imaginative and sometimes whimsical or, on occasion, beautiful.

So why am I talking about the Super Bowl Spectacle on a bike blog?  Well, I am reminded of the hoopla surrounding the stages of the Tour de France I attended (including the finish of the 1980 edition).  People camp out along the route and spend the day cooking and consuming all sorts of foods and, of course, drinking.  They play music, some dance; everyone is in a good mood.  Before the peloton whizzes through, caravans of Tour and team sponsors' vehicles roll by with various floats in tow.  Music streams from those vehicles; some tow stages on which musicians and dancers perform, or screens that flash scnes from the previous day's stage of the race.  And, from those trucks, vans and cars, drivers and passengers toss all manner of schwag to spectators:  keychains, mini-dolls and such with teams' and sponsors' names on them; one even threw packets of Mini-Babybel cheese nuggets!

Ah, yes--It's always about the food, isn't it?   Just like it was on a bike ride the Central Jersey Bike club used to run on winter Sundays (including Super Bowl Sunday) to a rural firehouse.  The ride itself was pleasant and calming, though not challenging, even for those riders who were in their mid-winter doldrums: about 50 or 60 kilometers round-trip, as I recall, through flat countryside.   

The real "event", if you will, was going to the firehouse, where they had all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts for three dollars, if memory serves.  You could also have all of the coffee, tea, orange juice, scrambled eggs bacon, sausage or ham or hash browns you wanted. Being young and poor, I was usually hungry, even before riding, so that breakfast, I mean ride, appealed to me.   

I'm sure other club members, as well as many of the local people who went for the breakfast, were also there to fill themselves up for not very much money.  But for them, and for us, it was a social event as well:  We talked, we gossiped; some of us boasted and made challenges, but we came together for a comforting meal on a cold day.  Then we got on our bikes and rode back to Highland Park, just as the locals got in their cars and went home.   They--and we--would return for the next pancake breakfast in the firehouse, just as many people will, today, return to familiar haunts with familiar faces and consume familiar foods and drinks, the Super Bowl on a screen as their background.

When "Can't" We Ride?

It's Saturday.  The snow that fell yesterday morning and turned to slush in the afternoon is mostly gone now.  It's a couple of degrees warmer than normal for this time of year, and the sun has just set.  

All in all, we had pretty good (especially for this time of year) riding conditions.  But I didn't get on my bike.  Why?  Well, I've felt tired and my nose has been dripping like a faucet that needs fixing.  And I have been nodding on and off throughout the day.

In my younger days, I might have tried to "pedal it away". That usually worked with a simple cold or other minor ailments.  I am convinced, to this day, that I once rode long and fast enough that a flu couldn't keep up.  Or, perhaps, it couldn't hold on.

Almost anyone I know who isn't a cyclist would say that I "can't" ride today.  Perhaps my cycling friends and acquaintances would say as much.  And there are times we ourselves say we can't ride.  Sometimes it's a matter of health; other times it's because of other commitments we have, such as jobs and families.  Or some friend or relative we haven't seen in ages has come to town.





There was a time in my life when I would have said that there never is a time or place when one can't ride.  I even told people as much when they said they couldn't get out after work, caring for kids or whatever.  Of course, in saying that, I felt superior to all of those people who weren't riding 50 to 100 kilometers every day and taking a 150 or 200 kilometer ride on the weekend.  Hey, I wanted to feel superior about something.

Of course, I have changed, at least somewhat--at least enough that I can reflect on those times and ask the sorts of questions whose answers can change the course of humanity.  (Please, please permit me one moment of grandiosity!)  To wit:  Are there actually times when, and places where, we can't ride?  Or is it that, at least in theory, that such times and places don't exist--and that we only allow ourselves to be fettered by weather, commitments and "no bike riding" signs?