Riding To Ride, Again

A month has passed since I came home from visiting my parents in Florida.  Today I did something I hadn't done since returning: I took a bike ride that wasn't a commute or errand, or wasn't in some other way utilitarian.

I got on the bike with no specific plan other than to pedal toward Rockaway Beach and do whatever came next.  Rockaway is about fifteen miles (25 km) from my apartment.  So, I reasoned, even if I pedaled there and back, it was a reasonable ride--especially if I rode it in a fixed gear.

So out Tosca, my Mercian fixie, came.  I had another reason for riding her today:  I had just cleaned up Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and Vera, my green Mercian mixte.   Part of the clean-up included installing new chains and cassettes. I hadn't yet done the same for Tosca, though I plan to do so.  (I probably won't change the chain, though:  1/8" chains don't wear nearly as quickly as 3/32" chains  used with derailleurs.)  I figured that there was still some slop on the streets, so if I got some in Tosca's drivetrain, it will give me incentive to clean her up.  

Oh, I had one other reason to ride Tosca:  the course would be flat.

Riding her felt great.  So great, in fact, that I didn't turn around at Rockaway Beach.  Instead, I decided to ride along the ocean from Rockaway to Riis Park and across the bridge to Brooklyn, where I'd continue pedaling along the ocean to Coney Island.  

It was a lovely ride in the late-afternoon sun (I woke up late today!) even though for most of it, I was pedaling into 25-35 KPH wind, which blew out of the west.  Of course, there was something else in the west:

I would ride alongside that sunset from Coney Island all the way up to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge.  When I reached the end of the promenade, the sky was darkening and I reached into my seat bag for my lights.  I figured I would ride to Greenwood Cemetery (about 3 km) or Barclays Center (another 3 km) and decide whether to dodge the drunk trust fund kids who, I figured, would be tumbling out of bars and onto the streets and bike lanes of Williamsburg.

At Barclays, I decided to continue, as I was feeling good and traffic had been lighter than I expected.  Best of all, I didn't see any of the drunk trust fund kids tumbling ouot of bars.  Maybe it was too early for that (though, I must say, I've seen them not long after noon on weekends!).  There weren't even many cyclists on the Kent Avenue bike lane, especially given how mild the weather was for this time of year.

So...I did 85 kilometers today.  Yes, they were flat.  But I did them on a fixed.  And I rode into the wind for about 25 of those kilometers.  Oh, why am I counting anything?  I had a really nice ride. I'm happy.

An American Constructeur And The Champion He Married

When I first became aware of custom frame builders, I thought constructeur was just a French term for "builder", just as gruppo is Italian for "group."

In time, I would learn just what a fine art translation is.  "Gruppo" might indeed look like "group", but its real meaning, I believe, is more like like "ensemble".  Likewise, although we may talk about the "construction" of a frame made by a "builder", and we may talk about the "build" of something made by a constructeur, builders and constructeurs are not always the same folks.  Or, to be more exact, a constructeur is a builder but a builder may or may not be a constructeur. 

So what is the difference?  Usually, frame builders (such as the classic British builders like Bob Jackson, Jack Taylor, Mercian and Ephgraves) built just the frame and perhaps one or two components, such as an integrated headset.  As often as not, people buy just the frame from the builder and build (or have a local shop build) the bike from it.  Some builders don't offer complete bikes; those that do will use high-quality components from manufacturers like Campagnolo, Mavic and Shimano to complete the bike.

On the other hand, a constructeur usually offers only complete bikes made to the customer's order.  While the constructeur might use, for example, Mavic rims and DT spokes, he might lace them to a hub he makes (or at least designs) himself.  And if he doesn't make or design those components, he may modify or treat them (as Herse famously did with Brooks saddles) to his specifications.

The term is French for a reason:  The idea of a frame-builder building the whole (or most of) the bicycle has had the most currency in France.  So, not surprisingly, most constructeurs are/were indeed French, or at least worked in France. 

Most, but not all.  A few British builders emulated the practices of French constructeurs.  Jack Taylor might be the most notable example:  He was often called "the most French" of English builders, in part because of his style of building frames, but also because he usually built the complete bike for the customer.  Part of the reason why he may have worked as he did was that many of his bikes (and, perhaps, the ones for which he was most noted) were touring and racing tandems, for which most commercially-available parts were not well-suited.

Believe it or not, at least one American bike-builder might be regarded as a constructeur in the manner of Herse or Singer.  Actually, the Yank in question could have put his French counterparts to shame in at least one way:  He actually made the tubing he used to build his bikes.  Herse, Singer and  other constructeurs usually worked with Reynolds or other high-quality tubing available from manufacturers.

So who is this master designer/craftsman/artisan?  Unless you are of a certain age and, unlike your peers, were a cyclist or bike enthusiast in your youth, you probably don't know about him.  I'll admit that I didn't, until recently.

George Omelenchuk (1920-1994) was a skilled machinist, tool and die maker and watch maker.  He was also a photographer who, while on active duty during World War II, developed his pictures in a small tent, using his helmet for a developer and stop bath.  (Would you try that at home?)  It was during the War that he started to build bicycles--for the US Army cycling team. 

Upon returning to civilian life, he continued to build bikes.  Some would say he was not a very prolific builder, having made only about 50 bikes during his lifetime.  But when you realize that in his shop, he used a proprietary extrusion process to  make his own frame tubing, spokes and rims--and that he cast and forged stems, fork crowns, dropouts, pedals hubs and bearing races, and even did his own chrome-plating--it almost seems a miracle that he made as many bikes as he did, while never abandoning his machining or tool-and-die- and watch-making work.

He made some of his bikes--like the 1960 track machine in the photos--for his wife Jeanne (nee Robinson, 1931-2008), the first woman to win national championships in two major sports:  cycling and speed skating.  She won her first cycling championship as a 20-year-old in 1952 and her final one twenty-eight years later, with three other national championships during that span.  In the meantime, she also skated on the first women's Olympic speed-skating team in 1960 and returned in 1968 and 1972, making her, to this day, the only woman to participate in three Olympiads as a speed skater. 

Jeanne (Robinson) Omelenchuk, (on left), 1951

She raced and skated at a time when female athletes, especially in the sports in which she competed, had far fewer opportunities and received much less recognition than their male counterparts.  Her husband was, in essence, a constructeur during a time and in a place when few adults rode bicycles and even fewer rode, let alone built, bikes like his.  In this sense, they might be seen as a pioneering couple in American cycling.

George and Jeanne, circa 1964.

Oh, and they lived and worked in Detroit.  Although it's still thought of as "Motor City", the "D" has long been one of America's cycling centers, with a disproportionate share of the nation's cycle industry as well as cyclists.  In fact, local racers such the Simeses  and Gene Porteusi did much to keep the cycling torch flickering, if not burning, during the Dark Ages of the 1950s.

I would love to see an Omelenchuk bike in person  .Better yet, I'd love to ride one!

(N.B.:  The bike photos were taken by Ken Denny, who now owns the bike, and are found on Fixed Gear Gallery.)

The Bike Czar In A Black Dress

In the past decade or so, cities all over North America and Europe have tried--sometimes in misguided ways--to encourage more people to ride bikes to work and school, for shopping and for fun.  Lanes have been built, share programs started and commissions and committees organized or appointed--and organizations consulted--for insights into what would lure people out of four-wheeled vehicles and onto two-wheelers.  In some cities, these efforts have been followed by (if not resulted in) rapidly-increasing numbers of cyclists.

Atlanta, it seems, has not been one of those cities.  Nearly three years ago, Mayor Kasim Reed set a goal of making  his city one of the most "bike friendly" in the US by this year.  Much to his credit, he has worked hard toward that goal in a city with some of the worst traffic and longest commutes in the nation.  But,  a torrent of anti-bike backlash caused the Georgia Department of Transportation to remove bike lanes from its plans to re-stripe Peachtree Road, one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city.  And the bike share program, scheduled to begin before the end of 2015, now won't launch until this coming summer.

On the other hand, Dogwood City has just made a bold move that no other community--no, not even Portland or Minneapolis--has ventured.  One of the problems in most cities is that bicycle lanes and other infrastructure come under the purview of the local Department of Transportation or its equivalent.  Because there are many more motorists than cyclists (yes, even in the Rosebud and Mill Cities) and because bicycle infrastructure commands relatively small sums of money, bicycling is usually not a high priority in most DoTs.  In most places, there is not a full-time planner, engineer, organizer or lawyer who deals exclusively or even mainly with cycling-related issues.  Thus, there is neither an advocate nor an ombudsman for cycling in most places.

It looks as if "The Big Peach" might have solved that problem.  Last month,  the city hired Becky Katz as its first Chief Bicycle Officer.  The Atlanta Bicycle Coalition made the position possible, in large part, and received a five-year grant from the Atlanta Falcons Youth Foundation to help fund it.  The city has promised to add additional money.

Becky Katz

I knew nothing about Ms. Katz until I read about her appointment today.  If nothing else, she has firsthand knowledge of what cyclists in "The Big A" face:  She is a cyclist who, last year, was rear-ended by a motorist while she was riding on a wide street with low traffic.  The impact tossed her onto the windshield, where her helmet shattered the glass and she broke a shoulder socket  and wrist.  Her bike was totaled. 

Within two months, she'd bought another bike and was on it, even more determined to make cycling safer and more accessible in her city.  "Within moments [of being struck], I was thinking, 'this has got to be better.'"  She also realized that making streets safer for cyclists would also mean making them safer for motorists.

Since becoming the city's bike czar in October, Katz has been focusing on gathering data about cyclists--where and when they ride, where there are crashes and which roads are most stressful to cyclists and pedestrians.  "Data builds a strong case for why bike infrastructure can help all users of the road," she explains.

It may also--I hope--Atlanta avoid some of the mistakes other cities have made.  If it does, the delay in starting the bike share program or cancellation of bike lanes on Peachtree Road may turn out to benefit the community of cyclists in the Empire City of the South.