Saturday Silliness: No Chimps Were Harmed

I am for any and all kinds of entertainment, as long as no animals are harmed.

Now, humans, that's another story! ;-)

Seriously, how can you not have fun watching a chimp riding a bike through London streets?

"Ghostriding": Transporting A Bike On Your Bike

"Ghostbikes" are sad, grim testimonies to the hazards we face from unaware drivers, indifferent or hostile law enforcement agents as well as misguided or uninformed planners and bureaucrats.

Now, "ghostriding" doesn't refer to riding "ghostbikes".  Rather, it looks something like this:

From Instructables

As you can see, a person doesn't actually "ghostride" a bike.  Rather, he or she guides the "ghostridden" bike with one hand and controls the bike he or she is riding with the other. 

Every time I have done it, I've guided the "ghostrider" with my right hand.  That makes perfect sense when you know that I am right-handed.  Then again, everyone else I've seen "ghosting" a bike has also used his or her right hand.  Since I don't know what percentages of cyclists are right- or left-handed (or ambidexterous), I am guessing that practice is a result of riding on the right side of the road, which is what cyclists in every country in which I've ridden-- besides the UK-- do.  I'm sure I saw a "ghoster" or two during the times I was in England, but I can't recall whether they "ghosted" with their right or left hands.

I am thinking about all of this now because I saw someone "ghostriding" this morning, as I rode to work. He was astride a Cannondale mountain bike and he was "ghosting" a fixed-gear bike with dropped handlebars.  In some ways, that makes sense, as the fixed-gear bike is probably lighter and thus easier to guide.  Also, my own experience has shown me that it's easier to ride the bike with the more upright position and keep my arm level, or sloped somewhat downward, than to have to keep my arm in an upward position to hold the bike.

There are others, however, who would do the opposite.  My guess is that they feel they have more control on a fixed-gear bike (I would agree) and that guiding the heavier and more upright bike is easier because it's more stable.  Perhaps the guy in the photo (Believe it or not, I once looked something like him!) thinks the same way.

As you might have guessed, the hardest part about "ghostriding" is getting started. Once the bikes are in motion, it's somewhat more difficult than riding a single bike, but the momentum of the bikes helps to keep you going.   Your main concerns, once you're moving, are in maneuvering the "ghosted" bike--especially if you are in traffic-- and in stopping with only one hand.  Also, it helps to have a spot where you can easily lean the "ghosted" bike when you're ready to dismount.

I haven't "ghostridden" a bike in a while, but it's certainly easier than carrying a bike while you're riding one--something I've done, believe it or not.  It's also not much more difficult than carrying a frame while you ride, at least for short distances. 

Whatever way you transport your bike on a bike, it's better than that bike becoming a "ghostbike"!
 

St. Patrick's Day. What Do You Wear? What Do You Ride? What Do You Drink?

This has been one of the warmest winters on record.  (It seems that we've been hearing that every other year for the past twenty or so!)  So, not surprisingly, we're having a warm St. Patrick's Day.  The last time I checked, the temperature had risen to 13C (65F) and was predicted to go higher. 

There is a "possibility" of rain, according to the forecast.  Still, I think I'm going for a ride, however brief, after work.

What does one wear on a St. Patrick's Day ride?  This, perhaps?:

You can get that jersey from AeroTech Designs.   Maybe you'll wear it on next year's St. Patrick's Day ride, along with this cap:

Then again, if you're like me, you don't buy cycling-specific clothing.  Maybe you'll get decked out like one of these folks:

Since the weather is warm (at least in this part of the world), perhaps something like this is in order:



From Eleanor's

or if you are in one of those places where this day's weather reminds you that Spring hasn't officially arrived yet, you might think of this:



From Eleanor's

or this:



From LJ World

Maybe you like to ride in tweed, or something that looks like it:



From Meetzorp

Then there is the question of what to ride.  This certainly is lovely:

 

Freddie Grubb track bike.  Photos from Megadeluxe

 

and, really, no less practical than this:

1953 Schwinn Debutante.  Photo from Meetzorp

As for me, I'll probably do my St. Patrick's Day ride on this:

All right. So the bike is English.  So are most of the bikes that have ever been ridden in Ireland.  So, for that matter was St. Paddy himself.

And how many of you are drinking Bass ale* today?

*=I'm not referring to Budweiser beer sold under the Bass name.

Do You Fix It, Or Keep On Riding?

If you've commuted by bike for any amount of time, you've no doubt had at least one flat.

It's one thing for your tire to get punctured and go flat immediately.  Then all you can do is to fix it and, if you're running late, call into the office (or wherever you work). Or, if you're in a place that has mass transit, you can use that.

On the other hand, a gradual leak presents another situation.  How far do you have to go to get to work?  How much time do you have?  You have to answer those questions in deciding whether to fix your flat or to continue riding.

This morning, about halfway to work, I noticed that my steering was a bit balkier.  Then, when I hit a bump, I noticed that the tire was soft, though not completely flat.  At that point, I was on Randall's Island--no subway nearby, and the one bus line that goes through the island doesn't allow bikes on board. 

From Tales and Fables

 

So, my choices were:

• Fix the flat.
• Lock the bike up and take the bus to the subway.
• Keep on riding with crossed fingers.

I had ridden about twenty minutes and would need about another fifteen to get to work. My first class would start in about forty-five minutes.  I probably could have fixed the flat, but I really didn't want to be pressed for time.  If I were to lock the bike on the island, it would probably be bit safer there than in most other parts of the city.  But getting back could be a hassle.  And, really, I didn't know how much longer I could ride on my deflating front tire.

Still, I chose the last option.  Even though I could feel, with every turn, the bike losing whatever handling abilities it had, I figured that I had a chance of getting to work before my inner tube completely lost air.  Also, I reckoned that if I couldn't make it the rest of the way to work, I'd at least be able to cross the bridge into the Bronx, where I could catch the subway (which I'd have to take for only two stops).

I managed to pedal to work.  For the last couple of blocks, my tire and tube felt like a half-melted marshmallow between my rim and the street.  But at least I still had some time to spare when I got to my job.

Now I'm about to go home--but I have to fix the flat first.  Oh well. 

When you realize you are riding on a slow leak, how do you decide whether to fix it, keep on riding or bail out?

The Journey--And Destination--Of My Rides

When I first became a dedicated cyclist--during the '70's Bike Boom--a lot of new adult cyclists were folks who were, had been or did not want to stop being hippies.  In retrospect, it makes perfect sense:  cyclists of the previous generation, who kept the flame lit during the Dark Ages following World War II, were countercultural in their own way.  

During the '50's, much of the American landscape and culture were being carved up to better accommodate the automobile.  Developing an economy and society ever-more dependent on the internal combustion engine was seen as a sign of progress, much as many immigrants and their children saw acquiring an automobile as a sign of economic progress away from bicycling, walking or taking public transportation to work out of necessity.

Continuing to ride a bike--let alone taking up cycling as an adult--was almost a revolutionary act under such conditions.  That, I believe, is the reason why the hippies who rode bikes in the days and years after Woodstock are logical descendants of those who rode in the Dark Ages.    Ironically, it is also the reason, I think, why the new cyclists of the Bike Boom actually had very little truck with those who kept the fire burning during the decade or two before them:  by the '70's, adults on bikes who could afford to travel by other means were becoming a more common sight.  So, riding a bike--especially for a hippie--wasn't such an act of rebellion anymore. If anything, it was one of the more socially acceptable things a guy with long hair and wearing torn jeans could do.

Still, for many, riding a bike--especially taking bike tours or camping trips--was seen as a way of "getting away" or simply not joining the ranks of those who made payments on cars and houses.  On the other hand, those earlier cyclists, who were bucking cultural and economic trends to an even greater degree than Bike Boom riders were, didn't seem to ride out of any sense of rebellion.  Most of them had regular jobs or owned businesses; most were also not adverse to the acquisition of property and wealth.

I have long valued older, more experienced cyclists for their wisdom as well as their insights, and even for their sense of humor.  And, let's face it, they show us that we (most of us, anyway) have to get jobs or negotiate the capitalist system in some way or another, and then find time and ways to ride our bikes in the midst of the chaos.  But I realize, as I get older, that it's really the hippie in me that keeps me cycling:  I ride in order to be free (at least for as long as possible) and that I need my freedom in order to ride.  

So, if you've gotten this far, you might be wondering what prompted this rumination.  Well, I stumbled across a blog by someone who "some would describe... as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over".    Fred Bailey, the "old hippy" in question, lives aboard the Seafire, a boat he is refitting for voyages far and wide.

Actually, I didn't stumble across the blog itself.  Rather, I found, by chance, a photograph included in Fred's latest post.  In that post, he talks about his annual "pilgrimage" to the Fisher Poet's Gathering in Astoria(!), Oregon.   It sounds like a wonderful event:  Maybe the next gathering will give me reason to visit an Astoria that, I am sure, is different from the one in which I live.  

He took the photograph--of "the most westerly bike rack in the USA"--during that trip:



Photo by Fred Bailey, from Seafireblog.

I don't think anyone could create a better visualization of my cycling spirit, if you will.  The colors, the sights and the overall mood are my destination, whatever my cycling journey happens to be.

One Way Of Entering The Bronx

As I mentioned in a previous post, a bicycle/pedestrian connection between Randall's Island and the Bronx has opened.  It's actually very good:  It's well-constructed and makes a smooth transition to the pathways on the island.  Also, it's wide and closed off to motorized traffic, though there is a rail crossing--albeit one that doesn't seem to be used very often.  My only real complaint about it is that it's that most people would have a difficult time finding it from the Bronx side.

Still, I sometimes choose to ride up the walkway on the Bronx spur of the RFK Memorial/Triborough Bridge.  One reason is that it has a fairly steep incline, which adds a small challenge to my daily commute.  Also, while the new connector makes for an easy entrance into the Bronx, the old RFK walkway makes the entrance, shall we say, a bit more grand

and perhaps a bit more dramatic, even a bit Gothic, on an overcast day.   It's not exactly noir--more like gris, perhaps.  Plus,  you have to admit, there's something imposing about seeing a cross--or something that looks like a cross, anyway--as you are riding up to an arch.

Don't get me wrong:  I'm enjoying my new job, and the commute to it.  Truth be told, the part of the Bronx where I now work is more interesting than the part of Queens where I had been working.  And, oddly enough, even though I don't see a lot of people in the neighborhood riding bikes (a few of colleagues in my department and elsewhere in the college ride in), somehow I don't feel as conspicuous as I did at my old job, where practically nobody rode.  And I couldn't make the kind of entrance I make when I pedal up that ramp into the Bronx!

The Racer's Edge: Dick Power

I am told very good tacos are made in this place:

I plan to return one day and find out.  

Recently I learned about something else that was made in this building, next door:

At first glance, it looks like just another storefront building on a block that gentrification hasn't yet found.   Its owners told me that sofas were once made within its walls.  However, they were unaware that something meant for a decidedly un-sedentary pursuit was also made inside its confines:

Dick Power track bike, 1963

About ten kilometers from my apartment is the hipster haven of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where there seems to be a bike boutique (next to a bar that serves only craft beers, or course!) on every block.  I can recall a time when the area more closely resembled the environs of the taco restaurant and its neighbor:  a place full of blue-collar residents and immigrants, where few, if any, adults ride bicycles. 

 The neighborhood around Santa Fe Taco---Sunnyside, Queens--might well be on its way to becoming like Williamsburg.  Only four kilometers, in another direction, from my apartment, it was long known, along with neighboring Woodside, for the Irish bars and German saloons that served the blue-collar immigrants and first-generation Irish- and German-Americans who lived in the area.   (Both neighborhoods still have large Irish populations but also have perhaps the greatest concentration of Filipinos east of California.)  Sunnyside and Woodside did not suffer the devastation other blue-collar neighborhoods (like Williamsburg) endured, but nevertheless have experienced changes that threaten to erase some of their heritage.

A part of that heritage that is unknown to almost everyone who lives in the neighborhood involves the bikes that were made and sold in that unprepossessing building next to a Taco restaurant.  

Dick Power in front of his shop--in the building next to the taco restaurant!--in 1939.

During the "Dark Ages" of cycling--roughly the two decades or so following World War II--there existed in a few American locales, including New York City, a small but tight-knit community of racers and other adult cyclists.  Shops such as Thomas Avenia's in East Harlem and Kopp's in Princeton catered to them.  And there was a small but dedicated group of framebuilders, some of whom also owned and operated retail shops, who catered to those riders.  

Dick Power was one of them.  From his shop and frameworks at 4710 47th Avenue in Sunnyside, he turned out some beautifully-crafted frames that are prized by riders as well as collectors.  Power, who died in 1973, plied his trade and served as a coach and trainer from the 1930s through the 1960s.  However, the loss of his son--executed for his role in a robbery gone wrong that resulted in the death of a police officer--propelled him onto a mission to recruit and mentor young people into cycling.  

Among those he encouraged, and for whom he built bikes, were several female cyclists.  In the 1950s, the world of cycling, including racing, was even more of a male preserve than it is now.  Power's mentorship of those young women was seen as radical in his time.

I must say, though, that it must have been interesting, to say the least, for a young woman to be coached by a man with a name like "Dick Power".  Than again, those times were more innocent, I imagine!  

It's Warm, Even If The Season Has Not Yet Sprung

For three days, it felt like summer, almost.  I rode in shorts and worked in skirts without hosiery.  The classrooms and offices were too warm, and my students wanted to do anything besides listen to my lectures although, of course, they would never tell me that.  If I were any of them, I'd've felt the same way, probably.

The temperature dropped a bit today, though it still felt pretty balmy for this time of year, even with a brisk wind--into which I pedaled out to Rockaway Beach.  The sun played hide-and-seek but the wind was, as we say in the old country, definitely in-your-face.  Not that I'm complaining:  the ride was a decent workout even if it wasn't very long, and I felt invigorated afterward.  

Invigorating turned to bracing on the Cross Bay Memorial Bridge to Rockaway Beach. The temperature seemed to drop about 10C as I crossed the span.  Such a change is typical on a warm late-winter or early-spring day:  Even during a winter as mild as the one we've had, the ocean temperature drops to 3-5C (about 37-40F); the water in Jamaica Bay is probably just as cold.

There are other signs spring hasn't sprung yet, in spite of the warm weather:  The trees and plants are not yet budding, and no shoots are poking through the ground.  There are only the recently-planted grasses on dunes built to forestall further erosion of the kind Superstorm Sandy left in its wake:

That "dune" will probably be no more lush in another month, or two, or three, as Spring forwards into Summer.  But we will see the other signs, not yet visible, of the season that is incubating in the warmer-than-normal weather we've experienced during the past few days.

Next Winter, Perhaps: A Sneeuwketting

It's hard to believe that a month and a half ago, we had one of the biggest snowstorms in the history of this city.  It's also difficult to believe that less than a month ago, on Valentine's Day, we had the coldest temperature we'd experienced in more than two decades.

Why do those things seem incredible now?  Well, for the past two days, we've had afternoon high temperatures around 25C (77F), which broke old records for the past two dates by several degrees.  Today is not quite as warm, but still balmy for this time of year with a daytime high of 20C (68F).  And, aside from the blizzard and the cold snap around Valentine's Day, we've had a very mild (if wet) winter.  I've actually managed to do some riding that doesn't have to do with commuting, and I haven't used my winter gear nearly as much as I normally do.

So, my latest discovery could hardly have come at a less opportune time, though we don't know what next winter will be like.  Perhaps this one will come in handy next winter:




Like so many practical bike-related innovations, this one was created by a Dutch cyclist.  Cesar von Rongen's "Sneeuwketting", or snow chain, is a simple rubber casing with spikes on it.  According to its webpage, it's simple to install over existing tires and its "pop of colour to make your dreary winter day a little brighter". 

It's sunny here.  And I'm about to leave work.  I'm going for a ride--without a snow chain.  Maybe next winter I can use it!

"They Make Bicycles?!"

"They make bicycles?!"

They did, for quite a while--and some very nice ones, at that.  Whether or not they still make bikes, I don't know.  Perhaps they're sold other under names.

Actually, the company  that prompted the question at the beginning of this post probably sold  more bikes in the US under other companies' names than it did under its own.  It's surprising, really, that it wasn't more successful in the US market for a couple of reasons. One is that it made very nice bikes that were reasonably priced, at least until the US dollar devalued.  Another is that it made the types of bikes that were selling like crazy in the US when other companies made them, and the manufacturer I have in mind usually made them better!  Also, this company's name is one that everybody knew:  In fact, most people had (and probably have) at least one product it makes.  And it has an excellent reputation for just about everything it's ever made.

Why, this company even sponsored a team in the Tour de France! 

Officially, this company stopped selling its bicycles in the US after 1989, although it seems to have continued selling them in other countries for some time after that.  It ceased its US operations because, like other bicycle manufacturers from its home country, it had trouble competing when the US dollar devalued against that country's currency.  Unlike some other Japanese bike makers, it seems not to have shifted its manufacturing to a lower-wage country like Taiwan or, later, China or Singapore. 


OK...So now you might realize that I'm talking about a Japanese bicycle manufacturer.  You know it's not Fuji because they're still in the US market.  And you know it's not Miyata because they're not known for other products (although they were  a rifle manufacturer before they started making bicycles).  Ditto for Nishiki and Centurion. 

All right.  I'll give you one more clue.  This company still sells bicycle components, mainly tires, under two brand names that almost every cyclist knows.  And their other products were mainly in an area in which the Japanese first gained a reputation for quality.

That area is electrical goods and electronics.  Now the light bulb is starting to flash in your head! (Pun intended.)  And the names under which those tires and other parts are sold are "Panaracer" and "National".

In fact, this company's tires have been sold under other names--including those of a few bike manufacturers as well as Avocet.  And some are sold under the Specialized brand--as were some of this company's bikes.

By now, you might have figured out that the company in question is Panasonic. In addition to most of the Japanese-made Specialized bikes of the late '70's and '80's, Panasonic also made bicycles for Schwinn (LeTour, Voyageur and other models) and other bicycle companies.   In fact, it made some of the nicest off-the-shelf touring bikes as well as racing bikes that could compete with some of the best from Europe.

Panasonic PT-3500 Touring.  Great bike, but the paint and graphics practically scream "'80's"!

But it seems that in this country, people could see Panasonic only as the company that made their televisions or microwave ovens.  It's a shame, really, because its bikes offered good performance and value.  In addition to the touring bikes I've mentioned, Panasonic made bikes like the DX-2000, which could be best described as a better version of the "club racer" bike made by British and French manufacturers until the 1970s. 

When it was first introduced in the late 1970s, the DX-2000 had a lugged and brazed frame made from double-butted high-tensile steel tubing.   Later versions had frames made from double-butted Tange tubing (900 or one of the other heavier grades).  All versions came with forged dropouts and had geometries similar to those of more-expensive racing bikes.  Earlier club racers from Europe had similar geometry but were made from thinner-walled versions of lower-grade tubing in an attempt to make a light bike without using, say, Vitus (let alone Reynolds or Columbus) tubing.  The DX-2000 was, therefore, almost as light as those European bikes even though it came with clincher tires (as opposed to the tubulars on its European counterparts).  And, needless to say, the Shimano or SunTour derailleurs on the DX-2000  shifted better than the Simplex, Huret or low-end Campagnolo units typically found on other club racers.

1980 Panasonic DX-2000, with fenders added.

What that meant was that someone who wanted to ride fast could buy a DX-2000 for about $225 in the late '70's or a hundred dollars more during the '80's and get an idea of what a racing bike feels like.  Then, if that person wanted to take up racing, he or she could buy a set of tubulars before committing to a more expensive bike.  Some people bought DX-2000s and never looked back, rolling them out on club rides even as their riding buddies went for things "bigger and better". 

Also, the DX-2000 may well have been the only production bicycle ever offered in the US in a 71cm frame (seat tube) size!   To put that in perspective:  I am 5"10" (177 cm) tall with a 32" (81cm) inseam and my Mercians are 55.5cm. 

Phil Anderson racing with the Panasonic team, 1985

From the mid-1980s until the early 1990's, Panasonic co-sponsored racing teams in the Netherlands.   Riders who sported the company's insignia on their jerseys achieved a number of notable victories, including stage wins in the Tour de France and Giro d'Italia as well as victories in a number of "classics" and regional races.  Probably the most successful riders to race for Panasonic-sponsored teams were Phil Anderson, who finished fifth in the 1982 and 1985 Tours de France (and was the first non-European to wear the maillot jaune) and Erik Breukink, who finished second in the 1988 Giro d'Italia. 

Panasonic riders, interestingly, never rode Panasonic bikes. It's been rumored that Panasonic sponsored teams in the hope of becoming as much of a presence in the European bicycle market as it has been in the European (and worldwide) electronics market.  Even though Miyata has been successful there (under the name Koga-Miyata), Panasonic never attained similar status.



1987 Panasonic Team Time Trial

Today the Panasonic name continues to be familiar to millions of Americans who purchase just about anything that runs on electricity, from home appliances to computing equipment.  But they still ask that same question I hear from time to time, "They make bicycles?" 

P.S.  Two of the shops in which I worked sold Panasonic bicycles.  I assembled a number of them; I do not recall any other bike that was as easy to assemble!