As The Sun Sets On Newtown Creek, A Ross From The Land Of The Rising Sun

In Greenpoint, Brooklyn, Manhattan Avenue--one of the neighborhood's main throughfares--dead-ends at Newtown Creek.  One recent year, the Environmental Protection Agency declared it the nation's most polluted body of water. (In other years, the Gowanus Canal has garnered that distinction.)  But when it doesn't win "the Prize", the Creek is almost always listed among the most polluted bodies of water in the nation.

Of course, I don't think about that when a late day ride takes me there and I take in the views.

There's a nature walk along the creek.  By its side, at the end of Manhattan Avenue, there's a green patch with a fence around it that's a popular place to lock--and, it seems, abandon--bicycles.

Sometimes the bikes left there are rather interesting in their own ways.  For instance, there was this Ross 3-speed:

Ross was known mainly for making "muscle" bikes like the Barracuda (which was intended to compete with the likes of the Schwinn Krate and Raleigh Chopper) and some of the early production mountain bikes.   Their factories were located in Rockaway Beach, NY and Allentown, PA, before production moved to Taiwan.

However, during the 1960s--on the eve of the North American Bike Boom--Ross imported three-speed bikes from Japan.  At that time, few Americans owned or rode bikes with derailleurs.  Thus, most adults who rode--and kids who wanted something lighter than the baloon-tired "bombers" made by Schwinn and other American companies--preferred three-speed bikes, which were called "English racers".

Most of those bikes were made by the likes of Dunelt, Sunbeam, Robin Hood and other companies--and, of course, Raleigh, which would later acquire most of those marques and all but monopolize the remaining market for that type of bicycle.

However, as demand grew, those old English manufacturers couldn't keep up.  Thus, bikes were imported from Japan. One of my first bikes--a Royce-Union--was one of those English-style Japanese three-speeds.   As you can see in the photos, bike-makers in the Land of the Rising Sun did everything they could to emulate, if only visually, the "English Racers" that were so popular in the US and elsewhere.

(When Centurion ten-speeds first came to these shores in 1969, they could very easily be mistaken for Raleigh Grand Prix machines of the same year--unless, of course, one noticed the SunTour or Shimano derailleurs, as well as a few other details.  At that time, most Raleighs came with Simplex or Huret derailleurs.)

Some Japanese bikes came with leather saddles, also made in Japan, that resembled the offerings of Brooks, Ideale and other British and European makers.  I don't know whether the bikes made for Ross came with them (I can find practically no information about the bikes), but somehow I doubt it.  Even if it came with a leather saddle, I doubt it would have been this one:

You probably think it's a beat-up Brooks B72:  the saddle that came with many British three-speeds.  It does indeed have the same looped under-carriage rails and saddlebag slots built into the saddle.  And the top is the same size, and has the same shape as the B72, with a couple of exceptions:

It is indeed a B18. The embossed floral pattern at the top is wearing down.  I don't know whether it's from use or abandonment.  Somehow I don't think it's an original-production B18 from the 1930s, worn as it is.  The design was resurrected about a decade ago, as classic-style ladies' city bikes became popular.  The curled front is designed to prevent a skirt from getting caught on the saddle.

Whatever the story, the saddle is a nice addition to the bike, though I think it deserves better than to have bird poop on it.  I have to wonder, though, how the bike rides with this bar and stem combination:

That extension of that stem must be about 120mm.  That makes the steering more sensitive.  And, of course, the bars increase leverage.  I would be curious to ride the bike just to see how a bike that's not made for quick cornering rides with touchy steering.  Maybe it's a good combination for riding in traffic.

Anyway, I hope the bike isn't abandoned.  It may not be anyone's idea of a "great" or "classic" bike.  But it certainly is practical (except for those bars!) and I am always glad to see a bike like it in circulation.  At least, I hope, it won't become part of the detritus in Newtown Creek!

A Father's Day Post For Tony Nelson and Larry Paulik

Here in the US, today is Father's Day.

I could have written this post about ties with bike motifs, or cufflinks and bracelets made from bike parts, that you could give to your father (or any man in your life) if he were a cyclist.  But you probably know about those things already.  Perhaps you received such a gift yourself.

Instead, I am going to dedicate this post to two particular fathers--and grandfathers:  Tony Nelson and Larry Paulik.

Tony Nelson

They are two of the five cyclists who were mowed down by a pickup truck driver near Kalamazoo, Michigan.  Three other cyclists, who were mothers (and, in one case, a grandmother) died with them. 

Larry Paulik

I implore every driver who encounters a cyclist on the road to remember that many are fathers and mothers, and all of us have parents.  In that sense, we are no different from you.  Thus, being mindful of us--as we are of you--is a family issue!

No Fish Tales On This Ride!

You've heard the expression "fish story". You know, the ones about the catches that grow bigger and bigger in memory--or imagination.  Or the catches that never were in the first place.  

Surely you've heard one or two in your time.  You might have told one or two yourself. (Don't worry:   I don't judge!)  Me, I never have. (I swear! ;-))  I really was leading thhat stage of the Tour d'Israel when a Mossad agent yanked me away and conscripted me into the Army.  Really!

Why am I mentioning "fish stories" now?  Well, I got to thinking about them yesterday, during my ride to the Jersey Shore.  Of course, if you live an any coastal area, you've heard your share of such tales.  The guppy becomes a grouper, which in another telling, becomes a marlin or some other species that isn't native to the region.

A hundred years ago, people believed that stories about sharks were "fish tales"--or, if you were, sailor's tales. In other words, men who'd gone to sea--or claimed they did--would tell stories about those "man eating" creatures to scare or impress other people.  Or, if people believed in sharks, they thought the sailors and fishermen who told of them were exaggerating their size, speed and ferocity.

Well, one hundred years ago next month, those people would learn that those seafarers were only telling the half of it.  

The first two weeks of July 1916 were brutally, frightfully hot in the New York metropolitan area, and in much of the Northeastern United States.  At the same time, there was a polio epidemic.  Seeking relief, thousands of people took to the beaches of the Jersey Shore.  The combination of hot weather--which, in turn, meant warmer-than-normal ocean temperatures--along with the increased number of people may have brought the sharks, who usually habituate the shores of Florida, Georgia and the Carolinas, to more northerly reaches.

Shark attacks killed swimmers in the Atlantic on the 1st and 6th of July, off Beach Haven (near Long Beach Island, which was so ravaged by Superstorm Sandy) and Spring Lake (near Asbury Park), respectively.  Even though both attacks resulted in the swimmers losing parts of their bodies before bleeding to death, authorities thought there was no cause for alarm.  When sea captains entering the ports of New York and Newark reported seeing large sharks, they were dismisssed.

So was Thomas Cottrell, another sea captain and a resident of Matawan.  He spotted an 8 foot (2.5 meter) shark in Matawan Creek.  For its last couple of miles, Matawan Creek is a tidal inlet of Raritan Bay, which in turn is part of the ocean.  

Matawan Creek, a couple of kilometers upstream--and a century after--the shark attacks.

In a way, I can understand why authorities were skeptical of Cottrell's claim.  It had nothing to do (at least, as far as I can tell) with his credibility.  More than anything, I think that if people had a difficult time believing that a shark attacked in the ocean off southern New Jersey, they had an even more difficult time fathoming that such a creature would swim within sight of the Staten Island Ferry.  

(Even though one has to ride or drive 55 to 70 kilometers (35-40 miles) to get to Matawan from New York, due to the curvature of the shoreline, they're really only a few miles apart "as the crow flies".)

What was even more incredible was that the shark would swim upstream in Matawan Creek, about 15 kilometers inland from the ocean.  Had Cottrell been heeded, two boys--including 11-year-old epileptic Lester Stillwell--might never have entered the water.  They saw what they thought was a piece of an old dock or some other flotsam.  But when they saw a dorsal fin, it was too late:  the shark dragged Lester under the surface of the water.  He did not survive; neither would his would-be rescuer, Stanley Fisher.

On my way back, I pedaled across a bridge over Matawan Creek, a few kilometers from its mouth.  The still waters belied a century-old tragedy, one that is anything but a "fish story".  There were tears then; there have been tears in recent days; for me, there was only sweat: sweat of my own choosing.