Riding On Paths Through History

During my first European bike tour, I pedaled along la Cote Opale:  the French shore of the English Channel.  It was difficult not to think about all of the wars that ravaged Calais, from Edward III's siege in 1347 to the Nazi invasion of 1940.   But even when I wended along the coast through more bucolic towns like Montreuil-sur-Mer and villages like Neufchatel-Hardelot, it was difficult not to remember that, as the sea lapped on their shores, blood once ran through their streets and mortar shells strafed the air where breezes flickered leaves and flowers.

I got to thinking about that today, on the 75th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.  I have never been to Hawaii, but I can only imagine what I might feel if I were to ride the Pearl Harbor Bike Path--especially if I were to see this:

Actually, there are sights other than those mothballed warships along the path.  From what I've read, though, it's far from the most scenic bike route on the islands, even if parts of it look pleasant:

What Should You Bring With You On A Ride?

You've just finished a long ride on a hot day.  Or, perhaps, you've been riding up and down hills, or spent the whole day riding into the wind.  Maybe you've been tearing up the turf or slogging through mud.

Now you're some combination of sweaty, dirty and tired. So, you wash up and put on some fresh, clean clothes.  What do you do with the clothes you wore while riding?

Some of you might hand-wash them.  That's what we did back when we wore Sergal or Kucharik wool shorts, jerseys, tights and jackets.  Later on, other companies offered wool clothing that could be machine-washed on the gentle cycle.  Many of the synthetic fabrics that came later could be treated in the same way.

If you are bike-touring, you might not have access to a washing machine.  And, if you hand-wash your vestments in the nearest sink, tub, river or creek, it will take forever for your stuff to dry.  (The "spin" cycle on a washing machine usually extracts much more moisture than most of us can wring out.)  That can be a real problem when you have to re-pack them, or want or need to wear them the following day.

One possible solution to such a dilemma is to bring a washing machine with you.   Then, it doesn't matter whether you sleep in the Hilton Hotel or in the woods:  If you bring a machine with you while cycling, you won't have to worry about whether or not you have access to electricity or any other power source.  Your bicycle becomes--or, more precisely, you become--the power source.

Pretzels, Tacos And Pringles

Pretzel. Taco. Pringle.

What do they have in common?

They're all foods, of course. While most people wouldn't call them "health" or even "healthy" foods, tacos can at least be made to have nutritional value, and pretzels don't have to be white flour concoctions that merely serve as conveyances for salt.  Now, as to whether Pringles can be made so that they have even the pretense of not being unhealthy, I don't know.

So what else do the pretzel, taco and Pringle have in common?  Well, all have been used as descriptors for something that can ruin any cyclist's day.

From The Taco Cleanse

When I first caught "cycling fever" four decades ago, a wheel that was bent and twisted into shapes that even David Smith couldn't have fashioned was said to have been "pretzeled".  (I'm not sure of whether it's spelled with one or two "l"'s. )  The term was even used in print:  I recall seeing it in cycling magazines and books published around that time.

From That's What She Said 

Also around that time, the term "pretzel logic" was often used, perhaps inspired by the popular Steely Dan song:

I still hear that term from time to time.  I can't recall, however, the last time I heard of a "pretzeled" wheel.  Somewhere along the way, that expression gave way to another phrase beginning with an ersatz past-participle adjective (Now why didn't I name my band "The Ersatz Adjectives"?  It couldn't have been any worse than "The Past Participles"?).  You may still be using it:  Taco'ed. 

From Instructables

It's the term I'm still using.  In fact, in a comment on a "Retrogrouch" post, I mentioned that a wheel I rode briefly "spontaneously tacoed" when I was riding one day.  

From Iowa Girl Eats.

Until that day, I didn't know that the Fiamme Ergal rims were prone to crack around the spoke holes--on the inner part of the rim, where the tire is mounted (and glued).   More important, I didn't know that mine were deteriorating in the same way until I inspected the wheel after it folded itself under me.  I soon learned that other cyclists who rode Ergals--which, to this day, remain among the lightest tubular rims ever produced--had similar experiences.  At least I could reassure myself the fate of my rim had nothing to do with my wheelbuilding skills, such as they were. Or from eating too many tacos.  Or pretzels.

From Urban Legends

Or Pringles.  Actually, I haven't eaten many Pringles:  I never really cared for them.  Somehow, though, they seem to be displacing tacos in the lexicon for wheels collapsed beyond all hope of repair.  While it works visually, I think the sounds of "taco" and "pretzel" are more effective at conveying the wreckage.

Isn't it interesting that collapsed wheels are described with food metaphors?  To my knowledge, no other bike-related malady is depicted that way.  I wonder why.

No Fries With That Sandwich. But I'll Take A Bike, Please!

When I was careening thorugh the concrete canyons of Manhattan, making sometimes-questionable deliveries, it was common knowledge (or, at least, a widely-believed urban myth) that if your bike was stolen, you should head to St. Mark's Place.

In those days, before "Alphabet City" and the Lower East Side gentrified, it was common knowledge that you could "buy anything" on St. Mark's.  By "anything", we didn't mean T-shirts, keychains and other overpriced chotchkes made by Chinese prisoners and emblazoned with the "I Heart NY" logo, although you could get those.  Ditto for anything a hippie who might not have even been born when the real hippies were sauntering in their cannabis-addled haze through the neighborhood might want.  For that matter, we weren't even talking about the great pierogis you could get around the corner or the heavenly hammentashen and sumptuous strudels from Moishe's Bakery on Second Avenue.

What we meant was that, in addition to any substance or service someone might want on a Saturday night (or if one is new to town), you could buy all sorts of things that "fell off the truck" or that people "found".  Those items included, of course, bicycles.  

It was said that all of the bicycles used by restaurant delivery workers "came from" St. Mark's.  So, I suspect, did at least a few messengers' bikes.  I know for that bikes were indeed sold there, even though--to my knowledge--no bike shop (or any other kind of retail store that might sell bikes) has ever operated there.  In fact, as I rode there one night, someone crossed into my path with a bike he wanted to sell me. 

Alas, I never found any of my stolen bikes there.  But I knew other messengers, delivery people, commuters and recreational cyclists who did.  In every instance, someone tried to sell their bike back to them--not knowing, of course, that the would-be customer was the person from whom the bike was stolen.   One fellow of my acquaintance claimed that he punched the would-be small-time entrepreneur in the nose and took his bike back.  I'm sure others did the same.

Then, as now, retrieving stolen bikes or going after bike thieves wasn't very high on the NYPD's list of priorities.  Sometimes I wonder whether they know that most people will simply give up if they're not re-united with their bikes within a couple of days...

...let alone a couple of years.  Or more.  Apparently, that is the story of a few people whose bikes ended up at Los Amigos 2, a bodega in Camden NJ.

Camden (NJ) Police Captain Gabriel Camacho, Sergeant Jannel Simpson and Captain Rich Verticelli with bikes recovered from Los Amigos 2.

Police discovered a stockpile of bikes in the shop's basement when responding to, ironically enough, a burglar alarm.  Cops were searching the store for a suspect when they came upon the stash:  91 in all.  Nobody knows how many other bikes passed through.

Now, if you were in St. Mark's in the heyday of punk and New Wave, try to imagine the neighborhood without the band--or without the movie houses it had (It still has one.), coffee shops or even its dive bars.  (Back in the day, you went to a dive bar--or shopped in a thrift shop--because you couldn't afford to go anywhere else:  There was no cachet in doing so.)  Or try to imagine Newark NJ or Richmond CA, without the charm (really!). Then you'll have an idea of what Camden is like.

Like St. Mark's of yore, Camden is a magnet for the drug-addicted , in part because of the treatment facilities and shelters located in their vicinities. Some bring bikes or other items they stole, sometimes far from the neighborhood, to get money for a "fix."  

Some of the bikes recovered from Los Amigos 2

One thing I found interesting is that the bodega was paying less money for bikes--"up to $20", according to a police spokesperson-- than the unscrupulous were paying on St. Mark's more than three decades ago.  I wonder whether that is a signal that the number of desperate or otherwise impaired people who would steal a bike and sell it for a "fix" is so much greater than it was in the St. Mark's of my youth.

Bodegas, like other small grocery stores, are about convenience.  But a bicycle with your sandwich and cerveza?

What Have We Here?

Am I a tease if I actually follow up on something I hinted at?

I ask because a few days ago, loyal reader Coline accused me (in the lightest of spirit, of course) of teasing when I mentioned, briefly, a possible upcoming project.

Well, I think I am going ahead with it, at least during Christmas recess.  (I won't have much time during the next couple of weeks, what with my students' final papers and exams!) I made a mental commitment, more or less, today, when I took another look at this estate sale pick-up:

"Retrogrouch" has praised the lugged-frame Treks with Ishiwata tubing.  I'm guessing this one is from 1981 because it's the last year this model came without brazed-on cable guides or water bottle mounts.  Also, that was the year some Treks began to sport contrasting panels on their seat tubes.   When I get a chance, I'll check the serial number against databases.

Anyway, aside from some scratches and chips in the paint, the frame looks to be in good shape.  I could find no misalignment or rust, and no signs of crashes or abuse. In fact, I think that this bikes owner didn't ride it much after making some changes to  it.

One of those changes is the stem:  No Trek (or for that matter, any other bike) with a 56 cm (22") center-to-center seat tube ever came with a stem that had such a short extension!   To be fair, the bike has a longish top tube (also 56cm), but even I, with my short arms and torso, would ride a longer stem than that.

Another is the seat, I think.  Most Treks of that period came with Avocet saddles.  This seat, whatever it is, doesn't look like one.  Whatever it is, I have to wonder whether this bike's owner actually rode with the seat post mounted backward.  Hmm...Maybe that person is even more of a "no arms" than I am, or simply wanted to sit as if he or she were on a Laz-e-Boy.

Then there is this freewheel.  It's s SunTour Pro Compe, of very good quality, but the 34 tooth large cog much more than I'll ever need unless I take another loaded tour of the Alps (or some other mountain range).  I might hold on to it, which would mean holding on to the chain.  Which leads me to this question:  How much life does either have left?  Perhaps, if I could find some cogs, I could rebuild the freewheel:  those old SunTour freewheel bodies are practically indestructible.

And I am surmising that the SunTour VGT rear derailleur is a replacement.  This bike probably came with a VXs, as the shift levers and front derailleurs are from the Vx series.  Also, the bike's original freewheel was more than likely had 14-28 or 13-28 freewheel, which the VxS could handle, but the VGT's extra capacity is necessary for the larger freewheel.

Even if I don't use the 34 tooth cog, the VGT is a keeper, whether for this bike or some other.  So, I am glad for that change and for another I didn't notice until I got the bike home:

The original headset was probably a Tange  that was commonly used on mid- to upper-mid-level bikes of that time.  It looked like the company's Levin model--which looked like a Campagnolo Record from about five feet away--without the logos.  At least, I know that this Stronglight headset wasn't original equipment.  I'm pretty sure this is their early roller-bearing headset, which tried--like just about all quality headsets made until 1985 or thereabouts--to look like Campy's products. (Later Stronglights had a sharper, more "aero", shape.)  Even if it's a regular ball-bearing headset, I won't mind:  I've always had good luck with Stronglight stuff.

But I found the biggest surprise of all on the rear wheel:

Can you believe it?  A Phil Wood hub!  This is one of the earlier version, with a three-piece steel shell.  The bearings are as smooth as the more modern Phil Woods on my Mercians.  This hub is definitely a "keeper", except...

It's a 48 hole model.  I would love to keep and  "as is", as it probably won't die.  A Super Champion 58 rim is laced to it.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, my very first pair of hand-built wheels included a pair of SC 58s.  They totally deserved the reputation as the best non-racing rims of that time.  Again, it's something I'd prefer not to change, except...

It's a 27".  The tire, as good as it is (a Specialized Turbo) won't last forever, and there aren't many quality tires available today in that size.  The wheel seems true and round.  

The front wheel, however, is not. And there is not much tension in the spokes:  I think whoever built it didn't re-tension it.  It's the one that would have come with the bike:  a Rigida 13-20 rim laced to a Sansin hub.  Not bad stuff, but I think the rim and spokes won't survive a re-tensioning and re-truing.  And, really, I don't want to buy another 27" tire, rim or wheel. I suppose I could ride a 700C front with the 27" rear.

So I'll probably build a 700 rear wheel, too. The question is whether I want to use the Phil Wood hub, which would mean taking the current rear wheel apart and buying a 48 hole rim.  Or I could build a 36 spoke rear wheel on another hub I have.  

I am leaning toward building the 700C rear wheel on whichever rear hub, not only because it's easier to find 700C tires, but also because the bike would fit that much better.  As it is, the frame, with 27" wheels, is exactly at the upper limit, size-wise, of what I can ride.  The 700s, which are about 5cm smaller, would give me a bit more breathing room.  Also, they would add to the already-ample fender clearance the frame and fork offer.

Yes, I am thinking about fenders.  And, possibly, a Velo Orange Porteur handlebar with bar-end levers (like I have on my Mercian mixtes) and a nice, tasteful wrapping.  

Whatever I do, I'll try not to do anything gross.  I'm not looking to do a period restoration or anything pedantically "retro", but  I will try to keep in the spirit of the bike, if you will:  a good sport-touring machine from the era before mountain bikes.  I promise not to use neon-colored "V" shaped rims or cranks that look like starfish designed by Salvador Dali.    And I'll try to resist the temptation to turn this into a single-speed or "fixie".  At least, I won't let it become a "hipster fixie".

P.S.  Yes, that rack came with the bike. It's an original Jim Blackburn, made in the USA.

By Any Other Name

You most likely have seen this freewheel, if only in passing:

It's Shimano's Tourney (MF-TX20) model, found on many lower-priced hybrid, cruiser and "comfort" bikes.  It's made in China, like so many other bicycle components (and consumer products) on the market today. 

Given that it is made in China, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it's made in the same factory as other low-priced freewheels sold under other brand names.  In fact, I wouldn't even be surprised to find out that some freewheel sold under another name is mechanically identical to Shimano's.

Even so, I was surprised to see this:

I had to glance at it a second time before I realized it wasn't a Shimano.  I mean, how much more like "Shimano" could the logo on the largest cog be?

An eBay listing for it doesn't mention its brand name: Shimeng.  The title of that listing, however, says "For Shimano."

Hmm...How close can you come to saying that your product is Shimano without saying it?

For what it's worth (pun intended), the Shimeng freewheel's $9.89 price includes shipping from Malaysia.  On the other hand, "abaxo" is selling the Shimano freewheel for $15.87.  To be fair, that price includes shipping--from one of their US warehouses.

5 Cyclists, From The Big Apple To The Capital--In 1928

If you've been following this blog for a while, you know that one of my passions, besides cycling, is history.  And you know that among my particular interests are the history of women and ethnic and racial minorities in cycling.

Well, I have just stumbled across an account of female African-American long-distance cyclists.   Never before had I heard or read any mention of it.  And were it not for the work of an enterprising PhD student, it probably would still be another forgotten episode of history.

Today Marya McQuirter is an historian at the Smithsonian Institution.  Two decades ago, she was doing research for her dissertation on the history of African-American women in Washington, DC in the first half of the twentieth century when she found these names: Marylou Jackson, Velva Jackson, Ethyl Miller, Leolya Nelson and Constance White.

Photograph by Addison Surlock.  Originally published in Baltimore Afro-American newspaper, 1928.  Courtesy of the Smithsonian Institution.

Learning about those women changed Ms. McQuirter's life.  She wanted to understand, as fully as possible, not only what they did, but what might have motivated them.  To do that, she took up cycling.  But being a cyclist wasn't just a role she played and abandoned once she finished her dissertation:  She took cycling classes with the Washington Area Bicycle Association.  Now she teaches those same classes as a Licensed Cycling Instructor certified and supported by the League of American Bicyclists.

What did learning about five women who might otherwise have been forgotten do to inspire Marya McQuirter to become such a dedicated cyclist?  They rode their bicycles from New York City to Washington, DC over three days.  Doing 400 kilometers (250 miles) over that span of time is certainly an accomplishment for just about any cyclist, of any age or background, at any time.  

But those intrepid women--who were African-American, as is Ms. McQuirter--took their ride over Easter weekend in 1928.  Yes, you read that right.

Now, those of us who are cyclists would probably think first about how their ride was made more difficult because of the less-advanced state of bicycles at that time, as well as road conditions (Sometimes there were no roads!)  and the lack of amenities in some areas.  If you know a bit about history, you might think about the fact that they were women:  Even though bicycles may have done more than anything else to liberate women, as Susan B. Anthony declared, the vast majority of long-distance cyclists were, and are, male.   The six-day races popular at that time were almost entirely a white male preserve, even some three decades after Major Taylor won cycling's World Championship.

According to Mc Quirter, though, one of the things that made their journey unique--and the women who undertook it so courageous--is that they were African-American women going from the North to the South.  

When they set out from the Big Apple, "the Great Migration" in the other direction had been in full swing for more than a decade.  Almost overnight, neighborhoods in New York, Chicago, Pittsburgh and other northern cities became havens for African-Americans fleeing the terror of the Ku Klux Klan and the oppression of Jim Crow laws in the Southern states.  And, at that time, Washington--the nation's capital, no less--was as segregated as Atlanta, Birmingham or any other Southern city you can name. (Many would argue that it is just as segregated now, half a century after the end of Jim Crow.)

According to McQuirter, the Fearless Five returned to New York by train.  Most likely, they would have taken the Baltimore and Ohio or the Pennsylvania Railroad.  On her Facebook page, McQuirter points out that, starting in 1897,  "Pennsy" allowed passengers to take their bikes on the train with them for free.  If only Amtrak had such a policy!

THE Tape Wasn't Number 1: A Pump Was. Or It Claimed To Be, Anyway!

Shopping online is like going to swap meets:  You find all sorts of things you never thought you'd see again.  That can be reassuring, especially if you remember something you used decades ago but have not encountered since and no one else seems to remember.  At least you can reassure yourself that your mind isn't doing the things you feared it would do when you got old--or that you're not having a flashback of something you first encountered in a haze of cannabis or the mists of Jack Daniels.

Last week, while surfing eBay, I found (and bought) a bike part that hasn't been made in decades, in its original packaging, for a reasonable price.  It's one of those things I might use if I actually go ahead with a project I'm contemplating.  If I find that I have too little time or disposable income--or simply feel too lazy--to carry out that project, I will probably hold on to that part I bought:  I might have use for it later. (Really!)  Also, it's something I used and liked in my youth, and the quality of it is very good.

When I decided to buy that part, I looked at the seller's website to see whether or not he had anything I wanted or needed.  Nothing else in his inventory (from a bike shop that closed down) fits either category, at least right now. But I did see something that brought back a memory or two:

In Philadelphia, there was a company called Skethea.  I don't know whether they aspired to be another Cannondale or Rhode Gear.  They seem to have made (or, at least marketed) only two products.  Both of them had names that proclaimed their superiority.  One of them is, the tape (or THE Tape) in the photo above.

Now, if you were around in the '70's, you might recall (if you can recall anything ;-)) that suede was very popular.  At least, stuff that looked like suede was en vogue.  Most things that purported to be suede weren't.  One example is a coat I had, which was made of cloth with a nappy finish.  Another is THE Tape.

I bought a set of it, in blue (of course!), to replace the plastic tape I shredded on my Nishiki International. I saw the same tape, in red, on another bike and thought it would look--and, I hoped, feel--good on my handlebars.

THE Tape was just a vinyl wrap, thicker than most, with a suede-like finish.  It could be had in a number of different colors, including two other shades of blue (Mine was a cobalt-ish hue.) as well as other shades of red and green, a few other colors and, of course, white and black.  As I recall, it didn't cost much more than plastic or even cloth tape.  And, because it was stretchy, it was easy to wrap.

If you've ever ridden a suede saddle, you know that, at first, it's more difficult to slide forward or back, as you might when you change hand positions on your handlebar, on it than on a seat with a smooth finish.  Likewise, it was a little more difficult to change hand positions (for example, to slide up or down the "hook" of the bar when climbing or descending) on THE Tape than it was on smooth or textured vinyl, or even cloth, tape.  

That little bit of extra force I needed to slide my hands along the bars revealed another flaw of THE Tape:  It had no adhesive backing, so the tape shifted and revealed gaps of bare metal.  The good news was that the lack of adhesive made it easier to un- and re-wrap.  The bad news:  The extra force needed to slide up and down on the bars made the tape stretch and, eventually, break.  

And normal use wore the nappy finish away.  So, after a few months you were left with "bald" discolored tape that soon disintegrated.  And, oh, yeah, it didn't look as nice as it did when you applied it.

I am aware of one other product made by Skethea, the company that manufactured THE Tape.  The Number 1 Pump (Yes, that was its name!) came out at around the same time as THE Tape:  about a year or two after Zefal introduced its HP Pump.  You still see lots of those Zefals in use today. But, unless you are around my age, you've probably never seen a Number 1 Pump.  I saw a few "back in the day", but I never owned one myself.

It was, I believe, an attempt to combine the best features of the Zefal HP  and Silca Impero pump.  So it had a thumb-lock valve that could be converted between Presta and Schraeder, and a mechanism that enabled the pump to bring high-pressure tires up to full pressure.  The Zefal had those qualities but was heavier than the Silca and required a clip.  The Number 1 Pump, therefore, put--or tried to put--the best Zefal HP features into a plastic body, like Silca's, that fit on the frame without a clip.

In an apparent attempt to distinguish it visually from the Zefal HP, Silca Impero and any other pump, the Number 1 had a clear plastic body.  Yes, you read that right.  So, you could see all those wonderful inner workings that the clever folks at Skethea dreamed up.  

I once had a watch like that.  For a while, thought it was pretty cool to see all those gears and pinions at work.  But after a while, the novelty wore off and I admitted to myself that watches with opaque faces and numerals in contrasting colors were much easier to read.  I stopped wearing the see-through watch, and I think I left it behind in a move.

But at least that watch held up to downpours I encountered while cycling and hiking, as well as some other forces of nature and my own recklessness and stupidity. So have my Zefal pumps.   I don't think the Number 1 Pump would have survived such things.  For that matter, I don't think the Number 1 Pump survived much of anything:  Within a couple of years of its introduction, it seems to have disappeared.  

I wish I could find a photo of that pump--or any information about Skethea.  They seem to have been one of those many small bike-accessories companies that sprang up in the US during the Bike Boom.  Cannondale is one of the few that have survived though, like most other manufacturers, they are making their bags (as well as their bikes) abroad.  A few other companies made it to the '80s and beyond; apparently, Skethea was not one of them.  A 1980 Bike Warehouse (now Bike Nashbar) catalogue lists The Tape; I can find no later reference to it.

If I ever find an image of a Number 1 Pump--or information about what happened to Skethea--I will post it.

A Bike Santa Won't Leave Under The Tree

I try not to spend too much of my life living vicariously through others.  Sometimes, though, I can't help living, if only momentarily, through the triumphs and accomplishments of others:  There are some things I simply can't do on my own.  Then there are other things that, for all sorts of reasons, I probably will never do.  

For example, I doubt that I will ever decorate a house for the holidays in the ways I sometimes see.  Buying a poinsetta plant and, perhaps, hanging a wreath or the Christmas cards I receive is about as far as I go in bedecking my apartment for the holidays.  Even if I ever buy a big house, I doubt that I will ever turn it into the sort of display I have seen in my neighborhood during the past few years:

I took those photos last year.  The house's residents have created the same spectacle in each of the past six years I have lived nearby.  I passed by that house on my way to work this morning but didn't notice any decorations.  Perhaps they're in the works.  At least, I hope so.  I really love that display, more than I ever thought I could love such things.

For now, I will content myself with this:

which I found on brown bobbin.  Thank you, Melissa!

Be The Ride You Want To Take

Published on Earth Day, 1971

We have met the enemy and he is us.

So spake Pogo in the comic strip that bore his name.  That quip is a twist on what Oliver Hazard Perry said after a naval battle:  "We have met the enemy, and they are ours."

There is at least one situation in which the enemy is both ours and us.  In particular, I am thinking about traffic jams--or, more specifically, being stuck in one.  I would guess that just about anyone in that situation thinks of him or herself as being stalled by--that is to say, the victim of--a traffic jam.  Does anyone see that, at the same time, he or she is a cause--however unwittingly--of that traffic stoppage?

From bluepearlgirl's world

You are not stuck in traffic.  You are traffic.  I can almost imagine someone using those words as a prelude to a saying that was not, contrary to popular belief, uttered by Gandhi:  "Be the change you wish to see." 

Whatever you think of any of those slogans, you have to admit that "You are traffic" sign offers some good advice:  Get a bike!