Would Fat Have Become A Fad?

Practically from the moment Specialized introduced the "Stumpjumper" in 1981, would-be pundits said that mountain bikes were a "fad."  Some of those wise folk were in Schwinn's management, which may be a reason why the company filed for bankruptcy a decade later.

Anyway, any number of things in the bike world have been called "fads" almost from the moment they saw the light of day.  One of them is the "fat bike", which typically sports tires 3 inches or more in width.  Although I have never ridden, and probably won't ride, such a bike myself, I am not about to sound its death knell, even if most examples of the genre I've seen don't exactly fit in with my sense of aesthetics.

Still, though, I have to wonder whether "fat bikes" would have endured had they been introduced, say, 130 years ago. 

That is about the time "safety" bicycles appeared.  They are like the machines most of us ride today:  two wheels of the same size powered by a chain-driven drivetrain.  Before that, cyclists mounted "penny-farthings" with front wheels of 60 to 80 inches (150 to 200 centimeters).  Could such a bike have been made "fat"?

Looking at that photo, I can't help but to think that perhaps "fat" bikes would have been a fad that disappeared, say around 1890 if the first "fatties" had been high-wheelers!

Colorado To Allow Cities To Choose The Idaho Stop

As I've mentioned in previous posts, Idaho enacted a law that allows cyclists to treat red lights as "Stop" signs and "Stop" signs like "Yield" signs--all the way back in 1982.  Since then, other jurisdictions have passed similar ordinances.  But nearly all such regulation in the ensuing three and a half decades has been at the local level.

Lawmakers in Colorado, where a few municipalities already have such legislation, seem to have noted this reality.  They also seem to have noticed that other places haven't passed such laws because of hurdles they faced in doing so.

At least, I hope that is the reason why the Colorado House of Representative passed SB18-144 last week and the state's Senate voted for it this week.  Governor John Hickenlooper is expected to sign it into law.

SB18-144 makes it easier for cities, towns and other localities to adopt "safety stop" (a.k.a. "Idaho Stop") rules by creating a standard ordinance.  One hurdle local politicians faced in enacting such rules is that they might not align with the laws in other--sometimes neighboring--municipalities.  In other words, the bill, if signed, would give them a template they can adopt. 

So why doesn't the Centennial State (or any other state) simply mandate the "safety stop" statewide?  Well, in some places--particularly in spread-out rural areas found in states like Colorado--people just don't like to be told what to do by remote bureaucrats, whether in Denver or Washington.  But more important, the ordinance contains language stating that it shall not apply to any part of the state highway system.  That seems to have been a technicality that kept a different version of the bill from passing last year.

Those jurisdictions, such as Aspen and Summit County, that already have similar regulations will be allowed to keep them if the law is passed.

Bike Share Programs Save Money--And Lives

I suspect most readers of this blog believe that bike-share programs are beneficial, not only to the people who use them, but for the communities in which those programs are based.

Now a study by the Barcelona Institute for Global Health (IS Global) confirms what we believe--with empirical data.  IS Global studied the twelve largest bike share programs in Europe.  The programs were spread across six different countries (Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Poland and Spain) and each has more than 2000 share units.  Two, in Barcelona and Milan, combine mechanical with electric bikes; Madrid's includes only electrical bike.  The other nine share only mechanical bicycles.

The IS Global researchers analyzed both the health benefits and risks of substituting  trips on  share bikes for car trips.  They used data from transport and health surveys, as well as registers of pollution and traffic accidents to determine the number of deaths due to lack of physical activity, traffic accidents and air pollution exposure.

The researchers could say with certainty that the use of shared bicycles by people who previously used their cars spares five lives and saves 18 million Euros a year.  If all public bike trips were made by people who previously drove, those numbers rise to 73 lives and 226 million Euros.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Paris, with the largest share system in Europe, saw the greatest benefit to public health.  But even Madrid's all-electric system could be credited with better public-health outcomes, though the improvements were not as great as in cities where people pedaled their shared bikes: Madrilenos sucked put out and sucked in less pollution, but didn't get the exercise one gets on mechanical bicycles.

Although these results are encouraging, IS Global researcher and study coordinator David Rojas believes that cities could do more. "The real benefits could be even greater if the local authorities worked to increase the number of bicycle trips per day, ensure traffic safety and improve air quality, " he says.

Will A Ride Report Lead To A Better Bike Lane?

On this blog, I have lamented the poor planning, design and construction of too many bike lanes and other kinds of bike infrastructure.  Some of you have suggested--and I would agree--that it is in large part due to planners who don't understand cycling because, by and large, they don't ride themselves.

If someone doesn't ride, the only accurate information he or she can receive about riding conditions and the needs of cyclists will come from other cyclists.  Of course, the best information of all comes in "real time":  In other words, from records of cyclists as they cycle rather than "snapshots" of who passes through a given point at a given moment.

At least, that seems to be the thinking of transportation planners in--you guessed it--Portland.  They have just signed an agreement with Ride Report, a local tech startup, to share user data with them.  The company's free smartphone application automatically tracks trips and gives users the ability to immediately rate the route's safety, whether it's great, mixed or not so great.

Of course, this cannot provide complete data:  The city has no plans to mandate it for cyclists.  Still, it would almost certainly provide more useful information than taking counts at 280 intersections, as Portland currently does.  Such counts cannot be done continuously and require trained volunteers--who, no matter how good they are, don't always collect precise information.  Moreover, the apps could collect information from cyclists who don't have the time or inclination to attend planning meetings.  

Ride Report says that the data made available will be anonymous.  According to its terms of service, however, it may share demographic data like age or gender if the user agrees, though such agreement is not a requirement for signing up to use the app.

Make what you will of that promise.  As far as I know, no executives of a certain social media company I won't name are involved in the project!

A Thriller Or A Juicer?

My uncle, who was as much a card-carrying liberal on social issues as anyone I've known (Having spent much of my life involved in the arts and the academic world, that's saying something!) nonetheless refused to watch any movie in which Jane Fonda, a.k.a. "Hanoi Jane", appeared.  

The question of whether you can appreciate the work of anyone accomplished in his or her field--whether in the arts, sports, science or any other area of endeavor--knowing that the person did something immoral, unjust or simply out of line with your values, is certainly not new.  I know otherwise well-read people who will not touch Ezra Pound's Cantos because he was an anti-Semitic Fascist and refuse to have any truck with movies, TV shows, books or other creations from folks who are--or whom they believe to be--immoral or politically incorrect.

Likewise, there are erstwhile fans who gave up on bike racing because of the doping scandals.  This phenomenon was, I believe, most pronounced in the wake of Lance Armstrong's fall from grace.  With all due respect to Greg LeMond, Armstrong was probably the first modern "American hero" of cycling. At least, he was the reason why many Americans paid attention to the Tour de France, if not to bike racing as a whole.  But even Europeans admired and respected him, however grudgingly, if for no other reason than his "comeback" story.

It would be one thing if current and former fans directed their ire solely at him.  Since he was stripped of his titles, however, it seems that some have given up on the sport.  Many more, though, look at every victory, and every current and rising star, through a lens tinted with suspicion.  It's hard to blame them, though the problem of doping pervaded cycling--and sports generally--long before Lance seemed to spring from his death bed to the podium.

So, when Alberto Contador announced his retirement from racing a few months ago, fewer tears were shed than when Bernard Hinault, Eddy Mercx, Jacques Anquetil, Fausto Coppi or even Miguel Indurain called it quits.  That, even though, among those riders, Hinault is the only one besides Contador to have won all three Grand Tours --Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and Vuelta a Espana-- more than once. (Mercx and Anquetil each won the Vuelta once, while neither Coppi nor Indurain ever won it.) Even though nearly anyone who has followed the sport will say that he was one of the most talented riders of his generation, they are not as sorry to see him go as they were when previous winners of the maillot jaune and maglia rosa left the scene.

Contador in the 2005 Tour Down Under

Contador, though, wasn't just a cyclist who won races.  He pedaled with gusto, and raced with panache.  Probably the last cyclist who won with such style was Marco Pantani, winner of the 1998 Tour and Giro.  His "juicing" spiraled into abuse of other drugs, including cocaine, and led to his death five and a half years later. The way Contador rode was often described as a "dance", and he recently admitted that in his final Vuelta --which he won--he would "attack exactly when I felt like it" instead of "calculating everything".  You might say he had his reasons:  After all, he was riding his final race, and it was in his home country.

He was indeed thrilling to watch.  Should we remember him for that--or for the titles he lost and the ban he incurred from his drug use?   

World Bicycle Day: 3 June

The past decade or so has seen efforts to promote cycling as a viable form of transportation, not to mention recreation.  Such efforts have included everything from the establishment of bike share and earn-a-bike programs to the construction of bike lanes.

The latter, along with other bike infrastructure, varies widely (to say the least) in the quality of conception and construction.  One hopes (or at least  I hope) that planners will learn from their mistakes or be replaced by folks who understand cycling.

Nearly all of the work I've mentioned, though, has been initiated locally--usually by cities or independent organizations.  There have been few initiatives on the county, state or national level here in the US or in other countries.

That may change.  One of the most influential worldwide organizations is making at least a token effort to promote cycling around the globe.

That organization is none other than the United Nations.  On 12 April, at a Regular Session of the General Assembly, a resolution was discussed.  It was adopted by a consensus of the 193 member states.

The resolution declares 3 June as World Bicycle Day.  The purpose of that declaration is, according to a UN press briefing:

[to] emphasize and advance the use of the bicycle as a means of fostering sustainable development; strengthening education, including physical education, for children and young people;  promoting health; preventing disease; promoting tolerance, mutual understanding and respect; and facilitating social inclusion and a culture of peace.

What the UN is saying is, in essence, that cycling can help to achieve some of the organization's stated goals.  I think they're right. (As a longtime cyclist, I'm a totally unbiased observer, right?)  Things like peace, sustainability and respect for each other's humanity seem all the more important in the days after the missile strike in Syria and a report that the Gulf Stream is the weakest it's been in more than a millenium and a half.  

A Clash Between My Senses

In most of the Northern Hemisphere, the most unpredictable, or at least the most variable, weather comes in April.

I was reminded of that last week, when the contrast between my afternoon ride on Wednesday and the longer ride I took on Friday--which included Wednesday's route--could not have been more stark.  And Saturday's ride went from the almost summer-like warmth I experienced on Friday to the near-winter conditions of my Wednesday ride--all within the space of an hour.

Within the warmth and sunshine of Friday and early Saturday, though, there was an even more striking disparity--between my senses.

The warmth I was feeling against my skin (Shorts!  Short-sleeved top!) in no way reflected much of what I saw around me.

The trees hadn't yet begun to bud in the Greenwich Common, where I rode on Friday

nor along the Verrazano Narrows promenade or Owl's Head Park, where I rode with Bill and Cindy the following day.

The funniest part, though, is that after Cindy had to leave for another commitment, Bill and I rode through some of the Brooklyn backstreets of my childhood and youth (and, I must add, to the Rimini Bakery on Bay Parkway, where I introduced him to sfogliatelle, my favorite pastry).  The temperature dropped during that part of the ride.  After I put on layers I'd brought with me, we saw this:

the first budding tree--a cherry blossom. It's late this year.  I can forgive it:  Whenever I see it, I'm happy--even if it isn't in harmony with the cold wind against my skin!

Blame It On The Bike!

During my youth, I did lots of strange, stupid and forbidden things that I tried to smooth over with implausible explanations to parents, teachers, professors, supervisors, lovers and other people.  Probably even a cop or two.

I might have even said something like this:

Now, whether the cop believed me, I won't say--mainly, because you know the answer.  All I know is that when I woke up, I wasn't in jail.  But I sure had a headache--and a bike to fix!

A Twist In The Mixte

Most Americans never saw a twin-tube mixte frame before the 1970s Bike Boom.  That, of course, is also the first time most Americans saw a bicycle with a derailleur.  So, perhaps, it's no surprise that bike manufacturers like Peugeot, Motobecane, Raleigh and Fuji sold boatloads of ten-speed mixtes--though, to be accurate, many more diamond-frame (men's) bikes were purchased.

Nearly all of the mixtes available then, and now, have more or less the same design:  a pair of narrow parallel tubes that slope from nearly the top of the head tube to the rear dropout, or some point near it.  The twin tubes usually crossed the seat tube about halfway down, or maybe a bit lower.  The result was a frame that wasn't quite as "open" as the traditional women's frame, with a single curved top tube, but easier to mount than the traditional diamond frame.

What's not commonly known is that mixte frames with twin top tubes mixte frames, or at least frames that resemble them, have been made almost since the first "safety" bicycle (ones with two wheels of equal, or more-or-less equal, size) was introduced in the late 19th Century.  And they have taken on a variety of configurations, such as this example from Geoffrey Butler:

The South London builder made it to the specifications of a then-young woman who owned it until recently.  Its  eBay listing doesn't specify the tubing used to build the bike, but my guess is that it's some variation of Reynolds.  All of the parts are what one might expect to find on a touring or club bike from its era (1962):  all British, except for the Michelin tyres. (Yes, I had to spell it the British way!)  And, I must say, it is lovely.

I was struck in particular by two things.  One is, of course, the configuration of those top tubes:  They don't slope down as far as those on the more familiar kind of mixtes.  In fact, they don't seem much less horizontal (Is that a real phrase?) than the top tubes of most diamond-frame bikes.  Moreover, they end at the seat tube in a sort of semi-lug, which I find to be an interesting touch.

(Don't you just love seeing that pump between the parallel tubes?)

The other thing I immediately noticed is its size. I can't recall seeing a mixte that was too big for me:  For that matter, I haven't seen many mixte frames as tall as Vera, my Miss Mercian.  If the measurements listed are accurate (and, from what I see in the photos, I believe they are), it's indeed larger than my Miss Mercian, or almost any other mixte.  In fact, at 58 cm (for the seat tube) it's even larger than all but one diamond-frame bike I've ever owned. 

With all due respect to Vera, it is a rather uniquely (Is that a real phrase?) lovely bike.  If I were about three inches taller--or had the money and space have a collection--I probably would buy it.

The Mountain We Climbed

Two cyclists climbed the mountain.

Image from Tripsite

Their long, arduous pedal strokes channeled their fear, rage and loneliness into jagged thrusts through virages.  They funneled their darkest secret into energy that helped them push against headwinds on deceptively narrow straightaways.  

They would reach the summit but feel no sense of pride or elation about it.  Years later, each of them would say exactly the same thing:  Yeah, I did that.  To this day, others are more impressed than they are with their feats.

Both grew up in working-class enclaves--one in Scotland, the other in Brooklyn and New Jersey.  They have remarkably similar stories about being bullied and ostracized, and how they both felt the need to escape.  It drove both of them to France.

The American stayed for a time and has returned several times since.  The Scot achieved great professional success there and returns for various gigs.  

They both climbed the mountain.  And, after their descents, they realized that they would have traded that experience, and all of the others, for a life they could not have led until they crossed the valley.

As you might have surmised, I am the American.  What you might not have realized until now---I didn't, until a couple of hours ago--is that the Scot in question was the first Anglophone to wear the polka dot jersey (for the King of the Mountains) in the Tour de France.  In one of cycling's more famous photos, this rider is seen descending a mountain in the 1989 Tour, alongside Laurent Fignon, Pedro Delgado and eventual overall winner Greg LeMond.

In the 1984 Tour de France.

I am talking about someone who went by the name of Robert Millar.  Yes, that Robert Millar.  The one who finished fourth overall (then the highest standing for an Anglophone) in the 1984 edition, when Millar won the polka-dot jersey.   The following year, the Glasgow native would have a Vuelta a Espana victory "stolen" by riders who colluded for a Spanish victory.  Two years later, Millar placed second in the Giro d'Italia:  still the best finish in that race for a cyclist from the British Isles.

Millar, even after retiring from the sport, garnered great admiration and respect from former rivals and teammates, not to mention fans.  While my brief racing career brought me no money or fame, my life as a cyclist gave me, if I do say so myself, people who admired and respected me for riding up the mountain.  And another.  And another.  Some of the folks who shouted "Bon courage!" I would never meet again, but others became riding and training partners for periods of my life.

But even though Millar was a better, or at least more accomplished and recognized, cyclist than I ever was or will be, we do have remarkably similar stories.

We are the same age: only two months separate us.  And in addition to our class roots, we have other similarities in our backgrounds.  In particular, each of us had a parallel experience.  For all I know, we might have had it on the same day:  When we were five years old, the boys and girls lined up on opposite sides of the playground.  Robert in Glasgow felt the same way as Nicholas--"Nicky"--in Brooklyn:  different.  "But there was no way to communicate that without the other boys beating me up or picking on me," Millar recalls.

She took the words out of my mouth!

Philippa York

Robert Millar no longer goes by that name.  Today she is known as Philippa York.  While she has a bike with mudguards and a wicker basket for "going to town", her knowledge of the gradients and lengths of climbs around her home on the South Coast of England is "suspiciously accurate," according to a Telegraph article.  "I still like that rush of speed, but that's only downhill," she explains.  "I can't go fast on the flat or uphill anymore and I accept that I am going to need every gear on my bike."

I can relate.

We climbed the mountain.  And we are here, now--female midlife cyclists, both of us.

N.B.:  I want to thank one of my favorite bloggers, "The Retrogrouch", for alerting me to Philippa York's story!

One of my early posts will tell you more about the mountain (actually, one of the mountains) I climbed.