read feedback to bikeman
by Owen Edwards
BEHOLD THUNDERTHIGHS!
Slicing noiseless through the frigid park,
uncluttered, kinetic, shoulders low and chin jutting (or vice versa),
held off the unforgiving pavement by a hand-tooled chrome coat hanger
with the merest hint of wheels, he seeks satori in the slightly gritty
wind.
It’s Bikeman, soft-hat hero, champion of clean air, quietude and
motorless machismo. And his time has arrived. He is Homo sapiens at peace
with the machine. Pollution-free transportation is his, in its purest
form: superbike, bella machina, hobby horse of the gods, the perfect
evocation of Italian finesse a few pounds heavier than a Gucci moccasin,
eleven gears more than a Ferrari, as starkly beautiful as a Giacometti
torso. See what it does to him! Under a little housepainter hat stenciled
with mythic names, his eyes are slits of distilled concentration. His
hands, in little gloves with holes that drive women mad, rest cat-like
on the handlebars, ready to spring forward in a trice to the brakes. His
legs? Veritable pistons. The discipline of the samurai pales. The machine
cost Bikeman more than $300, and any fool can see it has made him different.
The superbike is to bikes as Captain Marvel is to Billy Batson. It is
the one great leap for someone who has tooled around the park on a three-speed
English bike but wants more. The superbike is a lot more.
To the man or woman outside the magic circle trying to get in, a first
trip around the city’s bike shops may be confusing. At a glance all
bikes with turned-down handlebars look pretty much alike. But there are
certain general characteristics that elevate a bike to super status. First,
a superbike seldom costs less than $200 (and sometimes more than $400).
It has ten or more gears. It should weigh less than 25 pounds soaking
wet, give or take a little. And above all, it should command knee-jerk
respect (if not envy) among the cognoscenti.
The prospective buyer should be aware that bicycles, like other machines,
are collections of parts, and all bike manufacturers are mainly assemblers
who build only the frame. There are a limited number of top name parts
that go into the best bikes. The result is that superbikes tend to resemble
each other closely, often varying only in frame and name. The buyer should
study specifications of various makes to decide what combination of parts
turns him on the most. The same names recur—it doesn’t take
long to get into it. That prices can range from just under $200 to twice
that and over is indicative of the numinosity of names. Of course some
bikes are expensive because their owners want them to be expensive, but
as one salesman frankly admits, “odd names help.” And no matter
how much people pay for their superbikes, in conversation they invariably
tack on a little more.
Bikeman does not poor-mouth. The superbikes available in the city are
made by Peugeot, Schwinn, Raleigh, Frejus, Legnano, Atala, Le Jeune and
Gitane. Most of these manufacturers make a full range of bicycles, from
mini-Fonda choppers to relatively inexpensive ten-speeds, but the superbikes
are the thoroughbreds of each company’s line. Except for the Schwinn
Paramount, which is assembled in the U.S. from European parts, all the
superbikes are built in Europe. As with pasta, shoes and hysteria, the
Italians are unquestioned leaders in the field.
At Stuyvesant Bicycle and Toy Inc., 178 First Avenue at 11th Street, the
star is the Atala “Record.” The other star is Sal Corso, who
owns the place with his brother. Sal likes to talk about bikes maybe half
as much as he likes selling them, which is still a lot, so Stuyvesant
is as good a place as any for the buyer to start his education. The “Record”
frame is made of double-butted Columbus Steel, which, along with Reynolds
531 double-butted steel, is what superbikes are always made of. The prospective
bikeman will lose precious time trying to determine why these two types
of tubing are the best and would do well to take the matter on faith.
On the subject of transmissions (called derailleurs by the knowing) Sal
says, “Campagnolo Record is the magic name,” and magically enough,
a quick look reveals the Atala has just that transmission. So, it happens,
do all but two of the superbikes. There are ten speeds. If your best friend
has ten speeds and you were to approach Sal with a checkbook and ask for
fifteen speeds, you would probably get fifteen, but Sal is an honorable
man and he will tell you that die extra five gears are nonsense, as if
that had anything to do with you and your friend. The tires on the Atala
are Pirelli Specialissimos, which I mention purely for the feel of it
on the tongue. The “Record” goes for $250.
Stuyvesant also carries the Raleigh MK II Professional, a limited edition
(whatever that means) English bike with a Reynolds frame and mostly Campagnolo
parts that lists for $319, enough to stiffen the most flaccid upper lip.
Sal’s paternal concern—“People should listen to the salesman”—is
thrown in free, and you can get good advice whether you buy a bike or
not. Sal claims that he sold 6,000 ten-speeds last year. Others in the
business say that Sal is hallucinating, but then, people who sell bikes
in the city genially contend that their competitors are liars, thieves,
trash-pushers and crazy.
The atmosphere at Gene’s 77th Street Discount Bikes (300 East) is,
how shall I say it, spontaneous, which may be good or bad, depending on
your mood. Gene’s is the home of the Peugeot PX 10E, Gallic answer
to all those dazzling Italian syllables and probably the best-known and
largest selling ten-speed superbike on the lists. It is also the most
demotically priced, at around $190. The PX 10 has a frame of Reynolds
531 and is unique in having not a single Campagnolo part. A question of
honor, one supposes. The Simplex derailleur system is made partly of plastic
(DuPont Delrin, to be exact), a fact that elicits terrible thin smiles
from bikemen astride all-metal Italian devices. The word is that the Simplex
is dependable but less smooth than the Campy. The PX 10 is ten-speed,
and on the subject of gears one of the Peugeot salesman observed acidly:
“Most of the people who ask about fifteen speeds are under fifteen.”
While the Peugeot doesn’t have the same impact on conspicuous consumers
as the sexier machines from the south, it has a good reputation and can
give you legs like Nureyev.
Hanging gracefully from the ceiling at Gene’s is an alluring number
called the Le Jeune—a track model, very clean, no gears, no brakes,
just eighteen pounds of absolute, unrelenting purism. Pristine, tempting.
By nature, though, Bikeman is a dilettante, and the track bike smacks
of product endorsements and dirt under the nails. “People who buy
Le Jeune track bikes are the kind who get hot about where a front fork
bends,” a salesman says, expecting to be understood. But as luck
would have it, the Le Jeune also comes with a ten-speed transmission
and brakes and a thunderously impressive $395 price tag.
Tucked off in the fluorescent shadows is the Gitane “Tour de France,”
another French bonbon very similar to the Peugeot (though less well
known) with much the same equipment, Simplex gears, and an identical
$190 price.
For those souls who get nosebleeds north of Union Square, Gene’s
operates 14th Street Discount Bikes (351 East), with the same stock
and possibly the same long-haired salesmen.
The acknowledged guru of the superbike scene in the area Is Thomas Avenia,
131 East 119th Street. True to the mystical tradition, Avenia keeps
a small shop, out of the way, marked only by a modest sign that says
“Bicycles”—six locks on the grill and four on the door.
Avenia is a small man with perpetually astonished eyebrows who reads
Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, slides off the subject of
bikes to put forward elaborate political theories without pausing for
breath, and sells two of the big names, Frejus and Legnano. The Frejus
can be had with either Reynolds or Columbus steel. Just to make that
decision implies power and knowledge beyond the ordinary man. Most of
the key parts are made by Campy. The brakes are Universal center-pull
(all superbike brakes are center-pull type, with stopping pressure applied
equally to both sides of the wheel rim). The Legnano Company is now
owned by Frejus, and the bikes are basically the same, except that maybe
Legnano sounds a little dirtier. Both cost about $250.
If you figure that each additional gear is a step up the socio-acquisitive
ladder, Avenia can be a wet blanket. Surrounded by gleaming ten- and
fifteen-speed machinery, he enthuses for the simple regimen. Plead for
many gears and he insists that you are better off with none. None! If
you are strong enough to persist he will start bursting bubbles, telling
you that a fifteen-speed has the same high and low as a three-speed
Raleigh, and explaining with a straight face his theory for putting
140 gears on a bike. Like other maturing artists, he is concerned with
peeling away the non-essential and he refuses to understand that there
are reasons for a lot of gears that have nothing to do with riding the
bike. Avenia is a hard taskmaster for Bikeman, who has certain nontechnical
needs and may admire a man who rides to Port Washington on a one-speed
Frejus without wanting to be him.
Twenty-five pounds and $350 worth of American dream machinery, the Schwinn
Paramount resides at Angelo’s Bicycle Service, 462 Columbus Avenue
(between 82nd and 83rd Streets). The Paramount is a class piece of work
in every sense, with Campagnolo parts throughout, a Reynolds 531 frame,
Weinmann center-pull brakes, and, in true Detroit style, a gaggle of
options at extra cost. Most of the magic has been wrung out of the Schwinn
name by years of association with the company’s lesser marques,
but there is strength of character in the man who can turn away from
the siren song of foreign accents and buy American. Maybe leaving the
price tag on would help.
Happily for faithful Bikeman, after the initial purchase there is a
lifetime involvement in accessories. Tires for superbikes are a worthy
field of study for any serious doctoral candidate. There are two basic
types of bike fires: the standard rubber tire with tube (called clinchers)
that adorns prosaic models, and tubulars, or sew-ups, (which are, in
fact, sewn up under the rim) found on most superbikes. Tubulars are
light, weighing as little as four ounces, and are made of everything
from cotton to silk. They have fantastic names like Viper, Supalatti
and Imperforabile. The Complete Book of Bicycling, a helpful
guide written by Eugene Sloane and published by Trident (and known in
the trade as “the ten-dollar book”), presents a partial list
of 28 different tires, and hints darkly of dozens more. Sew-ups can
be pumped up unmercifully without blowing, they are quickly changed,
and they fold easily so that extras can be clipped under the seat (a
touch that only intensifies Bikeman’s obsession). The trouble with
fabric sew-ups is that they are easily damaged on city streets, so the
best course is to avoid silks (despite the temptation) and use gum rubber.
Extra tires generally start at $4.50.
There are other accessories that aid the body and the ego about equally.
To go with the gloves with little holes there are shoes with little
holes. And for winter, ones without little holes. The shoes have steel
shanks to protect Bikeman’s feet against the steel grips of the
pedals, and cleats to make him more a part of his machine. The fact
that you can do nothing but bicycle in cycling shoes can only be viewed
as a plus. Most of the stores mentioned carry shoes priced from $10
to $25, cleats included.
Certainly the most essential accessory for the urban bikeman is something,
anything, to keep the superbike from
disappearing. Bikes are easier to fence than color TVs, and the
rule of thumb has long been: don’t chain your bike to anything
you don’t want stolen. New York is probably the chain proving ground
of the world. The plastic-covered combination lock trinkets that many
bike shops sell may be all right for less serious-minded cities, but
here they are parted with a chuckle. Bike shop owners get used to seeing
the same faces over and over again, each time deeper red, as customers’
bikes are ripped off. Gene’s 77th counters the tradition with what
looks like the largest chain anywhere not attached to an anchor. It
is made of some devilish stuff called cam-alloy and produced by Campbell
Co. With a one-pound Wally lock, the protection weighs about six pounds
and costs $20, and despite the obvious effect on Bikeman’s lightness
of soul, it seems to defy everything short of acetylene torches. So
you’re about half-safe.
Bikeman, in one of his myriad incarnations, is a friend of mine. He
is over 30, fashionably hirsute, works downtown and lives in his own
Park Slope brownstone. Until recently he was a mortal being who thought
not infrequently of his wife, his children and his plumbing disasters.
Now all that is forgotten. He has fifteen speeds! On his face is the
look of a man forever meditating on his first encounter with sex. Unbearably
exotic names issue casually from his mouth. If left alone for any length
of time he starts kneading his thighs dreamily.
I met my friend Bikeman in Prospect Park last week. With a tight mouth
he allowed me to straddle his spotless Legnano. The air was brittle,
the road as salty as an anchovy. I felt lost with all those gears, in
over my head. But after ten wobbly feet nothing mattered. Two Peugeots
passed in the other direction. My ears burned with the instant esteem
of my peers. The machine worked beneath me without a whimper. There
were some people walking, people with dollar-sign coats and perfectly
matched teeth, motor-driven Hasselblads and Old English sheep dogs,
people I would have been forced to envy if I too had been walking. But
now I was different from them, elevated far beyond. I was Bikeman, and
I could bask in the ultraviolet glow of their envy for as long as I
could stay aboard that shimmering silver bit of ecstasy and ignore my
friend’s shrill pleas to come back.
Feedback To
Bikeman (newest first)
9/15/2005
I first read Bikeman a few years ago. An unknowing cycling buddy just
e-mailed it to me again. What a great read. I’m 51, grew up in
NYC. Bought my Atala from Sal Corso, which I still have & ride as
an errand bike. I too spent most weekends with it in Central Park, envying
the guys atop superbikes like the Frejus Professional Record Supercorsa.
I would see them in many color schemes & never knew who sold them.
I now (thanks to eBay) own a 1962 Frejus in Black & White. Purchased
from the original owner who lived in Cleveland. I also have an original
Thomas Avenia (the guru indeed) price list framed on the wall. I now
live in San Francisco, last winter I totally restored my Frejus, I ride
it a lot. Love its spunky ride. Many people don’t look or care
about it. But those who know have chased me down the street to get a
better look at it. I pulled up to a light, where a bikeman was sitting
atop a De Rosa Pista. I complimented him on his steed, we took off on
the green, at the next light he bellowed “you`re riding the Holy
Grail man!” I just had to smile cause this young man Got It!
I currently own 9 superbikes. Most of them period pieces. I have collected
a vertical tasting of Campagnolo Gruppos. Most of them Italian but I
do own a Raleigh Professional MKV in Mink Blue & Silver, 6 speed
Nuovo Record & Clement sew-ups. This love we all share for the machine
& our oneness with it, keeps us healthy, happy & quite alive!
We are Bikemen slicing thru the park with pride in the fact our souls
are free to ride & roam wherever our steed points us. To all of
you bikemen, RIDE ON BROTHERS & SISTERS. I’m going to NYC
soon to see the rock legends Cream reunite. I’m shipping my trusty
Atala back ahead of me to ride through Nanhattan, as in the old days!
Cheers to one & all. Paul
3/27/2004
Roger (second letter), your response to Bikeman has perked the ears
of a number of old riders and friends of Heinz Linke in Cleveland. No
one is quite sure whom you might be, so if you would, please identify
yourself because three of the AOM (Angry Old Men) group led by the late
Heinz Linke need to know. You can email me at bikecg at att.net.
I have loved bicycles my whole life and knew that the ten speed racer
was for me when I witnessed some guy, on a cold spring day, do a track
stand at a traffic light on some bronze-colored derailleur bike, I think
a Paramount. I was fourteen at the time and it was the early 60s.
In the mid-eighties I met Heinz at his shop in Lakewood, Ohio. Never
knew him before; just knew of his reputation. I had an older Gitane
that I was upgrading with more contemporary parts. But if you put lipstick
on a pig, it’s still a pig. I wanted a new, light, fast bike. Heinz
showed me Peugeots (although not PX 10s, as they were history) a second-hand
Colnago and Cinelli and other bikes. He glossed over the great Merckx
and taught me what real Bikemen do. He invited me to ride with his group
on a Saturday ride that be said would be only 20 miles.
I arrived at the rendezvous site at a home in Bay Village with my Gitane,
dressed in sweats and touring shoes. When the riders showed up, I knew
I was in serious trouble. I never saw so much Campy, cleated shoes,
Peugeots, Cinellis and Colnagos in my life. I knew I was screwed. Truth
be told, the ride was eight miles longer than the twenty I was told.
I felt betrayed. Two years since my last cigarette still did not afford
me the fitness level to keep up with those guys, so eight miles could
have been a ride to Beijing. Man could they ride. I vowed that I would
not ride again with AOM until I was ready to become Bikeman. A year
later, I arrived with a new Raleigh and the entire Bikeman garb. I was
ready. In 1988, I became Bikeman. 60 miles was not out of the question
from then on.
The group has dwindled down to about three of us, two younger men and
one woman. We still are Bikemen and are still AOM. The others have died
or moved away or just don’t ride anymore. Any day a person can swing
their piston-like legs over the saddle is a great day for Bikeman. God
speed, safe roads and the wind at your back, Heinz. Carl
3/15/2004
There was a man (Ken:bottom) who wrote in wondering about ways to contact
some of the older cyclists that used to hang out in central park. If
they're still active, the people at oldskooltrack.com may know of them. Pass this info along if you
like. Jon
10/28/2003
I just read the Bikeman article and, although I grew up mostly in Cleveland,
everything you said was familiar. My bike-shop memory of NY was of a
place called Bicycle Renaissance. I used to have a shirt with their
signature Da Vinci man centered in a bicycle wheel. My first good bike
was a purple Gitane Interclub; straight-gauge tubing, chrome fork, tubulars,
and cottered steel crankset. Regrettably, it was a boom bike (1972)
and came through with the awful Huret Alvit derailleur, as apparently
Simplex could not produce their Prestige derailleurs fast enough to
keep up the demand driven by America's discovery of the 10-speed, that
demand further pushed by Eugene A. Sloan's Complete Book on Bicycling,
and articles in Popular Science, Life, and probably every big city newspaper.
In 1974, four friends
and I finally bought our real bikes, Peugeot PX10E's from the Cleveland
bike shop where I worked. Madison Cycle Center (great name), owned by
a NASA employee named Heinz Linke (great name) had been around since
before anyone outside of New York, San Francisco, or Milwaukee knew
what a racing bicycle was, and had been operated sometimes in storefronts,
and sometimes, more romantically out of Heinz's suburban Bay Village
basement, where the close quarters allowed various esoteric new bicycle
odors to concentrate, something I can't describe, or explain, but I'd
recognize it now, and don't smell it in shops anymore.
Heinz had several Royal Blue Belgian-made Bauers in his basement shop,
still unsold from the late 'sixties. They were ten-speed road bikes
with extra-short time trial frames and all-Campy gear. He never brought
them to the regular store, once a call from the zoning official (tipped-off
by a jealous bike shop competitor) had forced him to open back up in
a regular storefront. Over the years, whenever we asked him about the
Bauers, he denied their existence. Those bikes were to die for.
My college friends and I used to go on club rides on Sundays from a
school parking lot in the West suburbs, twenty miles to Oberlin and
back. The club was made up of guys in their forties and fifties, who
still rode regularly, but who no longer cared to ride competitively
with the local LAW club. It was a democratic group; a couple of engineers
and a research doctorate from NASA, a machine-shop owner, and older
Irish bricklayer were among the members. Any difference in class was
betrayed by the cars they brought their bikes in. At Oberlin, we sometimes
met up with Oberlin College students, who rode with us.
Jumping ahead, my PX10E is next to me in my office. It is no longer
white. I had it Imroned red in 1980, after having dismantled it to have
it checked for frame damage after a collision with a '68 Mustang driven
by a distracted frat boy. I'm still riding tubulars (they're so cheap
these days). The original Mavic rims now have better Mavic GP-4's, Japanese
low-flange hubs instead of the Normandy high-flange originals, stainless
spokes. The bike now has a gel saddle and Nitto bars. The original bars
were the only damage in the collision with the Ford. The MAFAC centerpulls
are gone, replaced by Dia-Compe sidepulls, the AFA extension and its
exposed suicide bolt head replaced by an SR. The rear cog is a 6-speed
with a more modern (maybe 20-year-old) all-alloy Simplex from a mail-order
old-parts store. The changer is now SunTour. The bike has a bare chrome
fork because when, after a collision with an Irish setter, I ordered
a replacement PX10 fork, which was white. I'm on my 4th frame pump.
In other words this is an older guy's old bike, and hard to recognize
at a glance. Thanks. Roger
8/14/2003
I AM Bikeman... 57 and started riding in the early 70’s . I was
introduced by a friend who lived in Sheepshead Bay. I immediately sold
my Peugeot A08 along with my wife’s U08 and bought a PX10... New
in the box for $199 from a shop in Brooklyn. Even though I lived in
NJ, we would ride Central Park and Prospect Park (when finished would
ride down Ocean Pkwy for breakfast at Nathan’s in Coney Island).
Eventually upgraded virtually everything on the PX10... a French-threaded
nightmare; tapped the Stronglight cranks for Campy pedals, added Cinelli
1A stem and Giro d’Italia bars, replaced the crappy Simplex Delrin
derailleur with a Simplex SLJ (every bit as good or better than Campy
NR), Campy sidepull brakes, and Concor Supercorsa saddle (which I now
have on ALL my bikes). I visited all but one of the bike shops mentioned...
my buddy owned a Frejus and we would drool over Legnanos. Next I bought
a CIOCC Mochba 80 (built for the Moscow Olympics that Jimmy Carter would
not let anyone go to), all Campy, and I am in my 3rd season with a Trek
5900... but today I rode my CIOCC with sew ups... WHAT A RIDE!
I am in the process of getting my PX10 road ready, may even sacrifice
it for the trainer... but even though the French threading is still
giving me fits I hope to ride it this weekend... the Stronglight cranks
look great and the Simplex SLJ is a dream... I still have, but don’t
dare ride the original wheels with Normandy large-flange hubs... the
rims are shot... and, oh yeah, none of the ball bearings (bottom bracket,
hubs, headset) are in races... open them up and they plink, plink to
the floor... and after you pack them in grease (Campy or green Phil
Wood) and get it all back together you feel a bearing under your sock
and realize that you have left one out!! This weekend it’s the
PX10 (now with Look clipless pedals), 531 frame and large rake fork...
can’t wait... I am Bikeman... and the 70s were great... but I
am in better shape today thanks to my bikes. Bikeman was a joy to read.
Thank you. Richard
2/25/2003
This is the second time I have had the pleasure to read the Bikeman
article. I grew up in NYC and now at 55 I can remember buying my first
bike at Stuyvesant Bike from Sal Corso. I have fond memories of both
Sal and his brother Tony. In my HS years I became totally engrossed
in cycling and bought a Fiorelli and then a Gitane track bike which
I used both on the street and at Kissenna. I really loved the Saturdays
and Sundays at the Park (Central) were all of us bikers would hang at
the benches with our bikes and then go do a few laps. I have been desperately
trying to locate some of my old buds from the Park like David Sullivan,
Peter Aaron, Matt Fazakas, etc. with no luck. Its difficult to do long
distance from Boston. I have not gotten biking out of my blood and just
realized my boyhood dream of owning a Paramount. I purchased one recently
and I have completely restored it. I intend to ride it into Central
Park this spring one Saturday or Sunday and hopefully make contact with
some of the old crowd from long ago. If you know of anything going on
in the park regarding the old bike crowd or know any of the people I
mentioned or have any ideas on how I might locate them I would be forever
grateful. I guess biking stays in your blood and that is why that Bikeman
story is so appealing to me. Thanks. Ken
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