Photos below by Jon Nicholson
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THE TIME MACHINE, H. G. Wells’s famous science-fiction novel, appeared in 1895. In it, people travel through time in a capsule that “lands” whenever you want. It’s an intriguing concept that has spawned books, movies and TV shows with the theme. Yet, here we are, over a century later, no closer to Wells’s vision then when he penned his novel. Right? Wrong. Plenty of people have machines onto which they hop to roll back time. And I’m one of them. What’s the gimmick? An antique bicycle; more specifically, a highwheel bicycle, sometimes called a penny-farthing. In its heyday from the 1870s to 1880s, this bike ruled the world’s mostly deserted roads (no cars back then—just horses and wagons), becoming so popular in fact, that it was also dubbed the Ordinary. Rolling in the Years The bikes are anything but ordinary, though. In fact, today they appear unrideable with their enormous front wheel, tiny trailing wheel and seat perching the rider seven feet in the air. But mount one of these relics (originals are super rare, highly sought after and valuable), touch the nickel-plated moustache handlebars, sink into the long saddle-like leather seat, get that enormous wheel rolling and you feel at one with bikers of old. Like touching a thousand-year-old redwood, you’re hard-wired to the past, transported to a simpler time and place. To complete the illusion, vintage cycle enthusiasts wear knickers and knee socks, gauntlet gloves and jaunty caps or pith helmets just like our predecessors.  We also ride as a group the same way cyclists did it way back when. Vintage cycling events take place around the globe. I’ve been to a few. My favorite was the KM150, held in Scotland in 1990 to celebrate the 150th anniversary of Kirkpatrick Macmillan (KM150, get it?) who the Scots believe invented the first pedal-power bike in 1840. I figured it’d be perfect for me, seeing that I’m part Scot. It turned out to be quite an experience and might give you a feel for how this have-old-bike/travel-through-time thing works. One Big Box I had three hurdles to clear to make that flight to Glasgow: restoring my recently-acquired 1886 Victor Light Roadster (cost: $2,000) that was seriously hobbled by old age; learning to ride it; and finding a way to transport the monstrous machine to Scotland. Calling fellow wheelmen on the trip, I learned that I could put the bike in a homemade cardboard box and take it so long as the plane was a 747. Refurbishing the bike in time was more difficult. Long-obsolete parts were hand made by a machinist (such as exact-copies of the original pedals; thanks Jim Spillane!). I rebuilt the 56-inch-diameter front wheel—a month-long ordeal because the original spokes, which I reused, had rusted into the nipples. The seat and all its hardware had to be built from scratch because they were missing. The bike needed painting. A complicated tool had to be fabricated to install the hose-like tires. When it was done, standing back looking at the gloss-black iron horse, I felt like I’d saved a piece of history, and I knew there was no way I’d be comfortable putting it in a cardboard box and handing it over to the baggage goons at United. So, enlisting the help of a carpenter friend, we constructed a wood shipping crate that was about the size of a Yugo. I couldn’t lift it so we added wheels to the bottom. There was barely time to practice but I managed to learn how to mount the bike. This involves balancing on a tiny peg on the frame with my left foot, while scooting the bike along pushing on the ground with my right foot, then launching myself into the seat with a big thrust from my left leg—the whole time terrified of falling sideways or flying over the handlebars and wrecking my baby (my cost after refurbishment: $4,000). One of the main reasons you don’t see people riding highwheels today is because in its heyday, it earned a reputation as the most dangerous bicycle ever built due to its tendency to pitch riders onto their heads, killing them. Indeed, after riding one, Mark Twain wrote: “Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live.” With so little riding experience, I worried about what might happen to me in Scotland. Bagpipes and Sheep I was not met cheerfully at the airport ticket counter in San Francisco. Seeing my enormous bike box, the agent stated quite emphatically, “That box is NOT going on the plane.” And then, after huddling and discussing the matter, they attempted to charge me $600 for oversize cargo fees. No fool, I pointed out United’s written policy to accept bicycles for a $70 fee. And when they protested that my box couldn’t possibly be a bicycle, I opened it and showed them. This only convinced them to get their supervisor, who then got his supervisor, who then called the foreman of the loading crew up from the runway to have the final word. And he gave the okay after dressing down the guy who called him up, which satisfied me immensely. The site of the KM150 was Drumlanrig Castle, a pink sandstone palace built in the 1680s and only about an hour drive from the Glasgow airport. Here, the time-travel illusion was complete: small roads with no cars, an amazing castle inhabited part-time by the Duke of Buccleuch, stone buildings with thatched roofs at every turn, rolling green fields with four-legged sweaters everywhere and about 140 other cyclists from around Europe dressed in vintage clothing and riding antique bicycles.  First on the agenda was a two-day bus trip to Glasgow and Edinburgh where we paraded through the downtowns while motorcycle cops blocked intersections and led the way. Sitting high atop my bike I was almost eye-to-eye with the double-decker bus drivers and I had a splendid view of the historic cities. At the parade’s end, we received VIP treatment, lunching with the mayor and enjoying a rousing bagpipe concert. In the afternoon we toured museums and then met in a city park to demonstrate the vintage cycles to the locals with various trick riding demonstrations and even races. Still wobbly on my big wheel, I didn’t race. It was enough of a challenge riding in the stop-and-go parade with all the getting on and off (good practice though). My big test was to be the century ride, a 100-mile tour back at the castle in a couple of days. Serious Saddle Time Completing a century was a point of pride for cyclists a century ago and it remains so today. Of course, today bicycles weigh about 20 pounds and may have as many gears. The Victor weighs about 60 pounds and has one gear. To get up hills, I have to sprint toward them hoping I build enough momentum to get over the top. If not, I have to get off and walk the hill. Then, if the downhill is steep, I may have to get off again for safety. Because the bike has a very rudimentary brake, if you build up too much speed you can easily lose control.  But there are great things about these old bikes too. The pedals are attached to the wheel, so there’s no chain or freewheeling sound. You roll along almost silently. Sitting so high, there’s a splendid view; you can see over the stone walls next to the road that block your sight on a regular bike. And the soft seat and huge wheel cushion bumps better than suspension. In their day, the bikes were a huge technological advance over what was available for personal transportation, namely, the horse. Lovely creature, but it had to be fed, it couldn’t travel far or fast and it stunk and attracted flies. No wonder highwheelers were considered status symbols and people were willing to pay $100 for them (a king’s ransom at the time).  Leading our century ride is John Pinkerton who coordinated the KM150. It’s obvious he’s a skilled wheelman, riding no-handed and rolling down hills with his legs draped over the handlebars. Early in the ride, he shouts, “Sleeping policeman.” And I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s talking about until I spot a speed bump in the road. This represents a dangerous hazard when you’re riding such a tip-prone bike and it tests my courage. I lean back and pedal over the obstacle and make it, which builds my confidence tenfold. Slow Going We’re to ride three 30-mile loops plus a 10-mile loop. I find the going tough. We modern humans are bigger than the people the bikes were made for and it causes problems. My hands get numb because they’re too big for the spade-handle grips on the bars. My feet are too wide for the pedals so I have to pedal with my arches. Worst of all, I’ve made a mistake constructing the seat and a piece of metal is jabbing me. Still, it’s the authenticity of the bike that makes the experience so worthwhile; maybe like classical musicians who take pride in playing only original instruments.  It takes me fifteen hours to complete the century, including about twenty miles of wandering lost on roads off the course, a visit to a proper Scottish pub (above) along the route to escape a rain shower, and a rest break at a great overlook with a non-English-speaking Swiss rider who revives me by sharing a hunk of ham, piece of bread and a Coke he’s carrying in a canvas bag. We ride together to the finish though he’s far superior on a highwheel. At the end I’m so exhausted I fall asleep at the dinner table, a first for me. But I feel great, more impressed than ever at the cyclists a hundred years ago who rode these bikes every day on unpaved roads, and feeling like I understand better than ever what cycling was like in the old days. At the Glasgow airport, I’m faced with another counter-person who states, albeit with a heavy accent this time, “That box is NOT going on the plane.” But this time, perhaps steeled by my epic century ride, I simply reply, “Well, I got it here, didn’t I?” He thinks about that for a minute, smiles and checks me onto the flight. It feels strange jetting back to the future after a glorious week in the past.  How to Join the Fun The best way to find out about antique cycling events is to join the Wheelmen, a worldwide club of bicycle enthusiasts who get together to relive the golden age of biking. Cost to join is $20 and for this you’ll receive four newsletters a year alerting you to upcoming events and providing classified ads from which you can purchase a bike. You’ll also receive two magazines with articles about club members’ collections and various bicycles and companies. There are many regional clubs around the world involved in the vintage cycling hobby, too. You’ll find some by searching under “antique bicycle” or “vintage cycles” in your browser. How to Get Your Very Own Time Machine It’s fun to dream about discovering an original highwheel at a swap meet, antique store or flea market, but it just doesn’t happen that often any more. Most of the bikes have been found and are in the possession of collectors. So, the easiest way to pick up a vintage highwheel is to find a collector who has one for sale. Expect to pay from $2,000 to $4,000 for an original bike—or more if it’s in excellent condition. And do your research before buying so you don’t pay through the nose for a basket case. 
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