Intriguing, affordable "Dutch" bike

When I came home from visiting Flanders two summers ago, I was taken with the idea to find a buy a Dutch bike in the U.S.  I don't know whether I was more surprised to find that it was possible to do so, or that it would cost $2,000 to do it.

If there had been a bike that simulated what I had seen on the streets of Bruges that cost a few hundred dollar's I'd have snapped it up in an instant.  There wasn't, and I didn't.  And that failure to do so is what started my bike-buying spree and this blog.

Well, now there is.  I stumbled across a link to this bike via Bike Snob today.  I had no idea it existed and have never seen anything similar in this price range.

On the one hand, I know a bike that sells for under $300 can only be so good.  I also understand that much of what makes a Dutch "Opa" what it is cannot possibly be found on a bike that sells for so little.

I get that, I really do.  But, I will admit to being intrigued by the idea of owning a Dutch-looking bike for $250 or so.  It even has a front rack suitable for lugging my little Dutch kids around on, if I ever happen to come into possession of little Dutch kids.

I've looked online for reviews with no luck.  Half of me is hoping to find ones similar to those written on the Flying Pigeon and giving me the freedom to move on and never think of this again.  The other half is hoping to read that it's surprisingly well-built and feels like the real thing.  If this is the case, I'm going to need someone to loan me some garage space.

A fabulous Fourth

I love the clarity of Independence Day.  There's no debate over the origins, no confusion over what the holiday is supposed to celebrate.  It's wonderfully clear-cut. This is at least half the reason July 4 remains a favorite spot on the calendar for me.

The rest, I suppose, has a lot to do with childhood memories of unmitigated awesomeness each and every July 4.  It was more than just the fireworks at night at Shiloh Park -- although those were certainly a high point.  It was also because July 4 was a kind of perfect point in the summer.  School had already become a distant memory and the post-Labor Day return was far enough away to hold almost no power over a boy's thoughts.

Once the calendar turned to August, there was a growing sense of dread that began to creep into the phenomenon of summer vacation.  It was impossible to stop the silent calculation of how many days of freedom remained each time you spotted the date on a bank sign or newspaper or carnival flyer. 

The cookies were a hit at Sunday's bbq in Sonoma and Monday's potluck

But in July, everything was still perfect.  The days were long.  You could jump on your Sting-Ray immediately after breakfast and ride it until dark if you wanted to.  Our signal to come home was provided by an huge old bell that stood in our backyard, a relic from some long-closed schoolyard, I guess.  My mom would ring the bell and the brass-on-brass gong would sound throughout the neighborhood and well beyond. 

When I mention that to my daughter today, I'm aware of how much freedom (and risk) she doesn't get to experience. She'll never know what it's like to be 10 and a couple of miles from home, fending for yourself with only a bike and a promise to come home when the bell tolls.  I've puzzled over whether this is because the world is more dangerous or because parents are more cautious, but ultimately it just is.

Jan walked our  patriotic pups in the parade

Which isn't to say she's suffering through childhood.  I suspect and hope she'll have equally happy memories to share when she's a parent, although her mom and I will be in a whole lot more of the photos.

Case in point, this most recent July 4.  Fiona spent the morning of the 3rd decorating her favorite bike, the Electra cruiser.  She took some bike-decorating suggestions from a Martha Stewart magazine she bought primarily for the cookie decorating suggestions.  Other inspirations came from her own mind.  In the end, she had a beautiful entry in our neighborhoods quaint little parade.

I joined her, outfitting the Schwinn Racer in flags and crepe streamers starry, red-white-and-blue garland.  Best of all were playing cards in the spokes.  I had completely forgotten how cool that sound is.  It really sounded like an old motorcycle... or, I guess, what I decided an old motorcycle sounded like when my friends and I would tear up and down the street with baseball cards and clothes pins mounted on the fender struts.

Here's hoping your Fourth was as fun and magical as ours.  And here's wishing you a long, happy summer full of freedom and fun.

Downtown bike crowding

It's frustrating but not surprising to encounter stores, offices and facilities with insufficient bike racks.  I usually try to tell a storeowner, politely, that I'm a customer, I arrived on a bicycle, and I'd find their business easier to patronize if it had a place for me to lock my bike.  So far, everyone has been, or at least sounded, appreciative for the input.

Last week, I had an appointment at a downtown building and arrived to find not a single space left for me to secure my Raleigh.  Bikes were on both sides of the handful of racks and a half-dozen were locked only to themselves, leaned against a window.  After some thought, I pulled my bike onto the unplanted and barren "demonstration garden" and locked it to the sign.

Situation normal.  But wait, as they say on TV, there's more.

The building in question is the headquarters of the California Environmental Protection Agency.  It opened in 2001 and for years -- YEARS -- CalEPA flacks were bragging about the countless green innovations incorporated into the design.  Special window placement minimizes the number of lights needed.  What lights are needed are "super-high efficiency" tubes that dim automatically when the sun shines in.  The roof is a tangle of solar cells.  The parking garage was built with electric vehicles in mind. 

Impressed?  Be quiet.  We're not even warmed up yet.

Low-flow fixtures installed in the bathrooms including the now-infamous waterless urinals.  Native grasses dominate the landscape and smugly refuse even a sip of water in our parched summers. (This may explain why I was able to park my bike in a "demonstration garden."  The point demonstrated seemed to be that plants need water to live.)

Every drop of paint used was "zero volatile organic compound" whatever that means.  The carpet is, I don't know, recycled milk jugs or something.  It was put in place without glue, further reducing VOCs, which I still will not pretend to understand.

Amazing, no?  Sit down.  Still not done.

Under the desks are vermiculture bins.  I'm not making this up.  They might be, but I'm not.  I think this means that if you work at CalEPA, under your desk, there is a big bin with compost and worms.  UNDER YOUR DESK.  The worms, who on any given day may be the only ones performing actual work in a state office, create organic waste which is then used in the courtyard flower beds. 

And this is just the building. We haven't even touched on what CalEPA actually does besides making its employees grow worms under their desks.

This agency is the author and prime mover behind the most stringent green regulations in the world.  This place is where the California Air Resources Board meets to defend itself against its critics, who claim that it has systematically destroyed entire industries and hundreds of thousands of jobs in the name of being the nation's leader in reducing carbon emissions and diesel exhaust.

To say that CalEPA would like us out of our cars is a vast understatement.  It's a bit like saying Charlie Sheen enjoys a drink now and then.

And yet, the best this outfit can muster for its thousands of employees is racks for a couple dozen bikes?  Surely fixing this problem can't be as hard as finding carpet that doesn't need glue or convincing union workers to keep a worm bin at their feet all day. 

Random hipster kindness

So, I'm stopped at a light in midtown Sacramento, when a young guy on a single speed bike -- narrow bars, bright paint job, everything but the fixed-gear hub -- comes to a stop alongside me.

His hair had a splash of neon green in it. His wore a snug-fitting t-shirt and skinny jeans.  Oversized sunglasses.  A loyal, uniformed solider in the Hipster Army.

Not the sunny-dispositioned hipster in question.  But check out that satchel.

I'm getting more at peace with the world these days and less bristly when sharing space with folks whose cultural choices I don't share. Still, my inward reaction was at least a mild form of LATFH.

But then came a surprise.

"How are you?" he asked in the most pleasant of tones.  I think my response reflected genuine pleasure at this departure from the expected.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" he asked.  It was, I agreed.

"Enjoy it!" he said as the light changed and he pedaled off.

It was just a young guy on a bike who made a choice to be pleasant, but it made a difference in my afternoon.  If he does this three or four times a day -- and his easy tone suggests he does -- this one kid is making the world a significantly brighter place. 

Beautiful Peugeot

The girls and I found ourselves at Hot Italian, the center of Sacramento's cycling scene, on the evening of their Velo & Vintage fashion/bike show.

I can't tell you with any certainty about a single outfit or garment that was modeled.  I can, though, remember a good few of the bikes the models rode down the catwalk. 

For me, the Best in Show was this Peugeot sports/roadster.  So taken was I by this bike that I made a visit the following week to the place I suspected was the source for it.  I was right, and as I arrived at Edible Pedal, I saw it sitting regally inside the doorway.

I think this bike is just stunning.  The fender-mounted light, the chrome fenders, the full chainguard, the braided cable housing... it's all just so elegant.

And seductive.  I really felt a bit disloyal to my collection of English three-speeds as I found myself thinking it was more refined and, well, French, than the Raleighs.

Edible Pedal boss John explained that the bike likely isn't as old as it appears.  At least not all of it.  Closer inspection revealed some distinctly newer parts and components.  It seems to be an expertly created and beautiful Frankenstein, with parts coming from any number and age of Peugeots to make one stunning whole.

wish granted!

Thank you for your support and finger-crossing!

Last week, I became the owner of this marvelous 1951 Sports Superbe.  The seller was Rick, ace mechanic at my LBS and accomplished racer.  On a visit to the shop last month, another mechanic mentioned that Rick was looking for me, wanting to sell a bike.  Rick was out of luck, I informed the messenger, as I have not one more inch of room to store another bike.  A few minutes later, Rick walked in.  I pre-empted the sale, telling him I couldn't possibly buy another bike. The only bike I could be interested in, one I was sure he'd never sell, was the green Raleigh Superbe.

That, Rick said, was just the one he was hoping to sell.  And here, he inserted a bit of remarkable news.  He would sell it for the extraordinarily affordable price he himself had paid for it a few months earlier.  The deal was done.

I like to think of myself as fair and ethical, but I'm not completely sure that if I stumbled onto an amazing deal on a bike I would pass that good fortune along, intact, to the next owner.  I mean, I think it'd be OK to profit a little bit from finding a lottery ticket in the street, no?  Thankfully, Rick is made of better stuff in this department. I did, when it was all done, ensure that Rick saw at least some profit from his remarkable stewardship of the bike.

Now, a word about the bike -- with more to come at another time.

In 1951, Raleigh sold a number of different bikes under the Superbe name.  It seems to have been a designator of "trim level" rather than a distinct model.  You can see what those extras included in 1951 here.

This new bicycle rides as you'd expect a bike owned by a mechanic to ride.  The four-speed Sturmey Archer hub shifts easily, with the middle two of the gears being sufficient to me.  The lowest, marked "B" for reasons I don't yet understand, is extremely low.  This could come in handy, I suppose, but "1" seems adequate for the few hills in our region.  At the high end is "H" and I think I can guess what that stands for.  The gear equating to "2" on a three-speed is marked "N," which, I learned, stands for "normal."  That strikes me as a very English way to view things and I like it.

It's also complete.  You'll notice a difference in the rendering of the bike as sold in 1951 and in my photo of it soon after coming home (below).

That cylinder on the seat tube is a battery pack.  It holds D batteries and powers the lights when the bike isn't in motion.  Rick wisely decided some of the wiring issues were outside his expertise, but included all the gear with the bike.  Now, I need to find someone less phobic than I about these kinds of tasks and put the bike back into original condition.  Next on the list is more authentic tires, but that's another story.

 

At last, cream Delta Cruisers

I've wanted cream tires for ages.  I've seen them on a number of favorite blogs and tried to order them several times.  Each time I tried, the supplier turned out to have none in stock and my order was canceled.  Apparently, they were much easier to come by in the 700c size.  I was looking for 26 x 1 3/8 to fit one of my vintage Raleighs, and those were scarcer than hen's teeth.

In fact, I'd given up on the idea of owning any for the time being.  I set my sights on Panasonic Col de la Vie tires instead -- and even started thinking they might be a better look.  While browsing for a deal on the Panasonics, I came across the Schwalbe Delta Cruisers from a supplier who claimed to have them in stock!

This is what they look like after a ride around the block.

I ordered them in a flash, half-scared that this supplier would run out before mine were shipped.

They came today, and I put them on Geordie, the 1971 coffee Superbe.  I like the look very much (although I suspect the gumwall Panasonics would have been a hit as well.)

I'm already a fan, if only for the fact that they were easy to install.  Some 26" tires are nearly impossible for me to mount.  My hands and thumbs ache for days after fighting them onto the rims.  I realize there is some degree of operator incompetency here, but still... these new tires went on the way I'd always assumed tires should.  A modicum of stretching/pushing to get the beads in place but no swearing, sweating and struggling.

After one ride around the block, they had picked up some gray road tint, but I've read that they reach a kind of static point in terms of discoloration.  In other words, they get a bit dirty and them stop getting dirtier... allegedly.  We'll see.  In any event, I can't imagine the sidewalls -- the only part anyone really sees -- getting all that dirty or being all that hard to clean.

Now, I've got at least one more Raleigh in need of new tires.  Do I snap up another pair of Schwalbes while I can, or do I go with the Panasonics?