Nothing Ordinary About It

Before Armstrong. Before Merckx. Before Coppi and Bartali.

Before even the pre-Cambrian advent of Le Tour or the Giro.

There was.

The ordinary.

Or high-wheeler, or penny-farthing, if you were a Brit.

Velophoriacs already know how enamored I am of this style of bike, and the tweed-cap-and-knickers cycling style it birthed (re-born in contemporary riders, though sadly without the caps).

What you don't know is that Mrs. V. and I actually saw a vintage sample in the flesh this weekend -- just a few miles from our house. We were at the opening of a small local museum situated in a lovely old house of stone (called, in a touch of Victorian irony-deficiency, The Stone House). They had the carriage house open for the event, as well, and were displaying beautiful old specimens of pre-combustion four-wheeled transportation. Off in a corner, hanging on a wall, was a gorgeous, neglected ordinary. Someone got a hold of this beauty and thought it was a worthy piece of local history. (Of course, I agree.) Click on the pictures to get much bigger versions:

As we got closer, we noticed something odd about the pedals: They were offset from the hub by a strange mechanism... which turned out to be pump-action cranks. That's right, you pumped your legs up and down, not 'round and 'round, to make this baby go. At the bottom of the stroke, spring-action drove the crank back up. (Yes; of course I tried it, without asking permission.) I was thinking about it later and wondered if that would add or subtract to stability.


Notice also the interesting handlebars. The grips look like they were re-purposed from a farm machine of some sort.


The whole thing dates back to "Circa 1880," according to a scrawled tag stuck in the spokes. I have to confess that I differ with the curator (who is probably a local schoolteacher or shopowner in their alter-ego). It's possible they're right, but by 1880 the design for the ordinary was pretty well set in stone, and manufacturers abounded in Massachusetts. There are scholarly figures citing over 100 bicycle manufacturers in Boston alone around this time. It seems unlikely to me that this oddity would have been produced that late... but what do I know? Maybe the local blacksmith just wanted a cheap form of transportation for his son, and fired up the forge and just made this lovely old thing.

(Note: I've since done some digging around, and it seems there was a greater variety of pedaling mechanisms, and handlebars, around 1880 that I'd originally thought.)

However and whenever it happened, it was a terrific find.


Fine photos © Mrs. V. 2009

Old and New – Again

A follow-up to last week's post on antique bicycle posters and their related companies: The redoubtable Mrs. V. dug up some great related articles and book chapters this week. You can't beat having a bona fide librarian in the family.
First up, a delightful and engrossing account of the earliest manufacturers of bicycles in Massachusetts (and, by extension, the U.S.). Quite a bit of detail about the illustrious Albert Pope, known to all and sundry by his honorific, "Colonel." Tasty details about how and why he started the Columbia Bicycle Company, and about the roiling market for early bicycles. At one point in the late 19th century, there were over 100 separate bicycle manufacturing companies in Boston alone. I keep telling you people: Cycling was it in those days in this country. All other sports took a back seat. I don't know about you, but when I read stuff like this, I start thinking I was born too late. I particularly enjoy the fact that my adoptive state of Massachusetts was a hot-bed of cycling history. (See earlier post about Major Taylor, "The Worcester Whirlwind" and one of the first African-American sports superstars.)

As for the Northampton Cycle Company, the subject of the second print hanging on our study wall, Mrs V. exhumed a more specific article from an 1898 edition of the New York Times. It seems they were indeed real -- but perhaps short-lived. Now, this might have had something to do with a nefarious bank president from Northampton, who absconded with some of the bike company's funds one fine day. Hm... banks making off with undeserved loot... sounds awfully familiar... let's see...

A sighting of the fleeing bank officer in nearby Westfield is mentioned at the end of that short blurb. The next we hear of him, he is apprehended in Louisville, KY, "posing as a man of some means... on the lookout to invest his capital to advantage." He had $7 in his pocket. You can't make this stuff up.

In a strange way, I find it comforting to be reminded that the news themes that outrage us today -- financial turmoil, shady dealings, outsized egos jostling for worldly position -- are as old as the hills. Perhaps just as comforting, the Columbia company rolls on today, 132 years later, under the same name... and just a few towns away from where I'm living now. Everything old really is new again.

Everything Old is New Again

A bicycle similar to the one in the 1881 advertisement

The art of wheelmanship is a gentlemanly and fascinating one, once acquired never forgotten, which no young man should neglect to acquire.

The bicycle is practical everywhere that a buggy is, and enables you to dispense with the horse and the care and cost of keeping him….

Parents should favor bicycle riding by their boys, because it gives them so much enjoyment, makes them lithe and strong, keeps them from evil associations and increases their knowledge and their self-reliance. There is no outdoor game or amusement so safe and wholesome.

Sage words, and though they apply no less today, they are to be found in a Columbia Bicycles advertisement printed in 1881. The ever-wonderful Mrs. V. purchased a framed reproduction of this ad while I was far away, cavorting in Moab for my spring vacation. She hung it on the wall opposite where I ride my rollers through the winter. Can you top a woman like that? I’m playing on vacation, she’s at home working, and she thinks to buy something tuned to my interests. I’m a blessed man.

I enjoy noting that the young gentleman depicted on the highwheeler in the ad (which I unfortunately could not find a graphic of to post here) sports a bushy beard and a closely fitted cap with a short brim... that is, he looks just exactly like a college boy wheeling through Boston or Amherst today. Well... except that he's wearing a sport coat and tie over his cycling tights, and features two-toned lace-ups instead of Sidis. But then, I'd wager it's only a matter of time before some daring young chap shows up on campus in the exact same get-up.

Mrs. V. also bought a nice reproduction of an ad for a company called Northampton Cycle Company, from an original which looks to be roughly 100 years old. It's hanging right next to the first print.

Now, I find no record of this company anywhere on the web, despite the fact that the print is featured in many of the shops in the area of the Pioneer Valley of Western Massachusetts, where we moved last August. I suspect the company may be mythical, but, if true, this only adds to the appeal of the print: Where else but in the Valley would one find people talented and twisted enough to create a beautiful poster for a fictional one-hundred-year-old bicycle company, just to enhance an already healthy sense of local pride? It's all a good thing, no matter how it played out.

To quote the closing line of the Columbia promotion, "Why don't every boy have a bicycle?"