Old Habits Strike Again...

I've got this habit. It's expensive. It's ultimately fruitless. Yet...

My habit is this:
Stage 1) I discover something that interests me.
Stage 2) I research the shit out of it.
Stage 3) I buy something (usually quite expensive) relating to it.
Stage 4) I use it, and it fails to live up to my lofty expectations.
Stage 5) I move on to next hobby.

It happened again, over the long pause between Christmas and New Year's, and right now, I'm in that euphoric Stage Two phase, where I'm learning everything I can. Ah, the excitement.

What is it this time, you ask, impatiently...

Bicycles.

Bicycles? Aren't you a little old for that, you might ask?

Oh, no, I answer to myself... I could use the exercise. And besides, it's not just any bicycle I'm interested in, it's OLD bicycles. Not the cute 1950's cruisers Schwinn built either, nor the ever popular Stingrays, like the ones we had when we were kids. I wish it were that easy.

No, I've become fascinated with rare, obscure Italian, French, and English racing bikes. You know the kind; the ones that are as lean as greyhounds chasing stuffed rabbits at the track.
The ones that used to fly over the Pyrenees and down cobble-stone roads, their riders battling for position in the Tour de France -- before everyone wore helmets and the bikes were made of aluminum, titanium, and lately, carbon-fiber.

Of all my hobbies, the word OLD always seems to enter into it, someplace. Old race cars. Old cameras. Old rifles. Old furniture. Old motorcycles. Old houses. Usually, that means stuff built back before the war. That's THE war, WWII, for the record, not the mamby-pamby police actions we get into these days and are unable to extract ourselves.

There's something about OLD that never ceases to interest me. In the age before computers, we found a way to build highly complex devices that were durable, attractive, and held their value. A Stickley desk, a Garand rifle, a Hasselblad camera has stood the test of time, and will outlast their modern replacements. Psychological note: maybe it's my way of wishing that what I have to offer will outlast me. Unfortunately, I don't think so...

But back to bikes: The technology change has been so swift in bicycling, that bikes built as little as 20 years ago are considered OLD in ways only someone young can understand. To the rest of us, they look, well, like bicycles should look.

They're made of steel, of course. Good quality Reynolds 531 tubing was the norm. Frames weren't welded together on these war horses, either. They were delicately brazed with a torch and solder, the corners mated with lugged joints that were often ornately carved and decorated by their creators. For a good example of this, Google "Hetchins Bicycles." The company still exists, unlike many of their far-larger English brethren of the period. They still make frames. About twelve a year. They cost a fortune. I just saw two of their less-ornate frames (Not bikes!) auction on Ebay for over $1,500 each. They were 30 years old, scratched and faded.

The Italians, oh, the Italians! What they could do with tubing. What the craftsmen of Torino, Rome, and Milan made for Ferarri and Ducati, they first learned by building fine bicycles.

The French, famous for their idiosyncrasies, offered the same to the bike racing world. Different, beautiful, sometimes odd, but always unique and functional.

And what of America?

Well, by God, we didn't do half bad, up until the late 70's, anyway. Schwinn, yes, good old bombproof, balloon-tire Schwinn made a true world-class bike for almost twenty years. Their Schwinn race bike took most all its parts from Europe, it is true, but it was torched together in the USA and is still very much in demand. In the days when you could buy a regular Schwinn 10-speed for a hundred and thirty bucks, a Schwinn race bike would have set you back five hundred. The were so expensive, the dealers had to pay for them in advance, not FOB as was the norm for the rest of their extensive line of products.

There are still boutique builders out there. One little company, with the silly name of "Vanilla" makes frames so desirable the current waiting list is five years long. Guys all over the world are still gassing-together bikes like in the "old days," using Reynolds 531 or newer, lighter steels, and charging big bucks for it. Reminds me of the car hobby. There's always somebody who'll pay for quality and exclusivity.

So, if you want to get in on the ground floor to supplement your retirement nest egg, start scrounging the local Starvation Army for old bikes with weird names. Ebay awaits. Or, better yet, call me. I haven't reached Stage Three yet. But hurry.