Bikes and The Whale 

 So here's a dilemma. A while back I was joking a little with Will and Julie about reading Moby Dick. Coincidences have a way of coinciding, and just after goofing around about reading The Whale I looked over at my bookshelf, and there the damn thing was: the same volume I slogged through fifty years ago, the book that taught me more about whaling than I ever wanted to know. 

Now it would have been all kinds of easy just to let the topic drift away. No one would have bothered me about it. No one would have posted a post on facebarf asking if I'd started or finished Moby Dick. Nobody would chide me for being a lightweight if I started it and gave up. The kids would not point and laugh.

And you know what's worse: Suppose I jumped in, read the whole thing, and actually, really for realz got into the book. Suppose I enjoyed the heck out of it. Who the hell are you gonna' tell? 

Try this: go up to your buddies, and say "Hey gang, guess what. I just read Moby Dick." 

One: Nobody is going to ask, "How was it?" or "What was your favorite part?" They won't care. 

Two: they're going to think you're bragging like you're trying to look all smart cuz' you read hard books.

So. I'll keep it brief. I just finished the book, and it was very good. It was not all that hard, and very well worth the effort. But I can see why I didn't get much out of it at twenty years of age. Moby Dick isn't Jaws. It's 19th century literature. Like the whale itself it is ponderous, dense, and slow. Compared to contemporary fiction, it's the difference between tasting a spoonful of soup, and putting a bouillon cube on your tongue.

Notes on The Red Bike

One of the joys of post-middle age is the perspective one gets on time. I found this old Starlet back in 1980, after searching for several years for a classic tanker Schwinn. That was forty three years ago.

 

The Starlet was made in 1956. It was twenty four years old when I bought it, and it had been brush painted bright red, right down to the chain and tires. I had to fix it up, some.

Twenty four years ago, in August of 1999, I bought my daily rider, the machine that I now call The Red Bike.  I had won a long battle with the school system that resulted in my being put out to pasture with an early retirement. My teaching career, and two years of legal bullshit was over. I was free, and I had a little money from the settlement. I had been talking pretty regularly with the gal who worked at Clayton's Framing, and Janet's Art School.  I was thinking about maybe asking her out, but I still needed some pretext, some excuse. My birthday was coming up. How about a new bicycle?

I bought this:

 

Dyno Moto 7

 

The Moto 7 was not a department store beach cruiser; Dyno built a high quality machine. It was an odd sort of hybrid, and they didn't make many of them. The Moto frame is a re-vamped version of a 1950's vintage Monark Super Cruiser, set up like a Klunker  for off-road riding. The Dyno was set up with sturdy mountain bike forks, low, tight handlebars, and off-road tires.

 

 Klunker style Monark

 

  Monark Super Cruiser 

 

But the Moto also came with an internal gear hub, and a roller brake, definitely an urban set up. I took the bike out for a ride, and just happened to ride by the frame shop, and Mary just happened to be working that day, and she just happened to want to go for a bike ride sometime soon... I rode the Moto 7 on my first date with Mary. We were married a few months later. 

The Dyno turned out to be a great ride, but I soon tired of the low, narrow handlebars, and tiny saddle. A trip to the local bike shop was in order. This was much more my style:

Our cycling got interrupted in the fall of '06 when I had an adventure in the cardiac ward. I escaped without injury to  the heart, but the bank account was a different matter. It took a while, but I got a job, went back to work, and we got back on our feet. During that time I had given the Moto 7 to my niece, but she never rode it, and my brother used it but rarely. I was considering a new bike, something light, and easy to ride. Lots of gears. Suspension. I bought the most god-awful ugly bicycle I ever owned.  (don't tell anyone:)

 

In one of those life changing coincidences, Mary and I were out riding at the beach when we ran into a fellow riding a beautifully restored 1930's Shelby. He told us about the Cyclone Coaster antique and classic ride ride in Long Beach. My old Schwinns had been crated up for years. It was time to break them out. Mary and I began riding with the Cyclone Coaster group. We made some friends. I even got a chopper bike, and  started going on some bike club rides.

Mary and I were having a lot of fun. But as much as I loved the Cyclone Coaster rides, I enjoyed the "Outlaw Bike Club" rides more.  

  The chopper bike was too slow and heavy for a daily rider, and the comfort bike was like totally uncool.   I traded the ugly comfort bike to my brother and got the Moto 7 back. The ol' Moto was in need of some work. A face lift wouldn't hurt either.

 

I did a re-build. I wanted to get the Dyno back to its Monark cruiser roots, so I took it all apart.

 I had the black and white frame powder coated red.

  The Felt bicycle company had just come out with a Monark style spring front fork. It was the perfect match for the Moto frame. Add some wider rims, and balloon tires.

 

I swapped out the seven speed roller brake hub for an eight speed with a coaster brake.

 

 

 The Brooks saddle is a lovely piece of 19th century technology:

It's also very comfortable, once the saddle leather is properly broken in.

 

Before:

 

After:

Mary and I decided to try starting our own ride, a monthly gathering like Cyclone Coaster, only with a Customs, Cruisers, and Classics theme. Here we were, eleven years ago at the very first So Cal RatRod Ride. Oh wait. That's just the bikes.

 
 We didn't get pictures of ourselves. More on this next week.