Riding a 1940s Mercian

One of my most vivid memories from Northern Ireland is standing outside Chris Sharp's house, staring at a dozen Mercian bicycles lined up on the front lawn. The rainbow of their frames stood out in vivid contrast to the wall of dark pine trees behind and the gray skies overhead.

Rain was coming down - slowly at first, then in earnest. Fog set in. As water dripped from the frames and a milky mist began to surround us, it looked as if someone had spilled tubes of paint onto the lawn. What a sight.

Since the time he was old enough to save up for his first roadbike, Chris Sharp has been accumulating Mercians. There is just something about them he enjoys and feels is special. A familiar story!

Several decades later, his Mercian collection includes road, touring and track bikes, a mixte, and several time trial machines, as well as catalogues and paraphernalia from the early days of the Mercian Cycles shop.

The magnificent spread I saw on the lawn was not his entire collection; there is more in storage and elsewhere. But it was nonetheless stunning and provided beautiful examples of the legendary machines throughout the years.

Chris Sharp's bikes do not get babied. They see rain, they are taken to events, they get ridden by him and others. Which did I want to ride? How about the earliest example, a machine from the 1940s? Never mind the downpour and the fog.

Considering that Mercian Cycles set up shop in 1946, seeing this early machine was rather exciting. Chris's brother Keith was curious to try it, though I was reluctant - imagine crashing something like this!

Though the exact year of the bicycle's production is unknown, most likely it is 1947. The paint and components are not original; the bike underwent several cosmetic changes in the course of its existence. The frame itself however has remained unaltered. Chris bought the bicycle in Derby, England - from Mercian Cycles directly when the shop was under its previous ownership. The current restoration was done by Mercian, and the build was done by Chris using vintage English components.

It is a shame that the original paint and decals could not be preserved. The original head badge would have looked like this.

But the original lugwork can still be admired.

I love the older fork crowns as well.

Though cosmetically battered over the years, the frame itself had remained in good condition and the restored bike is entirely ridable. 

Chris had it set up as a fixed gear for himself, but had put a freewheel on it to make it easier for others to test ride. The size is just about perfect for the Sharp brothers. 

Keith Sharp is a bicycle racer and rides mostly modern machines, though appreciates his brother's vintage collection. He had never ridden this particular Mercian before, but loved it when he tried it. "The ride quality! It is very comfortable, you really must ride it!" I confess that it took a bit of convincing to get me on this bike. It was too large for me and I was unsure that I'd be able to use the brake levers effectively. Also, it was raining! But finally, my curiosity to learn what one of the earliest Mercians ever made felt like on the road won over and I tried it.

Very glad I did - what a bicycle. Yes, there is something about the ride quality. A steady, comfortable and almost effortless ride, gliding over rough road surfaces and yearning for uphill stretches. The bike was surprisingly easy to maneuver despite being too large for me. Once I started riding it, I wanted to keep going. It also felt oddly similar to my own Mercian back home. It makes no sense to believe that there is a distinct ride quality associated with Mercians that spans decades of production, despite the generational change of builders and the use of different tubing and geometry. And yet the Mercian owners and collectors I've spoken to quietly believe this, while conceding that its unlikelihood. I do not plan to collect Mercian bicycles, but I enjoy learning about their history and interacting with their enthusiastic owners. It was a treat to ride a Mercian of 1940s vintage - one of the earliest made. More pictures here.

Categories: bike friends, Ireland, mercian, vintage

Better Than New

When vintage bicycle collector Chris Sharp invited me to join a VCC ride in Northern Ireland, he also offered to lend me one of his pre-war roadsters and I gladly accepted. We corresponded about this for some time, and I arrived very curious what my loaner bike would be. Before the ride, Chris took me aside and told me he had something very special picked out. "I'd like to know what you think of it."

When he pointed out this bike across the yard, I admit I was a little surprised. It was certainly a nice bike. But considering some of the other machines in his impressive collection, there did not seem anything extraordinary about it: a plain black step-through with rod brakes. 

"It's a 1941 Royal Enfield Sports Roadster, single speed, "Chris explained, studying my reaction. "I think you'll like it." Puzzled, I stood there looking at the bike as our group prepared to take off.

Aside from the original Brooks B18 saddle, I just didn't see anything remarkable about it. The drivetrain was in the right place. Nothing eccentric about the components. Ordinary lugwork. I didn't get it.

Furthermore, it occurred to me that riding a heavy ancient single speed with rod brakes was maybe just a tad ill advised in a hilly area with a group of people I'd never met before. Would I have to walk it uphill? Would I be able to stop downhill? But the ride began before I had time to dwell on these questions. 

And that is when I learned what the mystery was, and what made this Royal Enfield so special: This bike was a rocket! A 45lb rocket, but a rocket nonetheless. It accelerated at the drop of a hat. It sailed effortlessly uphill. It plunged downhill. Its maneuverability and stability were impeccable. Riding through a stretch of rough gravel road, it rolled jauntily along as if on smooth asphalt. On top of that, the rod brakes actually worked, no worse than modern caliper brakes. "How are you liking that bike?" Chris would ask with a wink. But the answer was pretty clear, as for the entire ride I was in a state of permanent jaw-drop. How could something so old, clunky and seemingly ordinary handle like this? 

Chris's theory is that this 1941 Royal Enfield happens to be an especially successful specimen of what was once known as the Sports Roadster: an upright model designed for leisure cycling, with more aggressive geometry and a shorter wheelbase than the more stately Roadster model. Raleigh made a Sports Roadster as well, as did most other English manufacturers of that time. The ladies' versions had straight step through frames, instead of the loop frames of the Roadster/Tourist bikes. 

The following week, I paid Chris Sharp another visit and we went on a ride just the two of us. Once again I was given the Royal Enfield - I had to confirm whether my memory of how well it rode had been accurate. We were spectacularly unlucky with the weather that day, and it began to rain not long after we set off. Soon we were riding in a downpour, and by the time we decided to turn around, the shortest route back was 20 minutes. The rain was so bad we could hardly see in front of us.

I would never have imagined that I could ride a bike like the Royal Enfield in such weather, but it was fantastic. It handled no differently in the rain, and - perhaps most amazing of all - the rod brakes remained perfectly functional.

Really, these must be some magical rod brakes. Normally this type of brake is notorious for loss of functionality in wet conditions.

Overall, to say that I was impressed by this bicycle would be an understatement. "They don't make them like they used to" is a cliche I do not always agree with, but in this case it happens to be correct: I do not know of a modern step-through city bike that handles quite like this. Some come close, but this one wins nonetheless.

While a 1941 Royal Enfield Sports Roadster is a pretty obscure bicycle, my point is really more general. I've mentioned before that I tend to prefer the handling of vintage European strep-through city bikes to that of any contemporary version I have tried so far. In my experience, the older bikes tend to be not only more comfortable, but also faster - despite usually being at least as heavy and made of lower quality tubing. What was their secret? And why, with all our technology, can we not match - let alone improve upon - their ride quality today? It is a mystery that I would love to figure out some day. 

Categories: Ireland, vintage

On the Road without a Roadbike

I like fast roadbikes, clipless pedals, bicycle computers, GPS, all of it. I do not subscribe to any philosophy that maligns these things in favour of the "slow bicycle movement" or whatever is the latest catch phrase to describe plain old regular bike riding. But I do believe in plain old regular bike riding, and sometimes I prefer it to any other kind. What are those times and what determines them, I couldn't tell you. It just happens.

When I went to Ireland last month I could have arranged to borrow a roadbike there, but opted against it - instead bringing along a folding bike that would have me riding upright the entire time. I knew I'd be slower and have more difficulty in the hilly areas, but somehow it just felt right to do it this way. I did not bring any cycling clothes. I did not bring a bicycle computer or a GPS device. Every day I simply looked at the map before setting off, then wrote out directions on a piece of paper. I explored interesting backroads and allowed myself to get lost. Occasionally I stopped to ask for directions. I did not miss my GPS. And I felt fine having no idea how fast or slow I was going. What did it matter if I stopped every 20 minutes to take pictures anyhow.

Probably at least part of the reason I chose to do things this way, was to see how I would feel after more than two weeks without a roadbike - without that rush I get from the speed, without the reassuring glare of the computer screen and without the ritual of putting on the special clothing I'd gotten accustomed to.

But moreover, I have found that I prefer to ride slower and more upright  when the focus of the ride is on exploring the surrounding area and not on cycling in of itself. Having never been to Ireland before, I really wanted to experience it as a human on a bicycle, rather than as a cyclist. And yes, there is a difference. Even the wearing of regular clothing and shoes played a role in this. The way people react to me is different, and the way I feel in the environment is different.

Now that I know the place better, now that it's more familiar, next time I would love to do some fast road rides along the Antrim coast. To ride through the glens on skinny tires, bent over my handlebars and pedaling as fast as I can. Bliss. A different sort of bliss than this time.

The more experience I gain with different types of bikes and different styles of cycling, the more I feel that the main thing is just to be out there, on your own terms. We like to define things, to draw boundaries. But often those boundaries are self-imposed. The road is calling. The bike is up to you.

Categories: Brompton, clothing, Ireland, roadcycling, social commentary

Traveling to Ireland with a Brompton

Over the past weeks, I have traveled to, from and around Ireland with my Brompton folding bike. Aside form flying from Boston to Dublin and back with the bike as part of my luggage, I also did a great deal of what I think is called "multimodal commuting" in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, making frequent use of local trains and buses. Overall I experienced relatively few problems and would certainly do this again. 

I flew Aer Lingus, and they treat bikes as any other piece of checked-in luggage. Passengers are allowed one checked bag as part of their ticket price. If they want to check in an additional bag (or bike box) it costs extra. The size of the Brompton - no matter what bag it is placed in - exceeds the size limit of Aer Lingus's carry-on luggage allowance and must be submitted as checked luggage. Knowing this, I decided to get a hard case for the bike. I needed to replace my old hard shell suitcase anyway, and figured it made sense to do it this way. 

The padded hardshell case is made by B&W (they call it the Clapton Box) and is not technically a Brompton-sanctioned product. However, it fits the bike perfectly and is sold by several retailers as a Brompton accessory. I bought mine from Clever Cycles, and I know NYCE Wheels sells them as well. There is some debate as to whether the hard case vs the Brompton B-Bag is preferable for airplane travel. Based on my own experience with international travel, I prefer to use a hard case.

The B&W case is nice in that it fits the Brompton so exactly that there is no room for the bike to move around inside. At the same time, the nature of the folded shape allows stuffing the case with other (soft!) items. I packed all of my clothing, as well as 2 pairs of shoes into this case in addition to the bike, rolling each piece up and stuffing it into a crevice. The total weight was just under the Aer Lingus checked baggage limit. The size of the hard case fits Aer Lingus's checked baggage parameters. 

The hard case with the bike and all my clothing was the only piece of baggage I checked in, thus managing to avoid extra fees. I also took a small rolling suitcase as a carry-on, and my Carradice bag as a purse/ personal item thingie. The airline had no problem with this. 

The problem I did have was with the TSA. When I checked in my hard case at the airport in Boston, the person handling the luggage pointed out that the closure seemed easy to open accidentally when left unlocked. She suggested I lock the case and attach the key to the outside, lest the TSA wish to open it. That is what I did. Once I landed, I was horrified to discover that the closure on the case had been tampered with and the key was no longer there, with no explanation as to what had happened. I had a spare key, but somehow it no longer worked. Trying not to panic, I arrived at my relatives' house, then looked for a locksmith at 7am as my first order of business in Ireland. There was one nearby and I rolled the hard case to them, close to tears at this point, imagining that the Brompton was all mangled inside as well. The locksmith examined the damage. Turned out, there was a piece if key stuck inside, which is why my spare key did not work. They used a pick to remove the piece of key and opened the case. Thankfully, neither my bike nor any other contents had been touched. And there was a note from the TSA inside, with the other half of the broken key taped to it. The hand-written part of the note said: "difficulty opening lluck." There was also a bunch of legal text saying that my case had been opened as part of standard procedure and that the TSA was not liable for any damage.

The lock on my case is still functional, but it is slightly mangled, and I will see whether I can get it fixed. On my return trip on Aer Lingus I did not lock the case again, but wrapped packing tape around it - in addition to the velcro closure strap the case already comes with. Not very elegant, but it did the job. The case was not opened on the return flight. 

My trips from Dublin to Northern Ireland and back were completely problem-free. I left the hard case at my relatives' house and traveled with just the small suitcase, Carradice bag, and the bike sheathed and folded. I got to the Antrim coast by train and bus via Belfast, and wrote about that trip here. That went well, but the way back was even easier: On the day I was leaving Northern Ireland a friend took me to see Derry, and from there a bus goes directly to Dublin. I stored both the sheathed Brompton and the suitcase in the luggage compartment on the side of the bus, and it was very simple. I have seen cyclists store full sized bikes in the luggage compartments on the sides of buses, though I don't know what the official policy regarding this is.

Having done both, I would say that long distance travel within Ireland is more convenient by bus than by train. The buses run more frequently, the stops tend to be more conveniently located, the platforms are easier to access when carrying luggage, and overall it was just a more straightforward experience whenever I opted to get somewhere by bus as opposed to train. In the US I do not like to travel by bus, as I get motion sick. Oddly I did not experience this on the buses in Ireland.

Even when not traveling, I would sometimes take my bike on a local bus or train when visiting friends, or when doing a ride with a remote start. 

In Northern Ireland, I made use of the Ulsterbus, which runs frequently between the various towns and villages along the coast.

In the Republic of Ireland, I rode the DART commuter train from  the seaside suburb of Dun Laoghaire, where I was staying, to Dublin a couple of time. All of this was extremely easy to do, with no one questioning my bringing a folding bike on board. I did not have to sheath the Brompton in order to disguise it, and in some cases did not even need to fold it.   

I am happy with my decision to bring the Brompton along to Ireland, and with how I chose to do it. Traveling around with the bike and additional luggage was easy. The transportation system there is excellent compared to most parts of the US. I also enjoyed flying Aer Lingus. They have straightforard baggage guidelines and are pleasant to deal with.

As with any international travel from the US, the biggest risk factor is the TSA. Their behaviour is unpredictable and you just never know. In my experience, TSA-specific locks do not always help: Many of my colleagues have had these locks cut and their luggage damaged regardless. The best thing is not to lock your case, period, and to use extra velcro straps or tape for added security if desired. When it comes to bikes specifically, there is also some debate as to whether it is preferable to travel with the bike in "stealth mode" or to make it as obvious as possible that there is a bike inside. Based on the combined anecdotal evidence I've heard, I believe the latter is best when it comes to the TSA. If they don't know what something is, they are more liable to damage it in the process of trying to find out. Either way, travel insurance is a good idea when overseas travel from the US is involved.

Back in the US now, I may return to Ireland later this year - again with the Brompton in tow. Having my own bike at my disposal at all times was invaluable; I cannot imagine traveling otherwise from now on. 

Categories: Brompton, Ireland, transportation options, travel

Two Bridges

It is exciting to see new things happening in an old city, especially when these developments change the dynamic of the landscape completely. The Peace Bridge in Derry/Londonderry is so named for connecting different parts of the city that have historically been divided due to the religious and political conflicts that have plagued Northern Ireland in years past. And the fact that it is a car-free bridge for walking and cycling adds an additional layer of symbolism: Unlike motorists, the pedestrians and cyclists crossing are unshielded by anonymity. It is the ultimate gesture of mutual trust and connectedness. Along the river bank, a new bicycle path is being built that will link this bridge to another further down the river for an even greater sense of unity.

I have never been to Derry prior to the construction of the new bridge. But as a first time visitor I cannot imagine it not being there. Not only do the modern shapes of the contemporary structure harmonise with the historical buildings in the background (from some vantage points, the bridge even appears to "hug" the old city center), but its usefulness and influence on local culture were apparent.

People walking and riding their bikes, some in a hurry and others strolling with newspaper in hand while enjoying the view - the city feels alive and my impression is that this liveliness is recent. Walking through the city center early on a Sunday morning, my impression was that the city was waking up in more ways than one.

Being in Derry, I truly felt it as a living organism in the process of transition. The city wants to be vibrant, it is on the verge of it. The air is electric with change and potential. It is an exciting place to be while this development is happening.

As a funny contrast to the Peace Bridge in Derry, I had earlier visited the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge on the Antrim coast. In decades past a precarious bridge built for for local fishermen to cross from a tiny rocky island to the mainland, it is now a tourist attraction. For a fee of £5.60 you can cross the bridge, circle the island and come back.

The tug of war between this being a tourist attraction for which an admission fee is charged, while still being part of nature and therefore inherently dangerous, is interesting to observe.

Not all who attempt to cross the bridge are able to, as it sways and feels rather unstable. And so in a sense it is also a test of courage - accentuating differences between those who attempt to cross it. Some grasp the rails in a panic, others dance across mockingly. I am told that once the coast guard had to be called because a tourist had a panic attack on the other side of the bridge and could not cross back.

Most visitors get to the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge in a car. There is a huge car park by the road, next to it a tea house. From there a scenic path leads down to the bridge itself. The path is maybe a 15-20 minute walk, downhill, with beautiful views throughout. I had gone there in late afternoon and the last group of tourists was still about. Walking down the path, one woman said to her husband "My God, why couldn't they make this thing closer to the parking lot? This is ridiculous!"

That is my story of the two bridges. 

Categories: Ireland, transportation options, travel

Off Road on the Edge of the World

A couple of days ago I accidentally completed a 6 mile off road ride along the coast of Antrim. Without question, this was the most challenging bike ride I have done to date. I would not have attempted it had I known what was in store for me. But it was also the most beautiful, breathtaking trail I have ever been on.

It happened like this: One morning I decided to ride to the Giant's Causeway, which is about 12 miles away. I took the direct route on the coastal road. The first part was a tedious climb, then a long descent - both with glorious water views. When I was almost at the end, I spotted a sign for Dunseverick Castle and stopped to have a look. The setting is very interesting, and I walked around a bit photographing it. The light kept changing every 5 minutes, so the colours in all my pictures from this day are crazy and I decided to leave them that way. The landscape here really can look neon green one moment, then golden or drab olive the next.

Like most structures described as "castle" along the coast of Northern Ireland, Dunseverick Castle is actually a ruin. There is an overview platform from which visitors can observe it from the road (people do coastal driving tours here...). And next to this platform is a sign indicating that there is also a walking trail - leading down to the castle, then continuing right along the coast to the Giant's Causeway.

I looked at the trail. It was grassy and appeared pretty tame. The Giant's Causeway didn't seem that far off. So I decided to go for it on the bike.

The trail ended up being 6 miles long, with no exit points along the way. As far as cycling, I would describe it is as not for beginners. I spent maybe 40% of it on the bike and the rest walking, or crawling. The initial stretch of grass quickly narrowed to a rocky, twisty single track along the edge of a massive cliff overlooking the Irish Sea.

There were also long stretches of loose, chunky gravel. There are no flat, straight sections along this trail - it is either uphill or downhill, and all twisty. Honestly, I found the terrain extremely challenging. Going toward the Causeway, the trail is mostly downhill and the ground beneath me was unstable due to the mud, roots, rocks and loose gravel. It was scary to experience this combined with constant twists and turns as I cycled alongside a cliff. Also, at some point the hub gearing on my Brompton started coming out of adjustment (now fixed), and I did not always have use of my lowest gear. This made some of the uphill sections on loose gravel impossible, so I walked them. I also walked a couple of the trickier downhill stretches. An experienced mountain biker could have maybe done 80-90% of the trail on a bike, but I am far from that status.

It did not bother me to walk with the bike when that was what I had to do. I had a heavy bag with me, and I was glad to roll it along on wheels rather than carry it on my person, as I would have had to do had I chosen to hike this trail. Despite the stunning views along this trail, there were not many hikers around. Most of the time I was completely and utterly alone, with no other human forms visible in any direction. I encountered three groups of ramblers total, and they all expressed horror at seeing me with a bike. "You need to turn back," a German couple warned, "it is not bike territory ahead."  I knew exactly what they meant, because I had already gone through that kind of territory.

Along this trail there are occasional stairs built into the hills. They look like this, sometimes worse (longer and steeper). There was one particular set of stairs where the grade was too steep to walk upright, so I had to sort of crawl up them with the bike on my back. 

Since the trail passed through farm territory, there were also occasional stone fences with stiles to climb over - essentially wooden ladders placed over the fence. These were a little shaky, so I had to hold on to a pole with one hand (taking care not to grab the barbed wire instead - of which there is lots) while carrying the bike in the other. All through this, it was of course freezing cold and raining intermittently. 

Well, what can I say. One must have a sense of humour about things like this. Sure, the description of the trail could have warned there would be crawling and flights of stairs involved. But that would have spoiled the surprise element, wouldn't it. Ultimately it was more engaging to "discover" the trail this way rather than reading all about it in a guidebook first. 

The day was hazy and my photos don't do the landscape justice. But this hidden gem of a trail showcases the raw beauty of the Antrim Coast better than any other site I have visited so far.  It is extreme. It is dizzying. And not just the heights alone, but the colours, the smells, the forms and textures.

And it truly does feel like the edge of the world: The trail is set back from the road by endless glens. You cannot see civilisation; only the edge of a cliff on one side of the trail and pastures on the other.

 Gorse bushes grow everywhere, their saturated yellow contrasting dramatically with the steel-gray sky.

It took me over 2 hours to get to the end of the trail, including all the climbing over fences and stairs, as well as constant stops for photos. By the time I reached the end point, I was exhausted and badly in need of food. The funny thing is that when I got to the Giant's Causeway itself it was absolutely unphotographable: Every inch of the majestic formation was covered with tourists. How odd that people will drive to it just to get out of the car for 5 minutes and have their picture taken on the rocks, but ignore the stunning trail that showcases the full extent of this area's beauty. Also, the entire site next to the Causeway is covered in construction at the moment. They are building a new, enormous visitor's center and while this is happening the area is a chaotic tangle of construction crews and tour buses and hordes of disoriented visitors. Dust flying everywhere. Yikes. I quickly bought an ice cream and got the heck out of there, deciding that I'd come back to see the Giant's Causeway at 6am next time to avoid the crowds.

The trail from Dunseverick Castle to the Giant's Causeway is technically a hiking trail, not a bicycle path. In truth, it is more suitable to hiking unless you have nerves of steel and serious cyclocross skills. Still, I am glad I did it this way and I admit that I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment (I also still feel wrecked 2 days later, but that is another story). As far as the bike's suitability, I find that the Brompton rides surprisingly nicely off road and is easy to control on downhill turns, so if anything I am more comfortable on challenging terrain on this bike than I would be on others. Another obvious advantage of the Brompton on a ride like this, is that it is small enough to carry when necessary. I would not have been able to drag a full-sized bicycle (especially a mountain bike) up and down those stairs and over those stone walls. Next time I visit this trail, I might hike - or I might do it exactly the same way but try to stay on the bike more. This was by far the most difficult ride I have ever done, but it was also the most rewarding. When the two go hand in hand, it is pure magic. 

Categories: Brompton, Ireland, trails, travel, unpaved