Volkscycle Back to Timeline
This was my first "road bike," with drop bars...and kickstand and flimsy rack to transport my saxophone back and forth to school. This was the bike I was riding when I "discovered" road racing, via Breaking Away. It would end up side-lined by a SR Semi-Pro, my first "real road bike." After many years, it was given away to a kid down the street. Who did that? Not me. The Volkscycle name had a European ring to my ear. There has always been something appealing in that.
My first "training rides" were along the Santa Ana River bike trail. This raised, perfectly straight, cement-bound path had some advantages: it was car-free and offered fair resistance one direction and thrilling speed the other thanks to the reliable afternoon sea breeze. I learned about spinning and drafting on this bike, though it was hardly adapted to perform these essential cycling skills efficiently or safely. The seat was perched at a close to optimum angle to the pedals, but the cranks were too short and the absence of clips and straps limited pedaling velocity. The braking was screechy and uneven, and the steel rims wobbled noticeably, being forever untrue and unbalanced. But these limitations were easily overcome with imagination and zeal.
A clamp-on water bottle cage helped on the hot, dry days, even if the rides were never really very long. I cannot recall ever getting a flat tire, which was good, since I certainly carried no spare tube or pump. The spongy Grab-On brand bar pads spared gloveless hands, and we thought they were cool at the time. (Only later would we learn that the colorful, opalescent, and painfully thin European plastic bar tape was favored by serious cyclists. Benotto was best.) I loved the Volkscycle's gold "sprockets," as we called the freewheel in those youthful days of dreams and discovery. Gold, silver, and chrome on any part of the bike was good. My friend taught me to rub the corroding spokes and rims with steel wool to restore that new bike shine, albeit temporarily in the salty ocean air. The flashes of street-lamps reflected by the revolving spokes were diamonds in the night, air of magic, a gift from and a tribute to our gods.
Fate: given to kid down the street after I went away to college
This was my first "road bike," with drop bars...and kickstand and flimsy rack to transport my saxophone back and forth to school. This was the bike I was riding when I "discovered" road racing, via Breaking Away. It would end up side-lined by a SR Semi-Pro, my first "real road bike." After many years, it was given away to a kid down the street. Who did that? Not me. The Volkscycle name had a European ring to my ear. There has always been something appealing in that.
My first "training rides" were along the Santa Ana River bike trail. This raised, perfectly straight, cement-bound path had some advantages: it was car-free and offered fair resistance one direction and thrilling speed the other thanks to the reliable afternoon sea breeze. I learned about spinning and drafting on this bike, though it was hardly adapted to perform these essential cycling skills efficiently or safely. The seat was perched at a close to optimum angle to the pedals, but the cranks were too short and the absence of clips and straps limited pedaling velocity. The braking was screechy and uneven, and the steel rims wobbled noticeably, being forever untrue and unbalanced. But these limitations were easily overcome with imagination and zeal.
A clamp-on water bottle cage helped on the hot, dry days, even if the rides were never really very long. I cannot recall ever getting a flat tire, which was good, since I certainly carried no spare tube or pump. The spongy Grab-On brand bar pads spared gloveless hands, and we thought they were cool at the time. (Only later would we learn that the colorful, opalescent, and painfully thin European plastic bar tape was favored by serious cyclists. Benotto was best.) I loved the Volkscycle's gold "sprockets," as we called the freewheel in those youthful days of dreams and discovery. Gold, silver, and chrome on any part of the bike was good. My friend taught me to rub the corroding spokes and rims with steel wool to restore that new bike shine, albeit temporarily in the salty ocean air. The flashes of street-lamps reflected by the revolving spokes were diamonds in the night, air of magic, a gift from and a tribute to our gods.
Fate: given to kid down the street after I went away to college
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| Mine was silver, with rear rack and alto saxophone case. No photo of mine that I can find, so I borrowed this one. Photo credit: http://oldtenspeedgallery.com/page/4/?s=Bill |
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