No Frills
by Richard Ballantine
This week I took delivery
of a new bike for my eldest daughter. The eagerly awaited machine is far from
new, bears no manufacturer's logo and has a completely unremarkable pedigree.
The frame is an old-fashioned loop design, the gears are hub three-speed, the
brakes are rod operated and there are no quick-release hubs or seatpost. So
what is the appeal of the new bike? Sheer anonymity: when locked up on the street
it is unlikely to attract the attention of the scum who currently make owning
high-class bikes a heart-rending experience.
The singular appeal of my daughter's 'new' bike is that it is just not worth
stealing. We are driven to this, like thousands of city cyclists, because of
the appallingly high rate of bicycle theft. Locking a quality bike to a railing
is increasingly an open invitation to have it nicked, at least in central London.
I claim no originality or novelty in what we have done. By opting for a plain
vanilla city bike we have joined an increasing trend. But it makes me wonder
why we order our affairs in this country so badly that we have now arrived at
the paradox that the lighter and more desirable bike you own,the heavier the
lock you have to carry.
Mulling this over I realised, of course, that this paradox seldom worries people
in countries where cycling is more commonplace. On the Continent, if you own
a bicycle you treasure, you don't park it in the street. In fact, you never
let it out of your sight. Those Sunday morning cafe racers whizzing around quiet
streets on lightweights glistening with Campag gear ride closed-loop circuits
that run from front door to front door. They would no more leave a quality bike
unattended than leave it uncleaned after a ride. Continental cyclists distinguish
between bikes for sport and fun, and bikes for errands and commuting. It is
a distinction that Continental bicycle manufacturers undertand and promote to
their benefit. In the Netherlands, which have the highest per capita bike ownership
in Europe -- the ratio is more than one bike per person
-- most town roadsters come with a luggage rack, lights and a built-in rear
wheel clamp lock capable of deterring casual theft. The bikes are solid, capable
workhouses, eminently suited to everyday use. In all the years I have been involved
with cycling, Dutch roadsters have changed only marginally in style and quality.
Desirability doesn't enter into it. Function is everything.
Such bikes have a completely different economy attached to them. Because they
are commonplace, and everyone knows their virtues, advertising is neglibible
-- which helps keep prices low. Parts are readily available, and almost every
bike shop can easily carry out repairs at reasonable cost. Lacking image, they
are low on the hit list of any self-respecting bicycle thief, because their
resale value is low.
The Dutch have an advantage because their country is flat and roadsters are
easy to ride. But in Switzerland, which has fewer flat areas, bicycle ownership
and usage are also high. As they are in most of Scandinavia. In all these countries,
bikes, usually geared, are widely available and widely used for commuting. They
are not written up in glossy magazines, or advertised with a shapely Lycra-clad
thigh swung over the top tube. They are bikes for use, sold to people who do
not need to be persuaded that cycling is either trendy or stylish, in societies
where cycling is as much an option as driving a car, walking or public transport.
The UK still has the vestiges of a plain bike industry, but it is far smaller
than in mainland Europe. A key reason for this is that after the road and car
lobby killed off utility cycling in the UK, the revival in the bike industry
in the Eighties owed much to the fashions coming in from the US, first BMX and
then mountain bikes, which created a new market for people to try cycling as
a leisure activity. As cyclists branched out and started to use their posh bikes
as practical vehicles for everyday use, they ran up against the current problems
of security and theft.
The bike industry half recognised this when it brought forward the hybrid, a
cut-down version of the mountain bike, tailored for urban riding. Unfortunately,
the marketing people got in too fast and hybrids were made desirable; given
glossy paint jobs, classy graphics and colour-matched components.
The market for second, everyday knock-around bikes has been left to the second-hand
bike sellers, a thriving and growing sub-industry. After all, you can buy a
servicable roadster for the price of an expensive lock. So don't be surprised
if you see a cyclist on a grotty but practical bike with a T-shirt bearing the
message: 'My other bike is a....'
© Richard Ballantine
New
Cyclist, May 1993