… is full of bikes now, really.
Fixie riders zoom past that quickly that you´ve hardly got a chance to snap one. Balconies are also used to store them in an age old attempt to secure them.
Also the Powers That Be have taken note:
… is full of bikes now, really.
Fixie riders zoom past that quickly that you´ve hardly got a chance to snap one. Balconies are also used to store them in an age old attempt to secure them.
Also the Powers That Be have taken note:
France – again and again a wonderful destination for holidays and sightseeing. Last year it was Paris in the rain, or so it seemed. This year we wanted to visit our friends in Normandy again. We were looking forward to short quiet holidays, but the first thing was that I fell ill the day before we wanted to set out. Nothing serious, but there was no way I could travel.
My family then decided to give me the opportunity to try out our recently acquired Volvo 940 Turbo, and left for France in our old 740 which we still had. After I had recovered, I raced after them to save as much French time as possible.
This is what I raced after them in:
Funny thing to say on a bike blog, but this car is fun with a capital F. It cuts hours off the traveling time from here to Normandy, and with its LPG installation, fuel cost per 100 km is about 6 Euros at the moment.
Anyway, not feeling completely healthy again, and what with the time saved by using the 940, I was able to have another good look round the Nécropole Nationale de Notre Dame de Lorette. Having been several times, but only fleetingly, I took the chance and combined a long lunch break with a stroll round the newly (2014) built Anneau de la Mémoire which is a ring with a perimetre of 345 m, containing the names of all those soldiers of WWI who died in the area:
These buildings also are extremely impressive and were erected during the 1920s. Contrary to the many British cemetaries in the area, which have a distinct military feel about them, the Nécropole Nationale reminds visitors again and again how horrible and wasteful WWI had been. It says for instance that the Chapelle was built on “the tears of the French women”, and this plaque, taken from the interior of the Chapelle and now on exposition in the museum part of the Tour-lanterne, speaks by itself:
I had planned to visit poet Isaac Rosenberg´s grave at St Laurent Blangy, which is just around the corner, so I also looked up his name on the Anneau:
So, after one last look over the huge Nécropole I left and made for Rosenberg´s grave, fully expecting to find a lost headstone somewhere on one of the hundreds of British cemetaries on the Somme. But this is what I really discovered:
I had planned to carry on straight to Normandy from there, but the road between Bapaume and Albert had been blocked and I had to go on a detour. It was July 23, and the big Australian memorial service for which safety precautions had been taken was under way, this year of course being the 100th since the beginning of the Battle of the Somme. The detour led me to Ulster Tower. I was glad I had a pretext to go because the octagenarian gentleman and his family, who tend to the tower during summertime, always are great to talk to – he is one of the few people who have owned a classic 1950s Ellis-Briggs bike since new, or nearly. I was eager to find out about the bike´s restauration progress, but the usually so forsaken Ulster Tower was in the middle of… Well, see for yourself, or you probably won´t believe it:
After the parade, a picnic was held on the lawn, and I was able to talk to participants about a part of British folklore I until then had been completely unaware of.
Having also found Roland Leighton´s name on the Anneau at Notre Dame de Lorette,
I decided to re-visit his grave too. It is found in Louvencourt, only a short distance from my route.
Leighton was Vera Brittain´s fiancé – “VMB” and “RAL” on the centre poppy are their initials. Brittain, one of the most ardent British pacifists of the inter-war years and author of many touching poems as well as “Testament of Youth” and many other books, had been sent a poem on violets by Leighton from the trenches. It´s called “Villanelle” (although, strictly speaking, it isn´t one), and starts with the verses
“Violets from Plug Street Wood,
Sweet, I send you oversea.”
It continues describing how the speaker finds the violets next to a dead soldier “Where his mangled body lay” and that he thinks it strange that the flowers were “Blue, when his soaked blood was red”. (Plug Street Wood was a nickname British soldiers had given to a part of the front.)
After Leighton´s death in December 1915, the day he was due for home leave, Brittain, having earlier joined the VAD, became a nurse in frontline hospitals in France, nursing, among others, German prisoners with the most horrible wounds. Utterly exhausted, burnt out as we would say, at the end of the war, she returned to Oxford and started a distinguished journalistic carreer. Her “Testament of Youth”, in which she depicts her early life, is quite incomparable. She writes, among other issues, about losing her brother, her fiancé, and two close friends. A first edition of “Testament” and a tiny brochure dating from 1920 containing first impressions of some of her poems are among my most cherished possessions.
But on to some more cheerful topics.
One more railway track turned cycle path, for instance. This one goes from Gisors to Giverny, and is most delightful:
And one more little detail. About six weeks ago an acquaintance who does house clearances sold me this bike
rather cheaply. There was a lot of work as the former owner had had rather strange ideas of what one needs on a road bike, and he also must have been quite hamfisted, but never having ridden an alloy /carbon fibre frame / fork combo before, I thought I´d give it a try. It came in very handy when I didn´t have much energy for packing my car before leaving for France – wheels out, and bingo.
Once in France, I used it on several occasions and was impressed by its quickness. I zoomed along some backroads to destinations my wife had left for by car, coming across two or three really interesting spots in the area south west of Beauvais.
Here´s a really nice village which seems to be untouched by modern times.
In a neighbouring village, the old roadsign erected by Michelin in the late thirties had been lovingly transplanted on the lawn next to the Mairie.
Sorry for the recent lack of posts.
I´ve had an utter work overload, repeated instances of illness, plus my trusty old Mac failed at last, so there was literally no energy left for most cycling activities, let alone for the blog. What I find most amazing is that the less I write, the more clicks I seem to get – up to 1.500 a month. Thank you all for this, it´s inspiring.
Here´s a photo from a recent trip I took in the vicinity, to prove I´m still doing at least a little bit:
But for the time being it will have to be
I´ve had the pleasure of being able to take part in two local veteran bike rides. Both were organised by ADFC members. The ADFC is the equivalent to the CTC, roughly, so it seems to have taken on another task, that of looking after riders who care about old bicycles. Good.
The first one was for all takers, meaning, everyone who owns an old bike could take part. The average speed was very easy, the group was friendly, and there even was a stop at a restaurant at about half way. Not all participants are on the group photo as some had already departed.
Also rather nice was an all original and hardly ridden 1936 Wanderer ladies in export version.
A pre-WWII ex-Swiss Army Condor must have been the heaviest one. Mark those horrible chain- and seat stay Ends. Cranked is no expression. Not my taste in bikes at all.
The other ride was quite well planned, too. It was specially designed for riders of veteran racing bikes – a first in our area. My problem was that I didn´t feel well that day and I had to leave early. There were two PBP finishers among the five participants of the ride, BTW. The standard in bikes was high, the riding speed would have been just right.
So, what about this year´s Miele Meet in Gütersloh? Before I start on it, let me remark that I have ridden my ´58 Original a lot this season already. First there was a century in Gütersloh, again, a normal RTF.
Then it was the Big Day. I always look forward to the Miele Meet a lot, and of course it´s nice to go with friends and acquaintances, so this year there were four of us – Werner, a PBP ancien who was on my son´s 1952 Sports which was much too small for him. The lack in size was a good thing for the rest of the group as Werner would probably have been bored to bits by the distance (70km in all) and the average speed (about 20kph).
We met in a place called Werther from which we had chosen a more or less scenic route to Gütersloh.
As we relied on one group member´s GPS we got lost of course, but still made it in time. When we had nearly arrived we passed by the huge Miele headquarters and could not resist to depict the group as pilgrims.
Once at the meeting place, the Gütersloh Stadmuseum, municipal museum, we noted that there were not as many participants as in former years, which was the first disappointment. 31 riders had found their way to the event.
Instead, there was this machine which I personally didn´t like at all. The front Gazelle brake with its weird construction replacing the Gazelle cable rest braze on is only the most obvious instance of modern parts not really being a good idea on a thirties frame. Also the fifties sports chainset was, sorry, an eyesore on the heavy thirties tourer frame. All in all, the machine looked like a Pashley Guvnor re-make.
One of the rare sports bikes was equipped with an alloy shell F&S Model 53 three speed, a technical achievement: It is completely silent in use, no clicking. However, as a friend likes to put it: It´s always good for a breakdown, so it was only made for three years or so.
At around midday we set off for the ca. 20km ride through the lush greenery surrounding Gütersloh, which, despite its industry of world wide renown (Miele, Bertelsmann) really is a country town. All participants enjoyed the well planned ride greatly, just like the stop with the usual lunch paid for by Gütersloh town council. The lunch for meat eaters paid for by Gütersloh, that is, as the few vegetarians among us experienced a rather unfriendly and inflexible restaurant staff insisting on us paying in full for our not very original veggie meals, not even deducting the flat rate for our meat meals paid by the town council, I imagine.
So let´s hope the meet returns to its former glory next year.
A guest post (thank you!) by my son who lives in Birmingham at the moment. The post muts rank among the most interesting ones on this blog.
The bike my son´s speaking about is this: https://starostneradost.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=11458&action=edit
One of the staple ingredients of touristy cycling in Britain are its canals. Once major transport arteries, they form quite an extensive route network in certain areas and are home to some impressive Victorian engineering to be marvelled at. Most of this impressive engineering only serves the purpose of eliminating any height difference in order to keep the canal perfectly level, or to allow the boats to negotiate any height difference.
With the advent of railways and motorways, most canals lost their relevance as transport arteries and were in some cases left to decay or even built over. Those which do survive serve mainly recreational and touristy purposes, both in terms of navigation and cycling. The towpaths along most canals allow for very scenic rides, uninterrupted by noisy motor traffic. The lack of any height difference eliminates the need for exhausting climbs, save for some shorter ‘ramps’ at some overbridges or locks.
The story is a slightly different one with the canal I recently visited: The Worcester and Birmingham Canal, which runs through a very densely populated area. Along its towpath, one can cycle from Wasthill Tunnel near the outer suburbs of Birmingham to Gas Street Basin, located in the very centre. Along the way, it passes major traffic destinations such as several railway stations, Queen Elizabeth Hospital and the University of Birmingham. This means that this specific canal is used by a certain number of commuters and forms a major cycling artery for the south-western parts of Birmingham.
To gather the material used in this post, I rode the length of the canal between Gas Street Basin/The Mailbox and Wasthill Tunnel several times. That provided me with enough observations and photos for a blogpost on an enjoyable and scenic ride along a canal. Drawing on these observations, I will then go on to making some remarks about the usefulness of this route for daily commuting, which the majority of cyclists I encountered seem to be using this path for.
The bike I used for all the rides is my current daily rider: A Dutch Gazelle, which I brought along from Germany. It may not seem to be the most appropriate choice for the somewhat hilly geography round here, but so far I haven‘t had any issues at all with its weight. I got the bike just a few months ago, so I am not completely used to its exact dimensions and its weight, which turned out to be quite a bit of a challenge on the narrow paths along the canal. As Dutch bikes are quite a rarity in this neck of the woods, it‘s been a conversation-starter several times.
I joined the canal path at Selly Oak, near the Bristol Road (B384) overbridge. Getting there meant using the somewhat narrow cycle paths along the A38 Selly Oak Bypass.
Yep, that path is barely wide enough to accommodate one bike, yet it is meant to be two-way. On the opposite side of the road, there is exactly the same arrangement – that effectively makes four substandard cycle lanes along the same road, when providing two adequate ones could have been done so easily. A few yards along the road, this path narrows even further and is squeezed between a traffic light pole and metal railings, before ending abruptly. Cyclists are left to deal with the messy road junction that is Selly Oak Triangle. The A38, B384, and A4040, all of them busy roads, converge into a sea of traffic lights, with several supermarket car parks thrown in for good measure. Somewhere in that mess, the access ramp to the canal is to be found after some searching.
Once you’ve found the access to the canal, nicely hidden behind the back of the car dealership, you’ve finally made it.
After passing underneath the B384 overbridge, we get a rather magnificient view of Selly Oak Railway Bridge.
The railway and the canal run fairly close to each other, and the B384 climbs quite steeply to pass under the railway and over the canal.
Considering the traffic on Selly Oak Triangle that we just escaped from, the derelict plot of land in the foreground and the graffiti on the bridge, that advertising billboard just adds insult to injury.
The railway overbridge makes for the first nasty squeeze, with the canal narrowing to the width of a single boat and the ceiling over the towpath getting distinctly low. With hindsight, it’s not too much of an inconvenience, considering the things to come. After the bridge, we can catch our first glimpse of the University of Birmingham.
The tower on the left is a large chimney stack. In the middle, Muirhead Tower, home to the School of Government and Society, shows its concrete and glass glory. The clock tower on the right is Europe‘s tallest free-standing clock tower, Joseph Chamberlain Memorial Tower. Colloquially, it is known as ‘Old Joe’ among the staff and students of the University.
Just as we think that we can finally pick up some speed, the path and canal narrow again:
The narrower section with the concrete ‘pavements’ in the distance is on top of Selly Oak Aqueduct. The clock tower in the top-left hand corner belongs to the Old Queen Elizabeth Hospital.
The viaduct takes the canal and the railway over the A38 Selly Oak Bypass and its hideous cycle lanes. I caught the A38 at an unusually quiet moment – usually, traffic is getting in lane (read: queueing and fighting for space) for the roundabout. A few hundred yards later, traffic plunges into Selly Oak Triangle.
On the other side of the aqueduct, the A38 runs between several privatised Student Halls and approaches the Campus itself, hugging its southern boundary, before proceeding towards the city centre.
A little further along, the canal starts hugging the western edge of the University campus. Through some gaps in the foliage, we are allowed some views of the campus – with some strategically positioned signs to match.
We continue on our journey. To our right, the campus begins immediately behind the trees, although you‘d never guess. To our left, the same applies to University Station – yep, there‘s a complete, working railway station hidden behind the fence and the shrubs.
Next on the list are the overbridges for Pritchatts Road and Somerset Road. There is no connection between Pritchatts Road and the canal, which caught me out on my first visit. You‘ll have to deviate either via the University‘s West Gate overbridge or Somerset Road overbridge. Getting to the canal from these bridges requires negotiating a flight of stairs – not exactly ideal. At The Vale, there is an access ramp to the overbridge, as well as ample space and some benches for taking a break.
The railway needs to make a larger bend to line up for the upcoming tunnel, so it runs several metres away from the canal at this point, freeing up the space for this resting area and the gently curved access ramp to The Vale. The only issue is that we are still hugging the University‘s western boundary – the bridge does not connect to a public right of way. However, the University does allow public access ‘during daylight hours’, according to the signs. Talking of signs, there is another strategically positioned photo opportunity:
The large tower is part of the Maple Bank complex of The Vale, the University‘s own student halls.
After a good rest, we continue once more. It is only now that the railway starts to become more apparent – right behind the green fence on the left. A little further around the bend, Edgbaston Tunnel awaits us.
That path on the left is exactly wide enough for one bicycle – panniers will be challenging; a trailer nigh on impossible. One always needs to make perfectly sure there is nobody coming the other way, and then squeeze between the railings and the wall. Certainly an experience.
After the tunnel, the railway line does not make a secret of itself any more. What follows is an arrow-straight run of almost half a mile up to the next overbridge, visible in the distance.
Virtually all of these bridges are built in a similar fashion, creating the illusion of the canal continuing almost forever in a non-changing environment. It is only when you arrive at the overbridge for the A4540 Middleway Ring Road, which of course is a 1960s concrete job, that you realise things are about to become a bit more urban in a moment. Or are they?
This shot is taken immediately after the Middleway Overbridge, facing the city centre. Not exactly urban, is it? Round the gentle curve, we meet the last overbridge before the end of the canal. In the meantime, this bridge has gained some scaffolding, narrowing the path to about two feet.
Immediately behind that bridge – boom! We‘re right in the city centre.
The three photos above were taken within a hundred metres of each other – that‘s a sudden transition! Gas Street Basin, the point from which almost all of Birmingham‘s canals start, is around the corner to the left.
Now compare and contrast this to the other end of the line (or at least the towpath): The northern portal of Wasthill Tunnel, eight miles away in the outer suburbs.
That tunnel is too long to allow for any pedestrian and cycle traffic.
So, I hear you saying, we’ve got this de facto cyclepath that dumps you right in the city centre after an extremely scenic ride, and cleverly avoids South Birmingham’s traffic-throttling suburbs on the way. The spacing (or lack, depending on your point of view) of junctions or crossroads, with all crossings being grade-separated thanks to the use of overbridges, makes for almost motorway-like cruising along at speeds usually unachievable on surface roads, with little or nothing interfering with progress. Commuters must love it, surely?
Well, I’m not so sure.
It is the towpath’s grade-separated nature, avoiding any crossings on the level, that also is among its biggest flaws. Getting onto the path or turning off can get challenging in some cases. At many overbridges, the towpath and the crossing road do not connect at all, as in the case of Pritchatts Road, Raddlebarn Road, or the Selly Oak Bypass (the latter probably being explained by the height difference) or only by means of a steep flight of stairs, such as University Station/West Gate, Somerset Road, or Bath Row. This means that cycle and disabled access is severely limited. Over the eight-mile journey, there are just six places where you can get to or off the path without negotiating a flight of stairs: The Mailbox, The Vale, Selly Oak, Pershore Road, Lifford Lane, and Wasthill Tunnel/Foyle Road. Most of these points are concentrated towards the southern parts of the canal, i.e. away from the city centre. The turnoff at The Vale has the additional problem that it does not connect to any public right of way. A sign at the end of the bridge informs you that you are entering the University’s private land, which, according to the sign “the public is welcome to use during daylight hours”. This effectively leaves you without any level access between The Mailbox and Selly Oak, a distance of three miles. In many countries, rural motorway junctions are spaced closer than that!
Cycle commuting along the Worcester and Birmingham Canal is only feasible for those commuting from the south-western corner of Birmingham to either the University or city centre. However, the outer suburbs such as Bromsgrove or Redditch are too far away to make cycling a truly feasible option for most people. The main radial roads that the canal route could bypass are the A38 Bristol Road and the A441 Pershore Road. Especially the latter is severly lacking in terms of cycling infrastructure. The A38 has seen major investment in the form of the Selly Oak bypass scheme, which came with some rather hideous cycling provisions. My daily commute involves crossing both of these roads on the level, and the congestion has to be seen to be believed. The general southern Birmingham area is characterised by an apalling lack of both cycling and driving infrastructure. During the evening rushhour, Cannon Hill Park basically becomes a cycling motorway, only to come to a screeching halt at the badly congested B4217 Salisbury Road. In terms of driving infrastructure, there’s the A435 Hollywood Bypass and ermmm… well. Again, the rat-running and ensuing congestion along residential roads such as Stoney Lane and Yardley Wood Road has to be seen to be believed.
So, what is there that stops this towpath from becoming a cycling superhighway, convincing commuters to switch from driving to cycling en masse?
In terms of alignment, not much at all. Okay, some bends are a bit tight, reducing forward visibility. Vertical alignment? Well, it’s a canal, so it has to be dead flat of course. The locks at Parson’s Hill Junction actually come with a sign explaining that these locks are studiously maintaining a water level difference of one inch (!) between the different branches. Except for some ducking under overbridges, you’ll get from Stirchley to The Mailbox with just a few feet of ascending and descending.
It is this ducking under bridges and threading through Edgbaston Tunnel, that makes things hairy. Under most bridges, you really need to mind your head as these are almost invariably of the arched type, compromising headroom over the towpath quite badly. In most of these places, the path is not wide enough to accomodate traffic in both direction at the same time – you have to take it in turns with oncoming traffic. This is an especially large issue inside Edgbaston Tunnel – the path, hemmed in by the tunnel wall on one side and railing between the path and the water on the other side, is barely wide enough for one bicycle. Two pedestrians will struggle to squeeze past each other, so pushing your bike is not an option. The only option: Crank your neck round the edge one last time to check for oncoming traffic, take your life in your hands and cycle through it. Thankfully, ending up in the water is nigh on impossible. Accidentally steering towards the water or ‘ricocheting’ off the tunnel wall and then ending up in the water is made impossible by the railing.
Generally, width is a bit of an issue on the whole path, even on the ‘open’ sections. The path could certainly do with an extra foot or two in most places. However, this is much easier said than done due to the path being sandwiched between the railway line and the, well, canal. Roadspace, both in terms of pavement and verges, really is at a premium, and it is up to the users to avoid ending up in the water. Especially during your first few rides, this can be quite unsettling. Due to these width constraints and the lack of forward visibility mentioned earlier, overtaking slower cyclists or pedestrians becomes an extremely hairy business.
What really got me, though, is the state of the road surface. I know that this specific towpath is lucky to have a paved surface, but I daresay it would almost be better to go without it in this case. Compared to the unpaved south edge of the Birmingham Canal, I am almost tempted to say that the latter was a lot smoother to ride on and allowed for higher speeds, save for the odd muddy puddle. On the Worcester and Birmingham canal, you will need a mountain bike with full suspension in order to maintain at least a decent speed without having your bike shaken to bits or, even worse, shedding your load into the water.
I have some very fond memories of zooming along the recently opened Véloroute du Lin in norther France last summer, for long stretches maintaining 40kph except for the somewhat daft junction arrangements, forcing traffic on the Véloroute to stop and give way at every single crossing, including the tiniest and most overgrown of dirt tracks. On the Worcester and Birmingham Canal with its grade-separated junctions, even 20kph will become an incredibly shaky business. Of course, this comparison is not a truly just one as I used different bikes for these trips: The Ellis-Briggs Randonneur I used in France may be much more appropriate for maintaining high speeds in cramped conditions than the much heavier and larger Gazelle I used here. Nevertheless, the point about the truly awful road surface remains.
To conclude: Is the towpath of that much use for cycling? I’m afraid not. While the idyllic setting lends itself to recreational cycling, the disadvantages discussed above do constrain the recreational value. If squeezing between oncoming traffic and a tall fence while being shaken to bits by the bad road surface is your idea of recreation, then go right at it. Everyday commuting? Progress is not as quick as it could or should be, and you will often find yourself having to use or even doubling back along other roads to destinations located in the immediate vicinity of the canal due to the lack of access, which somewhat defeats the point of riding along the canal in the first place. Again, the road surface does constrain speeds quite dramatically. Any load you accidentally shed from your luggage rack or your panniers almost inevitably ends up in the water – not exactly the fate you imagined for your laptop or these vitally important project files.
How could the situation be improved? Well, it’s obvious, really: Widening the path by an extra foot or two (where possible) will eliminate the hairiest of squeezing manoeuvres, but what’s really needed is resurfacing. In my view, improving the towpath that way would be a much more feasible way of providing truly cycle-friendly infrastructure than the rather hideous cycle lanes along the A38.
One more German language post about a meeting in Germany. Asked to publish the text by the organizers I thought I´d better not translate it.
Historisches Radrennen beim Jugendstilfestival Bad Nauheim
„Es gibt davon vielleicht noch fünf fahrbereite Räder in ganz Europa“, Wolfgang Fickus vom Radfahrer-Verein 1893 Gross-Gerau ist stolz auf sein Opel Kettenlos. Gebaut 1903 stammt es aus der Blütezeit des Jugendstils. „Die ‚Kardan-Technik‘ machte es damals extrem teuer und nur für die gut betuchte Gesellschaft bezahlbar. Deswegen existieren nur noch ganz wenige davon.“ Zusammen mit vielen anderen Rad-Raritäten aus der Zeit um 1900 ist das Sammlerstück beim Jugendstilfestival in Bad Nauheim zu sehen. Vom 9. bis 11. September zelebriert das „Weltbad der Belle Epoque“ die Lebensart des Jugendstils mit Architektur, Mode, Musik, Kunsthandwerk und einem besonderen Höhepunkt am Festival-Samstag – dem Historischen Radrennen.
Beim Rennen tritt Raritäten-Sammler Fickus auf einem „Opel II“, einer „Leichteren Tourenmaschine“ aus dem Jahr 1898 und in Kleidung von anno dazumal an. Mit Kerzenlampe vorne, einer Öllampe mit rotem Glas hinten, einem kleinen Rennlenker und noch ohne Freilauf zeigt sich das Gefährt im originalen Zustand. Das Rad und sein Fahrer müssen beim Rennen nicht besonders schnell, sondern besonders gleichmäßig ihre Runden im Kurpark und dem angrenzenden Sprudelhof drehen, um zu gewinnen.
Die Kulisse für das Spektakel ist einzigartig. Die historischen Kuranlagen gelten als größtes geschlossenes Jugendstilensemble in Europa. Da ist es stimmig, dass auch das Outfit der Fahrerinnen und Fahrer zum Baujahr ihres Vehikels passen soll: Die authentischste Erscheinung bekommt den Publikumspreis. Radfahren galt zur Zeit des Jugendstils ohnehin eher dem „Sehen und Gesehen werden“. Damen und Herren, die sich ein Rad leisteten, fuhren damit in feinem Zwirn zur Promenade in den Park aus.
So besteigen auch Udo Kühnel und Sohn Michael in Frack und Zylinder ihre Hochräder. Sie messen 54 Zoll und sind mit Karbidlampen bestückt. Die Vereinskollegen von Wolfgang Fickus bauen Hochräder der Jahre 1880 bis 1890 nach historischem Vorbild eigenhändig nach.
Teilnehmen dürfen am Historischen Radrennen alle, die mit Vehikeln bis Baujahr 1935 antreten. Neben Hoch- und Niederrädern, sollen auch Laufräder, sogenannte Draisinen, Velocipedes sowie Drei- und Vierräder an den Start gehen. Anmeldungen sind bis 30. Juli möglich.
Jugendstilfestival Bad Nauheim, 9. – 11. September 2016, Historisches Radrennen am 10. September. Programm und weitere Informationen: Bad Nauheim Stadtmarketing und Tourismus GmbH, Telefon 06032 / 92 992-0
Text und Fotos: Jugendstilfestival Bad Nauheim
A quick look at a book I brought from Neerkant, now already four weeks ago. Time flies.
It´s called Brik Schotte, I think (there´s no title given anywhere, and it was written by Rik Vanwalleghem (yes, he´s done it again) and published in 2011 (I think) in – well, where, actually? – by Uitgeverij (Editors) Kannibaal. Strange.
But then, when you open the book, you can see that it´s not really yet another bio on Schotte, but more like a private album of this most fascinating of all cycle racers.
What you get is memories by Brik´s sister, scans of his diaries, a scan of the cover of his well-worn French textbook, and a picture of the surface of the moon accompanied by a recipe for Briekbrod, Briek´s bread. Ah, not the moon, but bread. Right.
The book also gives a solution as to why Schotte used both Briek and Brik as his first name: If you have to sign so many picture cards, it makes a difference if there´s one letter less. In print it´s OK to have one more.
All of course written in Flemish, a language which I really like. What´s better than the word overwinningskes to show that a series of victories wasn´t really that important.
What I definitively do not like is this:
Namely, large pics I would have liked to savour, printed across two pages of the standard small format softcover which does have stitced binding, but only as far as the layers go. The book itself looks quite fragile,
So who are those people who make books equipped with good ideas, wonderful archive material but lacking the binding to make it fully enjoyable? They´re the people behind Merckxissimo, the book on Merckx, after which there were several to follow. Guess why they call themselves Kannibaal.
They say that they love sports and books. Founded in 2009, the firm has a very healthy catalogue taking into account the low number of years. The catalogue comprises books on cyclesport, war, car racing, football and lifestyle, to name but a few. The website also reveals the whereabouts of the uitgeverij: It´s in Veurne.
The catalogue also reveals very moderate prices, our Briek book is but €9.95, which I think is a steal, especially as I guess that only a few hundred copies can have run off the press. The lack of a hard cover is now forgiven as one can easily buy two copies: One to read, and one to save. I paid seven Euros for the (perfect) used copy, which goes to show that I assumed it cost much more new.
After three book reviews more or less in a row, I guess it´s about time the new season rendered some cycling posts again. I have promised myself to do more rides on my old bikes – yeah, right, as I did last year, the year before, and the one before that. But, big BUT, I´m going to scour the pages of retrokoers punt nl in a moment. I´d love to go to Holten on May 22, for example, let´s see if they haven´t got more info on this ride now. Keep your fingers crossed it´ll work out.
Herbert Friedrich, Der Tod des Weltmeisters. Velothek Bd. 2. Maxime-Verlag o.O., 2015. 444 Seiten, Hardcover, Fadenheftung, Lesebändchen, €24,95.
Es gibt schon komische Vergleiche, keine Frage, aber manchmal drängen sie sich einfach auf. Ein Buch des DDR-Autors Herbert Friedrich und ein Fahrrad vergleichen? OK. Eine klassische Rennmaschine, leicht und schnell zu lesen – Radsaison vielleicht. Mein Haupt-Objekt heute, Der Tod des Weltmeisters, würde ich eher als solide gemachtes, ehrliches, nützliches aber nicht wirklich aufregendes Hollandrad sehen. Habe ich schon erwähnt, dass ich ein großer Fan von Hollandrädern bin?
Herbert Friedrich ist heutzutage vielen Leuten wohl kein Begriff mehr, aber in der Sechzigern war er ein bekannter Autor der DDR, wurde international rezipiert. Übersetzungen von Der Tod des Weltmeisters erschienen in mehreren Sprachen (und mancherorts in Deutschland und Europa muss es leider schon wieder als mutig bezeichnet werden, die Neuausgabe veröffentlicht zu haben).
Man glaubt es kaum, aber bevor der Ruhm kam, musste Friedrich Der Tod des Weltmeisters als Kinderbuch unterbringen.In der Erstausgabe mit Der Kristall und die Messer betitelt, wurde das Buch 1971 vom Kinderbuchverlag als “Für Leser von 12 Jahren an” bezeichnet. Die sehr erwachsene Sprache und das intellektuell anspruchsvolle Thema des Romans strafen diese Einstufung von Anfang an Lügen.
Ein anderes Werk des Autors, Radsaison,
erschienen fünf Jahre vor Der Tod des Weltmeisters, ist ganz anders drauf: Locker weg geschrieben, teils mit feiner Ironie, für radsportbegeisterte Jugendliche auch heute noch gut geeignet. Friedrich erkennt viele Nöte von Jugendlichen und beschreibt sie spannend. Daran merkt man, wie ein echtes Kinderbuch von Friedrich aussehen kann.
Aber: Radsaison, angesiedelt zeitgenössisch zum Erscheinungsjahr, berührt auch nicht einen der wichtigsten Bestandteile des Gründungsmythos der DDR, den Antifaschismus, und da liegt m.E. der Hase im Pfeffer. Friedrich kann spannend und süffig erzählen, aber das staatstragende Thema von Der Tod des Weltmeisters scheint ihn hin und wieder zu hemmen, zumindest bis zum Wendepunkt der Geschichte.
Natürlich, die Geschichte. Der Protagonist Otto Pagler arbeitet sich als ehrlicher Kölner Arbeitersohn gegen viele Widerstände zum Fliegerkönig hoch, fährt internationale Erfolge ein, ist ein kaum gebrochen netter Kerl, hat fast keine Zeit für eine Freundin, arbeitet zunächst nur schwach, dann immer mehr im Widerstand mit, da er seine unerschütterlich antifaschistischen Überzeugungen zunächst lieber für sich behält, unterstützt aber durchgehend seinen jüdischen Trainer/Manager Simon Krone und wird zu Beginn des Zweiten Weltkriegs umgebracht, als er, der draufgängerische Sprinter, seinen politisch draufgängerischen Bruder eingeholt hat.
Moment, war da nicht was? Hört sich das nicht nach jemandem an, dessen Namen wir kennen, oder ganz sicher kennen sollten? Richtig. Albert Richter, die Ikone des antifaschistischen Radsports, Kölner, Arbeitermilieu, der deutliches Vorbild für Pagler in Friedrichs Schlüsselroman ist. Auch Richter hilft seinem jüdischen Manager, auch er wird ermordet.* Friedrich versieht diesen historischen Kern mit einer Ummantelung aus einer tragischen Liebesgeschichte und einer durchaus gelungenen Neufassung des uralten Topos vom Aufstieg, der mit Freundschaften bezahlt wird.
Friedrich lässt seine Handlung an einem Schicksalspunkt der deutschen Geschichte einsetzen, im Jahr 1932. Er erspart uns glücklicherweise die standardmäßig in Radfahrerbiografien ausgereichten frühen Jugendjahre von berühmten Radsportlern und beginnt, als Pagler den Zenith des politisch unschuldigen Teils seiner Radsport-Karriere bereits erklommen hat. Sein in-medias-res – Start packt die Leserschaft sofort, als Manager Krone Knall auf Fall einen Großempfang für seinen Schützling, den frischgebackenenWeltmeister Pagler, in seiner Heimatstadt organisiert – spannend.
Man merkt aber leider schnell, dass postmoderne Experimente Friedrichs Fall nicht sind – die Erzählweise bleibt, von wenigen flashbacks und Einspielungen historischer Zitate und Fakten abgesehen, chronologisch-traditionell und linear. Gut, auf S. 43 bspw. findet sich ein Anklang an einen Bewusstseinsstrom, aber generell versprüht der Erzählrahmen den bürgerlichen Charme des 19. Jahrhunderts.
Andererseits, und daher riecht dieses Buch nirgendwo nach Ossi-Mief, beherrscht der Autor die positiven Seiten des klassischen Romans: Das Unheimliche an der dichten Atmosphäre des Romans ist, dass Pagler keinen wirklich fassbaren Antagonisten an die Seite gestellt bekommt. Fast jeder kann sich zum faschistischen Unhold wandeln; dieser Kunstgriff Friedrichs hat etwas Philosophisches. Auch die Verfolgungsjagd, die sich Krone und einige SA-Schergen S. 149ff. durch Köln liefern, ist gelungen. Sich abwechselnde und perfekt ergänzende Handlungsstränge, backstories, dramatische Ironie, alles passt zusammen und ergibt ein effektives Millieubild – 19. Jahrhundert eben. Das Paradebeispiel ist, dass Pagler bei einem konspirativen Treffen S. 420ff. eine Figur kennenlernt, die er nicht kennt, die Leser schon.
Die Figurenentwicklung ist ebenfalls klassisch – Paglers Wandel vom Mitläufer zum aktiven Widerständler ist handwerklich sauber und geschickt durchgeführt, und die Perspektive, die nicht durchgängig allwissend gehalten ist, erlaubt es, dass eine Nebenfigur wie Keßmeier, der langsam aber sicher als SS-Spitzel geoutet wird, durchgängig interessant bleibt. Keßmeiers Wandel vom vermeintlich väterlichen Freund Paglers bis hin zu seinem Henker ist, finde ich, das eigentlich Spannende am Figureninventar in Der Tod des Weltmeisters, das insgesamt reichlich bemessen ist für einen Roman mit nur einem Haupt- und zwei Neben-Handlungssträngen. Auf den ersten Seiten muss man sich als Leser ganz lustig konzentrieren, um nicht aus der Exposition zu fliegen. Die Sache wird den Lesern aber erleichtert durch einige typenhafte Nebenfiguren (wie Christian, Paglers Bruder), die in ihrer fast sozialistisch-realistischen Eindimensionalität die Figurenvielfalt übersichtlich halten.
Auch bei der Werkeinteilung kümmert Friedrich sich rührend um seine Leserschaft. Die Einzelteile seines solide gedrechselten Romans sind fein säuberlich numeriert, Kapitel werden mit Überschriften versehen, wenngleich mir die Bezeichnungen der “Bücher”, in die der Autor sein Werk einteilt, schon etwas großspurig daherkommt. “Das Buch Krone” – hm. Und dann stehen da solche Sätze: “Nun erzähl von dem Sturz, Junge. Du machst einem Kummer. Ich zittere schon, wenn du aufs Rad steigst.” (S.199) Begrüßt so eine Mutter ihren verletzten Radsportler-Sohn? Manches ist schon etwas hölzern.
Wenngleich das Verdienst der Verlegerin, eine vom Autor überarbeitete und liebevoll hergestellte Neuausgabe des Romans zu riskieren, nicht unterschätzt werden darf: Eine editorische Macke hat das Buch doch. Schonmal Uhrwerk Orange von Burgess gelesen und die aus dem Russischen stammende Jugendsprache in jenem Roman nicht verstanden? Ich kann mir gut vorstellen, dass Der Tod des Weltmeisters auf Leser, die nicht mit der Terminologie des Bahnrennsports vertraut sind, ähnlich unverständlich wirkt. Beispiel gefällig? “Um die Bahn fegte Kurt Nagel, hinter Samsons Schrittmachermaschine. Sie knallte ohrenbetäubend, manchmal klirrte die Rolle.” (S. 63) Hat es da einen Unfall gegeben? Muss etwas geölt werden? Ein Glossar mit ein paar Begriffserklärungen hätte der Neuauflage sicher zu weiterer Verbreitung verholfen, denn wo die ersten Drucke vor viereinhalb Jahrzehnten noch auf ein allgemeines, wenn auch abnehmendes Interesse am Bahnsport rechnen konnten, muss sich die Neuauflage sagen lassen, Kenntnisse über einen Nischensport beim Leser zur Voraussetzung des kompletten Verständnisses zu machen.
Also was, insgesamt? Kaufen? Aber sicher. Niht nur, weil das Buch nach dem Wendepunkt der Haupthandlung, S. 296, richtig gut wird; ich hab´s kaum noch aus der Hand gelegt. Pagler kommt auch politisch in Fahrt, die Liebesgeschichte, die für meinen Geschmack bisher arg retardiert wurde, kommt vom Fleck.
Besonders wichtig ist m.E. aber, dass Friedrich es beim letzten Treffen Keßmeier – Pagler versteht, Keßmeier die Logik des Faschismus selbstentlarvend darstellen zu lassen. Pagler erkennt, dass die menschenverachtende Maschinerie der Nazis alles zermalmt, was sich ihr in den Weg stellt, und bezieht gerade daraus die Kraft für seinen Entschluss, im Widerstand aktiv zu werden. Da ist es doch, das glaubhafte Vorbild, von dem wir alle hoffen, es nicht erreichen zu müssen.
*Renate Franz´ Sachbuch über Richter, Der vergessene Weltmeister, ist noch erhältlich und sehr empfehlenswert.
So I went to visit two bike fairs over the last few days, and both were special in their own ways. Let´s start with Fietsenbörse (Bike Exchange) which took place in Osnabrück on Sunday 13 March. The idea is that in the morning you bring your bike, pay a small retainer fee, go back home, or wherever, and come back in the afternoon to collect your money, minus a hefty percentage. Or your unsold bike. Good idea, really, but the problem is: Who wants to sell bikes this way? Are there really that many people disgruntled with internet auction sites as Fietsenbörse organizers say?
They started with a small fair in Münster some years ago and now want to make Fietsenbörse a regular event all over Northern Germany, so there should be a considerable number of potential sellers.
Admittedly, all which now follows are personal impressions gained on one fair and may not be representative, but what I saw was that the vast majority of bikes were attended by their sellers who had partly brought dozens of them and driven hundreds of kilometers, so you can call these people dealers in bikes. They quite openly said that they were attending many Fietsenbörse fairs. So if you´re a pensioner with tinkering inclinations, you´re on a state pension you can´t live off and want to make some money on the side, fine. However, when your tinkering leads to no usable bike, the buyers have a problem as you´ll be gone to some far flung place the very same day you flogged the bike.
So what bikes did I see? Dozens which had been picked up cheap in neighbouring Holland (to which two of the sellers admitted freely) where used bikes a worth next to nothing, and sold for up to fourfold the money spent on them. Horrible bike boom “racers” which you can pick up in the Netherlands for a song were advertised for up to 250 Euros.
Then there were items like this el Cheapo, formerly a Dutch roadster, palmed off on the unsuspecting public as a top fashion single speed.
Oh for the comparative heavens of Stalen Ros. What a difference, and what a relief, even at the greatly reduced state of things compared to what it was years ago.
Is it a law of nature that the number of visitors of a fair determines the quality of the goods for sale? The more people the less nice stuff? This time there were no, and I mean no, unusual things, nothing 1930s I saw for sale, but 80 per cent of the goods offered and the bikes displayed were uniform Italian and during the morning the event was so packed that one couldn´t move, literally, in places. Perhaps I was too late as I naively arrived at 10, the advertised opening time, when dozens, if not a hundred visitors had already been admitted.
Some unofficial dealing also went on outside, supposedly because the official space available inside had been taken up, but some hard feelings resulted nevertheless.
But there`s also the social side of Stalen Ros. Of course there were the usual chinwags with stalwarts like John Barron or Hilary Stone who arrived in his great Citroen BX Commercial (wagon), the rarest item in all of the event, two- or four wheeled*. I met people from an unbelievable seven nations: The Netherlands, Belgium, Greece, the US, France, the UK and Germany. BTW, two randonneurs from Germany covered 150 kms to attend. The communal lunch at the chippy/diner on the other side of Neerkant´s main street has become somewhat of a fixture over the last few years. Wonderfully Dutch chips/French fries are munched, plans for the upcoming season exchanged, finds evaluated, missed opportunities cried over silently in a corner. Wonderful.
And back in the community hall of course there was this machine, prominently displayed:
*And the only nicer BX imagineable would be the 1988 Heuliez Surelevé prototype.