[CR] Coney Island Velodrome homage ride: a trip report

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Date: Mon, 28 Jun 2010 18:41:09 -0400
From: "Michael Shiffer" <dennisflange@gmail.com>
To: classicrendezvous@bikelist.org
Subject: [CR] Coney Island Velodrome homage ride: a trip report


On hot and sticky Sunday last, the estimable Harry Schwartzman led five guys on a trip down Bicycle Memory Lane. We were well kitted for the ride. The two fine-fendered Randonneurs were a fancily-lugged Hetchins sporting a handlebar-mounted metal water bottle with a genuine cork cork, and a pre-war French confection with clattery chainguard, Cyclo rear derailleur and two-tone bell; Harry rode his deeply cool Drysdale track bike while I brought a late-fifties Frejus Pista. Two young men on off-topic fixies (which contributed a modern note to the track-themed ride) rounded out our group. Taking to the anything-but-mean streets of Park Slope from the Old Stone House, Harry led us down the greenways of Brooklyn. First, through Prospect Park, where he told us of the tribulations of 19th century high-wheelers who petitioned Brooklyn aldermen for decent bike paths, met with zero success, took to a local hotel and comported themselves very badly. Next, our merry band puttered down Ocean Parkway on what, according to Harry is the oldest bicycle path in the nation, to Surf Avenue, where we noted the strip club currently occupying hallowed ground where the Coney Island Velodrome once stood. He distributed copies of an old photo of the velodrome taken from our vantage point, and we mourned its passing. We proceeded to the boardwalk with tears glistening on our cheeks. Drowning our sorrows in oysters and beer, surrounded by the High Tackiness that is Coney Island in high summer, we discussed our various bicycle histories, adventures and other tall tales. After recovering from the physical and emotional exertion, we took to the boards, then turned off the crowded walkway, rife (and ripe) with airing flesh and headed to the next greenway. This one hugs the seawall, passing under the mighty Verrazano Narrows Bridge before ending at the dockyards north of Bay Ridge Avenue. Harry decided to use this sparsely occupied stretch to give his Drysdale some exercise, along with the rest of us. Dropping the hammer, our little band tried to keep up with the demonic Schwartzman (well-rested from his recent assault on Nyack) on little more than adrenalin and macho: the oysters, no doubt contributing much to the latter! We regrouped at an ice cream truck strategically parked at the end of the greenway, where we tried to conceal our pain from one another, failed, and tanked up once again. Back in the land of the automobile, we encountered old trolley tracks, which exacerbated what had been a faint grinding noise from the rear of the Hetchins. As we clustered around the patient, its owner removed the small and elegant left saddle bag to reveal the cause of the trouble: a beautifully polished generator had fallen from its mount, the mounting bolt (Whitworth thread, no doubt) having unscrewed from vibration set up by Brooklyn's, ahem, uneven road surfaces. A quick turn of the wrench provided by your humble correspondent liberated the electric leads and allowed the generator to be safely stowed in the handsome saddlebag for repatriation later, provided a replacement bolt still exists somewhere on this earth. (If not, Brooklynites should be alerted to the presence of a slender gent in an Alex Singer hat crawling along their streets with a magnet and magnifying glass for the next couple of weeks.) Back at the Old Stone House we were given a choice: start on the food and drink, or visit Eddie Albert's striking display of velodrome memorabilia. What a decision! Solved in an instant by a quick-thinking maiden, who whisked the massive hero (sandwich, not Harry) up in her golden arms and carried it into the display room with six sweaty guys obediently trailing behind, some lugging the iced drinks. Eddie was there to guard his flock of spectacular ancient track bikes which hung from the ceiling out of reach of grasping grubby hands. He had also brought old racing programs and other relics for us to drool over. Hats off to Harry Schwartzman! Hopefully he'll do this again and more of us old wheelmen (and women) will come along to drink the nectar of Brooklyn bikery.

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Michael Shiffer EuroMeccanica, Inc. 114 Pearl Street Mount Vernon, NY 10550 (914) 668-1300 euromeccanicany.com

P.S. Certain details have been enhanced, omitted or just plain made up for the sake of narrative flow (or just for the hell of it). Others have their versions: this is mine and I'm sticking to it.