An 1883 bicycling magazine online



R

RicodJour

Guest
I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
this up:

http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html

It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.

Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
amount of articles on doping.

R
 
On Mar 27, 9:52 am, "RicodJour" <[email protected]> wrote:
> I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
> you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
> have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
> roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
> this up:
>
> http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html
>
> It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.
>
> Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
> amount of articles on doping.
>


>From that magazine:


ROLL ON, SHINING WHEEL! by C. T. Mitchell
Tune- "Silver Moon."

As I rise from my couch at the first dawn of day,
E'er the sun earth's beauties reveal;
The fresh morning air drives away all my care,
As I fondly caress my new wheel.

Chorus.

Roll on, shining wheel, bear your master on the road,
With a rapture he cannot conceal;
And never, never once need the jockey's cruel goad,
Urge along, my swiftly gliding wheel.
On the wings of the wind we speed over the plain,
And glide through the forest so still;
The swift-running brook babbles on while I look
At the meadows, the fields, and the hill.

Chorus.

Now we come to the grade up whose steep we must climb,
And bend to the work with good cheer;
And as we reach the top, we do not even stop,
For the slope we can coast without fear.

Chorus.

As the sun mounts the sky with his beautiful gleam,
And the lark from on high trills his lay;
I check my nickelled steed, and return with all speed,
Well prepared for the work of the day.

Chorus.

Oh, happy the man, though his years have declined,
Who the vigor of youth still doth feel;
For many, many days may he gladly sing the praise
Of the hours he hath spent on his wheel.

Chorus.
 
"RicodJour" <[email protected]> wrote in message
news:[email protected]...
> On Mar 27, 9:52 am, "RicodJour" <[email protected]> wrote:
>> I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
>> you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
>> have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
>> roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
>> this up:
>>
>> http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html
>>
>> It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.
>>
>> Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
>> amount of articles on doping.
>>

>
>>From that magazine:

>
> ROLL ON, SHINING WHEEL! by C. T. Mitchell
> Tune- "Silver Moon."
>


A HEADER (?)

He rode a fifty-four-inch wheel,

His form outshone Apollo ;

O'er hill and dale, his steed of steel

No other steed could follow.

At break of day two shell-like ears

Would hear his bugle sounding,

And to the window, swift as light,

Two tiny feet come bounding.

And through the day her mind would dwell

Upon the handsome rider,

And deep, dark eyes look far away

Beyond the book beside her.

And he would ride a dozen miles

Out of his way, returning,

For one swift, stolen glance at her

For whom his heart was yearning.

One fateful day his bugle notes

Had to the window led her;

So swift he flew he took her breath,

And also took a header.

One dainty shriek, and o'er his form,

No introduction needing,

She knelt, and bound her kerchief 'round

His forehead, bruised and bleeding.

He said, of course, " Where am I?" soon,

With voice quite weak and sickly;

He saw who held his aching head,

And came to very quickly.

She asked him in, and he, of course,

Concluded he would tarry ;

They tore my romance all to bits,

And now they're going to marry.

ames Clarence Harvey.
 
On Mar 27, 11:30 am, "Jim Flom" <[email protected]> wrote:
> "RicodJour" <[email protected]> wrote in message
>
> news:[email protected]...
>
>
>
> > On Mar 27, 9:52 am, "RicodJour" <[email protected]> wrote:
> >> I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
> >> you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
> >> have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
> >> roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
> >> this up:

>
> >>http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html

>
> >> It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.

>
> >> Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
> >> amount of articles on doping.

>
> >>From that magazine:

>
> > ROLL ON, SHINING WHEEL! by C. T. Mitchell
> > Tune- "Silver Moon."

>
> A HEADER (?)
>
> He rode a fifty-four-inch wheel,
>
> His form outshone Apollo ;
>
> O'er hill and dale, his steed of steel
>
> No other steed could follow.
>
> At break of day two shell-like ears
>
> Would hear his bugle sounding,
>
> And to the window, swift as light,
>
> Two tiny feet come bounding.
>
> And through the day her mind would dwell
>
> Upon the handsome rider,
>
> And deep, dark eyes look far away
>
> Beyond the book beside her.
>
> And he would ride a dozen miles
>
> Out of his way, returning,
>
> For one swift, stolen glance at her
>
> For whom his heart was yearning.
>
> One fateful day his bugle notes
>
> Had to the window led her;
>
> So swift he flew he took her breath,
>
> And also took a header.
>
> One dainty shriek, and o'er his form,
>
> No introduction needing,
>
> She knelt, and bound her kerchief 'round
>
> His forehead, bruised and bleeding.
>
> He said, of course, " Where am I?" soon,
>
> With voice quite weak and sickly;
>
> He saw who held his aching head,
>
> And came to very quickly.
>
> She asked him in, and he, of course,
>
> Concluded he would tarry ;
>
> They tore my romance all to bits,
>
> And now they're going to marry.
>
> ames Clarence Harvey.


Reminds me of the ploy Coach used to use in Cheers when he wanted to
meet women. Worked like a charm. ;)

R
 
RicodJour wrote:
> I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
> you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
> have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
> roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
> this up:
>
> http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html
>
> It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.
>
> Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
> amount of articles on doping.


A couple of points:

- We don't staple our numbers, we use spray adhesive.

- The movement to pave everything in the US did not originate
with the auto industry. The first 'good roads' advocates were
cycling organizations, at a time when very few people owned
cars. The Wisconsin League for Good Roads formed in 1895.
Agricultural interests looking for reliable transport of goods
to markets were also proponents of better roads.

- Doping pre-dates the bicycle. I'll bet lots of people at 1883
fred rides were juiced.

Bob Schwartz
 
On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 13:09:00 -0500, Bob Schwartz
<[email protected]> wrote:

>RicodJour wrote:
>> I know all of you dumbasses don't go anywhere on the bike unless
>> you're doing 40 kmh with 40 guys trying to hang onto your wheel and
>> have race numbers stapled to you, but just in case there _are_ some
>> roses in the sordid little time units you call your lives, I offer
>> this up:
>>
>> http://www.aafla.org/index/outing1883.html
>>
>> It was posted over on rec.bicycle.rides, so I can't take credit.
>>
>> Call me odd, but I find that infinitely more interesting than any
>> amount of articles on doping.

>
>A couple of points:
>
>- We don't staple our numbers, we use spray adhesive.
>
>- The movement to pave everything in the US did not originate
>with the auto industry. The first 'good roads' advocates were
>cycling organizations, at a time when very few people owned
>cars. The Wisconsin League for Good Roads formed in 1895.
>Agricultural interests looking for reliable transport of goods
>to markets were also proponents of better roads.
>
>- Doping pre-dates the bicycle. I'll bet lots of people at 1883
>fred rides were juiced.
>
>Bob Schwartz


And yet you don't argue the 'sordid little time units you call your
lives'

which would make a great second line to a soap opera theme song - I'm
just not sure about line one yet.

Curtis L. Russell
Odenton, MD (USA)
Just someone on two wheels...
 
On Tue, 27 Mar 2007 14:17:30 -0500, "Carl Sundquist" <[email protected]>
wrote:

>
>"Bob Schwartz" <[email protected]> wrote in message
>news:[email protected]...
>>
>> A couple of points:
>>
>> - We don't staple our numbers, we use spray adhesive.

>
>Just don't fold them.


Well, you need to know when to hold them and know when to fold them.

(Here's some good advice for the new racers - Jim Patton likes you to
fold them into real, small squares only big enough to show the number.
Don't tell him I told you.)

Curtis L. Russell
Odenton, MD (USA)
Just someone on two wheels...
 
Bob Schwartz wrote:
>> - Doping pre-dates the bicycle. I'll bet lots of people at 1883
>> fred rides were juiced.


SLAVE of THE STATE wrote:
> No doubt. Nada dope regs of *any* kind till 1914.
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harrison_Narcotics_Tax_Act
> Mom, what is in that bottle?
> It ain't just snake oil.


Perhaps you should consider selling snake oil to fatty masters to fortify
your capitalist credentials.