A Russian Bike in America
by Jeff Potter
I recently visited my pal Bart. He’s a scientist/rock’n’roll/nerd friend who lives in Lawrence, Kansas. Interest ing things always happen when I visit him. He had just returned from working in Moscow. He brought a bike back which he was now using to commute. …The only Soviet bike I’ve ever seen. (Has anyone else seen one in the US?) It was beautiful forest green and in bad tune. So I fixed it up for him. It was brand new, but built using 1950’s technology: you could see the cheap forging marks on the Campy-copy derailleurs. It had a cottered crank and a stem with the big old bolt sticking up. Cen terpull brakes. Hi-flying non-aero cables, of course. Brooks-copy Soviet saddle. Cyclocross sewups. Hi-flange hubs, quill pedals. …This all on a circa-1985 bike! But it tuned right up, and with its cyclocross sew-ups tires (where did they get these things?) weighed only 21 pounds!
It had a couple broken spokes, so I took it to Rod’s, the ultra-cool local pro shop which had 5 guys helping 2 cus tomers. Here I was to get an interesting picture of modern bike shop PR, with Do’s and Don’ts for any shop to consider. First, a pony-tailed guy took my busted spoke pieces and sized them up alongside some which were an inch shorter, while I mentioned that I was fixing up this nifty Soviet bike for a friend and wanted to test ride it that night before I had to leave the next day. He then handed me the short spokes saying they would work. Are you sure? I asked. “They’ll work,” he insisted, “there’s a lot of slack in that wheel,” and turned away without looking even once at his first Soviet bike…totally covered with retro-Cyrillic graphics…which I had leaning against the parts counter (clean bike, of course). I said “One of the spokes is on the freewheel side, you know. Do you have a tool I could quicklike use to loosen it up?” He looked pained and said “I can’t do that. Be sides,” he man aged a look at the hub, “we don’t have a freewheel tool for that brand of hub, man.” I said with great patience “I know that no one in the entire U.S. has the right tool. It’s Soviet! But you see these slots? They’re a lot like Sun Tour’s. How ’bout if you let me try a SunTour tool for just a sec? I bet it’ll work.” He said they weren’t allowed to do that due to the legal risk and went back to wiping a kiddy bike on his stand. I calmly turned to the next me chanic and asked if he could help. When he saw the bike he lit up…and got me cor rect spokes (3/4’s of an inch longer) and grabbed a tool and loosened the freewheel. åCool bike, man!’ I thanked him profusely, then asked if there were any good group rides in the area.
As I left I glanced again at what told me this had to be a fine shop, despite the few glitches. Rod’s had the most amazing window display. It was full of racing memorabilia from the 40’s and 50’s. All kinds of perfect old equip ment and posters, a copy of a beautiful French book called “Giants of the Road,” and a polished old rac ing bike, fully-cottered like Bart’s. It made me tingle.
That evening I rode to campus and hung around while a ride of 30 or so racers gathered. I wore black shorts, t-shirt, black leather shoes and my old decal-less helmet, and I sat next to the Soviet bike, which was leaning on its pedal at the curb. Some people noticed it, Masters mostly. It was 100ƒ out. I was quietly soaking up the heat, itching to see how the freshly-tuned Soviet bike would ride. As we left town, I rotated through the group and came abreast with a cyclist I knew from Denver…another favorful small world cycling moment to add to the mix of an already special day. This was the area’s Regular Ride, a nice organized group with a couple of re spected lead ers…a not-common-enough thing to see nowadays.
The bike rode well. A little flexy. A little small. Started to shimmy on one big downhill. Only had a 50-15 top gear. I was in pretty good shape and I tell ya it was fun to ride those 40 miles with that big gang. It split in half at the halfway hill, but me and the Soviet made the cut. At the final series of hills a couple miles from town I was still with the lead group of 7 when 3 guys got away. We regrouped soon after inside the city limits. They looked down and said “Cool bike. Good ride.” I said “Yeah, it’s something. It’s my friend’s. I just fixed it for him. I’m just passing through. You guys sure have a nice ride. See ya!” “Nice to have you!” We waved and rolled all of our own ways into the dark summer night.
I tell ya, it was wonderful riding that cottered green machine in amongst the garish, hi-tech wonders. I felt like Fausto or Jacques. I almost wished I had a spare to cross over my shoulders. A bottle on the bars would’ve been nice. After that experience, I’m on the lookout for an oldstyle bike of my very own. If you have any leads…
Potter publishes an informal adventure and culture åzine,’ full of stories like this on all outdoor subjects from around the world. Send $4 for the latest 48-pg. issue to: Out Your Backdoor, 4686 Meridian Rd., Williamston MI 48895. Email: potterm@me.msu.edu. (not for print: ph 517-347-1689/349-5912 fax)
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