Late 1980’s Deore thumb shifter with optional friction mode.
Vintage bicycle parts are often hard to come by. While I have decided not to participate in the current trend of dismantling and re-selling vintage bikes and parts on eBay, sometimes buying a bike for parts is the only way you can acquire what you are looking for.
1989 Bridgestone MB3 – with non-garish 80’s color scheme
So, almost by accident, I purchased a 1989 Bridgestone MB3 in order to harvest the parts I wanted: Deore friction/SIS thumb shifters, Deore derailleurs, and a very unusual lavender anodized Nitto dirt drop style stem and Nitto bar (see below). I also noted that the bike’s wheelset looked pretty good – Deore hubs, laced with Wheelsmith spokes to a Ritchey Vantage rim.
When the bike arrived, I was a little taken aback by the quality of this frameset: triple butted Ishiwata oversize tubes, and forged drop outs with eyelets. These features, combined with the two bottle cage mounts and rear seat stay rack mounts, make for a versatile frame. The secret is out that lugged steel mountain bike frames make great Portland winter commuters. I think my 1987 Panasonic MC-7500 is feeling a little threatened right now. I had planned on selling or donating the MB3 frame, but now I am not so sure.
The Shimano Deore groupset dates to 1989, except for the shifters which have a 1987 date code. The Nitto bar is not original to the bike, and is in as new condition. The Ritchey wheelset turned out to be a real bonus. With a simple hub overhaul and minor truing, this wheelset is as nice as any 26″ example out there.
Nitto lavender anodized stem
Appaloosa color scheme
The parts I wanted have exceeded my expectations, with the lavender anodized Nitto stem being the absolute gem in the group. It is shown pictured above as an idea for the stem on my new Rivendell Appaloosa. The stem color picks up the brown/purple accent colors in the paint scheme, which is just what I hoped for.
My old friend, Katie, is fond of opining that the downfall of our society occurred when stores began to stay open on Sundays. From there, she says, it’s been a downhill slide. She might be right.
My childhood Sundays were a mixed bag: enforced church attendance (faking an illness having been exhausted as an excuse years earlier), my mother’s dutiful Sunday dinner executed with earnestness if lacking in passion and culinary talent, and then the blessed release of the children out into the wild. My Dad would daze himself on TV football, and my Mom retreated for her quiet time. There was no business to conduct, and there were no tasks to complete other than the usual chores required to run a household and small farm, and these were kept to a minimum on Sundays. God’s day of rest.
With God and parents at rest, my older brother and younger sister were my playmates on Sunday afternoons. But, as we approached our teenage years, more and more often we chose our own separate pursuits on Sundays. And that’s when I began what has become a lifelong tradition: a Sunday bike ride.
I don’t quite remember the bike I rode in the mid-1960’s (this was before getting my green sparkle Spyder with banana seat), but I do remember that it had an internal hub. I suspect that it was something like the 1968 Sears Econo model depicted above, but was probably the smaller child’s version. It was a diamond frame, with upright bars, and definitely sported a battery powered headlamp. It was challenging to ride, because it had no low gears, and while I understood the basics of derailleur shifting back then, I was confounded by what could possibly be going on inside the internal hub. My father would attempt to explain that there were gears inside, and something called a planet. I would stare endlessly at the tiny chain emerging from inside the hub and imagined that it housed a miniature derailleur on the inside. I could not figure it out.
But that did not stop me from riding that bike. The countryside around our home was hilly, but along the base of the hills was the Applegate River Valley of Southern Oregon. The road running through the valley was in no way designed to accommodate a 10 year old on a bicycle. There are blind curves, no shoulders, and narrow lanes. That’s another thing that’s changed since then: today’s parents would never allow their unaccompanied 10 year old to ride these roads. It was a different time, where the pace was slower and neighbors watched over each other’s kids, at least to some degree.
To prepare for my ride, I would pack up snacks, water, and tools (like a good Girl Scout) into my bike’s front wire basket. My adventures took me off road, sometimes walking my bike up the steep dirt logging roads in the area. I cycled past streams, irrigation canals, and small creeks. Upon return, my basket almost always carried something I hadn’t started with: a wounded bird, a small turtle, a beautiful stone.
When I lived in Newport, Oregon in the late 1970’s, my Sunday ride was the trip up Yaquina Bay. That ride was mostly flat, along the Yaquina River estuary, an important waterway and resource for the Siletz tribe who lived in the area, before they were forced out by white invaders in the mid 1800’s. When I visit Newport, I usually plan a ride up Yaquina Bay Road. Every time I ride this road I am greeted with Nature’s enduring beauty, and I try to imagine this bay as it was hundreds of years ago.
Today’s Sunday ride took me out to Oak’s Bottom where I was treated to a Bald Eagle flying overhead. On the way through the wetlands I saw Great Blue Herons, Northern Flickers, and a rarely observed Green Heron, among the other wintering birds. While I didn’t add anything to my “basket”, I brought home instead the images and memories of today’s ride with its bright, low end-of-the-year sunlight, and bone-chilling wind. A perfect way to end this year and begin anew.
The lowly reflector gets short shrift in the cycling community. While manufacturers are required to install such reflectors, and are subject to varying rules depending on where a bicycle is shipped, reflectors are routinely removed by bike enthusiasts, “experts”, and new bike consumers. They are deemed ugly, heavy, and useless by riders and mechanics alike. I have often removed reflectors from pedal cages, brake mounts, racks and other locations. But, why?
As winter approaches, and night time riding becomes the norm here in Portland Oregon, with its 45th parallel latitude, I have come to think about reflectors differently. On the rare occasions when I am driving home in the dark, and given that I am extra sensitive to the existence of other road users such as cyclists and pedestrians, I have come to think of the lowly reflector as an inexpensive and critical life saving technology, introduced and perfected decades ago. The above photos show a vintage glass amber reflector made by Wald. It has numerous angles from which a reflection will appear, unlike the flat plastic reflectors seen today.
This photo shows the vintage glass Wald reflector using a flash. It is very bright, almost blinding. Not bad for a reflector. Better yet, this vintage glass reflector will give light from various angles, thanks to its cut glass design. While many cyclists, including expert John Shubert at Sheldon Brown’s site, deride the lowly reflector, it certainly can’t hurt to add reflectors to your bicycle if you are riding at night. Especially if you can add vintage cut glass reflectors which will illuminate from a variety of angles.
Front and rear lighting is ideal. But not everyone has the money or the proclivity to purchase a bike with a hub generator. Battery lights can fail just when you need them. And that’s when it’s nice to have a few reflectors mounted to help keep you safe on your journey.