A Cool Way To Get Around
“A Modern Bicycle with a Classical Touch”
Think of it as a beach cruiser on steroids—a “Muscle Beach” cruiser, if you will. There’s nothing metrosexual about this Eurostyle city bike—it’s updated from a Swedish army bicycle of the 1940s, and it would not look at all odd with a carbine scabbarded to its fork. Pure, manly utility: steel and plenty of it; big 650B tires for floating over broken roads, debris, and dirt; fenders to keep the “mud, the blood, and the beer” off your blue jeans; and a rear rack you could strap a keg to. It’s 100% at home in the big, bad city: laughs at potholes, sneers at alleys, rolls with the slow grace of someone who knows he’s got nothing to fear. If it were a car, it would be a Checker Marathon, staple of the New York City taxi fleets in the 1950s and ’60s. It’s an old Irish cop of a bicycle, right out of Raymond Chandler. (Ladies, fear not: there’s a women’s frame available as well, for the shorter and the skirt-clad amongst us)
Source- About the Kronan
Remembrances
“Waiting Patiently”
The bike was a 1950s vintage one-speed, perfect for the seashore’s flat terrain. It had a wide, comfortable seat, sturdy aluminum or steel handlebars complete with a one-chime bell, and wide tires. I rode sadly but hopefully towards the convent by the sea, riding into the wind. It had been a long time since I had ridden a bike, and my legs could feel the steady push-pull of pedaling at a measured pace. Damn, it was tough riding that old bike. Despite not having ridden for awhile, I was an avid, regular walker and worked out with weights several times a week. I couldn’t believe how tough it was just to pedal on such flat terrain. “Oh, yeah, I’m riding into the wind—that must be why it’s so damn hard,” I reassured myself. On reaching the convent, I spied a sister and hurried over to her.
“Sister, I’m having an awful day. Could you possibly give me communion?”
“Well, Father just finished Mass. I’ll see if he’s still here. Come with me,” she offered.
“Come on, sister,” I muttered inside, “we’re in a post-Vatican-II world. Sisters can give communion. Even I could give communion in an emergency. Can’t you just do it?”
“No, I think Father’s still here. He’ll give you communion.” Father gladly offered me communion and asked if I knew what day it was.
“It’s Thursday,” I replied, “the fifteenth of August.”“Quite right, young lady,” the kindly priest answered. “It’s Our Lady’s feast day, so be sure and put your feet into the ocean and say a thank you to Mary.”
Story – “Riding into the Wind” / Ann Bracken
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Photography – Carla Costa
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