Sometimes you gotta watch some suffering to get in the mood. Case in point, Stage 14 of the 1988 Giro d’Italia, Passo di Gavia.
Tag Archives | vintage velo
Vintage Motor Paced Racing
Apparently motor-paced racing was all the rage back in the early 20th century. I’ve seen a few photos from races here and there, but this one has to be one of my favorites. I’m not sure which subject I find more interesting and/or odd; the 10-year-old kid in his underwear, racing a bike with 14 inch wheels or the steely eyed, leather clad, Oliver Hardy looking motorcyclist who appears to be on his way to a Judas Priest concert as he straddles the fuselage like it’s a giant, metal phallus.
It’s been said that racers could get up to 60 miles per hour, I’m not sure how fast this little dude was going, but I am certain he would have kicked my ass.
Now cue up the song below and imagine Oliver singing it.
Cannibal Juice
Pseudo hashtag-a-go-go: eddy, cannibal juice, pipes, chops, burns, legend, mineral water chug contest, sponsor gawker, eddy don’t use no hashtags, no photo of post-chug cannibal belch
Photo originally found at fabbricadellabici.com
Monkeyed with by me to get vintage newspaper feel I wanted.
Beverage provided by Perrier
Soon Enough
It’s only mid-October, but with the leaves falling, you can’t help but think that the snows will be here soon enough. Time to yet again formulate a winter time survival plan for fitness and sanity… and to look at photos of cyclists who are way tougher than I was or will ever be.
Crush Pasta
I love pasta and I am done trying pretend that I don’t, or that I can eat Primal or Paleo for more than a week or two before I realize that life is too short to not eat pasta (or beans for that matter). I’m sorry, but Italians have been eating the stuff forever and Italy has produced some pretty freaking legendary cyclists– none of which I recall being fat in their racing days. So as I often say on this blog (and in my daily life) “fuck it.” Or in this case, “Fuck it, I’m eating pasta.” Moderation and miles on the bike seems to work best for crushing pasta and not having to move up a belt size.
Fred & Walter
The great thing about finding cool vintage cycling photos is that through the magic of the Interwebnet machine you can track down a good deal of information on the photo and the subjects. The bad thing is that sometimes the information trail ends and you are left just staring at some cool old pics. Then again, maybe part of the charm is NOT knowing the whole story and letting your imagination fill in the gaps of the story.
Vintage Dirt Racin’
I recently came upon some photos of what is described as vintage BMX racing in Holland circa the 1950s. I have never raced BMX, however I do race mountain bikes (although be it with less and less frequency and less and less success) and have also done a few utterly forgettable and regrettable cross races, so it’s hard not to have the utmost appreciation for these kids ripping it up in the dirt. Not to mention they are doing it with impeccable style. To hell with skinsuits, lycra and helmets, I’m going helmetless with a big dose of flannel, leather shoes and knee socks from now on!
Eddy Don’t Care
Eddy Merckx didn’t give a flying Belgian shit if he was on road bike, cross bike or “gravel” bike. Eddy just rode… and crushed it.
Souce: pic originally seen at roadworksbicyclerepairs.tumblr.com
Vintage Velo Hipsters & Beer?
I was almost positive that this photo was the result of bike riding hipsters circa 1922. I assumed after some singlespeed, fixed gear, alley cat, bike polo type event they stacked their bikes outside a [insert hipster bike city of your choice here] dive bar while they were inside forcing down PBR oil cans. Turns out it was merely the result of every day folks who rode their bikes to the Palace Theatre in Cairns, Queensland, Australia (according the Internet). So disappointed.
A Shearer’s Life
In the early 20th century, Australian sheep shearers used to “commute” to ranches and farms all over unpaved Australian via bicycles. Sort of makes today’s urban commuter riding modern roads to sit for 8 hours in their air conditioned McCubical look a tad lame. Then again, who am I to judge? I have a semi-non-paying job, in an office that’s a fart smell away from my bedroom and doesn’t warrant a commute (less Wifey shit a brick for me riding my bike down the living room steps).
Check out the super cool article about these “dirty” sheep shaving commuters on veloaficionado.com, it’s good reading.