Oh, that sweet acronym that makes collectors tremble with anticipation! NOS stands for "new old stock." Parts that survived generations unused and untarnished. Parts that look and function now as they did on the day they were new.
It is not often one sees the status NOS preceded by a date in the 1930s. But the things I have seen appear in the hands of collector Chris Sharp over the past week... new old stock chased rubber grips, rod brake handlebars, carbide lamps, original roadster bells, sculptural quadrant shifters... Stunned out of my wits I could only wonder where on earth such things come from 80 years past their hey day.
Up until a few years ago there were bicycle shops in Ireland and the UK that still had spare parts left from way, way back in the day. Usually these shops were run by generations of the same family, never changing owners or locations, which is what made such stockpiling possible. Bikes that went unsold and parts that went unused had been piling up in the cellars and back rooms of these shops for decades, undisturbed. Then one by one, these places closed. And when they did, they would liquidate. Local collectors would then buy out a shop's entire inventories of parts from specific periods or manufacturers. Some bike shops owners were themselves classic bicycle enthusiasts, in which case unsold inventories from decades past turned into personal collections.
It was sad to learn about the last of the old bicycle shops closing in Northern Ireland. But also good to know that there are locals who are dedicated to preserving the things salvaged from them.
I used to think that the purpose of the NOS market was to feed a collector's high, and did not really appreciate NOS bikes and parts myself. After all, I ride all my bicycles, so anything NOS would be wasted on me - its status immediately obliterated through use. But now I understand that new old stock has value: It affords a rare opportunity to appreciate vintage bicycles not just from our current perspective - as old, well-used things covered in mud and rust - butin their original splendor,as the highly coveted machines they once were.
Dan breaking trail through trees
The view before conditions deteriorated.
I tend to think of myself as having begun cycling when I got into it as an adult. But technically, that is not so. I learned to ride a bike when I was a child, and rode one all through junior high and most of high school. There was a nice post today on ecovelo, where Alan mentioned having "lived on his bike" as a kid, and in a sense it was similar for me. My friends and I did not race each other through wheatfields or pop wheelies, but we did use our bikes to get around our small town. Even once old enough to drive, most of us somehow still stuck with bicycles: It just seemed easier and even kept us off our parents' radar (for example, they could not look at the odometer to determine whether we had gone out when we were told not to).
But during all those years of riding bikes as a child and teenager, I knew absolutely nothing about "technique." At some point I was given a 2-wheel bike, and I used it as a push-bike for a few laps around the park until suddenly I was able to pedal without the bike falling over. To me, that meant that I was pretty much done learning "technique." In the years that followed, I rode with the saddle low, never learned how to start and stop "properly" or to pedal while standing, and was not aware that turning involved leaning and balancing, rather than using the handlebars. Heck, I never even learned how to shift gears, because the shifters on my low-end bike were jammed!
When I think about how it feels to cycle today - and particularly, how it felt when I first started doing it as an adult - I am confused and frustrated by all those younger years spent riding a bike without knowing how to do it properly. It's odd that I did not naturally pick up any skills what so ever during that time. (How can that be? Surely no one is that unathletic?) Moreover, my friends must have been just as clueless, because no one ever made fun of me or told me I was "doing it wrong." And it's frustrating that those skills were so much easier to learn as a child than as an adult - so by not having learned them early, I am at a disadvantage that may take me some effort to overcome.
As for saddle height, it is an ongoing fiasco: It took over a year of gradually raising it until I was able to have it at more or less the height where it needs to be for good leg extension... But I still cannot mount a bicycle properly and have to do a graceless little lean-and-hoist maneuver to get myself onto that raised saddle. Terrified of falling, I am highly resistant to being taught, and watching videos of others doing it over and over has not helped. At least I am now finally able to pedal while standing: After months of riding fixed gear, I finally got it (at first I could do it only on the fixed gear, then the skill gradually transferred onto freewheel bikes). I have to say, that was not easy for me to "get". In my head I understood what to do, but my body refused to balance.
Complexion-wise, I am pale - with purple rather than orange undertones. Venturing out after a winter season, I tend to look like something from 
A long bridge over the Charles River (
A hazy view of the city from the bridge.
The way I've been dealing with the sun so far, has been mostly via the avoidance method. In my head I have a sort of alternative bicycle map of the areas where I frequently ride, with tree-lined routes at the ready if a day is sunny and hot.
I also tend to avoid being outdoors in the summer from mid-morning till late afternoon, trying my best to schedule my trips and meetings during times when the sun is gentler. Sometimes these methods work, but other times they are insufficient.
Another picture of my grandmother (on the right) and her sister Jane. This time they are sharing a piece of watermelon. I don't recognize the background scenery so don't know where it was taken, but it was probably the summer of 1954.
The Jamestown Settlement began in 1607, which was thirteen years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.
From the website: 
