The Lost Cyclist
By
David V. Herlihy
There is a 7.5 mile loop that I ride when I’m pressed for time. I know how long it should take me if I push it a bit and I know pretty much how long it will take me if I go at a leisurely pace. The ride is relatively unexciting. In some spots the hills require a bit of extra effort to climb and in other areas I can really fly down the hill. I think about my family, my career, the Steelers, fishing, writing projects, etc. when I’m on this controlled circuit. But what kind of epiphany can I really have in this environment other than realizing that I’m not spending enough time on the bike?
After reading the first 30 or 40 pages of “The Lost Cyclist” by David Herlihy about the short life and amazing adventures of Frank Lenz, an early adventure cycling pioneer, I felt oddly compelled to step out of my comfort zone on the bike. I soon found myself on roads I’d only driven on before and on a route that I’d thought about doing for years but had just never taken the time to actually ride. And on this ride, where I found myself out of my element, I realized how cushy we have it and that epiphany that had eluded me on my sub-hour long rides suddenly came crashing into my brain.
Lenz came of age during one of the most exciting periods and in one of the most dynamic places in modern history. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the late 1880s was a special place. Titans like Carnegie, Mellon, Frick and Westinghouse had made it one of the premier cities in the country. Lenz saw these men rise to incomparable heights and realized that a career as a bookkeeper was not something he was destined for. He just needed to figure a way out of the smoky cauldron of western Pennsylvania.
By the late 1880s the sport of cycling was just ready to explode. A decade earlier the only people who rode bicycles were the elites of the day. But as Americans became more prosperous and placed an ever increasing emphasis on leisure time and vigorous activity, the adventurous individuals in the country began taking their wheels to the streets. But Lenz didn’t stop at the city limit. He didn’t stop until he realized that his newfound passion was more than a way to have a bit of adventure. He discovered that racing and taking pictures and going on exceptionally long bicycle rides was a way for him to not only see the world, but it would allow him to pursue a career as a full time adventurer.
You have to realize that in the last decades of the 19th century the blank spots on the globe were quickly being conquered and people devoured tales of exotic exploration. And there was no better way to explore the earth than from the lofty perch of a high-wheeler.
The “standard” bicycle which was what Lenz and his friends rode through the hills of western Pennsylvania enabled the riders to explore further than anyone dared to dream just a few short years prior. These high-wheeled “standard” bicycles were obviously fun for the people who were able to perfect them, but they kept the masses from the sport of cycling because of the very real fear of suddenly finding yourself being thrown from a shoulder height perch to the ground below. It was the introduction of the “safety” bicycle with its equal sized wheels complete with pneumatic tires that seemed to push the sport into the stratosphere. Everyone, with a bit of training could ride a bicycle and enjoy the tremendous freedom it allowed. And the masses followed.
And Lenz found his way out of the humdrum existence that a bookkeeper in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania at the tail end of the 19th century would endure. He parlayed his obvious physical prowess on the bicycle and his love for the rapidly improving photographic equipment of the day into a proposition for Outing magazine. He proposed a series of photographs and writings about his journey around the world. Remember, at that time people in the west only had a vague notion of what Asia and its inhabitants even looked like. Their traditions and customs were as foreign to westerners as the western traditions and cultures were to Asians.
So Lenz embarked on his journey. The only problem was he wasn’t the first. A man named Thomas Stevens who also wrote for Outing departed San Francisco in 1884 and headed east. Nearly 4 years later and after having pedaled 13,500 miles on a “standard” bicycle, he sailed into San Francisco harbor. The world had been conquered on a bicycle.
To take even more wind out of Lenz’s sails a pair of cyclists named William Lewis Sachtleben and Thomas Gaskell Allen Jr. had also just completed the circumnavigation of the planet on “safety” bicycles. Sachtleben and Allen went in an easterly direction and were lingering in Japan trying to meet Lenz who was travelling by himself in the opposite direction but they ended up missing each other.
The warm-up ride for Lenz consisted of a jaunt from New York to San Francisco. He landed in Japan and according to his journal and reports very much enjoyed the civilized island nation. It was when he entered China and ran head first into a backward civilization that had virtually zero experience with westerners did he first encounter situations where his life was in peril. He continued on riding his bicycle through territories where the previous globe trotters had taken trains and boats. His adventures with Muslims in particular make you think that the more things change the more they stay the same. Eventually, his correspondence back home stopped. He was last heard from and seen in Turkey. And with the Ottoman Empire in an advanced form of decay, and with violence against infidels and Armenians at unacceptable levels, his faith was all but sealed.
Americans back home mounted a campaign for Outing magazine as well as for the US Government to send a search party. Lenz’s mother in particular was horrified at the notion that her only child was being held captive or worse had been murdered. Eventually, Outing dispatched Sachtleben to Turkey to pick up the trail. His goal was to either find Lenz alive, find his remains and/or to bring his captors or murderers to justice. In the end, he would do none of this.
It is here that Herlihy introduces much speculation and a dizzying array of potential thieves, murderers, government bureaucrats, politicians and missionaries. You can see Herlihy building a case against a group of undesirable as well as apathetic characters. It is here that maybe a slightly different phrase or two could cast a totally different light on a subject or a person of interest. In other words it’s almost as if Herlihy went into the situation believing certain events happened and he built his case around this narrative.
Keep in mind that the task of piecing together bits and pieces of 100 year old information can be an exceptionally difficult process. And it is possible that exactly how Herlihy lays out the disappearance of Lenz is exactly what indeed happened. The point of the book is to tell a story about an amazing journey a solitary cyclist embarked on just as the 19th century was coming to a close. Herlihy’s conclusion, unfortunately, left me unconvinced.
The book does offer a fascinating glimpse at an earlier age. Sometimes Tour de France writers talk about cyclists suffering on the bicycle. While spending 6 or 7 hours in the saddle going full tilt could indeed cause extreme pain, the type of grueling hardships and suffering these early pioneers experienced is mind boggling.
Probably my favorite parts of the book are the glorious photographs. Lenz was able to rig his early equipment to snap photos of himself as he rode by. But in addition to that the early photos of Lenz and his cohorts on their “standards” show just what kind of grit and determination these guys needed simply to ride their bikes. The pictures of the riders and their “standards” offers a glimpse of a style of bicycle that shatters any preconceived notions you may have had about the old high-wheelers. I always pictured these bikes ridden in a controlled setting by gentlemen wearing caps and tweed jackets. It is a sterilized portrait that doesn’t exactly mesh with the reality of how these early riders rode these bicycles through dirt and grime and up and around difficult obstacles. Think of “Star Wars” and what it did to your preconceived notions about a science fiction landscape that was less than sterile.
I do strongly recommend “The Lost Cyclist.” For adventure, history and intrigue you’d be hard pressed to find a more compelling story. While I may have been a bit disappointed with the conclusion, in the end it is fitting that the real joy of this book is the journey.