Brief History of the Runwell Cycle Company of Birmingham

Note: There is no official history of the company, and no collection of company records, with the exception of a few scrapbooks at the University of Warwick (UK). Since the author of this article did not have access to these scrapbooks, much of this information has been gathered through Internet research. If you believe any of this information is inaccurate, or if you would like to add something, please feel free to submit corrections or contributions.

For most Britishers, the name Runwell today connotes a mental hospital and community of that name east of London. However, between 1904 and the 1960s, it was also a small bicycle manufacturing firm located in Birmingham. The Runwell Cycle Company produced bicycles of several makes to meet the high domestic and export demand for bicycles in the first half of the twentieth century. By the post-World War II period, the ascendance of major manufacturers like Raleigh, and the declining popularity of bicycling, had forced many smaller companies like Runwell out of existence.

The Runwell Cycle Company was founded by William Henry Jennings (born 1873 in Derby, England). When Jennings was twenty, he moved to Leeds, where he was listed as a “clothier’s traveler.” By 1904, he had moved to Birmingham, where he founded the Runwell Cycle Company on Lawson Street.

Jennings’s granddaughter remembers her grandfather as a kind, generous, and good-hearted man:

My earliest vivid memory of my grandfather is of my grandfather’s 60^th birhday party in London before the war. Grandpa was a member of the Magic Circle and entertained all his small children (grown-ups, too!) with conjuring tricks, to their great delight. During the war, he stayed in London (14 Great Eastern Street) and I visited him there when the war ended.

In 1945 my father had settled in the country in Warwickshire and it was then that grandpa gave me and my brothers a Runwell cycle each, which gave us the much appreciated freedom of being able to roam the countryside during our teen years. Grandpa wrote to us, too, and also gave us very generous birthday presents. I always remember him as being kind and generous and I believe his staff thought this too.

The Runwell Cycle Company started small, but “through sheer hard work and business acumen,” Jennings expanded the business until he had depots and branches in most of Britain’s large towns, and an overseas depot in Java.

One of Jennings’s daughters recalls that:

Father knew all of his workforce by name and never employed anyone who belonged to a Union. There was always a happy atmosphere and we enjoyed going round the factory talking to the people and watching them tune the spokes in the wheels. He used to leave us on the a.m. train and came home twelve hours later and brought work to do on the weekends.

The Runwell company relied on the strength of its bicycle frames and the quality of their construction to sell bicycles, rather than their brand name alone. In their advertising, they advocated quality workmanship and affordability as virtues of a good bicycle. Runwell originally manufactured only bicycles, but by the late 1920s seems to have also begun manufacturing toys and sundries, and by the 1950s had also begun manufacturing parts and accessories for the auto industry. While still focused on building quality bicycles, their earlier advertising claim that, “we concentrate our energies on bicycles alone” fell by the wayside. By the 1960s, the firm was known primarily as a parts and accessories supplier, and no images or examples of advertising could be located after 1961.

The Runwell bicycle in the author’s collection features a distinctive design element of the Runwell brand that was most likely in production in the 1930s: an unusual “rigid safety frame” design that includes an extra angled support connecting the head tube and top tube. Other features of the author’s late 1920s or 1930s model are provided here for reference purposes: rod brake on front wheel, Perry single-speed coaster brake hub on rear wheel, Westwood rims front and back, bottom bracket oiler, hub oilers, 32-spoke front wheel, 40-spoke rear wheel.

I have gathered a gallery of images of Runwell bicycles and advertising here. Hopefully it will grow over time.

*All quotations from original correspondence with Julia Jennings, 28 October 2008.

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The Favored Son

As my bicycle stable has, well, stabilized for the time-being, I'm finding that I do not love all my children just the same. I find myself drawn to the Huffeigh even for errands that might better belong to either the Columbia or the Schwinn.

Two nights ago, I ran to the market for beer, a half-gallon of milk, and one of those little watermelons. It ended up being quite a heavy little load of stuff. Instead of taking the Columbia or the Schwinn, which are better-equipped to take this kind of load, I couldn't resist the stately allure of the Huffeigh, with its new Brooks saddle and cork grips and bell and gleaming black paint. I was a little surprised to find that the whole disproportionately heavy load fit quite nicely into the little basket I've mounted on the rear rack, and I had no trouble at all.

The bikes have also fallen into clear roles: the Columbia is the work-horse, the grocery bike, the long-hauler. It sits me forward a bit more, the saddle is higher, and I feel like I pedal it more efficiently -- better for hard work. The Runwell, which has been idle for some time awaiting new tires, is always going to be the older gentleman who doesn't get out much, I'm afraid. And the Schwinn, well, the Schwinn is quite comfortable, but ungainly and heavy.

But the Huffeigh is just the right combination of all three: it can carry a load, it's sufficiently old, and it's very comfortable. I just like it, is all. So now we're about to go on a picnic, and although I probably should take one of the other bikes, I think it's going to be the Huffeigh again.

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The Sublime & the Ridiculous

My wife and I rode down to San Diego's South Park neighborhood yesterday to test my new basket on the Runwell.  I found the basket at a thrift store and added some wire to make hooks to hang off the handlebars. It holds just enough for an afternoon jaunt. I was worried that it wouldn't hold up over our terrible streets around here, but it did just fine. We locked up at one of South Park's cool high-wheel racks, walked around a bit, and when we came back, saw that the herd had grown. It was interesting to compare our very practical and stylish old city bikes to the (I'm sorry, but) goofy-looking wacked-out new mountain bikes, which were obviously not designed with comfortable city riding in mind. I see the practicality for mountain biking, but I'm always amazed that people chose to ride these bikes around town.  'Course, I suppose the way the roads are, a little suspension might come in handy now and again. Thank goodness I have the Runwell's patented "rigid safety frame"!

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The Runwell Head Badge Revealed

I've been trying to determine exactly what my faded and worn head badge used to look like on the Runwell.  I knew there was an image of a boy or man running, but many of the details were lost. Without an example of the company logo to go on, I was pretty much out of luck. Fortunately, someone doing research on the company at the University of Warwick offered to look for an example of the logo for me. They were able to get me a scan, which was still a bit blurry, which I then cleaned up, traced, and colored to get close to what was originally on my bike. Given my utter lack of artistic ability, I think it turned out okay. So, here's what I ended up with:

The head badge on the bike:
The scan of the logo:
And my ham-fisted rendering (with full, pouty lips):

Upon closer inspection, it looks like the words have a slight shadow outline, so I'll have to go back and work on that. It feels good to resurrect a nearly-lost piece of bicycle history. 

Oh, and I added a basket.  More on that later.

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How to Install or Replace Crank Cotters

Disclaimer: I am not a professional bicycle mechanic. This post describes my experiences only, and should not be used as a definitive guide. You should consult other sources or visit a professional mechanic before attempting anything described here.

Here's the follow-up to my post a few days ago about removing crank cotters. If you're lucky enough to be able to reuse the old cotters (i.e., if you've removed the cranks only to access the bottom bracket), this process is much easier than if you need to replace the pins themselves, as was my situation. 

First, some fundamentals about how cottered cranks work. As I mentioned in my post on removing cotters, the crank axle of a bicycle with cottered cranks has a flat notch cut on either side. This flat contacts the angled flat of the cotter pin, and this is what keeps the crank arms 180 degrees apart. You can see in the photo below that with the crank arms removed, the notches on either side of the axle face away from each other.

When you put the crank arms on the axle, you can see more clearly how the pin is supposed to fit. 

In the image above, the pedal end of the crank arm is to the left, and is pointing toward the front of the bicycle. On the other side of the bicycle, the crank arm is pointing the opposite direction, toward the rear of the bicycle. Just to be perfectly clear, this is how it should look:

In the picture above, the bike is upside-down, but this is just for ease of photographing. Obviously, removal and installation of cotters is best done when the bike is upright, since the crank arms need to be supported while hammering. 

If you can reuse the old cotters, all you need to do now is reverse the process of removing them. When you place the pin in its hole, make sure the flat of the pin contacts the flat of the axle. Then, with the crank arm supported with a block of wood or length of pipe, use a hammer to pound the pin from the smooth (non-threaded) end. Strike it just as hard as you had to when you removed the pin, as you'll be wedging the pin tightly into its spot. Just like removing them, one or two hard whacks should do it. 

Once enough of the threaded end has emerged from the other side, put the nut on and tighten it with your fingers. Take another couple of whacks on the smooth side, just to seat the pin a bit more, and see if you can tighten the nut again with just your fingers. Repeat until the pin won't go any farther in, then tighten the nut down tight with a wrench. Repeat the process on the other side, but double-check as you work that the crank arms remain 180 degrees apart.

If you need to replace the crank cotters, all of this is complicated by the fact that the flat side on most new stock replacement cotters will need to be filed down in order to fit correctly against the crank axle. Many new pins are simply cut from a soft metal rod of more-or-less the correct diameter, then the flat is pressed into them, rather than machined to the correct angle. Even if the flat is machined, it is often way off from what it should be. I used a 6" general purpose mill file (single cut bastard), which removes metal more gradually and precisely than a double-cut file.

Ideally, you can use the shape of the old pin as a guide for filing the new one. The idea is to preserve the angle, but file it down so that it will fit your axle. This can be tricky, as you need to keep the file flat against the pin, but apply slightly more pressure to the down side of the angle. Sheldon Brown probably says it better. The photo below shows two new pins, the one on the left has been filed to fit my axle, the one on the right is how the pins arrived. This shows how much you may need to file to get the correct angle.

  

As you work on the filing, keep trying the pin in the crank so see how it's fitting against the flat of the axle. I found it helpful to support both crank arms with pieces of wood to make sure they were staying 180 degrees apart. That way, all I had to do was drop the pin into the hole to see if I needed to file the flat down any more. This took a lot of time, as I was proceeding cautiously, not wanting to take too much off, or ruin the angle of the pin. Sheldon Brown suggests using a bench-mounted vise to hold the pin in order to ensure that you're filing at the correct angle, but I have neither a vise, nor a bench to mount it on, so I held the pin with a pair of pliers wrapped in electrical tape (so as not to damage the pin with the teeth). 

Eventually, I was able to file the angle of the pin down enough so that the threaded end of the pin was just poking out the other side of the crank arm. I lubed the pin with light oil to make it easier to drive, then gave it a couple of good whacks to drive it in. I actually had to do this several times, as the pin simply wouldn't drive far enough to get the nut threaded on. If this happens, it's no big deal. Just flip the crank over, drive the pin back out, do some more filing, and try again. 

After a lot of trial and error, I was able to drive the pin far enough through that I could tighten the nut. Again, get it finger-tight, then give it a couple more whacks, tighten the nut again, give it a couple more whacks, etc., just to make sure it's seated as far as it will go, then tighten with a wrench. And again, keep checking as you work that the crank arms are still 180 degrees apart. 

If you've filed the first pin correctly, it's easier to judge how much you need to file the second pin, since you'll already have one crank that is now fixed to the axle and not going anywhere. Sheldon Brown recommends replacing pins in pairs to preserve the 180 degree orientation of the cranks, but I was fortunate enough to be able to reuse my one good old pin, since I apparently did such a stellar job of filing the first one (how that happened, I don't know!).

Here's a few helpful things to keep in mind: 1) buy extra replacement cotters in case you mangle one of them trying to get it to fit; 2) the pins should be driven from opposite sides to maintain the 180 degree crank orientation; in other words, when the crank arms are parallel to the ground, the smooth head of the pin should be facing up on one side, and the threaded or nut-side of the pin on the other side should be facing up; 3) clean your file regularly as you work to prevent build-up of metal dust; 4) lube the pins before installation; 5) don't over-tighten the nuts, as this risks stripping the threads. The angled pin, driven tight against the axle is what keeps the crank attached, not the nuts. In other words, the nuts don't keep the pins from falling out, they just keep them from jiggling loose over time; 6) after a few dozen miles, repeat the process of hammering the pin and tightening the nut, as the pins will "settle" with use.  

Finally, let me say that this was my first time doing this particular repair, and most of what I've said above comes from my reading of Sheldon Brown's guide. The idea in presenting my experience is not to claim it as definitive, but to 1) show that it can be done, even by a doofus like me; and 2) to try to give a bit more detail from one specific experience to supplement Sheldon's more general admonitions and advice.

PS--Glory of glories, you can now once again buy cotter pin presses, which were discontinued by Park Tools in the late 90s, from BikeSmith Design and Fabrication, which is where I got my replacement cotters. The presses are a little pricey at $55, but I imagine they're worth it, since they eliminate the hammering from this operation. I haven't used one myself, so this is not an endorsement or recommendation, just a heads-up.

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The 1936 Runwell Sports Tourist

In my continuing effort to get a date of manufacture for my Runwell, I just came across this advert cut from an old issue of The C.T.C. Gazette (Cyclists Touring Club) on British eBay. You can see the unique frame style of the Runwell, but this one has a chain case, frame-mounted pump, 3-speed hub, and apparently a cable brake (that could be the shifter cable, too, I suppose). Makes me think that mine is earlier since it has the rod brake and one speed hub. It also makes me wonder if mine had a chain case lost along the way at some point (sigh). Here's what I can make of the text:

1936 Distinctive Bicycles For Superior Performance And Safety on the Road

Distinctive Frame Design in both Ladies' and Gent's machines ensuring EXTREME RIGIDITY AND EASE OF PROPULSION.

Runwell Sports Tourist Bicycle. One of the numerous interesing new models for the 1936 Season incorporating the Runwell Registered Design Rigid Safety Frame, Oil [illeg.] and Three-speed Gear.

Also, I've found this 1923 advert that does not feature the distinctive frame style, so I'm guessing it was developed later. Unfortunately, all that tells me is that my bike was made sometime between 1923 and 1936, which I pretty much knew already. 

Oh well, at least I certainly feel better knowing I'm in the hands of a Rigid Safety Frame. Phew.

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How to Remove Crank Cotters

Disclaimer: I am not a professional bicycle mechanic. This account of my experience is intended for entertainment purposes only (woohoo!), and should not be considered the advice of a professional. In other words, I'm not responsible if you bungle the job!

That being said, let me say (as commenters RB and Giuseppe assured me), that this was not hard at all! Guys, you were right, it was probably the easiest thing I've done on this bike. 

Sheldon Brown, God bless him, can sometimes make things sound much harder than they are. Based on Sheldon's guide, I was certain that I would mush the cotter pin, ruin my crank, and undo all of my good work on the Runwell. While doing the job correctly is important, it is not as hard as some internet bicycle gurus make it sound. That being said, Sheldon's word on the subject is still the standard, and it helped me a great deal. 

You need only three things for this job: 1) a block of wood (I used a scrap of 1" x 8" board) cut to fit under the crank arm to support the arm when you hit the cotter pin; 2) a claw hammer (I padded mine with a small piece of rubber cut from an old tube in case I missed the pin and whacked the frame); and 3) some penetrating oil to lubricate the pin. You can also

 use a piece of soft metal pipe (like copper) instead of a piece of wood, placed under the pin, but I doubt if most folks happen to have a piece of pipe in the correct length just laying about--I sure didn't. I also cut a piece of thin cardboard to protect the bottom bracket if I swung wild, but it proved unecessary.

Here's the setup:

I applied the penetrating oil liberally directly onto the pin a few days before I made the attempt, since I was a little apprehensive and wanted to give myself the best chance of success. Remove the nut and washer on the cotter to access the point where the wedge of the pin meets the flat of the crank axle inside the crank arm and apply the oil directly.

Once the oil has had a chance to work, you're ready to begin. Brace the crank arm on the wood block so that the threaded end of the cotter is pointing up, since this is the end you will strike with the hammer to drive the pin out. Needless to say (I hope), the nut and washer should be removed before you go at the pin with the hammer. With the crank arm braced and the washer and nut removed, all that's left is to whack that little bugger. Strike the pin a hard blow squarely with the hammer--imagine you're trying to drive a nail in just one whack. Grip the hammer as far away from the head as possible, like any good carpenter, since this will help deliver a more powerful blow. Here's what happened after just one strike:

I then tapped the pin gently all the way out, using a little screwdriver as a tap. And that's that. The other side was just the same; one strike and the pin was loose enough to just tap out. No damage to the cotters, the axle, the frame, or the bottom bracket in the process. In fact, unless you're some sort of hulking brute, it's unlikely that whacking the pin will do any sort of damage whatsoever. That's easy for me to say now that I've accomplished it, but this had been a point of some concern. Here are the pins after extraction; the one on the right is the damaged one that was causing my clunk (you can see the stripped threads):

Here's a bit about how cottered cranks work. The pin goes through the crank arm and that flat side gets wedged tight against the flat side of the crank axle (see below). 

The flat of the pin contacting the flat of the axle is what turns the crank when you pedal, and the nut is just there to keep everything snug.

I'll say more about the mechanics of the whole operation and have some better photos when I install the new cotters in a few days (when they arrive in the mail). Hopefully that will go as smoothly as this did. I sound all confident now, but I was quite nervous when I started. Just goes to show that the things you worry about the most usually end up turning out the best (and the things you didn't think to worry about knock you on your arse).

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An Old Bike Project is Never "Finished"

Looks like I spoke too soon. After riding the Runwell around a bit, it has developed a loud clunk in the right crank arm, the result of a mangled crank cotter that I just can't get tight enough anymore. Fortunately, I can order new cotters in the right size from Harris Cyclery, but it puts the bike out of commission for another week, at least, and forces me to confront yet another somewhat-dreaded DIY repair. I'd like to hear from anyone who has extracted/installed their own crank cotters without a cotter pin press. I've heard about bent pins, ruined cranks, etc., but I'd like to hear some happy stories with good endings. Anybody?

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The Runwell in the Wild

A couple of photos taken down the street in front of somebody's colorful garage door.

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The Runwell's Franken-pedal

I've tried boiling water, I've tried penetrating oil, I've tried sheer brute force, I've taken it to a bike shop, I've taken the pedal apart to gain better leverage, I've bent two (cheap) wrenches, I've even yelled at it, but the left pedal WILL-NOT-BUDGE (yes, I'm turning it the correct way--left side pedal loosens clockwise). So, I finally hit upon the idea of dismantling my new block pedal from Harris Cyclery, and simply rebuilding the old pedal around the stuck spindle with the new blocks. After much cajoling, everything worked out fine. The pedals are still somewhat mismatched, with the right one being wholly new, and the left only having new rubber, but it looks better than it did. In fact, I may do the same with the other pedal at some point, as I do like the look of the old pedals. And with that, I'm finally really done. I have plans to take it on a big ride around town, hopefully over the weekend, and take some "glamour shots" of the bike in various appropriate locations.

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The Runwell: First Photos

Here's the "before" photo from the Craigslist posting, and the rest are from today--I'm finished! These didn't really turn out very well, and I'll post some better ones later, but I just had to put these up! Actually the rackafratzin' left pedal is still stuck fast, so I've still got that to work on. Right now, the right pedal is shiny and new, and the left is dirty and old. Otherwise, I'm incredibly pleased with how the polish went on, how the fenders turned out, and just really totally psyched about the whole package, actually! The rod brake works wonderfully, as does the coaster hub, and the saddle is the only thing that makes noise, and that just needs a bit of oil in some strategic places underneath.

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The Runwell: Just Another Teaser

Still working on the fenders, the brakes and pedals should arrive next week, then a couple coats of polish and done! I'm already putting together my wishlist of accessories to accumulate over the next few months, including a bell and a retro headlamp from Velo Orange, and long-term a new Brooks.

Also, I took him on a night ride around the 'hood last night and it was pure joy to glide around in utter silence and darkness (excepting my headlight). Sitting upright in total comfort, I just cruised about, taking it all in--truly a Slow Bicycle moment.

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The Runwell's History Lessons

Now that the Runwell is up and running again, with only a few things left to finish, I wanted to share a bit of its history, or at least what I can deduce from some its features. I still don't know the date of production, but the 1920s or 1930s still seems right. Apparently, most bikes with the Perry coaster hub were manufactured for sale overseas, but I know that the bike was in England until the previous owner brought it to the U.S. sometime in the 1980s (I think). I also know that the bike was in use during World War II, and here's the really cool part. The most obvious sign that the bike was in use during the war is the "Dunlop War Grade" tyres that were still on it when I bought it. Although these could have been remainders put on after the war, it's pretty amazing to think that the last time these tyres were changed could have been in the 1940s.

Another pretty clear indication that it was used during the war is the white "blackout stripe" rather sloppily painted on the rear fender (mudguard, for the Brits), apparently in house paint. I can imagine the original owner cringing a bit as he slopped white paint on his glossy black fender and gold pinstripes.

The final clue, and the one that is perhaps the most moving for me, is that replacement brake pads appear to have been cut from salvaged rubber and installed in the shoes, I'm guessing in order to conserve resources during the war. 

The sad part, and the real conundrum for folks like me, is that all of these features have now either been removed or covered up in the process of making the bike useable again. The material evidence of the bicycle's eventful past has literally been stripped away, out of necessity of course, but it's still a little sad. My great comfort, though, is that the bicycle will again be used for its intended purpose, rather than rusting in a back yard. I will also keep the tyres and brakes, of course, to pass on to the next owner of the Runwell, but hopefully that won't be for a long, long time.

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The Runwell Test Ride!

Ladies and gentleman, the Runwell runs well! In fact, the Runwell runs like a dream! After realizing that the new tires I bought on Saturday don't fit on the Westwood rims (they popped right off under minimal air pressure), and then changing out the tires from the Columbia, which worked perfectly, I put on the chain, made some adjustments, tightened down all the nuts, and I was off. I wanted to take a test ride before placing my Harris order, since I wasn't sure if I would need a new seatpost until I tried the existing one, and it turns out that it works just fine, and doesn't seat me too far forward, as I had thought it would.

This is probably the most solid bicycle I've ever ridden, at least in my adult life. With just one speed, it runs silently, and the coaster brake functions just beautifully. It seats you bolt upright, as I knew it would, but the still-comfy old Brooks saddle feels like sitting in a chair. It's responsive, relatively light, and although not terribly fast, it can move if it has a mind to. As my wife and I took turns circling an empty parking lot near our house, it already received its first compliment from a woman who stopped to admire it. Not bad for the first five minutes of its new life!

Still to do: paint and topcoat the rear fender, which will take a little while because I have both white and black paint to apply, order and install the new front brakes and pedals, put a second coat of varnish on the grips, and do all the final cleaning, polishing, and waxing. With all of it, I think I'm looking at another two weeks, taking delivery time from Harris (on the other side of the country from me) into consideration. I might post a few more teaser photos in the meantime, but you'll have to wait a bit for the grand unveiling.  

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The Runwell Preview

Just a couple of teaser photos after a busy Saturday of work. Had a successful trip to the bike shop this morning and picked up most of the remaining essentials. Still have to place an order with Harris for the remaining, and to finish up a good deal of the "cosmetic" work. Unfortunately, along those lines, these photos show the limitations of my cleanup effort, especially due to deteriorated nickel and/or chrome plating and a bit of rust still showing on the frame. Oh well, still better than when I found it, for sure.

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The Runwell: Day, Uh, 13? 14?

Honestly, I've lost track of the days. I've been working on sanding/chipping the old paint off the fenders, and priming, painting, and top-coating them. I'm about half-way through that process now. I also gave the frame a rubdown with rubbing compound, which really brought out the shine and deepened the color. No more pictures of the frame or fenders (well, maybe the fenders) until I'm all done--don't want to spoil the suspense!  

My cork grips from Velo Orange arrived yesterday, and I promptly set about cutting them down so they would fit on the Runwell's smallish handlebars. Because I lopped about two inches off the end of each grip, I was left with open-ended grips that needed bar plugs (it was an aesthetic choice not to take the two inches off the already-open end of the grips). To match the color of the cork grips (and boost my DIY cred), I whittled two plugs out of some scraps of 1" wooden dowel I had laying around. 

I'll varnish these separately, then put the grips and plugs on the bars and varnish them both together to create a good water-tight seal. I'll be running to the bike shop this weekend to hopefully get my tires, tubes, rim tape, chain, and new spoke. Then, it's an order from Harris Cyclery of rod-pull brake shoes, new block pedals, and perhaps a new seatpost (to replace the original angled post that seats me too far forward). Once all that is assembled, I'll give the frame a couple coats of polish and I'll be done. I won't say when that will be, for fear of jinxing the whole operation, but soon, I hope.

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The Runwell: Days 11 & 12

After one day spent badly bungling trying to re-lace my rear wheel, an evening carefully studying Sheldon Brown's guide, and another afternoon finally getting the stupid thing right, I can now say that I've built a wheel, or rather rebuilt a wheel. Once I actually pulled my head out of my...well...and thought about it for a minute, it all went pretty well, with the exception that I stripped a nipple (cue childish snickering) that's going to have to be replaced and the wheel trued.

I also greased and reassembled the rear hub, and now have a functional rear wheel that's in much better shape than when I found it. Here's the before picture for a comparison.

 

I've even tested the coaster brake by spinning the wheel in my hands, and it seems to work just fine. Like I said before, it's not quite as shiny as I would have liked, but there's only so much one can do after years of weather. 

On a side note, after exchanging emails with a very nice gent and former mechanic in England (who remembered when Runwell was still around in the 1960s as a smallish parts distributor), I believe I'm dealing with what's left of the original nickel plating, rather than chrome, which does a little more to explain why it was so badly deteriorated. Chrome was apparently introduced in 1928, but nickel plating was still applied after that date, so it remains hard to pin down exactly when my bike was manufactured.

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The Runwell: Days 9 & 10

Despite my recent disappointment at the utter failure of Menotomy's "Vintage Bicycle Cleaning Kit" (grrrr), I've been plowing ahead with the rear wheel cleanup. Unfortunately, although it is certainly better than it was, I have had to settle for an "antique patina" finish rather than shiny chrome and steel. The chrome is simply wasted after years of rusting outside. As a testament to the heartiness of the old construction, everything is still structurally sound, just cosmetically ruined. I'm still pressing on with my plan to get the bike back up and running before thinking about repainting and re-chroming (after all, I've not even ridden the thing yet), but someday down the road, I'll do both. Until then, no riding in the rain (not hard in SoCal). Here's the after picture of the outside of the rear hub, with the Perry mark relatively clear. The shiny strip is the result of being covered by the dust clip for so many years. Below is the before picture, so you can see that I did accomplish something. Right now, I still have the wheel completely taken apart, and everything is clean (if not shiny). I've never taken apart or reassembled a wheel before, so I'm advancing with trepidation, but I have faith that I'll be able to figure it out. I only attempted it here because the single-speed wheel on the Westwood rim is built without a dish because there is no derailer and gear cluster to compensate for, making it a much more straightforward build. For those who are interested, the rear rim is a 40-spoke design, typical of old English bikes, but not otherwise very common.  I'm going to hold off posting a "how to" about reassembling the wheel until I see if I actually "can do," but check out Sheldon Brown on wheel building in the meantime. Once the wheel is back together, both wheels and the frame are off to the bike shop for truing and to have the cottered cranks and stubborn stuck pedal removed. Once that's done, I'll just need to assemble all the replacement parts, and put 'er back together. I'm sure it won't be that easy, however.

 

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The Runwell: Day 8 1/2

File this under "echoes of former glory." While I (still) wait for my cleaning solution for the rear wheel to arrive, I cleaned up the fenders, which had gone untouched since I took them off on Day 1. In terms of dents and dings, they actually look better than I thought, but the paint is in sorry shape. What's worse, actually, on both front and rear fenders, there are small protected areas where the paint retains its original shine and even remnants of the gold pin-striping that used to be there. I'd almost rather not see how it used to look, actually, it makes me sad.

I had been thinking about just leaving the fenders off when I reassembled the bike, but now I'm thinking that sanding them, priming them, and spray-painting them gloss black can't be any worse than keeping them in their present state. I can already hear the howls of dismay from the purists out there, but I refer you to my earlier post on painting. Someday I'll have the bike professionally repainted and re-chromed, but I've got to get it up and running again first, and why not have some nice-looking fenders until then, right?

  

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The Runwell: Day 8

While I wait for some super-spiffy cleaning solution to arrive by mail so I can properly clean the rear wheel, chainring, and crank arms, I decided to re-dismantle the rear hub and really clean the whole thing up. Here's all the little bits (more or less) looking much cleaner than they did previously.  To be perfectly honest, making all these dirty little parts all nice and clean again gives me a great amount of pleasure. It's probably 2/3 of the reason I like working on old bikes. As for the condition of everything in there, frankly, there's some wear, as one might expect from a seventy-odd-year-old hub, but only time (read: reassembly) will tell if everything still functions properly. I believe it should, but what do I know?

      

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