The Classic and Antique Bicycle Exchange

My Classic and I

Stories about finding and restoring vintage American bicycles

The Story of Two Prewar Schwinns

by Richard Truett

It's a Thursday afternoon about two hours before I have to leave for the airport to get on a plane bound for Detroit. I booked my tickets months in advance for the Memory Lane Classics Show and Swap Meet and the Ann Arbor/Saline Show -- the two best vintage bike events on the East Coast. And I wouldn't miss them for anything.

Except maybe the chance to own a Schwinn Aerocycle.

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I am pacing nervously in front of the phone waiting for the antiques dealer to call. I am wondering if he will accept my offer for the Aerocycle that he plucked from a closed hardware store in a tiny South Carolina town tucked 100 miles in the backwoods.

Three days before, he mailed The CABE a photo of the bike and asked if we would like to make an offer for it. He got our name from The Swap Meet Shopper, a small publication where we used to send our classified ads each month. The Swap Meet Shopper had a bit of everything in it, and many antiques dealers got the publication and advertised in it. My mom opened the letter, looked at the picture and wrote: "Rusty old bike" on the envelope. She tossed it on the stack of mail and it sat there for a day or two. When I came over to the pick up the mail, she told me about it, but I didn't get too excited because we get plenty of letters like that. If there's a stamped self-addressed envelope, we usually refer the person to a collector nearby.

But not this time.

When I opened the letter and saw the picture of the bike, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. It was a faded but nearly complete Aerocycle. I could tell the chainguard was missing and that it had the wrong kickstand. But the tank, light, light bezel, pancake horn and taillight were there. As soon as my heart rate returned to normal, I called the antiques dealer and asked what he wanted for the bike. "I'm just accepting offers right now," he said.

I could tell he knew the bike was worth money and that he wasn't going to commit to a price or even mention any number at all. I would have to establish a starting point.

He said the bike had sat in the window of a hardware store in Gillson, South Carolina. The store, he said, had been closed since the 1950s. Recently the bike and other items became available in an estate sale, and he was trying sell the bike for the woman who owned it. I asked him to ask the woman how much she wanted for the Aerocycle and if he would call me back the next day, Thursday morning. The call ended with no offers tendered and no prices mentioned, but he said he would call back.

I nearly wore a hole in the linoleum pacing in front of the phone the next morning. The phone didn't ring. So that afternoon, I called the dealer and told him if we could agree on a price, I'd stop by the bank, get cash and leave immediately. Some more haggling and jockeying went on before we started talking dollars. He knew the bike was valuable, but he didn't know how valuable. Eventually, we agreed on a price. He said he'd have to ask the lady if she would accept it. About an hour later he called back and said yes, we had a deal. I offered to let him charge $500 to my credit card as a deposit, but he refused. There are still some places in this country where a man's word is as good as a handshake.

Looking at the map, I saw that it was a straight shot from Orlando on Interstate 95 through the eastern tip of Georgia to South Carolina. This could be one hell of a wild goose chase, but I had to go for it. I just made it to the bank before closing time and then I hit the road at 4 p.m. I turned onto Highway 278 in South Carolina at 8:45 p.m. and called the dealer. We agreed to complete the transaction that night, and by 10:15 I was in the parking lot of the antiques store. The bike was covered with dust and crust, but even so, I could tell the paint was beyond saving. Someone had put a set of cheap whitewall tires on it so that it would roll. A few other hasty repairs were made. There was a set of new metallic blue grips and a NOS Western Flyer pedal. I gave the bike a good inspection to make sure that there were no reproduction parts on the tank and that the rest of the parts were in good, restorable condition. Everything checked out.

After I paid the man, I took a look around and saw he had a very clean prewar ladies Columbia Superb for $350. Any other time I might have tried to buy that bike. But now I was 398 miles from home and feeling a bit tired. It had already been a 14-hour day. As I was loading the Aerocycle into my 1986 Dodge minivan, I realized that the bike was worth more than the van! By 10:45 p.m. I was back on the road. Many times during the night, I turned on the interior lights and looked back at the Aerocycle. I couldn't believe it was really there. If you are a prewar Schwinn collector, the Aerocycle is the best you can hope for in terms of rarity of numbers produced.

I pulled into my driveway at about 5 a.m., unloaded the bike, and wheeled it into the garage. I chained it and padlocked it to my workbench. Then, still excited but weary to the bone, I went to sleep. About noon I woke up and made arrangements for another flight to Detroit.

I would miss the first day of the Memory Lane show, but I now had an Aerocycle in my collection. I took pictures of the Aerocycle that afternoon, had them developed and took them with me. I saw one other Aerocycle at Memory Lane, a fine original owned by Sam Pfaff. He wanted something like $8,500 for it, and he found no interested parties as far as I know.

Later, I asked Leon Dixon -- perhaps the foremost authority on classic bicycles -- how many Aerocycles he thinks there are in the world. He estimates that no more than 50 originals survive in various conditions (including original framesets) and that there may be 10 more that have been cobbled together with reproduction tanks and other fake parts.

Once I got back from Memory Lane and Ann Arbor, I cleaned up the Aerocycle as best I could. I took out the crank to see what date it had stamped in it. It says "AS 36," meaning that the crank was made in 1936. Dixon says that's not a foolproof way to date a bike because the crank could have been changed. Also, even if it is the original crank that came with the bike, it doesn't necessarily mean that the bike is a '36. Dixon says a crank made in 1936 could have been put on a later year model bicycle, but not likely on an Aerocycle since there were no 1937 models and only a handful of 1936 bikes. My Aerocycle has a big Wald side kickstand that was introduced in April 1935, according to American Bicyclist magazine. The Schwinn literature lists the Aerocycle as available in 1934 and '35. Likely, my bike is a late 1935 or a '36 model, says Dixon. In his upcoming book on the history of classic American bicycles, Dixon says he will explain the differences in the Aerocycle throughout its production run.

My Aerocycle has some odd things about it. It has a handlebar mounted EA hornbutton, but a Delta Gangway pancake horn. Dixon says the two were not mixed at the factory and do not belong together on the same bicycle. Also, the seat is correct for the era, but it doesn't have the bright metal trim around the pan.

It's kind of a strange feeling owning the rarest and most sought after prewar Schwinn balloon tire bike. Where do I go from here? Can I ever get excited about any lesser Schwinns? In a sense, I feel as if I climbed Mt. Everest or made it to the North Pole. As a bike collector, I dreamed of unearthing an Aerocycle, and when I finally did I never thought I'd own any prewar Schwinn that is more awesome.

But then I did.

One morning in early May, I clicked on my computer and logged to America Online to check the CABE's e-mail. These are messages sent from everywhere by other computer users, mostly those who look at the CABE's Home Page on the Internet and wonder about an old bike they have in the garage or attic.

One of the messages was from a man named Bob Peterson who lived near Maryland. He wanted to know how much a 1941 Ranger Champion was worth. I get a zillion of these requests for prices each week and try to answer them as best I can. I usually ask the person to send me a photo of the bike. Mr. Peterson sent several photos and then told me a little about his bike.

His aunt bought the bike for her two boys in 1941. They saved every scrap of paper that came with the Ranger, including all the tags for the seat, crossbar speedometer and Miller kickstand. They saved the warranty, the guaranty and even the envelope in which they came. They even saved the original shipping receipt from Railway Express, dated 7-26-41. They saved all the sales flyers and catalogs Mead sent them after they bought the bike. In 1973, when Peterson got the bike, he sent a letter to Stewart Warner asking if they could replace the face of the Clipper speedometer, which had faded. Stewart Warner rebuilt the speedometer for no charge and replaced the dial. Mr. Peterson saved all the correspondence for that, too.

He also wrote to Schwinn asking for some replacement parts for the New Departure front and rear hubs. Schwinn sent the new hub parts along with a very nice letter about the history of the Mead Cycle Co. Mr. Peterson saved that correspondence as well. He was selling the bike because he was moving from a big house into an apartment and no longer had room for it. Mr. Peterson retired recently and has no plans to ever ride a bicycle again, at least not one that heavy.

When I saw the photos of the bike, I recognized right away what it was: a Schwinn Deluxe Autocycle. But it didn't look like a '41 model. It looked more like a mid to late '30s bike. It has the hanging straightbar tank with reflectors on each side, locking chrome truss rod fork, chrome chainguard and chrome six-hole carrier with built-in reflector. There's also a big reflector with an aluminum housing on the rear fender. From the photos, it looked as if the bike might have a little surface rust. I called Bob and we settled on a price. I would paid roughly 50 times what the bike cost new.

But there was a problem.

How was I going to get it home? I dared not have it shipped because I thought it would be a crime to take apart such a beautiful original. Plus, there was a chance some of the original nuts, bolts or parts could get lost. Also, I didn't want anyone in any bike store nearby finding out about the Ranger and offering more money for it. So, I made arrangements for Mr. Peterson to hold the Ranger for me until I could fly into Baltimore, pick it up and drive it home. I offered to send him some money as a deposit to hold the bike, but Peterson refused. I guess that small town near Baltimore might be another of those places where a man's word is as good as a handshake.

I flew into Baltimore on Saturday, June 13th, picked up a GMC van at the airport and followed the directions to Peterson's old house. I knew from the pictures the bike was an awesome original. But that didn't prepare me for when I saw it up close. Many times a bike will be worse in real life than in a photo.

But this one was better.

The surface rust I thought I saw was just brown sawdust. The bike had lived the previous 25 years in a heated basement near a woodworking machine of some sort. And before that, inside at Peterson's aunt's house. Her two boys took excellent care of the Ranger when they were young. After all, it cost $53 in 1941, a heck of a lot of money in those days. There are a few scratches on the fenders, but no major defects. It looks as if the tank never has had a battery in it. The original tan cloth-covered wiring looks brand new. When I opened the tank door, I saw a bulb in the center just ahead of the battery tray. It's there to light up the side reflectors. A big lantern battery also powers the horn, dual headlights (which have Delta stamped in the center of the lenses) as well as the light for the speedometer. Those Delta lights, by the way, could pass for NOS.

Underneath the tank is a black hand pump that clips to a holder mounted to the frame. The pump says "Mead Cycle Company." It also says "Made in England" and "Strong, Light and Durable." The pump, which still works, appears to have never been used.

The decals are in perfect shape. So is the brown leather saddle, which has Mead stamped in it. According to the 1941 Mead catalog, the bike should have come with a full floating "pogo" saddle, a greyhound fender ornament and rubber pedals. But this bike was shipped while World War II was raging in Europe and Asia. Supplies of some things bicycle-related were already starting to get scarce. One of the tags that Peterson's aunt saved reads:

"We regret that due to War Priorities and the Defense Program, we are no longer able to obtain the Chrome Greyhound, nor the Full-Floating Saddle pictured on the Ranger Champion model. The Champion is now equipped with the same Mead Genuine Grain Brown Leather Saddle that is used on the Ranger Zephyr Bicycle."

The tires are the only things that I can tell that are not original. Peterson had the originals replaced with Schwinn blackwall Typhoons in 1973. But as luck would have it, I have a near perfect set of of Goodyear G-3s that were original equipment on the bike.

About 45 minutes after I arrived at Peterson's house, the deal was completed and I was southbound on Interstate 95 headed home. It was a 953-mile, 14-hour ride home from Baltimore to Orlando, the last three hours of which I fought like hell to stay awake. Thank god for John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival! Toward the end of the trip I covered some of the same ground on Interstate 95 as I did with the Aerocycle just a few weeks before. When I finally got home, I unloaded the Ranger and parked the it in the living room next to my 1937 LaSalle Motorbike. I looked at them for a few minutes, thought the two bikes made a nice pair, and then went to sleep. It was 2:30 a.m. and it never felt so good to be home.

The Aerocycle is in the garage -- for now. I started getting some estimates for a paint job. But then I had a change of heart. Even though I could turn the Aerocycle into a museum piece, I decided not to restore it.

Or even keep it.

The Aerocycle is a neat bike, but I like my two other prewar Schwinns better. I have seen Aerocycles for sale in various places. They can be had if one has enough money. But I have never seen another Motorbike like my 1936 LaSalle -- it has the optional and very rare "bright aluminum fenders" that available for only three years in the mid 1930s. Those fenders, in my mind, make my Motorbike unique. And I doubt I'll ever see an Autocycle as good as the Ranger.

I eventually sold the Aerocycle to a man in California. The Ranger will stay where it is -- for awhile. But envision that bike living out its years in a museum somewhere. Can you imagine the display that could be made with all that original paperwork? All that is missing is the original crate in which the bike is shipped.

You know, I should have asked if they saved that too.


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