The Holy Grail

• For the past several years and then some, the domestic bicycle industry has been atwitter with city bikes. Artisinal makers are selling $4,000 grocery-getters with hammered fenders and internal dynamo wiring. Mainstream vendors are removing logos and busting out with subdued palettes. And European brands are gaining a foothold in American urban centers. Fans of simple, beautiful, and functional bicycles should be cheering, but there's just too much of a cacophony right now to determine whether this is a trend or simply just trendy.

  Here in TATIville, I build a few custom city bikes each year. They're usually based on the Model T platform, so more roadie than city, but generally outfitted with all the trimmings: upswept handlebars, cork grips, leather saddle, and clean-clean lines.

  

  In fact, these citified Model T's are really not unlike what Jacques Tati might have buzzed around the village on so many decades ago. They're nimble and fun and fast -- but certainly not for everyone, especially if everyone is wearing a skirt, or carrying two bags of groceries. And so we brought in Batavus: a true Amsterdam-style Dutch bicycle. I have one, and absolutely love it. I've carried little people, furniture, groceries, and even another bicycle on the included rear rack. I've ridden through the snow, along lake, and all through the south side. It lives outdoors and never rusts. It's indestructible, beautiful, and elegant. But there are a couple of drawbacks with the good old Old Dutch. First of all, they are not cheap. While $750 is very affordable compared to other Dutch marquees (trust me, Google it) -- it's several hundred more than the average Chicagoan, even one with an elevated sense of style, is generally willing to part with for a city bike. And more importantly, even the "small" Dutch bikes are pretty large by American standards, so smaller folks will really have a problem fitting one.

  

  The thing about Hyde Park is that it really is apart from Chicago in many ways. It skews both younger and older that other neighborhoods. It's more international. It's Mies van der Rohe and Harold's Chicken Shack. There are people here who ride Dutch bicycles to work every morning. And it's not because they read about it in the New York Times: they are actually Dutch. I recently chatted up a fellow who was interested in an affordable and stylish city bike. He was a well traveled, affable middle aged American, a therapist with an office a few blocks from his Kenwood house. He was wearing an Omega watch, wearing a Thomas Pink shirt, and drove a hybrid Lexus. But apparently $750 for the Batavus was too rich for his blood.

  "Let me know when you have something for half that," he said.
  "Well, that's kind of the holy grail," I said. "I've been looking for exactly that for years."

  This morning I gave the good doctor a ring, and he ordered a pair of matching Linus Dutchis.

  

  Linus is the brainchild of a couple of Europhilic Angelenos, and if the bikes are half as good as the buzz on them, then thank the stars for Europhilic Angelenos. They've got a roadster, a Dutch bike, and a mixte. A mixte!

  

  The bikes are available in limited sizes and colors, and they are virtually sold out everywhere of course, but this is part of the charm, yes? Don't we desire that which is unobtainable? And yet here they are, trickling into the shop a few at a time, available for a handful of sheckels, so that you, too, can roll over to Z&H, in a skirt or a bespoked suit, your shins covered in the finest merino argyle kneehighs, and a Shaun Deller cap tilted just. so. And you will order a deep Clover coffee and your partner will feast on a Fleegle, and you will bring a copy of the latest McSweeneys or Monocle or Proust, and wish Tim would let you smoke in the window.

  Well, either that, or you'll use it to commute and shop a little. And your clothes will remain clean. And you'll look good. Tell your friends, yes?