Company directors reconsidered the business plan in 1894 when the Beauneville Electric Railway began operations, as market research suggested that prospective customers preferred sitting over pedaling. Turning to the street bicycle market, the company rolled out its aptly named Goliath high-wheeled bicycle in 1895. Sadly, the Goliath was obsolete from its inception and sales were limited to a batch of ten purchased by the Stapleton Police Department. There is no truth to the rumor that the Stapleton Police Department purchased the Goliaths solely because Mayor Henry Gittings also happened to sit on the Board of Beauneville Bicycle Company. That is sheer coincidence.
In the wake of the failed Goliath, Beauneville Bicycle Company turned to the manufacture of standard "safety" bicycles, from which they have not deviated since. Beauneville Bicycle Company products are highly prized by Beauneville denizens, many of whom are avid bicyclists; the environs of Beauneville being well-suited to bicycling as the roads are wide, well-paved, thinly trafficked and generally free of hills.
Although bicycles are handed down from generation to generation -- there are seven or eight stored in the Smith's carriage house -- every Beauneville youngster longs for his very own shiny Cruiser or Cruisette. After school, one sometimes sees children gathered outside the showroom on Railroad Avenue, noses pressed to the glass. On Christmas morning, in many homes, a child peeps around the corner of the living room to see a Cruiser standing in its fendered glory, a moment captured in the Company's famous advertising tagline: "Gee, Dad! It's a Beauneville!"
Beauneville Bicycle Company's products are well suited to local needs. The Beauneville Boxster comes in quite handy when toting a load of apples:
Today, Roderick pedals the bike paths around Old Ivy College with Molly, Megan and Natasha on his classic Beauneville Town and Country:
Molly has the version with a little basket in front:
Buxom and bubbly Megan is a more casual bicyclist because, as she takes pains to point out, she jiggles. Unsurprisingly, her bicycle is red, and is designed to avoid contact with her ladyparts:
Natasha, of course, eschews the local product; she prefers, instead, an imported Schindelhauer "Ludwig XVIII", fully equipped with Pinion P1.18 gearbox, CNC-machined disc brakes, Brooks saddle and Gates’ Center- Track System. "It only cost Daddy 5,000 Euros" she likes to say, dismissing out of hand any questions about the euro-dollar exchange rate.
"Why is your bicycle called "Ludwig XVIII?" asks Molly.
"I think he's the King of Germany," says Natasha.
"Germany is a Federal Republic, and hasn't had a monarch since 1918" says Roderick. "Also, there never were Kings of what we now call Germany, only of its constituent parts Prussia, Saxony, Wurttemburg and Bavaria; the monarch of Germany was an Emperor and not a King. There were King Ludwigs of Bavaria, but only three of them and not eighteen. The last of them, King Ludwig III, ruled until November, 1918, when the monarchy ended under politically ambiguous circumstances and without an actual abdication."
"Look at me, I'm jiggling!" says Megan.
Roderick observes that Megan does indeed jiggle when she bicycles, although to be perfectly honest Megan jiggles when she does just about anything.
This year at Old Ivy Roderick plans to attend Sunday services at St. Cecilia chapel, but he will not sing in the Bach Chorale; it's a time management thing. Another reason: word has got out that men who sing in the Chorale can pretty much have their way with the sopranos, so there is no shortage of prospective baritones this year.
Emily Scharf was disappointed and tried to persuade him to sign up again. Actually, she groveled at his feet and begged him to accept sexual favors in return for contributing his voice; but when Roderick's mind is made up...
