Kevin Barry is carving out a niche market that goes against the trend of
lightweight cycling
TODAY, lots of small bikers will be out and about on the shiny new machines that Santa Claus left by the tree. One big biker may be out there, too - on a work of art carved out of wood. His name is Kevin Barry.
Most modern bicycles are carefully protected against corrosion, slathered in primer and brightly enamelled in the season's most youthful fashion colours. Barry, by contrast, is confident that his machines are not only immune to rust but can also cope with dry rot, woodworm and warpage when damp: if doubts do arise, an occasional squirt of Mr Sheen is all that is required to keep these bikes fresh and shiny.
There are, right now, two places in London where you can view wooden bicycles. There is a hickory-framed historic model at the Design Museum's current bicycle exhibition, displaying what is, in effect, an overly ambitious application of turn-of-the-century walking-stick technology. And there is Barry's front-room in Putney, south-west London, home to two examples of the modern bike-maker's art.
"I discovered these bicycles on honeymoon in Indonesia - not my honeymoon, but my sister's," says Barry, a computer whizz, Internet designer, art importer and enthusiastic exponent of "mixed enterprise". He believes them to be the world's only commercially available, hand-carved teak bicycles.
"I saw them outside a furniture shop," he says. "The craftsmen make hardwood furniture, very intricately carved large pieces such as wardrobes - and they also make bicycles."
Amateur anthropologists and cycling historians take note: Indonesia does not possess an enduring culture of arboreal cycling, as, when Barry stumbled across them, his craftsmen had devoted only about nine months' research and development to this project.
Just as the average cycling enthusiast can talk enthusiastically about the subtle difference in cornering performance provided by, say, Reynolds 531 or Columbus Genius tubing, so Barry can give equally vital details of his choice of frame material.
"The teak comes from northern Java. It comes from renewable sources, is about 120 years old and is seasoned for about two years. Teak is pretty impervious to weather - boats are made of it, after all."
While gears and brakes are regular, mid-range Shimano components, there are no concessions to modernity in the frame's construction. "I think the most sophisticated tool they have is a vice," says Barry.
Templates provide a basic form and the individual pieces of each frame are hand-shaped. No glue, nails or screws are used to assemble the bikes: traditional wooden pegs affix the frame sections and the entire bicycle is then smoothed, polished and lacquered to a seductively tactile finish.
There is an almost lunatic reliance on carving in these bicycles. As well as frame and mudguards, the lights, handlebars and handlebar grips, chainguards and saddles are each painstakingly shaped from lush brown lumber.
For those worried about the potentially eye-watering effect splintered teak could have on Lycra cycling shorts, these bicycles can also be supplied with a conventional saddle.
In the evolution of the bicycle, wood was quickly surpassed by steel, aluminium and, at today's cutting edge, all manner of aerospace-derived thermoplastics. Yet while teak offers one major benefit to a manufacturer - minimal capital investment - there is an equally significant drawback inherent in the material for any more-than-casual cyclist. Each of Barry's bikes weighs about 50 lb - whether it is an unadorned basic model, one wrapped in an intricately detailed snake or one that has a dragon snuggled amidships. This is twice the weight any suburban pedaller wishes to heft uphill. This ride, while smooth and solid, is undeniably hard on the calves.
"A cyclist isn't really going to buy one of these bikes," says Barry. "I think they are going to be upmarket toys for the guy with the Ferrari in the garage. I understand there's a bit of a trend among people who live in lofts to hang a bike on the wall. We're marketing them as a fully functional piece of art."
At a starting price of about £1,500, the wooden bicycle could represent the ultimate two-wheeled niche market. Barry isn't too concerned whether they sell or not.
"I'll make a little money if I sell them, but there's a bit of altruism involved," he says. "These guys have a pretty rough time out there in Indonesia and I might be able to help them. If I don't sell any, fine.
"They're just lovely things to have around - and a good reminder of my sister's honeymoon."
