Did You Have a Schwinn Varsity?
If you’re of a certain age and can remember a time before virtually all bicycles were made in China by one or two giant companies, odds are pretty good that you spent at least a part of your youth getting around on a Schwinn. And when you got to a certain age or height, maybe you “graduated” to your first 10-speed. For an awful lot of junior cyclists that ride would have been a Schwinn Varsity.
It’s almost bizarre — if you look at the current Schwinn website’s history page, you’ll see company reminiscences of different milestone eras, makes and models, including the spiffy Black Phantom — arguably the inspiration for the bicycle that served as the McGuffin of the camp classic Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure — and the ’60s-dragster-inspired Sting-Ray. But you won’t see any mention of the Varsity at all. Schwinn history jumps from the era of the Sting-Ray right to the “BMX craze” of the ’80s, seemingly ignoring this titan of a bike that was almost synonymous with pre-driver’s license freedom in the ’70s and ’80s.
Everett Collection
The bike was first introduced by Schwinn as a 3-speed cruising bike in the ’50s, but in 1960 it became an 8-speed with drop-down handlebars — looking more like the iconic bike we eventually came to know. (The extra two speeds were added in 1962.) The popular notion of the “10-speed,” as it came to be known in the popular vernacular, really took hold in the 1970s, and for years, the Varsity was everywhere. On the roads and bike paths, in suburban garages, on bike racks at schools, at public parks, at malls — they were loaded with the things. There were so many of them, I’m convinced that everyone who wanted one could have had one … because kids were so careless and didn’t lock them up half the time, that anyone might just come along and help themselves. Occasionally you would see a Varsity Deluxe — a model that had a front freewheel system that allowed you to shift gears while coasting — but somehow, they seemed a just little less cool.
Why was the Schwinn Varsity so popular?
As popular as it was, the Varsity wasn’t without its problems. With its steel frame, the Varsity weighed in at just under 40 lbs., making it a real bear to try to get up steep hills. (But it has to be said, providing a great workout for anyone really committing to riding one.) I remember the famous “rat trap” pedals that would turn the skin on your shin to grated cheese if your foot slipped off of one of them in just the right way, or that otherwise could spin backward with that buzzing derailleur noise and smack your shin just right. Or you might have both injuries consecutively and experience an altogether new level of pain.
Speaking of pain, one can’t forget those twin gearshift levers located right where the nut connecting your handlebars to the frame was, instead of on the down tube where most dropdown-handlebar bikes had them. This probably wasn’t quite the hazard for girls as it was for boys — for guys, a too-quick stop had lethal potential that could also curtail chances for fatherhood later on.
Netflix partnered with Schwinn for the iconic bikes of their lead characters in Stranger Things. Curtis Baker/Netflix /Everett Collection
But for all of its drawbacks, it was a warhorse of a bike that could really take a lot of punishment and often was handed down from sibling to sibling. (Which is probably why it was discontinued, but that’s another story.) I know that’s how I got my first Varsity … and it would have been the only one I would have had; had it not been destroyed in an unfortunate accident. And even that was surprising. Varsity bicycles were built like tanks. They were designed to survive the crack-ups and spills that were common among kids who did stupid things, like taking turns at 25 miles an hour when there was sand covering the pavement left over from winter, or trying to jump on or off curbs, or slamming into littler kids who weren’t looking where they were going.
In my case, I can at least blame it in part on someone else. I grew up in an area with a lot of folks who were of retirement age, and who drove big cars. I was out riding with friends, and we had just crested a hill and were starting to hurtle down at a pretty good clip. I was always very conscious of adhering to the right side of the road, but apparently being about a foot off the shoulder was too far for this particular taxpayer, who chose to run me off the road with his Lincoln. My Varsity carried me into the culvert of someone’s lawn — it was our school’s librarian’s lawn, if memory serves, and I think it does — and I proceeded to slam into the stone wall protecting the drainage pipe that went under the driveway. I went flying about 10-15 feet and landed on the other side of the driveway. The car never stopped, of course, but I was lucky, and my friends did. I was a bit shaken, a bit dazed, but mostly OK. My Varsity, on the other hand, was done for. The top tube and down tube were bent so badly that the forks had shifted probably 20 degrees backward, rendering the bike completely unrideable, and essentially unfixable.
The 1964 “Coppertone” Schwinn Varsity — nearly identical to the one I destroyed.
Such was the reputation of the Schwinn Varsity’s durability that our local Schwinn dealer wanted to keep this rather spectacularly destroyed specimen as a hilarious display. I don’t really remember what happened with it, but I did ultimately end up with a new, blue Schwinn Varsity that became effectively a part of me over the coming years. One thing in particular that I remember in hindsight was that the wheelbase of the Varsity was so ridiculously long that riding no handed was a breeze. Provided traffic cooperated, I could ride for miles, taking turns and rounding obstacles without touching the handlebars. And, with all of the hubris and stupidity of a kid who feels he’s going to live forever, I did so … and lived to tell the tale.
This was that age, though, and that time, when, once you were on your bike, parents had no idea where you really were — and like so many, I took advantage of that. Not to get up to trouble, but just to explore and get out to areas that, had my folks known where I was, they probably wouldn’t have believed it, and certainly would have freaked out at the kind of traffic into which I had gotten.
But this was what it was all about — the Varsity was an ideal ticket to get away and find yourself in new places, to be on your own, and not at home. I remember making the most of this in my younger years, and even as friends started getting their driver’s licenses, I kept on riding and enjoying that particular sort of liberty, with the breeze in my hair and my legs on fire. (Helmets were only just starting to be worn by non-racers at about that time, so no, I didn’t have one until much later, but now I won’t ride without one.)
So many memories are tied up with the Varsity. Not all of them were great — like the front derailleur throwing the chain over the top of the chain ring, where it would get stuck between the chain ring and crank, or getting flats and having to monkey with them on the side of the road. But the good memories far outweigh the bad. I still wouldn’t trade either of my current rides for a Varsity, even for my old one that I knew so well, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t give a lot to take it out for one more spin.
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