Before Amelia Earhart set off to circumnavigate the globe, there was a different breed of intrepid world traveler: the cyclist. In 1892, young and handsome Frank Lenz quit his accounting job in favor of a 20,000-mile, three-continent jaunt around the globe atop his newfangled “safety” bicycle (as opposed to the more popular, and dangerous, 56-inch front wheel bike).
With the trip came fame, adventure, exposure to foreign cultures, and, inevitably, great danger. On the final leg of his trip, two years after his initial departure, Lenz mysteriously disappeared somewhere in eastern Turkey. In The Lost Cyclist (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 336 pp.) premier bicycle historian David Herlihy recounts Lenz’ tale, and – simultaneously – that of William Sachtleben, the roving detective-cyclist sent to find out what happened to Lenz.
The book – equal parts travelogue, murder mystery, and political saga – comes complete with 30-something pages of black-and-white photographs, many of them taken by Lenz and sent to Outing magazine during his lengthy ride: Lenz posing with his bicycle in front of a giant Buddha statue in Japan, chatting with a local at the Taj Mahal, crouching beside a camel in the Persian desert. Lenz and Sachtleben’s observations of the world outside the United States, available thanks to their letters, journals, and travel features, are perhaps the most intriguing part of the story.
