Showing posts with label Vitus 979. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vitus 979. Show all posts

13 July 2017

Bikes From The Night The Lights Went Out

I took Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear, out for a spin this morning. My plan was to finish before the worst of the heat and humidity we would experience this afternoon.  I succeeded at that, and at avoiding the downpour that would end them.

My ride took me through, among other places, the non-hipster parts of Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  Believe it or not, they still exist, mainly south of the Williamsburg Bridge and east of Bedford Avenue.  They are, in some ways, time-capsules of what this city was like, say, 40 years ago.

On this date in 1977, one of the most infamous blackouts in history darkened New York City.  Brooklyn's Broadway, which cuts through the borough from the East River to East New York, incurred some of the most serious looting and arson that night in a city that was already suffering from a reputation for anarchy.  

At that time, all of Williamsburg--and much of the rest of this city--bore more resemblance to  today's South and East Williamsburg than it does to the nightlife capital to its north and west.  Hipster-equivalents of that time never would have ventured into such a place:  In fact, about the only young white people to be found were those who were born and raised there and hadn't gone to college, joined the military or gotten out in some other way.   And, perhaps, a few punk-rockers and anti-establishment artists, who are practically the antithesis of hipsters.

You see, in the year Howard Cosell supposedly exclaimed, "The Bronx is Burning!", most residents of neighborhoods like Williamsburg were poor or blue-collar.   If they were white (usually Italian, German or Irish) they weren't young.  Those who were young, or even middle-aged, were likely to be Puerto Rican, Black or Hasidic Jews--like the folks who live in the non-hipster enclaves today.

I saw them on the streets today: the kids running and doing the kinds of things kids do everywhere when school's out.  Their mothers were never more than a few steps away, propped against poles or fences or sitting on stoops in front of the houses.  

Even with the hipsters nowhere to be seen, I saw plenty of bikes.  Some were being ridden, mainly by folks like me who were pedaling through the neighborhood.  Others were chained to parking meters, signposts and other immovable objects.  Ironically, they might have been new--or, at least, not more than a few years old--during the days to which I've alluded, but I probably would not have seen them because, in those days, there were relatively few cyclists in this city, and almost none in neighborhoods like the ones I've mentioned.

I saw this French ten-speed bike from around the mid-1970's as I spun down Franklin Avenue:





Paris Sport was a "house" brand for bikes imported by Park Cycle and Sports of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey.  They were made by several French manufacturers, most commonly Dangre-Starnord, a company based in Valenciennes (a northern French town along the Paris-Roubaix race route) that also sold bikes under the France-Sport and Nord-Star brands.

So it's not surprising that the bike resembles machines from Gitane, Jeunet and Mercier made in that era.  What I found interesting, though, were some of the apparent changes.







The reason this bike caught my eye was the Sun Tour bar end shifters ("Barcons").  One rarely sees them on any bike parked on a New York street, and they certainly were not original equipment on the bike.  More likely, the bike had shifters on the down tube or handlebar stem, and they probably would have been made by Huret, the manufacturer of the "Svelto" derailleur that probably is orignial equipment.




Seeing Weinmann "Vainqueur" centerpull brakes on a French bike is not unusual. However, if you look closely, you will see that the "yoke" that pulls on the straddle cable is not Weinmann's.  This one looks clunkier, and the cable hangers on the steerer tube and seat bolt are thinner than the ones that usually came with Weinmann brakes.  The hangers look like they could be Mafac, but may have been from CLB, whose  brakes and fitments (except for their later "Professional" sidepulls) looked like cruder versions of Mafac's offerings.




I am guessing that someone simply replaced parts as they needed replacing, or simply didn't have the money to do a complete "makeover".  (I mean, what else would explain such good shift levers with such ordinary derailleurs?)  I am also guessing that whoever rides the bike now "inherited" it from somebody and has no idea of what I'm talking about.

The same might be said for this bike parked a few blocks away:





It's the first time I've seen a Royce Union--or, for that matter, any bike with a chainguard like that--in such a color.






It looks like the same model as (or one similar to) the Royce Union three-speed my grandfather gave me about three years before I could ride it. Like my old bike, it was made in Japan.  But the color--and the head tube that could have passed for aluminum if not for the rust spots--reminded me of a bike I often saw a couple of decades later:




The Vitus 979 was, of course, one of the first widely-ridden aluminum frames.  It was available in anodized blue, green, gold, red, purple and the pink shown in the above photo.  As much as I love the other colors, whenever someone mentions the Vitus 979, that rose hue is the first that comes to my mind.




Somehow I doubt that the Royce Union came with such a finish.  I suspect that the bike had once been purple or magenta, or perhaps even red, and had faded--a common fate for the paint on Japanese bikes of the time.

At least it's being used, or looks as if it is, if not by its original owner--who may or may not have lived in the neighborhood the night the lights went out.


05 April 2014

Quelle Coincidence!

Wouldn't you know it?  The other day I wrote, among other things, about aluminum frames of the recent and distant past.  So, on my way out of work last night, what should I chance to see but this?:




It is, of course, one of the most iconic aluminum frames of all:  the Vitus 979, from France.



Vitus aluminum frames were somewhat-more-refined versions of what is commonly regarded as the first modern aluminum frame:  the ALAN, from Italy.  (Alan is short for "alluminio anodizzato," Italian for "anodized aluminum.) 

While the ALAN consisted of aluminum alloy tubes bolted and bonded into thicker aluminum lugs, Vitus skipped the bolting and simply glued the frame together.  Company engineers claimed--with justification, I believe--that the bonding material Vitus used was stronger than what was found in Alan frames.  Whatever the case, I have never heard of either frame coming apart at the joints.

The ALAN was introduced in 1972; the Vitus came seven years later.  While the Italian frame gained a small if loyal following among time trialists and others who wanted to build the lightest possible bike, its French counterpart was ridden by club cyclists as well as racers.  Also, being one of the most expensive frames available at the time, it had a certain amount of snob appeal in the '80's, when it reached its peak of popularity.

Like the ALAN, the Vitus was often kitted out with the lightest or most "trick" componentry available.  For the ALAN, that meant Campagnolo Super Record gear with titanium bits.  On the other hand, Vituses were often seen with Mavic hubs and GEL-280 rims (Mavic had yet to produce a pre-built wheelset), Stronglight 106 cranks with the company's titanium bottom bracket, CLB or Speidel brakes and Huret Jubilee derailleurs.  



The Vitus set-up I described is what Jeannie Longo, whom many regard as the greatest female racer of all time, rode to victory in the Tour de France Feminin and her first Olympic win.  

The example I saw parked on the street looks like a model from around that time.  When new, the top and down tubes were anodized in a magenta-ish shade of pink, while the seat tube had more of a purplish hue.  Anodizing, especially in brighter and bolder colors, tends to fade over time; the bike in the photos doesn't have much of its original tint left.

When I see bikes like that--or a classic steel frame--I always wonder whether it's being ridden by the original owner, or whether it was inherited.  (A young man I met on the Staten Island Ferry about a year ago told me his father raced the Simoncini he was riding.)  In the case of the Vitus, or an Alan, I also wonder how much it was ridden over the years.  You see, those frames had aluminum tubes in the same diameter as Reynolds, Columbus or other steel tubes including the ones Vitus were still making at the time they produced their aluminum frames. That made for a very light, though flexy bike.  (On the other hand, it also made for a very comfortable ride over long distances and hours.)  Those factors probably explain why Longo and other female--as well as smaller male--racers rode them.

In 1992, Vitus superceded the 979 with a new model, the 992.  It featured ovoid aluminum tubes in an attempt to make the bike stiffer without resorting to large-diameter tubing, as Klein and Cannondale were employing.  Even so, the 992 was never as popular as the 979, in part because it came along just as titanium frames were becoming popular. And, of course, within a few years carbon--which Vitus helped to re-introduce during the 1980's--would take much of the market share enjoyed by tituanium and Vitus aluminum frames.

Still, whoever rides the bike I saw last night is enjoying an interesting bit of cycling history.  Somehow it's nice to know that Vitus is still making aluminum and carbon frames though, apparently, it's discontinued its maganese-molybdenum steel tubing.  However, I couldn't find information on whether or not the frames were still being made in France.  After all, Look and Time, the most venerable French carbon-fiber bikes, are now being manufactured in Asia.