Stopping Everywhere: Weinmann Brakes

A couple of days ago, I wrote about something no one seems to make anymore:  a component (as opposed to an accessory) found on bicycles in all price ranges.  Specifically, I wrote about Mafac Racer brakes, which were found on everything from the most elegant constructeur frames to utilitarian commuters.

Today, I am going to write about another such component.  Interestingly enough, it is also a brake.  Like the Mafac, there's a good chance you rode it, especially if you came of age during the '70's Bike Boom.  You may still be riding it.

I am talking about the Weinmann Vainqueur center-pull brake.  If you rode a derailleur-equipped bike from just about any British maker or Schwinn --or Motobecane or any number of other continental European manufacturers-- it most likely had the Vainqueur. (Motobecane, Raleigh, Schwinn and some other bike-makers re-badged the brakes.) Schwinn outfitted their otherwise-Campagnolo-equipped  top-of-the-line Paramount road bikes with Vainqueurs; on the racing version of the bike, they could be replaced with Campagnolo side pulls for an extra cost. Such an option was not available for the touring version, which had larger clearances for wider tires and fenders.

Also in common with the Mafac Racer, the Weinmann Vainqueur was often found on bikes made by constructeurs like Rene Herse and Alex Singer.  On such bikes, the brake arms were likely to be fitted to brazed-on posts like those used for cantilevers.  It must be noted, however, that you can't use cantis on  center-pull mounts or vice-versa:  The studs for centerpulls were located higher up on the fork or seat stay than those used for cantilevers.

The Weinmann Vainqueur was introduced around 1957, or five years after the Mafac Racer. From the beginning, they were made in two lengths:  the 610 and 750.  All of the additional length on the 750s was below the pivot bolts. That might be a reason why some cyclists thought they were flexy.

The earliest Vainqueurs, made until 1964, featured engraved lettering and red washers over the metal pivot bushings.  The calipers were usually silver, but they were also available anodized in red, black or dark blue, rather like the "midnight blue" brakes Galli made a decade and a half later.  (At that time, Weinmann also offered wing nuts in those same colors!) To me, those brakes look rather nice--certainly, nicer than the Racer or any other brake Mafac was making at the time. 

Even more important, the earliest iterations of the Vainqueur had a single continuous spring that coiled around both pivots; after 1962, each pivot had separate springs.  Some argued that the single-spring models were stiffer and had a harder "feel", which made them more modulate-able.  (Is that a real word?)  I have never tested that hypothesis, so I couldn't say.  However, I can tell you that having separate springs makes cleaning and maintenance easier--and, of course, you can replace just one of the springs, if need be.

From 1965 onward, Weinmann abandoned the engraved lettering on the outer arm in favor of a foil applique.  It was red until some time in the late 1970's; after that, it was black.

Perhaps its most important feature--later copied by Dia-Compe, which made a virtual clone of the Vainqueur--was the "finger" that stuck out from the inside pivot arm into a groove on the back of the outside pivot arm.  That "finger", coated with plastic that matched the color of the sticker (and pivot washers), forced the two arms to work together.  I always liked that:  Once you adjusted and centered the brakes, you knew that there would be a nice, even action when you pulled the lever.

Some argue that Mafacs were of higher quality than the Weinmanns.  I find that debatable; having ridden thousands of miles on both and worked on dozens, if not hundreds of sets of both brands, I think the quality of the arms was about equal, though the finish on the Vainqueur was a little better than that of the Racer (but not of the later anodized brakes Mafac made).  However, I always though the quality of the fastening and attachment hardware was better on the Weinmanns than on the Mafacs.  At least, Weinmann's seemed a little beefier and didn't rust, tarnish or pit as easily as Mafac's.

One clear edge Mafacs had over Weinmanns was adjustability.  Weinmann brake shoes had threaded posts and bolted directly into the slot on the brake arm, in contrast to Mafac's pivoting eyebolt.   As I mentioned in my post about Mafac, that feature was important when many rims did not have parallel straight sides; however, when Weinmann's centerpulls came out, the trend was moving toward straight parallel sides, which nearly all new rims (the notable exception being those made for disc brakes) have today.  

Also, the transverse (straddle) cable on the Mafac Racer was infinitely adjustable in length; Weinmann's transverse cable had fixed ends.  But, in later years, Weinmann (as well as Dia Compe) offered their transverses in a variety of lengths.

Since I never had a rim like the Constrictor Asp, I never needed the kind of adjustability the Mafac offered.  And, as better replacement pads (such as Mathauser/Kool Stop) and cables became available, whatever advantages Mafac offered became less important.  It was probably for this reason, and the fact that Weinmanns were easier to set up, that some bike manufacturers--most notably Peugeot--that had been equipping their bikes with Mafacs shifted to Weinmann during the late 1970's.

Mafac went out of business around 1985.  Weinmann continued to make the Vainqueur for a few years after that.  But the demand for center-pulls dried up as the advantages offered by Campagnolo trickled down into mid- and lower-priced sidepulls, some of which were made by Weinmann.

Whatever one thought of Weinmann centerpulls , their name offered a moment of levity when some people--including Fred "Fritz" Kuhn, the longtime proprietor of Kopp's Cycles in Princeton, NJ--pronounced it "Vain-queer".

HP-Turbo: A "Lost" Brake From Weinmann?

If you bought a new ten-speed bike of better-than-marginal quality during the '70's Bike Boom, there's a good chance that it came with Weinmann brakes and/or rims.

Most made-in-Chicago Schwinn bikes had one or both until about the mid-1980s.  So did many European bikes, if they didn't have Mafac brakes or Rigida rims.

Nobody ever got really excited about most Weinmann products:  They weren't flashy, but they usually did their jobs and their prices were reasonable.  The best example of this was their "Vainqueur" center-pull brake, which came on everything from the Schwinn Paramount (the touring model) and Raleigh International to the Schwinn Continental and Raleigh Grand Prix.  It was even found on some bikes from French constructeurs and English bespoke builders, who would attach the brakes to brazed-on bosses.

Probably the one product the company produced that was noticeably different from its competitors was their concave rim.  Its unique shape was said to give it superior strength to other rims.  I don't know whether the shape had anything to do with it, but I know (because I used to commute on a pair) it was strong--and noticeably heavier than other alloy rims.

In the late 1970s, Weinmann tried to modernize its offerings.  That is when they brought out the concave rim.  Around that time, they also introduced their "Carrera" brake, meant to compete with Campagnolo.  The quality was excellent and the finish beautiful.  However, it lacked the flats on the center bolt that allowed the brakes to be centered with a hub cone wrench (a nice Campy feature adopted by other brake-makers). Their quick-release device, apart from its finish, was no different from the one on the less expensive models. It had only "open" and "closed" position, while Campy's could be opened or closed partway to allow for wheels that developed wobbles.  

Another attempt to appeal to appeal to the ultra-high-performance (or simply rich and fashionable) market resulted in their version of the "Delta" brake--which, as "Retrogrouch" and others have suggested, may have been made for them by Modolo.  I never used Weinmann's or Campagnolo's Delta brakes, so I won't argue about the effectiveness, or lack thereof, some users claimed. There is no denying, however, that Campy's version may well be the most beautiful brake ever made.  Weinmann's had a more high-tech (for the time, anyway) look, and was available in black as well as silver.

A few years later, Weinmann came up with another interesting and unique brake:

The HP-Turbo was introduced in 1984.   I could find little information about it (I discovered it in an eBay listing), so I don't know how long it was produced.  I also couldn't find testimony from users, so I have no idea of how effective, or not, it may have been.

From what I can see, it's a centerpull brake with the straddle wire coiled around cams to which the brake shoes are attached.  I am guessing that the cams push those shoes into the rims, and that the arrangement is intended to somehow magnify braking power or modulation by increasing the mechanical advantage.

As I said, I am only guessing:  I may have been a mechanic, but I have never been a mechanical engineer.  For all I know, the brake might have been a revolutionary idea for which the cycling public wasn't ready.  Or, perhaps, some people tried it and found that it was complicated and, perhaps, the cams or other parts of the mechanism clogged with dirt or gunked up with grease. (They don't look very well-protected.)  Maybe it cost as much as a good sidepull brake, which came on about 90 percent of new bikes at that time, or cantilevers, which came on most of the rest of new bikes.   Or people thought it was just too ugly to put on their nice bikes.

Whatever its fate, I am curious about it.  

"The First Brakes That Worked"

If you have a Peugeot--or almost any other French bike (Motobecane being one of the notable exceptions) made before the late 1970's, you are riding them.

No, I'm not referring to those plastic Simplex derailleurs or the longer-lasting but worse-shifting Huret models.  Unless you acquired a bike that was never ridden, you've probably had to replace your shifters by now.  Even If you didn't need to, you might have.

On the other hand, there's a good chance you're still riding your Mafac "Racer" brakes.  You might have replaced the pads and cables--actually, you should have because even if the bike wasn't ridden, the cables were probably corroded and the pads hardened.  If you did, and your brakes are adjusted, they work as well as--or even better than--most brakes available today.

I am mentioning them because, for about two decades, they achieved a distinction very few other bike parts held:  They were used on bikes at all price and quality levels, from the machines ridden by Tour de France winners to the most utilitarian city and town bikes.  Some time in the mid-1970's, Mafac came out with the "Competition", which was really the same brake with a shorter reach.  Later, it was cleaned up and polished (and still later offered with gold anodizing).  A longer version of the Competition --i.e., one with the same reach as the Racer--was also marketed.

 

The one other difference between the "Racer" and "Competition" was the straddle cable:  The one on the Competition had double ball ends, while the Racer used what was essentially a shorter link of derailleur cable (with the barrel-shaped end used on Campagnolo and Simplex shifters) bolted into hex-shaped ends.

While some may see these brakes as anachronisms, they have an important place in cycling history. Some cycling historians say they were "the first brakes that actually worked".  That is almost not hyperbole:  There seemed to be a mentality among brake-makers (at least those that made brakes for road bikes) that was expressed by a Campagnolo representative at a training session:  The purpose of the brake is not to stop, but to decelerate.  Some would argue that notion gave the brakes of the time too much credit.

(When I first got serious about cycling, there was a joke that the Universal 68 side-pull--commonly supplied on bikes that were otherwise all-Campagnolo--was a "courtesy" brake.)

One reason for Mafac's superior power was the way the brake block attached to the arm:  through an eyebolt.  This allowed a far greater range of adjustability along the vertical and horizontal planes.  This was particularly important with rims like the Constrictor Asp, which did not have flat parallel sides.

(The Asp seems almost like an embryonic version of today's V-shaped "aero" rims!)

Another advantage offered by the "Racer" brakes was that the length of the straddle cable could be adjusted to optimize the mechanical advantage of the brake.  This allowed the brakes to work well with a variety of different levers, as well as with the pads set all the way up or all the way down--or anywhere in between--on the brake arm.

Now, you might be thinking that the first working center pull--and the one on which others were based, at least in part--is not so important because sidepulls have advanced so much, and so Mafac has been relegated to la poubelle de l'histoire.  Well, even though Mafac hasn't been in business for about three decades, their place in cycling history is sure because of the very first product they made, about seven years before the "Racer" was introduced.

Their cantilever brake, introduced in 1946, remained in production throughout the company's history (about four decades).  It's not the first of its type.  But, compared to the ones that had been made before, it was easy to set up and use, and was more powerful.  For as long as Mafac made them, nearly every lightweight tandem was equipped with them.  So were many high-quality bikes made for fully-loaded touring, and most cyclo-cross racers.  For the latter, cyclists often brazed the necessary posts to old racing frames to accommodate the cantilevers which, in addition to offering superior stopping power, were not as easily clogged by the mud that is an essential element of any cyclo-cross race.

The early mountain bikes also used Mafac cantis.  When Dia-Compe and Shimano made  cantilever brakes that appeared on off-the-shelf touring bikes (and second-generation mountain bikes) sold in the US, their designs were basically adaptations and refinements of Mafac's.  Weinmann also more-or-less copied Mafac cantis and, apparently, bought Mafac's tooling and continued making cantis, in steel as well as alloy, until their own demise in the 1990's.

Many of us still use cantis today.  Those of you who use V-brakes also have to thank Mafac, because Vees were developed from cantis.  And even those of us who use dual-pivot sidepulls owe a debt of gratitude to Manufacture Auvergnoise de Freins et Accessories pour Cycle for developing the centerpull that helped to make it possible!

For me, it's interesting to recall that Frank Chrinko, the proprietor of Highland Park (NJ) Cyclery when I was working there, would not ride any brakes but Mafac centerpulls.  In fact, he put a set of Competitions, along with a mixture of Campagnolo and top-shelf French and Japanese parts, on a frame that was built custom for him. 

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.

Raleigh Super Tourer: It Didn't Sell In 1974. But Everyone Wanted One In 2014.

A few days ago, I recounted a chance meeting with a fellow named George in Greenwich.  He complimented Arielle, my Mercian Audax, and showed me photos of his very nice Raleigh Competition GS, on which he converted the drop bars to uprights and made a couple of other changes.

George's 1978 Raleigh Competition GS

His "conversion" is nothing unusual these days (except that his is nicer than most):  Lots of people are taking nice (and sometimes not-so-nice) vintage ten-speeds and turning them into city or country bikes, upright tourers or stylish commuters.

In a comment on my post, George said he was trying to replicate a Raleigh Super Tourer.  It's a bike one rarely finds:  I've seen only  four or five of them.  And I don't recall seeing one on eBay, Craigslist or any of the sites that list used and vintage bikes.  (Then again, I check those sites only occasionally.  Really! ;-))

One reason why it's so rare is that not many were made--at least, in comparison to other Raleigh bikes. As best as I can determine, it was made during four model years:  1974 through 1977.  Another reason is that not many Super Tourers were exported to the US, and even fewer sold.  The few American shops that ordered Super Tourers, as often as not, got "stuck" with them for years.  I would suspect that more than one Super Tourer owner came by his or her steed the way George encountered his Competition GS:  A bike shop had it in the back room (or on the showroom floor) a few years after production ceased.

This parallel between George's experience and the possible scenario I have envisioned is not coincidental:  In essence, the Super Tourer and the Competition (the original as well as the GS) were the same bike.  Well, more or less, just about, anyway.  

Raleigh Super Tourer, ten-speed version 1975

Both iterations of the Competition and the Super Tourer had frames constructed of double-butted Reynolds 531 tubing with quality lugs and dropouts.  As a matter of fact, the original competition and the Super Tourer even had the same geometry.

Much of the componentry was the same: mainly high-end French stuff.  The pre-GS Competition had Normandy "Luxe" hubs and Huret Jubliee derailleurs; so did the Super Tourer.  The short-cage Jubilee--which came on both bikes--shared an interesting trait with other European derailleurs of the time:  It could wrap up miles and miles of chain, even though it wasn't made to handle a rear cog larger than 26 or 28 teeth (depending on your dropout's configuration).  Thus, it could handle triple and wide-range double front chainrings. That is one reason it was often used on randonneuses from the constructeurs.

1974 Super Tourer, 5-speed version (saddle not original)

The Specialites TA three-arm crank graced the pre-GS Competition. Interestingly, the first GS version had the three-arm Campagnolo Gran Sport crankset--with a chainguard! 

Now here's where things started to get weird:  The Super Tourer was made in ten- and five-speed versions.  The ten-speed had what seemed to be a triple version of the Stronglight 93 crankset, with a guard (very pretty, actually) where the outer chainring would have been. The five-speed sported a Specialites TA "Criterium" chainset:  essentially, a a Pro-Vis 5 (a.k.a. Cyclotouriste) with one chainring, and a chainguard..  

For some more weirdness, the Competition GS came with Weinmann "Vainqueur" centerpull brakes while the first year's production of the Super Tourer had Weinmann's short-lived "Dynamic" brakes--sidepulls.  In those days, sidepull brakes came only on bikes at the very top and bottom of the price spectrum; almost everything in between came with Weinmann, Mafac, Dia Compe or Universal center-pulls. The high-end sidepulls like Campagnolo's were ridden mostly by racers.  Most cyclists never saw them:  The only sidepulls they saw were the lower-end models found on cheaper bikes. As an example, the Schwinn Continental was equipped with centerpulls, but the Varsity came with sidepulls. 

So, some people assumed the Competition was a "better" bike because it had centerpulls.  Or, if they knew how good the Super Tourer frame was, they wondered what sidepulls were doing on it.  Unfortunately, they had good reason to wonder--about those sidepulls, anyway.   A few years earlier, Altenberger made the "Synchron", an early version of dual-pivot brakes.  Like most of the company's offerings, it was cheap and crudely finished, intended for lower-end bikes.  Weinmann tried to clean it up a bit. The stopping power was OK, at least in the beginning, and with the levers that came with the Super Tourer. But, in time, the pivots worked loose and, as we used to joke, the Dynamic would devolve into a brake with the worst features of centerpulls and sidepulls.

(And you thought Shimano invented dual-pivot brakes in the early 1990s!)

The Super Tourer also suffered because of another notion novice American cyclists developed during the Bike Boom.  It's a notion I admit I had for a long time:  A "serious" bike had dropped handlebars and a narrow saddle--usually leather Brooks or Ideale, though Italian-style plastic-and-foam saddles were starting to make their appearance.  Shift levers were mounted on the down tube, and such a bike didn't have fenders.

You guessed it:  the Super Tourer had fenders.  The ten-speed version had some pretty neat-looking Bluemels Classiques, which were black plastic with a ribbed chrome stripe down the middle, a white mud flap on the front and a white-framed reflector on the rear.  The five-speed sported silver plastic fenders--which, I believe, were also Bluemels Classiques.  

Fenders?  Fenders!  And upright handlebars.  (I think they were North Road, or some similar bend, from GB.)  And...and...stem shifters!!

Oh...and the first year's production of Super Tourers (the ones with the Synchron brakes) came with mattress saddles. Yes, you read that right:  a seat even thicker than one of Dagwood's sandwiches--with springs!  Vertical springs!  Horizontal springs!  And bag loops that looked like they could carry the biggest offerings from Carradice, Karrimor, Chossy and all of the other classic cycle luggage makers, all at once.

In 1975, the Brooks B66 replaced the mattress saddle.  It had springs but at least it was a...Brooks.  Tensioned leather.  But the bike still had those bars.  And fenders!

You simply couldn't show up on a club ride, let alone ride in a pack of wannabe racers, in the mid-1970's with a bike like that unless you were 90 years old and accompanied by your grandparents--even if that bike had a hand-brazed Reynolds 531 frame, Huret Jubilee derailleurs, Stronglight or TA cranks, etc.   You could just as well have shown up in a petticoat or a chain of mail.

I actually prefer this brown finish--with silver "sable" panels and headtube--of the five-speed model to the green on the ten-speed version!

Now, you're thinking that it's very, very ironic that George and other people are turning classic road machines into bikes like the Super Tourer--forty years after you could have bought such a bike, stock, off a showroom floor--or asked a Raleigh dealer to order it for you.  (Vera, my green Mercian mixte, is really just a female version of such a bike--which is what I wanted it to be.)   Perhaps it's even more ironic that there are new bikes that are, at least conceptually, modern versions of the Super Tourer.  (One could argue that some  Rivendell and Velo Orange bikes are, at least to some degree, updated versions of the Super Tourer.)  A lot of people want sprightly but comfortable rides: something that's relatively quick but will allow them to ride the same clothes and shoes they wear to work or to shop, date or simply hang out.  Or, age and other things have caught up with them and they're not as flexible as they used to be--or simply have lost their pretentions to racing.

What if Raleigh were to introduce that bike today?  They wouldn't have to change much, really:  perhaps only the shifters, which would move to the handlebars from the stem, and would be indexed to accommodate contemporary derailleurs and cassettes. (I have always liked the Jubilee, but I don't imagine it would work very well with handlebar shifters or more than seven sprockets in the rear.)  And, of course, the 27" wheels and tires would have to be replaced with 700Cs.  Otherwise, Raleigh could re-introduce the bike "as is", I think.

Finally, if you think it's ironic that people are seeking out bikes like the Super Tourer--or are converting other bikes into versions of the ST--you'll appreciate (or perhaps wince at) this story.  Near my undergraduate university campus, there was a bike shop that seemed to be there for even longer than the university itself.  Its owner was ready to move to Florida, or any place with warmer winters than New Brunswick, New Jersey.  Nobody wanted to buy the shop, mainly because of its location on what was then the town's Skid Row.  So, he had to sell off his inventory, which--you guessed it--included a Sports Tourer he'd stocked several years earlier.

And, yes, he did sell it--after swapping the upright bars for dropped bars, the mattress saddle for a Brooks B17 and the Synchron brakes for Weinmann centerpulls.  And he took off the fenders.  In essence, he turned the Sport Tourer into a Competition.

Still, he took a loss on that bike.  I wonder whether the person who bought it still has it.  Wouldn't it be funny if he or she--or whoever has it now--"converted" it to an upright commuter or tourer?

In Living Color

Black-anodized components, as I mentioned in yesterday’s post, have waxed and waned in popularity during (and before) the four decades I’ve been a cyclist. I hope I did not convey the impression that all components were black or silver.  At various times during my years on two wheels—and throughout the history of cycling—bike parts have been anodized in a spectrum of colors. 

Today, most of the parts available in a rainbow of hues are intended for fixed gear or single speed bikes.  While cranks, chainrings, pedals, cogs and even chains are available the Roy G. Biv range for bikes designed for the velodrome or urban hipsters.  But cranksets with more than one chainring, derailleurs, brakes and other parts made for road, touring or mountain bikes are usually made in either silver or black, with the latter shade becoming more dominant as carbon-fiber bikes gain popularity.  One of the few notable exceptions to the hegemony (or tyranny, depending on how you look at it) of silver and black in road and off-road bike parts is Velocity rims.

Weinmann Vainqueur 999 brakes.  Red and blue were offered only from 1961 to 1964.

However, in decades past, parts for road, touring and sport bikes have been finished in other colors, red and blue being the most common.  Weinmann and Mafac made their center-pull brakes in those colors for brief periods during the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  Mafac, in their last years (the early 1980’s), also made their cantilever brakes in a variety of colors.

Modolo Professional brake, circa 1983.  And you thought white components were sooo 2009?

Ofmega Maglia Rosa rear derailleur.  You can't make this stuff up!

The component makers that became most noted for their color palettes were Italian and offered the greatest variety during from the late 1970’s until the mid 1980’s.  Perhaps the most prominent of them were Modolo and Ofmega.  The former finished their “Professional” brakes—found on otherwise all-Campagnolo bikes—in red, blue, green, gold and white, as well as the traditional black or silver.  The latter company finished their derailleurs, which were essentially Campagnolo Records rendered in plastic, in the rosa hue of the Giro d’Italia leader’s jersey as well as the jaune of its Tour de France counterpart, and just about every other color imaginable.

Colnago C60 with 24 karat gold-plated Campagnolo parts

Other companies did not offer such a wide range of tones but nonetheless parted, at least to one degree or another, from the silver/black binary.  I have ridden gold-anodized Mafac 2002 and Galli brakes; Zeus, Sugino and SunTour also made derailleurs, cranksets and other parts with gold anodizing.  Of course, if really wanted bling, you went for the gold-plated (24 karat) parts Campagnolo briefly made before the price of the precious metal skyrocketed around 1980.

Galli rear derailleur in "midnight blue"

In addition to gold, Galli offered one of the most distinctive finishes in the history of bicycle componentry:  “midnight blue”.  It was, of course, darker than most other blue parts but was more complex and richer than navy or black.  In addition to brakes, derailleurs, cranksets, hubs and other traditional “gruppo” parts, Galli offered rims (made for them by FIR) and retrofriction shift levers (manufactured by Simplex) in midnight blue.  Galli were even finishing 3TTT stems, bars and seatposts in their trademark finish.  Such an ensemble looked absolutely fabulous on a white Olmo of that period, but it also looked great on celeste Bianchis and just about any silver bike.

Kooka crank, circa 1992

Probably the last time components made for bikes with more than one gear or to be ridden by anyone besides Keirin racers or hipsters was the early- to mid-1990’s, when it seemed that every twenty-something in California whose father had a lathe in his garage was making parts, mainly for mountain bikes, that were lighter and more expensive than everything else on the market.  Kooka and Topline crankset, which I mentioned in an earlier post, are examples of that genre.  Interestingly, survivors of that time, like Paul Components and White Industries, are now making their (admittedly fine) stuff in silver and black.  Chris King may be the only exception:  His headsets, hubs and other parts are finished in even more colors than they were two decades ago.

These days, all of my bike components are black or silver.  Part of the reason is that most of the stuff I use is available only in those colors.  But another is that I don’t want parts that detract from the kinds of finishes I like on my frames.