My Morning Commute: Only In 1984. Only From Cannondale.

On my way to work today, I saw only one other cyclist.  I wasn't surprised because this morning was the coldest we've had since February.  And it was windy, which I really noticed when crossing the RFK Bridge.  

That cyclist, though, was riding a bike older than he is.  That, in itself, is not so unusual, as I often see people--particularly the young--on machines passed on to them by parents or older siblings, or found in basements, garages, barns or yard sales.

Some of those bikes could fetch money on eBay as "vintage" items.  In a way, that's very funny to me, because I remember when they were the sorts of things you'd see every day.  Most were good for the sorts of rides and riders they were designed for, but we never thought they were exceptional in any way.

But the rider I saw today was pedaling a rig that was unusual when it was made--and simply strange today:

Cannondale made its first mountain bike in 1984.  It's the one in the photo above--and the one ridden by the fellow I saw today.  Unfortunately, I didn't get to take a photo of the bike.  But, from my brief glimpse of it, I don't think it had been ridden very much.  

When that bike was made, mountain bikes were still new to most people who didn't live in northern California or, perhaps, upper New England.  It seems that those who were involved in the then-evolving sport of mountain biking hadn't developed any notions about what mountain bikes were "supposed" to be.  

At least, their notions seemed fluid compared to those of us who were road bikers, even those as young as I was:  While the designs of certain components had evolved and refined, a good road racing, touring or sport-touring bike had more or less the same design and elements (lugged steel frames with a certain range of geometries) they'd had for about two or three generations before us.  

On the other hand, the first mass-marketed mountain bike--the Specialized Stumpjumper-- began production only three years earlier.  Its design was a kind of cross-breed of the custom mountain bikes Tom Ritchey, Gary Fisher and a few other pioneers had been making for about half a decade.  Although the first shipment of 125 Stumpjumpers (built in Japan) sold out in six days and subsequent runs sold even more quickly, the Stumpjumper would not set the standard for mountain-bike design--at least, not for very long. 

The truth was that even folks like Ritchey, Fisher and Chris Chance were still figuring out how to design their bikes, which had begun with Schwinn cruisers retrofitted with multiple gears and caliper brakes.  By the time the Stumpjumper came along, they and folks like Charlie Kelly were building lugged or fillet-brazed frames of chrome-moly tubing with long wheelbases--which, really, were lighter (yet stronger) versions of the old cruisers.  

According to the information I've come across, all of the early mountain bike frames--including that of the Stumpjumper--were built from steel.  That is no surprise when you consider that about 99 percent of bikes were still being fabricated from that material. The only difference was that the lighter, more expensive bikes used alloy steels--maganese molybdenum (Reynolds 531) or chrome molybdenum (Columbus and Tange), while cheaper, heavier bikes used carbon steel.  

Although bikes were made from it as early as the 1890s, aluminum was little-used as a frame material until the mid-1970s, when the "screwed and glued" Alan frames were built.  A few years later, Gary Klein designed an aluminum frame with wide-diameter tubing to make it stiffer.  In 1982--the year after the Stumpjumper first saw the light of day--Cannondale made the first mass-produced aluminum bicycles.

Those first Cannondales were road bicycles--racing, touring and sport models.  If you rode one of those early Cannondales, as I did, you know that their design has changed quite a bit.  So, I think it's fair to say that if Cannondale was still figuring out how to make aluminum road bikes, they were really starting from "square one" with that first mountain bike.  But it's also fair to say that no one else knew how to design aluminum mountain bikes, for--at least, from the information I've gathered--no one else, not even Klein, was building them at that time.

For all I know, the fellow I saw today on an early Cannondale mountain bike may have no idea about the history I've just described.  He probably just knows that he's riding a funny-looking bike.  Maybe he doesn't care.

Still, I can't help but to wonder who came up with the idea of designing a bike around a 24 inch rear wheel with a 26 inch front. As fluid as ideas about mountain bikes were at that time,  Cannondale was probably the only bike maker that could get away with doing such a thing.  And 1984 was probably the only year they could have done it.

When I Was A Guinea Pig: Riding An Early Cannondale

Today I am going to reveal one of my dim, dark secrets.  Yes, even at this late date, I still have them.

Here goes:  I actually owned--gasp!--a Cannondale racing bike.  One of the very first ones, in fact. 

One might say it was one of my youthful follies. The year was 1984.  I was working for American Youth Hostels. Back then, the organization was located on Spring Street, near Wooster, when the neighborhood (Soho) still had some halfway interesting art galleries and eccentric stores and cafes.  At that time, AYH had an store and mail-order service that sold bicycling, camping, hiking and other outdoor equipment.

Back then, Cannondale was known mainly for its bags and outdoor wear. Their bike bags were actually well-made and reasonably priced:  I used a few in my time. And I used one of their backpacks for the longest time.  AYH employees were able to buy Cannondale goods at their wholesale prices.

So I became, in essence, a guinea pig.  I bought their original model racing bike, with a full Campagnolo Nuovo Record component grouppo, for something like $500. 

It was one of the first--and last--times I succumbed to the urge to be the "first kid on the block" with some new item. 

The photo doesn't do justice to just how ugly that bike actually was.  The welds were cobbly; later Cannondales have the smooth joints you see on today's models.  Plus, the oversized aluminum tubes were very in-your-face, especially if you were used to steel-tubed frames. 

Being a snot-nosed kid with something to prove, getting such a bike wasn't enough for me. I wanted to be really badass, so I got it in black. I don't remember what kind or color bar tape came with it; whatever it was, I replaced it with red Benotto cellophane tape. And, I got cable housings to match.

Aside from its proportions, another thing that struck me was how much lighter the bike was than others I'd ridden.  Also, it was--as advertised--the stiffest bike I'd ridden up to that time. Maybe it's still the stiffest bike I've ever ridden.

What that meant is that the bike could go very fast. However, it also meant that it rode like a jackhammer.  Even my young, sevelte self felt beat-up after a ride on it.  I think that it actually slowed me down, ultimately:  I can ride only so hard or so long when every bone in my body is aching.

A few people swore by those bikes.  It's hard to imagine that anything Cannondale--or any other bike maker, for that matter--has made since then could be any stiffer.

Those early Cannondales came with CroMo steel forks--Tange, I think. I'd ridden the bike for close to a year when those forks were recalled.  After I got my replacement, I stripped the Campagnolo components off  the bike and replaced them with other stuff I had lying around or that mechanics of my acquaintance filched fetched from their shops' parts bins.  And I gave that Cannondale to my landlord for a month's rent.

Those Campy components went on to bigger and better things (ha!) I'll describe in another post.

Note:  The frame in the photo is larger than the one I had.  Plus, it has different components.