If You Want To Escape, Pack Light

The first rule of thumb for cycle touring is:  Feel guilty about carrying anything more than your maps and water bottle.

It's the sort of advice I might have given when I was younger.  But I cannot claim credit for it: The honor belongs to Doug Shidell and Phillip van Valkenberg. Their pearl of wisdom came in a book they co-authored:

Now tell me:  Does that book look like it came out of the early '70's, or what?  Well, it did, a couple of years after Shidell and van Valkenberg met.  The former was a student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and the latter was a recent alumnus.  They were a couple of long-haired guys with "hippie tendencies" and a recently-found passion for cycling.

Doug Shidell and Phillip van Valkenberg.  This photo was published on the inside of the back cover of Bicycle Escape Routes.

They also loved their home state of Wisconsin, and their book is as much a billet doux to the Badger State as it is a guide to cycling in it.  In addition to maps and descriptions of rides, it gave sage advice about how to deal with snarling dogs and whatever else a bicycle tourist might encounter, as well as counsel on how to live in the moment:  "Marsh hawks spend much of their time sitting on fence posts in the fields," they wrote.  "If you see a bird sitting or flying low over the fields, stop near a tree or bush to remain inconspicuous and watch him for a little while."

The book also had a sense of humor about everything, including the squeaky bearings on Shidell's bike:  "We were serenaded by this bicycle's version of 'Song of the Volga Boatman' on every upgrade.  Respite of sorts came later when a spot weld let go on one of Doug's racks, creating a squeak that completely drowned out the original noise."

Since that book was published, van Valkenberg, now 73, has written seven more about cycling in Wisconsin.  He has also been a nearly non-stop advocate for cycling in the state, having worked to bring about the Elroy-Sparta State Trail and organized tours, races other rides.  These days, he and his partner, Georgia Kaftan, ride a tandem recumbent bike.

Shidell is 67 and lives in Minneapolis.  He was the first employee of Quality Bicycle Products, from which he's retired.  He also has written about bicycling and bike advocacy for the Minneapolis Star-Tribune and started a website and map-publishing effort called Bikeeverywhere.

Interestingly, he says that his cycling and  bike advocacy were motivated by environmental concerns.  He first heard about global warming in the 1970s, he said, and because the "dangers made sense to me", he thought, "I'll just start riding a bike instead of driving around."

I wonder whether either of them carries anything more than his maps and water bottle--and, if he does, whether he feels guilty about it.

What If?: SunTour "Click Shift" And Freehubs?

Captain Ahab had Moby Dick.  Others have spent years, decades, even lifetimes hunting down one obsession or another.

Now, the "target" I'm about to discuss didn't do anything to harm me.  In fact, other products made by the company that manufactured my Loch Ness monster, or whatever you want to call it, have actually brought me pleasure, at least while cycling.

The company in question is SunTour.  For a time, I didn't want to use derailleurs or freewheels made by any other company.  And I once dreamed of building a track bike from Superbe Pro components, which I thought were even better (or at least more beautiful) than even Campagnolo's fixed-gear offerings.

The object of my obsession are really objects, plural.  They are parts of a system SunTour introduced in 1969 and, apparently, manufactured only during that year.  I have seen references to them in a number of sources, but have never seen the parts in person.  In fact, I had never seen images of them--until yesterday.

Well, I came across one component, anyway, on--where else!--eBay:

These "click shift" levers were part of an indexed shifting system SunTour made that year.  From the accounts I've read, it worked well, though it didn't sell well and no manufacturer outfitted a new bike with it as original equipment.  Although SunTour had patented its slant-pantogram derailleur five years earlier, it did not begin to export its wares until the year before the "click shift" system came out.

Interestingly, SunTour also introduced an hub with an integrated freewheel mechanism--much like today's cassette freehubs--in that same year.  It, too, worked well and,like other SunTour products, was well-made.  Like the click-shift system, it seems not to have been produced after 1969.

The simple explanation for the "freehub"s or "click shift"s lack of commercial success is that the market wasn't ready to depart from traditional screw-on freewheels or friction shifters.  But another reason why those items didn't make much headway is that they predated the '70's North American Bike Boom by a couple of years.  As Frank Berto has pointed out in "Sunset for SunTour," Shimano entered the American market in the late 1960s when low-priced American bikes like  AMF, Huffy and Murray (which were sold mainly in department stores) were outfitted with Lark and Eagle derailleurs.   On the other hand, Sun Tour derailleurs had to wait a few more years,  until Japanese bicycle manufacturers like Fuji, Bridgestone and Miyata--adorned with SunTour components--developed an export market in the US and, later, in other countries.  By the time those bikes, and lightweight bicycles in general, caught on with American adults, "Click shift" and the intergrated hub were several years out of production.

Ironically, Shimano's appropriation of those innovations--and SunTour's slant parallelogram design (for which the patent expired in 1984)-- would lead to SunTour's demise a decade later.  SunTour, in desperation, tried to develop competing systems.  But the indexed systems SunTour introduced in 1986 did not work as well as Shimano's and, worse, companies like Schwinn used their old stocks of freewheels, chains and cables, which didn't work very well with SunTour's indexed systems.

One can only wonder how things might be different had all of those Fujis, Miyatas, Nishikis, Panasonics, Centurions and other Japanese bikes  had been equipped with SunTour's "Click Shift" and integrated hubs.  Or, for that matter,what about those Schwinns, Raleighs, Motobecanes and other bikes that, a few years later, would be sold in the US with SunTour derailleurs and freewheels as original equipment.  What if they had "click shift" and integrated hubs?  Would those parts have become the de facto standards?   Would SunTour have come to dominate the components market the way Shimano has for the past three decades?  

(At the time Shimano introduced its SIS and freehub systems, the company was an afterthought in all but the lower price ranges, and their stuff was rarely, if ever, bought as replacement equipment, let alone after-market upgrades.)

Finally, I have to wonder what "retro" and "L'eroica" would mean today. After all, they are both defined, at least in part, by non-indexed shifting systems and screw-on freewheels.  Would the concepts of "retro" and "L'eroica" even exist?

Well, I know one thing:  I wouldn't have this obsession over parts SunTour made for only one year, in 1969.

What If George Mount Had Gone To Moscow?

If you are "of a certain age," as I am, you might remember a recurring Saturday Night Live sketch called "What If?". It was a sendup of talk shows that presented counterfactual historical events.  Perhaps the most famous of them was "What If Eleanor Roosevelt Could Fly?"

Since then, the internet has opened the door to all manner of "alternative history" sites and discussion boards.  Some are, of course as far-fetched (in some instances, without trying to be) as SNL's segments.  But others pose some really serious and interesting questions. For example:  What this country (and world)  be like had Franklin Delano Roosevelt had kept Henry Wallace as his Vice President in 1944 and not allowed Democratic party bosses throw him under the bus in favor of Harry Truman?

Now, this post is not going to ponder anything quite as earth-shattering as that.  Instead, I am going to pose a question that entered my mind after reading an excerpt from Daniel de Vise's The Comeback:  Greg LeMond, the True King of American Cycling, and a Legendary Tour de France.  In it, de Vise discusses the racing scene that developed in and around Berkeley, California in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when cycling was a fringe activity in the US.

A decade later, one of the first world-class male American riders since World War I would emerge from that milieu.  He would finish his career with 200 victories in amateur and professional races. But it was a sixth-place finish that really set the stage for the generation of American riders--which included LeMond--that would follow.

When George Mount finished three places behind the medal-winners in the 1976 Olympic road race, it was by far the best showing by an American rider since Carl Schutte won the Individual Time Trial bronze medal (and the US team won the bronze for the Team Time Trial) in 1912.  In the six-plus decades since Schutte and his teammates ascended the podium, no American rider or team had placed in the top 60 in any Olympic competition.

George Mount, circa 1974

Mount's victory in Montreal was broadcast all over the world.  It was the first time in decades significant numbers of Americans paid attention to bike racing.    Some European scouts took notice of him, too, and soon he found himself racing with an Italian club.  In his early 20s at the time, he seemed destined for greater successes--including a medal at the 1980 Olympics, held in Moscow.

Except that he didn't get the chance to go to Russia.  In response to the Soviet Union's December 1979 invasion of Afghanistan, US President Jimmy Carter declared a boycott of the Games.  Other countries would also decide not to send their athletes to Moscow that year, though some for other reasons.  

Though he has never said as much, it's hard not to think that the missed Olympic opportunity was at least one reason why Mount decided to turn professional that year.  He would enjoy success on the European racing circuit, and expressed no regrets when he retired from racing just before turning 30.  Still, it's fair to ask whether spending another year or two as an amateur--and winning an Olympic medal--might have aided him in his development.  Would his continued successes created momentum that American cycling could have ridden (if you'll pardon the expression) well beyond LeMond's victories?