Pierre Omidyar Led Me To This

Whether or not he realizes it, Pierre Omidyar created one of the world's major rabbit-holes.

At least it is for me. Whenever I look for something on eBay--usually some difficult-to-find small bike part or book--my search triggers other listings, some only loosely, if at all, related to what I was looking for.

Case in point:  I was looking for some brake springs.  I know I could go to Recycle-a-Bicycle or one of the older shops and raid their old-parts piles. But that might mean taking an entire brake mechanism (for which, admittedly, I probably wouldn't pay much, if anything at all) and end up with a bunch of other parts I am not likely to use.  Besides, I wanted to find a "fresh" spring if I could, not one that is rusted and has lost its springiness.

My search took me down a dark, narrow path (OK, I'm being more-than-metaphorical here!) that included this:

Now, I would buy a set of such brakes only if:  1.) the asking price was a small fraction of what the seller wants for them, 2.) I had a bike that needed such brakes or 3.) I were collecting such things.

As for the "if I were a collector" scenario:  Those brakes would definitely be interesting.  They embody almost everything that no bike builder or brake manufacturer does today. 

For one thing, they clamp onto the fork blade.  I know that Dia-Compe (a "legacy" manufacturer that's still making very nice brakes and other parts) makes a dual-pivot brake that similarly clamps onto the fork blades.  But its reach is much shorter than that of the brakes in the photo because it's mainly intended for use on track bikes. Almost every caliper brake made today mounts through a hole in the fork crown or rear seat stay bridge, or is bolted into braze-on fittings on the forks or stays. The latter includes the so-called "direct mount" brakes.

But probably the biggest difference between this brake and anything made today is in the way it's actuated. It's usually classified as a "center pull" (or "central pull," as the manufacturer called it)  because it has two pivot points at each end and its pads are pulled in toward each other when a straddle or traverse spanning the tops of the two arms is pulled away from from the tire.

Actually, "pulled" is not the right word.  That describes how the center pull and cantilever brakes we're familiar with work:  A yoke attached to the brake lever cable pulls the straddle or transverse wire upward.  The arms of one of the brakes in the photos, however, is pushed upward with some sort of cam-like device attached to the cable. Note the position of the cable hole below the spring.

Those "central pull" brakes--some bearing the name "Philco" (I still think of radios!)--were manufactured  by Phillips.  At one time, they were the second-largest bicycle manufacturer in the world, trailing only Raleigh.  In the 1960s, I believe, Raleigh bought them out, as it did to most of their competitors, though bikes--and parts--were still marketed under the "Phillips" name. Those parts include the steel sidepulls found on most British three-speeds until Weinmanns displaced them and the rod brakes on bikes like the Raleigh DL-1 that came with Westwood rims which, unlike rims made for caliper brakes, don't have flat sides.

I've never tried the Philco, "central pull" or whatever you want to call those brakes.  But, from what I've read and heard, the share at least one quality with rod brakes and the company's sidepulls:  they're better than no brakes at all, but not by much--especially in the rain.  Then again, most bikes equipped with such brakes were seldom ridden fast.

One thing I have to say for those Phillips brakes, though:  They were lushly chromed in the way only British parts from about 1970 or earlier were.  (For an example of what I mean, try to find a Cyclo Benelux Super 60 rear derailleur.)  And, well, they did make for an interesting find in the "rabbit hole" Pierre Omidyar sucked me into when I was looking for some center pull brake springs!

C-L: A Classic

 A few years ago, Andy Richman resurrected a classic name in British cycling:  Chater-Lea.  It had shuttered its factory and offices three decades earlier.  

From 1890 until its demise, the company made components and frame fittings that were, arguably, of superior quality to anything else made.  Indeed, when Richman persuaded the owner of Condor cycles to sell him a 1948 Condor frame, the owner remarked, "You do know there's only one set of components worthy of going on this bike? Chater-Lea."

That meant, among other things, that their stuff wasn't cheap. Lower-priced imports, along with the rise of the motorcar, helped to fuel the company's decline.  Also, as well-made as their products were, late in their history, they didn't keep up with changes in the cycling world.  For example, they never produced a cotterless chainset (what the Brits call a "crankset") or bottom bracket and clipless pedals would displace high-end traditional cage or platform pedals on the kinds of bikes that would have been adorned with Chater-Lea stuff.

But Ron Kitching, whose catalogues were eagerly awaited by cycling enthusiasts for decades, blamed the company's demise on another factor: By the 1960's Raleigh had achieved a near-monopoly on the British cycle industry, which allowed it to force down suppliers' prices and put many out of business.

I am glad Richman decided to resurrect a part of cycling history, albeit with somewhat updated designs and superior materials.  In keeping with one of the company's traditions, the new Chater-Lea parts have their own distinctive looks, just as the old stuff did.

Notice the "CL" embedded within the pattern.  It's kind of funny that people pay insane amounts of money to wear a designer's initials (or waste their money on knock-offs that begin to fall apart the moment they've paid for it).  But somehow I wouldn't mind bearing the monogram of Chater-Lea if I were riding a bike with its equipment.  

They Were Sooo Continental

You don't wear Continental clothes or a Stetson hat!

That line comes from Otis Redding's Tramp.  The song is an argument between a woman and Otis.  She accuses him of being a tramp because, as she says, he's "straight out of the Georgia woods". 

 

 

We in the United States of America are as continental--in the literal sense of that word--as anyone in the world.  After all, we occupy a large part of the North American continent.  However, when we say "Continental", we use it in the way the British mean it:  of mainland Europe, particularly France, Italy or Germany.

Even though we Yanks like to think we tossed off the yoke of the British crown, it seems that we still emulate them in every way we can.  We speak their language. We may have a different accent, but so often, we mean it the way they do--sometimes even more so.

And so it is with the adjective "continental".  It not only refers to the geographical location; it also has the connotation of "sophisticated", "refined" or "elegant".  Or it can be just a politically correct way of saying "exotic" or a polite way of saying "sexy".  And here, as in Blighty, it is also a way of saying "French" without saying it.  (Hmm...What if "Freedom Fries" were called "Continental Chips"?)

That latter connotation was commonly employed in British cycle advertising just after World War II. Before the big fight, the worlds of British cycling and the British cycling industry were very insular.  Brits thought, as Americans would in the years just after the war, that if it was made in their country, it must be better. 

In some cases, their biases had at least some basis in truth.  Pre-war Schwinn Paramounts were built from Accles and Pollock tubing; all over the world, some of the finest frames have been, and still are, constructed from Reynolds tubesets.  Six-day racers favored BSA components, particularly their cranks, pedals and hubs; town bicycles all over the world were equipped with Sturmey Archer hubs and, to this day, all manner of bikes in every place imaginable sport Brooks saddles.

However, for all the vibrancy of the club-cycling scene, bicycling in Britain was still, in the main, utilitarian.  On the other hand, France, Italy and other countries on "The Continent" had lively cultures of racing, and many people, at least superficially, emulated the riders of the peloton.    It is said that British service members who fought on "The Continent" brought back a taste for Contiental bikes and parts--as well as other things.

British Cyclo Gears with 1/8" chain

British cyclists started to demand bikes with derailleurs.  However, until 1954, Raleigh did not supply any bikes with them.  And, in 1955 British Cyclo were still making most of their cogs for 1/8" chains, even though increasing demand for three- and four-speed freewheels meant that more and more riders wanted and needed cogs for 3/32" chains.  Other bike and parts manufacturers in Britain were slow to respond to those changes.  In fact, some simply continued to offer the same products the were making before the war, as if it were somehow unpatriotic to pattern new products after, let alone offer, the freewheels, derailleurs and such that were made mainly in France.

Once they started to make or import (as Ron Kitching did) those items, they were still loath to make Gallic references.  So, those items--particularly, for some reason, large-flange hubs--were called "Continental" parts.  In an article he wrote on the Classic Lightweights UK site, Steve Griffiths said this habit may have been inspired by the Prior hubs made in France during the 1930s, which had some of the largest flanges (and most profuse drilling) ever seen. 

Prior Hubs. I love them.  Did someone use Spirograph to design them?

The flanges on that hub were riveted to smaller flanges which, as on most hubs at the time, were attached to a steel shaft.  So, the British Hub Company did the same with their Airlite hubs.   Collectors pay more for Priors and Airlite Continentals than most people pay for bikes.  They look interesting and, from what I've read, they spin smoothly. However, they both share a problem:  Prolonged use can loosen the rivets.

They're Continental, all right.  So is Swiss cheese.