As Smooth As Friction

• SunTour VGT rear derailleur 
• Shimano Titlist front derailleur 
• Huret shift levers (similar to Simplex retrofriction )
• Stronglight 93 crankset and chainrings 
• SunTour Pro Compe freewheel
• Sedis “sedicolor” chain (gold, to match the freewheel!)

• Huret Jubilee rear derailleur 
• Campagnolo Super Record front derailleur 
• Simplex retrofriction (“teardrop “) levers
• Campagnolo Super Record crankset and chainrings 
• Maillard 700 freewheel 
• Regina chain

So what do those two lists have in common? Each of them comprised the drivetrain on one of my bikes. The first ran on an iteration of my Peugeot PX-10 when I repurposed it as a touring bike. The second graced the Colnago Arabesque I rode for much of my inglorious racing career!

One thing you’ll notice is that neither set was composed entirely of parts from the same company. Until the mid 1980s, that was the norm, as no component manufacturer—not even Shimano or Campagnolo—offered a truly complete “gruppo”: Neither company’s lines included chains, and Campagnolo didn’t offer freewheels.

Another reason why most were casseroles , so to speak, rather than purées is that, for the most part, one firm’s derailleurs could be used with another’s shift levers, freewheels, chainrings and chains. It also didn’t matter if you switched from, say, a six- to a seven-speed freewheel: As long as your derailleurs could handle the range (smallest to largest cogs) and the total gear difference (the combined range of your front chainrings and rear sprockets), it didn’t matter that the other parts weren’t from the same maker.

That all changed 40 years ago, when Shimano introduced SIS: the system with shifters that “clicked.” It

worked extremely well—as long as your freewheel (or cassette) cogs, chain, derailleurs, shifters and cables were all Shimano SIS. (Many of us soon discovered that Sedisport chains worked as well as, and lasted longer than, Shimano’s offerings.) By the end of the decade, nearly all new bikes had SIS or its variants, two of which I’ll mention. “If it doesn’t click, it won’t sell,” became a bike industry mantra.

Seemingly in a panic, Campagnolo and SunTour offered their own “click shift” systems. (SunTour actually made one in 1969. It reportedly worked well, but the still-relatively-small derailleur-equipped bike market wasn’t ready for it.) Both failed—Campagnolo’s Syncro system was panned as “Stinkro”—for essentially the same reason. While Shimano designed an integrated system, it seemed that Campagnolo and SunTour simply made indexed levers. The “clicks” didn’t always mesh with the gear change because they were the calibrated to the distance between the cogs. 

Campagnolo’s Syncro wasn’t produced for very long and seems to have found popularity mainly among collectors. “Campy” was able to redeem itself during the ‘90’s, when it made an integrated system (with Ergo levers) that worked well. SunTour, on the other hand, never recovered from its failed system (and, to be fair, other missteps). Its reputation was made worse because bike-makers like Schwinn used their old stocks of French cables and chains that didn’t play nice with SunTour’s click shift.

SunTour’s fate is a particularly sad irony when you consider that a generation of cyclists like me could replace a malfunctioning Huret Allvit, Simplex Prestige or Campagnolo Valentino or Gran Turismo—or an ailing Atom or Regina freewheel—with something from SunTour without re-doing the rest of the bike.

Part of the reason why that was possible was “friction “ shifting, as Eben Weiss points out in his latest Outside article. He cites that compatibility as the reason why, after decades of using indexed shifting and a brief fling with electronic changers, he’s converting all of his bikes to friction shifting.

I may do the same. It wouldn’t be difficult, really.Of my seven bikes, five have derailleurs. (The other two include a fixed-gear and single-speed.) Two of the five shift with Simplex retrofriction levers. The other three—Dee-Lilah (my Mercian Vincitore Special), La-Vande (King of Mercia) and Vera (Miss Mercian mixte) have Dura-Ace 9-speed downtube levers. I’m using them in indexed mode but they can be converted to friction levers simply with a turn of the adjuster ring. I would do that, of course, if I were to use 8- or 10-speed cassettes instead of the 9s I’m currently running.

Les Freins Sur Jante Sont Morts. Vive Les Freins Sur Jante!

Tell me if I am the only cyclist who's seen a hundred articles or blog posts announcing The Death Of The Rim Brake.

I don't call myself a "retrogrouch":  At least one other blogger has laid claim to that title.  I also do not, however, use the newest and latest stuff just because it's the newest and latest stuff.  My bikes have steel frames (Reynolds), downtube shifters (except for my fixie), pedals with toe clips and straps, Brooks saddles, hand-spoked wheels and, yes, rim brakes:  dual-pivot side pulls on three of my bikes, single-pivot sidepulls (!) on two others and cantilevers on still another.

The reason I'm not making the switch is that the none of the cycling crashes or other accidents I've experienced had anything to do with braking power, or lack thereof.  Then again, I learned a long time ago to keep things in adjustment, replace cables and pads  before they seem to need replacing (every year or two, depending on the conditions in which I've been riding) and to clean my rims and brakes after wet or muddy rides. I use high-quality pads (Mathauser Kool Stop) and cables  employ good braking technique:  I usually anticipate my stops and apply the brakes accordingly.

Now, if I were riding carbon-fiber rims, I might understand the "rim wear" argument.  But even on a relatively light rim like the Mavic Open Pro, I manage to ride many, many miles (or kilometers) without significant wear.  And there might be other extreme conditions which I have yet to ride, and probably won't at this stage of my life, that could warrant disc brakes.

It works! (From Black Mountain Cycle)

But my dual pivots (Shimano BR- R650 and R451 and Dia Compe BRS 100), single pivots (Campagnolo Record) and cantilevers (Tektro 720) have all given me more than adequate stopping power.  Best of all, I can make adjustments or replace parts easily, whether I'm at home or on some backroad in Cambrai or Cambodia, without having to "bleed out" lines or deal with the other complications of disc brakes.

And, as much as I care about my bikes' aesthetics, they're not the reason I'm not using discs.  Actually, some of the discs themselves are rather pretty, and I suppose that in carbon or other modern configurations, the cabling and other necessary parts integrate well. But I still like, in addition to their pretty paint jobs, my bikes' clean lines which, in a sort of Bauhausian way, reflect the simplicity and elegance of their function.

Eben Weiss discusses the virtues I've outlined in his most recent Outside article--and how bike companies are squeezing rim brakes, for no good reason, out of the market.

In Suspense--Or In Thrall To Aesthetics?

Sometimes I think the '90's were the end of an era:  when you could care about aesthetics and still buy a high-end road racing bicycle.

Today, you can get a beautiful frame from a builder like Mercian or any number of other custom makers.  But even though it can be sleek and relatively light, it's likely to be heavier and less aerodynamic than a new racing bike.  Those gorgeous frames with their beautiful lugs or filet-brazed joints and lustrous paint jobs are most likely to be steel, whether from Reynolds, Columbus or some other maker, but most racers are now astride frames made of carbon fiber.  Although I can appreciate the lightness and stiffness of carbon fiber frames, I know that their lifespan is nowhere near that of most good steel, titanium or aluminum frames.  Also, their Darth Vader shapes and surfaces are too often plastered with cartoony or just plain creepy graphics.

But during that last "golden era" for road bikes, two seemingly-disparate groups of cyclists seemed to abandon any sense of velocepedic voluptuousness.  According to Eben Weiss' latest article in Outside magazine, those riders were mountain bikers--especially of the downhill variety--and triathlon competitors.   As he notes, mountain biking and triathlon racing  came into their own as disciplines at roughly the same time, more or less independent of the prevailing cycling cultures (racing, touring, track, club riding).  Although many mountain riders came from road riding, they tended to be younger and not as bound to the prevailing traditions and conventions of riding.  Then there were those mountain riders who, like most triathloners, had little or no previous experience with cycling and were therefore even less wed to ideas about what bikes should look or ride like.

One result of that disdain for bicycle tradition was modern suspension systems.  One irony is that those who developed it for mountain bikes thought they were doing something new and revolutionary when, in fact, bicycle suspension  has been around for almost as long as bicycles themselves.  The chief question seemed to be whether to suspend the rider or the bike itself:  The former would offer more comfort and would, therefore, keep the rider in better control of the bike. The latter, on the other hand, would make the bike itself more stable at high speeds and in rough conditions: what would encounter in a downhill or on technical singletrack.

One of the earliest--and, perhaps, still most widely-used--forms of suspension is the sprung saddle, which would fall into the category of suspending the rider. Later, balloon-tired bikes from Schwinn, Columbia and other American manufacturers came with large bars and springs connected to the handlebars and front forks.  How much shock they actually absorbed, I don't know.  I get the feeling they were added, like the ones on the "Krate" and "Chopper" bikes of the '60's and '70's, so that kids could pretend that their bikes were scaled-down motorcycles. 

Around the same time as those wannabe Harleys were made, Dan Henry's (of the Arrows fame) rigged up a Reynolds 531 fork with springs which, he said, allowed him to ride the lightest rims and tubular tires even in the roughest conditions.  But the '70's and '80's saw little, if any, experimentation with, let alone manufacture of, suspended bikes or parts.

That all changed when the first Rock Shox forks and Girvin Flex Stems were introduced in 1989.  The latter defied all notions of the graceful "gooseneck" in mirror-polished or milky silver, and Rock Shox looked nothing like those curved or tapered blades seen on classic road bikes.  Then, it seemed, all sense of aesthetics went out the window--unless your idea of art is a sex toy or something that would render a man incapable of bringing any new cyclists into this world--with the Softride.

I must admit I never tried Softride:  Even though I was leaner and lighter than I am now, I was leery of mounting anything that didn't have support from below. (Read that as you will.)  Weiss rode one recently, three decades after its introduction, and found it to be "more subtle" than he expected though, he pointed out, he could have been just as, and more elegantly, cushioned from road and trail shock with a leather saddle or wide tires.  Subtract the "diving board" and Girvin Flex stem, he notes, and one is left with a rigid mountain bike like the ones riders had been riding before. 

If I had a couple of barns or garages, I'd probably acquire a Soft Ride to complete the collection I'd have.  But even if I liked its suspension qualities, I'm not sure how much I'd ride it:  I'm still too wedded to my vision of a beautiful bicycle.  There are some things I just don't want to be caught dead on. 

I Have Seen What He Sees, And I Don't Like It, Either

I wouldn't call myself a "retrogrouch."  Yes, I ride steel frames. None of my bikes have disc brakes, tubeless tires, clipless pedals. "brifters" or Ergo-levers, threadless or integrated headsets, press-fit bottom brackets, "anatomic" handlebars or any carbon-fiber parts. Heck, I even ride with full-size frame-fit pumps.  Three of my bikes, however, have indexed shifting (wit h downtube levers), three have dual-pivot brakes and four have modern low-profile cranksets.

Now, I am not opposed to all new innovations, even if they're resurrection of old ideas.  But I don't feel I need to have the newest and latest of everything. If it works for me, I'll continue to use it.  And I prefer things I can fix myself:  about the only kind of fix I won't do myself is a frame repair.

I think I found someone who thinks more or less the way I do in Eben Weiss.  He authored the "Bike Snob" blog and now writes columns for Outside magazine.  In his latest piece, "I Can See The Future of Bicycle Technology and I Don't Like It," he decries what I'll call the Apple-ization of the bicycle industry.

What he and I detest is what almost everybody hates about the company that gave us the iPhone. (Full disclosure:  I have one.)  If you use it, or one of the firm's computers or pads, you know that they consist of specialized parts and accessories that aren't compatible with their counterparts from other tech companies and can only be repaired by Apple-approved technicians working in authorized dealerships.  That is, if they can be repaired:  Too often, parts and even entire units are made to be disposable--or Apple makes it so expensive or logistically onerous to fix your phone or computer that you just give up and buy the newest, latest model.

Now, to be fair, Apple is engaging what other companies in other industries have been doing for decades. It's called planned obsolescence.  Unfortunately, it's come to the bicycle industry.  Worse, it sometimes seems that bicycle, component and accessory manufacturers are making their products more technologically complicated for its own sake--or to impress people who mistake complication for sophistication or refinement.  An example is electronic shifting systems or other systems that can be operated only with phone apps.

Oh, while I'm at it, I'll complain about another unfortunate trend that I encountered in reading Weiss' article:  a paywall.  That wasn't an issue for me, as I am an Outside subscriber.  But you are forewarned: about that and what's come and coming to a bike near you.

Bike-Outs: Super-Predators Wilding? Oh, The Menace!

They ride bikes together.

Oh, and those bikes are s-s-scary:  They’ve got fat wheels and look like Hell’s Angels motorcycles without the motors.

And the kids who ride them—T-they ride in packs and make a lot of noise.  A-and, you know, they pop wheelies and stuff.

They’re-they’re teenagers.  And they’re...

If you were in New York thirty years ago, you can fill in that last ellipsis.  Let’s just say they’re, um, darker than I am—and use words I didn’t learn in Spanish 101.

It seems that every generation or so, some j-school grads with too much time on their hands find new ways to whip up hysteria about groups of urban teenage boys being, well, groups of urban teenage boys.  The latest, it seems, is something that’s been dubbed the “bike-out.”

A Bike-Out?! Oh, my!

Indignation over boys riding modern versions of “Choppers” or “Stingrays” has been ignited by a 74-year-old man who was out for a stroll when, he says, he was attacked by a group of “lawless” teenagers on bikes.

My purpose is not to doubt the man.  One attack, however, does not a phenomenon make.  I am reminded about the hysteria about “wilding” generated by the Central Park Jogger case.

That assault was indeed brutal.  But a certain entrepreneur took it upon himself to take out full-page ads in which he demanded the death penalty for the alleged attackers:  teenagers whose confessions, as it turned out, were coerced and who were finally released from prison on the cusp of middle age.

I am, of course, referring to Donald Trump.  In his ad, he famously bellowed, "I hate them. I want to hate them."  

One thing you have got to say for El Cheeto Grande:  He knows how to play the media.  Or, at least, he shows what one can do with the media if one has, say, a couple of billion lying around.

The "bike-outs" are as much a phantom phenomenon as "wilding" was, and their perpetrators were just as mythical as Hilary Clinton's "super predators."  Those ghost stories (pun intended) involve urban teenage boys and young men who are black and Latino. The only difference between them, as far as I can tell, is that in one legend, the bogeyman show up on bicycles.

(Thanks to Eben Weiss for writing about the "Bike-Out" hysteria in Outside magazine.)