Mavic: Yellow Blues

Once upon a time, a "dream" bike would be outfitted with Campagnolo Nuovo or Super Record components.  I finally did get my dream after a few years of riding, a bunch of part-time jobs on the side and a few skipped meals.  

In those days, Campagnolo didn't make rims.  At least, no hoops bore the Campy's logo. (I have heard, from various sources, that the rims Campagnolo would offer later were actually made by FIR.)  So, you chose from a number of other manufacturers.  Super Champion of France was popular in the day; in fact, my first "nice" wheels bore their rims.  So were Rigida, Nisi, Fiamme and Weinmann.  But most of us agreed that the "name" brand for rims was Mavic.  I rode their jantes on my first all-Campy bike--and most of the bikes I've ridden since.

During the '80's and '90's, Mavic was a veritable juggernaut in the world of rims and wheels, much as Shimano was (and, arguably, still is) among other bicycle componentry.  They produced the best tubulars and developed the first lightweight clincher that, combined with Michelin's Elan tire, could rival the weight and performance of tubulars.  A decade or so later, they developed some of the first really good rims for the then-nascent sport of mountain biking.

To this day, Mavic is best-known for its rims and wheels.  But it also produced some really nice componentry.  Its 451 brakes are believed, by some, to be the finest single-pivot sidepulls ever made. (Actually, Dia Compe made them for Mavic, who designed them.)  They are certainly among the most beautiful.  And, interestingly enough, Mavic's first products in 1889 were mudguards (fenders to us Yanks).

Mavic has contributed to the world of cycling, not only through its technical innovations and quality manufacturing, but also through its support of various teams throughout the years--and its neutral technical support of the Tour de France.  Their support cars and bikes are yellow, like the comany's label--and the Tour de France leader's jersey.

Sadly, however, reports from Agence-Presse France say that Mavic has been placed into receivership by a commercial court in Grenoble, near the company's Annecy, France, base.  "Receivership" is initiated by creditors or banks that believe a company cannot pay its debts.  This differs from "administration," which can be initiated by a company's directors.  The result of "receivership" is that the company is taken over by a court-appointed "reciever" who controls the assets and tries to keep the company out of liquidation.

As much as I like Mavic's rims and some of their other stuff, I'll admit that if I were more of a weight weenie, I'll admit that they're no longer the "go-to" they were, say, twenty or even ten years ago.  Some of that drop in prestige has to do with other companies making stuff that's lighter or just sexier.  So, it's not a surprise that Mavic's sales have not kept pace in recent years.

The real problem for Mavic, though, seems to be that nobody seems to know who actually knows it. Solomon, best known for ski equipment, bought Mavic in the mid-90's; a few years later, Adidas bought Solomon.  Amer Sport, a Finnish group,  would later become the main shareholder of Mavic.  Amer removed Mavic from its accounts in 2018 and sold the company to Regent LP, a California investment fund, last July.

So, the employees of Mavic, who are unionized, believed that their company was in the hands of Regent.  But, for some reason, they were not informed that the sale didn't go through and Mavic was instead acquired by a Delaware-based entity called M Sports International LLC, which has no links to Regent--and practically no traces on the Internet.

This sounds like the makings of a mystery novel.  The thing about novels (and plays) is that if they're great to read or watch, you should be happy that you don't have to live them.  The employees of Mavic want to know what their future is.  So do many of us who use their products.

Merry Christmas Bike

I hope you are enjoying a holiday.

Since today is Christmas, I thought I'd share some images of the most Christmas-like object I own:

Yes, I've been doing some work on the Mercian King of Mercia I bought a few weeks ago.  For one thing, the sew-up wheels are gone:  I actually sold them on Craigslist.  In their place are a set of wheels with classic Campagnolo Record hubs with modern Mavic rims and DT spokes:

One reason I decided to use those hubs is that the rear one allowed me to employ an old trick:

The rear dropouts are spaced for 126 mm, as were most road bikes of the KoM's era (1984).  I rearranged the spacing on it so that both sides are even.  The good news is that I have a wheel with no dish.  The bad (depending on your point of view) news is that the right side spacing will allow me to use only 5-speed or Ultra (narrow)-6 freewheels---which is what I'd planned to use anyway.

And it allowed me to use the lightweight Open Pro rim.  It's actually a very strong rim for its weight, as Mavic rims tend to be.  Also, for a rim as narrow as it is, it can accommodate fairly wide tires--like the 700X32 C Paselas that adorn them now.

Probably the next most-significant change I made was in the derailleurs.  Getting a Rally derailleur was nice, but I actually like this one better:

I saw more than a few otherwise-all-Campy bikes equipped with Cyclone derailleurs from the mid-'70's to the mid-80's, so I don't feel as if I'm committing some sort of sacrilege.  With that change, I also swapped out the Campy shifters for ratcheted SunTour levers.

One more Campy part went from this bike to my parts box:  the pedals.  They don't seem to have been ridden much at all, so I wrapped them carefully and am saving them for "future reference."  The MKS platform pedals--my current favorites--bear enough resemblance to classic platform pedals like the Lyotard Berthet (#23) or the ones SR made that they don't look out of place on this bike. 

The fellow who bought the sew-up wheels also took the deep-drop Cinelli bars that came with the bike. (What such deep drops--or sew-ups--were doing on a touring bike, I'll never know.)  And I sold the stem--which had too long of an extension--on eBay.  In their place, I installed another favorite--Nitto Noodle bars with an NP (formerly Pearl) stem.  The Noodles bear enough resemblance to randonneur -style bars that I can justify (to myself, anyway) them on a bike like this.

If you saw my original post about this bike, you probably noticed three other changes:

The brake cable housings were cracked.  I like to replace cables on secondhand bikes anyway.  As luck would have it, I found these gold braided housings on eBay.

And I had to remove the leather sleeves that were stitched on to the handlebars in order to remove the brake levers.  Perhaps I will re-stitch them onto the new bars some day, but for now, I wrapped them with Tressostar brown and green cloth tape.  I also replaced the original Campagnolo gum rubber hoods, which were dried and cracks, with new items from Rustines.

Finally, I replaced the Avocet saddle with--what else?--a Brooks Professional.

This will give you a taste of things to come:

This bell bracket came from Velo Orange and will sport one of those lovely brass Japanese ringers.  And, of course, I will add bottle cages, a pump and a front rack for a bag.

Funny, isn't it, that a bike--which can be ridden all year round--can look as much like a Christmas ornament as anything that's hung on a Fraser fir.

It's So '70's That It's From The '90's

If you came of age as a cyclist, as I did, during the 1970s, the first derailleur you rode might have been a Huret Allvit, Luxe or Svelto, a Campagnolo Valentino or any of the plastic Simplex mechanisms.  If you rode those mechanisms enough, they broke or, in the case of the Hurets, developed stiffness or looseness in the pivots that made shifts sloppy and inaccurate--or impossible altogether.  And if you rode an Allvit, you broke a cable or two.

Then you took your bike to the shop.  The owner or a mechanic (who might have been the same person) recommended a new derailleur recently arrived from Japan.  It looked strange:  The body of your old derailleur dangled downward, but the body of this new derailleur ran parallel to your chainstay.  Its name had a "T" that flared out like a racing stripe, in contrast to the old-world cursive lettering on your old derailleur.  

But it was cheap, so you gave it a try.  On your first ride, you realize that you don't have to win a tug-of-war with your derailleur to get it to shift from one cog to the next one up, let alone across all of your gears.  You also realize that you could shift entirely by feel:  your chain didn't have to grind, clatter and clank as you coaxed it from one gear to the next.

Of course, later on you would need to replace that chain and, along with it, your freewheel.  Your owner/mechanic recommended a freewheel from the same company that made your new derailleur.  When you ride it out of the shop, you are again amazed:  You see that your new derailleur, which shifted light-years better than your old one, was shifting even better.

Chances are that your new derailleur and freewheel were made by SunTour, the first Japanese company to pose a real challenge to the old European component makers.  It was no wonder that by the end of the decade, more than half of new bikes--including many from old-line European manufacturers like Raleigh and Motobecane as well as upstart American companies like Trek--were equipped with SunTour derailleurs and freewheels.  

Today, just about any derailleur made today that has even a pretense of quality owes at least part of its design to that of those SunTour derailleurs.  As Michael Sweatman points out in his wonderful Disraeligears, today's Shimano XT-M772 has the same basic geometry as the 1972 SunTour V-GT. 

Another component that would be introduced during that decade would have a similar influence.  Someone working for an old French rim manufacturer got the bright idea of taking a tubular rim--the kind used for "sew-up" tires--and adding "hooks" to the sidewalls to hold the "beads" of a clincher tire.  The tubular rim profile is inherently stronger, per weight, than the box-channel or drop-section clincher rims made at the time; the resulting new rim was about 25 percent lighter than any other clincher rim available at the time.  So were the tires designed for it.  This development offered performance approaching that of tubular tires with the convenience of clinchers.  Also, the rim's width--20mm--matched that of most tubulars made at the time.  This made it possible for a cyclist to use clincher and tubular wheels on the same bike without having to readjust brakes or other parts.

The original high-performance clincher rim:  Mavic Module E, 1975

The rim in question was the Mavic Module E, introduced in 1975.  At the same time, Michelin brought out its "Elan" tire, made to work with the rim.  The rim was strong; the tire, not so much. The following year, Wolber came out with another, much stronger (though no heavier) tire for the Module E; other companies--including Panasonic (under the names Panaracer and National) followed.  

Every high-performance clincher rim--including the ones on fancy boutique wheelsets--made today uses Mavic's design innovation.  (Yes, even those neon-colored V-shaped rims have the double cross-section and bead hooks found on the Module E, and every rim Mavic has made since.)  And all of today's high-quality clincher tires use the same bead design Michelin introduced with its "Elan" tire.

Other innovative components saw the light of day during the decade, but I'll mention just one more.  If you were riding in the '70's or '80's, there's a good chance you rode it; there's an equally good chance that you're riding something based on its design.

It's a component most of us don't think about very much once it's installed.  And, if it's adjusted properly, there's no reason why we should.  In its time, it was nearly as ubiquitous as SunTour derailleurs.  However, as we will see, as good as it was, it wasn't quite the innovation most of us assumed it to be.

Once we've settled (!) on a saddle that's right for us, and have it set to the height and angle that feels right, we rarely, if ever, pay any mind again to our seat posts.  But if we have to replace our saddles--or if we're setting up a new bike--choosing the right seat post make it not only possible, but easy, to place and tilt our seats to the optimal position.

The old Campagnolo seat posts were renowned for their durability and "infinite" adjustability. But, with the two adjustment bolts ensconced between the saddle rails and body, setup and adjustment were not easy, even with the wrench Campagnolo made for the purpose.  Other seatposts, such as those from Simplex, were easier to use but, frankly, never won any beauty contests (though I think its headbadge was pretty cool).

Around the same time Mavic and Michelin re-invented the wheel (the bicycle wheel, anyway), there appeared a seatpost that--like SunTour derailleurs--cost much less than their competition but worked a lot better.  A saddle setup or adjustment that took half an hour or more--if one had the specially-designed tool for the purpose--could be accomplished in a fraction of that time, with a common 6mm allen key and, best of all, one hand.

French Laprade seatpost

The Sakae Ringyo (SR) Laprade seatpost was even "fluted" like the Campagnolo Super Record!  Yes, it was heavier, though not by much, and the finish--at least on the early versions--was rougher.  But, in time, SR cleaned it up and offered another, lighter, version with the kind of finish found on Nitto's offerings (or old Cinelli bars and stems) and one of the most interesting model names ever given to a bike component:  Four Sir.  (Is that a translation of something from Japanese?  Or did it come up during some dada poetry session where the sake flowed freely?)  

I don't recall seeing very many Four Sirs:  Once SR made its basic Laprade post a little prettier and lighter than the original, there really wasn't much reason to buy any other.  Even top-of-the line bikes came with it as standard equipment. 

What almost nobody, at least here in the US, realized was that SR didn't call their seatpost "Laprade" just because they thought a French name would make it sound better.  Japanese patent laws being what they were at the time, companies like SR could make near-clones of other companies' designs with impunity.  The original Laprade seatpost was made in France.  Not many made it here to the US, so most of us had never seen it before the SR version came to these shores.  

SR Laprade, circa 1978

As I understand, the original Laprade was a high-end item found mainly on French bikes made from Reynolds 531 or Columbus tubing, and on the Vitus aluminum frames from that country.  It was cold-forged and highly-polished, which made it expensive.  SR melt-forged their Laprade post, which made it heavier, and didn't finish it (except in the Four Sir version) quite as nicely.  But it did the job and didn't detract from the looks of even the best bikes, so it was a runaway favorite both in the original- and replacement-equipment markets.

SR Laprade "Four Sir" 

The majority of good seatposts made today are based on the Laprade design.  In fact, the manufacturers go as far as to call them "Laprade-style" or even "Laprade" seatposts.  The name today refers to just about any seatpost with an integrated single-bolt clamp that adjusts from the underside, in much the same way that "Scotch tape" refers to any clear cellophane adhesive strip, whether or not it's made made by 3M.

Ironically, the French Laprade post wasn't an original.  

Now tell me that design from E.C. Stearns--at the time, the world's largest bicycle manufacturer--doesn't look uncannily like the Laprade.  I wonder whether the folks who developed the Laprade seatpost in France were aware of Stearns' patent--which, I imagine, had long since expired.

Well, if you've been reading this blog, you know that there really isn't anything new under the sun, at least in the world of cycling.  No, not even carbon fiber or titanium frames!

When You Spoke Of Good Wheels, There Was Just One Name

These days, if you are building a quality wheel, you are likely to use spokes from DT Swiss, Wheelsmith or Sapim.  I have heard arguments and seen a few flame wars (really!) over which brand is better, with partisans of one brand insisting that the others are good only for kebab skewers.


Me, I think they're all high-quality spokes.  All of my current wheels have either DT Swiss or Wheelsmith spokes on them; I don't have Sapims mainly because they're less available, at least here in the US.  Also, I should point out that all of my current wheels have round spokes:  I am not using any bladed or elliptical spokes. 

(I did, for a time, ride a radially-laced front track wheel I built with Wheelsmith bladed spokes.  I had no problems with them.  That said, I didn't ride any rough road surfaces on that wheel.)

One thing I find interesting, from the perspective of four decades as a dedicated cyclist, is that nearly all current high-quality spokes are stainless steel.  During the 1990s, titanium spokes gained some popularity along with bikes and other components made from the same material; today, bladed carbon-fiber or aluminum alloy spokes are found on low-spoke-count boutique wheelsets.  But for the past three decades or so, about 90 percent of quality wheels--and nearly all custom-built wheels--have been laced with stainless spokes from one of the manufacturers I've mentioned.

Back in the day, things were a bit different. (You can say that about just about anything, I guess, except for human nature!)  My first pair of custom-built wheels were composed from Super Champion 58 rims laced to Campagnolo Nuovo Tipo hubs with Robergel Sport spokes.

If you haven't heard of Robergel spokes, which were made in France, you probably don't remember the Tokheim Gear Maker or Durham "Camel" chainrings, either.  But Robergel Sport spokes had much more of a raison d'etre than either of those products.  So, for that matter, did Robergel's "Trois Etoiles" spoke--but more so the "Sport".

You see, the Sport was made in a way that almost no "good" spoke is made today:  It was zinc-plated.  The base material was a high-tensile steel that wasn't stainless.   If you were building a wheel for loaded touring or other rugged use (my first custom wheels took me on my first tour of Europe), you used Robergel Sports.

(The cheapest spokes then, as now, were cadmium-plated or not plated at all.)

Although the Trois Etoiles spokes were plenty strong--custom builders still seek them--and, let's face it, beautiful, the Sport was clearly the stronger spoke.  And, in those days, the Trois Etoiles was probably the only stainless steel spoke that could stand up to the rigors of racing as well as other hard use; those from other makers whose names you've never heard routinely broke. For those reasons, Trois Etoile spokes were used on otherwise all-Italian or even all-Japanese racing bikes.  Very often, a high-end racing or touring bike might have three French components on it:  Robergel spokes, Mavic or Super Champion rims and Christophe toe clips.

The main reason why the Sport and other zinc-plated spokes were used on wheels built for loaded or hard riding, or on bikes that weren't cared-for by team mechanics, is that stainless steel in those days was more brittle, even though it had more tensile strength, than carbon steel with zinc plating.  (A few companies made bicycles with stainless steel frames during the 1970s; their failure rate was high.) Also, if the spokes didn't have rust or tarnish on them before they were plated, they didn't rust during normal usage.  

They did, however, take on a dull finish that didn't even have enough charm to be called "patina".  That, I think, is the main reason why zinc-plated spokes have fallen out of favor:  If you wanted them to look good, you had to clean them, especially if you rode them in the rain.  

A few spoke makers--Robergel was not one of them--offered chrome-plated steel spokes.  They, of course, look nicer than zinc-plated spokes that have been in a couple of monsoons.  But quality chroming is expensive, and too often manufacturers take shortcuts or simply don't know any better.  And, because the cross-section of a spoke is so thin, doing the process properly is even more critical than it is, say, on a frame or a rack.

Chrome plating is actually porous.  Thus, if there isn't a proper under-coat, the steel underneath it is just as vulnerable to the elements than it would be if it were left bare.  Actually, improperly plating something with chrome is actually worse than leaving the underlying metal bare, for it allows rust to begin underneath the surface.  By the time the rust becomes visible, the damage is already done.  In the case of a spoke, it could break even before the rust becomes visible.

(Let me emphasize that I am not against chrome-plating on bicycles as long as it is done properly.  If the frame was made by a constructeur or other high-end builder, the chrome was probably done right.   You can't be as certain with mass manufacturers, particularly those at the lower end of the spectrum.)

There was one other short-lived attempt to keep spokes nice and shiny.  In the 1970s and early 1980s, an Italian maker named Redaelli offered nickel-plated spokes (which were also said to be made specially for Campagnolo hubs).  I don't know how long those spokes lasted in real-life use, for I never knew anyone who used them in real life.  For all I know, they might have been just as good as anything Robergel made.  But nickel does share an issue with chrome:  If the underlying steel was not free of rust, corrosion or dirt when the plating process began, the spokes could rust or corrode from within in much the same way as chrome-plated spokes.  

Whatever the fate of those Redaellis or the chrome-plated spokes I've mentioned, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that someone is still riding my old wheels with Robergel "Sport" zinc-plated spokes.  I don't know of any manufacturer that makes zinc-plated spokes for bicycles anymore; now most people think that if a bike has something that isn't shiny or doesn't have a carbon finish,it must not be any good.  As the saying goes, don't judge a book by its cover--or a spoke by its finish!

My Kingdom For A Horse, Or Ten Kowalits For A Pair Of Wheels

I remember getting my first Campagnolo component:  a pair of Nuovo Tipo hubs.  My first nice pair of clincher wheels—Super Champion 58 rims laced to those hubs with Robergel Sport spokes—cost the princely (for a poor college student like me) sum of $100.  The man who built them seemed like a magician to me at the time:  I simply could not fathom what sorcery or alchemy turned all of those parts into a pair of wheels that would take the length and breadth of state of New Jersey, on two of the early Five Boro Bike Tours and on my first European bike tour.

It wasn’t just the parts and the build that made them seem almost otherworldly at that time.  Most clincher tires and wheels in the US at the time were 27” and the tubes had Schraeder (the kind found on car tires) valves.  Mine were 700C and drilled for Presta valves.  That was intentional:  I used the wheels on my Peugeot PX-10, which came with 700C tubular wheels and tires—and, of course Presta valves.  I’ve never seen a tubular tire with Schrader valves and the only non-700C tubulars I’ve come across were the ones made for junior racers.

Those new wheels meant that I could switch back and forth between tubulars and clinchers without having to re-adjust the brake blocks.  (I used to tighten the cable adjuster a bit for the tubular rims, which were narrower and loosen them for the clinchers.)  They also would fit on other good bikes, including a couple I would acquire later—and which would, at one time or another, be equipped with those wheels.  Also, I could use the same pump on all of my tires without having to use an adapter.

Today, those wheels would seem dated to anyone not riding a “classic” bike.  The parts were all of fine quality and lasted many rides for me.  But using those Tipo hubs would limit gear selection to whatever five- and six-speed freewheels could be found in swap meets, on eBay or in some “accidentally” discovered stash. And, as good as those rims were, the Mavic MA series rims, with their double-wall construction and hooked tire beads, introduced in the early 1980s, were lighter and allowed cyclists to use a wider variety of tires. 

But even after the MA rims—and newer hub offerings from Campagnolo, Shimano, Mavic and other companies—were introduced, there were places where cyclists would have done almost anything to have wheels like my first good clinchers.  One of those places was the German Democratic Republic, a.k.a. East Germany.  In fact, they probably would have done illegal or simply un-approved-of things to get a bike like mine—especially its Stronglight crank.  Only Campagnolo’s Record crankset was more prized.

That is the situation Gerolf Meyer describes in the latest edition of BicycleQuarterly. 

Like other athletes from his country, cyclists wanted to prove themselves against the best from the West.  As talented as some East German riders were, their equipment was stuck in the 1950’s.  There were shops that took “room dividers”—Diamant “sport” bicycles with impossibly long wheelbases—and shortened chain stays and top tubes, lowered brake bridges and did other things to make those machines ride something like racing bikes.  Engineers and technicians in factories and medical supply cooperatives made cable tunnel guides and other frame fittings and bike parts on the side. 

There were even mechanics and builders who could take the crudely-machined and –finished East German components and make them look—and even, to a degree, function—like “Campag”.  In one of the most extreme examples, Hans-Christian Smolik took a Tectoron rear derailleur—which borrowed its shape and basic function from the Campagnolo Record but and had lettering that faced upside down—and made it all but indistinguishable from the Real McCoy. 

Tectoron Rear Derailleur.  Photo from Disraeligears

 

In the 1980s, the East German sanctioned the development of the Tectoron derailleur and other parts in an attempt to catch up with the technology of Western bikes and equipment.  One of the ironies is that Campagnolo, Shimano, Mavic and other Western manufacturers were innovating in ways that would render obsolete (at least for those who simply had to have the newest and latest) the stuff the East Germans were imitiating.

Campagnolo Super Record, 1979.  Photo from Disraeligears

A fortunate few were able to obtain Western components through connections—a relative who’d retired to the West (Apparently,the East German government didn’t mind letting retirees leave, probably figuring that it would save the state on pension costs.), a partially-subterranean “supply chain” or Western racers the East Germans met at events like the Peace Race.

About the latter:  There developed a barter system not unlike the ones soldiers develop with those fighting alongside, as well as on the other side, of them, complete with its own "exchange rates". (During the first Gulf War, one French K-ration was worth five of its American counterparts.)  Sometimes  the East Germans—as well as Soviet bloc riders—would trade jerseys, pins or other souvenirs, or local delicacies. But the East Germans—and Czechs—actually made one bicycle component that was superior to anything in the West: tubular tires.  Kowalit tubular were the stuff of legend:  a light, supple tire that wore like iron.  I never rode any myself, but I did have a pair of Czech-made “Barum” tires that I rode, literally, to the tubes:  Not even the best stuff from Clement, Vittoria, Wolber, Michelin, Continental or Soyo (Yes, I rode tires from every one of those companies!) was anywhere near as good.  Ten Kowalits --or, I presume, Barums-- could fetch a good wheelset.

Of course, such deals had to be made “in the shadows”, and certainly not after the race.  Can you imagine what some East German would have offered (if indeed he or she had anything to offer) for my old Colnago?

A Steady Chain Of Events In Cycling: From Sedis To SRAM

I'm running SRAM chains on all of my bikes.

That's what I've done for about the past thirty-five years or so.  You might say it's one of my few brand loyalties (along with Mavic rims, Brooks saddles and, yes, Mercian bikes) in cycling.

In a sense, though, my use of SRAM chains isn't a brand loyalty.  You see, when I first started riding with them, SRAM didn't exist.  How's that, you say?

Well, back in the '70's, before Campagnolo, Shimano and SRAM became the main suppliers of quality bicycle components, there were many more independent manufacturers than there are now.  Most of them were relatively small, owned by the families that founded them.  Some, like Brooks and Mavic, survive today, though under the umbrella of larger companies.  However, many--like SunTour and Lyotard, which I mentioned in earlier posts--folded because of mis-steps (SunTour with its indexed shifting system) or simply not updating their products (Lyotard and many other European companies).  Others were bought out by larger companies and saw their venerable names relegated to the tire tracks of history.

One such component-maker was Sedis.  Actually, they made one category of bike parts:  chains.  Nearly all French bikes came with them. They also were common on machines from England and other European countries, as well as Schwinns.  Also, Sedis chains were commonly purchased as replacements, sometimes for chains that hadn't worn out.  I'll explain that in a moment.

Sedis chains were popular mainly for the same reasons as SunTour drive train components and Lyotard pedals:  They worked well and were well-made and reasonably-priced.  Those attributes were most apparent in what might be the most iconic product Sedis ever produced:  the Sedisport chain.

Until Shimano came out with the Uniglide in 1977, nearly all chains had flat side plates.  Shimano designed this chain, with its bulged outer plates, to work with the twisted-tooth sprockets made for their then-new cassette freehubs.  (Until 1985 or so, Shimano also offered thread-on freewheels with twisted-tooth cogs.)  Around the same time, SunTour developed its "Ultra-six" freewheel, which fit six sprockets in the same amount of space as the five rear sprockets that were standard at the time. Sun Tour also marketed a chain, made for them by HKK, with narrower outer plates and pins flush with them. All bike chains up to that time, including the Uniglide, had pins that protruded slightly from the side-plates.

The Uniglide and HKK/SunTour chains shared a problem all Japanese derailleur chains  had in those days:  They stretched and wore very quickly.  And the Uniglide was one of the noisiest chains ever made:  Comparisons were made with Harleys and trucks.

In 1978, Maillard (which would later share Sedis' fate) made its own version of the Ultra-Six freewheel.  The Sedisport was created to work with it.  Originally, the chains were available only in a traditional black finish, but gold and silver versions would become available. 

The Original Sedisport Chain, 1978

The basic black version could be had for about $5-6, the same price as just about any entry-level derailleur chain.  The gold and silver versions were, naturally, a few dollars more.  They were among the greatest bargains in the history of cycle componentry.  

When you took a Sedisport out of its packet (for the black version) or box (gold or silver), it seemed almost floppy, especially to someone accustomed to a Regina Oro chain.  That was a function, not only of its narrower side plates and flush pins, but also of its most revolutionary design features:  slightly flared inner plates (as opposed to the bulged outer plates of the Uniglide) and, most important, its bushing-less pivots.

Those features made the Sedisport both stronger and lighter than any of the other chains I've mentioned.  And, the fact that it had fewer moving parts meant that it didn't need to be cleaned and lubed as often, and didn't jam or develop stiff links.  And, best of all, it shifted even better than any of those other chains--yes, even on SunTour's Ultra-Six or Shimano's Uniglide sprockets.  And on Regina freewheels.

Sedisport with gold finish.

As a result, nearly anybody riding any derailleur-equipped bicycle of anything more than department-store quality had a Sedisport chain.   It's what I rode on my Colnago; I knew other riders who installed it on bikes equipped entirely with Campagnolo Super Record equipment.  Up to that time, the custom was to team up a Regina Oro freewheel and chain with a Record or Super Record gruppo, as Campagnolo did not make freewheels or chains.  But Oros cost about three times as much as Sedisports and didn't last as long or shift as well.  Regina developed its own Ultra Six freewheel (They had a standard six-speed, which was wider than the five-speed) but their quality was slipping.  So, many racers and other performance-oriented riders switched to SunTour Winner freewheels along with Sedisport chains even as they continued to ride with Campagnolo cranks and derailleurs.

Every new model of derailleur chain made since the Sedisport--whether for seven, eight, nine, ten or eleven speeds--has been made without bushings, and with curved or flared inner plates and pins that are flush with the outer plates.  Among those modern chains are today's SRAM chains.

That last fact makes perfect sense when you realize that SRAM chains are Sedis chains.   In the early 1980s, Sedis's bicycle chain division, along with Maillard (which made freewheels, hubs and pedals bearing the Normandy and Atom as well as Maillard brands) and Huret were purchased by Sachs, a German maker of coaster brakes, multigear hubs and components for mopeds and motorbikes.  Through most of the 1980's, the chains were sold under the Sachs/Sedis marque.  Then, in 1996, Sachs became part of the SRAM group.  In the beginning, SRAM components were made in the original French factories that produced Sedis, Maillard and Huret stuff.  But in the early 2000s, most production shifted to Taiwan.  However, SRAM chains have been made in Portugal.  

Through all of these changes, SRAM chains retained the qualities that got me (and so many other people) to ride Sedis chains so many years ago.  I've tried Shimano (as well as other chains) on my Shimano cassettes and Rohloff as well as Wipperman chains on Campy stuff.  SRAM chains always worked better and lasted longer--and were usually less expensive to boot.

Interestingly, the Sedis name survived the buyouts. It currently manufactures chains for industrial purposes in Troyes, where Lancelot was born, if you will.   They first started making chains in 1895, when they were part of Peugeot. (Most people outside the Francophone world don't realize that Peugeot is a large, 200-year-old, industrial company that makes everything from peppermills to trucks.)  At that time, Peugeot manufactured in Isere.  In 1946, the chain division merged with two other chain manufacturers, Societe Verjoux of the Doubs region and Societe des Chains Darbilly in the Seine region.  The name SEDIS is an acronym of SEine, Doubs and ISere.  They continue to use the logo familiar to so many of us.

 

This Liberia Might Help Liberia

If you've been following this blog, you know that I'm interested in (and ride a few) vintage bikes, parts and accessories---in part because some of the stuff I rode in my youth (and even later!) is considered "vintage" now!

Anyway, if you pay attention to really vintage bikes (i.e., ones made before I was born!), you know that some bike-makers got creative with their parts, some of which they manufactured themselves.  Among them are the chainrings on cottered steel cranksets, which sometimes had interesting designs or the name of the bike manufacturer.

Here's one that's on eBay now:

 

Turns out, Liberia was a brand of bicycles made by Grenoble-based Manufacture Francaise Cycles (MFC), starting in 1918.  In MFC's early days, they also made motorcycles that bore the same name as the velos.

MFC founder Antoine Biboud was a keen cyclist (Why wouldn't he be in that part of the world?  Trust me:  I've ridden there!) who insisted on strict quality control.  Even his lowest-priced models had carefully-mitered tubes and carefully filed lugs.  His insistence on quality might be one reasons neither he nor his kids (who inherited the company and ran it for the rest of its history) ever tried to sell his bikes much beyond the Rhone-Alpes region of southeastern France. 

Biboud's motto translated roughly to "Don't follow the peloton, lead it!"  He passed it on to the teams his company sponsored during the two decades after World War II.  One of its riders, Henri Anglade, was the French national champion in 1959; other Libera riders took various honors in the Tour de France and other races.

After a two-decade absence from the peloton, Liberia teamed up with Mavic in 1988 to co-sponsor the RMO team, which featured such riders as Richard Virenque and the Madiot brothers.  Unfortunately, the successes of these cyclists weren't enough to buoy the company's fortunes. So, by the mid-1990's, Liberia, like many other mainly-regional French bike makers (and some national and international ones like Mercier) fell victim to the rising tide of Taiwanese bikes.

Even though I've seen a few Liberia bikes, I can't help but to think about the African country with that name.  And, someone who doesn't know much about cycling history might, at this point, be put off by the name, what with the Ebola virus.  

At least the seller, Reperagevelo, is a part of Repareges, a French non-profit that sends bicycles to Burkina Faso and Mali to provide much-needed transportation, as well as jobs and other help for disabled people.