I Thought I'd Caught Her Flip-Flopping

Today was an absolutely glorious day, weather-wise, and I didn't have to worry about spectacles of animal exploitation clogging area roadways.  In fact, given that it was Sunday, there was scarcely a cloud in the sky and little humidity, and the temperature reached 24C (75F), I was surprised to see as little traffic as I did anywhere I rode.

Even the beach areas were pretty quiet.  I rode down to the Rockaways, flipped a quarter and continued to Point Lookout. Some people were walking about on the beach and the boardwalks in the Rockaways and Atlantic Beach.  But they didn't seem to linger, surprisingly enough. The water is still a bit cooler than some people like for swimming.  That might be a reason why there weren't as many people as I expected.  Also, there didn't seem to be many events as there were last weekend or the weekend before, which included Memorial Day.

Of course I didn't mind.  I just rode and took a couple of self-indulgent shots of Tosca, my fixed-gear Mercian:

Actually, I took the photos because in the light of that beach, and the angle from which I was looking when I sat down, I could see the "flip-flop" quality of the finish:  It actually looked purple and green at the same time.  I don't think it came through in these photos.  Oh well.

I had a great ride with Tosca.  That's what matters.

Maintenance And Makeovers

I've been back to riding regularly, more or less, for nearly two months.  It feels really, really good:  I'm starting to overcome how little riding I did this winter, and my age.

It's a good thing I'm back in the saddle most days.  You see, being the old-time mechanic I am, when I'm not riding I work on my bikes.  Now, there's some maintenance I normally do during the winter:  I usually replace my cables and chains. Sometimes I install tires, brake pads, cogs and handlebar tape.  More rarely, I'll put on other new parts or accessories, depending on how badly they're worn.

But this past winter I went "above and beyond" what I needed to do.  You see, I changed the looks of my bikes a bit.  

Here is Arielle, my Mercian Audax, with her "makeover" that she didn't need, if I do say so myself:

After Ely of Ruth Works made those bags for me, I had a feeling that they would look even better with a Brooks honey saddle and handlebar tape.  I asked Ely; he encouraged me and assured me that (in his opinion, anyway), it would look fine with the paint, whether it was showing its purple or green side. (It's Mercian's #57 "flip flop" finish.) 

I was fortunate to find this slightly-ridden "pre-softened" Brooks Professional--with copper-plated rails--for $100.  Apparently, it was made during the time Sturmey-Archer owned Brooks. At least, the style of the nameplate on the rear (which I like a lot on this saddle) would indicate as much.

Tosca got a similar revamp, except that she got a current Brooks Professional.  Somehow I don't think it's that much, if at all, stiffer than the "pre-softened" saddle was when it came out of the box.

Somehow I get the feeling the bikes, the leather and canvas are going to grow old together nicely.  I could say the same for Vera, my green Miss Mercian mixte:

The saddle is a B17 and I used one roll of tape on the handlebars.   The front bag on this bike--and the British Racing Green paint--seemed to call out for the honey leather even more than my other bikes did.

And, no I didn't leave Helene--my other Miss Mercian--out.  I'll have some shots of her soon.

A Nice Way To Recover

Another ride to Point Lookout today.  Trust me, I'm going to do other long(er) rides soon.  But I think I had good reasons for doing the ride again today after doing it on back-to-back days last weekend.

Actually, I hadn't planned to such a long ride (about 105 km, or 65 miles).  I'd been feeling a bit under the weather for the last couple of days.  Today I felt a bit better and the weather was nearly perfect:  sunny, with some wind, 15-17C (60 to 65F).  So I started off down the street from my apartment and down a few more that could have taken me to the Rockaways, Coney Island or other points south in Brooklyn or Queens.

When I crossed Atlantic Avenue on Woodhaven Boulevard, I knew I was headed to the Rockaways. If I pedaled just to Rockaway Beach and back, that would be about 50 km.  I got there, feeling good, and took a left out toward Arverne and Far Rockaway.

Now, there isn't much noteworthy in Far Rockaway except for the beach, where the dunes are lovely but the water is still too cold (about 7 or 8 degrees C) to swim.  Going to the Rockaways on my bike usually means one thing:  crossing the bridge into Nassau County--Atlantic Beach, to be exact--and riding along the South Shore.

Mind you, on my way down to the Rockaways I rode into a wind that buffeted me on my right side as I rode along the coastline.  Still, I was feeling much better than I expected, so I kept on riding.  

The Point was quiet today, but the tide had come in.  So, where I saw sandbars last week, I saw this:

The water must have been rough because I didn't see anyone sailing or windsurfing.  But when you're on a bike, it doesn't matter.  Especially mine:  they always ride great.

On the way back, I felt something go "thump" and heard a clank. I was imagining the worst:  a flat tire and some part fallen off my bike.  But I couldn't imagine what:  Everything is tight and well-maintained.  I looked back and found this:

Most of you have a tool just like it. I have two or three.  It doesn't hurt to have another, as it includes the allen key sizes (4, 5 and 6mm) most commonly used on bicycles.  So I'm going to hold onto it--or give it to someone.  After all, the ride was a fine reward.  I feel good now.

Given The Choice, I Would Ride...

Having spent four decades as a devoted cyclist, and having worked in bike shops, I've seen lots of bikes come and go.  I have worked on bikes, parts and accessories made by companies that no longer exist (or, in some cases, by people long dead or who stopped for whatever reasons).  Some richly deserved to be tossed into the dust pail of history; others should have been put in the recycle bin or, at least, the parts box.  

Of course, I took a few "test" rides on interesting bikes I repaired, maintained and assembled.  But there are many more that I never got to ride.  If someone asked me what bike, no longer made, I would ride if given the chance, I'd have to spend a lot of time thinking about it.  A classic velo from a constructeur like Rene Herse or Jo Routens would be high on my list.  So would something from Jack Taylor, especially a tandem.  (Of course, I might not be in a position to truly appreciate it, as I haven't ridden tandems very much!) I'd also be curious to try an early Schwinn Paramount or Colnago as well as some bikes from Americans who built bikes for the six-day racers.  Finally, I'd like to ride some very early Mercians (they started building in 1946) and compare them to more recent ones and, of course, my own.

But if someone were to ask me what part or component I'd like to try, the answer would be much easier:  a Nivex derailleur.  I have grown especially curious about it since "The Retrogrouch" wrote a post on his blog about it and in the most recent Bicycle Quarterly, Jan Heine described the one he installed on his "Rene Herse", built in 2011.  Even he admits that its advantages weren't worth the time and effort he had to put into finding parts for, and rebuilding, the mechanism.  Still, his and "Retrogrouch"'s description of it have fascinated me.

Classic Nivex rear derailleur on Alex Singer bike.  From the Bicycle Quarterly Press

I actually saw one or two--or, at least, derailleurs that closely resembled it--when I worked in shops and the first two times I toured in France.  It makes sense:  Those tours were in 1980 and 1984, and I started working in bike shops in 1975.  Dedicated cyclists, especially in Europe, have tended to keep bikes they like for longer than people keep cars and other items.  So it makes sense that there were still cyclists--mostly of a certain age--riding on bikes from the 1930's, '40's and '50's, when the Nivex was produced.  And, because of its rugged construction (mostly from steel) and design (mounted under the chainstay), it tends to last a long time.  

I think there are several reasons why they fell into disuse.  One, of course, is that the supply dried up.  But more important, once Campagnolo introduced its Gran Sport derailleur--one of the first parallelogram derailleurs made to mount on the rear dropout--bike builders made their frames with dropouts for derailleurs like it rather than the bracket brazed on the chainstay that Nivex and derailleurs like it required.  And other derailleur makers, most notably Huret and Simplex, followed Campagnolo's lead.  Also, as more bikes were spec'd with derailleurs that mounted on the dropout, and more cyclists rode with them, people--including mechanics--forgot how to use, maintain and repair the Nivex.  Finally, as production of Nivex derailleurs and others like it ceased and it fell into disuse, parts for it--and, just as important, the hubs, freewheels and companion components that maximized the advantages of the derailleur--became more difficult to find, especially in the days before eBay.  

(These days, you can go to eBay.  But if you do, be prepared to pay for Nivex and other classic French parts, as they are prized by Japanese collectors!)

From what Jan Heine and "The Retrogrouch" have said, the Nivex derailleur offered all of the advantages other derailleur makers would later try to achieve with spring-loaded top pivot bolts, dropped parallelograms, slant parallelograms and indexing.  That is the reason I'd love to try one.  But I don't think I'd order a bike, as Jan did, that's made for it simply because of the difficulties I mentioned earlier.  

SunTour S-1

One of the few recent attempts to make a derailleur that, in any way, mimicked the Nivex is the SunTour  S-1 of the early 1990's.  "Retrogrouch" said that, to his knowledge, the only bike to come equipped with it was the 1993 Schwinn Criss Cross.  (My Criss Cross, from a year earlier, had SunTour "Accushift" derailleurs and indexed levers mounted on the handlebars.)  Even though, from all accounts, it worked well enough, shop owners and mechanics complained about it and customers didn't want it because it differed from the standards of the time.  Plus, Shimano so thoroughly dominated the market by that time that any other company--especially one that was on the ropes, as SunTour clearly was by that time--would have had a difficult time introducing a "new" concept.  (Most people at that time didn't know about Nivex.)  As far as I know, nobody bought the S-1 as a replacement part because it couldn't be retrofitted to most bikes, which lacked the necessary brazed-on chainstay boss. Perhaps one could improvise a mounting bracket, but who would have taken the time to do that?

Anyway, I would like to ride a Nivex one day.  Jan, if I'm ever out your way, could I borrow your bike for a while?  I may even give you my PMP crank for the privilege! ;-)

Winter Fix For Vera

What do you do when you’re not riding?

Well, I guess that depends on your reason for not riding.  If you’re in bed with illness or injury, you don’t do much of anything except (if you’re like me) read and write.  But if you’re icebound, you can do those things and make soups, bake, be cuddled by pets and partners and watch Fargo for the umpteenth time.

And, oh yeah, you can work on your bike(s). I’ve been doing a fair amount of that.  If you ride regularly, you need to clean and perhaps overhaul or fix various parts of your mounts.  You might also decide to upgrade or otherwise change something or another to meet your changing needs as a rider, or simply to try something new.

I’ve managed to work on all of my bikes as snow has turned to ice on streets I normally ride.  I cleaned the drivetrains—and changed the chains—on all of my Mercians.  Because of the accident I had in August, I did the most work on Vera, the green Miss Mercian I bought second-hand three and a half years ago.

Neither the frame nor most of the major components were damaged.  I expected the handlebars to be bent, but they weren’t.  (Now you know that Velo Orange makes strong bars!)  But the chainring and chainguard were:  I couldn’t get the wobble out of the ‘ring and the guard crumpled. Also, the front fender bent and, as it turned out, developed cracks around the fork crown mount.  I figured it would be a good idea to replace it for safety’s sake.  Translation:  It was an excuse to try something new!  And, it just happened that Velo Orange recently introduced a new fender style, the Facette.  

Actually, it’s new for VO:  It’s a reproduction of an old French (what else?) style.  I thought it might work nicely with the lines of Vera’s twin top stays:

Those lines and the shape give the fenders—and the bike—a sort of Art Deco look, I think.  

Ely Rodriguez made the fender flap when he made the front bag and all of those other wonderful RuthWorks SF bags he's made for me. 

And, oh, by the way, I replaced the single chainring I bent with two.  The Sugino XD crank was sold as a single but has a provision for a second chainring.  Since the crank has a 110 BCD pattern, a wide variety of chainrings is available.  The ones I chose are made by Stronglight in France; the larger one has 46 teeth and the smaller one 34.

Installing two chainrings meant installing a front derailleur—a Shimano 105 from the 8-speed gruppo—and a lever to operate it.  

I haven’t ridden the bike on the streets yet.  On the repair stand, the new chainrings and derailleur were playing nice with the new chain and cassette.  I feel confident they will work out. I’ll miss the green-and-gold chainring and gold chainguard, but I think I like the look of the new parts—and the bike overall.  And we all know that’s what’s really important! ;-)

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.

 

The Real Pista

In an earlier post, I recounted my misadventure with my first "fixie" conversion:  a Peugeot U-08 on which I tried to lock down a fixed cog and lockring to the stock Normandy hub by the force of my youthful hormones.

Before that, I wrote about what might have been the wildest bike I've ever owned:  a KHS Aero Track.   Since then, you've read about my many adventures on Tosca, the fixed-gear Mercian I now ride.

While Tosca's frame has track geometry, more or less, I never intended it as an NJS-approved (or -approvable) velodrome bike.  Instead, I think of it as a cross between a track bike and the British "club" machines from the 1930s through the 1950s:  Something I can ride for a couple of hours, or more rather than the minutes or seconds it takes to sprint around banked curves.

And, yes, it has a "flip-flop hub" (as those club bikes often had) brakes (!) and water bottle braze-ons (!!)--and bags, even.  

But I once had a track bike that had  none of those things. It wasn't even drilled for brakes. (The KHS was.) It had a "flip-flop" hub--for fixed gears on both sides. The bike I'm going to write about was intended as a track machine, pure and simple.

It's a name you've all seen, but in an iteration you haven't seen unless you probably haven't seen unless you've been cycling for a couple of decades.

It's---drumroll--a Bianchi Pista.  But not the one that all of the hipsters in Williamsburg were riding around 2005.  That, while probably a decent bike, is a Chinese knockoff of the Pista I rode for about five years.

This BIanchi Pista was made in Italy, in the same factory as their other racing bikes.  Its tubes were Columbus Cro Mor, which were said to be stiffer than the SL tubes of my Colnago.  

Actually, given that and the tight track geometry, the Pista wasn't quite as stiff or harsh as I expected it to be.  Mind you, it's not what I'd ride on a hilly century, but I found I could put in an hour or two without feeling that my dental work was going to fall out.

Then again, I very rarely rode it on anything rough.  Most of my rides on the Pista were in Prospect Park, only a couple of blocks from where I was living (in Park Slope, Brooklyn) during the time I rode it.  For laps starting in Grand Army Plaza, the Pista was great.

But, eventually, I got tired of that and, if I recall correctly, needed some cash for some harebrained venture I came up with.  The guy who bought it from me had aspirations of actually becoming a professional racer. (I don't think he did, but that says nothing about the bike, really.)  He talked me down a bit in price because he didn't like the color (which, of course, I loved) but still preferred it to "Crest toothpaste green", as he called BIanchi's Celeste finish.

When I first got the Pista, I had my Mondonico--my first purple bike--and, by the time I sold it, I was riding my Land Shark--my first purple-and-green, and my first custom, frame. Also, at the time I bought the Pista, I was just starting to do some fairly serious off-road riding on a Jamis Dakota and, later, my Bontrager Race Lite.