Buying What They Were

Five of my six bikes are equipped with SRAM chains, even though I don't currently use any other SRAM components.

It's an old habit: The first replacement chain I ever bought was a Sedis. It worked well for me, and I would use continue to use Sedis chains...until they became Sachs chains.  Then I used Sachs chains...until they became SRAM.

Back in the '80's, Sachs, which was known primarily for multigear and coaster brake hubs, bought out Sedis, as well as several other French component makers, most notably Maillard and Huret.  A few years later, the SRAM consortium, which consisted of Grip Shift, Rock Shox and a few other parts makers, acquired Sachs.

To keep simple-minded folk like me from getting confused, for the first few years of Sachs ownership, the company marketed those parts--which were still made in France--under hyphenated names:  Sachs-Sedis, Sachs-Maillard and Sachs-Huret.  But SRAM tossed all of those names into the dustbin of history.  I didn't mind:  I still like the chains.

I mention this because of another interesting name-change.  Rivendell is, of course, the bike brand Grant Peterson created from the ashes of Bridgestone.  Now "Rivendell" and "Bridgestone" are often used as terms to describe a kind of retro-ish or modern-retro bike, much as "Scotch tape" has become a generic term for rolls of clear adhesive bands, even though the phrase is a registered trademark of 3M.

Today Bridgestone bikes have something of a cult following.  So does Rivendell, if it's not a status symbol in some circles.  But what's commonly forgotten is that Bridgestone had two other identities, at least in the US, before it became Bridgestone.

Back in the early '70's, when the American Eagle Kokusai (later known as the Nishiki International) and Fuji S-10S were showing that Japanese bikes could compete with, and sometimes beat (especially in shifting), their European counterparts, there was another Japanese bike brand that seemed determined to make people remember why they shunned anything with a "Made In Japan" label.  

To be fair, some bikes sold under the C.Itoh brand were pretty good riders.  The company even had a "professional" model with a chrome-moly frame, Sugino Competition cranks, Sun Tour bar end shifters, "V" rear derailleur and Compe V front; Dia Compe brakes and Sanshin-Sunshine hubs with tubular rims and tires.  It was like a lower-priced version of the Fuji Finest, Nishiki Professional or Miyata Pro, with the best pre-Cyclone, pre-Dura Ace equipment available.

C.Itoh bike, circa 1972

But there were other C.Itoh bikes that, shall we say, reenforced all of the old negative stereotypes about Japanese bikes:  They had clunky lugs and bottom bracket shells,  dropouts and other frame fittings that were, to put it politely, quirky. The paint on those frames and chroming on the rims and bars flaked and came flying off when the bike was operated at more-than-average speeds.

Bridgestone-Kabuki "Superlight", circa 1975

(Maybe the folks making those bikes were trying to emulate the French, as Japanese bike makers often did in those days, and so believed they had to make their bikes like croissants.*)

Some of those bikes also came with a seatpost that almost no novice cyclist of the time had seen:  It looked more like the quill of a stem, with an expander bolt and plug that worked like those of a stem.  So, you didn't tighten your seat post with a seat binder bolt:  The expander kept it in the frame.  In one way, that's a good idea:  At least you don't have to worry about stripping out or deforming the seat lug.  On the other hand, it meant that saddle height adjustments could be made only by removing the saddle.

Kabuki Submariner, circa 1975

When C.Itoh bikes were rebranded , they kept that strange seat post. They also kept the clunky-looking lugs and bottom bracket shell.  At least they made sense on one model.  If you haven't seen it, you've heard of it:  the Submariner.  At least, that's what it was called when C. Itoh became Kabuki.

The Submariner was ostensibly a bike designed for marine environments.  So those lugs and bottom bracket shell were thick because they were aluminum.  Why were they aluminum?  Supposedly because they were needed in order to braze together the tubes, which were stainless steel:  Using steel lugs would have all but required silver brazing rod, which is much more expensive than the brass brazing rods used on most bikes, to keep from overheating the stainless steel.

The thing is, most other Kabukis looked like Submariners with paint on them.  What's funny about that, and the Submariners, is they date themselves as '70's bikes precisely because they don't look like other bikes from that period.  And they were sold under the Kabuki name because, by the mid-70s, people were actually willing to buy Japanese bikes because they were Japanese, so it wasn't necessary to mask their identities with names that didn't sound Japanese. (American Eagle?)

A rather nice Kabuki track bike, circa 1974

A decade later, when Kabuki became Bridgestone, and Grant Petersen became their lead designer, people were buying them because they rode--and looked--like the bikes they remembered from the '70's.  And they're paying even more for that privilege when they buy Rivendell, the line of bikes Grant started after Bridgestone closed its US operations in the mid-90s.

So, while I buy SRAM chains because they were (and, really, still are) Sedis chains, you probably aren't buying a Rivendell--or didn't buy a Bridgestone--because it was Kabuki or C.Itoh.  At least, I hope not.

(*By the way, I didn't mean to disparage French bikes, or anything else French.  I love croissants, and some French bikes, but that doesn't mean bikes should be made like croissants!)

A Croc Of...?

Grant Petersen of Rivendell Bicycles has been called a "traditionalist iconoclast".  At first glance, that sounds like an oxymoron.  What it means is that he advocated a return to tried-and-true designs, methods and materials for bicycles and components at a time when the industry was moving toward carbon fiber and such.

On the whole, I'm with him.  In fact, you might say my bikes are, at least somewhat, Rivendells without being Rivendells.  All of my frames are lugged steel; all of my components are steel or alloy: there's no carbon fiber anywhere on them. For that matter, I don't use brifters, clipless pedals or low spoke-count boutique wheels, although I've tried them all.

I also agree with him when he says you don't need special clothes for cycling.  I say this as a reformed Lycra Lizard.  

But he also thinks that Crocs are perfectly fine shoes for cycling.  Again, there was a time in my life when I wouldn't even ride to the local bookstore (remember that?)  unless my foot was attached to my Look pedals with the stiffest shoes Carnac or Sidi made.

Now I ride mostly in "normal" shoes.  Still, I have never pedaled in Crocs.  In fact, I have yet to own, or even try on, a pair.  Maybe I won't, ever, especially after seeing this:

From Memecenter

Even after shedding skintight racing gear and jettisoning clipless pedals and cleats, there are still some things I won't wear on a bike!  I'm sure Grant would concur.

Aren't You Glad He Didn't Call It "Dagny Taggart"?

There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves Orcs. --John Rogers

It’s been a while since I’ve read either of the books Rogers mentions. I know I read both—at what age, I don’t remember, but I’m sure at a time before my cerebral cortex was fully formed. Actually, now that I think of it, I read them about the same time I started taking bike rides of more than a few miles, which fits into Rogers’ timeline.

To tell you the truth, I don’t think either changed my life significantly. The funny thing is that, even at the tender age I was when I read it, I thought The Lord of the Rings had more developed, more believable characters than Atlas Shrugged.  Saying that J.R.R. Tolkien was a better writer than Ayn Rand is a bit like saying that a Mercian is better than a Murray:  In other words, it almost doesn’t need to be said.  But I simply never have been able to get myself terribly interested in fantasy or science fiction.  It’s not snobbery on my part, as an old partner of mine (whom I accompanied to see a film version of Rings) alleged.  I’m just not interested in science fiction or fantasy in much the same way that I’m not interested in, say, skateboarding: I don’t look down on anyone who loves it, but have no wish to participate in it myself.

On the other hand, for a time in my life, I considered myself a Libertarian. Actually, I still do, at least my opposition to the death penalty and wars other than those purely for defensive purposes—and in my beliefs about individual liberty.  As an example of the latter, while I urge cyclists to wear helmets, I oppose laws mandating the practice.  But I never became one of those people who participated in “Who is John Galt?” discussions because, frankly, I always thought Atlas was a book of shallow thinking and shoddy writing, not worthy of discussion.

I would guess that if a cyclist were to be influenced by—or simply enjoy—either book, it would most likely be Tolkien’s.  One of the best things about his writing is the “journey” aspect:  It’s found, not only in the narrative arc of the story, but in the cadences of the language itself.  Even though I have never developed a taste for the type of stories he wrote, I can imagine reading Rings or The Hobbit again for the writing.  Plus, somehow, I can imagine sharing a cup of tea or even an evening with Tolkien:  He seems like that learned, urbane and friendly prof you liked in college.  Judging from her writings and comments—and some things I’ve learned about her life—I can’t imagine spending such time with Ms. Rand.

I don’t know whether Grant Petersen, the founder of Rivendell Bicycle Works, ever read Atlas or anything else Ayn Rand wrote.  But, of course, we all know he has long been a fan of Tolkien’s tales.  I don’t know when in his life he first read them, but I would guess it was, if not in high school, then in college, especially considering that Tolkien first gained his readership in the US with college students during the 1960s.  Anyway, whatever else I’ve said about him or the stuff his company sells, I’m glad he was influenced by the Oxford oracle.  Think about it:  Wouldn’t you rather ride a bike called “Bombadil” than “Galt”?

Aren't you glad this isn't called a "Dagny Taggart"?

Also, I’ve noticed that fans of Tolkien tend to be more interested than Rand acolytes in literature generally.  Petersen, apparently, as also read, in addition to Tolkien, some of my favorite poets, such as William Wordsworth.  I’m glad:  After all, even though I probably won’t buy one, I’m happy to see one of his bikes named for Betty Foy rather than Dagny Taggart!    

Product Review: MKS Lambda/Grip King Pedals

Since January, I have been commuting on MKS Lambda pedals.  They are, of course, the pedals that Rivendell sells as its "Grip King" model.


Well, these pedals certainly live up to the moniker Rivendell gave them.  Nearly every comment I've read or heard mentioned their grippiness.  And, while nearly all of the comments were positive, a couple of cycling acquaintances warned me that they could become slippery in wet weather.  Apparently, the "cups" on the pedal collected water and made the pedal slick.


I am happy to report that I didn't experience anything of the sort--even when I got caught in a torrential downpour moments after pedaling away from the Kingsborough campus. It was the heaviest rain in which I've ridden in some time, so I feel confident that a cyclist's feet remain on the Grip King/Lambda pedal even in the worst of conditions. 


My confidence in the grip of these pedals is enhanced by the fact that I have ridden on them in Keen sandals, slingbacks with three-inch heels, LL Bean rain boots, cross-trainers and a few other kinds of shoes. In fact, I feel even more confident about the grip of these pedals than I do about the grip of rubber-block variety found on three-speeds.




About rubber-block pedals:  MKS makes what is probably the only high-quality, rebuildable version of such pedals available today.  They are also one of the last makers of good-quality traditional toe-clippable road pedals.  But, in my experience, MKS doesn't seem to regard people who want such pedals as a "captive" audience.  The company--which still makes all of its pedals in Japan--builds sturdy, well-finished pedals that are reasonably priced and lighter than some cyclists might expect. 


Lambda/Grip King shares the qualities I've just mentioned.  Mine have survived, with hardly a scratch, a couple of close encounters with curbs and a fall I took.  And, even though they are the widest pedals I've ridden in a long time, I am surprised at the amount of cornering clearance they offer.  On the other hand, they don't offer the kind of ground clearance you can get from the company's GR-9 platform pedal, or its White Industries or Lyotard counterparts.  


The Grip King/Lambda pedals also share another characteristic of MKS pedals--at least the loose-bearing models, at any rate.  Chances are, when you turn the axle on your brand-new set, it will feel a bit tight.  You might even feel a slight amount of roughness.  If you're a perfectionist, you can repack the grease or even change the bearings.  But I found that after a few rides, the bearings started to feel smoother.  Now, while not as smooth as sealed-bearing pedals, they are probably as smooth as the best ball-bearing pedals I've ridden.  


As for the bearings:  They are not cartridge bearings, which are what most people think of when they hear "sealed bearings".  However, the steel balls in the Lambda/Grip Kings seem well-protected against the elements.  So, even though I've ridden through some bad weather, and anticipate riding through some more, I anticipate riding these pedals for quite a while before I'll need to overhaul them.


I will admit that, when I start pumping or spinning at the end of a stressful day, I do miss having foot retention on these pedals.  Even though these pedals will hold your feet, you can't "pull" on the upstroke as you can with toe clips and straps or "clip-in" (what the Brits sometimes call "snap-in") pedals.  I tried installing velcro grip straps but they were too wide, and spaced too close together, to fit on the Lambda/Grip Kings.  I ruined the straps when I tried trimming them to  fit.  Maybe I'll try another pair.

Like many of you, I thought the pedals were pretty strange-looking when I first saw them.  However, when you're riding, you don't see your pedals much. Also, because they have a flat profile, they don't stand out as much on many bikes as you might expect.  They blended in surprisingly well on Vera, the bike on which I've been commuting.  That may have something to do with the Velo Orange "hammered" fenders I installed on the bike.


On the whole, I highly recommend the MKS Lambda/Grip King pedals for commuting, errands and shopping, or any other kind of cycling for which you wear ordinary shoes and don't care about speed.  The MSRP seems to be around $55; however, you can get them for around $40, or even less, from Tree Fort Bikes (which have become one of my favorite online bike retailers) and a few other places.