A Shift In The Middle Of The Tour

"Brooks" of Retrogrouch frame is so kind.  Last month, we wrote posts on the same topic, days apart, without prior consultation.  He said, "You know what they say about great minds."  Now, I would never, ever give myself such credit.  Really!

Anyway, I wrote about a pair of Simplex bar end shifters, still in their original packaging, I saw at Tony's  Bicycles in Astoria.  I also espied a pair of Shimano bar-ends from the same era (1970s) in Tony's showcase.

Little more than a week later, Brooks wrote his excellent post about bar-end shifters in general.  As he points out, they offer most of the advantages of integrated brake/shift levers ("brifters") without their vulnerability to damage--and expense.  Brooks then discussed some of the different bar-end shifters made during the 1970s--when they seem to have been the most popular--and today.  

He does mention something very interesting but almost entirely forgotten:  Campagnolo has offered bar-end shifters at least since the early 1950s-- around the time they introduced the Gran Sport, their first parallelogram rear derailleur.  The funny thing is that when that derailleur first saw the light of day, Campagnolo wasn't offering a down-tube shifter--which are commonly associated with classic Campy-equipped racing bikes-- to go with it.  Why?

Well, it has to do with front derailleurs of the time.   You see, front changers at the time weren't operated by Bowden-type cable controls.  Instead, a direct lever moved the cage that shifted the chain from one chainring to another.  These are sometimes jokingly referred to as "suicide shifters" because, in order to make the shift, riders had to spread their legs.  

That arrangement also meant that riders did all of their shifting with their right hands.  (Nearly all rear derailleurs are operated by levers on the right side of the bike.) During the 1949 Tour de France, dozens of riders switched their "suicide" levers to the then-new bar end (pass-vitesses) shifters developed by Jacques Souhart--but only for the front derailleur.  They continued to use downtube shifters--mounted on the right side of the handlebars-- for their rear derailleurs. 

 

From "Stronglight" in Flickr

That allowed the racers to continue to do all of their shifting with their right hands and would not have to switch their routine in the middle of a race.  More important, perhaps, this new arrangement allowed riders to make front shifts without interrupting their pedal strokes: a very important feature when beginning a sprint or a downhill.

"Suicide" front derailleur. From Dave Moulton's blog.

It just happened that Monsieur Souhart was Campagnolo's Paris distributor and thus had Signore Tullio's ear.  Apparently, Souhart as well as a number of racers convinced him of the bar-end shifter's superiority.  That may be the reason why the first Campagnolo Gran Sport gruppo included bar-end, but not downtube, shifters.

Interestingly, a few years later, Souhart created a front derailleur that more closely resembles modern mechanisms, in that the cage moved upward as it moved outward. (Older mechanisms, like the "suicide" derailleurs, moved straight across.)  He also made a "detented" (indexed) system of his bar-end lever to actuate the front derailleur.  Campagnolo would not adopt that new feature of his bar-end shifter, but it did incorporate his front-derailleur innovation into their lineup.

Bar-end shifters' popularity among road racers was short-lived, mainly because downtube shifters, with their shorter cables, were lighter and offered snappier, more precise shifting, especially with the kinds of derailleurs available in the 1950s.  But the fact that bar-ends allow cyclists to shift without removing their hands from the handlebars made them popular with cyclo-cross racers, who ride on rough terrain.  They also became the preferred shifters of some touring cyclists, especially after SunTour introduced its ratcheted "BarCon" and Shimano its spring-loaded levers during the 1970s.  In fact, some bikes designed for fully-loaded touring, such as Trek's original 720 (not to be confused with the later 720) came with BarCons as standard equipment, whether or not they were adorned  with SunTour derailleurs.

Some History On EBay

Here's something the author of Disraeligears (no, not the Creem album) would love, or at least appreciate.  So would another one of my favorite bike bloggers, The Retrogrouch.  For that matter, I would, too.

Back in the mists of time, before the cycling world was ruled by Campagnolo, Shimano and SRAM, a bicycle component manufacturer was beginning its ascent in the Land of the Rising Sun.  They would enjoy dominion in the world of quality bicycles--save, of course, for Campagnolo's racing colony--long before most had heard of Shimano or SRAM was even a seed in the great plains of cycling.

(Can you hear Sprach Zarathustra in the background?)

That company's demise came in much the same way as the deaths of other empires:  through complacency, hubris and responding to a threat that really wasn't.  That is the reason why its beginnings are, if not lost in the mists of time, at least not remembered by many.

That company was called--ironically, in retrospect--SunTour.   In 1964, its chief designer created a derailleur with a design--called the slant parallelogram--that would change derailleurs for ever.  For about a decade prior, however, it would offer derailleurs that seemed to be derivatives, if not copies, of Huret mechanisms of that time.  

The SunTour 8.8.8 wide in the photo does, in fact, bear both mechanical and visual semblances to the Huret Competition from the same period.  The derailleur Louison Bobet, the first cyclist to win the Tour de France in three consecutive years, rode is a refinement (some say just a re-badging) of that derailleur. SunTour's version, on the other hand, has a longer cage and might be considered a "touring" version.

Both derailleurs are on eBay.  For $158, plus $12 shipping, you can have the SunTour sent to you from Japan.  The Huret "Tour de France", on the other hand, will set you back $999.52.  But at least shipping is included and, hey, not only is it associated with one of the greatest cyclists of all, but the seller claims to have received it as a gift from Tom Avenia, one of the folks who kept the torch burning during the "dark ages" of cycling in the US.

I'm a Francophile, and I still have a soft spot for SunTour, in spite of the blunders that led to their undoing.

Without Air Or Tubes, In 3D.

Three years ago, "The Retrogrouch" wrote about one of the most interesting and enigmatic companies in the cycling world.

Zeus probably came as close as any bike manufacturer to crafting all of the parts for its bicycles.  Of course, they didn't draw the frame tubes, which were usually Durifort, Vitus or Reynolds.  But they, or one of their subsidiaries did  make all of the other major parts, except for the tires.  But you could still ride Zeus tires on your Zeus bike.  How's that?, you ask.

Well, there was a company in the US called Zeus that made them. But they weren't the kind of rubber someone riding a Reynolds 531 frame with Zeus 2000 components would have wanted.  The appeal of that tire, the Zeus LCM, was found more among novice commuters and folks who didn't want to get their hands dirty or scratch their just-enameled nails. (I can understand that!)

Those tires were airless and didn't go flat because they were solid polyurethane rubber.  I tried them for a half-century and a few days of commuting. I wondered whether I had just experienced what it was like to ride a "boneshaker"!  

As so often happens when a new product comes to market, people think the idea is new when, of course, it isn't.  And when it disappears, it will probably return and have another generation of consumers believing they've just witnessed the most wondrous innovation.

Well, it turns out that the airless tire has been revived during the past few years.  Three and a half years ago, The Retrogrouch wrote about a new crop of such rim coverings. They were not solid, like the Zeus, but like other offerings that preceded them, they had solid inner tube-like inserts.  

Now a German startup company, ProFLEX, has created its own version.  This one does not have an insert but, unlike the Zeus, it is not solid rubber.  Instead, it is supported by a complex honeycomb-like structure inspired by a car tire Michelin introduced last year.  That network mimics alveolar structures like the air sacs of lungs:  solid on the inside and more flexible on the outside.  

(Or, since we're talking about Michelin here, we could say it's the inverse of a baguette, which is crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside.)

The ProFLEX has one more thing in common with the Michelin tire:  It is 3D printed.

ProFLEX tire

Although I am not sure I would switch over to such tires, I would be curious to try them. I wonder whether their ride is more akin to that of pneumatic tires (most likely heavy ones) or solid tires like Zeus.

None of these airless tires, by the way, should be confused with tubeless tires, which are filled with air and can therefore be flatted.  I know:  Bill and I stopped to help a fellow who'd just been sidelined with his tubeless tires.  

Connecting The Lanes In Rubber City

One of my pet peeves about bike lanes is that, too often, they go to and from nowhere, or they begin or end without warning.  So they are essentially useless for urban cyclists who want to commute or do any sort of utility riding.  Bike lanes like those certainly won't make cycling a viable alternative to driving or even mass transportation, at least for most people.

Well, the folks at Copenhagenize design of Montreal (which actually has a coherent system of lanes) seem to understand.  Best of all, a city here in the good ol' U.S. of A. is hiring them to create a "cycling grid" that will allow cyclists to get to and from their homes, workplaces, schools and places where they shop and enjoy their recreations.

Granted, that city isn't as big as Montreal or Copenhagen--or my beloved Big Apple.  But I couldn't help but to feel good that the Copenhagenize consultants have been brought into the hometown of a favorite bike blogger of mine.

I am talking about Akron, Ohio, were resides one "Retrogrouch".  Mayor Dan Horrigan has announced that a $127,000 grant from the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation will be used to hire the folks at Copenhagenize.  They have agreed to take on the task of connecting the city's existing 25 miles of bike paths and another 16 that are expected to go online soon. 

The biggest challenge, according to the consultants, will be to decide which of the Akron's streets should be conduits for cyclists traveling between the city's major bike trails.  The goal, according to the mayor, is not only tourism, recreation and exercise, but also to make viable routes for bicycle commuters.  

I haven't been to Akron.  But I can't help but to think Horrigan is looking to nearby Pittsburgh, which has made strides in recent years toward becoming a "bike-friendly" city.  Like many other cities, Pittsburgh simply can't build more streets and would be hard-pressed to construct more highways.  And it can hardly fit more vehicular traffic into its streets than it already has.   People in the mayor's office seem to have noticed as much, and how the erstwhile Steel City is becoming a center for higher education, medicine, high technology and other industries that employ educated professionals--in short, a smaller inland version of Boston.  And, also in short, a city full of people who see the practical as well as the psychological and physical benefits of cycling to work or school, or for fun.

Perhaps Mayor Horrigan is thinking about how Akron might transition from being the Rubber City to something else altogether.  Whatever it becomes, it should be welcoming and accomodating to cyclists, according to Horrigan.  "To truly become a bike-friendly city, Akron needs a core network of connected bike lanes that will link our neighborhoods to key destinations and business districts across the city," he said in a press release.  Those lanes need to be "safe and welcoming for all users, and designed with input from the residents and stakeholders they serve," he added.

You Can Have It In Any Color You Want, As Long As It's Marina Blue

One of my favorite bloggers, "The Retrogrouch", has written a few posts about bicycles made for folks who have more money than interest in actually riding a bicycle.  The bikes he mentions in those posts usually have, at minimum, five-figure price tags and features for which there is little, if any, earthly reason.  Some of those bikes really seem to be intended as wall installations or fashion accessories--or simply status symbols.  A few are even made to match the owners' cars with six-figure price tags.

The Retrogrouch has written eloquently, with just the right amount of cynicism, about such bikes.  There is nothing I can add to what he's said, so I try not to write about those machines.  

Today, though, I will write about a bike that might seem like a subject of his scorn.  Yes, it's a bike that matches an expensive sports car.  But, to be fair, it seems to be designed with actual cycling in mind.  And its price tag is more or less in line with other high-quality bicycles of its type. It's not a bike I'd necessarily buy for myself, but I could understand a real, live cyclist wanting the bike I'm about to mention.

If you have a BMW M5, it's the bike you simply must have.  It's painted in Marina Blue--of course--to match the car.  I rather like the color myself.  It comes with Continental Cruise Contact tires.  They're not the model I ride, but I ride other Continental tires.  And the design is something I might choose if I were in the market for an all-arounder or "gravel" bike.

The deal-breakers for me, though, are the carbon fiber frame and disc brakes.  Then again, this bike is not made with someone like me or Retrogrouch in mind:  Someone who's buying an M5 or some other car in that price category probably wants the "newest and latest" tech gadgets.  So, it makes sense the bike is so designed.

If you want the bike, however, you have to act quickly:  Only 500 are being made.  And you can only get it from a BMW dealer--for 1400 Euros (about 1650 dollars at today's exchange rate).  That's about a tenth of what Audi charges for its e-bike.

If You Can See The Difference....

One of my favorite bloggers is The Retrogrouch.  So, I intend no disrespect to him with this post.

He is, of course, not the only cyclist to refer to himself as a Retrogrouch.  I am mainly in sympathy with him and the others who so identify themselves:  I ride steel frames, hand-laced wheels, downtube shifters (on my geared bikes), pedals with toe clips and Brooks saddles (except on my LeTour).  And all of my cranksets have square tapered axles.

On the other hand, I ride cassette hubs on my geared bikes (though the Trek 412 I'm building will have a screw-on freewheel).  The chief reasons are convenience and availablity:  No high-quality multiple-sprocket freewheels are made today (All of the good ones are single-speed.)  and most of the new-old-stock freewheels one can find on eBay and in other places have gear ratios that are useless to me.  (I am "of a certain age" and don't race, so what can I do with a 12-13-14-15-16-17-18?)  The unusued ones command exorbitant prices, while buying a used one is risky:  Your chain may or may not play nice with it.

And, as you can see from the photos in my sidebars, some of my components are black.   Some see that as a sign of a "sell-out", but there were indeed black components in the '70's and earlier.   Even the high priests of "shiny silver" at Velo Orange (which is actually one of my favorite online retailers) concede as much.

So, having said my piece about Retrogrouches, I want to introduce another species or clan or tribe (depending on your point of view) of cyclists.  I will call them Retrogeeks.  

Now, Retrogeeks and Retrogrouches are not mutually exclusive.  In fact, many can be identified, and would identify themselves, by both monikers.  One notable exception would be the late, great Sheldon Brown:  His encyclopaedic knowledge of all things bicycle made him a Retrogeek but, although he rode mainly steel frames and many older components, he did not think old is always better than new.  So he is not a Retrogrouch, though some have called him that.

One hallmark of a Retrogeek is that he or she knows authentic vintage bikes and parts from ersatz ones, and can tell whether or not an old bike or part was modified. Today, I am going to conduct a sort of Rorsach test that might help you to begin to figure out whether or not you are a Retrogeek.  Take a look at this photo:

Now take a look at this:

They are both images of the old Zefal Competition pump.  With its color scheme, you probably wouldn't be surprised to know that many pro and semi-professional French bikes of the '60's and '70's came with it.  The only other portable bike pump that was considered its equal (or, in some eyes, its better) was the Silca Impero.

What is the difference between the two Competitions in the first two photos?

If you look at the first two photos in this post, you will see that the pump in the second has the traditional press-on valve fitting, like the ones available for Silca pumps. To my knowledge, all Competitions came with it.  The pump in the first photo, in contrast, has a thumb-lock fitting--from a Zefal HP pump, the Competition's successor.

Pity that poor HP.  Had it been functional, I probably would use it on the Trek 412 I'm putting together:  It was the pump of choice at the time the bike was made.  Apart from the finish (polished on the Competition, silver anodized on the HP) and the color scheme, the only difference between the Competition and HP is in the head.

One nice thing about the Silcas is that you can change the head simply by twisting it off.  A Zefal head, on the other hand, attaches to one of the strangest-looking screws ever made

all the way inside the body.  Zefal used to make a tool for the purpose.  The only one I ever saw (or used before today) resided on Frank's toolbench in Highland Park (NJ) Cyclery, where I worked.

From Yellow Jersey

A screwdriver with a long flat blade would unscrew it--as long as the shaft is about 400mm long. (At least, I think that's how long the Zefal tool was.)  My longest screwdriver is only 12 inches (about 300mm).  So I resorted to another implement

or, I should say, collection of implements.  Assembled, it makes me think more of a crane--or of something made with an Erector Set-- than of any other hand tool I have ever seen or used.  

It consists of a 3/8" socket drive with two extensions--  one of 10 inches (250mm), the other 6 inches (150mm), a 3/8"-to-1/4" adapter and the blade assembly from one of my reversible screwdrivers which--wonder of wonders!--fit into the 1/4" socket.

Getting the screw out wasn't difficult.  But reassembling was a bit trickier.  I dropped the screw into the pump shaft and jiggled it until the threads protruded from the bottom.  Then I inserted my contraption and held it against the screw and screwed the head on for a couple of threads.  You can't screw it on all the way since the hole at the bottom of the pump has a hexagonal shape, into which the inner lip of the pump end fits.  

So, after threading the head onto the screw for a couple of threads, I rotated the pump body until the hexagonal lip of the pump head skid slid into the hexagonal hole at the bottom of the pump body (easily yet snugly:  the parts were well-machined). Of course, I lightly greased the hexagonal parts and the screw threads before re-assembling everything--and, between disassembly and reassembly, I cleaned out the shaft and gave the inside a light coating of fresh grease.

The "operation" was a success:  I pumped two tires to full pressure (90 PSI).  Yes, I cleaned out the head before I re-assembled the pump.

I know I could have kept the Competition as it was.  I ride only Presta valves, so the press-on fitting would have worked just fine. (I know:  I used both Silcas and Zefal Competitions for years.)  But it is easier to pump high-pressure tires with the thumb-lock attachment.  Plus, I now have a pump that nobody (or, at least, hardly anybody) else has.  Don't worry:  I saved the original Competition head and screw, just in case I decide to convert it back.

Now, if you've been following this blog for the past few weeks, you can guess which bike is getting this pump.

Pretzels, Tacos And Pringles

Pretzel. Taco. Pringle.

What do they have in common?

They're all foods, of course. While most people wouldn't call them "health" or even "healthy" foods, tacos can at least be made to have nutritional value, and pretzels don't have to be white flour concoctions that merely serve as conveyances for salt.  Now, as to whether Pringles can be made so that they have even the pretense of not being unhealthy, I don't know.

So what else do the pretzel, taco and Pringle have in common?  Well, all have been used as descriptors for something that can ruin any cyclist's day.

From The Taco Cleanse

When I first caught "cycling fever" four decades ago, a wheel that was bent and twisted into shapes that even David Smith couldn't have fashioned was said to have been "pretzeled".  (I'm not sure of whether it's spelled with one or two "l"'s. )  The term was even used in print:  I recall seeing it in cycling magazines and books published around that time.

From That's What She Said 

Also around that time, the term "pretzel logic" was often used, perhaps inspired by the popular Steely Dan song:

I still hear that term from time to time.  I can't recall, however, the last time I heard of a "pretzeled" wheel.  Somewhere along the way, that expression gave way to another phrase beginning with an ersatz past-participle adjective (Now why didn't I name my band "The Ersatz Adjectives"?  It couldn't have been any worse than "The Past Participles"?).  You may still be using it:  Taco'ed. 

From Instructables

It's the term I'm still using.  In fact, in a comment on a "Retrogrouch" post, I mentioned that a wheel I rode briefly "spontaneously tacoed" when I was riding one day.  

From Iowa Girl Eats.

Until that day, I didn't know that the Fiamme Ergal rims were prone to crack around the spoke holes--on the inner part of the rim, where the tire is mounted (and glued).   More important, I didn't know that mine were deteriorating in the same way until I inspected the wheel after it folded itself under me.  I soon learned that other cyclists who rode Ergals--which, to this day, remain among the lightest tubular rims ever produced--had similar experiences.  At least I could reassure myself the fate of my rim had nothing to do with my wheelbuilding skills, such as they were. Or from eating too many tacos.  Or pretzels.

From Urban Legends

Or Pringles.  Actually, I haven't eaten many Pringles:  I never really cared for them.  Somehow, though, they seem to be displacing tacos in the lexicon for wheels collapsed beyond all hope of repair.  While it works visually, I think the sounds of "taco" and "pretzel" are more effective at conveying the wreckage.

Isn't it interesting that collapsed wheels are described with food metaphors?  To my knowledge, no other bike-related malady is depicted that way.  I wonder why.

What's This Bike Doing On the Place des Invalides?

The Retrogrouch has written an excellent series about the rise and fall of the US bicycle industry, and how the rise helped to make Shimano the largest component manufacturer.  In the third of his four installents, he discusses the rise and fall of Schwinn.  One commenter made a couple of interesting points, one of which is that the "Bike Boom" didn't happen in Europe because Europeans didn't have one or two generations that didn't ride bikes, and bikes made decades ago are still in use.

That commenter also couldn't understand why The Retrogrouch and others were describing Schwinn as the top Amerian bike.  That commenter had never seen. let alone ridden, one.  Come to think of it, the few Schwinns I've seen in Europe were ridden by Americans who brought them for tours or other rides.




Today I saw something that's even rarer than a Schwinn in Europe:  a Ross.  A Eurotour, no less. Isn't it funny that an American company would call something "Euro" when it has no connection with this continent--and it ends up here anyway.  It's like McDonald's selling "French Fries" to the French.



I didn't get a chance to take a photo of that bike, as I was dodging and weaving traffic near the Place des Invalides, where the bike was parked.  But it's the same model as the one in the image above.  I'd be curious to know how that bike got here.  These days, most airlines charge over 100 dollars to bring a bicycle aboard.  (For a long time, Air France and other airlines simply counted it as one of your checked bags--they allowed two--as long as it wasn't over the weight limit.)  Although there's nothing wrong with the Ross, I simply can't see spending that much to bring it along unless you're moving here and absolutely love its ride, or if it has sentimental valus for you.

Tomorrow I will tell you some more about my adventures here. 

Deore DX: Will It Become Shimano's "Forgotten" Ensemble?

Last year,  I wrote about the Campagnolo Gran Sport gruppo that was made from 1975 until 1985.  It was Campy's "second line", behind the Record.  Gran Sport parts echoed, for the most part, Record's designs, but omitted a few convenience features (such as infinitely-variable quick-release levers on the brake calipers) and weren't as nicely finished.  That Gran Sport gruppo (not to be confused with the GS ensemble of the 1950s and early 1960s) was never terribly popular, at least here in the US, because top-of-the line Sun Tour Superbe and Shimano Dura-Ace components, which were prettier and lighter (and with derailleurs that shifted better) cost about the same as, or less than Gran Sport stuff.  Also, as  Brooks ("Retrogrouch") pointed out, Record components and gruppos could be had, via mail-order catalogues, for about the same amount of money as one would pay for Gran Sport in a shop.

Today, I am going to write about another "lost" gruppo.  This one began production a few years after Gran Sport ended. And, unlike GS and Record, the components I'm about to mention were not intended for road racing. Rather, they were designed for the then-relatively-new sport of mountain biking.

Daniel Rebour drawing of the original Deore touring ensemble, 1981

In 1981, just before mountain biking spread from its original enclaves in northern California and New England, Shimano made its first touring ensemble.  Now--again, I refer to "Retrogrouch"--it wasn't anywhere near as encompassing as Campagnolo's racing gruppos:  It didn't include, for example, brakes or a seatpost.  But it may have been the first attempt, however imperfect, at offering a coordinated set of drivetrain components for bicycle touring. 

That ensemble, though, didn't lead to a Shimano domination of the touring market.  Japanese manufacturers (and Trek) had been making good loaded touring bikes for several years, usually with a mixture of components like Sun Tour derailleurs with Sugino or Sakae Ringyo (SR) cranks, Dia Compe brakes and Sanshin hubs.  Some of those bike manufacturers started to use the new Deore derailleurs, but in companion with the other components I've mentioned.



1982 Shimano Deore XT ensemble.

So, if dominating the touring market was Shimano's intention, they didn't succeed.  However, mountain biking was about to take off, and that is where Deore components would find their niche.  The year after they were introduced, they were tweaked and hubs, brakes and new brake and shift levers were added.  So was the Deore XT, the first mountain bike group, born.

For the next four years, the Deore XT was Shimano's only mountain bike ensemble.  In 1986, other, lower-priced groups and parts were introduced--including the Mountain LX in 1988.  (Shimano had been making a road LX group.)  Then, in 1990, a new set of components that had most of the features of the XT--and an attractive look--first saw the light of day.

If the Deore XT was the Dura Ace or Campagnolo Record of the mountain bike world, then the Deore DX was its Ultegra/600.  It didn't take long for DX to appear on high-end mountain bikes from the likes of Trek, Gary Fisher and Klein, among other makers.  Like the Campy Gran Sport Gruppo, it offered performance that differed imperceptibly, if at all, from the top-of-the line parts--at considerably lower cost.



Deore DX group, from the 1991 Shimano catalogue

If anything, the DX might have been even closer to XT than Gran Sport was to Record.  For one thing, none of the essential or convenience features were sacrificed.  The DX finishing work might not have been, on close inspection, quite up to XT standards, but almost nobody thought DX stuff was ugly.  The chief difference, it seemed, was in weight, which had to do with materials.  For example, the same parallelogram and knuckles were found on XT and DX derailleurs, but the DX had a steel pulley cage, in contrast to the alloy one on the XT. 

Touring bikes were out of favor by the time DX came along in 1990, but the dedicated tourers that were being made (or re-vamped) by that time were often adorned with DX equipment.  So were tandems and cyclo-cross bikes. (The latter is one reason why Shimano made a short-cage version of the DX rear derailleur.)  Those who used DX equipment almost invariably praised it and, in fact, a fair number of  riders are still riding with DX stuff they bought twenty-five years ago. 

So why don't we see more of it today?  Well, Shimano stopped production of Deore DX components in 1993.  By that time, Shimano had upgraded the Deore LX lineup to the point that it was just about as good as DX, for about a third less money.  At that time, both road and mountain bikes were moving from seven- to eight-speed cassettes.  Shimano started to offer the LX with 8 speeds that year, but didn't "upgrade" the DX.  So, people who bought new bikes or components were buying 8 speed--which, of course, meant Deore LX.

Also, that same year, Shimano introduced its new "super" mountain group:  the XTR. With that addition, Shimano had ten different levels of mountain bike components (XTR, XT, DX, LX, Exage ES and LT and Altus A10, A20, C10 and C20).  I guess the company decided that for 1994, it simply didn't want to make that many lines of parts.  So, out went DX and the Exage and Altus lines.  In their place came two levels of STX and two levels of Alivio at the bottom of Shimano's mountain bike lineup.  The 8-speed Deore LX had, by 1995, firmly established itself as Shimano's "third" mountain bike line, roughly analogous to the 105 road group.

So...while Shimano produced Deore DX components for only three years, and production stopped more than two decades ago, many are still being ridden.  (I ride a short-cage DX rear derailleur on Helene, my later-model Mercian mixte, with a 9-speed cassette.) That, I think, is a testament to how well they were made.  Also, some of us simply prefer the look of them to what's made today.  

Still, aside from those of us who know and ride them, almost nobody mentions Deore DX components anymore.  Will they become Shimano's "forgotten" mountain bike group?

The CPSC Is Recalling 1.5 Million Bicycles Because....

All right.  I'm going to begin today's post with another "Which is worse?" question.  The difference is, this "Which is worse" question will have three choices.

Here goes...

Which is worse: 

• a technical "innovation" that's superfluous,
• someone who doesn't know to use it safely, or 
• some government bureaucrat who doesn't know the difference?

That question entered my mind when I learned of a recall involving bicycles from thirteen different manufacturers.  

The 1.5 million bikes in question have front disc brakes.   As "The Retrogrouch" and others have said, very few cyclists actually benefit from, let alone need,  disc brakes.  

To be fair, I will point out that, although the recall was announced as one involving "bicycles with front disc brakes", the brakes themselves were not the problem.

So why the recall?, you ask. 


According to the US Consumer Products Safety Commission, which ordered the recall, when the bicycle is ridden with the quick-release lever in the fully-open position, the lever is only 6mm (or, as the CPSC notes, the width of a number 2 pencil) between the lever and the brake rotor.   

I'll run that by you again:  If you ride one of those bikes with the front wheel's quick-release lever fully opened, the lever is too close to the brake rotor.

Now, if you're going to ride a bike with quick release levers, you should know how to open and close them, and you should know enough not to ride with them open.  Forget about whether you have disc brakes: If your quick release is open, your wheel can slide or fall out from under you when you turn or hit a bump.  Or the lever can get snagged in your spokes--or, if you have a disc brake, on the rotor.

That last scenario is what prompted the recall.  Three incidents of it were reported to the CPSC.  When the lever came into contact with the rotor, the wheel came to a sudden stop or fell out of the bicycle.  One of those incidents resulted in injury.

So, because someone who doesn't know how to use a quick release got hurt, 1.5 million bicycles are being recalled.   That's good, sound judgment from the CPSC, isn't it?

Here's how you can tell if your bike is part of the recall:



 

Carbon Fiber? Would John Boultbee Approve?

Some of us learned the meaning of the word "oxymoron" through examples like "dietetic candy", "military intelligence" and "business ethics".  Not so long ago, "Brooklyn Republican" would have made the list.

Some would say that "carbon fiber Brooks saddle" would also serve the purpose.  In fact, some cyclists believe that "carbon fiber" and "Brooks saddle" should not be on the same page, let alone the same bicycle.

In one way, I would agree with such a sentiment.  Brooks saddles and anything made from carbon fiber seem to represent the absolute poles of the cycling world.  The latter connotes high technology, light weight, advanced manufacturing techniques and Darth Vader graphics.  Brooks saddles, on the other hand, represent tradition, practicality and hand craftsmanship.  And until recently, they had a restrained, classical aesthetic.

Plus, if you buy and like a Professional or B17, there's a good chance you'll be riding it for the rest of your life (especially if you're around my age!).  On the other hand, very few cyclists are riding carbon-fiber bikes or parts that are more than a few years old.  Nobody really knows how long the latest carbon fiber bikes will last:  They don't deteriorate unless exposed to UV rays--and, according to Steve A, you don't have to worry about them breaking as long as you don't crash them-- but there is no "real world" data as to how many miles and how much punishment carbon fiber frame members and components can endure.  Professional racing teams give their riders new bikes every year as a matter of course; I don't know whether that's done as a precaution (airlines replace parts of their jets after a certain number of kilometers or a certain amount of air time, whether or not they seem to need replacing) or whether the bikes are ready for the scrap heap at the end of a season.

Now, I'm sure there are carbon fiber bikes adorned with Brooks leather saddles.  As "The Retrogrouch" points out, they may be attempts at irony. (To which I say:  If you're trying to achieve it, it isn't irony!) Then again, there probably are people riding that combination because they like the ride qualities of the bike and saddle, or because they figure that they have such a light bike that they won't be weighed down by a Brooks "brick".  

Such people remind me of the woman I used to know who made floats with Diet Coke and Haagen-Dazs ice cream. 

But I digress.  Apparently, there is an attempt to marry, if you will, two of the most disparate elements of the cycling world.  Again, from Retrogrouch, I've learned that Brooks is developing the C13:  a C15 saddle with carbon fiber rails.

A prototype of the brooks C 13. From Bikeboard

 

Now, you might say that the C15 isn't really a Brooks saddle.  I'd agree with you, at least partway:  Its top is not made of leather, and--shocker!--it's made in Italy, where the plastic-based racing saddle as we know it was first developed.

Then again, purists would say that the "real" Brooks hasn't existed in about fifteen years, when Selle Royal purchased the saddle-maker after Sturmey Archer, the company that owned it, went bankrupt.  (Around the same time, Taiwan-based Sun Race bought SA's hub and gear businesses.  So, if you've bought an SA hub since the early part of this century, it was made in Taiwan.)  Thus, while the Professionals, B17s, Swallows, B72s and other favorites of the leather-saddle line are still made in England, more and more of the company's saddle production has shifted to Italy.  And some Brooks accessories, such as the leather bar wrap, are being made in China.

As much as I love my Pros and B17s, I think the name "Brooks" conjures up a legend, even a romance, of bikes past as it does actual saddles and bags.  The fact is that even before the Selle Royal buyout, not all Brooks saddles were made of leather.  During the 1970s, Brooks made--in England--some plastic-based saddles with padding and vinyl or leather parts that seemed to be attempts to mimic their Italian counterparts.  A few bikes came with them as original equipment; however, almost nobody bought them as replacements because the sort of person who wanted that kind of saddle was going to buy Italian anyway. 

Also, Brooks made vinyl-topped sprung "mattress" saddles that were sometimes found on women's versions of English three-speeds during the 1950's and 1960's.  Before that, Brooks offered similar saddles topped with rubberized  canvas (similar, at least in concept, to today's C15 and C17) and padded with horsehair. 

So, while Brooks will probably always be identified, at least in the public mind, with the riveted leather saddles we've all seen--and many of us ride and love--offering technological updates to their products is nothing new for the company John Boultbee Brooks founded in 1866.  When he first offered a saddle that consisted of a piece of leather stretched and riveted to iron rails, it was considered a radical new technology.  (Velocipedes of the time usually had curved wooden seats, rather like the backs of  carousel horses.)  More than a century later, many of us are still riding variations of his leather saddle.  And, I suspect, there will be some cyclists in the generations to come who, once they try a B17, Professional, Swallow, B67 or other leather Brooks saddle, will not want to ride anything else.

Thus, I am confident that Brooks can make a saddle with carbon fiber rails--and still be Brooks.

Why We Don't Have Any More Hinaults or Mercxes

Retrogrouch's excellent posts about Bernard Hinault and the 1985 Tour de France got me to thinking about how professional racing has changed. As a result,  I came to the conclusion that racers like Hinault or Eddy Mercx simply could not exist today.

There are a number of reasons why no one races, let alone dominates, the way Hinault and Mercx did.   One is this that the organization, sponsorship and training of riders and teams are very different today from what they were three decades ago, when Hinault achieved his final Tour de France victory, let alone when Mercx won his last title a decade earlier.

In those days, cyclists rode in a much greater variety of events than they do now.  The greatness of Hinault and Mercx--and of cyclists like Jacques Anquetil, Fausto Coppi before them--was that they rode (and won) many of the one-day "classics" (including such races as Milan-San Remo and Paris-Roubaix) as well as races against the clock and on the track.  Most of the current generation of cyclists won't even enter as many races as Mercx or Hinault won. 

In other words, cyclists of Hinault's and Mercx's generations  did not focus all of their time and energy on winning the Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and Vuelta a Espana.  And, when they won those races, they did so by being among the top riders in all aspects of those races:  They won mountain climbs, sprints, time trials and long road stages. 

Bernard Hinault

Now, to be fair, it isn't necessarily the racers' fault that they're not riding as many events and that the best riders on each team are focused on winning the long stage races.   That has been driven, I think, in part by the sport's changes in sponsorship.  Hinault's generation was the last to be sponsored by bicycle companies (which are not nearly as big as, say, automobile, athletic-footwear or soft-drink makers) and businesses of one kind and another that had little name recognition outside their home countries.  Few people outside of France had shopped in a La Vie Claire store, and few outside of Italy had eaten a Molteni salami, before Hinault and Mercx, respectively, wore team jerseys with the names of those companies on them. 

The landscape was beginning to change late in Hinault's career, when global companies like Coca-Cola and Nike began to sponsor teams and races.  While it meant bigger budgets for equipment, training and such, it also meant that those companies wanted as much exposure as possible--for themselves and cycling--for the money they spent.  Most Americans (or casual fans in other countries, for that matter) couldn't have told you who finished fourth in the Dauphine Libere or whose hour record was just broken--but everyone knew who won the Tour de France, especially if the rider came from his or her own country. 

Again, in the interests of fairness, I should point out that by the time Greg LeMond won the Tour for the first time in 1986, few Americans had grown up following the sport of cycling.  A true fan of any sport not only knows the results of his or her hometown team's games, but follows other teams and, most important, the players on those teams.  Even more important, they understand the intricacies of playing or participating in the sport:  few basketball fans anywhere in the world can appreciate Tony Parker's "floater" as much as the ones in New York, even though TP has never played for the Knicks.  That is because New York basketball fans follow all of the NBA as well as international and college basketball. When LeMond came along, few Americans born after the era of the six-day races followed cycling in a similar way.  Few things will get the attention of would-be fans like a dominating victory in a major race.

Also, it must be said that Americans had a greater variety of sports and leagues already vying for their attention than most Europeans had for theirs.  It's quite a challenge for a sport like cycling to compete against leagues like the NBA, NFL and Major League Baseball, all of which grew tremendously during bicycle racing's dormancy in the US.  A story about a one-day race in a foreign country simply would not distract most Americans from baseball or basketball or football playoffs.

Finally, I will offer one more reason why I think the cycling world will not produce more Hinaults, Mercxes, Coppis or Anquetils.  Such riders--like the great English footballers of the past--were usually the sons of native-born farmers, factory workers, miners, other blue-collar workers and small business owners.   People in circumstances like those may not grow up with much, but there's enough money--or enough can be saved--for a bicycle.  Sometimes there isn't much else, and that is what motivates a talented rider. 

(I read somewhere that when Eddy Mercx was going off to race with the Peugeot team, his father tried to stop him. "Who will mind the store?," he protested.)

Eddy Mercx

That class of people is disappearing in Europe, as it has been in the US.  Some who would have been members of such a class found ways to improve their economic (if not social) lot in life.  Thus, their kids grow up with electronic gadgets and other distractions an earlier generation never had.  Becoming a first-rate cyclist requires many hours of training, which can only be done by someone who either doesn't have distractions or has the mental discipline (which few have) to ignore them and get on his bike.  Also, a rider needs a similar kind of discipline to forego, say, ice cream or other foods that, while pleasurable, will not enhance performance.

Increasingly, in countries like France, the ones who are most motivated to develop their athletic talents are immigrants or their children.  And they are not becoming cyclists.  For one thing, they are poorer than the native European working classes were, and can't afford a racing bike or the other necessary equipment.  On the other hand, it takes hardly any expenditure for equipment to play futbol (soccer) or basketball, or to become a track-and-field competitor.

The Africans, Arabs and other third-world immigrants (and their children) who live in Europe also share a trait with Americans at the time of Hinault:  Most haven't grown up following the classics and other bike races.  Sure, they know who won the Tour and Giro, but like an earlier generation of Americans, they might draw a blank if someone  mentions Milan-San Remo.

(I also can't help but to wonder whether some of them see cycling as a "white" sport, and are thus discouraged from competing in it even if they or their families or friends can afford a bike.)

So, increasingly, competitors in the major European races are coming from outside the region in which those races are held.  Many riders have come from former Soviet-bloc countries, which had strong racing programs that were sponsored by the state.   Today's corporate sponsors can offer them better equipment and training facilities than their parents could have dreamed.  Even so, it's harder for someone from Russia to spend a whole season going from race to race in France, Italy, Belgium, England and other western European countries.  So they find themselves focusing on particular races and specialities (which is what they did under the old Soviet system:  then, as now, a disproportionate number of Russian riders are sprinters), just as other riders have done in recent years. 

All of this will lead me to my (though not the) last reason why we won't have another Hinault or Mercx, or the racing scene that produced them:  Much of the fire one saw in "The Badger" or "The Cannibal" when they rode came from racing in front of their compatriots.  Or, when they weren't performing in their own homelands (or the nations in which their teams are based), they were fueled by rivalries with countries that bordered their own.  So Mercx could be driven as much by the ire of French fans, who hated him for winning "their" races, as by the support of fans in Italy, where his Molteni team was based.  A cyclist--no matter how great or simply flamboyant--from a faraway land will never draw such love or hate, and can thus never be motivated in quite the same way as earlier riders were.