Did Drillium Hit A “Wall?”

 If you are a cyclist in, ahem, late midlife, you remember the “drillium” craze of the 1970s and early 1980s. Some component manufacturers offered “holey” stuff—usually chainrings (which sometimes looked quite nice, especially if they were black and the holes were silver) and other non-weight bearing parts. Most manufacturers, however, advised against customers drilling at home: They claimed that their parts were already as light as they could be without compromising safety.

The “drillium” craze also included fluting and slotting parts like brake levers, stems and seatposts.  Then there is this Zeus crankset, which I recently saw on Craigslist:

During the time this crankset was made, one of the ways Zeus tried to appeal to racers and weight weenies was by offering stuff that was “lighter than Campy.” (They were one of the first manufacturers to use titanium.) To me, this crankset represents the heights or depths, depending on your point of view, of “drillium,” just as some listeners will say that Pink Floyd’s “The Wall,” which came out at around the same time, highlights the best or worst things about progressive rock.

Extra! Extra!

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

When you get to be "a certain age", you find yourself making reference to something everyone in your generation understands--whether it's some bit of pop or haute culture, technology or something that was in the news--and young people have absolutely no idea of what you're talking about.

It happens all the time when I teach.  I am thinking now about the time I mentioned Hunter Thompson, just after his suicide.  Although he was hardly forgotten, at least to folks of my generation, my students hadn't grown up reading is articles (mainly in Rolling Stone--yes, we actually thought it was halfway relevant, for a time!) and books.  Explaining him, of course, led to explaining other things my students had heard, but didn't know about, like Watergate and why so many of us thought Richard Nixon was evil incarnate.  (Before he turned into a parody of himself, Garry Wills brilliantly showed how Tricky Dick was a tragically ambitious character who would have fit into Paradise Lost or Macbeth.)  Although I went off the day's ostensible topic--I forget what it was--the discussion proved fruitful for some of the works students read that semester.

Anyway, another time I had to lead my students out of the wilderness, so to speak, was when I said "Extra! Extra!" Since most young people don't read print newspapers, they aren't familiar with many of the tropes of that medium.  Then again, I'm not sure that any newspaper has used "Extra! Extra!" in its banner--or that any hawker has shouted "Read All About It!" in a few decades!

I must say, though, that I am suspicious whenever any bicycle component has "extra" his name.  Perhaps my prejudice stems from the Regina Extra freewheel that turned into a block of six fixed gears during a ride.   In fact, many of Regina's other products--all of which, in my experience, were overrated--had "Extra" in their name.  So did the Campagnolo Valentino Extra, a derailleur introduced about a decade too late.  When it came out, a SunTour or Shimano derailleur that shifted much better could be had for about half the cost of a Campy VE.

Speaking of derailleurs with "Extra" in their name, check this out:

If you are North American--or, in fact, from anyplace besides Europe--you've probably never seen it.  I have seen only one of those derailleurs in person--in Italy about 30 years ago.  For that matter, if you're not in the Euro zone, you've probably never seen anything else made by the company that made that derailleur.

When you think of Spanish bikes and components today, you probably think of Orbea.  If you are my age, you might remember (or perhaps even rode) equipment from Zeus, which made clones of popular European parts like Stronglight and Specialites TA cranks, Weinmann and Mafac brakes--and, of course, Campagnolo derailleurs.  In the late 1970s and early 1980s, they made their "2000" line of components, which include their iconic black-and-gold anodized derailleurs and the hourglass-shaped hubs that would be imitated by other hub-makers.

Zeus was based in Eibar, in the Basque region.  In that same town, another component manufacturer turned out cruder versions of what Zeus made--and the derailleur you see in the photo.  And its name sounds more like a type of luxury condominium than that of any enterprise in the bicycle industry.

Officially, that company was called Industrias Baskaran. But it was better known as Triplex.  Why that name was chosen, I don't know.   It's about as un-Basque (or -Spanish, for that matter) as any name can be.  Then again, the Basque language is completely unrelated to any other in the world.

Although they produced a full range of components and accessories (including water bottles and cages that, not surprisingly, copied Specialites TA and REG designs), Triplex is best known--for better and worse--for its derailleurs.  As far as I know, no American, British or Japanese bike was ever equipped with them.  A number of Spanish and French bikes, however, were adorned with them. 

The reason is fairly obvious.  Take away the screaming red "Extra" emblem and the derailleur looks like--a Campagnolo Sport, at least from a couple of meters (remember, we're talking about European bikes) away.  Other Triplex derailleurs bore an even closer resemblance to Campagnolo's iconic derailleurs, which spawned any number of imitators.

Disraeligears, Classic Rendezvous and VeloBase are among the few sources of information available for Triplex, which seems to have stopped making bike parts some time around 2005.   They have become "Distriplex" (hmm....), an importer and distrubutor of components. Its website is available only in Spanish and French, but its "Nouveautes" (new products) page contains some Latin gibberish!

Then again, more people outside Eibar would understand it than would understand anything in Basque!  And more people would recognize something that looks like a Campy derailleur than something emblazoned with "Extra! Extra!  Read All About It!"

Shifting Reversals

When someone displays a flag upside-down, it's usually a sign of protest.

Other emblems and objects are posted with their downsides up, it can be a signal of distress or surrender--or a message to someone who's "part of the club", so to speak.

So, what does it mean when a bicycle part--a derailleur, specifically--is made with its logo turned on its head?:

This "Vic" derailleur was made in China for Sugino during the mid-1990's.  It was designed for use with six-speed index systems.  That alone could be a reason for the upside-down logo:  By the '90's, only the cheapest department-store bikes came with six cogs in the rear. Perhaps Sugino, which has made many high-quality cranksets over the years (I ride four!) didn't want people to know they were "slumming" it in the low-end market!

(Ironically, the only other Sugino-branded derailleur was a real gem:  a rebadged SunTour Superbe Pro with an even nicer finish than the original, which is saying a lot!)

In contrast, the reversed logo on this next derailleur can be seen as an example of the many lapses in workmanship or quality control to be found in products manufactured in Soviet-era factories:

 

 To be fair, according to Michael Sweatman (author of the Disraeligears website), this Tectoron KS-01 derailleur is well-made:  strong and tight spring and pivots, smooth-spinning pulleys and no steel or plastic anywhere in sight. It's also only about 15 grams (about half an ounce) heavier than a current Campagnolo Record or Shimano Dura-Ace rear derailleur.  Most important, I would expect it to work reasonably well for a derailleur of its time (1978):  After all, its design is based almost entirely on the Campagnolo Nuovo Record derailleur of the same vintage.  Its only real fault is that it seems to have been finished in a way only Stalin (or, perhaps, Hoxha) could love. 

The next, and last, derailleur I'm going to show lacks the nasty charm (Is that an oxymoron)--and almost every other virtue--of the Tectoron:

Triplex, based in the Spanish Basque city of Eibar (also home to the--justly--better-known Zeus), Triplex made derailleurs and other components that, from three or four meters away, looked like Campagnolo's offerings.  Unlike their crosstown rivals--and other manufacturers of Campy knock-offs--Triplex never made anything that even remotely approached the quality or durability of the venerated Italian innovator.   I can say this, having seen a few Triplex changers--as well as those from many other Campagnolo imitators during the '70's and '80's--when I worked in bike shops.

Hmm,,,Would mounting a Triplex with the logo right-side up have improved the performance or durability?