I Could Blame Them....For This!

Blame Phillip Cowan.  And Coline.  And Leo.

I swear, they nudged me into it.  Yes, even though Phillip is in another part of my country--and Coline and Leo are in faraway foreign lands--they completely short-circuited my self-discipline.  Really, they did.  You know, they used powers that, in most circumstances, I deny believing in (sort of like a lot of conspiracy theories).  In the end, I simply couldn't stick to a promise I made myself.

And I've waited a couple of weeks to tell you about it, dear readers, because, well, I don't want to show how weak and vulnerable and suggestible I am.  I know, I don't have to pretend to be a Gary Cooper-type macho-guy anymore. (As if I ever did!)  Even when I end up loving what I'm pushed or cajoled into doing, it pains me to admit it!

So what am I talking about?  First, I'll mention the promise I made:  After Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special came into my life, I swore I wasn't going to buy another bike.  Of course, we all know that such a pledge from a bike enthusiast is about as credible as anything a politician says when running for office.

And into what trepidation and turpitude did this ruptured oath lead me?  Well, instead of describing it, I'll show you the evidence of it:

Yes, I bought the Mercian-painted-like-a-Motobecane I sort of mocked in a post last month.  Really, if Phillip, Coline and Leo hadn't egged me on in their comments, I never, ever would have done such a thing.

Riiiiight, you say.  You believe that like you believe a single bullet killed JFK--or anything in the 9/11 Commission Report.

All right, I'll admit it:  I wanted that bike.  These days, I shy away from bikes in any combination of black and red because it's so common on new bikes--and done with none of the style of those old Motobecanes. Or this Mercian.

I finally bought the bike two weeks after that post, after the price dropped a couple of times. So what did I get?

Well, it's a King of Mercia built with Reynolds 531 throughout (of course) in 1973.  Somewhere along the way, it was repainted (originally, it was all red), which is why the Reynolds 531 decals aren't from that period.

But almost everything else on the bike is:  Check out the 1973 Campagnolo Nuovo Record gruppo.  I love the crank and large flange hubs--with the old-style flat-lever skewers.  And the shifters--with Campy lever covers!

Then there's--what else?--a Brooks Professional saddle.  And the Cinelli bars and stem.  The only non-period parts are the rims, spokes, tires, freewheel and chain.  

I am guessing that the bike originally had sew-up tires and rims, and someone rebuilt those wheels with Mavic Open Pro rims and DT spokes.  Of course, Mavic OP is my go-to rim for high-end wheels, and in silver it looks like a classic rim.  Hey, the wheels even have 36 spokes.  The bike was shipped with cheapo tires, one of which was worn.  I replaced them with Continental Grand Prix 4 Season tires--another favorite.

I also would imagine that the drivetrain originally included a Regina freewheel and chain, which were standard on Campagnolo-equipped machines. (Some Italian bikes came with Caimi/Everest.)  The freewheel I received, however, was a SunTour ProCompe and a chain whose provenance I couldn't determine.  That wasn't a problem:  I replaced them with a SunTour New Winner freewheel (5 speed, 13-26) and a Sedisport chain.  I replaced the two small cogs on the ProCompe and will most likely use it on my Trek.

I've ridden the bike only twice, and am astounded at how similar it is to Dee-Lilah:  very quick, smooth and stable.  The only other change I plan on making is a stem (Cinelli, of course) with a slightly longer extension--and to replace the Cycle Pro toe clips (pockmarked with rust) with a pair of Christophes.  

The bike was shipped to Bicycle Habitat, and Hal assembled it.  Of course, he took it for a ride.  When he called to tell me the bike was ready, he exclaimed, "You're really gonna like it!"  He's right.

I'm so lucky:  Dee-Lilah, and now this bike!  But they are going to have different roles:  Dee-Lilah is a modern/classic or classic/modern bike, depending on how you look at it (Reynolds 853 tubing with fancy lugs, traditionally constructed, kitted with modern components--and a Brooks Pro.)  On the other hand, if I do L'eroica--or any other event for vintage bikes--you know what I'll ride.

(P.S.  I have a handlebar bottle cage which I believe to be a Specialites TA.  If it isn't, it sure looks like one.  I might put it on this bike--if I can find some clamps for it.)

You're Definitely Not Square If You Use This Cage!

If you were riding before the 1990s, chances are that you used a water bottle cage that looked something like this:

You might still be carrying your libations in such a cage.  There's no reason why you shouldn't.  That you and other cyclists are still riding with such cages is a testimony to their design.

If you have been riding with such a cage for so long, you probably know its design was based on this:

Specialites TA Ref 215

Made by Specialites TA of France, it holds a distinction very few bicycle accessories--and only a few components--can claim:  It was the choice of racers, tourists, "rough stuff" and recreational riders alike.  Whether you pedaled your Cinelli in the peloton, your Herse over the hills or your Mercian through the moors, you used the TA Ref. 215 cage--or, later, the alloy 417. (The 215 was made from chromed steel.)  

Ref. 213

For a time, TA's Ref. 213 cage was also popular until handlebar-mounted cages fell out of favor.  And, in the 1970s, the single-clamp 216 became popular with cyclists whose frames didn't include brazed-on bosses for bottle cages.

Ref 216

I thought I knew the Specialties TA line well.  (After all, when you get to be my age, and cycle for as long as I've been riding, there are times when you think you've seen it all!)  But, in hunting for small parts and accessories for the Trek I'm building, I came across this:

Ref. 218

I have to admit that I have never seen one in person.  I tried to find more information about it, but all I could find was a listing on the Blackbird website.

The eBay listing describes the cage--Ref 218-- as having "an unusual rectangular shape."  Apparently, it was made to fit the Ref. 220 and 222 "randonneur" water bottles, which look like old-fashioned milk bottles rendered in blue anodized aluminum rather than glass. 



Ref. 222 (1 liter; Ref 220 was the .75 liter version)

Someone--Fred "Fritz" Kuhn of Kopp's Cycles, I believe--told me that TA stopped making aluminum bottles because they would oxidize on the inside and poison their users.  I wonder, though, what it was like to use bottles in that shape.  How easy or difficult were they to pull out, or push back in, the cage?

The seller says that modern Fiji water bottles fit into those cages nicely.  I'll take his/her word, though I generally don't buy Fiji, or any other water transported from the ends of the Earth.   I feel certain, however, that the 218 is bomb-proof, as all of the other TA cages were!

Vintage? Classic? Both? Neither?

I started working in bike shops in 1975, at the tail end of the '70's Bike Boom in North America.  One thing that makes me feel old is that many of the bikes I assembled, repaired and rode (whether they were my own, borrowed or test-ridden) are considered "classics" or "vintage" now!

So what is the difference between "classic" and "vintage"?  As a student of literature and history, when I hear of a "classic", I think of something that is still just as interesting, relevant or useful, or having as much artistic merit, as it did when it was first created or introduced to the world.  Some obvious examples would include most of Shakespeare's writings and Michelangelo's and Rodin's sculptures.  And, as a velophile (Does that word actually exist?), I would classify bicycles and frames from some of the greatest builders and constructeurs, as well as Brooks B17 and Professional saddles, the Huret Jubilee derailleur, Mavic and Super Champion rims, almost any SunTour derailleur or Campagnolo Record, Nuovo Record or Super Record part from the 1960's through 1985 (when they ceased production).

Now, to "vintage".  It's actually a term that refers to wines made from grapes grown in a specific year. The term took on the connotation of "high quality" because wines of certain years are particularly prized.  It took on the additional connotation of "old" because those prized vintages, especially in red wines, develop their reputations over time.

So almost all things you can buy in a thrift store--including bikes--are called "vintage", especially in any neighborhood or forum (e.g. Craigslist) with pretentions to hipness.  Now, some "vintage" items are very nice and offer things (such as design, material, craftsmanship and, in the case of bikes, a ride quality--or simply character) that are difficult or impossible to find today.  But other "vintage" items serve as reminders that "they don't make 'em like they used to, thank God!"

You can blame ;-) "Mike W." for what I've written in the previous four paragraphs. His comments on yesterday's post reminded me that not all "vintage" bikes were great, or even good.  Sure, if you have a bike from a French constructeur or an English  builder like Mercian, Bob Jackson, Ron Cooper or Jack Taylor, it's probably excellent, even if it has mid-level componentry.  Ditto for top Italian builders like Colnago, DeRosa and Cinelli.  And the same could be said for some of the American builders who came along at that time, like Albert Eisentraut.

After those bikes, there were some fine mass-produced (or high-production) machines from manufacturers whose names we all have heard.  For example, a Raleigh Carlton frame from that period is most likely very nice (especially if it's the blue mink-and-sable Professional).  So is a Schwinn Paramount.  Those companies also made some nice mid- and upper-middle-level bikes.  But a famous name doesn't always make for a bike that's better or even more unique than what is made today.

Bikes like this one are commonly listed as "vintage" on Craigslist, eBay and other sale sites.

The truth is, back in the day, we thought some of the machines called "vintage" were great because we didn't know any better.  Most young people today can't understand how exotic that first bike with a derailleur we saw back in the day (say, the late '60's or early '70's) seemed to us, let alone how other-worldly entry-level racing bikes looked and rode in comparison to the balloon-tired bombers, English "racers" or "muscle" bikes we'd been riding.

For me--and, I imagine, for folks like "Mike W.", the glow dimmed when we started putting together and fixing those bikes a few hours a day.  Any of us who worked in bike shops at that time can recall supposedly "good" bikes that came out of the box with bent forks, mis-aligned frames, improperly cut bottom bracket and headset threads, wheels that were all-but-hopelessly out-of-round, not to mention paint that fell off if you breathed too hard in the vicinity of the bike. (And that's before you started drinking!)  One bike I assembled--considered a "good" bike in those days--had a bottom bracket full of cardboard.  Another from the same maker had what looked like a combination of paint chips and sawdust.

I have a theory as to why we saw such bikes.  Before the Bike Boom, very few adults in the US rode bicycles.  Typically, they bought bikes for their oldest kids who, as often as not, passed them down to younger siblings and on to neighbors.  Families replaced their cars, but not bikes, every couple of years.

Then, when the Bike Boom hit, American bike factories weren't prepared.  Not only couldn't they make enough bikes to meet the demand; they weren't equipped to make the kinds of bikes the new cyclists were demanding.  So, dealers and distributors turned to foreign manufacturers.  Because bike sales had been declining in Europe during the '50's and '60's, factories there couldn't make as many bikes as Americans wanted.  (With the exception of large companies like Raleigh and Peugeot, European bike makers usually built just enough to supply local or regional demand.) However, they had been making "lightweight" bikes with derailleurs.  So, those makers increased their production.

We all know that when a company suddenly increases the number or amount of anything it makes, quality is almost certain to suffer.  What made the situation worse, though, is that many of those makers had outdated factories and equipment.  When bike sales were slow, they didn't bother to replace worn-out machinery and tools. (This is often given as the reason why Sturmey-Archer hubs started to decline precipitously in quality in 60's and, by the 1980s, new ones were all but impossible to adjust and maintain.)  The result is that those bike makers--including such industry giants as Raleigh, Atala and Gitane--shipped out bikes that were, frankly, shoddy.

(Rumor had it that Atalas and other low- to mid-level Italian bikes were made by prisoners.)

Now, if you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I like a lot of--but not all--vintage equipment.  My Mercians are, in many ways, inspired by favorite "vintage"--or, more precisely, "classic" bikes-- in their practical (at least for me) designs and sweet rides. Yes, I ride Brooks saddles, toe clips with straps, Nitto bars, stems and seatposts (or Velo Orange items patterned after them) and cranks with square tapered axles.  And, oh yes, canvas-and-leather bags.  I admit I chose the bags for style as much as function, but I also expect them to last longer than most of their high-tech counterparts.

My point is: "Vintage" (the way most people use the term) is not always classic.  I like a lot of vintage  and vintage-inspired stuff, but I don't ride it just because it's vintage.  I ride it because it works, and has worked and will probably continue to do so in ways that new stuff can't or won't.  In other words, I believe that much of what I ride is, or is based on, classics.  They work for me.  And I always buy the best quality I can, for classics are not disposable: they endure.

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! ;-)

Cat's Cradle--Or Chainring

I promised myself not to make every other post about chainrings with elegant or unusual designs.  And I'm keeping my promise:  I've written three other posts since the one about the Liberia chainring.

So I don't feel guilty about writing another post about a sprocket, especially this one:

 

Its maker, Bespoke Chainrings of Australia, is producing this ring based on the design of one made by French manufacturer Solida around 1910.  

If you bought an entry- (or even mid-) level Peugeot, Motobecane, Gitane or other French cycle during the '70's Bike Boom, there's a good chance it had a Solida cottered crankset.  Some later bikes came with low-priced Solida melt-forged cotterless cranksets; apparently, Solida never made a high-quality forged cotterless crankset. However, at the time the original "cat" chainring was produced, Solida had a reputation that reflected its name: They were solid and sturdy, if not as light or refined as their counterparts from makers like Stronglight, Specialites TA or even Zeus or Nervar.  

That chainring certainly is charming and a temptation.  For now, Bespoke is making it only to fit cranksets with the 50.4mm bolt circle diameter.  Those cranks include the Specialites TA Pro-5-Vis (a.k.a. Cyclo Touriste) and Stronglight 49D, as well as other vintage models from Sugino and Nervar--and, of course, modern near-replicas from Velo Orange.

However, I'm not about to spring for another crankset.  Bespoke plans to make chainrings for cranks with other bolt patterns, including 110 and 130 mm.  If they can  replicate the cat pattern in 110, I'd go for it!

They also make "drillium" chainrings that mimic the ones of the '70's and early '80's and replacement dust caps for vintage Stronglight cranksets.  The rings are made to be used with multiple as well as single gears.

Oil And Mud

On Charles Street in Greenwich Village--just a couple of pedal strokes from the Hudson River and the Greenway that rims it--there's a shop that calls itself the "Downtown Upright Bike Shop."  I guess I'd prefer that to a Downright Uptown Bike Shop, and I'm sure I'd like it better than a Frowntown Uptight Shop.

In any event, Hub Cycles is an interesting place.  With its open front, entering it is rather like walking into a flea market.  It's somehow appropriate--among the rows of "Dutch style" and "city" bikes from Biria, Linus and like companies, one finds the unexpected, such as this:

The red bike behind the Biria has an unusual combination of design and construction:  It looks as if someone crossed an English three-speed from the 1930's with an American baloon-tired bike from built by, say, Schwinn or Columbia during the same era.

As you can see, it has the "camelback" design common on the old Schwinns.  The curved top tube connects the head tube with the seat tube cluster. On diamond-shaped bikes,the seat stays would connect the cluster to the rear drop outs or fork ends.  However, on this bike, a pair parallel tubes arcs from the downtube, across the seat tube and down to the dropouts.

What's really oee is that the top tube is joined by lugs while the curved twin tubes are spot-welded.  I guess there really is no other way to join them.  Still, I was a bit surprised to see such a construction method on a British bike.

The bike, as it turns out, was made by Dunelt, one of the best-known manufacturers of classic English three-speeds.  (It, like many other makers of such bikes, was acquired by Tube Investments--the parent company of Raleigh--during the 1950's.)  The head badge and chainring bearing the manufacturer's name were present, as was a faded transfer or decal on the seat tube.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the bike is this:

The hole on the bottom bracket shell is meant for an oiler.  If that sounds familiar, you probably have a classic Sturmey-Archer multigear hub--or, perhaps, some old BSA or Chater Lea pedals, hubs or headsets.  Those components--and the bottom bracket in the shell of this bike--were not made to be greased.  Instead, the oil--which had to be applied regularly--served as both lubricant and cleanser, helping to flush grit out of the mechanism.  

Such designs make a lot of sense when you realize that bikes like the one in the photo were made to be ridden on dusty country lanes that frequently turned to mud developed ruts big enough to have their own representation in Parliament.  People who rode such bikes often were far from the nearest bicycle shop and did not have specialized bicycle tools.  So, bikes and parts were designed to need "tear downs" as infrequently as possible.

Generations of people who used such bikes as their main means of transportation as well as for recreational riding were accustomed to the notion that their Sturmey-Archer hubs needed a teaspoon of oil every month or every time they rode in heavy rain or other harsh weather.  

Americans, on the other hand, got out of the habit of depending on their bikes--or of adults riding bicycles at all.  So what was common knowledge in Britain and the rest of Europe was forgotten.  That, I believe, is the reason why so many Yanks end up with otherwise-good three-speed bikes on which the gears don't work:  Necessary maintenance, minimal as it was, went by the wayside.  

The good news is that Sturmey-Archer three-speed hubs made before the mid-1970's or thereabouts can usually be resurrected if the inner parts haven't corroded or rusted together entirely.  The bad news is that fewer and fewer mechanics know how to service those classic parts.

Anyway, in a rather perverse irony, the bike I saw today was equipped with a new-production Sturmey-Archer hub that doesn't need to be oiled.  That, to me, was more offensive than seeing the other replacements and modifications--including the hammered fenders, which I actually like on the Dunelt.

A New Neighbor

I pedaled into wind that felt more like a boomerang of January than the first wave of summer.  Only a block from my apartment, I felt as if a season, an age, had passed. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed this:

Even at this distance, something told me this wasn't a typical bike parked on a street in my neighborhood.  I made a U-turn so I could take a look.  

What else could have set off my radar?  I hastily snapped this photo, the one above it and another

when the bikes owner showed up.  I internally braced myself; he smiled warmly and said "hello."

Noah is from Montreal but now lives a couple of neighborhoods away from me.  He bought his 1981 King of Mercia from a woman on the Upper West said who, he said, was offered more money than he paid for the bike.  The would-be buyer was a collector; the woman, who'd stopped riding, still appreciated the bike enough that she preferred to sell it to someone who would ride it.  

Shortly after buying it, he converted it to a single speed but kept the old components. He set up the original crankset with a single ring but, of course, installed a new pair of wheels and pedals.  However, he rides the bike with the really nice Sun Tour Superbe brakes that came with it.  And he replaced the original saddle with one that really belongs on that bike:  a Brooks B-17.

In the course of our conversation, I might have talked him out of repainting his bike, even to "restore" it to its original look.  Actually, I was talking myself out of doing the same to Vera. Truth is, I can't justify spending the money, given my current finances.  But Noah said he was "glad to hear" that I'd considered refinishing  but thought better of it.  "It's really a beautiful bike."

So is his.  Refinishing it would only make it look new, or newer.  That, I think, is the real beauty of bikes like his.

Rene Herse Demountable

Imagine getting started in cycling (or just about anything else) without the Internet.

Well, if you're of my generation, you don't have to remember.  You relied on books and magazines--and your local club (if you had one) and bike shop.

I was reminded of this when I came across a page that archives some old articles from Bicycling magazine. 

I thought about the bikes I learned about--and, in most cases, never actually saw--while reading the magazine.  Their names alone were journeys into places I had yet to visit and times I would never see.   I mean, when you thought the choices in bikes were among three-speeds, Columbias, Murrays and Schwinns, names like Hetchins, Routens, Jack Taylor, De Rosa, Alex Singer, Mercian, Pogliaghi and Rene Herse seem other-worldly.


And, of course, there was no way I could have afforded those bikes.  All I could do was to save those copies of Bicycling and read about them--and look at the photos.

From Laek House

To this day, I haven't seen some of those bikes.  One I'd really love to encounter is the Rene Herse Demountable.  

Yes, it's a folding bike.  The mechanisms used to collapse were found on the down tube 

 

and the top tube

 

 Note the placement of the shift levers!


The Bicycling article makes folding the bike seem easy.  I wonder just how easy it--or, for that matter, transporting it--actually was.  If nothing else, I'm sure it was a better ride than just about any other folding bike ever made.


The demontable I'd really like to see is this women's model.

Super-rare Rene Herse women's Demountable.  Photo from Bikeville.

I can only imagine what some Japanese collector would pay for it.