On The Streets And The Silkroad

Today I will start with a quiz.

Take a look at this bike:

Now check out this:

What do they have in common?

Now, if you know anything about either of these bikes, you might think it's absolute heresy to posit that they might share any trait besides two wheels.  The first machine, a Schwinn Clairmont, can be purchased in Wal-Mart and other fine stores. ;-)  

The second, on the other hand, is a Silkroad from Tout Terrain.  Somehow I don't expect to see it parked on a street near me, or anywhere else.

So what trait could such disparate bikes share?

Believe it or not, it's in the frame!

All right, I'll tell you:  They both have rear racks that are integral to their frames.  In other words, you can't remove them.

Such an arrangement has been uncommon for a long time.  Interestingly, even it was more common, it was found on bikes at the top and bottom of the price spectrum.  

Once upon a time, British and French custom builders made frames of which the rear carrier--intended to lug loaded panniers and other items for long tours--were constructed as part of the frame.  Of course, those were special-order items and customers would wait months, or even years, for theirs. 

I recall seeing a Jack Taylor tandem and Rene Herse single built in this way.  I tried finding photos of bikes like them, to no avail.  

You won't find such an integrated carrier/frame on anything but a bike dedicated to loaded touring, even from the elite builders I've mentioned.  I'm not sure that any of today's builders construct bikes in that way:  It is an extremely labor-intensive process, and if the height of a stay is off even by a little, the carrier--and possibly the frame--will be misaligned.  

Also, the market for fully-loaded tourers---even during the peak of their popularity (at least here in the US) during the early- and mid-1980s--has always been small.  Not many people want a bike that is so purpose-specific:  Few cyclists go on more than one long tour in their lives.  Most cyclists, understandably, would rather press their racing or trekking bike into touring service and remove the racks and bags once the tour is over.

Of course, loaded touring is not the only purpose for which an integrated rack is useful.  They also make a lot of sense on cargo bikes, or even city bikes that are abused.  I think those purposes are the ones Tout Terrain had in mind when they designed the Silkroad and other models.  

But you have to wonder for what purpose--other than big-box store sales--the Schwinn Clairmont was designed. Perhaps it is meant to evoke balloon-tired kids' bikes sold in the US during the 1940s and 1950s, some of which came with built-in racks.  The funny thing is that on such bikes--from the likes of Columbia, AMF and other low-budget manufacturers--the rear racks were seldom used to carry books, sneakers or anything else besides other kids.

If anyone from Tout Terrain (or Peter White, who seems to be their main dealer here in the US) is reading this, I hope you are not offended by my comparison.  I simply find it ironic that your bikes can have something in common with a bike that just might disintegrate in the very spot where I saw and photographed it (with my cell phone) today--or end up in a landfill in a year or two.

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?

SunTour's Achilles Heel

We all have heard of the "Achilles heel":  a weakness that causes the downfall of an otherwise strong person or thing.

We have all heard--probably from a junior high school teacher--the origin of the phrase:  After giving birth to Achilles, his mother Thetis tried to make him immortal by dipping him into the River Styx.  As she dipped him, she held him by his heel--which, of course, remained untouched by the magical waters.

Until I read the Iliad for myself, I--like most people--assumed the original myth about Achilles said that his weak spot was his heel.  However, the Iliad identifies his weakness as his pride; the first story to say that his weakness was in a part of his body was Ovid's Metamorphoses, published more than a millenium after the Iliad.  Roughly half a century after that,the Roman poet Statius was the first to imply that it was his heel.

Practitioners of traditional medicine all over the world have said that pride, as well as other emotions such as anger, manifest themselves in the body.  Perhaps, then, it's not a stretch to say that organizational pride or overreach can become the "Achilles heels", if you will, in the products they make. 

SunTour VGT-Luxe rear derailleur,  circa 1973

Such was the case with a bicycle part from a company that had enjoyed enormous success for two decades.  From the time SunTour introduced the slant-parallelogram rear derailleur in 1964, it took both the original-equipment and replacement-parts market by storm; by the end of the 1970s, the traditional European derailleur manufacturers commanded only small niches of the bicycle market.

But there were clouds on the horizon for SunTour.  For one, its patent on the slant parallelogram would expire in 1984.  Other derailleur manufacturers were waiting with bated breath; practically the minute the patent expired, Shimano would incorporate SunTour's design into its SIS derailleurs. Campagnolo would follow suit when it developed its first intergrated indexed shifting system.  

Huret Duopar rear derailleur, circa 1981

Another sign of trouble preceded the end of its slant-parallelogram patent:  Huret's introduction of the Duopar rear derailleur.  Frank Berto, who had so lavishly (though not unjustly) praised SunTour derailleurs for the better part of a decade, pronounced the Duopar as the best wide-range touring derailleur available.  The majority of SunTour's market in the 1970s and early 1980s was bicycle tourists and other cyclists who wanted and needed wide-range gearing.  The Duopar represented the first viable threat to SunTour since its first GT derailleurs were introduced during the late 1960s.

There was, at least, a silver lining in the Duopar cloud:  Huret's new wide-range touring derailleur indeed shifted flawlessly over the widest gearing available at the time--at least, when it was new.  But its double-parallelogram (hence the name Duopar) design necessitated more robust materials and construction than Huret offered.  So, it would rather quickly develop play and slop in the joints, especially if it was ridden in rain and mud, and would typically last about 2500-3000 kilometers.  

SunTour wanted to re-establish itself as the go-to derailleur company for dedicated bicycle tourists.  While the Duopar shifted better--when new--than any other wide-range derailleur, it wasn't that much better.  Apparently, the designers at SunTour figured they could develop a derailleur that would out-shift and out-last--and, by the way, look more elegant than--the Duopar.

The folks at SunTour, I imagine, also must have been thinking that such a derailleur would take the then-nascent world of mountain biking by storm:  the Duopar was simply too fragile, and the derailleurs Shimano made at that time didn't shift nearly as well.

SunTour Superbe Tech, 1983

So, in 1983 SunTour came out with the Superbe Tech rear derailleur.  Like the Duopar, it had a double pivoting system.  The difference was that, instead of a second set of pivoting  parallelograms attached to the main one (as the Duopar had), the Superbe Tech featured a spring inside the upper pulley wheel.  That meant, of course, that the pulley wheel had a much larger "drum" than the upper pulley of any other derailleur and was therefore not interchangeable even with the pulleys of other SunTour derailleurs.  

But its sizing isn't the only thing that made it an "Achilles heel."  The spring was not adequately protected from dirt, mud, rain or anything else one might encounter. So the spring and pulley drum would become clogged, which in (relatively short) time would cause the pulley wheel to seize, and the spring to fail.  Even the most dedicated shop mechanics couldn't fix it--or the fully-enclosed main parallelogram, which had even more complicated internals. 

The spring-loaded pulley wheel helped to make the Superbe Tech the best-shifting derailleur available--when it was new.  But, after some use, the pulley wheel  would seize up and turn the derailleur into a paperweight.  

In trying to defend itself against an onslaught from its competitors, SunTour created a derailleur with a sophisticated design and elegant appearance that indeed shifted better (in part, because it eliminated the need for cable housing) than any other derailleur--when it was new. However, just as Thetis didn't think to dip her son a second time to ensure that his heel would be soaked with Stygian water, the folks at SunTour apparently didn't go back and correct the weakness inherent in their new design.  So, in trying to protect themselves from the threats imposed by Huret and, later, Shimano, they made themselves vulnerable in a seemingly-small area.  

While the Superbe Tech's flawed pulley wheel did not, by itself, cause the demise of SunTour, many in the world of cycling believe it was where SunTour suffered its first debilitating wound. 

The Safari Before The Bikecentennial

On resiste a la invasion des armees; on ne resiste pas a la invasion des idees.

 Even if you have no idea of what this means, you have probably guessed that it was written by Victor Hugo because, well, he is the first French writer that comes to most people's minds.

The literal translation goes like this:  One resists the invasion of armies; one does not resist the invasion of ideas.  I rather prefer it to the most common translation because it keeps the symmetrical structure and somewhat echoes the sound of the original.

But, as Robert Frost once remarked, in poetry, what gets lost in translation is the poetry.   So it is with the version of the quote almost every English speaker has heard: There is nothing so powerful as an idea whose time has come.

That second translation, though, came to mind when I came across some photos of something I hadn't seen in a long time:

The Safari is a fully-loaded touring bicycle Nishiki offered from 1972 until 1975:  as the 1970's Bike Boom in North America was waxing and waning.  The year after Nishiki discontinued the Safari, thousands of Americans rode all or part of the Bikecentennial.  However, euphoria about the transcontinental tour did not translate into large numbers of dedicated bicycle tourists.  So, had the Safari been made for another year, it might have translated into another year or two of production, but no more.

Julius, on his Safari re-fitted with upright bars

When the Safari was introduced, very few Americans had ever used classical bicycle touring equipment, or anything that resembled it.  So we were unfamiliar with canvas panniers and "handlebar" (more accurately, front) bags like the ones on French constructeur and English touring bikes.  As you can see in the photo, the bags that came with the Safari closely resembled bags made by Sologne, La Fuma, Karrimor, Carradice and other British and French companies.  And the Safari's bags--like the rest of the bike, made in Japan--were solidly constructed from canvas and leather, though the materials on the Japanese bags were thicker--and heavier.

Those bags were affixed to carriers attached to brazed-on fittings (rather than the clamps in use on most bikes of the time).  The carriers, made of steel, were solidly-constructed but, again, heavier than the British and French racks on which they were modeled. 

And, like the custom touring bikes of yore, the Safari came with a generator lighting set.  Strangely, the generator was clamped onto the front fork rather than a brazed-on rear stay fitting (or even one on the front fork).  But it was said to be a good, reliable set that gave, for its time, good light output.

If one were to take away the bags, racks, brazed-on fittings, generator light and other accessores (such as the pump), one would have been left with the Nishiki Kokusai (which became the International in 1974), a solid bike with a smooth ride and a drivetrain that shifted better than most others of its time (thanks in large part to the SunTour VGT rear derailleur).  The Kokusai/International sold well (I had one) but the Safari did not.  In fact, it was derided by some of the same people, including bike shop employees and owners, who touted the Kokusai/International.  

One reason is that most Americans had never seen, let alone used, touring bags like the ones on the Safari.  The state-of-the-art panniers and other bags  Kirtland, Eclipse, Cannondale and other American companies offered at that time were made from pack nylon and, later, Cordura. They were much lighter and didn't need the special racks and fittings the older canvas bags required.  Plus, the American bags could be had in a rainbow of colors.  (Isn't it funny that back then, nearly all bike components were silver--black was a big deal--but the bags were brightly-colored.  Now we can get neon-hued rims and such, but most bags come only in black!) 

Also, because most of the ten-speeds sold during the Bike Boom didn't have fenders, most new American cyclists came to believe that only clunkers and kids' bikes had them. We used to joke that you knew a "serious" cyclist by the mud stripes on the back of his jersey and shorts! 

But one of the real "nails in the coffin" for sales of that bike was its weight:  42 pounds.  It's actually not as bad as it sounds when you consider all of the equipment the Safari came with.  The Kokusai was a 31-pound bike--typical for its time--and the International shaved a pound or two off that.  To most people, though, buying a Safari meant getting the weight of a Schwinn Varsity at twice the price--even if it cost less than half of what other fully-equipped touring bikes cost.

All of those issues aside, a dedicated bike tourer would have found one other (easily remediable) flaw:  the gearing. In the 1970's, it was common to have "half step" gearing in the front to compensate for the wide gearing gaps between cogs on wide-range five-speed freewheels.  Said freewheel had gears ranging from 14 to 34 teeth--the widest range available at the time.  It was paired with chainrings of 48 and 54 teeth.  Yes, you read that right. The small chainring was 48 teeth--on a fully-loaded touring bike! 

Had that flaw been corrected, and had Nishiki shaved a bit of weight off the Safari, would it have sold better--and would Nishiki have continued making it? Could it have become an idea whose time had come?