Late yesterday, I learned about the passing of
Jobst Brandt.
As “The Retrogrouch” and others have pointed out,
he had a rare combination of skills and talents: vast and deep technical knowledge, and the
ability to communicate it clearly in everyday English that those of us who are
less technically-oriented can understand.
He’s one of those people who didn’t let all of his theoretical knowledge
get in the way of pure and simple common sense.
Because of his qualities, he—whether or not it was
his intention—helped to create, along with the late Sheldon Brown and a few
others—something I’ll call, for lack of any other term, a communal wisdom base
for cyclists.
For generations, cyclists in Europe (especially
England and France), Japan and other places learned about places and ways to
ride, and which equipment was and wasn’t worth buying, from their local clubs
or other experienced cyclists they’d meet.
In the US, that infrastructure, if you will, was all but lost during the
decades between World War I and the 1970’s Bike Boom. There were a few who kept the flame
flickering. But if you wanted to find
out what Fred (!) DeLong had to say about tires or gearing, Dick Swann’s ideas
about frame structure and geometry or John Forester’s wisdom about cycling and
traffic safety, you had to be near a bike shop or newsstand that had copies of
the magazines in which they were published, or a library that had their books.
In other words, cycling in the US was basically a
sea full of ships passing in the night.
As often as not, you learned what you learned by having the fortune to
chance upon the right people (or publications) at the right time. Such was the world I entered when I first
became a dedicated cyclist during the Bike Boom.
What made this situation difficult for new
cyclists was something I didn’t understand at the time, or for many years
afterward: While the advice and wisdom
your fellow riders shared with you was, usually sound, as it was based on
experience, it didn’t come with a cogent explanation of why it was so. Either the cyclist who gave it to you
couldn’t analyze it technically, or he (the type I’m about to describe was
usually male) was a “techie” who was on the frontiers of the autism
spectrum. I’m thinking now of a cyclist
in my first club, a brilliant engineer who was the first person I saw riding a
fixed gear outside of a track. He
proselytized for his setup but couldn’t explain the benefits of it in a way
that made sense.
 |
| Jobst Brandt |
When someone like Jobst Brandt discussed, for
example, wheelbuilding or particular wheel components, you’d come away
understanding wheels and their components better than you did before. And the knowledge he imparted helped you to
understand, among other things, why that newest boutique wheelset was probably
a waste of money for you and just about anyone else who has to pay for his or
her own equipment.
Although he tended to favor the best classic
equipment over the latest thing, I think “The Retrogrouch” is correct in saying
that he’d bristle at being labeled a “retrogrouch”. He didn’t praise vintage stuff just because
it was vintage. (If you don’t believe
me, read what he says about Sturmey-Archer three-speed hubs. And he was talking about the ones that were
made before Sun Race took over SA!) Moreover, he wasn’t averse to trying to
improve what was already available:
After all, he designed Avocet Fas-Grip tires, still some of the best
road rubber many of us have ever ridden.
In brief, the man knew the difference between real
technological innovation and the mere appearance of it. In making that difference clear to us, he
allowed us to see how rare true technological innovation actually is (something
he, as an engineer, no doubt understood better than most other people) and how
the appearance of it is turned into marketing hype.
Arthur Godfrey was an avid hunter who later became an
ardent conservationist in an era when such a conversion was all but unheard-of. A reporter once
asked him why he still displayed the animals’ heads and other hunting trophies. “To remind me of how stupid I once was,” he
replied.
Likewise, I save my mangled Rev-Xs, Kysriums, carbon forks and other
techno-junk to remind myself of how ignorant I was before I encountered Jobst
Brandt. I’ll miss him. So will countless
other cyclists.
