Back When I Weighed Less, There Was Weyless!

Someone--I forget who--told me that you know you're middle-aged when you see all the young people wearing something and you remember the last time it was in fashion.   

Another definition I've heard for "middle age" is when young people wear what you wore in your youth and call it "retro" or "vintage".

And I started my gender transition just in time for my middle age!

I found myself thinking about such things when I came across this in an eBay listing:

The fact that they're water bottle cage clips alone earns them the label of "retro" or "vintage":  Most new bikes (and a lot of not-so-new ones) have bottle cage mounts brazed on, or otherwise integrated into, the frame; thus, most new cages are designed to be used with them.  The few new cages that are made for bikes that don't have built-in mounts are likely to have some sort of mounting system built into them, or come with straps.

When I first became a dedicated cyclist, some four decades ago, few frames--even at the highest quality and price levels--came with water bottle mounts.  Gradually, they began to appear on top-tier racing and touring bikes and trickled down to bikes in the lower price ranges.  Still, most cages--like the classic Specialites TA and REG models-- came with clamps, even if they were designed to be used with braze-ons.

The Weyless bottle cage, however, was designed to be used with the clips shown.  It did not fit on braze-on mounts.  Even though it was, even with its clamps, one of the lightest cages available (It claimed to be the lightest), it sank like a stone in the cycling marketplace of the late '70s.  That was just about the time high-level racing and touring bikes started to come with braze-ons. Within a few years, that feature would be found on bikes at all price levels.

But there's something else that makes those Weyless bottle clamps "retro." It's a trait shared with another Weyless part:

Yes, they both got that treatment called "drillium".  If you look at racing photos from that period, most bikes had drilled-out brake levers; sometimes chainrings and other parts also had holes in them.  Sometimes it looked silly, but I rather like the way it was done on the brake cable clip in the above photo:  The holes are bigger in the wider part of the clip, near the top, and taper down as the clip narrows toward the mounting screw.

I can remember when Velo Orange and other companies started to offer "drillium" parts about a decade or so ago. I couldn't help but to think back to my early days as a cyclist, when I so wanted one of those racing bikes with drilled-out Campagnolo parts!

Today, almost anyone who buys "drillium" parts or accessories--whether they're vintage or modern-production--is trying to achieve some sort of "retro" look.  The same can't be said, however, about everyone who bought something with the Weyless name on it.

How's that?, you ask.  Well, the company that made those Weyless bottle cages and clips--as well as some of the lightest seatposts, pedals and hubs ever produced--went out of business some time during the late '70's.  Depending on who you believe, its demise was a result of the '70's Bike Boom ending, founder Lester Tabb's shady business dealings or the warranty claims that resulted after it started a line of bike clothing made from wool that wasn't supposed to shrink--and, of course, it did.

I am guessing that the copyright on the name "Weyless" had expired when, during the '90's, Southern California-based mail-order (and, later, online) retailer Supergo used the name for their line of bikes and parts.  I never used any of them myself, but from what I've read and heard, they were made in the same factories, and to almost the same specs, as bikes, parts and accessories from better-known brands, at a lower price.   And most of the riders who used them seemed satisfied with them.

The funny thing is that most folks who bought Supergo's Weyless stuff had probably never heard of the earlier incarnation of the Weyless brand. That is because most of Supergo's Weyless offerings were for mountain biking, in which most of the riders were (and are) younger than those in road cycling.  Most of them weren't even born--or were drinking out of baby bottles rather than Weyless bottles--when the original Weyless parts and accessories were produced!

It's also likely that those young riders didn't know that Supergo, at the time the original Weyless brand was on the market, was known as Bikecology, one of the first large mail-order bike retailers spawned in the '70's Bike Boom!

Hmm...If I'd called this blog "Bikecology", I wonder how many readers would have gotten it.  Perhaps I could have had a contest and the first person to identify it would get some original Weyless part.  The only problem would have been that I didn't, and don't, have any!

Note:  Supergo was bought out by Performance (who else?) in 2003.

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!"

HP-Turbo: A "Lost" Brake From Weinmann?

If you bought a new ten-speed bike of better-than-marginal quality during the '70's Bike Boom, there's a good chance that it came with Weinmann brakes and/or rims.

Most made-in-Chicago Schwinn bikes had one or both until about the mid-1980s.  So did many European bikes, if they didn't have Mafac brakes or Rigida rims.

Nobody ever got really excited about most Weinmann products:  They weren't flashy, but they usually did their jobs and their prices were reasonable.  The best example of this was their "Vainqueur" center-pull brake, which came on everything from the Schwinn Paramount (the touring model) and Raleigh International to the Schwinn Continental and Raleigh Grand Prix.  It was even found on some bikes from French constructeurs and English bespoke builders, who would attach the brakes to brazed-on bosses.

Probably the one product the company produced that was noticeably different from its competitors was their concave rim.  Its unique shape was said to give it superior strength to other rims.  I don't know whether the shape had anything to do with it, but I know (because I used to commute on a pair) it was strong--and noticeably heavier than other alloy rims.

In the late 1970s, Weinmann tried to modernize its offerings.  That is when they brought out the concave rim.  Around that time, they also introduced their "Carrera" brake, meant to compete with Campagnolo.  The quality was excellent and the finish beautiful.  However, it lacked the flats on the center bolt that allowed the brakes to be centered with a hub cone wrench (a nice Campy feature adopted by other brake-makers). Their quick-release device, apart from its finish, was no different from the one on the less expensive models. It had only "open" and "closed" position, while Campy's could be opened or closed partway to allow for wheels that developed wobbles.  

Another attempt to appeal to appeal to the ultra-high-performance (or simply rich and fashionable) market resulted in their version of the "Delta" brake--which, as "Retrogrouch" and others have suggested, may have been made for them by Modolo.  I never used Weinmann's or Campagnolo's Delta brakes, so I won't argue about the effectiveness, or lack thereof, some users claimed. There is no denying, however, that Campy's version may well be the most beautiful brake ever made.  Weinmann's had a more high-tech (for the time, anyway) look, and was available in black as well as silver.

A few years later, Weinmann came up with another interesting and unique brake:

The HP-Turbo was introduced in 1984.   I could find little information about it (I discovered it in an eBay listing), so I don't know how long it was produced.  I also couldn't find testimony from users, so I have no idea of how effective, or not, it may have been.

From what I can see, it's a centerpull brake with the straddle wire coiled around cams to which the brake shoes are attached.  I am guessing that the cams push those shoes into the rims, and that the arrangement is intended to somehow magnify braking power or modulation by increasing the mechanical advantage.

As I said, I am only guessing:  I may have been a mechanic, but I have never been a mechanical engineer.  For all I know, the brake might have been a revolutionary idea for which the cycling public wasn't ready.  Or, perhaps, some people tried it and found that it was complicated and, perhaps, the cams or other parts of the mechanism clogged with dirt or gunked up with grease. (They don't look very well-protected.)  Maybe it cost as much as a good sidepull brake, which came on about 90 percent of new bikes at that time, or cantilevers, which came on most of the rest of new bikes.   Or people thought it was just too ugly to put on their nice bikes.

Whatever its fate, I am curious about it.  

Is It Your Father's Tool Kit? Or Is It "Retro"?

When it was new, the Peugeot in yesterday's post more than likely came with a Mafac tool kit.

Mafac took kit

Back in those days, Raleigh bicycles came with what is still commonly known as the "Raleigh spanner". (It is English, after all, so it's a "spanner", not a "wrench".)

Raleigh spanner

If you have an old Raleigh or almost any bike with derailleurs and caliper brakes made before the 1980's, that spanner or tool kit are very useful.   And for "freebies", they were actually quite well-made.  However, they are not very useful on most of today's bikes or components.

I still have a soft spot for them, though.  Other companies made similar items.  For example, REG of Italy--which also made water bottle cages and other accessories--made a tool kit very similar to the Mafac.  The REG came in a cute red pouch, made of thicker but more brittle material than the black (or sometimes brown) pouches that held the Mafac tools and Dissoplast patches and glue.  

There was another tool kit that was, essentially, the Mafac minus the socket wrench and the wrench with the spoke keys.  It came in a pouch with a similar shape to the Mafac, but with thinner but more supple material:  like something you might find on a rather fashionable piece of luggage.  And it was embossed with the name of the bike maker that included them with their new machines:  Gitane.

Gitane tool kit

Just for its uniquess, that is my favorite set of retro-tools.  Now, as for Gitane bikes:  They could be the very epitome of Frenchness. Or not.  They could be wonderful or awful.  But they were known for not sticking to the specifications lists in their catalogues:  When I was working in bike shops, we used to joke that it was the reason why Gitane didn't make their catlogues very available!  Sometimes that worked for the better:  One or two of their models would come with Sugino Maxi or Takagi Tourney cotterless cranksets instead of the steel cottered models so common on European bikes of that time, or a SunTour derailleur for one from Simplex or Huret.  Other times, they just substituted something that was just as bad, or a little less bad, than the original specification.

But I digress.  I always thought their tool kit was neat, even if it wasn't different from Mafac's.  And, oh, while we're on the subject, you've surely seen "dogbone" or "dumbbell" wrenches.  I had one of those when that was about the only multi-tool available besides the Raleigh spanner or Campagnolo T-wrench.

Campagnolo T-Wrench

It seems that someone wanted to combine all of the "retro" tool kits into one--complete with tire irons. (Yes, we used to call them that because, well, they were made from iron, or cheap steel.)  And, because it's a "gift" item, the resulting kit comes in a faux-decorator box.

"Gentlemen's" tool  kit

I'll admit, it is kinda cute.  But because it's a "gentlemen's" kit, I'm not qualified to own one.  Nor was I ever!

A Wrap From The Past

It came in a rainbow of colors and was, by far, the lightest product in its category.  It was easy to apply and use, and even easier to replace.  As delicate as it seemed, it actually fared as well--or, at least no worse--than any other item in its category.

Even at 25 cents, nobody wanted it.  So, in the first bike shop in which I worked, we threw it out..

Fast-forward a few years:  I'm working in another bike shop.  Everyone, it seemed, wanted the stuff we tossed out of the previous shop.  Some even grew irate when we didn't have the color(s) they wanted.

What happened?  Well, the '70's became the '80's.  Neon colors became all the rage in everything from ski wear to cycle gear.  ( I rode several winters in a hot pink-and-black Italian cycling jacket.)  Some riders wanted multiple colors to create all sorts of patterns and special effects.

What am I describing?  




It's something you may well have used if you're about my age.  Maybe you're still using it.  If you weren't born the first time it  was en vogue, you may have discovered it recently and think it's the coolest stuff you've ever seen.

I'm talking about a thin cellophane handlebar tape from Benotto. Almost no bar wrap was ever slicker or shinier.  I, like many other riders, wondered how that stuff could ever provide any kind of grip.



Truth was, it didn't.  And that was part of its appeal, especially if you were a time trialist or some other kind of super-fast rider. You see, its surface made it easier to change hand positions on long rides.  On the other hand (pun intended), the only thing resembling grip the tape provided came from the overlaps. 

I'll admit, I used a couple of sets myself.  On my black Cannondale road bike, I wrapped my bars with red Benotto tape; on my Trek 510, I used a rather nice set in a kind of shimmery café crème hue.



 The tape could be had in almost any shade imaginable, as well as in certain patterns, including the flags of Italy, France, Germany and other countries.




By the time customers were demanding it, the price had gone up to around a dollar. At that price, you didn't worry about tearing it in a fall or some other mishap!  And it took practically no time to rewrap a bar with new Benotto tape.

I don't know how long it stayed on the market.  From what I could tell, production seemed to have stopped some time around 1990.  These days, new-old-stock Benotto tape goes for as much as $25 (yes, for a two-roll set) on eBay.  And some company is making reproductions of the thin cellophane tape. 

Imagine that:  A "retro" product made of cellophane. 

The Best Kind Of "Retro": Simplex "Teardrop" Shifters

Yesterday I wrote about what may have been the most jewel-like bicycle component I ever rode:  the Huret Jubilee rear derailleur.

Today I'm going to write about the part that might be a close second in the beauty contest.  I mentioned them in yesterday's post:  Simplex "retrofriction" levers--in particular, the "teardrop"-shaped ones. 

Most retrofriction levers in that shape were made to fit brazed-on lever bosses. I rode with those levers on several of my bicycles, including the Colnago Arabesque and Miyata 912.  The levers were also available in other configurations, including a "coke spoon" version made for Gipiemme.  

Simplex also made the levers in other shapes and colors for Mavic, Galli and other component manufacturers.  And, of course, there was the original version, which was usually attached to a clamp but was also available to fit braze-ons:

Although they all functioned in the same way, the Gipiemmes might have offered the best hand-feel.  (I am only guessing, as I never tried them myself.)  But whatever their shape, they offered the smoothest action of any lever I've ever used.  That is because they had a spring-clutch mechanism on the inside that kept the lever from slipping (and, thus, the derailleur from shifting accidentally) but allowed a shift with a lighter touch than was needed for other levers.  

Campagnolo and other friction levers, on the other hand, relied on nylon bushings and D-shaped screws to hold them in place--which made them more balky to shift.   The ratcheted SunTour levers were like Simplex's retrofrictions in that they,too, stayed in place when they weren't shifted but were easy to shift.  However, they had a clunkier feel and it was a bit harder to fine-tune shifts on them in much the same way that a one-bolt seatpost with notches is more difficult to adjust to exactly the right seat angle than one without notches, or a two-bolt post.

So, SunTour's "power" shifters tended (at least in my experience) to work better with wide-range slant-pantogaph derailleurs on which only the lower pivot was sprung like the SunTour's VGT or Cyclone GT.  On the other hand, Simplex's more nuanced action seemed to work well with just about every derailleur, with narrow-range racing or wide-range touring gears.  But they seemed especially well-suited to derailleurs that required smaller amounts of cable travel, such as the SunTour Cyclone S and Superbe, Campagnolo Record--and, of course, the Simplex Super LJ.

And, oh, yes, the Huret Jubilee.  It and the retrofriction levers seemed to go together like croissants and coffee.  The original Jubilee levers were made with a large drum that pulled too much cable for the Jubilee, which caused it to overshift.  Later, Huret made a lever with a smaller drum that was intended for both the Jubilee and the titanium Success rear derailleur.  But Huret's lever operated on friction, so Simplex's shifter was smoother.

If I were going to set up a bike with friction shifting, I'd definitely want the retrofriction levers.  However, that would mean using no more than seven cogs in the rear:  what made them so pleasant to use with derailleurs like the Jubilee is the small drum, which cuts down on the amount of cable the levers can wrap up.   In other words, even pulling the lever all the way back probably won't get it to shift onto an 8th cog.  (At least, it didn't on my bikes.)

But, of course, if I wanted to choose components purely on aesthetics, I would choose the Simplex retrofriction levers--and Huret Jubilee rear derailleur.

In Suspension, In The '90's

According to Justine's Law of Retrospectivity, you can't have nostalgia for a decade in the decade that immediately follows it.

So, for example, the mania for the Fifties had to wait until the early '70's--1973, to be exact--when American Graffiti showed up in theatres.

In the past year or so, I've seen '90's-themed concerts, dances and other events cropping up in local venues.  It's one thing to have a Lisa Loeb concert.  But, seriously, do you really want to see anyone do the macarena again?  For that matter, can you say the word "indie" without rolling up your eyes?

You've got to admit, though, there were some really good bikes and some really cool stuff being made for them.  I mean, a cyclist's life is not complete unless he or she has ridden something with elastomers in it.  And nothing will strengthen your legs more than detaching your foot from an Onza pedal on a sub-freezing day.

But my favorite '90's mountain bike part is one that I haven't seen in ages:  the Softride suspension stem.

Yes, believe it or not, there was a time when grown men and women actually believed that flexible stems were a better idea than telescopic forks.  They're certainly less expensive.  And, hey, if you get one today, you'll be the coolest kid on the block.

I hear that those stems are going to be made again.  In the old Murray bicycle factory.  By unionized American workers.

An Old Conversion

In an earlier post, I wrote about the Schwinn Super Sport, a bicycle Schwinn produced from 1962 until 1973. 

At the time, Schwinn marketed it as a “lightweight” model.  It was indeed lighter than the Varsity or Continental, which were essentially ten-speed tanks.  The Super Sport featured a frame made of Chrome-Molybdenum tubing and most of its components, including the rims, were aluminum alloy.  One of the notable exceptions was the one-piece “Ashtabula” crank of the kind commonly found on cruisers, heavyweights and kids’ bikes.  (Some of those kinds of bikes, on which weight is no object, still come equipped with such cranks.)

However, it was possible to take a couple of pounds off the bike by changing the crankset.  At least one company offered a bottom bracket assembly that allowed the use of cotterless alloy cranks on frames made for Ashtabula cranks.  They seem to have been most widely used on motocross bikes; around the time that sport was developing, Gary Fisher, Joe Breeze, Tom Ritchey and other early mountain bikers were using crank adapters on old Schwinn balloon-tire bikes they adapted for use with derailleur gears.  (Most of those bikes came with single-gear coaster brake hubs as original equipment.)  I haven’t seen, or even thought about such a crank conversion in ages—until today.

This bike was parked, with a few other bikes that were being used for deliveries, outside a bodega/takeout luncheonette not far from where I live.  I spotted it on my way home from a lunchtime ride:

Unfortunately, as the bikes were locked to each other, I couldn’t get a better photograph.  But I think you can see how the bike was converted.

I’m guessing that this conversion was done some time ago, as the crank is a Sugino Maxy from the mid-1970’s that shows its age.  At the time, they were one of the least expensive cotterless cranksets made.  Many mid-level Japanese bikes—including the Nishiki International I once owned—came with the Maxy as standard equipment.

It wasn’t bad:  It was definitely an improvement over the cottered steel cranksets found on most European bikes in the same price range, or Ashtabula cranks.  On the Maxy (and other cranksets like the Takagi Tourney), the large chainring was “swaged” (pressed) onto the inside of the right crank arm, and the smaller chainring was bolted to it.

That meant, of course, that the outer chainring couldn’t be changed.  But cyclists rarely wanted to make such a change:  Outer chainrings usually had 50 or 52 teeth, and the smallest cog on most freewheels had 14 teeth.  (Thirteen-tooth cogs were still exotic items used by professional racers.)  And, it was believed, few people would ride enough miles to wear out the large chainring. 

Anyway, the Super Sport was probably the one full-sized, derailleur-equipped bike on which such a crank conversion made sense.  (The next model up in Schwinn’s lineup, the Super Sport, came with a Nervar or TA cotterless crankset.) 

Because the Maxy is of more or less the same era as the bike (and the conversion kit), it didn’t look out of place.  All of the other components, save one, were original.  The rear derailleur—an all-black Shimano Deore—is definitely an improvement over the Schwinn-branded Huret Allvit that came with the bike.  I couldn’t photograph the bike from an angle in which I could show the derailleur, but I think you’ll understand (and perhaps agree) when I say that it screams “replacement part” in a way the crankset doesn’t.

Packing Light

Back when I first started cycling and hiking, the accepted wisdom was to buy the smallest backpack or bike bag you could get away with using.  Then you would trick yourself into carrying less.  I can say that it worked for me:  I carried less with me on my first European trip, which lasted for almost three months, than I did on my first 25-mile bike ride.


I was thinking about all of that when I saw this bike parked on West 18th Street in Manhattan:

That basket really is too big for the coffee cup.  This would be more appropriate:

I'd love to meet the design team that came up with that!


I'd also like to meet whatever design team came up with this bike:

Its wide cantilever brakes and color made me think, for a moment, of the bike "Somervillan" recently converted.  But, of course, this is a completely different bike:  It's from Elektra.  It does have some interesting touches, like the hammered fenders and this crankset:

I'm guessing that it has the same chainring bolt circle diameter as the old TA touring crankset.   And the fluting on the arms is an attempt to evoke some of the classic Campagnolo, Stronglight and TA cranks.


It may well be a great bike.  But for simplicity and sheer utility, it doesn't hold a candle to something I saw three blocks from my apartment: