This Shouldn't Be A Shock

The bicycle has been described as the parent of the automobile and grandparent of the airplane.  Indeed, most of the technology found in early--and, in some cases, current--cars and planes was created for bicycle.  The most famous, and possibly important, example is the pneumatic tire:  Automobiles would be no faster or better than horse-drawn carriages, and modern aircraft couldn't take off or land, without them. Ball bearings and variable gears are among the other innovations that "crossed over" from two wheels to four.

Moreover, many of the early designers, engineers, manufacturers and even mechanics for automobiles of aircraft got their start with bicycles.  Henry Ford and the Wright Brothers are among the most famous examples. Speaking of whom:  Mr. Ford didn't "invent" the assembly lines for automobile production.  It had already been in use in bicycle factories, and he adapted that innovation for the automobile company that bears his name.

As the cars overtook bicycles as the primary means of land transportation, "borrowing" shifted the other way.  But as the bicycle industry in the US saved itself by selling its wares as toys or, at best, transportation for kids who weren't old enough to drive, the car-to-bike migration wasn't as technological as it was stylistic:  Bike makers chromed parts for a "streamlined" look and added stick shifters and steering wheel-like handlebars to make their machines adaptable to childrens' fantasies of driving cars and motorcycles. (The "muscle bikes" of the 1960s--on the eve of the North American Bike Boom--are examples of what I mean.) 

The cycle of innovation and borrowing continued when mountain bikes were first created.  Many used brake levers and other parts from motorcycles and early suspension systems could trace their development--from springs and cables to air and elastomers, and back--to what was found on Harleys, Hondas and BMWs. And, whatever you think of them (I'm still not using them), disc brakes have been standard equipment on all but the smallest and lightest cars for about 50 years and are becoming more common on bicycles.

Now, it seems that the trend may be coming "full circle."  A crew in Stray's Garage, an Italian custom motorcycle shop, created this "cafe racer" from a Soviet-era Ural motorcycle.  Its most striking element, apart from its engine, is the front-fork suspension which, according to Cristian Curmei, blends elements of mountain bike rear suspension systems.

Oh, and the suspension system's piggyback oil reserve (near the top of the spring) bears a name familiar to mountain bike riders:  Manitou.  

 

Off The Rails

 When I had a mountain bike with suspension, I thought I could ride over anything.

That included railroad tracks. I assumed they were abandoned…until I heard a low rumble, clackety-clack and blaring horn.

It’s a good thing my reflexes were great. (I was younger!)

Even with suspension, riding those tracks was rough. Perhaps this is what I needed:

A New Bike-Packer—Or A ‘90’s Mountain Bike?

Because I am in, ahem, midlife, I am old enough to have owned and ridden a mountain bike made around the time Rock Shox, Marzocchi, Manitou and a few other hitherto-unknown companies were bringing internally-sprung front forks to the general public.  A few bike-makers were developing frames with suspension in the rear triangle. But that feature, and suspension (what Brits called “telescoping”) front forks were still extra-cost options or modifications.

At that time, in the early-to-mid-1990s, mountain bike frames like my Jamis Dakota typically had 71 degree head angles, which are a bit more slack than road frames (73-74 degrees) but more aggressive than ‘80’s machines that, like the balloon-tired bikes from which they evolved—and many of today’s “hauler” and “rough stuff” bikes—had angles ranging from 69 all the way down to 66 degrees.

Bikes like my old Dakota, I believe, were attempts to inject some road-bike responsiveness into mountain bikes, some of which were, frankly, sluggish. But those bikes from three decades ago were comfortable and stable enough that they were often used for loaded touring (sometimes after switching the flat handlebars for dropped bars), as Trek and other bike-makers stopped making dedicated touring bikes around 1988.

Well, someone at the Dutch bike company Van Nicholas seems to have ridden—or simply recalls—one of those mountain bikes. Their new Nootau, billed as “the ultimate bike-packing machine,” is built around a titanium frame with a geometry nearly identical to a just-before-suspension off-road bike.

Of course, the Nootau’s componentry has almost nothing in common with what was in use around the time “Smells Like Teen Spirit” blasted across the airwaves. Like most of today’s new bikes, it has a threadless headset and stem, which were available but not standard.  But, unlike the cantilever brakes on vintage mountain bikes, disc brakes stop the Nootau.  Discs enjoyed brief popularity, mainly on tandems, during the late 1970s and have been revamped during the past few years.

Perhaps the most striking difference, however, between the Nootau’s equipment and that of vintage mountain bikes is in the drivetrain: the Nootau has no derailleurs. Instead, its single-sprocket crankset is mated to a Rohloff rear hub with 14 internal gears. (I’m trying to wrap my head around that: I’ve had Sturmey Archer and Shimano three- and five-soeed internally-geared hubs.

I may not have the opportunity to ride a Van Nicholas Nootau. I must say that I like its look—and relish the irony of how much its design resembles that of my old Jamis Dakota.

In Suspense--Or In Thrall To Aesthetics?

Sometimes I think the '90's were the end of an era:  when you could care about aesthetics and still buy a high-end road racing bicycle.

Today, you can get a beautiful frame from a builder like Mercian or any number of other custom makers.  But even though it can be sleek and relatively light, it's likely to be heavier and less aerodynamic than a new racing bike.  Those gorgeous frames with their beautiful lugs or filet-brazed joints and lustrous paint jobs are most likely to be steel, whether from Reynolds, Columbus or some other maker, but most racers are now astride frames made of carbon fiber.  Although I can appreciate the lightness and stiffness of carbon fiber frames, I know that their lifespan is nowhere near that of most good steel, titanium or aluminum frames.  Also, their Darth Vader shapes and surfaces are too often plastered with cartoony or just plain creepy graphics.

But during that last "golden era" for road bikes, two seemingly-disparate groups of cyclists seemed to abandon any sense of velocepedic voluptuousness.  According to Eben Weiss' latest article in Outside magazine, those riders were mountain bikers--especially of the downhill variety--and triathlon competitors.   As he notes, mountain biking and triathlon racing  came into their own as disciplines at roughly the same time, more or less independent of the prevailing cycling cultures (racing, touring, track, club riding).  Although many mountain riders came from road riding, they tended to be younger and not as bound to the prevailing traditions and conventions of riding.  Then there were those mountain riders who, like most triathloners, had little or no previous experience with cycling and were therefore even less wed to ideas about what bikes should look or ride like.

One result of that disdain for bicycle tradition was modern suspension systems.  One irony is that those who developed it for mountain bikes thought they were doing something new and revolutionary when, in fact, bicycle suspension  has been around for almost as long as bicycles themselves.  The chief question seemed to be whether to suspend the rider or the bike itself:  The former would offer more comfort and would, therefore, keep the rider in better control of the bike. The latter, on the other hand, would make the bike itself more stable at high speeds and in rough conditions: what would encounter in a downhill or on technical singletrack.

One of the earliest--and, perhaps, still most widely-used--forms of suspension is the sprung saddle, which would fall into the category of suspending the rider. Later, balloon-tired bikes from Schwinn, Columbia and other American manufacturers came with large bars and springs connected to the handlebars and front forks.  How much shock they actually absorbed, I don't know.  I get the feeling they were added, like the ones on the "Krate" and "Chopper" bikes of the '60's and '70's, so that kids could pretend that their bikes were scaled-down motorcycles. 

Around the same time as those wannabe Harleys were made, Dan Henry's (of the Arrows fame) rigged up a Reynolds 531 fork with springs which, he said, allowed him to ride the lightest rims and tubular tires even in the roughest conditions.  But the '70's and '80's saw little, if any, experimentation with, let alone manufacture of, suspended bikes or parts.

That all changed when the first Rock Shox forks and Girvin Flex Stems were introduced in 1989.  The latter defied all notions of the graceful "gooseneck" in mirror-polished or milky silver, and Rock Shox looked nothing like those curved or tapered blades seen on classic road bikes.  Then, it seemed, all sense of aesthetics went out the window--unless your idea of art is a sex toy or something that would render a man incapable of bringing any new cyclists into this world--with the Softride.

I must admit I never tried Softride:  Even though I was leaner and lighter than I am now, I was leery of mounting anything that didn't have support from below. (Read that as you will.)  Weiss rode one recently, three decades after its introduction, and found it to be "more subtle" than he expected though, he pointed out, he could have been just as, and more elegantly, cushioned from road and trail shock with a leather saddle or wide tires.  Subtract the "diving board" and Girvin Flex stem, he notes, and one is left with a rigid mountain bike like the ones riders had been riding before. 

If I had a couple of barns or garages, I'd probably acquire a Soft Ride to complete the collection I'd have.  But even if I liked its suspension qualities, I'm not sure how much I'd ride it:  I'm still too wedded to my vision of a beautiful bicycle.  There are some things I just don't want to be caught dead on. 

Me, Dad, Ian, Rita, Maureen And Delilah

The other day I took a ride to the ocean. 

And I took another yesterday.

From those images, you probably can tell that I'm not talking about the Rockaways, Point Lookout or Coney Island, my most common sea-bound treks.

For that matter, I don't mean the Jersey Shore, where I haven't gone in some time.  Rather, for the past two days, I've done two other seaside rides I've mentioned--though, again, not for some time--on this blog.

I arrived in Florida on Friday evening.  The purpose of this trip is a visit with my father, whom I hadn't seen in three years, since my mother's funeral.  We'd planned another visit but, like so many other plans by so many other people, it was put on hold when "COVID happened."  

Since arriving, I've had nearly perfect weather for cycling and, of course, have taken advantage of it.  The bike I rode during previous visits--a balloon-tired beach cruiser--got rusty and dusty. My father, thinking the bike was beyond redemption (it just looks that way) went and bought another bike--a cheapo full-suspension bike--from a friend.  I rode it on Saturday, along the Lehigh Trail, over the bridge in the first photo and up Route A1A through Beverly Beach and Painters Hill.

Along the stretch from Flagler Beach to Beverly Beach, I was looking at some of what Hurricane Ian wrought.  While the damage wasn't nearly as widespread as what befell Sanibel Island or Fort Myers, there were piles of debris on roadsides, testaments to damaged or destroyed buildings and trees. As I looked at one of those ruins, a car door opened.  Just when I thought I was about to be "doored" again, a woman emerged from the half-opened portal and said, "You write a bike blog!"

Nothing like being famous, eh?

Actually, she is someone I met during a previous visit, about seven years ago.  I'd stopped at a gas station-convenience store for a cup of coffee or to use the bathroom--possibly both--when Rita broke me out, for a moment, from my stereotypical New York "don't talk to strangers" mode. (If I recall correctly, I had just arrived the night before.) We stayed in touch for a time but I think her number was part of the data that didn't transfer from my old to new phone, in spite of the salesperson's promise that everything, including a bunch of photos, would make the journey.

I didn't experience a near-catastrophe-turned-happy-coincidence the following day, when I pedaled up to the Castillo San Marcos in Saint Augustine--49 kilometers, or 30.5 miles--into a gusty wind, on the rusty and dusty balloon-tired beach cruiser.  Upon arriving, I wended through the shops and houses of the historic old town before enjoying a picnic lunch on the waterfront promenade and riding back--with that same wind, of course. So, I reckon that I at least rode a metric century on that rusty beach cruiser, though that was not the point of this trip.

After that ride, I showered, got dressed and went out to Mezzaluna for a delightful meal of mussels in a sauce of butter, garlic and lemon with even more delightful company, which included my father and his friend Maureen, a retired Canadian nurse.  She, as it turns out, was something of an avid cyclist and hiker before, as she said, "arthritis found me."  Afterward, we went to her house, filled with her plants and handicrafts, photos and paintings by friends and her late sister, all against backdrops of walls and alcoves painted in very Floridian shades of blue, green and yellow, and "guarded" by my newest friend--Delilah, her cat.

So now there are two Delilahs--well, a Delila and a Dee-Lilah, on this blog. Both are synonymous with delight, even if one is furry and black and white, while the other is lilac-colored and probably would have loved the ride I took today.

So why did I come to the Sunshine State this weekend?  Well, today is Columbus Day, Italian American Pride Day or Indigenous People's Day. (I prefer the latter because, not in spite of the fact that, I'm of Italian heritage: Why should our "pride" day be in honor of a guy who got lost?)  That meant a long weekend and, while some people traveled--There were quite a few out of state plates along A1A and foreign languages spoken at St.Augustine--it isn't nearly as hectic or expensive as traveling at, say, Thanksgiving or the Christmas-New Year season.  Plus, I didn't want the focus of my visit to be a holiday. Rather, I wanted to see Dad again, and because I wondered what it would be like to meet him without Mom or other family members.

I met him into a new phase of his journey--and, I suspect, mine, as I took familiar rides for the first time in a long time.

 

If A Police Officer Rolls A Bike Over Your Head....

If someone rolls a bicycle over someone else's head, could that be construed as excessive use of force?

Hmm...I must admit I'd never pondered that question.  Most likely, there aren't very many people who have. One who had to is Andrew Myerberg.

He is the director of Seattle's Office of Police Accountability (OPA).  The poor fellow who got tire tracks on his forehead was Camillo Massagli, who was known for showing up at street protests and playing his trumpet.  At one of those events last year, held in the wake of a grand jury's decision not to indict Louisville police officers in the killing of Breonna Taylor, Seattle PD Officer Eric D. Walter rolled his Department-issued bike--with two flat tires--over a supine Massagli's head.

Massagli, for his part, declined to pursue charges because, he explained, "I cannot use a penal system I reject for revenge, not in good conscience," though he added that Walter's and other officers' actions showed "disregard for human life."

King County Sheriff's Detective Mike Mellis investigated Walter for assault but did not find probable cause.  He reasoned that Walter and other officers had a right to "peacefully" remove protesters from the street.  Although he conceded that Walter "purposely rolled his bike over" Massagli's head, as recounted in an OPA summary, he said that such an action "would not necessarily be expected to cause someone pain."

Okay...I'll try that if I ever roll a bicycle over someone's head:  "Officer, I really meant no harm!"

At least Mellis, Walter and the officers who worked with him weren't the only ones who had input on the OPA summary.  It didn't dispute Walter's claim that that he "needed to stay on his line and could not move as it might confuse the officers following behind him."  It, however, averred that a review of video from that day found "no indication that he ever lifted the bicycle while walking over" Massagli.  

So what was the result of this investigation?  Walter got a seven-day unpaid suspension. (It's unclear as to whether or not he's served it.) Walter and the union are, of course, appealing it.  As a 14-year veteran of the force, Walter had a base salary of $130,471 in 2020 and made another $20,544. (I wonder whether working that protest was part of his regular salary or overtime.)  So the suspension, should or has he served it, would cost him about $2509 of his base pay. One wonders whether Massagli will pay in some other way--whether through physical pain or emotional trauma, now or in the future, whether or not Officer Walter meant to hurt him.

Screen grab from a video at the protest. (Courtesy of C.J Halliburton and Joey Weiser, for the Seattle Times.

What They Really Mean By "Suspension"

I've been called "crazy" and worse for crossing city, county, state and national boundaries--and mountain ranges--on my bike.  And for working as a bike messenger in Manhattan. And riding on a velodrome.

But I admit there are some things I haven't tried, and don't plan to.  I don't know whether I fear heights more than other people, but what these women are doing is above my pay grade.

They weren't doing a "one off" stunt.  Rather, the contraption they're pedaling almost 1000 feet above Wansheng Ordovician Theme Park in China is an attraction open to the public. 

Easing The Shock Of Gravel

 What are some telltale signs of an early '90s mountain bike?

One might be bar ends, especially those from Onza and Club Roost.  Another could be early Rock Shox or Manitou suspension (or "telescoping," according to the Brits) front fork--or a sprung rear triangle.  

Another popular form of suspension was built into handlebar stems, such as the ones from Girvin or Softride.  I never tried one myself, but I suspect they didn't do nearly as much to dampen shock--and make a ride more stable--as a suspended fork or rear triangle.  I suspect, though, another reason why they fell out of favor is that spension forks led to two nearly-simultaneous changes:  28.6 mm (1 1/8") steerer tubes replaced 25.4 (1") as the new standard, and threadless headsets became an industry standard.  Girvin and other suspension stems were of the "quill" type and manufacturers couldn't, or didn't want to, make threadless suspension stems.

Well, in the cycling world, very few ideas actually die.  SunTour made cassette hubs and indexed shifting in 1969.  I've never seen them, but from what I've read and heard, they worked well. The market wasn't ready for them, however, until Shimano re-introduced them a decade and a  half later.  Likewise, suspension stems didn't end up as road- (or trail-) kill.  A recent trend has brought them back from the dustbin of cycling history.

Gravel biking is credited for showing that wider tires aren't only for mountain bikes or beach cruisers.  It also has renewed interest in minimalist, lightweight forms of suspension.  Most suspension forks are simply too heavy, and too dampening, for gravel bikers' tastes.  Those forks also have straight or nearly-straight blades, which negate the benefits of the low-trail bikes' geometries.  And I don't know how feasible rear-triangle suspension is for a gravel bike.

During the past couple of years, some new suspension stems have appeared on the market.  Unlike Girvin and Softride, the new Shock Stop and Kinekt models are threadless stems.  The former uses swappable elastomer inserts, rather like a few of the 90s suspension forks and USE fork.  Not coincidentally, Shock Stop offers an elastomer-equipped seatpost to complement its stem. Kinekt, on the other hand, uses a parallelogram system reminiscent of the Soft Ride.

In my limited experience with suspension systems, one problem I found with elastomers is that dirt, moisture or cold stiffened them.  A mechanical system like Kinekt might be heavier, but more reliable, and avoids the problem of manufacturers who discontinue replacement elastomers (or go out of business).  I am not making any recommendations, as I have never used any new or old suspension stem.  I do find it interesting, however, that a new trend in riding has given an old idea a new lease on life.

Piercing Its Facade

This post will do something that, to my knowledge, few if any other pieces of writing have done:  mention an early bicycle suspension system and a French ladies' utility bicycle from the 1960s or 1970s.

That wasn't my original intention, but in the admittedly-cursory research I did, the two topics became entangled.

How did I start on this path (pun intended)? Well, a few days ago I saw this

parked around the corner from my apartment.

At first glance, it looks like any number of French ladies' utility/city bikes of its time:  The swept-down top lateral tubes lend it a grace most "beast" bikes don't have.   That detail distinguihes somewhat from the mixte bikes that made their way to the US during the 1970s Bike Boom.  Those bikes--like the Peugeot UO8 mixte--had straight twin lateral tubes.  As a result, bikes like the U08 had slightly tighter geometry than bikes like the one in this post, which gave them a somewhat sprightlier ride.

You can still find plenty of bikes like the one in my photos parked on Paris streets and all over France:  they were, and still are, for many French women what classic British three-speeds were for generations of women riding to work, the marketplace or the park in much of the Anglophone world.

But I knew, right away, something was odd about this bike.  One give-away was the "Belle de Paris" decal on the downtube:  I mean, if you saw that in a movie, you'd think it was a joke.  No French bike maker would have given such a name to a bike it planned to sell in France--or to anyone who knows anything about French bikes!

(I think now of the car Renault sold as "Le Car" in the US.  Even if you don't know or care about anything French, you just had to roll up your eyes on seeing that!)

Another odd thing about the bike is the brand name:  Pierce-Arrow.  As far as I know, there never was a French bike-maker by that name.  And then there's this:

Some of the Motobecanes imported early in the US Bike Boom had fork crown caps stamped with the telltale "M" emblem.  Also, some bikes made by Motobecane and sold under other names--like Astra--bore it.

And, of course, Motobecane made many bikes like this one:  Of all French manufacturers, it's likely that only Peugeot made more.  So, I surmised--correctly, my research would confirm--that I was looking at a Motobecane rebadged as "Pierce-Arrow".

So what of Pierce-Arrow?

Anyone who knows anything about the history of luxury automobiles knows the name.  Heck, even I knew about them!  Before World War II, they had a cache on par with the revered names of today like Rolls-Royce and Mercedes Benz.  And, like most other auto manufacturers of the time--and a few that survive today (think of Peugeot and Ford)--Pierce-Arrow was a bicycle-maker before it manufactured cars (and, in Pierce's and Peugeot's case, motorcycles).  And, in another interesting parallel with Peugeot, Pierce began as an industrial company that manufactured a variety of items (Yes, that peppermill was made by the same company that made the PX-10!) before venturing into wheeled goods.

George N. Pierce started his company in Buffalo, NY in 1872.  In 1890, at the dawn of the first "Bike Boom," Pierce produced its first bicycles.  They quickly developed a reputation for quality and elegance as well as elegance.  As per the latter, the company offered one of the early "ladies'" models of safety bicycle, with a graceful tube that swept down from the head tube.  

Seamless joint. From 1897 Pierce Bicycle catalogue.

As for technical innovations, they contributed two that would influence later bicycle develpment.  According to their 1897 catalogue, their frames had seamless joints achieved by "fittings inside one tube and shaped to fit snugly around the opposite tube."  This can be seen as a predecessor of both lugged and fillet-brazed joints:  the joining methods used to this day on most high-quality steel frames.  

Pierce Cushion Frame, 1901

The other?  One of the earliest frame suspension systems.  In 1898, their Cushion Frame line featured a shock absorber on the post connecting the rear axle to the seat pillar.  Hmm...I think I saw something like that on a few mountain bikes--in 1998, or thereabouts!

Anyway, Pierce continued to make bicycles until 1918, when the Emblem Manufacturing company in the nearby community of Angola acquired them.  Emblem continued to produce bicycles until 1940--ironically, two years after Pierce-Arrow Motor Car Company ceased to exist.

Now, from what I've gleaned, the company's bicycles were never called Pierce-Arrow.  That appelation was reserved for cars. Bicycles and motorcycles were always called "Pierce."  The Pierce-Arrow name, however, would be conflated with Pierce bicycles--possibly because of the arrow in Pierce's emblem.  In the years after the last Pierce bicycles were made, at least one distributor sold bicycles rebadged as "Pierce-Arrow."  To my knowledge, no bicycle manufacturer ever made a "Pierce Arrow" line of bikes:  That label was a creation of the distributor/importer, just as "Nishiki," "Azuki," "Centurion," "Shogun" and "Univega" were.  (Although those bikes were made in Japan, you can't buy one with any of those names in the Land of the Rising Sun.)  Apparently, the distributor was banking on the residual cache of the "Pierce Arrow" name.

Don't you just love the fender details?  I think Velo Orange's "Facette" fenders were inspired by these, or something like them.

So...whoever bought the bike I saw parked in my neighborhood may have thought he or she was getting some connection to a classic car.  Instead, he or she got something like what a madame would have pedaled to school, work, the market or to her relatives in the next village or arrondissement.  

To Ease The Shock

Consternation followed his victory.

There weren't any rumors of doping or other cheating.  Nor were any questionable decisions by race officials.

The fact that he was 37 years old--ancient for a European pro cyclist--or that he'd been trying to win that particular race for years didn't get tongues wagging.  Even his palmares, which included a number of wins and high places in one-day races but no such results in multi-day events, wasn't the reason why cycling fans and the media were shocked when he won the Paris-Roubaix.

When Gilbert Duclos-Lassalle ascended the podium in the Roubaix Velodrome on 12 April 1992, no one talked about the course of the annual race--dubbed "L'enfer du nord" (the Hell of the North) for its cobblestones, mud and unpredictable weather-- or his persévérance.  Rather, all of the attention was on his bike--specifically, one part.

At that time, suspension or "telescoping" (as they're called in Britain) front forks were the hot new item on mountain bikes.  Until that day, no one had seen them on road bikes.  

Gibus, as he was called, rode a LeMond road bike equipped with a specially-modified Rock Shox fork.  The funny thing is that, with all due respect to LeMond bikes, the fork was really its only unusual feature.  The rest of the frame was a typical road bike of the time, equipped with standard Campagnolo road components.

What's surprising, to me, is that there weren't more attempts to create suspended road bikes before Gibus rode his.   The great Bernard Hinault won the Tour de France five times and a number of one-day events.  But he refused to ride Paris-Roubaix until 1981 (he won) because the jarring conditions would aggravate his tendinitis, the condition that caused him to withdraw from the cold, rainy 1980 Tour.  He's not the only elite cyclist who couldn't or wouldn't ride P-R because of bone-shaking conditions.

Since then, road bikes have incorporated various forms of  front suspension.  Rear suspension, however, caught on in any major way with professionals because it's difficult to achieve a balance between weight, shock absorption when needed and stiffness when ridden on smooth surfaces.

In April 2018, Specialized applied for a patent describing a system that allows the upper portion of a bike's seat post to move and absorb shock.  To accomplish this, the seat post is clamped much further down the seat tube.  The patent application, approved in October of last year, indicates that a pivot could be placed there and that it might be adjustable to the rider's weight.

According Specialized, the system could make its appearance on, appropriately enough, the company's Roubaix model.  And it might come out next year:  the 30th anniversary of Gilbert Duclos-Lassalle's first Paris-Roubaix win. (He also won the following year.)

I can't say I'm shocked. 

Photo of Gilbert Duclos-Lassalle in 1992 Paris-Roubaix by Graham Watson.  Drawings from Specialized patent application.

Don't Try This At Home--Or Anywhere Else!

'Some of us, when we're young, think we can do absolutely anything, no matter how dangerous or ridiculous, off or on the bike.

Probably the last really crazy thing I would have done was to ride my Bontrager mountain bike (with a Rock Shox yellow Judy fork, no rear suspension) down the stairs from the Sacre-Couer de Montmartre.  

What stopped me? Actually, the question is "who"?  Tammy said she didn't doubt I could do it, but juuust in case, she wouldn't know what to do because she couldn't speak French.  I taught her a few useful pharases:  "Au secours!"  "Mon copain est tombe." (I realize now that the gendarmes would probably think, "Son copain est fou." )  She learned quickly; she was fluent in Spanish.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened had I taken that ride.  Would she have broken up with me the moment I began my descent?  I didn't want that:  Who goes to Paris to have their heart broken?

These days, I admit, I'm not quite as daring.  And if I were counseling young people, there are some things I would advise them never, never to do on a bike:

Cheap Jeep?

I recall seeing a Jeep full-suspension mountain bike about fifteen years ago.  It sold for $300.  I thought the price was about $299 too high:  It looked like a lot of cheap Chinese-made bikes sold in big-box stores.

Now, I have no experience with actual Jeeps.  I am sure, however, that the company had nothing to do with manufacturing the bikes and little, if anything, to do with designing it.  It seemed that lending its name to a line of crappy bikes was a cynical ploy to cash in on customers' loyalty to the brand.  

To be fair, Jeep isn't the first company to do such a thing.  Nor will it be the first auto-maker to try to  cash in on the latest trend in cycling:  e-bikes.

The company debuted its first electric bicycle yesterday.  Micah Toll reviewed it for Electrek.  Having no experience with e-bikes, I can't comment on his comparisons with other companies' models.  What I found amusing, however, is his umbrage at the price:  $5899.

That is a lot more expensive than some other e-bikes on the market.  But it's actually a good bit less expensive than, not only other e-bikes, but some non-electric, non-motorized bikes offered by some other companies that also peddle (pun intended) eBikes.  I am talking about Specialized and Santa Cruz, two of the best-known names in the mountain bike world.  Their eBikes cost a good bit more than Jeep's--but less than their top-of-the line mountain bikes, and less yet than Specialized's high-end road bikes.

The Mountain Bike Becomes A City Slicker

A while back, I got a '90's Cannondale mountain bike for not very much.  I could have ridden it as-is, replacing only the shifter.  But I decided to make it into a second city bike-commuter, sharing duties with my Fuji Allegro.

One thing I really didn't was the suspension fork that came with the bike.  For my intended purposes, I don't need a suspension fork.  Also, I didn't want to hunt down parts (like elastomers) for a fork that hasn't been made in about 20 years.

I know the steel fork that's on the bike now looks out of proportion to the oversized aluminum tubes of the frame.  But it'll do the job and I'm not too worried about the looks of this bike.  If anything, I'm hoping that its steampipe visuals will allow me to park it on the street without too many worries.

Some of the parts--like that seatpost and seat collar--I had lying around. (I'm not lying.) As was typical of mountain bikes of the time, the Cannondale came with a quick-release seat collar--which makes it easy for casual thieves to take your seat and seatpost!

I would have kept the wheels, which consisted mostly of no-name components. But I got a really good buy on a pair of Sun CR18 rims.  They're a 26 inch version of the 700C rims on the Fuji, which have served me well.

Whatever this bike lacks in aesthetics, I think it more than compensates in simplicity and usefulness.   Yes, that's a Velo Orange Porteur handlebar, in the 22.2 size.

On a bike like this, I don't expect a ride anything like that of any of my Mercians.  For that matter, I didn't expect anything even as nimble as the Fuji--which isn't set up for that.  But I have been pleasantly surprised.  My commutes and errands don't seem any slower than they've been on the Fuji.  An added bonus is that I can ride through just about any pothole or other obstacle without a second thought.

Any Bike You Want, As Long As It's...

About thirty years ago, I was a writer-in-residence at a number of New York City schools, and St. Mary's Hospital for Children, through the Teachers and Writers program.  Most of the time, I cycled to the schools or hospital.  Most of the time, I had to lock my bike on city streets.  That meant, for me, riding my "beater," whatever it happened to be at the time.

The bikes I used for the purpose weren't bad:  Bike-Boom era 10-speeds that I turned into 5- or single-speeds. (A couple were stolen; one crashed.)  But they weren't as nimble and fun to ride as my racing, or even touring, bike.  Sometimes, after my workshops with the kids and teachers, I'd go out for a spin on my "beater" because there wasn't enough remaining daylight for, or it was simply easier than, riding  to my apartment and switching bikes.

If I found myself in a really good rhythm, or pedaling into a headwind, I'd wish that my "beater" could transform into my racing, or even my touring, bike.  

Have you ever wished, in the middle of a ride, that the bike you're riding could become another bike?  Perhaps you were yearning for a bike you didn't have. Or, you own multiple bikes, took one out and, because the day's ride was not what you'd anticipated, wished that you'd mounted one of your other steeds.  

(I think now of a time I pedaled my mountain bike into a stiff headwind I didn't anticipate on a course that was flatter and clearer of debris, mud and slush than I expected it to be after a snowstorm.)

Well, you now you can have a "chameleon" bike





as long as you are happy on a lowrider or extra-tall bike!

The strange-change machine, an entry in the Make It Move contest on Instructables, started as a full-suspension mountain bike.  The rear spring was removed to make room for the gas cylinder that pivots the rear triangle.  Also, the front fork was replaced with a (much) longer one.  

Gotta love that paint job! 

When I Say "Never"...

Last Friday, I did something I said I'd never do again.  Actually, you might say I did two things I vowed not to do.

Yes, I bought a mountain bike: my first in nearly two decades.  I admit, it doesn't have the latest technology and wasn't even a high-end bike in its day.  But I don't plan to do some of the crazy stunts I did when I was younger.  

When I say the bike wasn't high-end, I mean that it was the lowest-level mountain bike its manufacturer was offering.  Which leads me to the second thing I said I'd never do:  I bought a Cannondale mountain bike.  An M-300 from 1996, to be exact.

Now, I don't have anything against Cannondale bikes per se.  I realize that, like certain saddles, some people just like the ride of them.  The Cannondales I had felt particularly harsh.  Then again, they were some of the company's early road bikes.  I've heard that C-dale refined their offerings, but I decided that since I generally prefer steel bikes, I'd stick to them.

The way I figure it, though, is that a Cannondale mountain bike won't be as harsh as one of its road bikes because of the mountain bike's  fatter tires and the slacker geometry.  Also, I don't reckon I'll take this bike on the sorts of long rides I take with my Mercians.

Oh, and the bike has a Rock Shox Indy fork and a suspension seatpost.  I plan to get rid of the latter: I can replace it with a long  27.2mm rigid seatpost I have lying around.  I'll leave the Rock Shox on the bike for now and if I don't like it, or just don't want to maintain it, I might switch to a rigid fork.

The rest of the bike, though, I'm going to leave as-is, at least until the parts wear out.  The only thing I absolutely must change is the right shift lever:

When I pointed it out to the man from whom I bought the bike, he knocked the price down.  I told him I was willing to pay his original asking price, as he let me ride it and I found that the bike tracked straight and everything else was working as it should. (I tried shifting the rear derailleur by hand, and I could see that it will shift fine with a functioning shifter.)  In a way, that broken shifter is just as well because I don't like twist-grip shifters*.  I plan to replace it with a cheap Sun Race thumb shifter and, if and when the rest of the drivetrain wears out, I will decide whether I want to "upgrade" to 8 or 9 speeds--or turn the bike into a single-speed, something I might do if I decide this is a "snow" bike.

So, here I am, with my first mountain bike--and my first aluminum frame--in ages.  Don't worry:  I'm not going rogue!

Oh, and the man from whom I bought the bike had every intention of selling it--unlike the fellow I wrote about yesterday.




*When I say I don't like something, I don't necessarily mean that anything is inherently wrong with it.  It's just a  matter of my personal preferences. For example I know some of you like bar-end shifters and if you do, you should use them.  They're just not for me. I'd say the same for certain saddles.