A Tube That Pumps Itself

Yesterday I wrote about airless bicycle tires.  The Zeus LCM tires I tried about thirty years ago made my bike about as quick as a donkey cart and gave it the handling of a shopping cart.  And, from what I read, it actually did less to deaden a bike's performance than other airless tires available at that time (about 30 to 35 years ago).  So it was no surprise that they all but disappeared a few years later.

I've been around long enough not to be surprised that there are attempts to revive the idea.  The new airless tires, and the insert made by Hutchinson, all have, from what I understand, the same drawbacks as the old airless tires:  a large increase in rotating weight (especially on road bikes), a hard, dead feel and difficulty of installation and removal.

Companies and individuals are reviving the idea because of people's fear of getting--or, more precisely, getting their hands dirty in fixing-- them.  When people learn that I ride bikes, the most common question is, "What do you do about flats?" While, in my mind, my younger, snarky self is saying, "I wear them when I'm not wearing my heels," I explain that fixing a flat is not a complicated process and that I carry a little vial of waterless hand cleaner if I'm going to work or some other place where I have to be presentable.

 When I've worked in bike shops, led rides and volunteered with organizations like American Youth Hostels and Recycle-A-Bicycle, I've told people that the one bike repair they should all learn is how to fix a flat.  I've also told them that if they do no other bike maintenance, they should keep their chains lubed and their tires properly inflated. 

Someone who's afraid to fix a flat also probably won't pump his or her tires if they're not obviously flat.  I think that people don't realize that all tires "exhale" air, and that such gradual air losses are less noticeably in car tires because it's less noticeable, given the greater volume of air.  They might go weeks or even longer before inflating their car tires, but probably need to inflate bike tires every week or two.

Then, of course--as with fixing flats and other bike maintenance--there are those who are too lazy or scared to do it.

For them, there is inventor Benjamin Krempel's creation, called the PumpTube.

A cutaway diagram of the Pump Tube.  The beige element represents the pumping mechanism.  From Gizmag.

It consists of a regular inner tube with a one-way valve in the valve stem. That valve draws in air which doesn't go directly into the main body of the inner tube. Instead, the air goes into one end of a tube-like pumping mechanism, which runs along the outside perimeter of the inner tube.  As the tire rolls along the ground or street, the pumping mechanism is compressed, which forces air into the inner tube.  The resulting absence of air in the pumping mechanism creates a vacuum effect, drawing more air into the valve. 

I should also mention that there is a dial on the valve stem that can be used to set the "target" pressure.  Once that pressure is reached, no more air is pulled in.

The mechanism in the PumpTube is probably useful in compensating for normal seepage or to counteract pinhole leaks.  Krempel admits that a larger punctures would  probably need to be repaired.

It will be interesting to see whether the PumpTube is actually helpful, especially to commuters and other utility cyclists.   If nothing else, it does overcome--somewhat--a drawback of one of Krempel's earlier inventions, the PumpTires.  As you may have guessed, it was a tire that had the same sort of mechanism as the PumpTube.  The problem with the PumpTire--aside from the fact that it requires users to give up their regular tires--is that once the tire tread wears away, the pumping mechanism is compromised. 

Plans call for Pump Tubes to be compatible with regular 700 C and 26 inch tires. Krempel says that once he perfects the design, he plans to start a Kickstarter campaign to produce PumpTubes, which are expected to sell for US $30 to $55 per unit.

Letting The Air Out

Tubeless tires for bicycles have been available for about two decades.  I have never used them myself, but I understand how they are useful for some riders, particularly mountain bikers.  While most road cyclists' flats are the result of punctures from road debris, mountain bikers are more likely to incur pinch flats that result from riding tires at low pressures, which causes the tube to be squeezed between the ground and the rim. If I were to become an active mountain bike rider again, I just might try tubeless tires.

I once tried another product created with the aim of preventing flat tires. 

Imagine a (say, 27 inch or 700C) donut made from the kind of rubber used to make tire casings.  That "donut" is solid; it does not have a hollow core into which air can be pumped, let alone one that can accommodate a tube. 

As you can imagine, installing such a tire was not easy:  It didn't even have the "stretch" of a tight-fitting tubed tire with a particularly stiff bead.  (I thought it was difficult to put those old Specialized Turbo tires on Weinmann concave rims until I tried installing one of the solid tires I mentioned!)  Removing it wasn't easy, either. 

That tire--the Zeus LCM--was available for a few years from the late 1970's to the mid-1980's.  Frank, the proprietor of Highland Park (NJ) Cyclery, stocked a few only because a few customers wanted them.  He also kept a pair of wheels fitted with those tires so would-be customers could try them before committing.  During the time I was working at HPC, he allowed me to borrow them for a few of rides.

If I thought those tires were hard in my hands, they were even harder on the road. They felt like they were made of cement!  Believe it or not, I actually did a half-century, in addition to riding to and from work for a few days, on them.  Never before had I ridden so slowly and felt so banged-up after riding:  The Zeus tires lacked the buoyance of pneumatic tires.  I found myself wondering whether I had just experienced what riding on a "boneshaker" must have felt like!


By the way, those Zeus tires were made in the US and bore no relationship to the Basque/Spanish bicycle and bicycle component manufacturer. Ironically, the only items on Zeus bikes that weren't made by the company were--you guessed it--the tires (and, in the case of clinchers, tubes). 

Around the same time those Zeus tires were on the market, a few similar products were being made.  Also, at least one other company made and marketed a solid foam inner tube, and another made a closed-cell foam inner tube with a hollow core which, as Retrogrouch pointed out, was like a big elastomer.  They were even heavier, slower and harsher-riding than the Zeus donuts.

Those products apparently disappeared around the mid-to-late 1980s.  

Sometimes it seems that if an idea is silly, impractical or bad enough, its time will come, or come again.  (That could make Victor Hugo turn in his grave!)   So, would you be surprised to find out that someone is making closed-cell foam tire inserts  again?  For me, the only surprise is that one of the most respected tire makers--Hutchinson--is behind it.  They don't sell that insert alone, but as part of their "Serenity" tire, which is like one of their city tires (I forget the name of it ) with a tough casing. 

From the Tannus website

Knowing that, you also probably won't be surprised to know that another company--Tannus--is reviving the idea of the Zeus tire.  Like the Zeus, it's a fully-molded solid tire that come in an array of neon colors that would have sent even Valley Girls running and hiding.



As George Santayana said, those who ignore the past are doomed to repeat it.  The pneumatic tire is one of the most important inventions in the history of the human race, and certainly the most important bicycle-related inventions.  Without that chamber of air floating and cushioning the bike and its riders, the bicycle, most likely, still couldn't be faster than a horse, even with Eddy Mercx pedaling.

 

The Family After The Storm?

After The Fall That Would't end (Did I want it to?), winter finally came right about the time I took off for Florida.  Since I came back nearly two weeks ago, I haven't done much riding.  In fact, today I got on my bike for the first time since last weekend, when a blizzard dumped more than two feet (65 cm) of snow on us.

The day after the storm, a travel ban was in place, which meant that all non-emergency vehicles were banned from the city's streets.  Now, nobody defined exactly what "emergency" means, so there were a handful of cars slipping and sliding along the roads.  The only cyclists I saw were making deliveries for local restaurants and diners.

I could have ridden a couple of days ago, but I was busy preparing for a new job I started on Friday.  More about that later.  Also, I was working on a bike-related and a writing project.

But I got out for two and a half hours this afternoon.  The weather was mild for this time of year:  10C (50F) late this afternoon.  Most of the snow is gone, but there are some mounds in out-of-the-way spots, like the parking lot of the Long Island Rail Road station in Hunters Point:

Hmm...Was she feeding her young?  Or instructing him?

Has the one on the left turned his back on her? Is he an absentee father, a shadow?

After I took the photos (on my cell camera), I resumed riding.  After all, I don't want to be involved in a family feud!

Horses Or Bikes, She Is A Real Freedom Rider

As you’ve no doubt heard by now, last month marked forty years since the release of Patti Smith’s album Horses. 

I was a senior in high school then.  It semed that my classmates fell into one of three categories:  the ones who loved it and didn’t want it to end, the ones who were looking forward to college or whatever else they were going to do after graduation, and those who just couldn’t wait to get out.

Those of us in the third category were, in one way or another, the class “geeks”.  Most of us were bookish; nearly all of us had some interest or talent that wasn’t fashionable in that high school where the unofficial motto seemed to be, “If you can’t f*ck it, smoke it or drive it and it ain’t Led Zep’, it ain’t worth it.”  More than a few of us read and/or wrote poetry or songs we would perform only for very close friends (who, naturally, were as introverted as we were); we loved poets like Patti who, we felt, told the truth—at least as we understood it at the time.

I had been writing stories, articles for the school newspaper and stuff I can’t categorize—most of which I lost or destroyed along the way from then to now.  Around that time, I started writing what some might call “free verse” poetry, or simply chopped-up sentences.  Whether or not it was “any good” (Let’s face it, how much of anything that we do at that age is?) is, I realize now, not the point, any more than whether or not I had the capability of becoming a world-class racer did or didn’t make the amount of cycling I was doing “worth it”.  Yes, I wrote and rode—as I do now—because I enjoyed those activities.  But more important, I could not envision life without them.

Actually, that’s not quite right.  I did those things, not only for pleasure, but also for survival.  And, in those days, the work of a poet like Patti Smith or Gregory Corso or Arthur Rimbaud was sustenance for “the journey”, whatever that might be.

I think what I really loved and admired about Patti Smith, though, was something I couldn’t articulate at the time, or for a long time afterward.  Now I’ll express it as best I can:  She did something interesting and unique, whatever its flaws (which I only vaguely understood at the time) and did it on her own terms.  At a time when I still did not have the terms or tools to articulate, let alone embody, the “differentness” I saw in myself—which others, especially the adults in my life, misunderstood as “rebelliousness”—Patti Smith gave us an image of how someone can become someone only he or she can become. 

When Horses came out, she was often described as “androgynous” because of the way she was dressed, and the way she carried herself, in the photo on the album’s cover.  The truth, I realized even then, was that she was actually showing that it was possible to be a woman in a way that didn’t fit into the boxes constructed by the governing institutions and individuals of our society.

She upset those authority figures in much the same way as the women who abandoned their corsets and hoopskirts for shorter skirts or “bloomers” so they could ride bicycles in the 1890’s. Most of those women weren’t consciously rebelling; they simply to wanted to live their lives as they saw fit.    

It might take a long time but, ultimately, independent spirits who realize their visions change the world and inspire us while those who try to suppress such spirits or the change they engender are forgotten or even vilified.  Most people, at least in the industrialized countries, think nothing of women wearing pants or skirts that don’t constrict their movement, and of working in what were once considered in “men’s” jobs.

Or of writing a line like, “Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine."

Knowing what I’ve just said, are you surprised to see this image of Patti Smith?:

They Were Sooo Continental

You don't wear Continental clothes or a Stetson hat!

That line comes from Otis Redding's Tramp.  The song is an argument between a woman and Otis.  She accuses him of being a tramp because, as she says, he's "straight out of the Georgia woods". 

 

 

We in the United States of America are as continental--in the literal sense of that word--as anyone in the world.  After all, we occupy a large part of the North American continent.  However, when we say "Continental", we use it in the way the British mean it:  of mainland Europe, particularly France, Italy or Germany.

Even though we Yanks like to think we tossed off the yoke of the British crown, it seems that we still emulate them in every way we can.  We speak their language. We may have a different accent, but so often, we mean it the way they do--sometimes even more so.

And so it is with the adjective "continental".  It not only refers to the geographical location; it also has the connotation of "sophisticated", "refined" or "elegant".  Or it can be just a politically correct way of saying "exotic" or a polite way of saying "sexy".  And here, as in Blighty, it is also a way of saying "French" without saying it.  (Hmm...What if "Freedom Fries" were called "Continental Chips"?)

That latter connotation was commonly employed in British cycle advertising just after World War II. Before the big fight, the worlds of British cycling and the British cycling industry were very insular.  Brits thought, as Americans would in the years just after the war, that if it was made in their country, it must be better. 

In some cases, their biases had at least some basis in truth.  Pre-war Schwinn Paramounts were built from Accles and Pollock tubing; all over the world, some of the finest frames have been, and still are, constructed from Reynolds tubesets.  Six-day racers favored BSA components, particularly their cranks, pedals and hubs; town bicycles all over the world were equipped with Sturmey Archer hubs and, to this day, all manner of bikes in every place imaginable sport Brooks saddles.

However, for all the vibrancy of the club-cycling scene, bicycling in Britain was still, in the main, utilitarian.  On the other hand, France, Italy and other countries on "The Continent" had lively cultures of racing, and many people, at least superficially, emulated the riders of the peloton.    It is said that British service members who fought on "The Continent" brought back a taste for Contiental bikes and parts--as well as other things.

British Cyclo Gears with 1/8" chain

British cyclists started to demand bikes with derailleurs.  However, until 1954, Raleigh did not supply any bikes with them.  And, in 1955 British Cyclo were still making most of their cogs for 1/8" chains, even though increasing demand for three- and four-speed freewheels meant that more and more riders wanted and needed cogs for 3/32" chains.  Other bike and parts manufacturers in Britain were slow to respond to those changes.  In fact, some simply continued to offer the same products the were making before the war, as if it were somehow unpatriotic to pattern new products after, let alone offer, the freewheels, derailleurs and such that were made mainly in France.

Once they started to make or import (as Ron Kitching did) those items, they were still loath to make Gallic references.  So, those items--particularly, for some reason, large-flange hubs--were called "Continental" parts.  In an article he wrote on the Classic Lightweights UK site, Steve Griffiths said this habit may have been inspired by the Prior hubs made in France during the 1930s, which had some of the largest flanges (and most profuse drilling) ever seen. 

Prior Hubs. I love them.  Did someone use Spirograph to design them?

The flanges on that hub were riveted to smaller flanges which, as on most hubs at the time, were attached to a steel shaft.  So, the British Hub Company did the same with their Airlite hubs.   Collectors pay more for Priors and Airlite Continentals than most people pay for bikes.  They look interesting and, from what I've read, they spin smoothly. However, they both share a problem:  Prolonged use can loosen the rivets.

They're Continental, all right.  So is Swiss cheese.

 

Vintage? Classic? Both? Neither?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before Carbon Fiber: Plastic Bicycle Components

Early in the 1970's Bike Boom, boatloads of ten-speeds from Raleigh, Peugeot, Motobecane, Dawes and other European makers came to these shores.  You may have had one of those bikes; perhaps you have one now. 

If it was made before 1975, chances are that its derailleur was made by Campagnolo, Huret or Simplex.  The latter company supplied the derailleurs for most Peugeots until the early 1980's, as well as for some models from the other bike-makers I've mentioned.  My Peugeot PX-10 came with the Simplex Criterium; the entry-level U-08 came with the company's "Prestige" mechanism.

Simplex Criteriun

In design and function, the Criterium and Prestige were the same.  The Prestige had a red-badged parallelogram while the Criterium had silver badge and cute red plugs in the pivot bolts.  Most interestingly, though, the parallelogram and knuckles on the Prestige were made entirely of Delrin plastic, while the Criterium's parallelogram had a steel reinforcement.

Simplex Prstige

Because of the materials used, Simplex derailleurs were often perceived to be "cheap" or of low-quality.  Actually, given the standards of what was available at the time, they shifted reasonably well--not as well as anything SunTour made, but at least as well as most of Campagnolo's offerings.  The chief objection to those plastic Simplex derailleurs was, aside from aesthetics, their durability.  When I worked in bike shops, I saw many on which the plastic had worn at the pivots and joints, leaving them with sloppy shifting.  In all fairness, though, I must admit that I didn't see as many broken ones as I expected, and I think stories of Prestiges or even Criteriums that exploded under normal pedaling pressure were exaggerated.

From the time the first all-plastic (except for the cage plates and bolts) Simplex derailleurs were introduced in 1962, increasing amounts of metal were added to the higher-level models.  Lucien Juy probably figured that racers and tourists rode more miles and under worse conditions than recreational riders did, so more durable derailleurs were necessary for them.  (While a Prestige would wrap up the amount of chain necessary for a triple crankset, it wasn't torsionally rigid enough to last very long in such use.)  By 1975, he had come full-circle:  His "Super LJ" was constructed entirely of alloy and intended to compete with the Campagnolo Nuovo Record, Huret Jubilee, SunTour Cyclone and other top derailleurs of the time.

(This state of affairs may have made Simplex the only component manufacturer whose professional-level wares were heavier than its entry-level stuff, or anything in between!)

Before carbon-fiber frames gained widespread popularity, Simplex derailleurs were among the few components to be made of plastic.  Another is one that, unless you were riding during the '80's, or have a bike from that period, might surprise you.

Stronglight cranks and headsets came on many of the same bikes that included Simplex derailleurs.  I never had any problems with the ones that came with my PX-10E; in fact, I have a soft spot for the Stronglight "93" crankset.  (The only reason, I believe, it's not popular today is its proprietary bolt circle of 122mm.)  The headset was ugly but at least it was smooth-running, sturdy and didn't require any special tools.

Stronglight A-9

Later, Stronglight made what some regard to be the best headset, ever: the A9. (The "Delta" is the A-9 with more seals and more smoothly curved cups.) I had one on my Mondonico Criterium; it was as well-made as anything I've ridden.  Many 30-year-old A9s are still in use today and people pay premium prices for them on eBay.  It's the headset I'd still be using if it weren't for Chris King.

Stronglight B-10

Although it was the lightest headset available at the time (and lighter than most headsets available today), someone though a lighter version was necessary.  So was born the B10, which shared the A9's tapered roller bearings but replaced the alloy cups with ones made out of--you guessed it--Delrin.

(The B10 sometimes bore the name of Tour de France champion Bernard Hinault on its locknut.)

I never used a B10 myself, and I never installed one. However, it came on some of Trek's touring machines during the 1980s, as well as other bikes.  Not surprisingly, they ran as smoothly as the A9s--at least for a while.  Accounts vary on how long.  But because roller bearing headsets are tightened with more force than ball-bearing headsets, owing to the tolerances of the roller bearings, tightening compresses the plastic cups more than it does to alloy ones.  From my limited experiences of working on B10s, I found they were more difficult to adjust so that they turned smoothly without play. 

I heard a few accounts of cups that broke.  If they were true, I wonder how many were the result of failure during a ride or of over-tightening. Or both.

B10s, apparently, were not in production for very long.  On the other hand, Simplex made plastic derailleurs for more than two decades.  That could be the reason why we see more extant Simplexes than B10s.  That, and the fact that during the Boom, many people bought ten-speed bikes, rode them once or twice and relegated them to basements and garages for decades afterward.  Then again, the same could be said for some of the Treks that came with plastic headsets:  People bought them for tours they planned but never did, or they actually did their planned tours and, afterward, their lives took them away from cycling.  Or thet simply found they didn't like bicycle touring.

In any event, it seems that--unless you count carbon bikes and parts as plastic--there have been few, if any, attempts to render major bicycle parts in the material during the past three decades or so.  Could it be that carbon bikes are really a disincentive for parts manufacturers to make plastic components and accessories to be used on non-carbon bikes?  Or is it--as rumors have it--that plastic derailleurs, headsets and other parts really disintegrate under you as you ride, or break at the worst possible moment?

What They Did Before And After They Raced: Jean Hoffmann and Jacques Anquetil

An article in BicycleQuarterly No. 54 outlined the life and career of Jean Hoffmann.

Jean Hoffmann.  From pdw

Chances are, unless you’ve read BQ 54, you haven’t heard of him.  I hadn’t either, until my copy of the magazine showed up in my mailbox. On the other hand, anyone who has followed bicycle racing for as long as it takes to lap the Arc de Triomphe has heard of someone who “served in the trenches”, if you will, with him.

That compatriot is none other than Jacques Anquetil, the first five-time winner of the Tour de France. 

Jacques Anquetil.  From Ina.fr

They rode for the same team—the legendary Raphael Geminiani —though not at the same time.  They did, however, serve together with the same French Army battalion in Algeria.  (At that time, even such luminaries as Yves St.Laurent had their careers interrupted for mandatory military service.)  Although Hoffmann crashed and was dropped after the 14^th stage of the only Tour he rode, in 1959,  he arguably was, in his own way, as much of an iconic figure of French cycling in the 1950’s and ‘60’s.

In those days, someone who won amateur hill-climbing competitions like the Poly de Chanteloup or rode at or near the head of a major randonnee like the Paris-Brest-Paris could garner nearly as much attention as the professional riders who won multi-day racers (which France certainly didn’t lack!) enjoyed.  In fact, Hoffmann was known in the cycling press—a major part of the French media at that time—before anyone heard of Anquetil.

It didn’t hurt Hoffmann’s popularity that he so dominated the qualifier for the Poly—on, as he recalls, a heavy old bike with a single chainring and “way-too-large gears” at age seventeen that Rene Herse loaned his own bike to Hoffmann for the actual competition.  It almost goes without saying that Herse was delighted to have Hoffmann on his team—so much so that he gave Hoffmann a velo de service that was chromed, like Rene’s own, rather than the typical Herse blue (a lovely color, by the way) other team members received.

After riding on Herse’s team for a few years, Hoffmann couldn’t resist the urge to race.  He quickly found success, mainly because of his climbing abilities.  One of his major successes was winning the climber’s jersey in the 1955 Peace Race, often nicknamed “the Tour de France of the East”.  He was selected to ride in the 1956 Olympics.  But, fate intervened:  He—and Anquetil—were drafted.

After completing his military service, Hoffmann continued his racing career, turning pro in the year he rode his only Tour.  He would retire from racing after three years.  He never stopped riding, though:  He rode gentleman races—which pitted young riders against older ones and gave the latter a handicap based on his age—as well as rides like the Audax and Randonee Paris-Brest-Paris.  Today, at age 81, he does a 50 km ride (which includes at least one climb) every day. 

Interestingly, he rides a Look carbon bike.  He has no interest in machines like the one he rode for Herse’s team in the ‘50’s.  In those days, it was the most technically advanced bike available; being a racer at heart, he moved on to what technology offers today.

As we all know, Jacques Anquetil not only rode in the Tour; he would become the first cyclist to win that race five times.  No one disputes that he is among the handful of greatest racers of all time: in the same league as Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault, Gino Bartali and a few others.  He retired in late 1969. 

In contrast to Hoffmann, Anquetil did not come to racing from the world of randonees and other such endurance rides.  He also didn’t retreat to that milieu.  In fact, Anquetil got on his bike only three times after retiring.  “I have done enough cycling,” he declared. He died in 1987, at the age of 53.

After reading the BQ article, I have the impression that Jean Hoffmann might live to be 100—and won’t stop riding!

Going Dutch In The Snow

Yesterday, for the first time in years, I didn't anyone riding on the streets.  Today there were a few people pedaling; I think they were all making deliveries.  

The cold, snow and wind were enough to keep most people off their bikes.  However, I think that fear was also another factor in keeping cyclists off the road.  

Even under optimal conditions, cyclists (at least here in the US) are seen as "crazy".  Of course, someone who imputes insanity to others is portraying him- or her-self as sane or right and, by implication, entitled.  Thus many motorists see themselves as the rightful owners, if you will, of the streets and roads.  They expect cyclists to defer to them or simply to get off the road altogether, ostensibly for their own safety but actually to, as a British neighbor of mine says, to "keep up that All American idea that everything should facilitate the movement of automobiles".

Now, I know that there isn't much of a comparison between my hometown of New York and a city like Utrecht in the Netherlands.  Still, I think the following video of cyclists commuting in the snow in the ancient Dutch capital can offer some lessons to American urban planners:

This Made The World A Little Smaller

It is indeed a small world.  (You can add the "after all" if you like.)

And, yes, technology makes it smaller all the time.  

Case in point:  eBay.

I have bought and sold all sort of things, most of them bike-related, from and to people in Canada, England, France, Germany, Belgium, Italy,the Czech Republic, Slovenia,Japan, China and Korea as well as places in the United States I'd never heard of until I encountered them on what's been called "the world's largest garage sale".

Occasionally the interaction involves more than just the sale or purchase of something.  I have had exchanges about people's names (including one with a customer who just happened to have the same name as one of my favorite poets), hometowns or some aspect of cycling or local culture.

My latest such interaction, though, is one of the most interesting.

I sold a nice Nitto stem that, I finally admitted to myself, I'd probably never use.  It was not the right size for a current project.  Perhaps one day the "right" bike or situation would come along--but when?

I kept it mainly because it's a Nitto (Each of my bikes except my LeTour have at least one item from that company on it!) and because it's interesting. It's one of a brief run of TIG-welded chrome-moly stems Nitto made in the early '90's.  Of course, being a Nitto, the welds were much cleaner, neater and  less bulky and blotchy than on other welded stems of that time--including those of pricey after-market stems like Syncros and Control Tech.  The stem I sold is probably one of the few welded stems that wouldn't look out of place on a vintage road  bike.  

The fellow who bought the stem e-mailed me.  He said he received the stem and left nice feedback.  Then this: "I noticed the name on the shipping label.  Are you the gal with all of the Mercians?"

It is a small world indeed!  

P.S.  This is not the first time eBay has "outed" me.  A couple of years ago, a fellow bicycle blogger (whom I read regularly) also connected my eBay ID with me when he saw my name above the return address on the package I sent.