An Ovation That Hasn't Found Its Audience

We've all seen, or at least heard of, "solutions in search of problems." They seem, as often as not, to come from engineers, inventors or simply geeks who have too much time on their hands.

The bicycle world has seen its share of such "solutions".  What's sad or funny, depending on your point of view, is that even if no problem is found for the solution and said solution fades away quietly, someone might revive it.  An example is elliptical or ovoid chainrings, which I discussed in an earlier post.

I remember hearing about another innovation that left me wondering, "And the purpose of this is...?"  I hadn't thought about it in a long time until someone passed along a video of it:




I guess somebody figured that if four-wheel drive works for jeeps, two-wheel drive would work on bikes, especially mountain bikes. 

The bike in the video made its debut in a 2005 robotics show.  I have to wonder whether its inventors knew that, nearly a decade and a half earlier, someone else had the same idea. And it shared the same problem with its descendent:  It didn't work very well. 

The Legacy Ovation first saw the light of day in 1991.  I remember reading about it in one of the magazines at the time.  If it looks like a conventional mountain bike with an oversized speedometer cable running through it, well, that's pretty much what it is.  Besides the cable, the other major difference is in the front wheel, which is a rear wheel, and the fork, which has a diameter of 135 mm (most front forks are 100 mm) to accommodate the wheel. 

 

As you can probably tell, the rear wheel (the one that's actually in the rear) is powered in the same way as rear wheels on other bikes.  Each end of the cable has a rotor-cut gear mounted on the side opposite the freewheel.  So, the rotation of the rear wheel causes the front wheel to turn.

The idea actually sounds pretty good.  One of the problems, though, is that of "fighting" the gear, which has a lot of resistance.  Also, having such gears exposed leads to rapid wear and deterioration, which was the downfall of the few Ovations that were ridden.

Solutions like the Ovation don't always find a problem, thankfully.  But sometimes they find a market.  And the bicycle's developers confidently predicted that their invention would capture "20 to 40 percent of the market over the next few years".  It, of course, didn't, and neither did the bike shown at the robotics show.  From what I understand, there have been a couple of other attempts, since then, to create a two-wheel drive.  They didn't gain traction (pun intended) with the public, either. 

Still, even if the two-wheel drive bicycle doesn't find the problem it's supposed to solve, the idea probably won't die.  As long as there's the potential for finding an audience, would-be inventors and entrepreneurs will probably continue to work on this "solution", whether or not it ever finds its problem.

Easy Like Your Sunday Best

Some things never end.

Like the mails and e-mails I get from the alumni associations and foundations of the schools I attended.  I've moved to different states and countries, changed my name and even had mail delivery stopped during a time when I was feeling depressed and hermetic.  About the only thing those schools didn't seem to know is my financial situation:  They hit me up for money, whether or not I have it!

Then there are those mails and e-mails you get from retailers.  You might have bought an inner tube or a beanie ten years ago, but they send you announcements of the sales they always seem to be running.  Some of them spend more trying to sell more to you than you spent in their establishments in the first place!

One such e-mail I received today is trying to get me to buy "discounted" bike jerseys that were way overpriced to begin with.  I had to chuckle at one of those offers, though:  for a Castelli jersey called "Sunday Best".

Growing up in blue-collar Italian-American Brooklyn and New Jersey, I never heard the term.  It still sounds vaguely WASP-y to me.  So, perhaps, it's no surprise that the jersey looks like this:

If that jersey has anything to do with Sunday, the design makes me think of the Episcopal Church--which, according to Robin Williams (who grew up in it), offers all of the ceremony of the Roman Catholic Church (in which I grew up) with half of the guilt.

When I attended Catholic school, we wore our school uniforms to church.  After my family moved to New Jersey, dress codes relaxed and most of us didn't have a "best" outfit for church:  We just cleaned ourselves up and made ourselves more or less presentable.  For most of my adult life, I haven't attended church and when I go to any sort of social function, it's usually with people who don't care about what I look like.  If I wear a skirt or a tailored pair of pants, most people I know would say I'm "dressed up", though my attire might not be most people's idea of "Sunday Best."

Ironically, through all of those years I was racing or just riding with racers (or "wannabes"), my "Sunday Best" included bike kit.  Most of us took long or "fun" rides on the Lord's Day.  Or we might join organized rides, such as the one a bunch of us used to take from Brooklyn to New Hope, PA and back.  On such rides, I used to wear my "best" (or, at least, favorite) jersey or outfit.  

These days, I don't wear cycle-specific clothing, except for gloves.  So my "Sunday Best" is whatever I happen to be wearing when I'm riding on the second day of the weekend.

Now, if I'd lived another life, my "Sunday Best" might look like this:

Nine Years, Nine Lives--With Max

It's hard to believe that I was once nine years old.

It's also hard to believe that, not so long ago, really, nine years seemed like a geologic age.

Now it goes by in the blink of an eye.  Periods of five and ten years start to blend with each other.  I realized as much when I made an offhand remark that something looked "Soo '80's."  

The person to whom I made the remark corrected me:  "More like early '90's".  After thinking for a moment, he said, "The '80's, the '90's--at our age, the decades run together."

That I can think of nine years as, in essence, a decade, says something about my perception of time.  I think I've also reached a point where any amount of time more than fifteen years becomes twenty.

Anyway...today, the 9th marks nine years of a relationship--with someone who, proverbially, has nine lives.

I am talking about none other than Max.  

Whenever I come home from a bike ride, he circles my wheels and my feet.  I feed him and, as soon as he's sated, he climbs onto my lap, whether I'm drinking, eating, reading or just spacing out.  

It still amazes me that such a wonderful cat came my way--and I didn't pay, or really do, anything to get him. In an earlier post, I told the story of how he came into my life. Whatever I've spent on him--which, really, isn't much--has been a pittance.  After all, when he climbs and walks on me, I feel as relaxed as I do after a good massage.  And when I'm tired or feeling blue, I talk to him and feel as if I've had a nice therapy sessions.

In  brief, he's a stress-reliever.  Of course, I don't tell him that:  I don't want to reduce him to mere usefulness.  I simply love having him around, and I hope he's around for some more years.  He's fifteen now, according to the vet who examined him just before I took him in.  In the scheme of things, that might just be the blink of an eye.  But it is a relationship, it is a love--which is to say, it is a life.

More Proof There's Nothing New

One theme to which I often return in this blog is "there is nothing new under the sun".  Just about every "innovation"--whether or not it actually changes the way we ride, or simply look at, bikes--has been done before.  I include bicycle frames made from aluminum (1890s), titanium (also 1890s) and carbon fiber (1970s, possibly even earlier).  I also include most newfangled componentry. Also, everything we associate with modern bike componentry--including "freehubs" and dual-pivot sidepull brakes--had been done before Shimano introduced them in the late 1970's and early 1990's, respectively.

Turns out, the "new" genres of bicycles aren't so new, either.  Although they weren't called "mountain" or "off-road", there were surely bikes that were, or at least seem like, prototypes of what we see on trails and in the woods today.  Ditto for folding bikes:  As I've mentioned in an earlier post, some were made for the French Army during the 1890s. 

And, as it turns out, "fat tire" bikes were rolling, bouncing and thumping along New York City streets (some of them cobblestoned) more than eight decades ago.  At least, that is what this Safety Day Parade photo from 1930 could lead us to believe:

 

 

 

But that bike had nothing on this "fatty", which beat it by sixteen years--and was aquatic, to boot:

That bike was entered in a waterbike competition on Lac Enghien, just north of Paris, in 1914.

Speaking of Paris:  When I saw this, I thought it was an entrance to a Metro station:

If it flew, I'd love to know how far.  Can you imagine having a waterbike and an aerobike?  You'd be ready for any disaster!

It's About Time They Took Control Of Those People!

There was The Look.

It was knowing and hateful--with a healthy dose of fear mixed in.  The giver wanted to instill fear in the receiver. But the receiver had already done the same:  Something in his walk or demeanor said, "Don't F- with me."

I know it well because I was the intended recipient of The Look.  And I was getting it because I had wrapped myself in psychological barbed wire.  The person who gave me The Look wanted to sell me drugs or his or her body.  Or lure me into a "theatre"--or an alley. Or try to suck or force me into some other scheme or scam to part me with my money and leave me part of the sidewalk or pavement, at least for a moment.

What I have described was an experience of walking 42nd Street from the Port Authority Bus Terminal to Times Square about thirty years ago.  That stretch of "The Deuce"--the street's nickname--was, of all New York City thoroughfares, the one in which a person had the best chance of being the victim of a crime.

Today Times Square has been turned into a cross between Disney World without the rides and a shopping mall.  Fresh-faced families flock to the same sorts of chain restaurants and stores they could find in their home counties--with higher prices.  And, instead of pimps, prostitutes and hoodlums, costumed street perfomers and "painted ladies" accost tourists and ply them for cash.  Some of those performers are even more aggressive than those old denizens of the demimonde I remember from my youth. 

At least, they seem more aggressive. Or, perhaps, they are because they can be to those fresh-faced families, who have no experience in walking by people they have never seen, and never will see again.  They do not have the ability to wrap themselves in psychological barbed wire and be unaffected by The Look.

Now the City Council is scheduled to vote on a measure to regulate those ersatz Batmans and Wonder Women, and all of the other costumed characters who terrorize Times Square.

I used to fancy myself a libertarian. Sometimes I still do.  But I know when regulation is necessary, or at least beneficial.  This is one of those times. I mean, do we want people running around the fashion capital of America looking like this?:

 

More Aerodynamic? More Ergonomic? Maybe Not, But They Were Pretty

A few posts ago, I mentioned the Shimano Dura-Ace aerodynamic (EX and, later, AX) components of the early 1980s.  While the components themselves didn't catch on quite as much as Shimano hoped, they had (and still have) their devotees. More to the point, they have their influence on today's components and bikes.

Perhaps no part of the EX system better epitomized the ensemble's inability to catch on with the cycling public and its long-term impact than the Dyna-Drive pedals. 

 

The Dura Ace EX Dyna-Drive (DD) crank was actually a lovely piece of work and would look as appropriate on a current bike as one of the era, or even an earlier time.  It resembled other Dura Ace cranks made since, more or less.  Its spider and pedal arm have a finish and shape like those of its successors, save for the flare near the end of the crank arm.  There was a reason for that:  the pedal mounting hole was about double the diameter of that on any other crank. 

That oversized pedal hole was made to accommodate the DD pedal, which had eliminated the through-axle found in most pedal bodies in favor of something shaped more like a plumbing joint that mounted outboard of the pedal.  The bearings were inside of it.  In contrast, most pedals have a set of bearings inside each end of the body.

In addition to lighter weight (about a third less than Campagnolo and other quill-caged road pedals of the time), this setup, because of the size of its mounting, was supposed to be stiffer. I never used the pedals or crank myself, but I knew a couple of cyclists who did and wouldn't use anything else. 

 

 

The mounting system also resulted in a pedal platform that was lower than, rather than level with, the center of the mounting hole in the crank arm.  As a result, at the bottom of the pedal stroke, the bottom of the foot was lower than the pedaling axis.  This was supposed to offer better biodynamics in the pedal stroke, which would lead to a more even power transfer throughout the rotation of the pedal. 

To me, it sounds like the benefit the Biopace (slightly elliptical) chainrings Shimano would make around the same time.  As I mentioned in an earlier post, I never used Biopace for any length of time, so I can't say whether or not they actually offered the claimed benefit.  Likewise for the DD pedals, which I never used.  I will say, however, that the few cyclists I knew who used them liked them very much.

Shimano made adapters so that conventional pedals could be used with DD cranks, or so that DD pedals could be used with conventional cranks.  I don't know anyone who used those, but I saw some cyclists ride conventional Dura Ace cranks and the pedals of their choice with the other aerodynamic EX parts.

Eventually, the 600 racing series and the then-new Deore touring and mountain bike parts would also offer the Dyna Drive option.   They were even less popular in those ensembles than in Dura Ace.  It makes sense, especially for the touring ensemble:  If your DD  pedal hit a curb or got snagged on a rock or tree root in the middle of nowhere, you probably wouldn't find a replacement--or even an adapter--in the local farm machinery shop where bike repairs are done.

Still, those pedals have had a lasting influence:  Look and other contemporary pedals, while they don't completely eliminate the through-axle, use a shorter axle than on earlier pedals.  More important, though, they use one set of oversized bearings on the side of the pedal that mounts to the crank, eliminating the bearing on the outer part of the pedal.  This makes lighter, more streamlined pedals possible. 

And, of course, the shapes of many of today's pedals owe much to the aerodynamic design of DD pedals, which in turn were influenced by the Lyotard No. 23, a.k.a. Marcel Berthet, platform pedal.

Free Bikes To The Polls

Since February began, 32 US States have held primaries or caucuses to determine who the Democratic and Republican parties will nominate as their Presidential candidates.

Today Wisconsin will join them.  The Badger State is also holding elections for State Supreme Court justice as well as a number of local offices.

Commentators have lamented the relatively low voter turnout thus far in other primaries and elections.  Campaign workers for all of the candidates have tried all sorts of things to encourage people to go to the polls.  

Bublr bikes in Milwaukee

Kevin Hardman has, perhaps, one possible solution.  He is the executive director of Bublr, Milwaukee's bike share program.  Today, he announced, everyone in the city is entitled to one free 30-minute ride on a Bublr bike.  To redeem it, a rider has to enter the code "1848" (the year of Wisconsin's founding) at any Bublr station.  As with most bike share programs, a credit card is needed to check out a bike; rides over 30 minutes will cost $3 for each additional 30 minutes.

According to Hardman, eight of Bublr's 28 stations are located within two blocks of a polling station.  The other twenty, he says, are "convenient" to places where people can vote.

So let's see...The bikes are blue.  Who do you think cyclists will vote for?

Even They Wouldn't Get Free Advertising From Me

Once, when I was a kid, someone gave me a T-shirt with the Coca-Cola emblem on it.  I always liked Coke; I drink it (the Mexican version) on the rare occasions when I drink soda.  So, I thought nothing of wearing that T-shirt until someone--an uncle, I think--told me I should be paid for wearing it.  "It's advertising," he explained.

He was right.  Still, I sometimes wear T-shirts or other items with the name of some product or business on it--as long as I don't have to pay for it.  I try, though, to wear only those products and companies I actually know and like.

But I don't think I'll ever get a tattoo with a business trademark.  For one thing, I don't think I'll ever get inked:  It's just not my thing.  For another, I wouldn't want to be marked more-or-less permanently with a business or product name.  At least you can take off the T-shirt or hat or whatever if you don't want to be a billboard for Al's Garage or whatever.

No, I wouldn't get a "tat" even for this esteemed company:

From:  Cycling Tattoo Gallery

as much as I've always liked their flowing-script logo (especially the one with the "globe" around it).

What The Wind Could, And Could Not, Stop

This is one of the first signs of spring.  It always warms my heart.

However, the cherry blossoms could not warm the sky.  In fact, I marveled that those buds were still on the branches:  When I opened my door this morning, the wind took it right out of my hand!

Here's another tree with delicate flowers that can stand in defiance of the gusts, and of the unseasonable cold. (The temperature was exactly at the freezing point of water.)

As you can see, the tree behind it, perhaps because it's bigger and, maybe, older, is a bit more cautious:  It still hasn't exposed its buds.

Tonight, according to the weather forecast, we might have snow mixed in with the showers.  The snow will probably melt as soon as it touches the ground.  Still, it's odd to know that it's coming nearly two weeks after the official start of spring--and just days after the temperature reached 25C (77F).

I rode to work in rain the other day.  So did a few other cyclists.  However, I haven't seen anyone, save for restaurant delivery workers, riding bicycles today, even though it's Sunday.  Riding in 30KPH (50MPH) gusts is one thing:  tiring.  All right, it's also exhilirating.  But getting knocked over by that same gust blowing at your side--especially in traffic--is scary, if not dangerous.  I know:  It's happened to me.  And I don't blame anyone else who wants to avoid the same.

Curious George Never Could Have Ridden Their Bikes

When I was a little one, schools--including the one I attended--had book fairs.  There were books about famous people, sports, history, pretty things, and all sorts of other topics.  And, of course, there were the "story books".

Among the most popular of the latter category were the "Curious George" books.  I think I read every one of them; they were among the ones I most looked forward to seeing.

For those of you who didn't grow up with him, CG was a monkey adopted by The Man With The Yellow Hat.  As his name indicates, George could not keep himself from checking things out.  If TMWTYH told him to leave something alone, he'd open it, play with it, try to build something with it or even swallow it--any of which could lead him to all sorts of adventures and misadventures.

So it was in Curious George Rides A Bike.  The Man With The Yello Hat buys George a two-wheeler.  He goes to help a newspaper boy with his route but makes boats out of the newspapers and sets them adrift in a stream.  Then he runs the bike into a rock, wrecking the front wheel.  Some workers with a traveling animal show fix the wheel and invite George to join.  (Hmm...There's an interesting twist on "running away to join the circus"!)  They give him a bugle to play and tell him not to feed the ostrich.  But, somehow, the bugle gets stuck in the bird's throat,and the workers have to get it out.  Then they kick George out of the show for violating the rules and instruct him to sit on a bench until they can send him home.  Meantime, a bearcub escapes and climbs a tree, where it gets stuck until George rescues it in his newspaper bag.  The workers, now proud of George, let him ride his bike and play the bugle in their show.  His act is a hit with the audience, and he's allowed to keep the bugle--and bike.



At first glance, it sounds like the typical shaggy-dog story found in any other Curious George book, except that a bicycle is involved.  But--perhaps not surprisingly--it reflects, at least in some ways, a particular experience of the couple who wrote and illustrated the book.

Hans Augusto Reyersbach and Margarete Elisabethe Waldstein nearly eight years apart in Hamburg, Germany.  Both of their fathers--and Hans' mother--were Jews.  They knew each other briefly when she was a young girl, but would not meet again until she was 28 and he was 36--in Rio de Janiero, where they had gone to escape the Nazis.    They soon married and moved to Paris, where they settled in Montmartre.

While they were in Paris, Hans' animal drawings came to the attention of a French publisher, who commissioned him to write a children's book. The result, Rafi et les Neuf Singes (translated as Cicely G. and the Nine Monkeys) is little-remembered today and might be entirely forgotten had it not featured a monkey named Fifi.

The Reys

The couple--now known as H.A. and Margaret Rey--started to work on a book about Fifi.  But war broke.  One by one, European countries succumbed to the blitzkreig.  When German tanks rolled across the Belgian border, the Reys knew they couldn't stay long in Paris.

But how could they--as Jews (even though Margaret wasn't one by Halakhikh law, she was one according to Nazi codes)--travel without attracting attention?  If they'd taken a train, bus or boat, they would have been "outed" if a conductor or gendarme demanded to see their IDs.  And walking would take too long.

When they realized what their best alternative was, Hans got to work.  He assembled two bicycles from spare parts.  Margaret packed a few belongings--including the manuscript for The Adventures of Fifi, for which they had just received an advance.

They mounted their bikes and pedaled south and west--just two days before Paris fell to the Nazis.  They stayed in farmhouses and barns en route to Bayonne.  Along the way they were stopped once, by an official who thought they might be German spies.  He searched their bags and, after finding a manuscript for a story about a monkey, sent them on their way.  

In Bayonne, Portuguese Vice-Counsul Manuel Vieira Braga (following the instructions of Consul Aristides de Sousa Mendes in Bordeaux)  signed the visas that saved the couples' lives.  The Reys continued riding until they crossed the  Spanish border, where they bought train tickets to Lisbon. From the Portuguese capital, they set sail for Brazil.  Back in Rio, they made arrangements to move to the United States.

Four months later, they were in New York, where they settled in Greenwich Village.  Only a week after that, they found a publisher for their book.   However, that publisher thought "Fifi" was a strange name for a boy monkey and suggested changing it.  Curious George was pubished in 1941.  Over the next quarter-century, H.A. and Margaret Rey wrote, illustrated and published six more Curious George stories, including Curious George Rides A Bicycle in 1952.  

H.A. Rey reads to children in the 1970s.

It's often said that writers write what they know--which usually means their experience.  Curious George rode his bicycle to adventures--though not as harrowing as those his creators experienced!

"An Event That Can...Rival The Tour De France"

Three weeks ago, Geraint Thomas of Wales won the Paris-Nice stage race.  A week later, Arnaud Demare took first place the Milan-San Remo two weeks ago. And, this past Sunday, Peter "The Terminator" Sagan, claimed victory in Gent-Wevelgem.

The 2016 road racing season is well underway.  It includes hundreds of events all over the world, but the "main" ones are seen--at least by casual cycling fans--as the Giro d'Italia in May, the Tour de France in July and, in late August and early September, the Vuelta a Espana.

Although there are more races in North America than ever before, none has the profile of "The Big Three", or even the early-season classics like Paris-Nice, Gent-Wevelgem and Milan-San Remo.

It takes a lot of time and money to start a new race, let alone make it attractive to the top competitors as well as fans.  Folks with big bucks tend not to be the most patient of people; they want a quick return on their investment.  But there are some exceptions, such as the fellow who said:

I really look to the future.  I always do, with investments, with deals, with events with anything,  and I think this is an event that can be tremendous in the future, that can really very much rival the Tour de France.

Hmm..."rival the Tour de France".  He really is thinking big.  I'm surprised he didn't say, "It's gonna be huuuge!"

 

Aerodynamics Or Weight?

Ever since I wrote yesterday's post, I have been thinking about weight and aerodynamics. 

For decades, cyclists have debated which is more important.  Actually, when I first became a dedicated cyclist four decades ago, there didn't seem to be much talk about aerodynamics.  Then, the emphasis was on weight.  That makes sense when you realize that many new cyclists--myself included--noticed how much lighter those newfangled (or so we thought) ten-speeds were than the three-speed "English racers" or balloon-tired Schwinns and Columbias we and our parents had ridden up to that time.  We went faster on those new "lightweight" ten-speeds; racers raced on them (or bikes that looked like them).  Ergo (that wasn't yet the name of a brifter), light weight must equal speed and all-around performance.

The tuck

At that time, about all that most cyclists knew about aerodynamics regarded their own position on the bike.  We all knew that the "tuck"--in which a cyclist rides as far forward as possible with his or her arms and legs as close to the bike as he or she can pull them in--was the most aerodynamic way to ride.  Oh, and we thought that shaving our legs would cut down on our wind resistance.

Little did we know that around that time, engineers and scientists like Chester Kyle were experimenting with ways to make the bicycle more efficient.  An experiment to find out whether tubular (sew-up) tires were indeed actually better than clincher (wired-on) tires led to a research that culminated with the development of streamlined bicycles, fairings and recumbent bicycles.  It also was instrumental in helping to create much of what we see (and some of us ride) today, such as disc wheels.

At first, only he and fellow members of the then-newly-formed International Human Powered Vehicle Association (IHPVA) seemed interested in his work.  Part of the reason for that is that bicycle racers, especially at the top levels, were reluctant to change equipment that had been working for them.  Even if riders were more willing to experiment, there was the spectre of the Union Cycliste Internatonale (UCI) (yeah, those guys again!), which had a history of declaring records null and void if its members believed they had been set on bicycles that deviated much from prevailing standards.

But, slowly, racers started to take notice and a cottage industry developed in aerodynamic bikes and parts.  The first attempt to bring aerodynamics to a wider audience came in 1981 when Shimano introduced its Dura Ace AX components.   Shimano's motivation for creating and marketing such a group of parts had, not doubt, had at least something to do with its desire to challenge Campagnolo's then-near-monopoly as a supplier for the world's top racing bikes.  It also had to do with its desire to distinguish itself from other component manufacturers--including SunTour--in the eyes of consumers. 

 

Shimano Dura Ace AX Components, 1981

But Shimano didn't get the payoff it had hoped for.  Most consumers, accustomed to the aesthetics of Campagnolo and the new SunTour Superbe components, didn't like the way AX stuff looked.  Also, it was heavier than what either of those companies made, as well as Shimano's conventional Dura-Ace components, and more expensive.  Most cyclists wondered just how much of an advantage they would gain by using aerodynamic components.


At that time, I knew a few cyclists--racers and the well-heeled--who used the AX stuff, usually on bikes like the Miyata Professional.  They all swore by the parts, and the bikes.  Mind you, they were the sorts of cyclists who believed that nothing could be better than an Italian (or, maybe an English or other European) bike with Campagnolo equipment.  Convinced as they were, though, they never seemed able to convince others to switch.

Laura Trott riding with disc wheels.  Oh, she won the gold medal.

Around that time, the first disc wheels and "deep V" shaped rims started showing up.  They, like the AX components and Miyata Pro, had their devotees, but could not convince others to make the switch.  The reservations expressed were the same:  looks, weight and cost.

(I must confess that I was one of those who didn't switch.  As my budget was very limited--I skipped meals and such to afford my Campy stuff--I simply couldn't afford to buy new parts.  Also, because my budget was limited, I was reluctant to try anything new or experimental.)

While the needle didn't move much for most cyclists, gradually time trialists and track riders started to adopt the new aero equipment.  Those probably were the disciplines in which the aerodynamic equipment made the most sense:  In the peloton, or in any other large group ride, you could probably be more aerodynamic just by riding within the group--or simply "drafting" one rider. 

Interestingly, the group of cyclists who did the most to make aerodynamic equipment desirable for others were triathloners.  Perhaps this has to do with the fact that the cycling portion of the triathlon more closely resembles a time trial than a road race, in part because there is no drafting. Also, riding in a more forward position takes weight off riders' legs, which leaves them fresher when the triathloner has to jump off the bike and start running.

It was for the triathlon that the first widely-used aerodynamic handlebar, the Scott DH, was developed. They made the "leap" into pure bicycle racing--as I noted in yesterday's post--when Greg LeMond rode them to victory in the final time trial of the 1989 Tour de France, which enabled him to win the whole event.

Greg LeMond riding to victory.

One thing I remember is that my Cinelli Spinacis added about quarter of a kilo (a bit more than half a pound) to the weight of my Colnago.  And the Spinaci was one of the lightest aero bar extensions available; others added as much as a full kilo to the bike.  Other aerodynamic components required more material, and were thus considerably heavier, than their counterparts. As an example, Mavic's 631 "starfish" crankset, which LeMond rode, weighed 723 grams. On the other hand, the company's 630 crank, patterned after the Campagnolo Record series, weighed only 525. For wheels, the weight difference was even greater:  1500 grams for a typical rear road disc of the time vs. 1110 or less for a wheel with 36 spokes, which was still the norm at the time LeMond rode.





Mavic 631 "starfish" crankset

Which brings me to the question everyone asks:  How much did LeMond's Bottechia aerodynamic weigh?  Well, according to the reports I've read, "more than 25 pounds (about 12 kilos) or even "more than 30 pounds" (about 14 kilos, which I find difficult to believe).  The lower figure is be about two to four pounds heavier than a typical road bike of the time; even if we go by that, we see that you don't ride an aero bike or components for the weight savings.




The bike LeMond rode in the last stage of the 1989 Tour de France.

So...the question remains:  Which is more important, weight or aerodynamics.  If I were a time trialist, I would certainly worry more about the latter. And for climbing or any kind of riding that requires quick acceleration (or deceleration), light weight is more beneficial.  For everyone else:  I don't know what to say.  And as for me: I don't worry about either.

 

Assuming A Postition: Scott DH And Cinelli Spinaci

Today, the Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is one of those organizations almost nobody loves.  There are plenty of good reasons for that:  The organization is often accused of looking the other way when riders are doping--and taking bribes to do so, and threatening lawsuits against those who accuse it of wrongdoing.  It was, essentially, duped (or so it claims) into violating a country's sovereignty.  And the UCI makes and enforces all sorts of rules that defy logic or reason.

However, there was a time--believe it or not--when the UCI actually made rules that made sense.  One of those occasions came in 1997, when it banned aerobar (a.k.a. "tribar") extensions from competition.

Scott DH bar, circa 1988.  Don't you just love that neon yellow? ;-?

 

You have no doubt seen, and possibly ridden, them.  Originally, they were designed and ridden by triathletes.  They caught on with other racers and wannabes after Greg LeMond rode the final time trial stage of the 1989 Tour de France on a bike equipped with Scott DH bars.  He began that day (23 July)'s stage 50 seconds behind race leader Laurent Fignon.  Rarely does any cyclist--barring a crash or mishap to another--make up so much time on a single stage, let alone the final one, which is usually an individual time trial and is, as often as not, ceremonial rather than consequential.

Greg LeMond on his time trial bike--with Scott DH clip-on aero bars--in the 1989 Tour de France.

When it was over, LeMond--whose 1986 Tour victory was the first by an American--left Fignon in second place, 8 seconds behind in the overall classifications.  That was, and remains, the smallest margin of victory by any overall Tour winner. 

Until then, the jury was out on aerobars.  But a lot of cyclists looked at that result--an 8 second lead over a three-week-long race!--and thought that if the aerobars weren't the reason, then maybe, just maybe...

Sales of Scott DHs took off.   The "forward" position mimicked the "tuck" of a downhill skier, which is where the "DH" came from.  (Before they started making aerobars, Scott was a ski-equipment company.)  At that time, a lot of road bikers were taking up mountain biking, some in the form that would later come to be known as "downhill".  That, I believe, accounted for at least some of the popularity of Scott DHs with wannabes.  And, at that time, some cyclists who'd started off as mountain riders were "discovering" road cycling.  And those triathloners who hadn't adopted aerobars up to that time couldn't wait to get them.


The popularity of those bars, naturally, spawned imitators and tweaks.  Some, like Profile, were made by companies that had never before made bike components.  And most of the handlebar manufacturers of that time got in on the action.



Cinelli Spinaci, circa 1990.

One of the best-known of that new breed of bars was the Cinelli Spinaci.  Its forward reach wasn't quite as far as that of the DH.  So, while it wasn't quite as aerodynamic as the DH, it allowed the rider to assume a position more aerodynamic than the normal road-riding position for longer periods of time.   Also, the Spinaci could be set up in a greater variety of positions.  That latter quality also was one of its downfalls.

The ideal position, or at least the one recommended by Cinelli, set the clamps at 45 degrees and the bars parallel to the ground.  But some riders tilted their Spinacis to the "wheel licker" position in the mistaken belief that being in a below-horizontal position made you more aerodynamic.  Others rode them with the bars tilted so that the end were almost in a direct line with the rider's face.  That position was about as aerodynamic as a boulder.

How do I know so much about the Spinaci? All right, I'll make a confession that might cause some of you purists to lose respect for me:  I used it.  I like to think I was young enough to consider it now as a youthful folly.  Although I knew that the bars would wreak havoc with the aesthetics of my Colnago, I rationalized installing the Spinaci because, well, it was Italian--because it was Cinelli, the same brand as the handlebars to which I was clamping it.

I didn't ride them for very long, though.  As I have  mentioned, there was no benefit in tilting them upward or downward.  And even though riding them in the horizontal position was relatively comfortable (especially with the arm rests), I didn't spend much time riding that way.  So, after acquiring them in the spring, I had little trouble selling them in the summer, as they were at the peak of their popularity.

The biggest drawback, though of Spinacis, DHs or any other aerobar lies in using them while riding them in a peloton or any other kind of group or pack.  When you're riding on the extensions, your hands are nowhere near your brake levers.  On traditional road bars, if you're riding in the drops, you can move your hands to the levers relatively quickly, usually enough to avoid a crash or lessen its impact.  The real danger, though, is not just in one rider using it.  As the UCI folk realized, in one of their rare moments of anything resembling clarity or magmamnity, if a hundred riders are using them and one of them goes down, or there is any other emergency, the result could be, essentially, a race that ends by attrition.

Now, having said all of that, I am not trying to dismiss aerobars.  I never cared for the aesthetic, but I can understand why some riders, especially time trialists, would like them.  The UCI, in one of its increasingly-rare instances of clear thinking, realized that there are some situations in which those bars shouldn't be used, and banned them for that reason.
 

Through A Sea Of Molasses

If you commute by bicycle, you know that sometimes your ride home can feel very different from your ride to work.

Sometimes you're happy to get out and get on your bike at the end of your work day, especially if you have a couple of hours of daylight.  Then, your ride home might seem easier and go more quickly than the ride to your job.  You might even take a longer route, or a side trip, as you head home.

Then there are other days when the ride back seems longer and more tired because, well, you're tired.  You mght have had a stressful, or simply long, workday.  I know that when I have early morning classes, conferences with students and a meeting or two--or any unforeseen situation--the ride back might take me a few minutes longer, especially if I'm pedaling in the dark, in the dead of winter.

But yesterday, I felt as if I'd been pedaling through a sea of molasses for my ride home.  That sensation began with my first pedal stroke.  Even mounting my bike seemed more arduous than it did in the morning.

Mind you, I didn't have a tough day at work.   Things went well, actually:  Students were prepared and engaged.  So was I.  Exchanges with colleagues and office staff were pleasant.  Heck, I even stayed a bit longer to get a few things done--and write yesterday's post on a computer at my job.

By the time I got home, though, I felt as if I'd pedaled up every major climb in the Rockies, Alps, Appalachians and Pyrenees, and maybe one or two other mountain ranges.  Those eleven kilometers or so felt like a Tour de France stage--one that combined the mountains with a sprint.

Well, today I realize that I wasn't as out of shape as I feared I was.  My sinuses were spewing more than Mount Vesuvius and Mount Etna, and what it was spewing probably would have qualified my respiratory system as a Superfund site.  And, instead of eating pasta or noodles, my body has the lateral rigidity (sorry for the bikespeak!) of those foods--when they're overcooked.

So today I didn't go to work--or ride for any other reason.  It's odd that I managed not to be sick all winter, and the first week of Spring brought me to this.  Oh, well. It's temporary--I hope.  At least I'm not hurt.