If you came of age as a cyclist, as I did, during the 1970s, the first derailleur you rode might have been a Huret Allvit, Luxe or Svelto, a Campagnolo Valentino or any of the plastic Simplex mechanisms. If you rode those mechanisms enough, they broke or, in the case of the Hurets, developed stiffness or looseness in the pivots that made shifts sloppy and inaccurate--or impossible altogether. And if you rode an Allvit, you broke a cable or two.
Then you took your bike to the shop. The owner or a mechanic (who might have been the same person) recommended a new derailleur recently arrived from Japan. It looked strange: The body of your old derailleur dangled downward, but the body of this new derailleur ran parallel to your chainstay. Its name had a "T" that flared out like a racing stripe, in contrast to the old-world cursive lettering on your old derailleur.
But it was cheap, so you gave it a try. On your first ride, you realize that you don't have to win a tug-of-war with your derailleur to get it to shift from one cog to the next one up, let alone across all of your gears. You also realize that you could shift entirely by feel: your chain didn't have to grind, clatter and clank as you coaxed it from one gear to the next.
Of course, later on you would need to replace that chain and, along with it, your freewheel. Your owner/mechanic recommended a freewheel from the same company that made your new derailleur. When you ride it out of the shop, you are again amazed: You see that your new derailleur, which shifted light-years better than your old one, was shifting even better.
Chances are that your new derailleur and freewheel were made by SunTour, the first Japanese company to pose a real challenge to the old European component makers. It was no wonder that by the end of the decade, more than half of new bikes--including many from old-line European manufacturers like Raleigh and Motobecane as well as upstart American companies like Trek--were equipped with SunTour derailleurs and freewheels.
Today, just about any derailleur made today that has even a pretense of quality owes at least part of its design to that of those SunTour derailleurs. As Michael Sweatman points out in his wonderful Disraeligears, today's Shimano XT-M772 has the same basic geometry as the 1972 SunTour V-GT.
Another component that would be introduced during that decade would have a similar influence. Someone working for an old French rim manufacturer got the bright idea of taking a tubular rim--the kind used for "sew-up" tires--and adding "hooks" to the sidewalls to hold the "beads" of a clincher tire. The tubular rim profile is inherently stronger, per weight, than the box-channel or drop-section clincher rims made at the time; the resulting new rim was about 25 percent lighter than any other clincher rim available at the time. So were the tires designed for it. This development offered performance approaching that of tubular tires with the convenience of clinchers. Also, the rim's width--20mm--matched that of most tubulars made at the time. This made it possible for a cyclist to use clincher and tubular wheels on the same bike without having to readjust brakes or other parts.
The rim in question was the Mavic Module E, introduced in 1975. At the same time, Michelin brought out its "Elan" tire, made to work with the rim. The rim was strong; the tire, not so much. The following year, Wolber came out with another, much stronger (though no heavier) tire for the Module E; other companies--including Panasonic (under the names Panaracer and National) followed.
Every high-performance clincher rim--including the ones on fancy boutique wheelsets--made today uses Mavic's design innovation. (Yes, even those neon-colored V-shaped rims have the double cross-section and bead hooks found on the Module E, and every rim Mavic has made since.) And all of today's high-quality clincher tires use the same bead design Michelin introduced with its "Elan" tire.
Other innovative components saw the light of day during the decade, but I'll mention just one more. If you were riding in the '70's or '80's, there's a good chance you rode it; there's an equally good chance that you're riding something based on its design.
It's a component most of us don't think about very much once it's installed. And, if it's adjusted properly, there's no reason why we should. In its time, it was nearly as ubiquitous as SunTour derailleurs. However, as we will see, as good as it was, it wasn't quite the innovation most of us assumed it to be.
Once we've settled (!) on a saddle that's right for us, and have it set to the height and angle that feels right, we rarely, if ever, pay any mind again to our seat posts. But if we have to replace our saddles--or if we're setting up a new bike--choosing the right seat post make it not only possible, but easy, to place and tilt our seats to the optimal position.
The old Campagnolo seat posts were renowned for their durability and "infinite" adjustability. But, with the two adjustment bolts ensconced between the saddle rails and body, setup and adjustment were not easy, even with the wrench Campagnolo made for the purpose. Other seatposts, such as those from Simplex, were easier to use but, frankly, never won any beauty contests (though I think its headbadge was pretty cool).
Around the same time Mavic and Michelin re-invented the wheel (the bicycle wheel, anyway), there appeared a seatpost that--like SunTour derailleurs--cost much less than their competition but worked a lot better. A saddle setup or adjustment that took half an hour or more--if one had the specially-designed tool for the purpose--could be accomplished in a fraction of that time, with a common 6mm allen key and, best of all, one hand.
Then you took your bike to the shop. The owner or a mechanic (who might have been the same person) recommended a new derailleur recently arrived from Japan. It looked strange: The body of your old derailleur dangled downward, but the body of this new derailleur ran parallel to your chainstay. Its name had a "T" that flared out like a racing stripe, in contrast to the old-world cursive lettering on your old derailleur.
But it was cheap, so you gave it a try. On your first ride, you realize that you don't have to win a tug-of-war with your derailleur to get it to shift from one cog to the next one up, let alone across all of your gears. You also realize that you could shift entirely by feel: your chain didn't have to grind, clatter and clank as you coaxed it from one gear to the next.
Of course, later on you would need to replace that chain and, along with it, your freewheel. Your owner/mechanic recommended a freewheel from the same company that made your new derailleur. When you ride it out of the shop, you are again amazed: You see that your new derailleur, which shifted light-years better than your old one, was shifting even better.
Chances are that your new derailleur and freewheel were made by SunTour, the first Japanese company to pose a real challenge to the old European component makers. It was no wonder that by the end of the decade, more than half of new bikes--including many from old-line European manufacturers like Raleigh and Motobecane as well as upstart American companies like Trek--were equipped with SunTour derailleurs and freewheels.
Today, just about any derailleur made today that has even a pretense of quality owes at least part of its design to that of those SunTour derailleurs. As Michael Sweatman points out in his wonderful Disraeligears, today's Shimano XT-M772 has the same basic geometry as the 1972 SunTour V-GT.
Another component that would be introduced during that decade would have a similar influence. Someone working for an old French rim manufacturer got the bright idea of taking a tubular rim--the kind used for "sew-up" tires--and adding "hooks" to the sidewalls to hold the "beads" of a clincher tire. The tubular rim profile is inherently stronger, per weight, than the box-channel or drop-section clincher rims made at the time; the resulting new rim was about 25 percent lighter than any other clincher rim available at the time. So were the tires designed for it. This development offered performance approaching that of tubular tires with the convenience of clinchers. Also, the rim's width--20mm--matched that of most tubulars made at the time. This made it possible for a cyclist to use clincher and tubular wheels on the same bike without having to readjust brakes or other parts.
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| The original high-performance clincher rim: Mavic Module E, 1975 |
The rim in question was the Mavic Module E, introduced in 1975. At the same time, Michelin brought out its "Elan" tire, made to work with the rim. The rim was strong; the tire, not so much. The following year, Wolber came out with another, much stronger (though no heavier) tire for the Module E; other companies--including Panasonic (under the names Panaracer and National) followed.
Every high-performance clincher rim--including the ones on fancy boutique wheelsets--made today uses Mavic's design innovation. (Yes, even those neon-colored V-shaped rims have the double cross-section and bead hooks found on the Module E, and every rim Mavic has made since.) And all of today's high-quality clincher tires use the same bead design Michelin introduced with its "Elan" tire.
Other innovative components saw the light of day during the decade, but I'll mention just one more. If you were riding in the '70's or '80's, there's a good chance you rode it; there's an equally good chance that you're riding something based on its design.
It's a component most of us don't think about very much once it's installed. And, if it's adjusted properly, there's no reason why we should. In its time, it was nearly as ubiquitous as SunTour derailleurs. However, as we will see, as good as it was, it wasn't quite the innovation most of us assumed it to be.
Once we've settled (!) on a saddle that's right for us, and have it set to the height and angle that feels right, we rarely, if ever, pay any mind again to our seat posts. But if we have to replace our saddles--or if we're setting up a new bike--choosing the right seat post make it not only possible, but easy, to place and tilt our seats to the optimal position.
The old Campagnolo seat posts were renowned for their durability and "infinite" adjustability. But, with the two adjustment bolts ensconced between the saddle rails and body, setup and adjustment were not easy, even with the wrench Campagnolo made for the purpose. Other seatposts, such as those from Simplex, were easier to use but, frankly, never won any beauty contests (though I think its headbadge was pretty cool).
Around the same time Mavic and Michelin re-invented the wheel (the bicycle wheel, anyway), there appeared a seatpost that--like SunTour derailleurs--cost much less than their competition but worked a lot better. A saddle setup or adjustment that took half an hour or more--if one had the specially-designed tool for the purpose--could be accomplished in a fraction of that time, with a common 6mm allen key and, best of all, one hand.
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| French Laprade seatpost |
The Sakae Ringyo (SR) Laprade seatpost was even "fluted" like the Campagnolo Super Record! Yes, it was heavier, though not by much, and the finish--at least on the early versions--was rougher. But, in time, SR cleaned it up and offered another, lighter, version with the kind of finish found on Nitto's offerings (or old Cinelli bars and stems) and one of the most interesting model names ever given to a bike component: Four Sir. (Is that a translation of something from Japanese? Or did it come up during some dada poetry session where the sake flowed freely?)
I don't recall seeing very many Four Sirs: Once SR made its basic Laprade post a little prettier and lighter than the original, there really wasn't much reason to buy any other. Even top-of-the line bikes came with it as standard equipment.
What almost nobody, at least here in the US, realized was that SR didn't call their seatpost "Laprade" just because they thought a French name would make it sound better. Japanese patent laws being what they were at the time, companies like SR could make near-clones of other companies' designs with impunity. The original Laprade seatpost was made in France. Not many made it here to the US, so most of us had never seen it before the SR version came to these shores.
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| SR Laprade, circa 1978 |
As I understand, the original Laprade was a high-end item found mainly on French bikes made from Reynolds 531 or Columbus tubing, and on the Vitus aluminum frames from that country. It was cold-forged and highly-polished, which made it expensive. SR melt-forged their Laprade post, which made it heavier, and didn't finish it (except in the Four Sir version) quite as nicely. But it did the job and didn't detract from the looks of even the best bikes, so it was a runaway favorite both in the original- and replacement-equipment markets.
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| SR Laprade "Four Sir" |
The majority of good seatposts made today are based on the Laprade design. In fact, the manufacturers go as far as to call them "Laprade-style" or even "Laprade" seatposts. The name today refers to just about any seatpost with an integrated single-bolt clamp that adjusts from the underside, in much the same way that "Scotch tape" refers to any clear cellophane adhesive strip, whether or not it's made made by 3M.
Ironically, the French Laprade post wasn't an original.
Now tell me that design from E.C. Stearns--at the time, the world's largest bicycle manufacturer--doesn't look uncannily like the Laprade. I wonder whether the folks who developed the Laprade seatpost in France were aware of Stearns' patent--which, I imagine, had long since expired.
Well, if you've been reading this blog, you know that there really isn't anything new under the sun, at least in the world of cycling. No, not even carbon fiber or titanium frames!
