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. 

Forty Years Later--Bikecentennial, Punk Rock and Miji Reoch

Mention the year 1976 to most Americans, and they will think of their country's Bicentennial.

Mention that same year to most American cyclists--at least those of a certain age--and Bikecentennial will come to their minds.

Something else that became an important part of our lives is also about to turn 40 this year.

I'm not talking about punk rock.  (Whether you date it to the Ramones' release of their self-titled album in February or the debut of "New Rose" by The Damned that October, punk rock began in 1976.)  And I'm not talking about the founding of Apple or the debut of Big Red Gum or the Honda Accord--or, for that matter, the Laverne and Shirley series.

What I am referring to is the first race in Somerville.

But wait a minute, you say.  First of all, it's the Tour of Somerville, though it is in fact a race.  Second, it first ran in 1940.  Didn't it?

Well, yes--for half of the population.  For its first thirty-two editions (it was not held from 1943 until 1946 because of World War II), only men competed in what has been called "The Kentucky Derby of Cycling".  But in 1976, the Mildred Kugler Women's Open--named for the daughter of Somerville's first winner, a top competitor in her own right--ran for the first time.  Held on Memorial Day, the same day as the men's race, its list of competitors and winners reads like a who's who of women's cycling.  As an example, Sue Novara, one of the best of the generation of female racers  that put the sport "on the map" during the late 1970s and early 1980s, won the race four times.

The very first winner of the Women's Open is someone who, unless you are around my age or are immersed in cycling history, you probably haven't heard about.  But in her day, she--a few years older than Novara and Sue Young--was one of the riders who picked up the torch from those who kept bicycle racing in the US alive during its Dark Ages and became, not only a world-class racer, but later a coach to the generation of riders who included Young and Novara, as well as later riders like Rebecca Twigg and Connie Carpenter.

Mary Jane "Miji" Reoch first won the US National Road Race championship in 1971, at the age of 26. She would go on to win ten more national championships on the road and track before retiring from racing at the end of the decade.  She also led a contagion of American women cyclists on a tour of Europe, where they competed in, and won, still more events.

She also helped to shatter some prevalent myths about pregnancy and cycling.  While she was racing, most obstetricians--nearly all of whom were male--recommended that women stop cycling as soon as they knew they were pregnant.  Their advice was based on the notion, since discredited, that a woman would harm her fetus or baby if she continued to ride.

Well, Miji continued to ride all through her pregnancy.  In fact, she pedaled to the hospital where she delivered her baby!

Miji--almost nobody called her by her full name--managed to earn the respect and garner the affection of a generation of those who raced with and against her, as well as those she coached and fans of racing.   While coaching in Texas, she went for a training ride with one of her students on the morning of 11 September 1993.  She was riding behind that trainee to better study that student's position and technique on the bike when an out-of control motorist struck her from behind. 

That motorist--Mario Nambo Lara--was driving well over the 20mph speed limit on the wrong side of the road when he lost control.  Reports said that she flew more than 90 feet through the air before landing in White Rock Lake.  That night, she was pronounced dead at Doctors' Hospital in Dallas.  

The pickup truck Lara drove was later found, abandoned.  By then, Lara had fled to his native Mexico, where he was captured nearly three years later. It is believed that he was intoxicated on the day he crashed into, and killed, Miji.

The following year she was inducted into the US Cycling Hall of Fame.  Women's racing, as we know it, might not exist had it not been for her work.  And it's not hard to imagine how much more it could have advanced had Miji not met such an untimely and tragic death.  She'd be 70 years old now, but if she could cycle to her delivery room, it's not difficult imagine she'd be cycling and coaching now.