Shorter And Shorter, A Century Apart

The other day, and in a few previous posts, I mentioned the Rigi frame.  It had twin vertical seat stays, like the twin laterals found on the "top tubes" of many classic mixte bikes (and Vera, my green Mercian mixte).  The rear wheel actually ran between those tubes.

The reason for it was to shorten the bike's chainstays and, therefore, wheelbase.  Shorter wheelbases make for quicker acceleration and response, all other things being equal.  Rigi was probably one of the more extreme results of a race, which ran its course during the late 1970s and early 1980s, to create bikes with the shortest possible wheelbases.

That trend resulted in other permutations of bike design, like curved seat tubes.  It seemed to run again, if briefly and less widespread, just before the turn of this century, when KHS and other companies made bikes (mainly track and fixed-gear) with curved seat tubes.

Like other fads, it's not new.  Within a few years of the invention of the "safety" bicycles, designers and builders had essentially figured out what we now know about bicycle geometry.  For the most part, bikes had longer wheelbases and shallower angles than the ones on current bikes because road conditions were worse (when, indeed, there were roads!). Also, few cyclists owned (or even had access) to more than one bike, so their steeds had to be more versatile.  And, I would imagine, the materials available then weren't as strong as what we have now (most bikes were still made of iron or mild steel) and could not withstand the pounding a shorter wheelbase and shallower angles--which absorb less shock than longer wheelbases and shallower angles--would deliver.

Still, there were apparent attempts to make bikes with shorter wheelbases at the turn from the 19th to the 20th Century. (I can still remember when "the turn of the century" meant the period from about 1890 until World War I!)  This one looks particularly interesting:

If you sneeze on this 1890s "Bronco" bike, you just might go backwards!  All right, I'm exaggerating, just a little.  What I find intriguing--almost astounding, really--is that the auction house selling the bike listed it as a "cross" bike.  Did they mean "cyclo-cross"?  If they did, I wonder whether the bike was intended as such when it was made--and, presumably ridden.

The auction house also says the bike has an "axle driven crank".  Today, we call that "fixed gear":  The wheel and pedals cannot turn independently of each other.  High-wheel or "penny farthing" bikes had such a system--on the front wheel.  

That is the reason why those bikes had such large front wheels:  To get what most of us, today, would consider to be a normal riding gear--let alone anything high enough to allow for any speed--a front wheel of at least 1.5 meters (60 inches) in diameter was necessary.

Hmm...That means the gear on the Bronco must be pretty low!

Low gear and short wheelbase:  Could this be a bike intended for uphill time trials?

Progress And Progressions

Today started blustery and cold but ended with drizzle.  In between, it seemed that the Koppen climate classification for this area changed a couple of times.

Tonight I listened to Obama's farewell speech.  I had mixed emotions:  I am less saddened by his impending departure than I am scared of Orange Man ascending the throne, I mean, assuming the Presidency.  I am glad for what Barack did in some areas, such as LGBT rights and energy sustainability.  On the other hand, the United States has spent more time at war, and more innocent people have been killed, tortured or surveilled, than under any other President in this nation's history.

His speech was followed--at least on the station I had tuned into--by the perfect antidote:  a program called "The World of Jazz," hosted by Dwight Brewster, who has become a favorite of mine.  Tonight's program featured Sonny Rollins and musicians he mentored (who, incidentally, include Brewster).  It was all just right.

And what was I doing while listening?

Yes, my estate-sale find is coming along.  The fenders and handlebars (Porteur) are from Velo Orange.  And the crankset is the same as what I have on Vera, my green Mercian mixte:  a Shimano Deore 110/74 with 46/30 chainrings--a.k.a. Gran Fondo gearing--and a BBG Bashguard in place of the outer chainring.  I found the crank on eBay. (The one on Vera came with the bike; I replaced the rings.).  As I said in an earlier post, I am not looking to do a strict "original" or even "period" restoration, but I want to do things that are "in the spirit" of the bike.  The Deore crank was made a few years later than the bike but it's not unlike some of the 110/74 BCD touring triple cranks--such as the ones made by Sugino--from the bike's era.

I took off the SunTour VGT rear derailleur, which I'm saving in case I ever use the 34t freewheel that came with this bike.  I replaced it with a VXs: the "medium cage" version of the Vx.  Ironically, the Trek 412's original equipment included that derailleur and I just happened to have one in my parts box!

I still have some other work to do on the bike, of course.  But now I'm starting to think of some details that have nothing to do with the function of the bike.  To wit:

Do I use this basic black steel-riveted Brooks B17?  The original saddle was probably an Avocet, which came on most Treks of that time.  And, as far as I know, Avocets were like Model T's:  You could have one in any color you wanted, as long as it was black.

With the black saddle, the bike somehow reminds me of a Fuji.  As I recall, at least one model was painted a blue,and had a a gray panel, similar to what's on this bike--and came with a black "Belt" saddle that looked a lot like this black B17.

I have another B17 in brown (actually, aged honey):

Of course, it is a more elegant saddle than the black one.  I think I like the way it looks on the bike. But I wonder whether it's "too much" or "too good" for this bike.  

Also, I am thinking about how each saddle would coordinate with the bar wrap I plan:  A "barber pole", "candy cane" or "harlequin" of blue and gray Tressostar tape, which I think I'll coat with clear shellac.

I'm guessing the brown/honey saddle would work with it--and with the bags I'll probably use with the bike:  the Ruthworks handlebar bag that's on Vera and a wedge to match it.  (The bag will be moved between the bikes as needed.)  The black saddle would be OK with those bags, but the brown would echo the leather in the bags.

Hmm... Big decisions, right?  I went to my "council" for advice.  

The Afghanistan Of The Bicycle Component World?

The Fatal Mistake was made in 1962.

At least, that's how Frank Berto (the author of The Dancing Chain) and others see it. At the time, the mistake's consequences weren't obvious.  The demise of the company that made the fateful decision took three decades. For a few years after it, the organization seemed to be doing better than ever.  

It's as if someone thrived, prospered and did some of his or her best work--and even looked better than ever--for a few years after swallowing a Death Potion.  The decline and demise would come slowly; along the way, the person who took the poison would have opportunities to take antidotes, or do other things to reverse the damage.  Instead, that person does things that would prolong their suffering and deterioration--all the while denying that he or she is in trouble.

The move I am talking about is not SunTour's decision to out-Duopar the Duopar:  the venerable Japanese derailleur-maker's decline and extinction was indeed protracted, but not quite to the degree of that of the company I'm about to mention.  Also, SunTour's decline was more obvious, as its attempts to come up with an indexed shifting system to compete with Shimano's were ill-conceived and, ultimately, disastrous.

The original Simplex Prestige derailleur, 1962

The Fatal Mistake to which I am referring is Simplex's introduction of their Prestige 532 rear derailleur.  It is, as far as anyone knows, the first such mechanism to be constructed mainly of plastic.  The parallelogram and knuckles were made of that wonder material, but the pulley cage was made of steel.  This resulted in what may have been the lightest derailleur available at the time--and one whose weight (220 grams) would be respectable even today:  about the same as an alloy Campagnolo Chrous or Shimano Ultegra/600 9-speed.

Of course, that Prestige probably couldn't handle 9 cogs and, even over 5, would not offer the same ease and precision in shifting as even Campy's or Shimano's current lower-end offerings.  But, for its time, the first Prestige offered a reasonably good shift, though not as nice as the company's Juy Export 61, introduced a year earlier.  

The JE61 (Who came up with that name?) seemed, at least superficially, to have the same design as the Prestige, the difference being that the JE 61 was rendered in steel.  But it was well-machined and -finished, and had brass bushings in its pivot points, much like the Campagnolo Gran Sport of its time.  In fact, Simplex's derailleur would not compare unfavorably to its Campy counterpart.

The Simplex Juy Export 61.  

Although questions were raised about the Prestige's durability (almost non-existent, at least in its first version), other companies felt they had to offer something at least as light in order to compete.  In fact, one small Italian firm tried, it seemed, to make a derailleur that had even more plastic than the Prestige.

That concern was called Gian Robert.  They seem to have begun making parts--crudely cast and finished copies or near-copies of Campagnolo components--some time in the late 1950s.  Some of GR's stuff made Triplex's products seem refined and elegant.  

One thing Gian Robert had in common with Triplex--aside from its attempts to look something like Campagnolo from a few meters away--is that few of its products made it to the US.  Some GR stuff was offered for a few years in Ron Kitching's influential catalogue, which also essentially introduced Shimano and SunTour to British cyclists. And, not surprisingly, some low- to mid-level European frames had Gian Robert parts hanging from them.

From the Ron Kitching catalogue, 1964

But those Gian Roberts shared an even-less-desirable trait with those first Simplex derailleurs:  They didn't last.  Their attempt to out-Simplex Simplex, if you will, succeeded--if you can call it that--in a perhaps-unintended way. From what I've read, GR's plastic derailleurs had even shorter life spans than the first Prestige derailleurs. According to one account in a British cycling magazine, the GR did reasonably well with a straight-block 14-18 five-speed freewheel.  Then again, what derailleur didn't?  But any attempt to use the derailleur with larger cogs--even as small as 22 teeth--resulted in the derailleur bending rather than moving the chain onto the cog.

Now, to be fair to Simplex, they did improve subsequent versions of their Prestige derailleur, adding steel reinforcement to the parallelogram plates.  (The later Prestiges had blue or red badges on black plastic parallelograms; the first version had a parallelogram that looked like it was made of pus-colored sparkles.  And they would make some very nice derailleurs, including one Bernard Thevenet rode to victory in the Tour de France, as well as the best non-indexed shift levers ever made. (I rode them with a Huret Jubilee rear derailleur on an otherwise all-Campagnolo-equipped bike.)  But few companies can survive on one product, as Simplex seemingly tried to do with its shift levers.

Gian Robert front derailleur on Rigi frame.

Ironically, Gian Robert met a similar fate.  Their plastic derailleurs disintegrated.  Their steel Campy knockoffs were nasty-looking and didn't shift much better.  But some of their other products were decent.  And one--for many cyclists, the only GR product they ever purchased--was actually essential for some riders:  a front derailleur which was the only one that would fit on the Rigi frame.

Ofmega Mistral "Maglia Rosa"

As for plastic derailleurs:  A few other companies, none of which exist today, made them.  (Hmm...Could it be that making plastic derailleurs is, for the companies that make them, what invading Afghanistan is for the countries that try it?)  Possibly the most glorious, if you can call it that, attempt was made by Ofmega in the early- to mid-1980s.  Their "mistral" rear derailleur was not only made of plastic; it also came in a dazzling array of colors like "maillot jaune" and "squadri azzuri" that were supposed to evoke major races and teams.  Their "maglia rosa" was intended to remind people of the jersey worn by the leader of the Giro d'Italia (as the "maillot jaune" adorns the front-runner of the Tour de France) but, as Michael Sweatman wryly notes in his Disraeligears, made it look, to some people, like a  sex toy or Barbie doll accessory.

To my knowledge, in the three decades since Ofmega (which seems to have gone out of business about a decade ago) ceased production of those derailleurs, no one else seems to have made a plastic (unless you count carbon-fiber offerings) derailleur.  But, as I have shown in some of my other posts, if an idea is bad enough, someone will try it again.  After my country, which will be the next to attempt an invasion of Afghanistan?