A "Mean Girls Clique"?

I wandered lonely as a cloud

Even if he'd never written another line--or if everything else he wrote had "moon" and "June" rhymes--William Wordsworth would be rightly celebrated as one of the great English poets.  Besides, with an name like that, he really couldn't be anything but a writer of some sort!

Anyway, we all know that clouds don't get lonely. (Or do they? ;-))  But nobody ever went to Wordsworth for a police report because he had what we call "poetic license."

I'm going to borrow it for a moment.  Yesterday, I took a ride to Connecticut.  At the Greenwich Common memorial, I saw this:

Does that vermillion-ish red flower feel lonely next to that sea of pink?  She's on the outside, after all!

And if she feels lonely, does that mean those pink tulips are the "mean girls clique"?

They Made US Cycling History

In less than a week, we've lost three people who, in different ways, helped to shape cycling culture in the US.

Perhaps the one closest to my, and many people's, hearts is Marty Epstein.  If you are not from the New York-New Jersey area, or don't ride in randonees, brevets or gran fondos, you might not have heard of him.  He did, however, start one of the first gran fondo rides here in the eastern US.  It turned Morristown, New Jersey into a cycling mecca.

The town also just happens to be the locale for his shop, Marty's Reliable Cycle, where you could be just as comfortable buying a steel bike of any kind as you could if you were in the market for a Trek Madone or S-Works--or a basic commuter bike, or something for your kid.  He once said his goal was to "change the world through bicycles."  At least he understood that such change would involve all types of bicycles and riders, not just one subculture or market subset.

He went to the Gran Fondo in the sky last Thursday, at age 69, less than a year after being diagnosed with prostate cancer.





How many people who haven't won the Tour de France get a funeral procession like that?

On Sunday, someone who, perhaps, helped to plant the seeds of cycling culture in America passed at age 93.  Unless you are a Schwinn historian or spend a lot of time looking at patent applications, you probably haven't heard of Frank Brilando.  He raced in the 1948 and 1952 Olympics, but his long tenure as a Schwinn engineer earned him his place in cycling history.  He, along with Al Fritz, created the Sting-Ray, Varsity and Continental bicycles during the 1960s.

You may think the Sting-Ray is an abomination only a 12-year-old boy could love, and you may turn up your nose at the Varsity and Continental.  Before Brilando and Fritz developed them, however, few Americans had ridden a bicycle with a derailleur.  Those Schwinns helped to popularize the multi-gear mechanisms and, arguably, paved the way for the Bike Boom of the '70s.  If nothing else, the Varsity and Continental probably got American adults to ride bikes for the first time in decades.

Frank Brilando

Brilando and Fritz also worked on the Airdyne full-body fan-resistance exercise bike.  Once, in a conference room in Taiwan, Schwinn's brain trust were trying to figure out the proper crossover pattern (the relationship between the rider's arm position on the handles and foot position on the pedals) when Brilando realized the best pattern would be reflected in the arm and leg coordination of a baby crawling on the floor.  "So Frank gets down on the floor and starts crawling like a baby," Fritz, who died in 2013, recalled.

Over the same weekend, Roland Della Santa, died at his Reno home, aged 72.  He began building bicycle frames in 1970.  One of his creations won the "best road frame" award at the 2009 North American Handbuilt Bicycle Show.  Like Brilando, Della Santa also raced, and sometimes the frames people ordered were delayed because he was training so much.  

Roland Della Santa with his award-winning frame at the 2009 NAHBS.

But a few frames of his in particular changed the course (pun intended) of American cycling.  He took a certain 16-year-old into his home and admonished the young man for wearing a yellow jersey to his first race.  "I didn't know you're only supposed to do that if you win the Tour de France," that rider recalls.  Della Santa taught the young man about racing, and the European scene in particular.   In fact, he inspired the youthful rider to plan a career in Europe.

Della Santa, of course, built frames for that young rider and became his first sponsor.  When that rider achieved fame and fortune, Della Santa built the first stock steel frames sold under that cyclist's name.

Here's a hint to that rider's identity:  He is the only rider from his country whose Tour de France victories haven't been vacated due to doping.

Yes, I am talking about Greg LeMond. You might say that Della Santa helped him to become what he became. 

Pedals Worthy Of His Bike: He's Making Them

I first became serious about cycling as a teenager in the mid-1970s.  It seemed that every minute, I was learning about some brand of bicycle that wasn't Schwinn, Raleigh or Peugeot, and components--yes, I learned that most bicycles are made from components manufactured by other companies!  So, of course, I encountered all of the traditional European names like Weinmann, Mafac, Huret, Simplex--and, of course, Campagnolo.  Hey, Campy even made parts for high-performance race cars and NASA space vehicles!

Not long after, I would find out about Japanese makers of high-quality equipment like Sugino, Nitto and SunTour, whose derailleurs became my "go-to".  Nitto, Sugino and Campagnolo, of course, survive:  All except one of my Mercians is equipped with Nitto bars and/or stems, and Sugino cranksets.  Negrosa, my black 1973 Mercian Olympic, sports the same-year Campagnolo Nuovo Record gruppo (and Cinelli bars and stem) that came with it.

Sadly, the SunTour name lives only in mostly low-end suspension forks under the SR-SunTour brand.  Weinmann is a marque for mostly heavy and low-end rims made in China or Taiwan, and Mafac, Huret and other classic names are gone altogether.

Another name I encountered in my early cycling days is Chater-Lea.   By the time I learned about them, four decades ago, they were on the brink of extinction.  They would file for bankruptcy in 1987, and seemed to live on only in the memories of those of us old enough (in my case, just barely) to know about classic British bike parts.

Now, I have only seen a few Chater-Lea parts:  sturdy bottom brackets for those pencil-thin cottered cranks that found their way onto beautiful old English (and other) frames before cotterless chainsets (yes, that's what the English call them) took over the peloton and market--and, some beautifully-made pedals.  Their "rattrap" design was something like Lyotard's, but better, in materials, workmanship and aesthetics.

It seems, though, that Chater-Lea suffered the fate of Lyotard and other old-line bicycle component makers in the 1980s:  designs and market preferences changed, but companies like C-L and Lyotard didn't.  With the advent of mid-priced cotterless cranks and clipless pedals, the market for high-quality cottered bottom brackets and traditional cage or platform pedals all but disappeared.  In the meantime, companies that changed their designs and product lines, as often as not, shifted their production to low-wage countries. That is how nearly all of the British bicycle component (and a good part of the country's bicycle) industry, along with many of its counterparts in France and the rest of Europe, disappeared in the 1980s. 

Well, it seems that us old folks (OK! OK!) aren't the only ones who remember Chater-Lea.  Andy Richman, a Brit who lived and worked in Washington, DC, for a number of years, has returned to his native country to  resurrect the Chater-Lea name and oversee the design, manufacture and launch of its first product in more than three decades--and its first new product in more than half a century.  

Appropriately enough, it's a pedal.  But it's not any old crank appendage.  Even someone who's not a cycle enthusiast can see that it's made with better materials and more care--and purely and simply looks better--than your typical "rat trap", with all due respect to MKS (whose pedals I use).  The new Chater-Lea "Grand Tour" pedal is made from marine grade 316 and hardened 17-4PH stainless steel studded with polished brass rivets.  

Oh, and it's made in the UK--in Bristol, to be exact.  "This stuff needs to be made in the UK," says Richman.  It's "high-end, beautiful, artisanal," he explains.  "If jobs are going to come back to the UK, it's got to be for making this kind of stuff."

The new Chater-Lea Grand Tour pedal

Chater-Lea made "this kind of stuff" that was the class (along with BSA) of the bicycle component world.  Begun in 1890, it would branch out into motorcycle and car parts, and complete motorcycles and cars.  During World War II, it made parts for the Mosquito Fighter Bomber.  After the war, Chater-Lea returned to its bicycle roots and enjoyed prosperity during the 1950s but started to falter, along with many other companies in the British cycle industry, during the 1960s.  (Little did we know that all of those Raleigh and Dawes bikes we saw during the 1970s Bike Book were the shadows of companies that would "give up the ghost" a decade or two later!)  

Richman is himself a bike enthusiast who knew of the brand before his quest to revive it.  What motivated him, though, was a shopping trip in Brighton that took him to Condor, one of the premier bicycle shops in Britain.  There, he eyed a 1948 Condor frame and persuaded the shop's owner to sell it to him.  As Richman left the store, the owner remarked, "You do know there's really only one set of components worthy of going on this bike?  Chater-Lea."

Someone, I forget who, once said, "If I want to read a good book, I write one."  It seems that Richman knew that if he couldn't find "worthy" components, he'd have to make them.  And he's begun, with his Grand Tour pedal.