Propulsion Avant?

 Yesterday, I mentioned Specialites TA founder Georges Navette's attempts to make a front wheel-drive (Traction Avant) bicycle.  They failed, but he succeeded in creating a crankset with chainrings of widely varying sizes.

What if he had continued in his quest for alternative ways of powering a bicycle?

Traction, Up Front

 

Specialites TA is known for making high-quality cranks, chainrings, bottle cages and other bike parts and accessories.

Most people refer to the company simply as "TA," without any notion as to what it signifies.*  It never would occur to most people that "TA" is an acronym for "Traction Avant", or front drive.

Specialites TA  founder Georges Navet was, like Tullio Campagnolo, a craftsman with an imagination--what we might call a "tinkerer."  Navet, a joiner/carpenter, was fascinated by a then-new Citroen innovation:  the front-wheel drive automobile.  Why can't we have a bicycle like that?, he wondered.  

Now, if you want to be technical (pun intended), front wheel drive bicycles were not new:  Before the invention of the chain-and-sprocket drive, bicycles were propelled by crams and pedals attached to the front wheel.  That is why front wheels of 1880s high-wheel (“penny farthing”) bikes were usually much larger than rear ones.  Navet, however, wanted to create a front-wheel drive bike on which the gear didn't depend on the size of the wheel.

Sadly for him, none of his traction avant experiments worked.  But in the meantime, derailleurs gained popularity and were finally approved for use in competition.  The real potential, he saw, was in cranksets with multiple chainrings--in aluminum alloy, for light weight--in a wide range of sizes.  A triple crankset greatly expanded the gear range offered by freewheels of the time (just after WWII), which had three or four sprockets ranging in size from 14 to 24 teeth.

(Now you know why those old derailleurs from Campagnolo, Huret and Simplex could wrap up yards and yards, or meters and meters, of chain even if they couldn't handle more than a 24  or 26 tooth rear sprocket:  They were designed to accommodate the gearing available at the time.)

So, in a sense, even though he couldn't realize his vision of a front wheel drive bicycle, Georges Navet achieved another kind of traction avant with his cranksets and chainrings.

*--When I was growing up in Brooklyn, some of the subway cars bore TA logos, for Transit Authority. In the academic world, a “TA” is a teaching assistant:  usually, a grad student who does the work senior tenured profs don’t want to do.  To this day, I associate TA with trains and schools as well as bikes!

I Christen Thee Negrosa

Finally!  She's together!

No, that's not what someone said about me after I figured it all out.  (As if I ever did!)  I'm talking about...another bike.  I mean, what else could I be talking about on this blog, right?

Specifically, I'm referring to the 1973 Mercian Olympic (I mistakenly identified it earlier as a King of Mercia; Grant at Mercian confirmed that it's an Olympic) I bought in June.  The funny thing is that I didn't have to do much to it, but it took me longer to finish than it took to get Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special, ready after the frame arrived.

In the case of Dee-Lilah,  I had all of the parts, and Eli (of Ruth SF Works) made a couple of bags for me and once Hal put it all together, it was ready to go.  I haven't found any need to adjust or change anything yet.

On the other hand, for the Olympic, I had to look for a couple of things, and make a couple of other choices. 

Right from the beginning, I replaced the tires, which were cheap and mismatched, with a pair of Continental Grand Prix 4 Seasons.  I also swapped out the SunTour freewheel for another SunTour--the ProCompe  that came with the bike (and is now on another) for a New Winner--and the unknown-brand chain for a Sedisport that'd been in its package for 30+ years. 

Old Cinelli logo.

After a couple of rides, I knew I wanted to change the stem from the 9 mm extension that came with it to a 10.  The stem and bars that came with the bike were Cinellis, in the old 26.4mm clamp diameter.  I like the bars, so I didn't want to buy new ones.  That meant looking for a stem in the proper diameter.  I also wanted to find one that had the old-style oval logo, like the one that came with the bike, but had no luck there.  Oh, well.  Cinelli has never produced an ugly logo, so I don't mind having the newer one.  Besides, the logo switch seems to have been made not long after the frame was built.

Now, stems before the 1990s didn't have "faceplate" clamps.  So, if you want to switch stems, you have to unwrap the bar tape.  I didn't mind, as the tape that came with the bike was a mess:  It was faded and felt as if it had been epoxied onto the bars.  And the rubber hoods were disintegrating on the brake levers.

Luckily for me, I managed to find a pair of original-style Campagnolo gum hoods for not much more than they cost 40 years ago.  Best of all, they were fresh and supple.  As for the tape, I decided to go with something basic but classy:  black Tressostar cloth tape.  I spiced it up a bit, though, with red bar plugs.

To match those plugs--and the red parts of the frame--I found some vintage red Christophe straps.  And the one truly unsightly part of the bike as I got it--apart from the brake hoods and tape--were the toe clips, which were rusted and pitted even though nothing else on the bike was.  They were from "Cycle Pro", which offered some decent stuff back in the day.  But, since we're talking about a vintage Mercian with Campagnolo parts, I thought only Christophe clips would do.  And they're what I put on those Campy pedals.

Now, of course, we all know that we really make our bikes our own with accessories.  I could have sworn I had a Silca frame pump somewhere--but I couldn't find it for the life of me.  Oh, well.  Hal had one, but it looked like hell.  He made a suggestion:  a Zefal HP or HPX.  I just happened to have one in the latter, in just the right size.  And, while it's probably from the 80s or even later, it looks good, if not period-perfect, on the frame.

And, yes, that's a real, live Specialites TA cage on the handlebars.  Like the brake hoods, it was in pristine condition before I mounted it.  I found, though, that I needed to use longer screws than the ones that came with the clamp.  I have a feeling they were designed for old French handlebars, which are narrower at the "sleeve" area than my Cinellis.

Yes, the bike came with that saddle!

The bag is from Acorn.  I have another, larger, black bag that Eli made.  

Even with those minor changes, I still can't believe my luck in finding that bike--with a Brooks Professional saddle in perfect condition, no less.  And so soon after getting Dee-Lilah:  It was like getting two birthday presents!

After accessorizing, there's one more thing you (or I, anyway) have to do in order to make your (my) bike your (my) own: name it.  So, after putting that bottle cage on the handlebars, I christened her Negrosa. 

Now I really have decisions to make whenever I go out for a ride:  Dee-Lilah, Negrosa, Tosca (my Mercian fixed-gear), Arielle (my Mercian Audax) or Vera (my Mercian mixte).  

I Could Blame Them....For This!

Blame Phillip Cowan.  And Coline.  And Leo.

I swear, they nudged me into it.  Yes, even though Phillip is in another part of my country--and Coline and Leo are in faraway foreign lands--they completely short-circuited my self-discipline.  Really, they did.  You know, they used powers that, in most circumstances, I deny believing in (sort of like a lot of conspiracy theories).  In the end, I simply couldn't stick to a promise I made myself.

And I've waited a couple of weeks to tell you about it, dear readers, because, well, I don't want to show how weak and vulnerable and suggestible I am.  I know, I don't have to pretend to be a Gary Cooper-type macho-guy anymore. (As if I ever did!)  Even when I end up loving what I'm pushed or cajoled into doing, it pains me to admit it!

So what am I talking about?  First, I'll mention the promise I made:  After Dee-Lilah, my new Mercian Vincitore Special came into my life, I swore I wasn't going to buy another bike.  Of course, we all know that such a pledge from a bike enthusiast is about as credible as anything a politician says when running for office.

And into what trepidation and turpitude did this ruptured oath lead me?  Well, instead of describing it, I'll show you the evidence of it:

Yes, I bought the Mercian-painted-like-a-Motobecane I sort of mocked in a post last month.  Really, if Phillip, Coline and Leo hadn't egged me on in their comments, I never, ever would have done such a thing.

Riiiiight, you say.  You believe that like you believe a single bullet killed JFK--or anything in the 9/11 Commission Report.

All right, I'll admit it:  I wanted that bike.  These days, I shy away from bikes in any combination of black and red because it's so common on new bikes--and done with none of the style of those old Motobecanes. Or this Mercian.

I finally bought the bike two weeks after that post, after the price dropped a couple of times. So what did I get?

Well, it's a King of Mercia built with Reynolds 531 throughout (of course) in 1973.  Somewhere along the way, it was repainted (originally, it was all red), which is why the Reynolds 531 decals aren't from that period.

But almost everything else on the bike is:  Check out the 1973 Campagnolo Nuovo Record gruppo.  I love the crank and large flange hubs--with the old-style flat-lever skewers.  And the shifters--with Campy lever covers!

Then there's--what else?--a Brooks Professional saddle.  And the Cinelli bars and stem.  The only non-period parts are the rims, spokes, tires, freewheel and chain.  

I am guessing that the bike originally had sew-up tires and rims, and someone rebuilt those wheels with Mavic Open Pro rims and DT spokes.  Of course, Mavic OP is my go-to rim for high-end wheels, and in silver it looks like a classic rim.  Hey, the wheels even have 36 spokes.  The bike was shipped with cheapo tires, one of which was worn.  I replaced them with Continental Grand Prix 4 Season tires--another favorite.

I also would imagine that the drivetrain originally included a Regina freewheel and chain, which were standard on Campagnolo-equipped machines. (Some Italian bikes came with Caimi/Everest.)  The freewheel I received, however, was a SunTour ProCompe and a chain whose provenance I couldn't determine.  That wasn't a problem:  I replaced them with a SunTour New Winner freewheel (5 speed, 13-26) and a Sedisport chain.  I replaced the two small cogs on the ProCompe and will most likely use it on my Trek.

I've ridden the bike only twice, and am astounded at how similar it is to Dee-Lilah:  very quick, smooth and stable.  The only other change I plan on making is a stem (Cinelli, of course) with a slightly longer extension--and to replace the Cycle Pro toe clips (pockmarked with rust) with a pair of Christophes.  

The bike was shipped to Bicycle Habitat, and Hal assembled it.  Of course, he took it for a ride.  When he called to tell me the bike was ready, he exclaimed, "You're really gonna like it!"  He's right.

I'm so lucky:  Dee-Lilah, and now this bike!  But they are going to have different roles:  Dee-Lilah is a modern/classic or classic/modern bike, depending on how you look at it (Reynolds 853 tubing with fancy lugs, traditionally constructed, kitted with modern components--and a Brooks Pro.)  On the other hand, if I do L'eroica--or any other event for vintage bikes--you know what I'll ride.

(P.S.  I have a handlebar bottle cage which I believe to be a Specialites TA.  If it isn't, it sure looks like one.  I might put it on this bike--if I can find some clamps for it.)

They Don't Make 'Em Like This Anymore!

The other day I was wandering some familiar haunts in Brooklyn with Arielle, my Mercian Audax special.  Along the way, I made a quick detour to look for a sign the world hadn't ended.

All right, so it wasn't so dramatic.  I was, however, relieved and gratified that one of the truly gentle people I've known still has his shop.  If the repair bicycles weren't locked to a rack in front of the store, it would be easy to miss.  

Arnold's Bicycles and Trains is no bigger than my apartment but is chock-full of history. It has been on the same block of Sunset Park for decades.  I don't think Arnold has sold any trains in a while, but I suspect he may have a few leftover tracks or cars in his basement. (Do kids still pine for model railroads at Christmastime?)  He says he still has a few nice old parts but "I've sold most of them over the past few years" as people are restoring all sorts of old machines.

These days, I suspect he makes most of his money from repairs, helmets and other accessories, as well as the occasional new kid's bike.  In addition to his gentleness, everyone who's dealt with him remarks on his honesty, which is probably why his store has weathered the changes in the surrounding neighborhood.

It's hard to believe, but when I stopped by, one of the repair bikes I saw is older than the shop--and possibly Arnold himself:

Like Arnold, it's "the real deal".  In other words, it's what lots of bikes today claim they are:  a Dutch city bike. (Brand:  Victoria) It could have been parked next to an Amsterdam canal yesterday, or 50 years ago, and it wouldn't have looked out of place.  This bike is meant for commuting, as evidenced by at least one interesting feature:

People pay custom frame builders and constructeurs good money for internal generator-light wiring, but here it is on an everyday utility bike!  But the thing that fascinated me most is the crank:

We expect most bikes of this type to have cottered cranskets.  Cotterless sets, we're told, were the province of Campagnolo, Stronglight, Specialites TA and other makers of high-end racing and touring gear.  

This one is made of steel.  Its chainring cannot be changed, but I suspect that it will never need to be.  

Nor will Arnold.  Whatever he sells in his shop, people go to it because of him.  Oh, and there's a place on the next block where you can eat some of the best pork buns you can get without taking a flight to Shanghai!

Back When I Weighed Less, There Was Weyless!

Someone--I forget who--told me that you know you're middle-aged when you see all the young people wearing something and you remember the last time it was in fashion.   

Another definition I've heard for "middle age" is when young people wear what you wore in your youth and call it "retro" or "vintage".

And I started my gender transition just in time for my middle age!

I found myself thinking about such things when I came across this in an eBay listing:

The fact that they're water bottle cage clips alone earns them the label of "retro" or "vintage":  Most new bikes (and a lot of not-so-new ones) have bottle cage mounts brazed on, or otherwise integrated into, the frame; thus, most new cages are designed to be used with them.  The few new cages that are made for bikes that don't have built-in mounts are likely to have some sort of mounting system built into them, or come with straps.

When I first became a dedicated cyclist, some four decades ago, few frames--even at the highest quality and price levels--came with water bottle mounts.  Gradually, they began to appear on top-tier racing and touring bikes and trickled down to bikes in the lower price ranges.  Still, most cages--like the classic Specialites TA and REG models-- came with clamps, even if they were designed to be used with braze-ons.

The Weyless bottle cage, however, was designed to be used with the clips shown.  It did not fit on braze-on mounts.  Even though it was, even with its clamps, one of the lightest cages available (It claimed to be the lightest), it sank like a stone in the cycling marketplace of the late '70s.  That was just about the time high-level racing and touring bikes started to come with braze-ons. Within a few years, that feature would be found on bikes at all price levels.

But there's something else that makes those Weyless bottle clamps "retro." It's a trait shared with another Weyless part:

Yes, they both got that treatment called "drillium".  If you look at racing photos from that period, most bikes had drilled-out brake levers; sometimes chainrings and other parts also had holes in them.  Sometimes it looked silly, but I rather like the way it was done on the brake cable clip in the above photo:  The holes are bigger in the wider part of the clip, near the top, and taper down as the clip narrows toward the mounting screw.

I can remember when Velo Orange and other companies started to offer "drillium" parts about a decade or so ago. I couldn't help but to think back to my early days as a cyclist, when I so wanted one of those racing bikes with drilled-out Campagnolo parts!

Today, almost anyone who buys "drillium" parts or accessories--whether they're vintage or modern-production--is trying to achieve some sort of "retro" look.  The same can't be said, however, about everyone who bought something with the Weyless name on it.

How's that?, you ask.  Well, the company that made those Weyless bottle cages and clips--as well as some of the lightest seatposts, pedals and hubs ever produced--went out of business some time during the late '70's.  Depending on who you believe, its demise was a result of the '70's Bike Boom ending, founder Lester Tabb's shady business dealings or the warranty claims that resulted after it started a line of bike clothing made from wool that wasn't supposed to shrink--and, of course, it did.

I am guessing that the copyright on the name "Weyless" had expired when, during the '90's, Southern California-based mail-order (and, later, online) retailer Supergo used the name for their line of bikes and parts.  I never used any of them myself, but from what I've read and heard, they were made in the same factories, and to almost the same specs, as bikes, parts and accessories from better-known brands, at a lower price.   And most of the riders who used them seemed satisfied with them.

The funny thing is that most folks who bought Supergo's Weyless stuff had probably never heard of the earlier incarnation of the Weyless brand. That is because most of Supergo's Weyless offerings were for mountain biking, in which most of the riders were (and are) younger than those in road cycling.  Most of them weren't even born--or were drinking out of baby bottles rather than Weyless bottles--when the original Weyless parts and accessories were produced!

It's also likely that those young riders didn't know that Supergo, at the time the original Weyless brand was on the market, was known as Bikecology, one of the first large mail-order bike retailers spawned in the '70's Bike Boom!

Hmm...If I'd called this blog "Bikecology", I wonder how many readers would have gotten it.  Perhaps I could have had a contest and the first person to identify it would get some original Weyless part.  The only problem would have been that I didn't, and don't, have any!

Note:  Supergo was bought out by Performance (who else?) in 2003.

A Meeting In Kool Orange

A week ago, I was pedaling Tosca, my Mercian fixed gear bike, along the very northern tip of Manhattan.  I had no destination in mind:  I was simply enjoying a ride on an unseasonably warm day.  

Just before the Broadway Bridge, I stopped for a light.  So did a fellow crossing the intersection from my left.  I couldn't help but to notice what he rode:

We greeted each other. "Don't see that bike very often," I exclaimed.

Bill bought it, and another just like it in another color--yellow--in Princeton, from a Craigslist ad.  The person who sold it told him it came from a shop in that town.

It was most likely Kopp's, I told him.  At the time the bike was made--the early '70's, from what I could see--Kopp's was one of the few shops where one could have bought that bike.  It was one of the few shops that sold high-quality bikes before the '70's Bike Boom; even as the popularity of bikes surged, it was one of the few places that stocked Schwinn Paramounts and the bike in the photo.

It's a Schwinn Sports Tourer, second in Schwinn's line after the Paramount.  The Sports Tourer was the re-incarnation, if you will, of the Superior, which was made in 1962-63.  The model in the photo was made in 1971, the first year Schwinn made the Sports Tourer--which became the Superior in 1976.

The bike Bill rode, like other Sports Tourers and Superiors, was built around a frame constructed from filet-brazed Chrome-molybdenum tubing. The workmanship is quite nice:  the joints are very smooth and rounded.

Ironically, those joints are probably the reason the Sport Tourer and Superior didn't sell well.  Bike books and magazines published at the dawn of the Bike Boom claimed, almost unanimously, that high-quality lightweight bikes had lugged frames.  The brass filets brazed around the joints of bikes like the Sport Tourer and Superior served the same purpose as lugs and, like lugs, made it possible to use thinner gauges of tubing than those used on welded frames.

But those bikes made for nice touring and even all-arounder bikes. Bill replaced the wheels and derailleurs that came with his bike, as well as the handlebar stem.  But he kept the Specialites TA crankset, which he meticulously cleaned and polished.

He also kept another TA item:  the handlebar bag, which LaFuma made for TA.  That bag and crank--and the Brooks B15 saddle-- are almost worth what he paid for the bike!

We enjoyed a pleasant ride into Westchester County and back into the Bronx, chatting about our bikes and lives along the way.  After our ride, he sent me photos of his other bikes.  He has quite the collection, including an early Schwinn Super Sport--which replaced the Superior in 1964 and became Schwinn's third-line bike when the Sports Tourer came out in 1971. 

Perhaps we will ride together again--he, on one of his other bikes, perhaps, and me on one of mine.

Without Cotters, But Not Cotterless?

The French firm Specialites TA is probably best-known for its Pro Vis 5 crankset, often called the "Cyclotouriste" (though TA itself never used that name). Even if you've never ridden one, you've almost surely seen it:

It may well be the most versatile crank ever made:  The outer chainring, which bolts on to the inner bolt circle (the one closest to the center of the crank), were available in  sizes from 40 to 64 teeth.  The middle and inner rings, which bolted to the outer ring, were available in sizes from 26 to 50.  You could bolt one or two rings to the outer ring--or ride just the outer ring as a single.  So it may well be the only crankset that ever was truly designed to be used as a single, double or triple.  (On Vera, my Mercian mixte, I use a Shimano Deore MT-60 triple crank by substituting a BBG bashguard for the outer chainring.)  

Also, it may be the only crank that spawned as many imitations as the classic Campagnolo Record:  Sugino made a crankset that looked like a TA with a satin rather than a polished finish, and an early Shimano Deore crankset had the same bolt pattern, if a different look--as did the Stronglight 49D, the crank I'd probably choose if I wanted one with the 50.4 mm bolt circle and the option of single, double or triple.

Anyway, from the time it was introduced in 1963, the TA Pro 5 Vis became the crankset most commonly used on custom and other high-end touring bikes, particularly tandems, for about a quarter of a century.  Even early mountain bikes sported these cranks because they offered such a wide range of gearing--and, in spite of their appearance, were actually all but unbreakable.

Before Specialites TA introduced the Pro 5 Vis (five-bolt professional), the company produced chainrings used on cranks by other manufacturers.  Founder Georges Navet--who started out with ill-fated front-wheel drive experiments (hence the name:  TA stands for traction avant) wanted to produce a crankset to rival the best ones made by Campagnolo and Stronglight.  

Although Stronglight had been making cotterless cranks--fitted to the familiar square-taper  bottom bracket axle, which they originated--since the 1930s, some were still skeptical about the design.  Track racers were still using cottered cranks into the 1960s and some tourists still feared being stranded somewhere because the local garage or machine shop didn't have the right tools.  Other cyclists simply didn't want to change.

So, Monsieur Navet came up with a crankset that has the same arm and chainring bolt pattern we see on the Pro 5 Vis.  Unlike the Pro 5 Vis, this crankset--called the Criterium--was not cotterless.  So, in following the logic of cycle componentry from that time, you might say it was a "cottered" crank.  And you would be right--sort of.

If you didn't look closely, you might mistake them for cotterless cranks--which they are, sort of.

Specialites TA Criterium cranks with Spence Wolf-modified Campagnolo Nuovo Record rear derailleur, 1969.  From Velo Vecchio.

OK, you ask...What are they?  Well, the cranks were held to the axle by a bolt with an allen key head on one end, and a nut that threaded on to the other end.  That made the "cotters"--and the cranks easier to remove than those of traditional cottered cranks, and didn't require a special extractor, as cotterless cranks require.

An engineer once told me that the bolt holding the Criterium crank to its axle is technically not a "cotter", but rather a "pinch bolt."  The reason, he said, is that the traditional cotter has a wedge cut-out that is force-fit (usually by hammering) onto an axle with a flat spot.  The force--or stress, if you will--is what holds the crank to the axle.  On the other hand, the bolt in the Competition bore no such stress, and it merely holds the arm in place on the nearly pear-shaped axle end. 

The "not-cottered-but-not-cotterless" design had its advantages, in addition to not requiring special tools.  For one, the bolts were less prone to breaking or stripping than traditional cotter pins.  For another, it allowed 4mm of lateral movement in either direction on the axle.  That allowed the crank to be positioned for the best possible chainline.


One further advantage was that the design allowed the cranks to be made from aluminum.  A few companies made aluminum cottered cranks, but nearly all of them broke outright or ended up so gouged that the cotter pins could no longer hold them on to the bottom bracket axle.  But, because the Criterium's pinch bolt did not need hammer-blow forces to attach them, and because the shape of the axle and the way the bolts fitted into the crank provided an inherently more secure attachment, there was little to no danger of breaking or gouging the cranks.

What that meant was that the Criterium was, at the time it was introduced, the lightest crankset on the market.  It weighed even less than the alloy cranksets from Stronglight and Campagnolo because the Criterium's design allowed it to be made with skinny arms, like cottered cranks, and thinner around the axle interface.  it almost goes without saying that the Criterium was lighter, by far, than any other crankset because most--besides the aluminum cotterless sets made by Campy, Stronglight and a few other companies--were made of steel.

Cinelli Super Corsa with the drivetrain shown in the above photograph.  Also from Velo Vecchio.

The Criteriums were, like most Specialites TA products, meticulously made and beautifully finished.  Spence Wolf, the owner of Cupertino Bike Shop (one of the first in the US to devote itself to high-end bikes), equipped a few of the Cinellis and some of the Alex Singer bikes he sold with these cranks when the customer wanted wide-range gearing.  He would pair the Criteriums with a Campagnolo Record rear derailleur he modified with a long pulley cage he made for it.

But Specialites TA didn't make Criteriums for very long.  They introduced the Pro 5 Vis only a couple of years after the Criterium and, by that time, most dedicated, high-mileage cyclists--even track racers and tourists venturing into remote areas--were convinced that cotterless cranks were indeed a superior design.  To use a cliche, the rest is history.

Note:  I have seen only one of these cranks in person, on a bike I tuned up when I was working at the Highland Park Cyclery.  The bike had no markings on it, but the customer said it was "built in France".  I don't think it was a constructeur bike, but it looked fairly high-end.

A Water Bottle Cage Decaleur? From Specialites TA?

I know I'm working on a project--or doing my usual late-winter/early- spring maintenance and overhauls--when I'm spending way too much time on eBay.

That's when I start to find all sorts of weird and interesting stuff. To wit:

The seller, in Austria, says it's a French-made, possibly by Specialites TA. I couldn't find any reference to it in TA brochures or catalogues I've located on-line. Given that the cage is French, and looks interesting and well-made, it's easy to understand why the seller might think it's from TA.

The shape of it is echoed, at least somewhat, in the beautiful Nitto R cage.  But the Nitto cage is not made to be used with clamps. Perhaps the cage I saw on eBay isn't, either. That leads me to wonder whether whoever made the cage also made the mechanism that attaches it to the clamps--and, according to the seller, allows it to be easily removed from the clamps.  Or was it made by whoever bought the cage and installed it on his or her bike?

Hmm...Were water-bottle cages being lifted from parked bikes?  I can't think of another reason for a mechanism like that. A decaleur for water bottle cages?  What a concept!

You're Definitely Not Square If You Use This Cage!

If you were riding before the 1990s, chances are that you used a water bottle cage that looked something like this:

You might still be carrying your libations in such a cage.  There's no reason why you shouldn't.  That you and other cyclists are still riding with such cages is a testimony to their design.

If you have been riding with such a cage for so long, you probably know its design was based on this:

Specialites TA Ref 215

Made by Specialites TA of France, it holds a distinction very few bicycle accessories--and only a few components--can claim:  It was the choice of racers, tourists, "rough stuff" and recreational riders alike.  Whether you pedaled your Cinelli in the peloton, your Herse over the hills or your Mercian through the moors, you used the TA Ref. 215 cage--or, later, the alloy 417. (The 215 was made from chromed steel.)  

Ref. 213

For a time, TA's Ref. 213 cage was also popular until handlebar-mounted cages fell out of favor.  And, in the 1970s, the single-clamp 216 became popular with cyclists whose frames didn't include brazed-on bosses for bottle cages.

Ref 216

I thought I knew the Specialties TA line well.  (After all, when you get to be my age, and cycle for as long as I've been riding, there are times when you think you've seen it all!)  But, in hunting for small parts and accessories for the Trek I'm building, I came across this:

Ref. 218

I have to admit that I have never seen one in person.  I tried to find more information about it, but all I could find was a listing on the Blackbird website.

The eBay listing describes the cage--Ref 218-- as having "an unusual rectangular shape."  Apparently, it was made to fit the Ref. 220 and 222 "randonneur" water bottles, which look like old-fashioned milk bottles rendered in blue anodized aluminum rather than glass. 



Ref. 222 (1 liter; Ref 220 was the .75 liter version)

Someone--Fred "Fritz" Kuhn of Kopp's Cycles, I believe--told me that TA stopped making aluminum bottles because they would oxidize on the inside and poison their users.  I wonder, though, what it was like to use bottles in that shape.  How easy or difficult were they to pull out, or push back in, the cage?

The seller says that modern Fiji water bottles fit into those cages nicely.  I'll take his/her word, though I generally don't buy Fiji, or any other water transported from the ends of the Earth.   I feel certain, however, that the 218 is bomb-proof, as all of the other TA cages were!