Rumors Of The Mechanical Bicycle's Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated For 120 Years

Not to know what happened before you were born is to remain forever a child.

So said Cicero in 46 B.C.E.  Almost two millenia later, George Santayana wrote, "Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

You don't have to be a graduate student in history to understand how true both statements are.  Having spent a decade or two or three as a cyclist or in the bicycle business will teach you that.

I think of Cicero's and Santayana's pearls of wisdom whenever I hear or read about how electic bikes, or e-bikes, are going to turn pedal-powered bicycles into museum specimens.  

That notion wasn't propogated for the first time five, ten or even tweny years ago.  Such a prediction was made in 1970, when Sanyo demonstrated its first electric bike at that year's Expo (a.k.a. World's Fair) in Osaka.

Even that wasn't the first time someone predicted that two wheels powered by two pedals would not survive the shock of electric bikes bursting onto the scene.  The same prognostication was made a century ago, in 1911, when bicycles with electric motors first became commercially available seven years after Popular Mechanics reported that an electric motor could be fitted to a bike.





But predictions that attaching a motor to a bike would turn human-powered vehicles into roadkill go back even further.  Check out an excerpt from a December 1896 Cycling Life editorial:


“Have horseless carriages come to stay? They are still curiosities and only curiosities, although a few limited purposes they may soon be suffienctly practicable. Perhaps, it illustrates what may be expected that the bicycle was a languishing commodity of trade for many a year before it reached that degree of practicability at which wiseacres commence to ask the question “Has it come to stay?” A similar languishing business may be looked for in motor-cycles for all-around purposes…Dealers in bicycles who have the future in view might do worse than by employing their spare time and energy to familiarising themselves with motor construction. Any suitable widening of the scope of the bicycle business can only contribute to enhance its stability and reduce its risks, and there is little doubt that the motor-cycle business, when it comes, will fall into the hands of those who have trained themselves most specifically for the task of taking care of it.”

Compare that with this slide presented by Hannes Neupert--founder of ExtraEnergy, an electric vehicle lobbying organization based in Germany-- at a Light Electric Vehicle Conference in 2010:



How a man can claim to be a visionary while completely ignoring history is beyond me.  Yes, the guy  who delivers your Chinese food may have ditched his old mountain bike for a new e-bike.  But he probably was not riding a bicycle when he wasn't working and if he ever gets a job in which he didn't have to make deliveries, he'll probably never ride anything with two wheels ever again.  

But when he traded pedals for a lithium-ion batteries, someone else started riding a human-powered bike to his or her job at a school, office, studio or store.  And others are signing up for Bike-A-Thons of one kind or another.  Moreover, the cities in which those delivery people and those new cyclists live and work may have started a bike share program.




The reason is simple:  Aside from having two wheels and one rider, an electric bike really doesn't have much in common with a pedal-powered bicycles.  Their purposes and the ways in which they can be used are completely different for a number of reasons, not the least of which is how many miles per charge (or battery) the electric bike can yield.  For that matter, an e-bike has no more in common with a motorcycle than either has with a pedal-powered bicycle.  

But I'll concede that there is one difference between today's e-bike bandwagon and those of decades past:  Today, the e-bike is touted as a "green" form of transportation.  While it doesn't belch smoke or burn gasoline, it still has, potentially, as much of an environmental impact as a few cell phones or other electronic devices.  For one thing, the electricity used to charge e-bikes has to be generated from something.  Chances are, it's derived from fossil fuels, the very stuff from which, we are warned, we must wean ourselves.

Another reason why e-bikes aren't as green as they seem is that, like many other electronic devices, they use lithium batteries.  Lithium itself is highly flammable and reactive, but that's not the least of the batteries' impact on our planet. The US Environmental Protection Agency has linked the solvents used in the manufacture of lithium batteries to cancer and neurological damage.  Even worse is the cobalt used in manufacturing the batteries:  It's been linked to pulmonary, respiratory and neurological issues.  And, as you might expect, cobalt mining is an assault on the environment.  Like other kinds of mining, it results in soil erosion and silting of water. Perhaps even worse, the tailings that are often dumped into rivers and other bodies of water are often contaminated with mercury and cyanide, which are used in the extraction process.

Almost anything degrades the environment also enables the exploitation of undeveloped countries by developed ones, which in turn leads to a widening in the gap between the rich and the poor (and for those in the middle to be pushed into the latter).  Nearly all of the world's cobalt comes from Africa; most of that from the Democratic Republic of Congo.  While the Congo has laws to protect the environment and rights of workers, they are rarely enforced.  So mining companies based in the industrialized world routinely don't pay workers, who are often children or women captured in tribal conflicts. Miners end up in slavery because they can't pay the debts incurred from the exhorbitant costs their employers charge them for their equipment. And, not surprisigly, sexual violence and substance abuse flourish in such an environment and fuel the spread of HIV/AIDS.

In other words, the mining of cobalt used in the making of lithium batteries is one factor enabling a new kind of colonialism in Africa.

Now, I'm not saying that the manufacture or maintenance of mechanical bicycles is completely pollution- or corruption-free:  No industrial process is; some would argue that no industrial process can be.  But as long as the mechanical bicycle remains the only machine that amplifies human energy without any help from an outside energy source (e.g., electricity or gasoline), it will have its place for commuting and other kinds of utility riding.  And the exhiliaration you feel (along with the exhaustion) of pedaling kilometer after kilometer, up and down hills, with the wind your face or at your back, simply can't be replicated on anything powered by electricity or any other non-human energy source!

Monday Funnies

I know that most bloggers save their "funnies" for Friday or Saturday.  But I imagine that some of you can use a laugh or two on Monday, today.  And the weather has been dismal:  Not enough snow to create a winter wonderland, but enough to turn into a glacier of soot when the temperature drops at night.  And subsequent layers of rain, sleet, snow and freezing rain encase ever-more of this city's detritus in ice.   Hopefully, they won't remain for as long as a beetle found encased in amber.

Anyway, I thought I could pick up your spirits (or, at least, mine) with some photos from the wall of I Love Cycling.

I've outrun an animal or two in my time. But I never had to keep one step (or tire-tread) away from a mad cow:

I imagine the bike needed to be cleaned after that.  Maybe this isn't the best way to go about it:

Nor is this:

After showering, you can change into something more comfortable:

I couldn't help but to think about the joke I played on Stella Buckwalter, who worked in a few NYC bike shops and owned one--Rock'N'Road in Park Slope, Brooklyn.  She had just bought a new bike, on which she installed a pair of SPD pedals.  

I found a pair of stiletto heels in her favorite color, orange, in a thrift shop.  I drilled the soles of those shoes to accept SPD cleats.

Now, of course, she never could have walked, and probably would have had a hard time riding, in those shoes.  They weren't even the right size! (I figured as much when I bought them.)  But, hey, for a dollar, I got more than my money's worth in laughs--both mine and hers.

And like any woman in New York, she complained of never having enough closet space.  I can certainly relate to that!


 

A Steady Chain Of Events In Cycling: From Sedis To SRAM

I'm running SRAM chains on all of my bikes.

That's what I've done for about the past thirty-five years or so.  You might say it's one of my few brand loyalties (along with Mavic rims, Brooks saddles and, yes, Mercian bikes) in cycling.

In a sense, though, my use of SRAM chains isn't a brand loyalty.  You see, when I first started riding with them, SRAM didn't exist.  How's that, you say?

Well, back in the '70's, before Campagnolo, Shimano and SRAM became the main suppliers of quality bicycle components, there were many more independent manufacturers than there are now.  Most of them were relatively small, owned by the families that founded them.  Some, like Brooks and Mavic, survive today, though under the umbrella of larger companies.  However, many--like SunTour and Lyotard, which I mentioned in earlier posts--folded because of mis-steps (SunTour with its indexed shifting system) or simply not updating their products (Lyotard and many other European companies).  Others were bought out by larger companies and saw their venerable names relegated to the tire tracks of history.

One such component-maker was Sedis.  Actually, they made one category of bike parts:  chains.  Nearly all French bikes came with them. They also were common on machines from England and other European countries, as well as Schwinns.  Also, Sedis chains were commonly purchased as replacements, sometimes for chains that hadn't worn out.  I'll explain that in a moment.

Sedis chains were popular mainly for the same reasons as SunTour drive train components and Lyotard pedals:  They worked well and were well-made and reasonably-priced.  Those attributes were most apparent in what might be the most iconic product Sedis ever produced:  the Sedisport chain.

Until Shimano came out with the Uniglide in 1977, nearly all chains had flat side plates.  Shimano designed this chain, with its bulged outer plates, to work with the twisted-tooth sprockets made for their then-new cassette freehubs.  (Until 1985 or so, Shimano also offered thread-on freewheels with twisted-tooth cogs.)  Around the same time, SunTour developed its "Ultra-six" freewheel, which fit six sprockets in the same amount of space as the five rear sprockets that were standard at the time. Sun Tour also marketed a chain, made for them by HKK, with narrower outer plates and pins flush with them. All bike chains up to that time, including the Uniglide, had pins that protruded slightly from the side-plates.

The Uniglide and HKK/SunTour chains shared a problem all Japanese derailleur chains  had in those days:  They stretched and wore very quickly.  And the Uniglide was one of the noisiest chains ever made:  Comparisons were made with Harleys and trucks.

In 1978, Maillard (which would later share Sedis' fate) made its own version of the Ultra-Six freewheel.  The Sedisport was created to work with it.  Originally, the chains were available only in a traditional black finish, but gold and silver versions would become available. 

The Original Sedisport Chain, 1978

The basic black version could be had for about $5-6, the same price as just about any entry-level derailleur chain.  The gold and silver versions were, naturally, a few dollars more.  They were among the greatest bargains in the history of cycle componentry.  

When you took a Sedisport out of its packet (for the black version) or box (gold or silver), it seemed almost floppy, especially to someone accustomed to a Regina Oro chain.  That was a function, not only of its narrower side plates and flush pins, but also of its most revolutionary design features:  slightly flared inner plates (as opposed to the bulged outer plates of the Uniglide) and, most important, its bushing-less pivots.

Those features made the Sedisport both stronger and lighter than any of the other chains I've mentioned.  And, the fact that it had fewer moving parts meant that it didn't need to be cleaned and lubed as often, and didn't jam or develop stiff links.  And, best of all, it shifted even better than any of those other chains--yes, even on SunTour's Ultra-Six or Shimano's Uniglide sprockets.  And on Regina freewheels.

Sedisport with gold finish.

As a result, nearly anybody riding any derailleur-equipped bicycle of anything more than department-store quality had a Sedisport chain.   It's what I rode on my Colnago; I knew other riders who installed it on bikes equipped entirely with Campagnolo Super Record equipment.  Up to that time, the custom was to team up a Regina Oro freewheel and chain with a Record or Super Record gruppo, as Campagnolo did not make freewheels or chains.  But Oros cost about three times as much as Sedisports and didn't last as long or shift as well.  Regina developed its own Ultra Six freewheel (They had a standard six-speed, which was wider than the five-speed) but their quality was slipping.  So, many racers and other performance-oriented riders switched to SunTour Winner freewheels along with Sedisport chains even as they continued to ride with Campagnolo cranks and derailleurs.

Every new model of derailleur chain made since the Sedisport--whether for seven, eight, nine, ten or eleven speeds--has been made without bushings, and with curved or flared inner plates and pins that are flush with the outer plates.  Among those modern chains are today's SRAM chains.

That last fact makes perfect sense when you realize that SRAM chains are Sedis chains.   In the early 1980s, Sedis's bicycle chain division, along with Maillard (which made freewheels, hubs and pedals bearing the Normandy and Atom as well as Maillard brands) and Huret were purchased by Sachs, a German maker of coaster brakes, multigear hubs and components for mopeds and motorbikes.  Through most of the 1980's, the chains were sold under the Sachs/Sedis marque.  Then, in 1996, Sachs became part of the SRAM group.  In the beginning, SRAM components were made in the original French factories that produced Sedis, Maillard and Huret stuff.  But in the early 2000s, most production shifted to Taiwan.  However, SRAM chains have been made in Portugal.  

Through all of these changes, SRAM chains retained the qualities that got me (and so many other people) to ride Sedis chains so many years ago.  I've tried Shimano (as well as other chains) on my Shimano cassettes and Rohloff as well as Wipperman chains on Campy stuff.  SRAM chains always worked better and lasted longer--and were usually less expensive to boot.

Interestingly, the Sedis name survived the buyouts. It currently manufactures chains for industrial purposes in Troyes, where Lancelot was born, if you will.   They first started making chains in 1895, when they were part of Peugeot. (Most people outside the Francophone world don't realize that Peugeot is a large, 200-year-old, industrial company that makes everything from peppermills to trucks.)  At that time, Peugeot manufactured in Isere.  In 1946, the chain division merged with two other chain manufacturers, Societe Verjoux of the Doubs region and Societe des Chains Darbilly in the Seine region.  The name SEDIS is an acronym of SEine, Doubs and ISere.  They continue to use the logo familiar to so many of us.

 

Eating Right During The Ride

I'm trying to eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and to season them with fresh herbs--especially when I'm riding.

When I was younger, I used to feel as if I could eat or drink damn near anything during and after a long ride.  Truth was, I could:  I am still amazed at how often I ate rich, fatty foods, how much pasta and bread I scarfed down and how unhealthy some of what I ate was (PopTarts, anyone?) yet lost--or, at least, didn't gain--weight.

But I'm going to be good--or, at least, try to do better.  I'm going to pack fruit and nuts in my Brevet bag if I'm doing rides of more than a couple of hours, and one or the other if I'm going to be out for a shorter ride.  

If I want fresh herbs or wheat grass to go with my other snacks, I could always grow them:

Hmm... Mini-planters on a bicycle?  What will they think of next?

Can You Top This?

For a few years, I was a fairly dedicated mountain biker.  I still preferred road biking, on the whole, but I used to enjoy going riding over rocks and through creeks, especially when accompanied by a "crew".

But I never did anything like the ride Danny Macaskill does in his native Isle of Skye, Scotland:

What Happened To Lyotard, SunTour And All Of Those Other Little Companies That Made Nice, Practical Stuff?

The posts I wrote about Lyotard pedals and clipless pedal designs that have come and gone got me to thinking about a way in which the bicycle world has changed during my nearly four decades as a dedicated rider.

I first started to take longer rides and made some commitment to training during the later part of the '70's Bike Boom.  At that time, about the only bike makers (at least, those with any pretentions of quality) most Americans heard of were Schwinn and Raleigh.  As big as those companies were, to call either of them the General Motors of cycling would have been preposterous:  Schwinn's sales peaked at 1.5 million bikes in 1974, about the same number of cars from just one division of GM--Oldsmobile--that were sold in the same year.  And, of course, the sale of a car generates a far more revenue than the sale of a bike.

Other bicycle and component manufacturers--like Lyotard--were far smaller in scale.  They usually made their products for local markets:  Relatively few bike makers sold their wares much beyond the region, let alone the nation, in which they manufactured.  Most, especially in Europe and Japan, were still owned and operated by members of the families that founded them.  In fact, a few founders were still alive at that time.



What that meant was that most Americans had never heard of them.  Perhaps even more to the point, it meant that even though there was a wide network of races, tours and other bike-related events, they were much smaller in terms of both participation and money than today's events.   So, it didn't take as much money to sponsor a team or rider as it does (both in absolute and relative terms) today.  Small and medium-sized bike companies as well as businesses in other industries (think of Molteni) could get in on the action.  

It also meant that bike and component makers, like other small businesses, were risk-averse.  What I didn't realize when I started riding was that the designs for most bikes and parts (one notable exception being SunTour derailleurs and shifters) available at that time were already decades old.  Some actually worked well and were durable; if you used them, you learned to put up with their idiosyncracies or shortcomings.  Then again, if you hadn't used anything else, you didn't think they were idiosyncracies and shortcomings.

Most of the Lyotard pedals were examples of what I'm talking about. Now, I don't think they were deficient, but I don't think Lyotard had come out with a new pedal design since World War II, or not much later.  Even the Campagnolo Nuovo/Super Record parts were really just refinements of the Gran Sport products that made their first appearance during the early 1950's.



Around the mid-1980s, things started to change.  It might be fair to say that the ground shifted with Tullio Campagnolo's death in 1983.  His heirs discontinued the Nuovo and Super Record stuff Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault and others rode to victory.  In their stead came C-Record (actually, Record-Corsa or Record-C) parts.  Some, I'll admit, were quite lovely.  But none of them was really a functional improvement over its predecessors; in fact, some parts, like the "Delta" brake, were clearly not as good.

Other companies started to "innovate"--or, more precisely, create new novelties.  Designs became--or, at least looked--more and more radical every year.  To be fair, some new designs had legitimate purposes, at least for certain riders.  But too much of what was coming on the market every year was mere gadgetry:  stuff for the sorts of people who felt they simply had to have the newest and latest in everything.

In other words, the world of cycling was shifting from one that was guided by cyclists and riding to one driven by consumers and the marketplace.  That, in turn, turned the bike industry from a mosaic of relatively small companies to a pie cut into a few large slices by bigger companies.  Smaller companies, which didn't have the money or other resources to devote to research and development (or, very often, didn't see the need for such things) simply couldn't compete.  They, like SunTour and Lyotard, fell by the wayside or, like Sedis, Wolber and Super Champion, were absorbed by larger corporations, some of which had no previous involvement in the bicycle industry.  Even Mavic was bought by Salomon, which in turn was taken over by Adidas.  It could be argued that these turns of events enabled Mavic to develop the innovative (There's that word again!) rims and wheels that allowed it to retain its leading role in the 1990s and well into the 2000s.

Part of the pressure to create new things (or simply repackage old ones) also came from the ways in which the world of cycling events was changing during the 1980's.  By the time Greg LeMond won his first Tour de France, companies like Molteni (or mid-sized bicycle makers) were no longer sponsoring teams.  Corporations with much larger budgets were taking that on, and race sponsors included the likes of Coca-Cola and Nike.





Naturally, when companies put up money for riders and teams, they want a return on their investment.  So, the stakes became higher.  One benefit, at least for elite cyclists, was that the amount of prize money grew and the sport gained greater exposure outside of its traditional strongholds.  A downside was that it became more difficult for teams and riders with little or no money to compete, and smaller races and rallies became even smaller or disappeared altogether.


So, while 90 percent of the 1970s peloton were riding Reynolds or Columbus-tubed frames with Campagnolo components--all of which had been developed decades earlier--riders by the late '80s were astride newly-developed (and far more expensive) bikes with never-before-seen frame configurations and aerodynamic components made from exotic materials.  

It's easy to understand why racing-team sponsors would want their riders on the newest and most innovative equipment.  A race that takes hours or days but won by seconds (or fractions thereof) could well be decided by those extra few grams off the wheels or a frame or other part that's more aerodynamic.  And, as in any professional sport, there is really not as much difference as one might expect between the best and the rest of the peloton as there is between anyone who's in the peloton and anyone who isn't.  




That point is lost on club riders with lots of money and vivid fantasies.  They want to ride whatever's being ridden in the peloton.  If they didn't have such equipment, they seem to believe, younger and better-conditioned riders will make them look like the out-of-shape and not-so-young riders they actually were. Of course, those young and poor riders either get better or get better equipment, and the riders with bigger wallets and stomachs (I should talk, right?) want "better" equipment.

And so the world and industry went from being, essentially, a village of mom-and-pop enterprises that responded to cyclists' needs to an economy increasingly dominated by corporations that profit from anxieties they create in consumers.



  

Covering Up, In Leather

If you shop at Velo Orange, as I do, you've seen their stitched-on elkhide handlebar covers.  They're offered in lengths for dropped as well as upright bars.  

Velo Orange stitched-on bar covers

Chris at Velo Orange insists they're wide enough to fit around both the bar and cable.  You would need that with if you're using aero or inverse brake levers.

I believe him, but I decided against installing those covers because when I have to replace my cables, I'd have to unstitch the covers.  Knowing myself, I'd probably break the thread or do something that would make it impossible to re-install the covers.

However, back in the day, I did have stitched-on grips at various times on a couple of bikes.  Of course, in those days, I also wasn't riding aero levers and inverse levers were all but unavailable.  That meant riding "traditional" levers, with exposed cable housings. To replace them, it wasn't necessary to remove the tape or coverings from the handlebar.

As I recall, two companies made stitched-on bar covers:  Cannondale and Rhode Gear, both of which still did all of their manufacturing in the US.  For all I know, both companies' handlebar covers may have been made in the same factory and were simply marketed by one company or the other.  I say that because I used both and don't remember any difference, except perhaps in the choice of available colors, between them.  

Rhode Gear stitched-on handlebar covers, red, circa 1985

Anyway, it was interesting to see a red Rhode Gear set on eBay. It was maybe a shade lighter than oxblood, a color I've always loved on leather. (I once had a jacket and a pair of penny loafers in that shade.) I installed the covers on my Trek 930 after I tore up a few other tapes, and they lasted until I sold the bike.  More important (!), they looked great on the bike, which was black.  Actually, before I sold the bike, I spent I-don't-know-how-long unstitching the covers, which I replaced with Benotto or some other cheap tape.  The pretty red handlebar covers went went to my Cannondale (Don't tell anybody!) race bike.

Of course, even if I were going to install stitched-on leather covers, I wouldn't buy those old ones, as much as I like the color.  I've already mentioned one reason:  cable replacement.  On a related issue, I'm not sure that a 30+-year-old leather cover would fit around a bar and cable.  And, finally, if old leather hasn't been stored or cared-for properly, it will disintegrate with use.  

That is, if I were actually going to ride the bike. Now if I wanted to build a "time capsule" bike, circa 1985, I just might consider those grips.  Then again, would I want to pay $120 when VO sells theirs for $35?

Getting Rid Of The Clip

Yesterday, in my post about Lyotard pedals, I mentioned the one and only clipless offering in the company's seven-decade history:  the PL 2000.

That got me to think about some of the other clipless pedal systems that have come and gone.  Some, like the PL 2000, were belated attempts to compete with Look and Time, the first widely-accepted clipless systems.  But a few others predated Look's original 1984 offering.

The original Cinelli M-71, introduced in 1970.

One that is fairly well-known, at least among cyclists of a certain age, is the Cinelli M71, a.k.a., "the suicide pedals".  I never tried them myself, but from what I've heard, they had very strong springs and held the rider's foot securely.  The problem is that, like that boyfriend or girlfriend from Hell, they didn't want to let go.  At least, they didn't make it easy to take your feet off them:  You had to reach down and flick a lever to disengage your cleat from the pedal platform.  So, while I don't doubt the quality of the product (I don't think Cino Cinelli could have made junk if he tried!), it wasn't--to use a phrase that wouldn't be current until two decades later--user-friendly. 

Second-generation M71, 1972

The first version of the M71, introduced in 1970, had a steel platform and used an aluminum cleat.  Two years later, the pedal came with an aluminum alloy platform with a big round hole in the middle, and plastic replaced aluminum in the cleat.

Contak, 1973

The year after the second version of the M71, another short-lived clipless design went into production in Italy:  the Contak. 


The name is certainly apt:  It had a much larger platform than the M71--or, for that matter, most subsequent clipless pedals.  The longer and wider contact area probably made it more comfortable than the M71, the PL 2000 or some other clipless pedal.  But, like the M71, it wasn't easy to use:  The cleat was made to slide into the pedal from the side, and was held in by a ball detent.  To exit, the rider slid the cleat outward.

Having never used one, or known anyone who did, I don't know how securely this system held, or how easily it released, the cleat.  But I would imagine that a gain in one of those qualities meant a sacrifice in the other.

Keywin, 1983

 For a decade after the Contak's introduction, there was little or no effort to create new clipless pedal systems.  One of the most notable was the Keywin, which hailed from New Zealand a year before Look's introduction.  Instead of the spring-loaded systems used by Cinelli and Look, or the ball-detent of the Contak, Keywin employed a bayonet-type locking device similar to the type found on many cameras with interchangeable lenses.  The rider, after placing his or her foot on the pedal, twisted inward to engage the lock and outward to disengage it.  A rider exits a Look pedal in the same way, but simply steps into it to engage the cleat.

Early Look pedal (PP-65), 1984

 While Look was clearly an improvement over previous clipless systems, some cyclists complained about the weight:  The first Looks weighed over 500 grams (about 1 pound and 2 ounces) per pair. Two designs seemed, in part, an attempt to reduce the weight and make a mehanically simpler system.

Elger, 1984

 During the year of Look's debut, there was a West German entry:  the Elger, which was like the PL 2000 without the spring-loaded end.  As with the Keywin, the rider locked into the pedal by twisting the foot inward and unhitched by twisting outward. 

Aerolite, 1986

Two years after Look and Elger, an American design--Aerolite--dispensed with anything at all on the outward end of the axle.  It may still be the lightest clipless system ever produced.  It offered one convenient feature of Look:  One had only to step down on the pedal to enter.  But, I imagine that to use it, one had to have a better aim than one needed for Look.  Once engaged, the cleat clasped rather than locked into the pedal.  And, to disengage, the rider tilted his or her foot.

NaturaLimits, 1980

Perhaps one of the most interesting early attempts to create a clipless pedal wasn't a pedal at all. Rather, an enterprising American introduced NaturaLimits, a system that included cleats and an adapter that attached to the body of a Campagnolo-style quill or track pedal.  I remember seeing ads for it in cycling magazines of the time--circa 1980--but never actually saw one in person.  

I wonder whether the system didn't catch on because it wasn't reliable or easy to use--or whether the cycling public simply wasn't yet ready to take another look at clipless systems after the shortcomings of the M71 and Contak. 

You've Probably Used Them, But Nobody Talks (Or Writes) About Them: Lyotard Pedals

If you have been cycling for a while, chances are that you've ridden at least one pair of Lyotard pedals.  Perhaps you still are.



All Peugeots, and most other French bikes that weren't equipped with Campagnolo components, came with one Lyotard model or another as standard equipment.  Even a few Campy-equipped bikes had Lyotard pedals--at least, one particular model I'll mention in a minute.

Lyotards were also found on bikes from other countries---yes, even a few from Japan, which probably has had more pedal-makers than any other nation.  There is a good reason why Lyotards were so common:  They offered a wide range of intelligently-designed products, and they offered good quality at a reasonable price.
 

No. 460

The three most popular models were probably the Nos. 460, 136R and 23.

No. 460 en bleu

No. 460 was an alloy double-sided, sawtoothed "rat trap" pedal popular with Cyclo-Cross riders, cyclo-tourists and bicycle commuters. They were usually silver, but for a time were offered with blue, red or black anodizing.  The 136 was a less-expensive steel pedal with curvy plates that often had reflectors built into them. It was standard equipment for many years on the Peugeot U0-8, Motobecane's Nobly and Mirage, and other lower-priced French machines popular during the '70's Bike Boom.

No.136R

 
But Lyotard's most iconic product was probably the No. 23, also known as the Marcel Berthet pedal.  You've probably seen the 23, if you haven't used it yourself:  It's the one with the flat platform and the "tongue" that makes toe clip entry easier.  It's the pedal that inspired the MKS GR-9, GR-10 and Urban Platform pedals, as well as White Industries' amazing Urban Platform pedals.

No. 23, a.k.a. Marcel Berthet

It's no surprise, really, that the 23 would inspire other pedals:  It is among the most elegant pieces of cycling equipment ever made.  And, oh yes, it's comfortable and is still a relatively light pedal, especially for one constructed entirely from steel. For those reasons, and for its cornering clearance, it was sometimes found on otherwise all-Campagnolo bikes.

No. 45

Lyotard started to make pedals in 1921 and continued until 1992 or thereabouts.  The qualities I've mentioned--good value for the money and a wide range--are probably what kept the company in business for seven decades.  However, they, like many other French component makers (such as Simplex), failed to innovate or even update their lineup.  Cheaper Asian imports took away much of the market share the 136--and, to a lesser extent, the 460-- held.  The Berthet/No.23 was seen as a "cult" item, and the development of easy-to-use clipless pedals from Look and Time all but ended the demand for high-quality traditional pedals, which included the No. 45: the pedal that came with the Peugeot PX-10.

PL 2000

Lyotard finally came out with a clipless pedal, the PL 2000, in 1989, half a decade after Look first came to market.  I don't know anyone who actually used the PL 2000, but the design looks interesting.  Essentially, the pedal is really just an axle with a spring-loaded cap on the end opposite the pedal threads.  The cleat had a groove into which the axle fit when the rider "clipped in"; the spring-loaded cap held the rider's foot onto the pedal.  The rider would slide her or his foot outward to push the spring-loaded cap aside and disengage her or his foot from the pedal.

For all I know, it may have worked very well.  And, if nothing else, it was probably a very light weight pedal.  But I have to wonder how (un)comfortable it was:  Look and Time pedals at least have something resembling platforms that provide more surface contact area.

Also, Lyotard's cleat was proprietary.  You couldn't mount it on a shoe drilled for Look or other cleats that were using Look's three-bolt mounting system, which quickly became the standard for road clipless pedals.

Even if Lyotard's system had caught on, it might not have been enough to save a company with one of the longest histories in cycling.  But at least its legacy lives on in some pedals produced today:  the Berthet/No.23 has directly inspired the MKS and White Industries pedals I've mentioned and, perhaps indirectly, almost any pedal designed with aerodynamics (or pretentions thereof) in mind.  Such pedals would include most road clipless pedals. And the MKS Sylvan --very popular with tourists and commuters--echoes, in many ways, the 460.

Guest Post: Some Come Some Go, A Few Come Back

Some blogs have more readers.  But mine are the best.

To prove that statement is not just an idle boast, I'm going to give today's post to one of those readers.  

If you've been reading this blog, you may also have noticed that one of my more frequent commenters is "Steve A."  He has an excellent blog of his own, DFW Point-to-Point.  In today's post he's going to talk about his experience as a bike blog reader and writer, the bike blogs that have come and gone and some other things he's observed in the decade or so that this genre has existed and in several more decades of cycling.

The Man Himself

So, without further ado, I give you over to Steve:



Some Come Some Go, A Few Come Back
                                              --by Steve A. 

 

I must say I've enjoyed Justine's blog for a few years now. It started not long after my own, about five years ago, but she's been more diligent about posting ever new and interesting topics. In no particular order, I tend to like posts about Mercians (I actually keep my eye open for one nowadays), vintage (I know some readers have a more recent view of "vintage" than Justine and I do) equipment, and some of the less well-known places around New York that I've heard of only here.

During that time, we've both seen many blogs come and go. Recently. I've tended to use her blogroll as a supplement to my own. Lucky for us that our tastes in what to read seem to complement each other rather than strictly duplicate things. Over the time our blogs have been around, I've seen many blogs disappear. I'm sure Justine can think of quite a few as well. I've also seen quite a few pop up and then poop out. Some, like Lovely Bicycle, have become VERY popular and some have simply stayed popular, like Bike Snob NYC. I'm not really sure what possesses people to write blogs. Myself, it's somewhat like a journal used to be. I think Justine works harder. Lord knows where she digs up some of the ancient items I've seen here.

Anyway, as I'm sure she'll agree, we have SERIOUS political differences. For example, I have never been a fan of Chicago Schwinns and I'm otherwise an agnostic about Asia versus Europe versus the USA. I guess that's why I have a Frankenbike. On the other hand, I tend to be a bit more of a drop-bar purist. I guess that's what one gets for growing up with Sloane's book. Still, I like to recall the Rodney King quote of "Can't we all just get along?"

Justine made a number of suggestions. Looking at them, I guess I mostly ignored them in this post, instead thinking about them interminably. HOWEVER, I DID pay attention to them. For example, I've got a book about cycling and traffic planning on order through our local inter-library loan. As a teaser, the author notes that "BoB" (Bikes on Buses) did NOT originate with cycling advocates, but rather found favor with low-traffic bus routes in places like Texas. Hmm.

Still, this is rather an unusual time. You see, TWO blogs seem to have popped back to life this week. They CAME BACK! I had them both in my "hibernation" area, but I saw new signs of life here. I guess some people just have faith. Those are "Rat Trap Press" and "Biking in Heels." I hope that this is some new, early sign of Spring. We shall see.

P.S. Just before I posted this, Steve hastened to add:  "My opposition to American Schwinns does not extend to Paramounts!"