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A New Hour Record: Jens Voigt

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The world has a new Hour Record holder. Yesterday in Switzerland Jens Voigt rode 51.115 km in one hour, beating the previous record of 49.700 km set by Ondrej Sosenka in 2005. Voigt is the first to pass the 50 km mark in the Hour Record since the UCI changed the rules earlier this year. I had written about the Hour Record back in May after the rule change which would allow more aerodynamic equipment to be used in record attempts. Since 2000, equipment was limited to what was available when Eddy Merckx broke the record in 1972, and any records set with disc wheels and other aerodynamic tricks were re-classified as "Best Human Effort."

While I really liked the idea of keeping the record more "pure" by limiting the technology (to keep it a competition of men, not machines!), I also recognize the desire to simplify things by having just one "Hour Record" instead of having different categories with different rules. In any case, the rules now state that any bike approved for use in Individual Pursuit events can be used for the Hour Record. Still, I can't help but find myself wondering how would Eddy have done on a bike with special bars and disc wheels?

The bike Voigt used in his record ride was a Trek Speed Concept 9 Time Trial bike, modified for use on the track. Mainly, the modifications meant eliminating brakes and derailleurs, and building the frame with rear-facing track fork ends at the back. Surprisingly, the chainline and such was still the same as the road-going TT bike. The bike also had disc wheels front and rear (with a cool "stopwatch face" design on them).

Some might recall that earlier in the year it had been Voigt's Trek teammate Fabian Cancellara who was contemplating an Hour Record attempt, but apparently reconsidered after the rules were changed. "The whole appeal of the Hour Record for me is that you are competing against riders from the past. I would have loved to race Eddy (Merckx) in the Classics, or in a time trial, but that's not possible," Cancellara had said. "The Hour Record has this charming side to it that I like a lot. Now it's going to be different." Though the rule change might have been the reason for changing his mind, some bloggers at the time suggested that it might have been Trek that wanted him to reconsider. But clearly Trek was able to get a suitable bike ready for the record attempt, so it now seems that that was an incorrect assessment. Now it really makes me wonder why Cancellara didn't make the attempt. Maybe he still will?

Jens Voigt's Hour Record is a great achievement, and it caps the end of an impressive career in bicycle racing. Said Voigt, "I saw Chris Boardman beating the record in 2000 and I said to myself, 'what a great way that would be to finish my career.' Thirty three years of cycling behind me. This was my last attempt. I'm in so much pain . . . but what a way to retire!" One thing to add about Jens Voigt is that he will be missed in professional bike racing. In interviews with the press, he always seemed genuine and likable. Even when hammering on the road leading a mad-dash breakaway, he often managed a smile for the cameras and the fans. While nobody should doubt for a moment that bicycle racing is hard work, Voigt always managed to make it look fun.

A fitting farewell.


Retro Direct - Retro Cool

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Back before derailleurs became the popular method for having variable gears on a bicycle, a number of different systems were tried with varying degrees of success. Of these various multi-speed systems, one of the more interesting would be the "Retro-Direct" system in which a rider has one gear when pedaling forward, but a different gear (usually the lower gear) when pedaling backwards.

The Hirondelle retro-direct shown here is probably the
definitive version of the system.
First patented in 1869 by Barberon & Meunier, the retro-direct system was further developed and refined by other companies at the turn of the 20th century, including Magnat & Debon, and Hirondelle. Some retro-direct systems used two chains, with chainwheels and sprockets on both sides of the bicycle, but one of the simplest and most reliable versions, introduced by Hirondelle, used a single chain that wrapped around a pair of freewheel cogs and an idler pulley in an almost "figure-8" arrangement. A double-chainwheel version, with an early design front derailleur, was also available and gave riders four speeds -- one such bike was pictured in Jan Heine's Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles. Hirondelle would continue to make 2- and 4-speed retro-direct bicycles well into the 1930s, even as derailleurs and internal-geared hubs were becoming almost ubiquitous. The simple reliability of the system kept it alive among some riders.



As seen in this little animated file, when pedaling
forward, the smaller cog is engaged, while the larger
one "free-wheels"backwards. When backpedaling,
the smaller cog "free-wheels" while the
larger one is engaged for a lower gear.
In the first decade of the 20th century, the Touring Club de France organized a series of technical trials to encourage improvements and developments in touring bicycles. In the 1902 trials, riders rode a course through the Pyrenees that included two climbs up the Tourmalet mountain pass. The retro-direct Hirondelles performed very well, though the gold medal in that year's event was awarded to a double-chain 4-speed bicycle built by Terrot. In the 1905 trials, which included passes through the Alps, an improved and simplified single-chain Hirondelle won the gold medal.

The simplicity and reliability of the retro-direct system comes from the fact that without derailleurs and shift levers, the only "shifting" a person needs to do is to reverse pedaling. Some have even believed the system to be beneficial because it would develop more and different muscles than forward-pedaling alone. That would seem to make sense, though I don't know of any studies to prove it. In contrast, from what I've read, it can be very difficult to generate the same kind of efficiency when pedaling backwards. Bicycle Quarterly's Jan Heine has tested a few retro-direct bicycles and found it difficult to back-pedal at any more than 45 rpm. I've read other impressions around the internet from people who have built their own retro-direct systems, and they seem to confirm that pedaling backwards is generally an awkward endeavor, and even more so when trying to do it out of the saddle. By the way, I have also read that a possible unexpected problem can present itself with an R-D drivetrain -- that pedaling backwards for an extended period can unscrew pedals from the cranks! A healthy application of loctite may be in order.

A 1920s Hirondelle, with double chainrings and
a unique front derailleur. (from M-gineering.nl)
Nevertheless, a quick Google search for "retro-direct" will turn up numerous examples (many with how-to instructions) of home-built R-D bicycles. It's clear that such a system still has quite a following, if for no other reason than curiosity, or the "do-it-yourself" interest in building something "different." Though a typical retro-direct system engages the lower gear when backpedaling, a few of these modern home-built creations experiment with the opposite arrangement -- having the higher gear engaged when backpedaling. This may make sense if one considers that it's difficult to spin at a faster rpm (as one would do in a lower gear) when pedaling backwards. Some of these DIY bikes also incorporate a double-chainring crank and a front derailleur to get four speeds -- though it's worth noting that front derailleurs can only shift when pedaling forwards (it's also interesting to note that the front derailleur used on the 4-speed Hirondelle could be shifted in either direction!).

The only dedicated R-D hub on the market today.
Made by Curtis Odom.
While many examples of home-built retro-direct bicycles can be found out there, most (or more likely, all) of them use hubs that have been cobbled-together or adapted to accept two single-speed freewheels -- which is one of the fundamental necessities that makes such a system work. This can be done with a British/ISO-threaded bottom bracket cup threaded between the two freewheels. Unfortunately, that arrangement doesn't bode well for long-term reliability, as the freewheels are not well-supported.

Luckily for those interested in this alternative drivetrain, someone else who has caught the retro-direct bug is component maker Curtis Odom, whose vintage-inspired hubs are well-engineered things of beauty. Curtis was first commissioned to build a retro-direct hub for Hojmark Cycles in Germany, though he has since made several others. In fact, Curtis Odom is almost certainly the only person out there today who makes a dedicated retro-direct hub. Unlike the DIY versions out there, Odom's hub has a much longer threaded section which fully supports the two independent freewheels. Not only that, but just as with modern cassette hubs, the right side of the axle is well-supported by outboard bearings. Odom's R-D hub kit is available with an arm to hold the return pulley in position, which is a smart touch that makes it reliable when retro-fitted to bicycles that don't have a brazed-on attachment point for the pulley (as in any bike not custom-built for a retro-direct setup). See Curtis Odom's website HERE.

A modern, and beautiful, retro-direct bicycle -- built by Hojmark Cycles, with hubs by Curtis Odom. Note that the return pulley is attached to an elegant little brazed-on mount on the chain stay.

Retro-direct is an interesting curiosity of an alternative drivetrain. I don't think it's a system that is exactly poised for a comeback, but clearly there are plenty of people interested in it, and plenty of do-it-yourselfers who are keeping the idea alive. It's not something I see myself building, but certainly, any bike at a club ride with an R-D drivetrain would be the topic of much conversation and would be a blast to try out.

What Do You Do When . . . ?

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You come to stop at an intersection and there's a line of cars already stopped for the light? Do you take your place in line and wait, or filter your way up on the curb side to get to front of the line?

The question brings up one of the many points of tension between drivers and cyclists -- and the response even divides the cyclists. At the risk of getting a firestorm of comments, I'm wading into the debate.

A lot of riders think nothing of moving to the front. After all, cars don't hesitate to pass us when they have the opportunity, or even when they really shouldn't, so what's wrong with passing them back when we're able? Not only that, but I know many cyclists will argue that they're safer at the front of the line when the light changes. Cars see them, and they're less likely to get "hooked" by cars turning in the intersection.

As for the safety aspect, it seems to me that it's a debatable point. I know there is much evidence that says intersections are some of the most dangerous places for cyclists, so I don't dispute that. On the other hand, I don't know of much (if any) evidence that shows a cyclist is any safer at the front of the line as compared to one who takes his place in the lineup and observes good lane placement. In addition, there are other problems (in terms of both safety and the law) with filtering up the curb side to the front of the line.

If reader's can't tell yet, let me just make it clear now that I don't advocate filtering to the front in normal traffic. When I get to an intersection, if the light is red I take my place in line, and I take the lane. There are a few reasons I do it this way.

In general, it seems to me that most of the time we as cyclists are safest when we observe the laws that are in place for cars and other traffic. What does the law say about passing slower or stopped traffic on the curb side? Well, it depends on the state, and the wording of the laws can sometimes be a little vague or confusing, but in many of them, passing on the curb side isn't permitted under most circumstances. So if the rider does end up in an accident and gets injured, he/she could be found to be at least partially at fault.

Beyond the legal ramifications, there are some safety concerns from passing on the right. For one thing, drivers don't expect to see cyclists passing them on the right, and the visibility is poor, so there's a good chance that the cyclist will be unseen. Then, if there are other intersections -- not just other side streets, but also parking lots and driveways -- there is a real danger of being hit by cars entering or exiting the main roadway. Not only that, but if there is on-street parking, riding up the right side of the traffic can put a rider into the "door zone." All of the above can lead to a dangerous situation.

Then, there's just the irritation factor. The way I see it, most drivers only grudgingly share the road with bicyclists as it is. Encountering us on the road is, for some motorists, a major pain in the ass, and for some it's a stress they'd rather not deal with. They don't like having to slow down to wait until it's safe to pass, which is why so many will try to squeeze by us even when it really isn't safe to do so. Their impatience and sense of entitlement to the road take over, and they think nothing of putting us at risk to avoid even a few seconds of delay. So, when I get to a red light and there are a bunch of cars stopped there, it's an awfully good chance that most of them already passed me once within the last mile or two. The last thing they want is to see me slip on by them to get to the front of the line, making it so they'll have to pass me again right after we get through the intersection. To my mind, that doesn't really help me, either. I'm just going to get passed again by the same cars that passed me a short time earlier, and this time they may be even less patient than they were the first time.

I figure that if the cars are ahead of me at the light, I'm just as well off to leave them there and take my place behind them. At the same time, I expect cars that arrive at the light after me to wait their turn behind me in the same way. I take the lane to discourage people from attempting to pass me as we approach the intersection -- thereby minimizing the possibility for a right hook. And I place myself in the lane for the maximum visibility to oncoming traffic to prevent the possibility of a left hook. It also helps to develop a good sense of anticipation for what other cars around me are doing, or what they might be intending to do. I don't know if cars have "body language" or if it's some kind of sixth sense, but an observant cyclist can often anticipate potential danger.

When I'm approaching an intersection, whether there's a stop sign or a traffic light, few things raise my ire more than cars trying to pass me just so they can come to a stop directly in front of me instead of behind me. In fact, I don't want people passing me through intersections at all. That is impatient, aggressive behavior that puts me at risk, and also puts at risk any oncoming traffic that may be coming through the intersection. Often, I will take the lane on the approach to the intersection to discourage that from happening. Some cars will try to pass anyhow, at which point I usually give them a piece of my mind. Now, it becomes difficult to convince a driver that they pose a danger to the cyclist by passing at the intersection when that driver sees cyclists passing to get to the front of the line. Of course there is a difference in risk -- the self-imposed risk of passing a line of stationary cars vs. the moving car trying to squeeze past the cyclist -- but try to explain that to a driver.

With a bike lane such as this one, adjacent to the roadway
and moving in the direction of the traffic, a rider may be
permitted to pass on the right -- but caution is still advised.
Is there any time a cyclist can pass on the right? Again it depends on the state and local laws, but in many places, the cyclist can pass slower moving (or stopped) cars on the right if there is a designated bike lane (some bike lanes -- like those of the green-painted variety -- even include a "bike box" at the intersections where riders can move ahead of cars). Still, much caution is still advised. Visibility is still an issue, and a bicyclist can be hidden from view by the cars. One still needs to be well-aware of the other traffic, and keep an eye out for cars that may suddenly pull into the bike lane -- to make a quick right turn, or oncoming cars making a left turn across the lane. Then there are always those impatient drivers, stuck behind a long line of cars (such as, when someone ahead is waiting to make a left turn), who decide they don't want to wait anymore and suddenly pull out into a bike lane, or even out onto the shoulder, to get past the slowdown. Sure, that driver would likely be at fault if they hit a cyclist -- but that's little consolation to the cyclist who would be much better off not being hit at all.

Though I frequently see people ride up alongside cars to get that momentary advantage at an intersection, it just doesn't seem like a good plan to me. Legally questionable, possibly risky, and yet another argument to be thrown against us by drivers who feel the special sense of entitlement that comes with piloting a 3000+ pound machine. I'm all for being an assertive rider amongst the car traffic, but there are times I'm happy to just wait my turn.

Carbon Fiber Forever!

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After more than a year of Retro-grouchy ranting against new technology like carbon fiber sweeping over the bicycle industry, I've finally seen the light. Consider me converted. Carbon fiber is AWESOME!!
If you want the best ride experience money can buy,
you can't let a little thing like a busted steerer
dissuade you. Carbon fiber RULES!
(from CyclingWeekly)

With its tremendous strength to weight ratio, carbon fiber blows away steel in virtually every kind of lab test that the industry can throw at it. And with virtually limitless possibilities in design -- from tube shape, to carbon layup and fiber orientation -- the material can be customized to enhance comfort and compliance in one direction, while remaining incredibly stiff in another, hence the familiar "laterally stiff - vertically compliant" claim heard from so many road testers. As far as customization of ride quality goes, steel has nothing on carbon fiber.

Look at some of these testimonials from the carbon fork manufacturers:

From True Temper, regarding their test of carbon fork strength: True Temper's . . . test is a ramped load, meaning the load is increased periodically until failure occurs. Starting at 180 lbs, the load is increased 45 lbs. every 5000 cycles. Every fork will eventually break. Strong forks will last more than 10,000 cycles with a load of 270 lb. But our minimum standard begins at over 15,000 at 315 lbs. for road forks and 18,000 for cross forks and tandem. But our production forks are stronger than that, often going into the 20-25K range and beyond at loads of 360-405 lbs.

See? Nothing to worry about. With test results like that, a person should have all the proof they need that a carbon fork, or frame, or other component should last darn near forever. Can't say that about steel. Don't believe me? Just ask the folks at Deda, another carbon fork maker. "Carbon lasts longer than metal. Only love is stronger than carbon." Sweet.

Over at Look, they say there should be no worries about the lifespan of a carbon fork. "There is no limitation because carbon has a natural flexibility. It can be used a hundred years while maintaining the same stiffness." A hundred years! I'm totally sold.

So when I saw this article about the Three Peaks Cyclo Cross race on Cycling Weekly site, I figure it's just a complete anomaly. Maybe even some kind of sabotage perpetrated by some steel-loving Retrogrouch -- the kind of person who would have us all riding bikes from the stone-age. When cyclocross racer Joe Moses's carbon steerer snapped off during the race, he still managed to stop without injury, and even managed 3rd place! (after a bike change, of course).

If you want the best cycling experience money can buy, you can't let a busted steerer dissuade you. Besides, riding a bike with handlebars firmly attached to the fork is vastly over-rated.

Carbon Fiber Forever!

Two Wheel Trip

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Being something of a pack-rat, I've always found it hard to throw some things away. Old bike magazines tend to be one of those things. I started reading Bicycling magazine back in the early 80s when I was in my teens, and I still have a lot of those old issues more than thirty years later. The now-defunct Bicycle Guide was another that I really enjoyed back then. In those days, I also used to spend a lot of time at the library, poring over the old bound editions of Bicycling (or Bicycling! as it was once known) back issues from the 70s and the bike-boom era. I was well on my way to becoming a Retrogrouch even then. Over the years, I've added a lot of those old issues to my collection too, or issues of Bike World, whenever I can find them selling cheap. Working on a blog like The Retrogrouch, that collection often turns out to be a good resource.

The Premier Issue with its very cool cover art.
Now and then I'd hear (or read) some mention of another old bike magazine -- almost like a myth or a legend (did it actually exist? was it real?) -- that came out just at the beginning of the bike boom and only lasted two issues before going under. That magazine was Two Wheel Trip. Not too long ago, I managed to find a pair of the only issues known to be published and added them to my collection. Published by San Francisco-based Ronald Hagen Company in 1972 and '73 respectively, the magazine was supposed to be a monthly publication, but never made it. It would be interesting to find out why.

The first thing to notice about the two issues is the great cover artwork -- totally consistent with the bold graphic style of the early 70s. According to the info on the publisher's page, the plan was to offer full-size posters (25 x 38 in.) of each month's cover art. There may actually be a few of those posters floating around out there somewhere, and let me just say that they would make a great addition to any bicyclists' collection. Maybe somebody should consider reproducing them.

Vol. 1, Number 1 -- Another fantastic cover image.
The magazine's title, Two Wheel Trip, has some obvious counter-culture connotations to it, but the substance of most of the magazine's feature stories reveals an emphasis on bicycle-related travel stories for a more down-to-earth interpretation of "trip." Many of the articles would not seem out of place in any travel/tourism magazine then or now, except that many of the sights and locations described are visited with a bicycle in mind. Not only that, but airlines (PanAm, United Airlines, SwissAir) and hotels (Holiday Inn) are among some of the advertisers that point towards a bicycle tourism theme.

Along with the travel features, there are a number of news stories of interest to bicyclists at the time, headed as "History in the Making," that look at the issues of the day (and today, for that matter): the problems of thwarting bike thieves, dealing with traffic, bicyclists' rights, and the nascent bike advocacy movement that was just in its infancy in the early 70s.

Original bicycle-themed artwork and photography, poetry, and fiction make Two Wheel Trip a different kind of bicycle magazine from other bike magazines then or now. Readers may find Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "The Wreck of the Hesperus," in the magazine's pages, but no bicycle road tests, "racing tire comparison shootouts" or other mainstays of typical bike magazines. Even many of the ads seem to go out of their way to appeal to an audience that doesn't necessarily identify themselves as "bicyclists" (then again, how many people in 1972 did actually identify themselves as bicyclists?). Among the advertisements for bicycles, components, and accessories that one would expect to find, are many more ads for things like wheat germ, breakfast cereals, and other general-interest products -- though many of those ads still feature people enjoying bicycles, and most have that groovy 70s vibe.

Original bicycle-themed art graces many of the magazine's pages. By the way -- does anyone else see the two faces in the bicycle's front wheel? So 70s.
No bicycle shorts and no helmets. Just lots of those groovy bell bottoms, and "regular people" out enjoying their bikes. 
A clothing ad (Shelby Slacks and Robert Bruce Apparel) selling an unusual vision of "bike wear."
Got to love the 2-page spread for 7up.
The Bell Biker hardshell helmet was still a couple years off. This was one of the few bicycle product reviews included in Two Wheel Trip. There's a little unintended irony in that heading "Safety First."
To be filed under "Awkward Family Photos." I remember a neighbor of mine had a
Huffy Dill Pickle. Not quite as desirable as a Schwinn Pea Picker, though.
I am at a loss to describe this.
I wonder if this ad sold a lot of bikes? Considering I've never actually seen a Magneet anywhere, I'm going to have to guess not. Crescent cycles used the same basic tag line a couple of years later (From Sweden With Love), but with a model that I have no doubt moved more bikes. 
There she is.
From Bicycling magazine a couple years later. Probably much more effective advertising.
So, what happened to Two Wheel Trip? If I had to guess, I'd suggest it was probably the same thing that killed off a lot of magazines then and now: high costs and a lack of advertising revenue (Life magazine went under about the same time, and it was a popular, well-established publication). Yes, at first glance there are nearly as many ads as one would expect to find in other magazines at the time, but a closer look would show that a lot of the ads are "in-house" -- that is, ads for other magazines, books and such from the same publisher. And in the publishing business, that's a lot like kissing your sister. And the format of the magazine, with its heavy stock cover, high-quality glossy paper and lots of color, was such that it was probably a pretty expensive production.

All these years later, the 2-issues of Two Wheel Trip are an interesting trip to the past.

Haven't We Seen These Before?

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Looking through "vintage" bicycle items on eBay today, I spotted an unusual, yet familiar item: "SPIN Foldable Vintage Crash Hats." I can't tell if the term "Crash Hat" is simply an effort to sidestep legal issues that might arise from calling them "helmets," or if it's an effect of the Taiwanese seller's tenuous grasp of English. I do know, however, that they are not actually "vintage." Regardless -- somebody has decided to resurrect the old leather (or at least, vinyl) hairnet helmets. Why, I'm not exactly certain. 

For people who value style over substance or safety, they come in lots of fashionable color combinations. For the price of a decent modern helmet that meets all the various safety standards, one can have the illusion of safety with none of the actual benefits. They are offered as "buy it now" on eBay at $79, though the text within the listing says $67 (there is no apparent way to actually purchase the "crash hat" for $67). Add another $25 for shipping from Taipei.

Pink, blue, polka dots, and other combinations. What fun!






Of course, I'm not overly convinced of the safety of any bicycle helmet. I usually wear one by choice, and I insist that my children wear them when riding, but I would never over-estimate the protection that a helmet can give. Nevertheless, if any person believes a helmet is a worthy piece of safety equipment when riding a bike, then they would only wear a proper helmet that meets the ANSI or Snell (or other similar) standards. And if a person doesn't believe a helmet is necessary, then why would they strap on one of these?

Actually -- the text in the eBay listing makes the reason perfectly clear (well, maybe not perfectly clear -- you'll have to excuse the tortured English):

"No more boring same old design, SPIN vintage crash hat come with over than
10 different color designs, you can even match up with your favorite caps and outfits

Please Note: SPIN Vintage Foldable Crash Hat is designed as fashion accessories,
it is NOT suitable to be used as safety helmet.


See? If you are not convinced a helmet makes you safer, but you just want to strap one on your head anyway as a "fashion accessory," then the SPIN Vintage Foldable Crash Hat is what you need! In fact, I'm wondering if it's a trend now in Taiwan for people to walk around with bogus bicycle helmets (sorry -- "crash hats") on their heads. How fashionable!

It's what all the Taiwanese "gangstas" are wearing these days.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I personally have a vintage (as in actual early 80s vintage, not new "vintage" style) leather helmet, which I've had since it was new, before I got my first "real" helmet. Now it's just a conversation/display piece I show the kids when I tell them what it was like to ride back in the stone age -- before carbon fiber and disc brakes.

Retrogrouch or not, I think these are evidence that not everything from the past needs to be resurrected.

New Book: Goggles & Dust

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From the Horton Collection, one of the world's best and most extensive collections of bicycle racing artifacts, comes a new book that showcases a golden era of racing through more than 100 beautifully restored photos. Goggles & Dust: Images from Cycling's Glory Days (Velopress, 2014) is a remarkable pictorial look into racing in the years between the world wars -- the 1920s through the 30s.

Of the impressions that one may get from looking through the book's unforgettable photos, I think the strongest is that racing in that era was a very different sport from racing as it is today, practiced by tough, road-hardened men who knew how to suffer. The pictures reveal some of the great racers of the era, passing over brutal unpaved roads, over majestic mountains, their faces coated in dust and grime, goggles over their eyes and spare tires wrapped over their shoulders -- or collapsed on the side of the road from injury or exhaustion -- and it's hard to imagine bicycle racers of today holding up to the same kinds of conditions.

From the introduction by Brett Horton: "While the names of the great riders were celebrated with increasing fervor in the daily press, the races devised to showcase their abilities became diabolically difficult. To draw crowds and sell newspapers, race directors sought the most difficult routes, the highest passes, the hardest conditions, the longest distances. The 1926 Tour de France, for example, spanned 5,745 kilometers, or 3,570 miles, over a mere 17 stages. Today's much more humane and realistic races, by contrast, run about 3,400 kilometers over 21 stages."

About the photos themselves, many of them have not been seen since the era when they were first taken, and Brett Horton says that each comes from an original negative or print, but that the images in the book have undergone some degree of restoration -- removal of water stains or fingerprints, or cleaning up of other flaws from age or poor handling -- in order to have them look as pristine as possible. The work is done well, and the images are breathtaking.

If I have one complaint about the book, it would be that I'd like to have more to read. Apart from Horton's introduction, there is very little written, and very little description to accompany the images. Most of the photos themselves have little more than a brief caption, if any at all. I'm sure the idea was to let the photos speak for themselves -- and they do -- but I would really enjoy more information, more background, more context for the photos. I don't think it would detract from the images in the least to have some story to tell, as I have no doubt the stories would be just as dramatic as the pictures.

Since the main point of Goggles & Dust is about the images, here are a few samples:





Want to see more? Buy the book!

Goggles & Dust, compiled from the collection of Brett and Shelly Horton, is recommended for its remarkable images. While more story and context would be welcome (I'm a word guy, what can I say), the pictures are wonderful and worthwhile for any bicycle racing fan.

Under the Lunar Eclipse

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I rode my bike to work this morning guided by the lunar eclipse.

When I stepped outside in the early morning darkness to begin my commute, I thought that the dark sliver of shadow across the bright white moon was the tail end of the eclipse. I assumed I had missed it, so what a nice surprise it was to discover that it was only just beginning.

With a cool Autumn chill in the air, the gradually shrouded moon hung straight ahead of me, directly above my path in a cloudless sky, leading me West towards my destination.

As I pedaled along the quiet, dark streets, I could see the moon as it was gradually swallowed by the Earth's shadow. Bit by bit, the bright light of the moon became just a thin crescent of silvery white before disappearing in darkness. Then, completely enveloped in shadow, the moon took on an eerie glow -- almost the color of copper. By the time I reached my destination, as the shadowed moon was at its dimmest, the horizon behind me in the East was just beginning to glow with the sunrise. Soon after, the morning light would erase the scene completely.

The phenomenon of the coppery red moon during the eclipse has been called by some the "blood moon" and it apparently happens because even though the moon is completely in Earth's shadow, some of the reddish-orange light of Earth's sunrise and sunset (depending on which hemisphere the moon is being viewed from) is reflected off the lunar surface. Pretty cool.

I was glad I got to see it from the wide open, unobstructed view from my bicycle saddle. What's more, it occurred to me that had I chosen to drive this morning instead of riding, I almost certainly would have missed it.

Another great reason to ride, not drive.

Nuovo Record - Or Super?

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On the Classic Rendezvous Google Group recently there was a bit of discussion about vintage Campagnolo derailleurs -- particularly the Nuovo Record and the Super Record, and which one people liked better. Not surprisingly, for every person who preferred the classic NR, there was another who preferred the SR. I thought I'd take a close look at both and weigh in on the debate here.

Not to overstate it, but for me, trying to decide which I like better between the NR and SR is almost (but not quite) like asking which of my daughters I prefer. They are both lovely, and they both share many of the same attributes and similar flaws (unlike my daughters, who are flawless).

Virtually unchanged from 1967 through the early 80s, the Nuovo
Record derailleur was the classic workhorse of Campagnolo's
racing derailleurs.
Introduced in 1967, the Nuovo Record was the all-aluminum replacement for the chrome-plated bronze Record derailleur (hence the name "Nuovo," i.e. "New"). While it kept some of the stylistic touches of the Record and Gran Sport, such as the raised letters on a textured background, or the little scroll-like details on the face plate, those details were rendered much more crisply in the Nuovo Record. The NR became a real classic: lightweight, attractive, and durable. Compared to derailleurs with dropped and slanted parallelograms (like almost all modern units), the shifting performance of the NR's traditional parallelogram design can get a little balky, especially as the chain gap increases, but back then that was just something we learned to deal with. The great thing about the NR was that it would continue to work at least reasonably well even if it was cosmetically trashed. The pivots, springs, etc. could really withstand a lot of abuse. I've always liked the aesthetics of the NR. It's looks harkened back to the past unapologetically, with little visual details that had no functional purpose other than to make it look special. There were many copies of it, but none was executed to the same level.

The first-generation Super Record was almost
identical to the Nuovo Record -- the only real
 differences being black anodized knuckles
 and titanium pivot bolts.
The first version of the Super Record, introduced in 1974, was virtually identical to the NR. Black-anodized knuckles and titanium bolts were the only real differences. But by 1978, a revised version of the Super Record was released. Gone were the embossed, raised lettering and "vintage" styling details. Instead, the design was smoothed out and modernized. A smooth face plate, with a screened-on script logo was the most noticeable touch. The cable anchor arm was revised subtly as well. But the changes in the Super Record were not just aesthetic. The shape of the pulley cage was altered as well, with a different relationship between the jockey pulley and the lower pivot. This small change gave the SR slightly more capacity (up to 28t, according to the catalogs) as compared to the earlier SR version and the Nuovo Record. Though slightly more modern in its styling, the second generation Super Record still maintained its "all out there in the open" industrial functionality -- with its bolts and adjuster screws on full display and easily accessed.

When the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission (CPSC) got ahold of bicycle components in the mid 70s, they mandated little "cone of shame" collars around the adjuster screws on both the NR and SR models -- similar to the lampshade-like "Elizabethan Collars" that veterinarians put on dogs after surgery. The "cones of shame" don't interfere too badly with functionality, but I wouldn't worry too much about dispensing with them altogether, unless someone suffers from irrational fears of being fatally impaled on a tiny 3mm screw.

Mid-80s Super Record - post CPSC (notice the plastic shrouds
around the limit screws) so nobody will be fatally impaled
on it. The slightly different geometry of the pulley cage
gives the SR a bit more capacity than the NR. This example also
has ball-bearing pulleys instead of the traditional bushing-type.
In any case, both the NR and SR would hold up to lots of use and abuse. I've seen plenty of both that were battle-scarred and beaten, yet still worked fine. Not only that, but they are mostly rebuildable, and spare parts can still be found. I picked up a used Super Record once that wasn't shifting as well as it should have. Looking closely, I found that the pulley cage was bent. Replacing the cage was a simple matter, and after that it worked fine. As mentioned, the 2nd-gen. SR could handle slightly larger cogs in the back, but otherwise the difference in shifting performance was pretty subtle between them. The SR was a bit lighter (about 20 grams or so) but on a complete bike, the difference would be hard to notice.

I like the solid, ornate, and almost archaic look of the Nuovo Record, but at the same time I can also appreciate the modern-meets-industrial aesthetic of the Super Record. To me, picking one over the other would be entirely dependent upon the year of the bike, and the style. A mid 80s top-level racer with pantographing and a flashy paint job screams for Super Record, for example. Otherwise, don't ask me to choose a favorite. Can't do it.

Anyone else want to weigh on in this one?

Two Wheel Trip Posters - From Velo-Retro

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Earlier this month, I wrote about the now-defunct magazine Two Wheel Trip -- notable for having published just two issues in the early 70s before going bust. The cover art on those two issues was really cool, fitting in with the bold colors and graphic style of that era. The plan of the magazine's publishers was to run original bicycle-themed artwork on each issue's cover, and then to release those covers as full-size posters. I had suggested in my article that perhaps someone should reissue those posters.



Enter Chuck Schmidt, of Velo-Retro. Chuck offers reissues or re-creations of all manner of vintage bicycle advertising, logos, and catalogs -- available as posters, t-shirts, musette bags, and more. After reading about TWT here in The Retrogrouch, Chuck contacted me saying he'd be able (and willing) to make it happen. Starting with super high-res scans of my two magazine covers, Chuck cleaned up a few blemishes and flaws in the 40-year-old magazines and turned them into eye-catching, high-quality Giclée prints on high-quality heavyweight paper stock -- suitable for framing.

Two very cool posters, brought to you by Velo-Retro and
the Retrogrouch!
One thing I worried about was how the resolution of the artwork would hold up after being enlarged so much. We were able to get great resolution in our scans so pixelization wasn't an issue, but the artwork on the covers was printed with a "halftone" method -- that is, the different colors were made up of many tiny dots. Enlarging the artwork would also enlarge the dots. I was afraid that when enlarged, they might end up looking like Roy Lichtenstein  pop-art prints. I needn't have worried. The posters look fantastic and the colors are great. Chuck did a really nice job on them.

The posters are available in two sizes: a smaller size, approx. 13 x 19 for $14.95, and a much larger 24 x 36 for $44.95.

The two magazine covers from Two Wheel Trip are bold expressions of the bike-boom era, and would be nice additions to any cyclist's poster/art collection. If interested in ordering one of the posters, check out the Velo-Retro site (www.velo-retro.com) -- if the posters aren't shown yet on the site, contact Chuck through the "Contact Us" link, as they are available even if the webpage hasn't been updated yet to reflect that.

The Art of Cycling

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I recently finished reading Robert Hurst's book, The Art of Cycling, (2nd Ed., FalconGuides, 2014), a guide that I would recommend for commuting cyclists and anyone else who navigates a lot of miles on traffic-clogged streets. Though Hurst's book is sub-titled "Staying Safe on Urban Streets," there is a lot of useful advice for dealing with traffic in general -- not just in urban environments.

One of the first things people might want to know about the book is how it compares to John Forester's Effective Cycling, which is for many people the ultimate authority on riding skills, and the source of the principle that has come to be known generally as "vehicular cycling." While I would say that the advice given in Hurst's book is, for the most part, generally consistent with Effective Cycling, it does have a somewhat more flexible, nuanced view. Hurst occasionally refers to Forester's work directly, but likewise points to some differences:

"Next to the absentminded anarchy practiced by many novices, the vehicular cycling principle is a stellar guideline. Just by obeying traditional traffic-law principles and riding predictably, a bicyclist eliminates a large portion of the danger of cycling. However, the vehicular-cycling principle has a big hole in it: The strict vehicular cyclist who has eliminated many of his or her own mistakes by riding lawfully will still remain quite vulnerable to the mistakes of others."

In some parts of The Art of Cycling, Hurst is more directly critical of Forester's message -- or at least, critical of the way some people interpret it. He writes, "Some cyclists have added a very confrontational tone to the framework of Forester's message. It is a small group, but a very visible and loud group. Through their riding habits in traffic, which are often deliberately, theatrically antagonistic, they seek to make some kind of point to their special audience of other road users."

Hurst's riding advice tries to take into account the riding behavior of experienced cyclists -- including those who are vocal proponents of vehicular cycling, but whose actual riding actions may deviate from the strict interpretation of that very principle. In his alternative, Hurst says his book provides a "synthesis of sorts between old-fashioned vehicular cycling and the reality of modern street riding. We'll pay homage to the masters who have molded vehicular cycling to their needs, creating a more enlightened and nuanced style."

In offering a more "flexible" version of vehicular cycling, Hurst does not suggest riding strategies that would put one outside the law, such as running red lights, hopping from street to sidewalk and back again, or even filtering to the front of a line of stopped cars (apart from some legal exceptions -- and even then, he recommends caution and common sense). Instead, he stresses adapting "to the ever-changing chaos of city life," finding the "path of least resistance," and using the "safest, easiest, and most stress free options" for getting where we want to go. For example, whereas Effective Cycling and many strict vehicular cyclists may express opposition to bike-specific infrastructure such as bike lanes, cycle-paths, etc., and some may even recommend against using such infrastructure as a matter of principle -- Hurst says riders should remain open to such options. He stresses that all cycle-specific facilities are not created equally, but when well-designed, they can be worthwhile. Some people argue that the presence of both pedestrians (who seem to have the right-of-way even on bike lanes) and inexperienced and unpredictable novice cyclists makes such bike lanes and cycle paths even more dangerous than the streets. Hurst, instead, points out that one needs to exercise some caution -- don't get lulled into a sense of complacency just because it's a "bike path" -- but if there is bike-specific infrastructure available, and it gets you where you need to go (or at least close to it) then one should use it.

If there is an overall theme to the advice put forth in The Art of Cycling, it would be that responsibility is more important than blame. If someone in a car runs a red light and hits a cyclist, then of course the driver is at fault -- we can assign blame to the driver. But assigning the blame to the driver does little to help the injured cyclist who would clearly be better off if he/she had not been hit by the car in the first place. Hurst maintains that it is the responsibility of the cyclist to remain vigilant -- to be alert and watchful of what might potentially happen, and to be prepared for it at all times. Hurst says, "Car-versus-bike accidents require two parties: one to make a colossal mistake and another to be caught off guard by it, one to screw up and another who fails to fully respect the potential of the other road user to screw up."

He continues, "The motorist backing blindly and illegally into the roadway is just another something that happens in the city. Drivers back out of hidden alleys, parking spots, and driveways all the time. It must be expected. It must be prepared for. The law blames the motorist for such a collision -- as it should -- but the safe cyclist blames him- or herself for being distracted and unprepared. It's either that or get used to eating trunks and side panels." It's tough advice that we as cyclists might not want to hear. But ultimately, there's something to it. Nobody is more responsible for our well being than we are ourselves. Not only that, but it fits with something I've long told myself when riding with traffic -- that we can never assume or expect that drivers see us, and we should probably assume that even if they do see us, they probably don't care. I know it may be cynical, but it's the kind of cynicism that keeps a cyclist from getting complacent -- and it could be worse. An old friend of mine, a former NYC bike messenger, used to assume that it wasn't even a question of whether drivers saw him or not, but rather it was his belief that they actually wanted to hit him.

On the always-challenging subject of helmets, The Art of Cycling takes a similarly nuanced view. Hurst recommends helmet use for the protection that helmets can give in certain kinds of accidents -- but also gives a straightforward account of the deficiencies of helmets, unrealistic testing standards, and even of the flaws in accident data that people use to support vociferous demands for helmet usage. For example, regarding testing standards, Hurst writes, "If you look on the inside of a new helmet these days, you should find a sticker stating that the helmet meets the standards set by the Consumer Product Safety Commission (CPSC). Make sure the sticker is on any helmet you purchase. But don't get too excited about it."

In addition to the book's guidance on riding techniques, there is also a bit of advice on minor repairs, and choosing tools and equipment -- without getting so specific that the advice would be obsolete within a year or two. And there is also quite a bit of bicycling history -- not just for the sake of including "colorful side matter," but rather to help illustrate how "the birth of the bicycle, the rise of the auto, and the postmodern American sprawled-out city are all lined up along the same continuum." Hurst shows how many of the problems faced by bicyclists today have their roots in the distant past and the early days of the bicycle. It makes for some interesting and enjoyable reading.

I found The Art of Cycling to be a worthwhile read -- and an interesting counterpoint to Effective Cycling (which I also recommend reading). The style is light, informal, sometimes irreverent, and sometimes humorous. Much of what Hurst writes about negotiating traffic seemed to fit with what I see and do myself through my many miles of bicycle commuting. While I can't say I agree with everything in Hurst's book, I did find myself agreeing a lot more often than not, and even then, any differences would be more a question of style than substance. He has some solid advice that could help different kinds riders, whether experienced high-milers, or nervous novices.

Bicycle Safety 101: One Got Fat

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From the end of WWII and right up through the 1970s, films were used to teach school children everything from innocuous subjects like good hygiene, proper manners, safety, and the art of "fitting in," to more serious subjects as sex education, the dangers of drug abuse, and drivers' education. A lot of the more serious films were really nothing more than "scare films," designed to frighten kids and teens out of bad behavior -- remember those mainstays of drivers' ed, like Red AsphaltSignal 30 and Mechanized Death? (a lot of those were made in the 50s and 60s here in my home state of Ohio, but are still shown in some drivers' ed classes to this day!). Likewise, a lot of sex ed films from that time are mainly about how premarital sex always leads to VD (that's STDs to you younger folks), and the safety films routinely feature kids getting maimed by BB guns and scissors.

In that same vein as those scare-tactic educational films is one of my favorites of the genre: the bicycle-safety film One Got Fat from 1963. I used to teach a film class, and one of my units was on old educational films from the 50s through the 70s, so I have quite a collection of these film treasures. I recently re-discovered this old classic while sorting through my archives and thought I'd share it here.

First of all, One Got Fat is probably one of the most unintentionally creepy films ever made for kids. Ever. The film is about ten friends who decide to ride their bikes to the park for a picnic, then along the way, one-by-one the kids get picked off because of their mistakes -- some in particularly horrible ways -- while the cheerful narrator (voiced by Edward Everett Horton, whom some may remember for his work on F-Troop, or maybe from Fractured Fairy Tales -- yeah, really showing my age here) blithely and glibly describes their fate. OK, that alone is pretty creepy, but what makes it the stuff of absolute childhood nightmares (maybe adulthood nightmares, too) is that all the kids are depicted in hideously gruesome-looking monkey masks.

It's like the freakin'Island of Dr. Moreau. (Shudder)
 Let's meet some of the nightmarish monkey/human hybrids and find out how they met their demise:

First, we meet Rooty-Toot "Rooty" Jasperson. Rooty (riding a Schwinn Varsity) has the nicest and "newest bike in the bunch and he was as proud of it as he could be." Unfortunately, Rooty gets tired of using hand signals, so the minute he skips one hand signal -- "just once" the narrator stresses -- he gets creamed by a car as he makes a left turn! His crash is depicted as Rooty swerves in front of the moving car, then cut to a cartoonish "crash" animation with "Boooiiinngg" sound effects -- you know, because a juvenile rider crushed under a car is funny. "At this point," the narrator adds, "Rooty-Toot Jasperson left the party." 
Look out Rooty!
Booiiinnngggg!

Next comes Tinkerbell "Tink" MacDillyfiddy who is so forgetful that she forgets to pay attention to signs. "She's so busy being happy all of the time that her little thoughts tend to wander." (That's right kids, the lesson here is don't be happy). Of course, in her innocent youthful happiness, she wanders right through a stop sign only to get broadsided by a truck. . .
Cue the goofy sound effects. Boooiiinnnggg. "Oops," says the narrator. "Exit Tinkerbell MacDillyfiddy. She forgot, now and then."
Then there's Phillip Floogel -- known to his friends as "Floog." He's the star athlete and class president -- but he's also very easily bored. Because he's "in the mood to do something different," Floog decides to ride on the other side of the street, against the traffic. Narrowly missing one oncoming car, Floog plows head first right into another one that happens to be pulling out of a curbside parking space. As with each unlucky monkey, the scene closes with a shot of a kid's lunchbag, which he'll no longer be needing, while the narrator assures us, "Phillip Floogel isn't bored anymore."
It's like Faces of Death.
Mossby Pomegranate didn't register his bike, so when it got stolen, there was nothing the police could do. Yeah, right -- like they would have done something anyhow. Without a bike, Mossby burned up his sneakers pounding the pavement (no, literally -- the things are smoking) and never made it to the picnic. Sorry Mossby. At least being stranded by the side of the road and "a victim of fallen arches" is a better fate than most of his friends meet.    
Trigby Fipps (the little guy) and "Slim" Jim Macguffny (the husky kid on the handlebars) are riding double. You can almost guess what happens. Glib narrators and society in general have always been hard on the "Slim" Macguffnys of the world. We are told that Slim's own bike "collapsed from the effects of his diet," but his friend Trigby, being a "nice little fellow" (with apparently a much sturdier bicycle) agreed to give him a lift. They disappear down a big hole in the road because Trigby's vision is blocked by the "eclipse" of his massive friend.
Nellie Zwieback (shaking her fist at a fellow rider) doesn't like to share the road, so she chooses to ride on the sidewalk instead. Turns out, she doesn't share well on the sidewalk, either. Pedestrians always have the right of way, we are told, but Nellie "can't think of one good reason why." After she hits a couple pedestrians (inexplicably sending them skyward into a tree), she discovers the reason.
Next on the chopping block is Filbert Bagel, a spoiled kid who refuses to take care of his bike and keep it in good working order "because his parents will probably buy him a new one." Of course, as he careens into the path of a huge steamroller, he discovers that he has no brakes. With the sound of a crunch, followed by a squishy splat (yeah, really) we can only presume that Fil ends up flattened.
Crunch. Squish. Splat.
The last of the creepy monkey children to meet a grisly end is Stan Higgenbottom. Stan rides without lights or reflectors, and predictably rides into a pitch black tunnel (where apparently none of the cars has lights, either). As Stan disappears into the blackness, we hear the crash. The narrator tells us that Stan "wasn't quite bright enough." Get it? Oddly, there is no mention at all about the weird modification that Stan has performed on his bike, relocating his brake levers to what may just be the most awkward and inaccessible part of his "ape hanger" handlebars (I know, I know -- but it was unavoidable).
At least somebody lived. It isn't clear what happened to all the freakish monkey/human hybrids, but we do get a shot of one or two in the hospital, bandaged from head to toe. You know, otherwise the movie might be too disturbing.
And then there are all those lunches whose owners won't be eating them (Notice that "Slim's" lunch is like a freakin' banquet. Ha ha -- 'cause he's fat, get it?).

Wait -- that was only nine. So, what about the 10th kid? Well, that would be little Orville Slump, or "Orv" as he is known.

"I am not an animal. I am a human being. I am . . . a man!" 

Orville Slump is no chump (or chimp?). Orv follows the rules of the road, and takes care of his bike, so he lives to ride again. Not only that, but since he was the only kid whose bike had a basket, he was carrying everyone else's lunches to the picnic. And it's here that we finally get the meaning of the film's title. Now with all those unclaimed lunches at the picnic, Orville gets to have a feast all to himself, so we can presume, as the narrator tells us, he's going to get fat. I suppose that also means that in the film's sequel, we'll get to make fun of Orville for his own bike-crushing mass. 

As a final disturbing note to the film, some might wonder what kind of friend Orville must be, considering that he continues riding on to the picnic to have a massive feast-for-one while all his simian friends are left maimed, disfigured, stranded, or flattened on the side of the road in the worst kind of traffic carnage outside of Red Asphalt and Mechanized Death. In fact, all the characters ride on without a clue as their pals are dispatched one by one.

More than a decade before John Forester published his classic bicycle skills guide Effective Cycling, the film One Got Fat predicated the principles of "vehicular cycling" through its basic lessons of riding with traffic, following the same rules of the road that the cars follow, staying off the sidewalk, obeying signs, and more. Unfortunately, it also gave juvenile viewers the unforgettable lessons that "Bicycling can get you killed,""Happiness leads to death and dismemberment," and "Even your best friend will leave you for dead if it means he can eat your lunch." And all of it came delivered with a healthy dose of fear.

You can watch One Got Fat right here, but don't blame me for resulting nightmares:


Enjoy!

Never Think About Shifting Again

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You could have predicted it. In fact, back in January, I did. With the availability of electronic shifting systems, like Shimano's Di2, I said it was only a matter of time before somebody made fully automatic shifting a reality.

The prototype computer that makes BioShift work.
(from Baron Biosystems).
Enter BioShift, from Baron Biosystems -- an "intelligent gearing system" for bicycles. By combining the capabilities of Shimano's Di2 electronic shifting system with data from Ant+ power meters, heart rate sensors, and speed and cadence sensors, and using a complex computerized algorithm, the Bioshift is supposed to choose the optimal gear for the rider and the conditions at every moment.

"We did extensive regression analysis of ride data to establish the correct gearing needed at all cycling intensity levels," said Armando Mastracci of Baron BioSystems.

The makers claim that automatic shifting will be a benefit to novice and recreational cyclists, who "will enjoy the freedom of just pedaling without having to worry about choosing the right gear." To be honest, I really don't believe that the inability to choose the "optimal" gear for every condition is the thing that keeps people from riding bikes, or from enjoying them.

Likewise, the makers believe that competitive cyclists, especially triathletes, will benefit because "BioShift chooses the gear that enables the desired power to be delivered with the least amount of effort, even as the athlete fatigues."

That's right -- a fatigued triathlete apparently cannot choose the right gear. Even staying on the bike at all is a challenge. Then again, much video evidence exists to say that having automatic shifting won't necessarily help them, either.


The BioShift system can apparently also be configured in different ways to aid training. Different modes include "fixed cadence mode, fixed heart rate mode, as well as fixed power mode." In other words, for training, if someone wants to keep their power output at a certain level throughout their ride, the system will apparently keep the rider in the gear that will make that possible.

Lastly, the company claims that BioShift operates transparently with the Di2 electronic shifting system, and can be enabled or disabled at the touch of a button. What a relief, because otherwise I can imagine lots of shifting-disabled cyclists calling for mercy rides home when this automatic system quits working.

I suppose the next step is when the gearing can be selected remotely -- by a rider's coach, for example. With wireless capability, it is already technically possible. And I'd be willing to bet that somebody's working on a system that will make it happen. Then just imagine the fun that could be had by somebody who could hack into the system to take over the shifting of someone else's bike.

One thing I will never understand is what makes anyone think that shifting gears is such a chore, or so confusing that we need to have a computer to do it for us? Are riders really incapable of learning how to shift gears -- so much so that even push-button electronic shifting is too much to master? Maybe it's just because most of my bikes have no more than 14 speeds, but I'm just not seeing this as a great breakthrough.

As far as making shifting easier for novices, the same basic argument was made for indexed shifting back in the 80s, then for integrated brake/shift levers in the 90s -- that shifting was so difficult, so complex, that novices just couldn't get the hang of it. "Gear fear" was supposedly keeping people from riding. Yet with all these "advances" in shifting technology, we have not seen huge numbers of people suddenly start riding bikes. Sales of bikes climb and fall, but the number of actual riders hasn't really grown significantly -- and there are just as many unridden bikes in basements and garages as ever, regardless of what kinds of shifting systems they have.

But beyond that, while a traditional shifting system, like friction, or even indexed downtube or bar-end levers might take a little time to master, it's not as though a person can't become at least competent after only a few rides (if even that long). The beauty of them is that such traditional systems themselves are actually very simple -- there is so little to go wrong. Electronic systems and this new "automatic" BioShift, on the other hand, are seriously complicated systems designed to "simplify" an action that really isn't as difficult as some would have us believe. Which means that they probably won't be able to keep them in stock.

The Unloved Varsity

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Few vintage bikes get more scorn heaped upon them than the lowly Schwinn Varsity. Disparaging the Varsity is a popular pastime for many bicycle enthusiasts of a certain generation -- that is, any generation old enough to have been riding between about 1960 and 1986. On the Classic Rendezvous Google group, the mere mention of the Varsity in a recent thread on important/significant bikes of the past was enough to get a major back-and-forth argument going on for a couple of weeks.

For my part, I don't think anyone can argue that the Schwinn Varsity was a great bike -- not while maintaining a straight face, anyhow -- but I would argue that it was at least an important bike. There is a difference.

Having recently taken a close look at the classy and under-appreciated hand-built Schwinn models, like the Super Sport, Sports Tourer, and Superior, it might be a good time to examine the bottom-level, budget priced Varsity.

Tom Shaddox, on the late Sheldon Brown's website, said of the Varsity, it has the "oxymoronic distinction of being one of the heaviest lightweight bicycles ever built." It is a bit of irony, to be sure, but for the target market, weight was not as important as durability -- and durability was something the bike had in spades. Schwinns in general were built to last, and that is one of the things the company's customers expected and valued.

What makes the Varsity an important bike is its impact on the American cycling public in the 60s and 70s. Yes, it continued to be made, virtually unchanged, well into the 1980s, far longer than it ever should have been, which is another story. But to understand the significance of the Varsity, I think it's important to understand the American bicycle market throughout the first half of the 20th century and right up through the 1950s. Hardly anybody old enough to have a driver's license at that time rode a bicycle, yet in 1960, Schwinn made the decision to offer an entry level "10-speed" derailleur-equipped bike (actually, I should note that the first Varsity was an 8-speed -- it would be upgraded to 10 speeds a year or two later). Somebody at Schwinn must have believed it was worthwhile, and I'm sure that it wasn't because they saw dollar signs. They could not have seen adult bicycles as a money maker. For much of America, the Varsity turned out to be the introduction to drop-bar, derailleur-equipped "10-speed" bikes -- solidly built, and from a name they recognized and knew they could trust.

The Varsity was one of Schwinn's "Electro-forged" bicycles -- mass produced in a way that was unduplicated by anyone else. Huge coiled rolls of steel strip were rolled and welded into tubing. Pieces of flat steel were stamped, rolled, and welded into frame fittings such as head-tubes and bottom brackets. The tubes and fittings were flash welded into complete bikes, built up with a combination of Schwinn-made components (like the steel "Schwinn Tubular Rims") and "Schwinn Approved" components that were made elsewhere to the company's strict specifications (including Normandy hubs, Huret Allvit derailleurs, and Weinmann brakes -- all re-labeled "Schwinn Approved").

From the introduction of the Varsity and through the 60s and 70s, Schwinn continued to expand its offerings of "10-speed" and derailleur-equipped bicycles. It should be noted that the Varsity and the Continental were basically the same bike but the Continental came equipped with tubular-steel fork blades as opposed to the Varsity's flat forged fork (and it sold for about $15 more). In fact, many people refer to the Varsity and Continental together as the "Varsinental." The more upscale hand-built Superior/Super Sport/Sports Tourer models were added to the middle level of the lineup. In 1974, there was a "Sprint" model added (below the hand-built models), which was basically a Continental, but with a shorter wheelbase and a curved seat tube, modeled after the "Sprint" framed Paramounts. And of course, the Paramounts were always there at the top of the heap.

Spotted on eBay recently. Try to find a picture of a Varsity
that doesn't have a garage door in the background. Go on. Try.
Sales of the Varsity, and its closely related sibling, the Continental, grew through the 60s, and went through the roof during the bike boom of the early 70s. During those years, Schwinn cranked out more Varsities than all other "10-speeds" combined, and given the long quarter-century production run, the Varsity has the distinction of being the single biggest selling "10-speed" model ever. Millions were built and sold, and because of their near-legendary durability, there are tons of them still out there. At any given moment on eBay, one can find dozens (many dozens, really) of complete examples for sale, ranging from battered and barely functional to pristine and like new -- with prices varying accordingly. Frames, forks, and all kinds of original components are plentiful, too. More are available through Craigslist postings and classified ads, and countless examples can be found routinely at garage and yard sales -- or even on the curb on trash day (a sorry fate, but there's no better bargain than "free"). Though they are far too plentiful to be considered "collectible," it isn't uncommon to find people charging (or people willing to pay) collectible prices for them simply by virtue of the Schwinn name.

Though it's easy to make fun of the Varsity and its close siblings for their "weight problem," I think it's important to look at what else was available in that entry-level market in the early 60s. Imported entry-level "10-speeds" were lighter, but the difference often wasn't as great as some would have you believe, especially if one compared bikes of a similar price. The component choices on the Varsity weren't out of line either. Huret Allvit derailleurs were common on bikes of that level in the early 60s. The steel, one-piece "Ashtabula" cranks were heavy, but how much heavier were they than the cottered steel cranks on the imports? And besides, the one-piece crank was relatively easy to work on, and had a remarkably long service life. Most bikes in the Varsity's price range came with steel rims, so again the weight difference couldn't have been outrageous, and the Schwinn-built rims have been described as "among the sturdiest ever built."

I'd argue that the Varsity, or "Varsinental," was a decent bike for its time -- but it failed to keep up with the times, and I believe that is where a lot of the derision comes from. Even by the early 70s, the bike was getting long in the tooth, but the Bike Boom buyers weren't very picky. As Schwinn began importing bikes from Japan in the 70s to meet the increased demand, their own imported bikes were lighter and worked better than the "Varsinental" for about the same price. Unfortunately, Schwinn didn't read the signs. As already mentioned, the bike was made with only minor changes for roughly 25 years, right into the mid 80s. There was no "Varsity II" that would improve or build on the reputation and keep the bike competitive with the imports, and that was a story that was all too common with long-established manufacturers. Much the same thing could be said of component manufacturers like Huret, who made the Varsity's Allvit derailleurs as long as Schwinn was willing to spec them, only to be badly outpaced by Japanese competition.

So even though the Varsity was a "heavyweight" masquerading as a "lightweight," and a bike that wore out its welcome by not keeping up with the times or competition, it does still have the significant distinction of having introduced many Americans to the concept of adult bicycling, and igniting a love of bicycles that continued on long after those riders had moved on to better, lighter, and more "desirable" bikes. They may not have been great bikes, but they got a lot of people riding, and there's something pretty great about that.

Prettiest Road Bikes?

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Browsing some of the other bike blogs to see what's new in the non-retrgrouch world, I happened upon this video at BikeRadar showcasing the "Top 5 Prettiest Road Bikes."Hey, I thought - I like pretty road bikes as much as anybody, so I settled in to watch a little "pretty bike porn."


Wow, was I disappointed.

Nevertheless, for your viewing pleasure (or displeasure), here are the Top 5 Prettiest Road Bikes, as selected by BikeRadar:

De Rosa Scandium. Ok, first thing you should know is there are no bikes made of the rare-earth metal known as scandium. However, there is some scandium in the aluminum alloy mix, so bike companies that use the alloy take the liberty to label their bikes "scandium." Just looking for a little truth in advertising, that's all. Anyhow, I looked it up and supposedly the benefit of an Al-Sc alloy is that it yields a slightly different grain structure when heated (as in welding). Beyond that I don't know or care how it's different from plain ol' aluminum. Now, is the bike beautiful? It's welds are nicely smoothed, so it's got that going for it. And the paint job is pretty classy. But is it as beautiful as a 1980s lugged DeRosa in screaming Italian red paint? Please.

I'll give them credit for having some very smooth welds. That's about it, though.
Now THAT's a pretty bike. The model's pretty nice, too.

Deep-profile rims look totally out of place on that frame.
Ritchey Road Logic. The editors picked a steel-framed bike? Great. And I have some respect for Tom Ritchey, whose hand-built fillet brazed bikes from the old days are really elegant -- even the mountain bikes. This is not one of those bikes, however. Nope. This current Road Logic bears a label saying "Designed by Tom Ritchey" but the bike is cheaply welded, and if I had to say where, I'd guess somewhere in Asia.

The narrator of the video particularly admires the "skinny 1-1/8 steerer tube." Actually, the head tube, with its flared top and bottom sections that house an internal headset, is one of the things I find particularly atrocious. Of course, I also hate the look of a bloated carbon fork attached to relatively skinny-tubed steel frame. The proportions are completely wrong. And then there are the welds, which are just plain ugly. I know beauty is only skin deep, but there is no comparison between the smooth fillet brazing on a classic hand-built Ritchey and the minimally-finished welds on this newer version.

Sorry, nothing pretty about this.
2012 40th Anniversary Ritchey Classic -- hand-built by Tom with smooth fillet brazing. Clean, smooth, and beautiful.  And that steel fork has the right proportion for the frame. That is a pretty bike. (from ritcheylogic.com)

Lapierre Aircode: Carbon fiber with ridiculously over-designed tubing profiles. I'm not feeling it. "You'll have no excuse for a weak performance in the sprints," the narrator says. In other words, spend as much as you want on a bike -- if you sucked before, the bike won't help. The video narrator goes on to say, "Lapierre offer the Aircode in a variety of different build kits to suit different budgets blah blah etc. etc. . . . more importantly it looks very nice in this red color way." So, whatever the bike may offer for equipment and performance, and all of its weird melted-looking tubing, all it really comes down to is the paint job.




Tommasini Mach Titanium: I've got no problems with titanium as a bike-building material -- strong, light, durable, and rust-free. I do have a hard time getting excited about welding from an aesthetic standpoint -- welds might be strong and functional, but they generally aren't "pretty." Having said that, the welds on this Tommasini Mach Titanium are clean-looking (notice I didn't say "pretty"). The polished titanium finish is nice, and the Tommasini name is bead-blasted onto the down tube for a cool look without a decal. That's all fine. Then again, the bike has massive-diameter tubing for complete overkill. And worse, what is with that head tube?

That lower half of that head tube accommodates a 1-1/2 in. fork steerer, plus an internal headset. The outside diameter has to be close to 60mm! Sorry -- NOT PRETTY! And don't forget -- this is a road bike, not a downhill racer.

At least the welds are smooth.
I could do without the deep-profile rims, but Tommasini still makes some traditional bikes -- this frame with its slim tubing diameters, chromed lugs, and classic red with white panels is much prettier to my eye. (from www.Tommasini.it)

Scappa Il Corriero: I've never heard of Scappa. I have no doubt that the Il Corriero is an expensive bike, though. I like black and orange, but the massive, bloated-looking tube diameters, the huge tapered head tube, and oversized carbon fork all make the frame hard to distinguish from most other carbon bikes out there today. Apart from its color combination, what exactly makes it pretty? Again, since the frame is not much different from so many other carbon fiber bikes out there, the only thing that sets it apart is its paint job.

There you have it -- the Top 5 Prettiest Road Bikes. Or are they?

Recommended Read: Fat Tire Flyer

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I recently finished reading Charlie Kelly's fantastic, fun, and informative new book Fat Tire Flyer: Repack and the Birth of Mountain Biking (2014, Velo Press). Although I've always been partial to road bikes, Kelly's account of the birth of the mountain bike is well worth reading and a very enjoyable story.

The book takes its title from the magazine founded and published by Kelly in the early 1980s, also called Fat Tire Flyer, which was one of the original publications dedicated to mountain biking in the sport's early days. Charlie Kelly is without a doubt one of the best authorities on the subject, having been involved with the sport since its infancy, and as Joe Breeze refers to him in the book's forward, "one of the main instigators of the sport." Kelly was the organizer of the famous Repack downhill races in Marin County, and the co-founder with Gary Fisher of the MountainBikes company which built and sold some of the first examples of the breed, with frames built by Tom Ritchey. Actually, I'm not even scratching the surface on Kelly's involvement in the beginnings of mountain biking. You'll just have to read the book for that.

Charlie Kelly's book is part informative history and part personal memoir. Kelly is a great chronicler of the people, the places, and the events that combined to turn a band of hippie bicycle enthusiasts in the 70s into the fathers of a whole new bicycling movement. His style is informal and personal, and it isn't difficult to "hear" his voice and imagine him telling the story of the "Klunkerz" and the early Repack races, almost as though you were with him gathered 'round a campfire after a long day of riding the trails around Marin.

Joe Breeze created this fantastic
map of the Repack Course
in 1984. It's just one of the many
"historic artifacts" that help bring
 Kelly's chronicle to life.
Not only is it a captivating "read," but Kelly is also quite an archivist. The book is chock full great photos, many candid snapshots from early rides and races, and numerous "artifacts" and mementos that help document his historical account. There are pages from Kelly's old notebooks, chronicling race results from those famous Repack races, original newspaper clippings, old promotional posters, and much more. It's clear that Kelly must not throw anything away, and it makes me wonder how much more must be tucked away in his collection.

Charlie Kelly and Joe Breeze at 10,000 ft in Mineral King Valley.
The caption with the photo says, "Yes, we know how lucky we are."
The bikes are two of the very first Breezers, often credited as the
first purpose-built mountain bikes.
The large format (approx. 9-1/2 x 11" and over 250 pages) would make it easy to call Fat Tire Flyer a "coffee table book" but it is really much more. Yes, one could easily entertain themselves just flipping through the book's many photos, but Charlie Kelly's storytelling style makes it a book that people will want to read from cover to cover.
The back cover is graced by a 1977 panoramic group photo of mountain biking's
pioneers, taken just prior to one of the Repack races. Charlie Kelly, Gary
Fisher and Joe Breeze are there in the middle (4th, 5th, and 6th from
the left). The full photo is included within.

Bike Safety 101: The Bicycle Clown

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"Why did Jimmy always have to stunt and show off?"
"That's my kid brother Jimmy. He's hurt," says the monotone narrator at the beginning of the 1958 bicycle safety film, The Bicycle Clown. Looking down at the wrecked bike under the bumper of a Chevy as his brother is taken away in an ambulance, he asks himself "why did Jimmy always have to stunt and show off?" And thus begins a drawn-out investigation as the youthful narrator tries to figure out how his brother ended up on road to pain and misery.

Made by "the king of calamity" Sid Davis on a budget of approximately $1000 (no, really -- you can look it up), The Bicycle Clown is pretty typical of the safety films and other cautionary tales of its time in that it lays most of the blame for accidents on the hapless victims themselves. Sid Davis became particularly famous for his style of "guidance" films that invariably looked into dark subjects in which the young victims never fare well. The flat, judgmental narration is always particularly harsh towards the "wise guy" kids who "think they know better" and always end up suffering (or dying, in some cases) because they "did first and thought last." Some of Davis's other notable or notorious films include The Dangerous Stranger (about child molesters), Seduction of the Innocent (about drug addiction), Live and Learn (safety), and perhaps the most notorious and offensive "social education" film ever made, 1961's Boys Beware (about the dangers of homosexuality).

Like a young Joe Friday, the youthful narrator in The Bicycle Clown goes about interviewing pretty much anybody who has ever had contact with Jimmy, trying to find out how his kid brother ended up under the bumper of that Chevy. He first interviews someone at the local police station to "get some facts about bicycle accidents." There he learns (with the help of some really dynamic illustrations) that 1 out of 4 bike accidents happens because of a bicycle that is mechanically defective. One out of every 3 bike accidents involves an automobile, and 2 out of every 3 bike riders injured or killed in an accident has violated some traffic law or safety rule. By the way, it's possible that those statistics were drawn from actual contemporary traffic studies, but it's also entirely possible that Davis made them up out of thin air. His work was completely un-reviewed by any educational committees or fact-checking panels (that would have cost money) and it was not unusual for him to make completely unsupported claims in his films. So take the claims for what they're worth.
The Bicycle Clown includes some helpful and dynamic illustrations.

Jimmy was more interested in flashy streamers and
other "ornaments" than in keeping his bike adjusted.
Because he wonders if his brother's bike might have been one of those defective bicycles that cause 1/4th of accidents, the young investigator visits Mr. Burt at the local bike shop. Was Jimmy's bike mechanically sound? Of course it was. But darkly, the narrator learns from Mr. Burt that Jimmy was more interested in flashy decorations and "ornaments" than in making sure his bicycle was properly adjusted.

Next, the older brother talks to Jimmy's friends who tell him how Jimmy loved to "clown and show off" on his bike. Although he made the other kids laugh, the narrator observes, "he didn't realize they were laughing at him, not with him." Needless to say, by this time in the film, a deeply disturbing psychological profile begins to manifest itself -- not just in Jimmy who "foolishly thought that childish showing off" was the way to gain social acceptance, but also in the obsessed older brother narrator who apparently is going to grill everyone in his town relentlessly until he gets the answers he's after.

Jimmy was one of the best riders in his
class, but. . .
The narrator's next visit is with Mr. Brown, the school's bicycle safety teacher. WHAT?! They have a bicycle safety class at Jimmy's elementary school?! How freakin' progressive! Anyhow, Mr. Brown tells him that Jimmy was one of the best riders in his class, but (there's always a big "but" in this narrative) Jimmy also had the "silly and dangerous notion that a good bike rider could take chances and violate the most important safety rules just to impress his schoolmates." It's then that we see a clip of Jimmy hitching a ride on the back of a big flatbed truck rolling by. "Jimmy would take his life in his own hands," we are told.


. . . he would regularly take his life into his own hands!
We then learn from another friend that Jimmy had been pulled over by police in the past for dangerous behavior, such as riding double, and riding against traffic. But by acting extra polite to the officer, and calling him "sir," the little sociopath was always able to get off with no more than a warning.

By being extra polite with Ponch (or is that John?) Jimmy the
sociopath was always able to avoid serious trouble.

We also learn how little "Mikie" (seen riding double with Jimmy) hero-worshipped Jimmy -- which of course fed Jimmy's deeply disturbed hunger for acceptance.

After visiting with the route manager at the local newspaper, we learn that Jimmy was a "dependable worker,"but (again) there had been many complaints from customers about Jimmy's reckless bike riding. It's then that we see him speeding down the sidewalk, just narrowly missing slamming into a woman with a baby carriage.


We learn from the newspaper route manager that "Jimmy had the foolish and dangerous 'it won't happen to me' attitude." That's always a serious condemnation in a Sid Davis film.

The route manager had to give Jimmy a good talking-to.
Next, the older brother visits with Jimmy's gray-haired teacher, who describes him as a "bright and willing student" who had suffered a recent disappointment when he didn't make the basketball team. It seems a bit strange that he has to talk to the teacher to learn this about his younger brother. "He was bitterly disappointed when he was not chosen" and so he tried to make up for it through "reckless stunting." Again, we see Jimmy trying to raise his social status with the other kids by showing off.
Jimmy scatters a group of girls to get some laughs from his buddies.
"Although his friends watched and laughed when he showed off,
they knew he was being foolish and childish." Sure they did.
Then comes that fateful day, when we see Jimmy careening down a hill, no hands, showing off for a couple of little girls as he flies right through a stop sign and into the main street.

Like all of Sid Davis's ultra-low-budget films, we see the obvious set-up for a disaster . . .
. . . then cut away to the shocked reaction of onlookers. . .
. . . then the tragic results.
So finally, we have a complete picture of Jimmy, and it isn't good. Jimmy was clearly a deeply disturbed young man who desperately tried to make up for his various disappointments and failures through reckless stunting and showing off -- often in an effort to raise his status in the eyes of classmates and younger hero-worshipers. His insatiable hunger for acceptance drove him to dangerous, life-threatening behavior. Of course, it doesn't occur to the young narrator, and probably not even to Sid Davis himself, but maybe young Jimmy needs some serious psychological counseling. Not only that, but it raises a question for me which is -- where the hell are Jimmy's parents in all of this? And could this whole tragedy have been avoided if his parents had just shown him a little love once in a while? Could his pathological need for acceptance stem from a lack of support and guidance from his conspicuously absent parents?

At least you're alive, Jimmy. Some of Sid Davis's little victims don't make it.
Maybe now Jimmy will learn that "a good bike rider who takes chances isn't a good bike rider at all."

In the end, I can't decide if The Bicycle Clown would serve better as a bicycle safety film, or a lesson in child psychology.

Enjoy The Bicycle Clown here!


Innovations (?) from Eurobike 2014

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I was reading about some of the new innovations introduced at Eurobike 2014 on BikeRadar. As I've come to expect, there are plenty of things that struck me as completely pointless, unnecessarily complex, and overall contrary to the very things that make bicycles great. Here is a sample -- for more, follow the link back to BikeRadar.

The Haibike Sduro electric mountain bike was one of many electric bikes on display. This one also has an electronically controlled "intelligent" suspension.
At what point does a bicycle cease to be a bicycle? If you ask me, it happens the minute you strap a motor or engine onto it. In this case, a 250w Yamaha electric motor that doesn't just assist pedaling, but will propel the bike completely on its own.
The Diavelo is supposed to be the commuting bike of the future. Note the huge e-display built into the handlebars, with full smartphone integration. Note also the complete lack of fenders or racks (or the means to add them). Why do bicycle designers keep insisting on creating fashionable "commuting" bicycles that lack the basic necessities of commuting?
Shaft-driven bicycles go back to at least the 1890s, in the days before chains became reliable and common. Nowadays shafts are the standard drive choice for cars, so of course they must be superior -- which is why bike designers keep bringing them back as though they must be something "new" and "improved." They are neither. The fact is that chains became the drive of choice on bicycles because they are light, simple, reliable, and the most efficient means of transferring power from the crank to the wheel. Belts can match chains for efficiency, but have other issues that make them (in my opinion) less than ideal.
Considering that rain is often accompanied by wind, not to mention that a moving bicycle generates its own wind, the Dryve rain cover has disaster written all over it.
There wasn't much info about this one, but I'm guessing it's another e-bike. In addition to an incredibly clunky, ugly frame, it has what looks like an upside-down suspension fork, and maybe a single sided rear stay.
The nose-less saddle. I'm sure the claims are that it's more comfortable than a "normal" saddle. Again, nothing new. Nose-less saddles have been around for a while -- ever wonder why they never caught on? For one thing, it's harder to control a bike bike with such a saddle.
Even the folks at BikeRadar wondered what was the point of these covers over the disc brakes. I'm still convinced that heat can be a potential problem for discs. A covering like this might protect somebody from being injured by the super hot disc -- then again, such a covering also would interfere with the cooling of a brake disc.

Fat bike for kids. Ummmm, Okay.
At first glance, this doesn't look to be much different from your garden variety urban fixie, until you look closely to see that it has a flocked finish -- that's right -- it's "fuzzy." Other than having some kind of weird "fuzzy" fetish, I can't figure out why someone would want this.
A carbon fiber backpack. Why?
There you have it -- a small sampling of the "innovations" spotted at Eurobike '14. I can't wait, can you?

Jack Taylor: Loss of a Treasure

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The bicycling world should note the recent passing of a great man, a treasure, and a legend, Jack Taylor, who died on Nov. 2nd. Jack was one of the three "bicycle brothers" behind Jack Taylor Cycles of Stockton-on-Tees, England.

Jack Taylor was a true life-long bicycle enthusiast. After discovering the joy of cycling as a youngster, he rode his bike everywhere, eventually getting involved in the British club-racing scene in his teens. Though he deeply admired some of the high-end bicycles he saw at the time (the bicycles of Claud Butler were a favorite), the story goes that Jack could not afford to buy the lightweight bikes he dreamed of, so he set about learning to build his own. 

The Taylor brothers: Ken, Jack, and Norman.
Jack began building bicycles in 1936 out of a shed behind his mother's home in Stockton-on-Tees. In the early days, he had two friends, Lance Bell and Jack Hood, to help him. Later, as the little shed became a popular visiting spot for the area's elite cyclists, he was joined by his two brothers, Ken and Norman. Jack Taylor Cycles became the family business officially in 1945. Norman handled most of the frame-building duties, Jack did the exquisite finish work, including the beautiful box-lined pinstriping that their bikes were known for, and Ken built wheels and did final assembly on complete bicycles. Ken also boxed the bikes for shipping (many of which came to the U.S.), and wrote on each box "Have a Nice Ride."

In those years during and right after the war, apparently there were shortages that made it difficult at times to get the needed supplies for building frames, such as lugs. Out of necessity, the Taylors started building lugless frames with the fillet brazing method, or as it was sometimes known, "bronze-welding." These smooth-finished frames had a lovely "carved of one piece" look to them, but the lugless building method also lent itself to a variety of different or even non-traditional frame designs, including tandems, trikes, and more.

A beautiful touring bike belonging to Troy Warnick, courtesy
of the Classic Rendezvous. Note the elegant front and rear
racks and  internal wiring for the generator lights.
Though many of the earlier bicycles built were racing models, Jack Taylor Cycles became well known and highly regarded for their tandems and touring bikes. According to The Custom Bicycle by Kolin and de la Rosa, the company's tandem production was not far behind their production for single bicycles. Their touring bikes were probably the closest thing made in Britain to the wonderful bikes made by the great French constructeurs of the golden age, with their lovely integrated racks that were built in-house. According to Jan Heine, of Bicycle Quarterly, the Taylor brothers were "blown away" by the bicycles they saw during a visit to the Paris Bicycle Show and took tremendous inspiration back home with them. Whether lugged (often with Nervex Professional lugs) or fillet-brazed, Taylor touring bikes are real things of beauty.

I always liked the Jack Taylor
head tube logo. It has a Mondrian-
inspired look to it. It was
designed by one of their first
American customers.

The Taylor brothers, who raced with a club called the Stockton Wheelers, also helped to change the racing scene in the U.K. It's pretty well known that time trialing was the main form of road racing in the U.K. for many years, as massed-start racing was banned. British racing up through the 1950s was often done in a quasi-legal way -- sometimes described as "cloak and dagger" racing. Racers rode in black, without race numbers, and tried to avoid attracting attention of the law -- not that racing was actually illegal per se. The ban had more to do with the National Cyclists' Union, which governed British racing, than with any actual law. In 1942, a British League of Racing Cyclists (BLRC), led by Percy Stallard, had formed, and the Taylor brothers were among the first to join. After participating in a massed-start race, the brothers and other members of the BLRC were suspended from the NCU. Nevertheless, those efforts eventually led to sanctioned European-style massed-start racing in the U.K. and the Taylor brothers reportedly rode together as a team in the first Tour of Britain.

Here you can see the flawless fillet-brazing, the gorgeous
flamboyant paint, exquisite box-lining, and the unique
Reynolds decals -- all in one great shot.
The Taylors had a strong relationship with the Reynolds tubing company and as a result, they were able to get a number of special tube sets produced for their bicycles. Plain gauge or butted, oversized or curved -- there were several variations made specifically for Jack Taylor Cycles. Special unique Reynolds decals were also used on many Jack Taylor bicycles.

The company was famous for its racing bikes with the curved seat tubes -- originally designed for hill climbs and time trials, according to the catalogs.

A curved seat tube model belonging to Dave Martinez.
(Photos used with permission from Classic Rendezvous)
There is a charming short film about the Taylor brothers produced by the BBC in the mid 80s called The Bike Brothers. In it are some wonderful scenes from their shop, featuring Norman brazing up a tandem frame, Ken building a wheel, and Jack pin striping another tandem frame while two of his customers look on in wonder. And in each scene, the brothers talk gently about their philosophy and how things have changed. As Jack describes the process of pin striping (using a little wheeled tool) I can't help but find myself wishing I could have visited the shop myself at some point before they closed it up. You can watch The Bike Brothers here:


In this scene from the film, Jack pinstripes a frame while some visitors watch:
"It's a bit of a job that's died out, hand-lining. Racing lads don't go in for it, you know.""You make it look so easy," says the customer. "Oh, it's dead easy," Jack replies. "I couldn't do it for a lot of years. We had a man, Mr. Dixon, he was 71. He did it all with a brush. When he died, I was in a panic. I had to force myself to do it. He couldn't use the wheel, and I couldn't use his brush. It puts a bit of life into the frame, doesn't it? When we started making these every bike had a different style of lining on it. All the different firms had their own peculiar style. Then it died out. So I can only presume that the people who did it have either died or retired. And probably I'm the only one left doing it."
Jack Taylor decided to retire in 1990, when he would have been about 72 or so, and that meant the closing of the business, though brother Norman did continue to build some frames until about 2001. And just as Jack described as the way an art like hand-lining dies out, I've read that those later frames, with paint jobs outsourced to other shops, don't have the beautiful pinstriping that the bikes had been so well known for. Norman died in 2008 at age 85.

At the end of the film, The Bike Brothers, one can hear the voice of Jack saying, "I don't like progress. I think as you get older, you find that it isn't progress, it's only change. And it isn't change always for the better." I couldn't agree more.

Farewell, Jack. Have a Nice Ride.

What Does This Record Mean?

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The bike blogosphere has been abuzz over this new bicycle speed record. Apparently some guy in France has taken a "bicycle" up over 200 mph. BikeSnobNYC is calling him the world's fastest fred. Here's his machine:



And here's the video, from YouTube:

On Nov. 7th, François Gissy took a rocket-propelled bicycle up to 333 km/h, or 207 mph, in 250 meters. I watched the video -- and it looks freakin' insane. But what I want to know is, for what does this count? I suppose it's some kind of daredevil record, but it doesn't have much of anything to do with bicycling. The contraption can maybe be called a bicycle only by some generous stretch of the definition -- yes it has two wheels, and it does have some pedals and a chain that could potentially propel the machine forward. But in the record, there is no pedaling being done at all. In fact, watching the video, it really looks like the guy's legs are just dangling behind him like on some kind of Wile E Coyote cartoon contraption from "Acme."

I used my prodigious photoshop skills for this. 
All he needs is a roadrunner to chase down.

An interesting achievement -- heck, just staying on the thing makes it an accomplishment. Just don't call it a bicycle.
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