The Retrogrouch

When it comes to old bicycles, the subject of restoration and renovation comes up a lot. People have an old bike they've ridden for a lot of years, or maybe find one at a garage sale or an uncle's basement. The bike has some chips in the paint, a little surface rust here and there, maybe some pitted chrome. It's a decent bike though, and they'll consider getting it repainted. Is it always a good idea though?

I get regular emails from members of the Classic Rendezvous group, and this topic is a regular one. In a recent conversation thread, someone included a link to an article from someone who probably knows as much about bike restoration and renovation as anyone can: Jim Cunningham of CyclArt. Jim was once a painter for Masi back when they were producing frames in California, then worked with the great Mario Confente until his death in 1979. Now his company is one of the top specialists in the U.S. for bicycle finishing and restoration.

Jim has this article, A Simple Job, on the CyclArt site. It's dated from just over a year ago, though it's possible it could pre-date that. In it, he writes about getting a beautiful '60s-vintage Frejus track frame in his shop - filthy dirty, but remarkably well-preserved under the years' worth of grime. A customer sent it to him with the work order to powder coat the entire frame in plain black, including the lovely brass head badge. Nuts!

The article isn't very long, but it's worth a read. Any retrogrouch would enjoy it.

More than that, but it raises an interesting point about the pros and cons of restoring or renovating an old bike. As some collectors will say, "a bike only has its original paint once." With a bike that's rare and/or valuable, one should really think twice before getting new paint. If there is significant damage that must be repaired, it may be one thing - but things like a few chips or scratches, and some minor surface rust can often be dealt with while still preserving the original finish.

I've renovated a few old bikes myself. There are lots of times when it is perfectly appropriate. With mass-market, mass-produced bikes, I wouldn't feel too bad about getting new paint to help give the bike a new lease on life. An old Nishiki, or Centurion might be a nice bike from a riding standpoint, but probably isn't particularly valuable or collectible. If it looks beat up and new paint would make it more enjoyable to ride - why not? Even powder coat it, and try not to lose sleep over it.

But some bikes really are better left alone. And with a more collectible bike, if it does have more serious problems that need to be repaired - like bad rust that goes beyond the surface, or a cracked tube, or something - then one should have the work done by somebody who will do it in such a way as to preserve whatever character the bike may have had, and be refinished with respect to the original. If someone doesn't really know the difference, it certainly wouldn't be a bad idea to get some input before plunging into the project. And unlike the person with the Frejus in Cunningham's article, hopefully take the advice.

I had a question recently from a reader that led to some interesting investigation. He had a bike, a 1980s Superia, with a tubing sticker he hadn't seen before and wanted to know more about it. I've run some posts about bicycle frame tubing before - like Reynolds, Columbus, Tange, and Ishiwata, and I'm familiar with others such as Vitus, but I'd never seen this sticker before.

"Guaranteed Built With - R.C. Frame Tubes -
Forks Stays - Bonderized"

With its black, gold, and green colors, and the "Guaranteed Built With . . ." slogan, it is obviously a knockoff of the famous Reynolds stickers from the classic era. I shared the photo and the question with friends in the Classic Rendezvous group - but unfortunately, other than some mild outrage at the attempt to capitalize on the familiar Reynolds logo, nobody seemed to know this tubing.

I started by looking into the Superia brand. One doesn't see these here in the U.S. that often, but they were (maybe still are?) a Belgian brand. In fact, Eddy Merckx rode for the Superia team at the beginning of his career with Rik Van Looy. The company made a range of models, including some decent racing bikes, though it's unlikely that the bikes ridden by Merckx and the rest of the team were actually built by the company. More likely they were built by a specialist shop, and painted with the sponsor's colors and decals. Such was common practice in those days.

Looking at the Classic Rendezvous site, there wasn't a lot of info about the Superia brand, but I found that the company was founded by Remi Claeys, and that they made welded (think "seamed") steel tubing in addition to bicycles.

Back to the sticker: At first look, I thought the sticker said "R.O." frame tubes, but looking closer, it appears to be "R.C." R.C.? Remi Claeys? No confirmation for it, but I think that's the key. I became convinced that this was in-house tubing, probably seamed, made by Superia for their lower-cost bicycles. Notice that the sticker also doesn't mention "butted" tubing. Almost certainly straight gauge. "Bonderized"? That's apparently a surface treatment that inhibits rust, similar to, and sometimes used in conjunction with galvanizing.

I haven't gotten any solid information to tell me I'm wrong in my assessment - so that's the story on that one, for now.

The question about that tubing sticker got me thinking about other "knockoffs" of the Reynolds brand -- like this one:

The "Raleigh 555" was used on a lot of U.S. Raleighs in the 1980s.

The interesting thing about the Raleigh 555 is that it probably fooled a lot of people into thinking their bikes were built with Reynolds tubing. In fact, there are many people who believe that the tubing actually was Reynolds, only re-branded. I for one don't actually believe that to be the case. Read on.

The thing is, fans of vintage bikes are probably well aware that most higher-end Raleigh bikes in the '60s and '70s were built with Reynolds tubing - usually some version of 531. Keep in mind that at that time Raleigh Bicycles and Reynolds Tubing were divisions of the same company (which also owned Brooks Saddles and Sturmey-Archer for a time). In 1982, TI-Raleigh divested itself of their U.S. operations and sold the U.S. rights to the Raleigh name to Huffy. Raleigh USA was born. Most of the Raleigh USA bikes, though, were built in Japan (many of them by Bridgestone, which also made bikes for Schwinn). These were the bikes that typically bore the "Raleigh 555" tubing labels.

In most cases, the Raleigh 555 stickers said the tubing was chrome moly. I understand that there are some rarer versions that listed the tubing as manganese, which is also what Reynolds 531 is made from. Searching around the internet and the bike forums, I've found more than a few people who insist that the tubing was re-branded Reynolds 501, which was that company's lower-cost chrome moly tube set. Some of those same people claim that the manganese version was actually Reynolds 531. Others insist that the tubing was Japanese in origin, probably made by Tange (which made both chrome moly and manganese tubing, by the way).

I really believe the Japanese origin to be more likely. Think about it. If Raleigh USA was using Reynolds tubing in their bicycles, why would they bother re-branding it? They obviously knew of the cache that the Reynolds label brings to a bike or else they wouldn't have copied the label so faithfully. On the other hand, there are countless examples of Japanese bicycle manufacturers re-branding tube sets made by Tange and Ishiwata. Fuji's Valite tubing, for example, was made by Ishiwata.

The way I figure it, Raleigh USA was having their bikes built in Japan - that much is certain. They probably sourced their tubing from Japan too. It only makes sense. But knowing how closely British Raleighs were linked with Reynolds tubing -- not just as corporate siblings, but also in the minds of many consumers -- they wanted a label that at first glance would reassure buyers, and give them that prestige. Could I be wrong? Sure. But that's the explanation that makes the most sense to me.

Anyhow, there are other "knockoffs" of the famous Reynolds logo - some with a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor. Like this one - "Guaranteed Not Built With. . .":

Or this one, "Guaranteed Built With AWESOME . . .":

(photo via Mark Bulgier)

Some just avoid the whole branding nonsense altogether, like this sticker from framebuilder Vincent Dominguez:

(photo via Marten Gerritsen)

And then there's this one, that I'm kind of partial to:

There's an old urban legend about a guy who buys a cheap painting from a garage sale, then after he gets it home, accidentally bumps or knocks some paint off the canvas. Then he notices that there's another painting underneath the cheap acrylic paint, something done in oils, which is why the newer paint doesn't really adhere to it. Carefully removing more of the acrylic, he discovers that someone has painted over top of a rare and valuable Rembrandt.

OK - like most urban legends, who even knows if that's true - and it probably isn't. But I'm reminded of it when I think about this next story. And this one really is true.

After the recent article about original paint, a friend from the Classic Rendezvous group, Kevin Kruger, shared some pictures of a bike he recently acquired -- a mid 1960s Galmozzi. These are very desirable bikes built by an Italian master - except that this one had been repainted and covered with decals declaring it "Baldi" -- but the original Galmozzi head badge was still there proudly declaring the bike's true identity.

Apparently, Kevin set about trying to remove the overpaint to prepare the bike for a proper repaint, and discovered that the bike's original finish was still largely intact underneath! Using guitar picks, extra-fine steel wool, and acetone, Kevin was able to remove the blue paint and the gray primer to reveal a very cool orange and white paint job, and even some hint of the original decals. It was apparently a time consuming and painstaking process, requiring much patience, but the final results should be wonderful -- talk about restoration.

One thing worth pointing out is that this was a very rare situation. Typically when a bike is repainted (if it's done properly, anyhow) the original finish is completely stripped off before new paint is applied - but in this case, it is obvious someone simply sprayed new primer and paint right overtop of the old finish. It also speaks to the quality of the original paint (and lack thereof in the repaint) that the newer paint could be removed to reveal the original largely intact.

Here's the frame with its blue overpaint and Baldi decals. Scrapings on the down tube reveal some hints of the original orange paint underneath.

One of the "in-progress" shots shows much of the blue paint removed from the top and down tubes. Lots more still to be done.

This reminds me a little of archaeology. It's like watching a little bit of history being unearthed.

Another "in-progress" shot shows that most of the blue paint is now gone. Only some primer residue around the bottom bracket and hiding in the nooks and crannies remains. There is some paint loss of the original orange -- not from the scraping, but from before the repaint. One can pretty well imagine that this was more or less the condition of the bike before it was repainted.

According to Kevin, the white panel on the down tube was resprayed, and the orange was touched up. He says the uneven edge on the white panel was there originally and will be covered by world champion decal bands, as per the original.

Proper reproduction decals have been ordered and will be applied soon. I can't wait to see the finished bike.

Will the bike look as perfect as a new paint job? No, of course not - it will have some patina, some history, and there's something very attractive about that in a different way. It will certainly have more value. That much is undeniable.

To be fair - many people would probably have looked at the condition of the original orange paint, as shown above with its many chips and scratches, and might have sent it out for a new paint job. But the last picture shows what can be done with some good color matching and touch ups. With reproduction decals, and built up with period-correct parts, it will be a beautiful piece of rideable history.

I admit, stuff like this isn't for everyone. When it comes to the subject of original paint vs. repaint, there's a whole spectrum of attitudes, and people can get pretty passionate about it. There are some who say you should never repaint an old bike. There are others who wouldn't hesitate to powder coat a 1950s Cinelli -- head badge and all.

I for one am somewhere in the middle. I figure most older bikes out there are not rare or particularly valuable, and a repaint shouldn't be seen as a tragedy. But some bikes are special. A bike like Kevin's Galmozzi, for instance, is a rare thing. Francesco Galmozzi never had the name recognition of contemporaries like Cino Cinelli, Ugo DeRosa, or Faliero Masi - but for people "in the know," or the "cognoscenti," his bicycles are every bit as desirable, and perhaps even more rare. Bikes like that deserve to be preserved.

Kevin has full sets of progress pictures on flickr HERE and HERE. Check them out, and enjoy!

There's a new exhibit at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History called The Object Project which looks at the historical importance of various consumer products as markers of societal shifts. The exhibit explores the interplay between the consumers, the inventors, the manufacturers, and even the marketers, and how certain products changed our way of life. Some products have a "ripple effect" that spreads their impact far beyond the inventor's original intentions. Among the highlights in the exhibit is the bicycle, which gave birth to countless innovations and improvements that we now take for granted.

Consider the role that the bicycle played in manufacturing -- like the parts standardization that laid the groundwork for the mass-production assembly lines, electric welding, lightweight steel tubing, ball bearings, chain drives, and of course pneumatic tires. Consider the role that early bicyclists played in the paving of our roads and increasing people's mobility. Or the role that bicycling played in women's liberation - or to the liberation of all people to travel longer distances swiftly and efficiently.

While not everyone will be traveling to Washington to view the exhibit, one can see some highlights on the museum's website (HERE). It's worth taking a look.

A picture of the Schwinn factory in Chicago in the 1890s, from the Smithsonian exhibit. Many of the methods perfected in the manufacture of bicycles were later transferred to manufacturing automobiles. Many of the automotive industry pioneers got their start making bicycles. It's almost ironic to point out, but without bicycles, there'd be no cars.

From the Smithsonian's collection. At the height of the bicycle craze of the 1890s, bicycles and their riders became the subject of numerous popular songs, like The Scorcher by George Rosey ("Scorcher" was a common name, sometimes an epithet, given to fast-paced bicyclists of the time). Before phonographs became common household items, sheet music like this was the primary avenue for getting popular music in the home. But the picture that accompanies the music also illustrates the transformative power the bicycle had on women -- for their liberation, their health, and even in the move towards more rational clothing styles.

Even race relations, or the "color barrier" in sports were affected by bicycling. In the 1890s, bicycle racing was one of the most wildly popular sports of the time - and one of its greatest early champions was Marshal "Major" Taylor - World Champion in 1899.

The importance of the bicycle in numerous aspects of life was highlighted in a recent New York Times piece which coincided with the opening of the Smithsonian's Object Project.

If you're interested in more, click on over to the National Museum site, follow some of the links to companion essays, and check out the New York Times piece. It's all a cool look through bicycling history.

People who've been biking for more than a couple of decades are sure to know the name Maynard Hershon, or at least know of his writing. Hershon used to write a regular column that appeared in Winning magazine back in the 1980s. If you were serious about bicycling at that time, you probably read Winning magazine, and his columns were always on the last page of each issue. Later, he was a regular contributor to BOB newsletters (that's the Bridgestone Owners Bunch to those under 30) and The Rivendell Reader. Hershon's articles often have a gentle sense of humor, and usually a strong insight on some greater truth -- at least as far as the bicycling world goes, which is admittedly a little less complicated than the rest of the world and real life as we know it -- though sometimes it still has the same relevance. As a writer, I consider him one of my influences.

I recently re-discovered this old poem that he wrote for the BOB newsletter (which was good reading even if you didn't own a Bridgestone). If there is a "Retrogrouch Creed," this would have to be it.

Good Enough for Fausto
by Maynard Hershon (aka BOB 450)

Would I like the old days back?
Will I ride my inch-pitch hack
Till they bring the Yardbirds back?
Do I love my Pletcher rack?
And do I want the old days back?
By Bianchi green - I do.

Do I like my Dettos black?
Am I tattooed (twice) "Mafac?"
Will I ride my early Sachs
Till the paneled down tube cracks?
So do I want the old days back?
By Kelly's clips - I do.

Am I put off by Kestrel's act?
Do I take the Coni book as fact?
Will I ride 40 holes in back
Till proper wooden rims come back?
Do I want the old days back?
On Gino's health I do.

Do I defend face-to-face
Merckx's "real-bike" Hour pace?
Do my shifters clamp in place?
Do I forget I never raced, just
Ground along at tourist pace
But passed by women, always chased?
But do I want Dura-Ace erased?
Trust me; yes I do.

In my world shorts would all be black,
All young guys would ride the track,
And fix my silks at a buck a crack.
See, I speak Campy but my voice is cracked,
I'm clipped and strapped but I'm off the back,
I learned the lingo but forgot the knack,
I'm retro-suffering in the laughing pack.
Getting dropped is what I do.

Enough already with the sordid facts;
I've admitted I want the old days back:
Like a red Bob Jackson in Santa's pack,
Beige-box pieces, front to back.
Cinelli, Bindas, S.L. blacks,
Each thread lubed with warm bee's wax.
We love our dreams but we live by facts;
I'd settle for a BOB-club fanny pack.

If you understand all the old-school references (and there are a lot of 'em) then you are a true retrogrouch. If you're a youngster raised on STI and carbon fiber, you can find a full explanation and glossary HERE (and then you should ask yourself what you're even doing reading this blog!).

Many of Hershon's articles from Winning magazine centered on a fictional bike shop that bore such a strong resemblance to the favorite local bike shops in so many towns around the country that many people from coast to coast were convinced that he was describing their local shop.

In 1990, about 50 of those stories were collected and published in a book called Tales from the Bike Shop. I still have a copy, and I'm glad I do as the book has long been out of print and almost impossible to find (though it was apparently released in a Kindle ebook version not too long ago). The original edition of the book was illustrated by cartoonist Jef Mallett, who nowadays creates the cartoon Frazz -- which often has a lot of bike-specific content in it. Interestingly, I was able to get my own copy of Tales from the Bike Shop signed by Mallett when I met him some years back. I wouldn't mind being able to get it signed by Maynard, too.

A Momentary Detour:

from Frazz --

Jef Mallett is one of the few cartoonists I know who can actually draw bicycles properly.

Back on Track:

If you enjoyed reading Maynard Hershon's articles, you should know he's still out there writing regularly. He had a blog going for a while though it seems to have been dormant since about 2011. The archives are still active, however (see HERE).

Current columns appear in The Bicycle Paper, which covers the bicycling scene in the Pacific Northwest. Many of the paper's regular articles and Maynard Hershon's columns can be found on their website, www.bicyclepaper.com/articles. If it's been a while since you've read his work, it's worth taking the time to get reacquainted.

Racing in the Post-Armstrong Era

The 2015 Tour de France (or "Big Ol' Race Around France" as Grant Petersen calls it) concluded yesterday, and Chris Froome of the U.K. is the winner. It was his second tour win, and makes him the first U.K. rider to win the race twice.

Chris Froome and his Team Sky teammates cross the line together in Paris.

I'm pleased with Froome's win - if I could be said to have had a favorite or prediction for this year's winner, it would have been Froome. He's an impressive cyclist in many ways - good in the mountains, a decent time-triallist, and calm under pressure. But to be honest, I only "half" paid attention to this year's Tour. It's an unfortunate fact of life about bike racing in the "Post-Armstrong" era that it's hard to take the sport seriously. The thing is, as much as the UCI would like us all to believe otherwise, doping didn't begin or end with Lance Armstrong (yes - I use his name. It's not like he's Voldemort or something). And one has only to look at the list of tour winners from the last 20 years to see the problem:

Who won the race between 1999 and 2005? Nobody!

I don't just mean the 7-year gap where the results are simply crossed out - though that does still raise an interesting question. Who the hell won all those races? In other years when a winner was disqualified later, the title was transferred to the rider who had finished 2nd. See Oscar Pereiro in 2006 (thank you Floyd Landis) and Andy Schleck in 2010 (thank you Alberto Contador). So why didn't they do that in the Armstrong years? Probably because all the top finishers in those years were likely to have been as doped as he was. Officials would have ended up awarding the title to whomever the poor schlub was who finished last - giving somebody the otherwise impossible distinction of being the Tour Champion and the Lantern Rouge simultaneously.

But it's not just the Armstrong Gap. Look at some of the other winners there. Bjarne Riis? Doped to his gills on EPO (confessed after the statute of limitations expired). Jan Ullrich? Credible stories abound about his doping, and he retired from racing after being implicated in Operation Puerto. Marco Pantani? His drug-fueled record on Alpe d'Huez inexplicably still stands. He was disqualified from the '99 Giro d'Italia for doping, and was also implicated in Operation Puerto, as well as several other doping investigations. Despite dying from a drug overdose (surprising?) he is still seen as some kind of hero to many - some of whom insist his death was actually murder. Then there are also the aforementioned disgraces with Landis and Contador.

Sorry, but the fact that nobody has been stripped of a tour title since 2011 hardly makes it easier to be a believer.

So, unfortunately, any time someone starts to shine in the race, that rider is immediately suspected of doping. It hardly seems fair to the racer who is capable of winning the Tour, but as soon as someone pulls on that yellow jersey, people start asking questions. As for me, I get tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Doping Allegations

This year, the rumors started flying after Stage 10, when Chris Froome just seemed to dominate all others on the climb of La Pierre-Saint Martin on the first day in the Pyrenees. Performance numbers on Froome were analyzed by a French physiologist who concluded that either Froome is naturally superhuman (unlikely), or he's artificially enhanced. Of course, the media jumped all over that, and fans started screaming "Doper" at Froome as the peloton raced by. One fan even jumped out into the road and threw urine at him.

But even as people took that report as instant condemnation, it's also possible that the physiologist's analysis of the numbers is flawed - that any small variations in the data collection (from power meters, etc.) could lead to a pretty wide margin of error. One article I found on the subject seems to bear that out (see HERE).

Further complications come from the fact that it's basically impossible to prove someone is racing clean, and while teams keep releasing data on their racers, there are always people who will claim that it's not enough, and they must be hiding something. So early in the race there were reports that someone hacked into Team Sky's computer data, probably looking for evidence of foul play. And Team Sky also released numbers to the media voluntarily, which only led to more accusations.

"Mechanical Doping" Too?

As if performance enhancing drugs weren't enough, there is the ongoing specter of a different kind of performance enhancement going around bike racing -- dubbed "mechanical doping," or in other words, hiding an electric motor in the massively bloated carbon fiber frames of today's racing bikes.

Rumors of hidden motors have been going around for a while now. The first time I heard such a rumor was when Fabian Cancellara dominated at Paris-Roubaix in 2013. Such rumors gained intensity when a bike ridden by Ryder Hesjedal seemed to take off by itself after a crash at the 2014 Vuelta. Although one could almost dismiss such claims as a joke, the UCI is taking it seriously and now routinely checks bikes for hidden motors.

An official is inserting a small camera into the bottom bracket of a bike at this year's TdF. Chris Froome's bike was one of those bikes checked. No, so far, nobody has ever found a motor.

Could such a thing be done? While there's still no proof that any professional racer has done such a thing, it is apparently possible. For a long while, power-assist motors for bicycles have been large, obvious hunks that would be impossible to hide. But there are now some powerful motors that are compact enough to fit inside a frame tube, with battery packs that are similarly compact and concealable. One such motor is the Vivax Assist:

The Vivax Assist could easily be concealed in the seat-tube of today's carbon fiber bikes. The bevel gear works at the bottom bracket. The battery could be concealed in the down tube, and the power button or switch could be disguised or hidden on a brake/shift lever. That doesn't mean it's been done, however.

So now anybody who starts to succeed in a bike race has to submit his body to the drug tests, his bike to the motor inspectors, and divulge every bit of available data to the media -- and somewhere in the midst of all this circus, there is supposedly a bike race going on.

Get Serious

All in all, it just makes it hard to enjoy watching a bike race. And if all the doubts about cheating make it so hard to take it seriously, then bicycle racing is in danger of becoming a slightly less entertaining version of pro wrestling -- people know it's all fake, they just watch it for the spectacle. I just don't see myself becoming one of those people who says something like, "Of course it's all fake - I only watch it for the crashes."

In the Bike Safety 101 series, I've looked at a lot of old educational films, many of which were cranked out by low-budget, relatively unknown production companies that specialized in films for schools. But today's bike safety film comes from a giant in family entertainment - Walt Disney.

In I'm No Fool With a Bicycle from 1955 (released in color in 1956) the conscientious pedagogue Jiminy Cricket gives a short history of the bicycle, and explains some of the basics of safe riding. The 8 min. film was part of an "I'm No Fool" safety series that aired on the original Mickey Mouse Club TV show in the 1950s. In fact, the bicycle safety film was the very first in that series, which also included lessons on fire, water, pedestrians, and more.

I'm No Fool With a Bicycle begins like the other films in the I'm No Fool series (in fact, most of the opening animated footage is exactly the same from one film to the next as a cost-cutting method), which is to say, it begins with Jiminy Cricket surrounded by books in a library, singing the very catchy song "I'm No Fool" that should be absolutely familiar to anyone old enough to remember Annette, Tommy, Cubby, and the rest of the original Mouseketeers.

I'm no fool! No-sir-ee!
I'm gonna live to be a hundred and three.
I play safe for you and me,
'Cause I'm no fool!

That song was written by Disney songwriter Jimmie Dodd, and sung by Cliff Edwards, who did the voice of Jiminy Cricket from the 1940 film Pinocchio, and up until the late 1960s. By the way - songwriter Dodd also wrote the Jiminy Cricket song "Encyclopedia E-N-C-Y-C-L-O-P-E-D-I-A" which was so catchy that to this day I (and perhaps an entire generation of baby boomers before me) cannot spell the word "encyclopedia" without singing it.

Jiminy then goes on to talk about doing things the right way and the wrong way, and how only fools do things the wrong way. Not until he opens up a book about bicycles does the animated footage become specific to this particular film, otherwise the opening sequence all got recycled in the other safety films in the series.

Jiminy's history lesson fills up the rest of the first half of the film:

Jiminy shows a drawing of a hobby horse in the book -- the drawings in the book then come to life, in a sense, and we get to see little animated segments of how the various evolutionary iterations of the bicycle worked, and how they didn't work.

Jiminy tells kids that the Hobby Horse "was also called a 'Dandy Horse' because it was popular among a group of foppish young men who were called 'Dandies'." We then see various ways the Dandy loses his effete composure while trying to use the contraption.

Working their way through history, we see other evolutionary steps, like the "Bone Shaker" and the "High Wheeler" -- and with each one, there is a little animation of what was wrong with it.

"It was very popular if you overlooked the problems of getting on - and getting off." You just know this guy's going to end up doing a face plant.

There he goes . . .

Eventually we get to the modern bicycle:

"Today we have the real, modern, safety bicycle. Comfortable. Brakes. Rubber tires. Safety guards. Just about everything you need. In fact, it is probably the most widely used vehicle the world has ever known. . .

"Even today in many countries, it is the chief means of transportation for the entire family."

Not in the U.S. though, let's just be clear about that -- and that is the only admission in the entire film that bicycles can actually be more than just toys for kids. From here on out, I'm No Fool With A Bicycle covers the same ground as every other bicycle safety film from the 50s and 60s. Bicycles are for kids. Cars are for adults. So get those ridiculous socialist notions of adults on bicycles out of your head right now.

The next half of the film follows the oft-used "Goofus and Gallant" formula using little chalkboard characters to represent "You" the viewer . . .

And a "common, ordinary fool":

Jiminy then illustrates various rules about riding by praising "You" doing things right, while we get to laugh at the fool doing everything wrong.

"Remember, a bicycle is to You what a motor car is to a grownup." There you have it - and don't forget it.

"You" ride with your hands on the bars, your wheels on the ground, use hand signals, stay to the right, and don't show off.

The fool doesn't take care of his bicycle, rides no-hands, disobeys rules, and shows off -- and we're told he won't live long.

All the while, Jiminy sings more bicycle-specific verses of the "I'm No Fool" song.

As Jiminy criticizes the fool, he says things that would never get past today's sensitivity police, saying things like, "OK, Nitwit" and "Try it again, Stupid."

After the fool is reduced to a pile of chalk dust, Jiminy pins a big "I'm No Fool" medal on "You."

And that's the end of the film, but there's still more to mention.

Apart from it's significance as a bicycle safety film, I'm No Fool With a Bicycle has other points of interest worth discussing. For one thing, it represented a shift in Walt Disney's operations as they made the transition from full-length animation and short films for the big screen to shorts for the new, burgeoning medium of television. Working on tighter schedules for TV meant finding ways to save time as well as cutting costs (hence the use of so much "recycled" animation footage in things like the I'm No Fool series). The animation style also had to become much less detailed - flatter, and simpler, with bolder outlines -- making Jiminy easier for audiences to make out on their smaller, often grainy TV screens.

Jiminy in 1940 - Pinocchio

Jiminy in 1955 - I'm No Fool. And yes, Jiminy did become more of a caucasion-toned cricket for 1950s television audiences.

Another thing to point out is that Walt Disney found a whole new market and another way to make money. After films like I'm No Fool With a Bicycle aired on television's The Mickey Mouse Club, they were then released through the company's new division that specialized in renting out 16mm films to schools and other civic institutions. That division later became the Disney Educational Media Company.

Lastly, this film, along with several others in the series, was re-made and re-released in 1988, combining some of the old parts with newer live-action footage. And of course, the updated (and twice as long) version made sure to push bicycle helmets. I can't seem to find a copy of the updated version, however.

In the meantime, put on your mouse ears and cast yourself back to the '50s and watch I'm No Fool With a Bicycle (courtesy of Hbvideos on YouTube):

Oh, Annette, where are you when I need you?

I've always had sort of a soft spot for Schwinns. I know a lot of Retrogrouch fans do, too. My first really nice bike was a Super Le Tour, and while I would go on to own nicer bikes over the years, that one really helped me catch the bug.

One thing unique about Schwinn was that they always had a strong commitment to adult cycling - long before it became popular during the Bike Boom of the early '70s, and during a time when there couldn't have been much financial incentive to do so. Sure, they had their ads for Sting Rays and other kids bikes in magazines like Boys Life - as well as all those television ads with Captain Kangaroo -- but they also ran tons of full-page ads for adult bikes throughout the '60s and '70s featuring adult riders, usually in "normal" clothing - out enjoying a ride for fitness and fun - or with the whole family. Maybe for that reason, when the Bike Boom hit, sales of bikes like Schwinn's Varsity and Continental went through the roof.

I just went through some of my old Bicycling and American Cyclist (that was Bicycling, before the name was changed) magazines from that era and found a bunch of old Schwinn ads - usually taking up the entire back cover of the magazines. Take a look - and enjoy!

Here's an old one - 1963, I believe. Notice that it's still "Arnold Schwinn" - the company would drop the "Arnold" name a couple of years later. Adolph Arnold was a Chicago meatpacker who provided the financial backing for Ignaz Schwinn. I'm not sure when Arnold got out of the business, but Schwinn kept the name for some time after.

From 1968. The slogan "For the Young in Heart" would be used again and again through the late '60s and early '70s.

Also from 1968. "His and Hers" bicycles are a common thing in the ads from this time, and I'm betting a lot of couples bought them exactly that way. I had an aunt and uncle who owned matching "his & hers" Schwinns from about the same time.

Another "His & Hers" ad - from '72.

From '78. I adore the women in these old Schwinn ads. Totally middle America - kind of wholesome - but a little sassy at the same time. Yeah - those are some short shorts - but in their defense, the men are often shown with basically the same shorts.

From '78. Another wholesome middle-America model, outpacing her man. Funny thing - the tagline is "You may never buy another bike." That was probably true, but not for the reason they're implying. Sad fact of American cycling is that people bought these wonderful, durable, reliable bikes with excellent intentions -- then the bikes sat in basements and garages virtually unridden for the next couple of decades. Now, they make great finds at garage sales and estate sales.

1978. His & Hers matching bikes - and outfits! See what I mean about the shorts?

One of the things that's so great about these ads is that bicycling is shown to be as normal and American as apple pie -- with regular people, men and women, out having fun, wearing "normal" clothes - and just enjoying themselves on a bike. Look through a magazine like Bicycling today, and see how many ads send that message. Instead of coming up with increasingly smaller marketing segments (gravel bikes, all-road bikes, bike-packing bikes, etc. etc.) in order to sell more bikes to the same people who already have bikes, maybe the industry should be looking at ways to make cycling more appealing to all those people who think about riding but don't do it because they're afraid they have to dress like a super hero to do it.

"The man is more important than the machine." That is the message young readers and future retrogrouches should take from Frank Dickens's classic children's story The Great Boffo, which has just been re-released by the Pursuit imprint of Snowbooks.

First published in 1973, The Great Boffo draws its inspiration from the golden era of bicycle racing, when road-hardened, mustachioed men wore goggles and raced over dusty unpaved roads. The author, Frank Dickens, was well known in the U.K. for his long-running comic strip Bristow, which ran for a record-setting 41 years. Dickens was an avid bicyclist, and in the 1940s had moved to Paris to pursue his dream of becoming a professional bicycle racer. When he found he could not make a living as a racer, he began selling cartoons to French magazines and newspapers, including the sports daily L'Équipe with its historic link to the Tour de France.

The boy stared and stared. On such a machine
one could hardly be beaten. "It is not surprising
that Boffo wins all his races," he said to himself.

It seems fitting that The Great Boffo, written by an avid cyclist and racer, was revived by another fanatical bicyclist, James Spackman, who has fond memories of the book from his own childhood. "My dad used to read it to me as a kid, and certain phrases from it (such as "the man is more important than the machine") are often quoted in my family." Spackman accepted it as a privilege to bring back one of his childhood favorites and to introduce his old hero to a new generation of children.

The book is about a little boy who works in a wine shop and idolizes the champion bicycle racer, the Great Boffo. The boy dreams of seeing his hero when the big race comes through his town, but unfortunately he has to work, making deliveries for the shop's owner, Mr. Oscar, who has no time for enjoying bicycle races.

While the boy is out on his "heavy and awkward" delivery bicycle, carrying bottles of lemonade to a customer across town, he happens upon the feeding station for the race -- but the station is empty and the racers are approaching. Thinking fast, the boy gives them the drinks from his basket. But when one of the bottles shatters on the ground and his hero, the Great Boffo, suffers a double puncture, the boy finds he has another way to save the day, as Boffo borrows his delivery bike to get back into the race.

"Both tyres are punctured," he said sadly. "I am out of the race, lad."

"The man is more important than the machine."

The Great Boffo is a thoroughly enjoyable book for kids and adults alike, and the overall message is one that I think any retrogrouch can get behind. Whether you buy it to share with a child or to enjoy it yourself, the book can be purchased HERE through Amazon.

Few bike names evoke more passion than Masi. The Italian master Faliero Masi was one of the preferred builders of many great racers, including Eddy Merckx, Fausto Coppi, and Jacques Anquetil (regardless of whose name appeared on the bicycles themselves), and the name is loaded with that "mystique" that makes bike fanatics drool like Pavlov's dogs.

Yeah, the current Masi logo bears
the name "Milano," but has as much
connection to that Italian city as
those Pepperidge Farm cookies.

Though Faliero's son Alberto continued to build excellent bikes in Italy, the U.S. rights to the Masi name were sold to American investors when a Masi factory was built in Southern California in the early '70s. That California factory fostered many great names in American framebuilding, as well, including Mario Confente, Brian Baylis, and others. Established builders like Albert Eisentraut and Dave Moulton also spent some time building at the California Masi factory.

The Masi name has been revived in recent years, but really has little, if anything, to do with the brand's storied past. According to Wikipedia, the brand is now owned by Haro Bikes, which is best known for BMX.

I just learned that Masi has a "Legacy Project." So, what exactly is the legacy of this current incarnation of Masi? Is it a legacy of bikes built by an Italian artisan under the famous Vigorelli velodrome? Or the legacy of the California factory turning out tidy American-built frames with an Italian accent through the '70s and '80s? Or is it the legacy that prevents Alberto Masi from selling bikes with his own name on them?

Looking at the company's current website, one can find lots of popped-out-of-a-mold-somewhere-in-Asia carbon fiber frames, and one "Speciale Series" lugged steel bike that is probably built in Taiwan, but looks decent from a classics-appreciating standpoint.

But what about that Legacy Project? Two limited-edition frames are being offered - in road and cyclocross versions -- dubbed the USA Gran Criterium and the Cross Campaigner respectively. Being built in the U.S. might mean that the legacy they are trying to invoke is that of the California factory. The fact that they are being painted by Jim Allen, who got his start at the California Masi factory, would seem to bear that out. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that the bikes are built from steel?

Then again, steel or not, looking at the bikes, I don't see anything that says "Legacy."

Comically oversized tubing, with a MASSIVE head tube. Welded construction. Bloated carbon fiber fork. And the cyclocross version has thru-axles and disc brakes. Who are they trying to appeal to? Is it the racers and racer wannabes? The original Gran Criterium was about as good as top-level race bikes got in their era. But riders looking for a narrowly focused, top-level race bike today aren't likely to be buying steel. And riders after that Masi "legacy" may not appreciate those design and build details that make the bike look like a ferrous version of a carbon-fiber bike.

I've got no problem with made-in-America steel bikes for the go-fast crowd -- but calling it a "Legacy" just leaves me with lots of questions.

After running scans of those old Schwinn ads from the '60s and '70s last week, I had a couple of people write mentioning how much they also loved the Schwinn catalogs from the same period. There are some great sites that feature complete archives of old Schwinn catalogs online, HERE, and HERE.

My favorites are the catalogs from about '65 through '74 -- those are the ones with the full-color spreads, attractive models, and travel-destination settings (Disneyland, Universal Studios, and Hawaii were among some of the locations).

Of course, go check out the archives, but I have a couple of favorite images to share for a brief post for today.

1965 Mens "Sport" bicycles . . .

. . . And Ladies "lightweight" models. Looks like a simpler time, doesn't it?

1968 Men's Paramounts. Photographed in front of the LA Coliseum. Very clean-cut looking guys, given the time.

1968 - Ladies "lightweights." It could just as easily be a fashion spread.

1971 - Breeze and Collegiate ladies models. And a couple of cute lady models. The '71 catalog was shot on location in Hawaii.

From 1972 - Sport Styling for the Girl On-the-Go. Got to love the tennis whites.

From 1973 - Yes, Virginia, there was a "ladies" version of the Paramount.

And the ladies Super Sport. Cute dimples.

1973 accessories. Do NOT lock your bicycle to a tree.

And then there's this one - my favorite, and a favorite of some readers, too. Today's swimwear's got nothing on this model's paisley bikini. And that dude's outfit? Wow. Re-defines bicycling fashion.
Oh, yeah - and the bike is pretty awesome too.

Hope you enjoyed - Just a brief post today.

When I left for college at the age of 18, I was 6 feet tall and weighed no more than 130 lbs. Hard to believe that today, but I was a bean pole. Contrary to what one might expect, I didn't look like some kind of Holocaust survivor, either. I was just super lean, and had (still have) a really slim, bird-like frame. The wrists are a good place to get an idea of what someone's bone structure is like, and my wrists were so small that I typically couldn't wear men's watches unless I could punch a bunch of extra holes in the band.

Also, like a lot of teen-aged males, I was super active and must have had a crazy metabolism. In those days, I'd go for bike rides of anywhere from 50 to 80 miles at a time, then get home and devour a large pepperoni pizza by myself, or a dozen tacos or something. By the end of college, I was still riding regularly, but not nearly the same kind of mileage. I gained some weight, and graduated weighing about 145. After getting married, and settling into full-time work, I gradually gained more weight and eventually maxed out at 185 pounds. For a 6-ft man, that probably doesn't sound all that unusual, but on my frame, it was a lot. I mean, it's not like it was muscle or anything. I even developed the kinds of problems that one typically associates with being overweight - like sleep apnea.

So I'd try to lose weight, and my favorite way of getting exercise was always cycling. As a teacher, there were years where I could take a summer off, and before I had kids, that meant lots of time to ride. I started riding every day, and while I wouldn't do the kinds of rides I did when I was 18, I'd still get out for 30 or 40 miles a day most days. Twenty miles would be the minimum I'd go. I was averaging about 250 miles per week - and I wasn't losing anything. Not a pound. Talk about frustrating.

I was generally hungrier, being that I was putting in all those miles, but I was trying not to eat more than I might have otherwise. At the same time, I wasn't cutting calories, either. But it still just didn't make sense that I wasn't losing any weight.

A few years ago, I read Grant Petersen's Just Ride, and one of the things he says in that book is that cycling in general isn't really all that great for losing weight -- at least not by itself. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but that if losing weight is the particular goal, there are probably other things one should do.

Hmm. . . Maybe. But there may be another thing to consider.

One summer, I took a summer job - writing and editing for a local magazine publisher. The offices were eleven miles from my home, right in the heart of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, which is the local cycling mecca. My boss was an avid runner and cyclist himself, so he had a shower installed at the office. I figured it was a perfect setup to start riding my bike to work. I'd ride the eleven miles there in the morning, and while everyone else was getting their coffee and donuts, I was getting a shower and changing. Afterwards I'd have a light breakfast at my desk - usually some toast and a piece of fruit. Lunchtime was my big meal. The only place I could get lunch (other than packing my own) was a restaurant down the street that was known for Big American fare - bacon cheeseburgers, huge orders of french fries, nachos, and all that other high-calorie, high-fat kind of food. Not to mention a beer list that took up a whole wall. My usual was the cheeseburger and fries. At 5:00, I'd ride the eleven miles back home. Have a light dinner, and end the day.

About a month into the summer, I was with my wife shopping. Apparently, I kept hiking my pants up and I didn't even realize I was doing it, but my wife noticed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I don't know - it feels like my pants keep slipping down," I said.
"How much weight have you lost?"
"I haven't been checking," I said. "I didn't know I'd lost any."

When we got home, I stepped on the scale. I'd lost about 15 pounds without even being aware of it. "Holy cow," I thought. "I'm melting!"

By the end of that summer, I'd lost a total of about 20 - 25 pounds and gotten down to about 160. I had to get a bunch of new clothes. The sleep apnea went away, too.

Funny thing was that I still hadn't really changed my diet all that much, except for the fact that I was eating these big cheeseburgers and fries at least a few times a week. And I was only riding about half the total miles that I was riding during those times when I was actively trying to lose weight. 250 miles per week, no weight loss. About 120 miles per week, and I was dropping pounds without even realizing it. What gives?

I'm not in the habit of reading sports medicine journals or anything, but I have a theory. I was only riding about half as many total miles, but I was also splitting those miles up into two short rides per day instead of one long ride. I think that was the key. Two shorter rides in a day rather than one longer ride -- exactly what one gets when they bike to work.

It's pretty well established that exercise can raise one's metabolism so that they are burning more calories, and that this calorie burning boost can continue for a while even after the exercise is done. I was riding the eleven miles to work first thing in the morning and getting my metabolism going, so that even as I'd be sitting there at my desk, my body was probably still burning calories to the point that by lunch time I was famished. I'd eat that big lunch, work for a few more hours, then at the end of the day, I'd get out and ride another eleven miles to get home. Get my metabolism back up again at the end of the day, and keep burning calories into the evening hours.

I've talked to other people and read about still others who started riding their bikes to work regularly who also reported impressive weight loss. I wouldn't mind hearing from somebody who has done some actual research into this, but I think there's probably something to it. And obviously, if I'd cut back on the carbs, I'd probably see an even bigger difference -- but fact is, I still love bread and pasta just too much.

A few years ago I started riding to work for my regular full-time teaching job. That first year I did it, I managed an impressive 50% bike-to-work average, including the winter months. I also lost more weight - again, without really trying to and without changing my diet. I was down to about 150 pounds at one point. In subsequent years, lousy weather and a couple of extra-harsh winters lowered my bike-to-work average somewhat, so my weight has fluctuated a little, but mostly I seem to be staying somewhere between 155 and 160 pounds.

I start back to work again in another week. One of the things I'm looking forward to is getting back to a regular routine of bicycle commuting. If the weather cooperates, it might be possible to get back to a nice lean 150. Biking for weight loss may or may not be so effective - but at least in my experience, bicycle commuting seems to make the difference.

"Without a bike, you're nowhere in Amsterdam. Bicycles are like the legs of Amsterdammers."

That's a notion you'll hear phrased several times in the short documentary De Benen van Amsterdam, or in English, The Legs of Amsterdam, directed by Wytse Koetse. The film follows a day in the life of a little bicycle repair shop in the Jordaan district of Amsterdam. The dingy little shop, located on a narrow alley, has been part of the neighborhood for 90 years, and its owner, Frans van der Meer, has been part of its history for the past 22 years.

Frans's shop is vastly different from the bike shops we've come to know here in the U.S. There are no wide, gleaming rows of sparkling new carbon fiber bikes, and racks of garish lycra clothing and new helmets. In fact, other than some new chains and inner tubes, there probably isn't anything in the shop that isn't recycled and reused. There are a few bikes along the walls (to be tripped over) -- but it isn't clear if they are used bikes for sale, or just repair jobs waiting to be picked up. The little shop, with virtually no windows, is lit by nothing more than a few old fluorescent tube fixtures that flicker and barely work at all. Stacks of wheels, bins full of nuts, bolts, and axles, and boxes of old hubs and sprockets clutter every nook and cranny in the shop. No, Frans's shop appears to be the place where people who rely on their workhorse bikes day in and day out come to get honest repairs to get them back on the road. Nothing fancy - just get it done right.

I couldn't help but notice that even Frans's work stand is just something whipped together from recycled parts - a couple big hooks suspended from a few old inner tubes.

One of the great things about the film is that it is not only a portrait of the little shop and its owner - but it also portrays a busy little working class neighborhood and its people. Throughout the film, a number of customers come in for repairs, but it also seems that some are there as much to visit an old friend as they are there to get their bikes fixed.

"The great thing about being a bicycle repairman is you fulfill a social role."

"It's always a lively bunch here," says one regular visitor. "Neighbors come to have coffee and catch up." He then goes on to describe how Frans will help a guy out by repairing his bike even if the guy is a little short on cash.

In one scene, a little old woman comes in for repairs, another regular customer . . .

. . . and makes some sandwiches for Frans and his assistant while they fix her bike.

There are some funny moments in the film, such as this one from the beginning:

"Look at this, the bike chain is not even tightened. What a Belgian way to do that."
I have to admit, I don't actually know why that's funny - but I still had to laugh.

And it should be noted that, however good of a mechanic Frans may be at keeping these old workhorses going, the film probably shouldn't be taken as any kind of instructional film, or an example of good and safe shop practices. There are lots of shots like these ones:

Grinding . . .

. . . welding . . .

. . . more grinding . . .

and nary a bit of eye protection to be found. Frans looks away (so he can't actually see what he's doing) so as to avoid the sparks. Awesome!

And the frame welding job is . . . well . . . it's welded.

Frans says, "I welded everything. It's all fixed."
Nice.

I really enjoyed getting this look at the humble little bike shop in Amsterdam's Jordaan district. And humble really describes it - the shop - the owner - the people. At the end of the film, as Frans sweeps up and turns out the lights, he says, "This shop is my freedom. It's my work and I feel at home here. I'll never be a millionaire or anything like that. But I enjoy what I do. I enjoy my work. I enjoy my life. I'm happy and satisfied. Happy to be a bicycle repairman."

You can check out De Benen van Amsterdam on Vimeo, or watch the embedded version from YouTube right here:

Enjoy!

Former bicycle racer, and several-times holder of bicycling's Hour Record, Chris Boardman, has recently been in the news for his controversial stance on bicycle safety and helmets. You see, Boardman had the audacity to ride a bicycle without a helmet when he appeared on BBC TV late last year. "I dressed as I would to drive down the shops. I have nothing against helmets," Boardman said afterwards, when a firestorm of disapproval swept up. "My riding a bicycle in normal clothing, looking like a normal person was greeted by some with cries of horror. It's both understandable and unfortunate because it obscures what I believe are the real issues." He added, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with helmets, but it's not in the top ten things that you can do to keep safe."

Read Boardman's full statement "Why I didn't wear a helmet on BBC"
on the British Cycling website.

The helmet flap has been brought back into the news because Boardman is about to release a bicycle safety film -- aimed not at cyclists, but at the drivers of cars. The short film, called Space, is meant to educate drivers about a British Highway Code section that requires drivers to give cyclists and horse riders as much room as a car, and reinforces the legal right of bicyclists to ride two abreast. I'm not exactly certain of the full contents of that particular section of their highway code, but it sounds like it's similar to the 3-foot passing laws that are making their way in some states here in the U.S. Boardman says (as all cyclists know) "Some motorists don't give cyclists sufficient space when overtaking, failing to take into account the wobble room a cyclist needs. Cyclists don't always ride in a straight line partly because they can spot potholes and other road imperfections that motorists can't."

Boardman points to cities in the Netherlands to show how the large number of cyclists on the roads, as well as well-thought-out bicycle infrastructure, make cycling safer - despite the fact that helmet use is less than 0.5%. He wants to make bicycling such a normal part of life that people don't fear it. He says, "We are drowning in data - economic, health, pollution, you pick any battleground you want and using cycling as a mode of transport for short journeys wins hands down."

The real issues to bicycling safety come from cars with inattentive drivers and poor road design -- not from the cyclists' attire, or their helmets. But the attitude of most legislators (and the people who leave asinine, psychotic comments on any bicycle-related story on the internet) is that bicycle safety is solely up to the cyclists themselves. Mandatory helmet laws are often the result of that kind of thinking. Boardman points out that countries that have brought in compulsory helmet laws - "such as Australia and New Zealand - have actually seen a 30 to 50% drop in the number of people cycling." He added, "When less than 2% of people in the UK cycle regularly, bringing in a law that would actually put more people off would be a serious step back."

"If cycling looks and feels normal, more people will cycle. The more people cycle, the safer they are," he says in his statement on British Cycling. He also goes on to point out how cycling can help reduce the numbers of people who suffer from obesity-related illnesses, and from pollution-related illnesses.

Boardman's attitude about helmets seems to be pretty similar to my own. When I'm suiting up for a long ride, a helmet is just part of my regular routine. There are other times, like riding through my neighborhood to pick up a few groceries, that I'll leave it behind. More importantly, I have no illusions that a helmet will do anything for me in a collision with a car. They simply are not designed or built to protect in that kind of impact (if you don't believe me, read about helmet testing HERE). Nobody should overestimate what a helmet will do for them, but unfortunately, to people who don't ride (like most legislators, I assume), helmets are everything.

It's good to see someone trying to re-direct attention onto the real issues that affect bicyclists' safety. Too bad that all people see is a guy who didn't wear a helmet on the BBC. I'll be interested to see the film that Boardman was working on with the British Cycling Federation. I'll probably post a link here on the blog when it gets released.

Equality is a funny thing, isn't it? For example, in the eyes of the law, a bicyclist and the driver of a car have the same right to the road, and have the same responsibilities. They are supposed to be equal. Yet in terms of protection, as in an accident for instance, we cyclists have a distinct disadvantage to cars with their thousands of pounds of sheetmetal and airbags, etc. On the other hand, when it comes to their ability to inflict damage on other people and property, obviously a car is capable of much more carnage. To many non-cyclists the answer to that little de-facto inequality is simple - make all cyclists wear a 6-oz. foam hat, and then they don't have to do anything to curtail the rights of drivers to text and watch YouTube videos while driving, or even expect them to pay attention while operating a 2-ton weapon of mass destruction. And then there is the overwhelming attitude of many drivers that bicyclists are 2nd class road users who don't really have the right to be on the road at all, despite what the law may say. So in many ways, we're all equal, except when we're not.

People who don't ride get some stupid notions about cycling and cyclists. And then they come up with stupid products to try to capitalize on that stupidity. And then stupid reviewers try to convince us of their merits.

Take the Alcoho-Lock, for example -- it is a lock that includes a breathalyzer to keep drunk cyclists off the road. That's right. You lock up your bike with the Alcoho-Lock, and then if you've been drinking, you have to get on your knees, put your mouth up to the lock, and blow. If it detects too much alcohol, the lock refuses to open. Not only that, but it sends a message via the user's smartphone to a family member so that they can either come pick the person up, or chastise them (I'm not sure which).

Of course, the non-cycling reviewers at Gizmodo think it's swell.

"You might chuckle at the idea of a drunk cyclist, but since they often share the road with motorists, they can be just as dangerous as an inebriated driver," their reviewer writes.

Yep -- totally equal. Drunk Cyclist = Drunk Driver.

Mind you, I'm not suggesting anybody should drink and ride any more than they should drink and drive. But just as dangerous as an inebriated driver? Yeah - that's why we see headlines like this all the time: "Drunk Cyclist Leaves Dozens Dead." Also remember that, while it's certainly possible to ride a bike when drunk, basic balance issues probably make it physically harder to do. It's much easier to get behind the wheel of a car under the circumstances.

And you know how you should never read the comments section after an article involving bicycles? Yeah - I made that mistake again:

It happens all the time, doesn't it?

The makers of Alcoho-Lock have a website with a helpful graphic that shows how to end the plague of drunk riding:

And a video to show the merits of the product. It opens with shots of a bunch of hip-looking urban riders in Japan, all out riding at night (all on their way to get rip-roaring drunk, apparently):

"Under normal circumstances, bicycles are really fun to ride."
Note the minimalist lighting, dark clothing, and nary a helmet in sight. Which of these things will get them killed first?

"Unfortunately, more people are becoming less conscious 'drunk-riding'."I'll side-step the less-than-masterful translation from Japanese to English. But "more people are becoming less conscious" of drunk riding? Were people more conscious of it at some previous time?

Get on your knees and pucker up. After a night of heavy drinking, that could be a bad idea.

The Alcoho-Lock communicates with the user's smartphone app (keep that phone charged, or you might not get your lock open!) to give an blood-alcohol-content reading. If the BAC is too high, the lock won't open.

Then your "partner" gets a call. Maybe something like "your waste of a husband just got wasted again"?

That's right - put the kid on the phone to talk to her drunk father.

"Convince cyclist not to drunk-riding." Again, side-stepping the awkward Japanese-to-English translation. Maybe a reader would like to write some dialogue for this uncomfortable conversation?

"I strongly hope you ride safely and not cause any accidents," says a bike mechanic at the end of the video. Because as we all know, bicycles are the real threat to public safety.

I just hope that legislators here in the U.S. don't hear about the Alcohol-Lock. They'll be sure to add it to their mandatory helmet laws.

Never underestimate the power of denial.

I kept thinking that as I watched the documentary Pantani: The Accidental Death of a Cyclist. The film was released last year, but recently became available on Netflix and YouTube. Marco Pantani had a meteoric rise to the top of bicycle racing, then almost as quickly lost everything -- eventually ending up alone in a hotel room, dead of a cocaine overdose at the age of 34.

Directed by James Erskine, and based on a biography by Matt Rendell, the film explores the life of Pantani through archive race footage, old photos, and interviews with family, friends, and people who knew, worked with, or raced with the Italian climber. The film begins as Pantani burst onto the scene at the '94 Giro d'Italia, attacking the formidable Miguel Indurain in the mountains, beating him on the climbs and taking 3rd overall. Rendell says of Pantani, "He seemed to catch the imagination in a way that no other cyclist had ever done. . . He restored a sense of magic that had been forgotten. It was like going back 50 years," comparing the climber to past greats like Gino Bartali and Fausto Coppi. The film then goes back to look at Pantani's early years before returning to his peak and downfall.

Certainly, it is impossible to deny that Pantani had tremendous gifts as a racer - and he did absolutely become something like a national hero in Italy, as well as to some racing fans all over the world. Unfortunately, he was apparently unable to deal with the pressures of professional racing. Knowing what we would come to learn about doping and drugs like EPO, it's difficult to separate the talent from the artificial enhancement.

Pantani leading a sit-down strike at the '98 Tour de France -
the Festina Affair.

If there is anything that really weakens this film, it is that fact that it becomes awfully vague in regards to Pantani's doping - and just like his legions of fans, who chose to look the other way, the film seems to look for any way to deny the racer's culpability in his own downfall. For instance, in one early scene, the film has Pantani's mother telling us that her son wanted to quit racing because, as he told her, professional racing was a "mafia." Later, the film seems to attempt to deflect criticism of doping because it's part of a long-standing culture in bicycle racing, implicating past greats like Coppi and Anquetil as drug users (Anquetil famously quipped that you can't win the Tour de France on mineral water). And yes, it's true that various kinds of drug use have a long history in bike racing - pain killers, stimulants, etc, go way back -- but in terms of actual performance-enhancement, those early doping methods don't hold a candle to the way that EPO altered racing performance.

Winning on the Galibier in the '98 Tour de France -
a huge come-from-behind stage win that helped Pantani
win a Giro/Tour double.

Later, when the film looks at Pantani's ejection from the '99 Giro d'Italia for doping, several people suggest conspiracies that were designed to bring the popular racer down - some of which don't really even make sense from a logical standpoint, and none of which is substantiated in any way. One says, "He had become too famous. They wanted to get rid of him. He had become a nuisance." It is suggested that he was winning too much, "upsetting the balance" of the professional race structure, and denying other teams' sponsors the camera time they needed. "It was bad for the financial structures that keep the sport healthy," says one. Another suggests that gambling interests wanted him taken out of the race - betting on bicycle racing having recently become legal in Italy. But I'm sorry - as far as I'm concerned, the conspiracy theories are completely unsupported by anything resembling factual evidence, and I'd say they are not worth mentioning in a serious biography. They just seem come across as more denial and more excuses.

Several interview subjects in the film talk about how Pantani didn't fail any drug test - and that's technically true. At the time, there was no test to detect EPO. Instead, if a racer's red blood cell count - his hematocrit - went above 50%, he was suspended from racing for two weeks for "health reasons." Understand that in the early days after the introduction of EPO, racers were dying in their sleep because their hematocrit was so high that it made their blood too thick to be pumped. I read somewhere that prior to the "health screening" tests, Pantani was pushing as high as 60% for most of his professional career. In any case, Lance Armstrong supposedly never failed a drug test either, but only a fool would still argue that he raced clean.

The film also looks at the 2000 Tour de France and Pantani's showdown with Lance Armstrong. It was well publicized at the time that Armstrong taunted Pantani - belittling him and offering no respect for the little climber's talent. It was the kind of trash-talking mind game that a lot of American athletes are known for. Eventually, Pantani withdrew from that tour, citing stomach troubles - but the film seems to imply that Armstrong's lack of respect sent the Italian hero on a path to depression and self-destruction.

Not long after that tour, Pantani was implicated in another doping investigation, this one involving Dr. Francesco Conconi, a doctor who was actually connected with the Italian national cycling authorities. He withdrew from racing amid clouds of suspicion.

After his fall from grace, Pantani apparently started slipping deeper into depression - the pressures of racing, and the negative publicity taking a terrible toll on him and his psyche. That is something I can see as terribly sad. Unlike someone like Armstrong, who seemed to have the kind of alpha-dog personality (some might say "psychopathic") to systematically dope without moral reservations, Pantani probably struggled quite a bit with his inner demons, eventually turning to cocaine, which led to his death. But ultimately he made poor decisions, though it seems to me like the film wants to fuzz that up. Bradley Wiggins is interviewed in the film saying, "If you were to survive and wanted to win as a professional and make a living, you had to do what you were told." In other words, Pantani had no choice. They made him do it.

Even Greg Lemond is interviewed for the film, though his comments are almost totally full of respect and praise for Pantani, with only the vaguest mention of the doping. At the end of the film, Lemond speaks of meeting Pantani in 2002. "There was this image of him being this criminal. Pantani the pirate. I looked into his eyes, and it was the eyes of a 16-year old kid. There was a sadness to him, but an innocence, too. . . if he was cheating, the pain was almost unbearable to live with."If he was cheating? Please. Knowing Lemond's stance on drugs in the peloton, I really have to question what else he may have said that the director left out.

One little thing that bothered me about the film's interview subjects is that the film is very inconsistent about identifying the speakers. Lemond and Wiggins are identified, but many others are never named. Of course, it wasn't difficult to figure out which one of the speakers was Pantani's mother, but others, whether they be former racers, managers, friends, or relations, one could only guess who they were.

In the end, the film seems to want to leave us with the impression that Pantani's death was the tragic result of a horribly corrupt system. One of the speakers says, "The doctors, the director sportifs, the general managers of the teams, the sponsors, the beneficiaries of doped sport, they carry on earning good money, they carry on with their prestige, and the athletes are the instruments of the system. Pantani was an instrument of the sporting system. It brought him fantastic success, but ultimately led to his complete destruction."

I agree that Pantani's death, alone in that hotel room, is terribly sad -- and the organization and system of professional racing was (probably still is) horribly corrupt. Pantani's story is a complicated one, and there may be plenty of blame to spread around. But that's just the thing - the film seems to make a lot of implications, but ultimately glosses over the most difficult aspects of the story.

In the end, I just have a hard time with a film that seems almost to deify any racer who helped to define the "EPO era," which made bicycle racing so hard to watch and take seriously today.

I have a link to Pantani: The Accidental Death of a Cyclist on YouTube. However, be aware that other posts of the film on that site have been removed for copyright violations. This once could go the same way.

Disc brakes are here! The trial-period for using disc brakes on professional race bikes has finally arrived! And the response among the teams so far has been . . . underwhelming. Pro racers say "Wha'?"

The bike industry has been pushing disc brakes for road bikes for some time now - lobbying the UCI to allow them on professional race bikes, and doing everything they can to convince the rest of us of their unparalleled greatness. Seriously - the hypesters would have you believe that if you aren't buying a new bike with disc brakes, you're a danger to yourself and others.

Back in April, the UCI finally set up a timetable for approving disc brakes in the pro ranks - starting with the current "trial period" to run through August and September of this year, with another trial period in the 2016 season, then a planned full adoption in 2017.

Apparently, only a handful of teams have embraced the trial, and even in those cases, the trials are very limited. According to Bike Radar, BMC, Orica-GreenEdge, and Giant-Alpecin have no plans on testing the disc brakes at this time, despite being sponsored by Shimano, which does make racing disc brakes systems. Teams that are sponsored by Campagnolo will not be testing disc brakes, as Campagnolo currently has no disc brake system to offer. While it has been confirmed that Campy is working on a hydraulic disc brake system, it doesn't sound to me like they are fully convinced that a disc brake revolution is truly needed. But rest assured, they'll have them soon enough -- probably just in time for the full adoption in the pro ranks.

Trek Factory Racing will have a rider on Shimano disc brakes at the Vuelta a España. The team's press officer, Tim Vanderjeugd, has said, "The goal is to find out what disc brakes bring to racing. We don't know if disc brakes are really an advantage in a race situation. . . We'll cherry pick some stages and try to find answers."

Apparently, one of the difficulties in applying disc brakes to the pro peloton is getting the bikes ready for the discs. Most of the sponsoring bike manufacturers have disc-brake models in their lineups, but they often are "endurance bikes" that have different, less-aggressive geometry than the racing bikes that the riders typically use for competition (another example of the increasingly narrow-segmented niche marketing the industry has been moving into). The other issue is that some of the disc brake wheel systems use proprietary hub spacing -- some are as wide as 142 mm in back in order to accommodate 11 cogs and the brake disc. Then there is the whole quick-release vs. thru-axle question. And even with the thru-axles, there are questions about 12 mm axles vs. 15 mm axles. All of these various incompatibilities make the issue of neutral support wheels a real headache.

While the response to the current trial period seems tepid so far, I have no doubt that we'll see more of this nonsense next year. Will someone wake me up when it's over?

I was riding my bike home from work today, and enjoying what turned out to be an absolutely gorgeous day -- clear, bright blue sky, nary a cloud to be seen, low humidity, and temperature in the mid 70s. As I approached my neighborhood in the city of Akron, which had once been the center of the North American tire and rubber industry (maybe the world's tire and rubber industry), I heard a familiar sound in the sky. A deep, bronchiolar rumble that could be only one thing: The Goodyear Blimp.

Anyone who's ever watched a major American sporting event on TV has probably seen the blimp -- probably circling over a huge stadium. But if you've never heard one in person, you should know that the sound of a blimp is unique among aircraft. There's nothing else that sounds like one. If you live in Akron, which is still the home of the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company (though most of the other rubber companies have been bought, sold, and moved), the sight and sound of the Goodyear Blimp flying slowly overhead is almost commonplace.

One blimp is a common sight in Akron.
Two flying together is pretty rare, even here.

But today was unusual - even in Akron. Looking up for the familiar silver, blue, and gold blimp, I saw there was not one, but two blimps circling overhead.

The two blimps were flying in tandem as part of a "farewell tour" as they are both being moved to new bases - one going to California, and the other going to Florida. The two blimps are actually very different from one another. The older of the two is the Spirit of Innovation, a "true" blimp in that it has no rigid framework holding its helium vessel. It is the shorter, "rounder" looking blimp at the top of my photo. The Spirit of Innovation is a model known as a GZ-20, which has been the standard Goodyear Blimp model since the 1960s.

The other blimp, a newer model, is Wingfoot One, which is longer, and of a completely different design from the Spirit of Innovation. Wingfoot One is what some might technically call a "Zeppelin" which in this case has a lightweight aluminum and carbon fiber framework supporting the helium vessel. Wingfoot One is heading to its new, permanent base in Florida, and another yet-to-be named blimp of the same model is currently being built nearby to replace it at the Akron-area base.

OK - other than the fact that I saw this on my bike ride home, this doesn't really have much to do with bicycles (and I won't go into a retro-grouchy rant about carbon fiber blimp frames). But it was too cool not to share.

Back in December I wrote about the Recon Jet"smart glasses" which were billed as a "wearable computer" -- not unlike the much-hyped and really-stupid Google Glasses, only for athletes. At the time, I suggested that they reminded me of Geordi La Forge from Star Trek Next Generation, and referred to them as a good case of unnecessary data overload.

Since that time, the Recon company has been purchased by Intel, and the glasses are on the market, ready for purchase by performance addicts and tech geeks everywhere. I suppose the purchase by Intel means that if it's possible that there is actually a market for wearable computers, then the Recon Jets probably have as good a chance for survival as any. It's still a big "If," though.

A writer for CyclingTips managed to get a pair of Recon Jet glasses to test out. They didn't sound like anything I'd be willing to shell out $699 for.

For one thing - and it's a "huge" thing - is that basically they are a pair of goggles that also incorporate a computer, a tiny projector, and a battery pack -- all perched delicately on one's nose.

Then there's this:

and this:

But who needs peripheral vision when they're riding a bike, right? We're talking about the future. PERIPHERAL VISION is for RETROGROUCHES!

Then again, how could anybody react to an SUV coming at them from their periphery when they're trying to decipher all this data being projected at them by the little projector that covers approximately 1/3 of the right-side lens?

Okay - let's say I'm a tech geek and a performance addict who thinks peripheral vision is overrated and has no issue with carrying bulky objects on his face. I just have to have the Recon Jet glasses. Still a problem. Because I'm a far-sighted astigmatic who can't see a damn thing without bifocals. Sorry - no prescription users at this time. At some point, they're sure to create a prescription-ready insert (their website says "coming soon") which will most likely clip inside - behind the main wrap-around lens. So that's another thing to add some bulk and complexity (by the way, I've used those kinds of clip-in prescription inserts that come with one-piece goggle-type glasses -- sweat runs down in-between the inner and outer lenses, making a blurry mess of vision).

The CyclingTips review concluded:

If you were hoping for an actual review of the Recon Jet glasses from someone who's actually tried them, you'll have to go with that review, or look elsewhere, as I won't be (and can't be) trying them out anytime soon.

Damn. I'll try to contain my disappointment.

This morning I remembered that I first posted The Retrogrouch two years ago today - Aug. 27, 2013. I don't think too many people noticed when it first went up. Only 267 people visited the site by the end of that first month (though, to be fair, it was only 5 days). Since then, readership has grown steadily, but even now, bike blogs like BikeSnobNYC and LovelyBicycle probably get more hits in a day than The Retrogrouch sees in a month. That's OK. We'll just call it "exclusive."

There are currently 350 posts on the blog, including this one. Of those, there are at least 8 dealing specifically with disc brakes. About a half-a-dozen are about press-fit bottom brackets and the creaking that plagues them. There are about 10 dealing with carbon fiber frames and forks. Electronic "integration" and "connectivity" on bicycles gets covered at least half-a-dozen times, as does the subject of overpriced bicycles and components. Perhaps refreshingly, I could only find about 3 posts that deal primarily with helmets (but they tend to get the most comments - maybe not surprisingly).

Perhaps the most unintentionally creepy film ever made for
kids: the bike safety film One Got Fat, from the Bike
Safety 101 series.

Although they tend to get the fewest "hits," the 9 posts about vintage safety films (Bike Safety 101) may be among my personal favorites, as they combine my love of anything bicycle-related, as well as my love of movie history. But by far, the topic that gets written about more than any other is subject of "dumb innovations." There are probably 30 posts or more that fit that subject -- or more if you count articles that touch on it tangentally.

Looking at the Blogspot statistics, I found that the article that has, by far, the most hits is the one about Tange and Ishiwata frame tubing. Why that one? I can only guess that it's been linked to from some of the bicycle forums -- either that, or there are a lot of people googling for info about Tange or Ishiwata. Second to that is the one about Bike Fit Then and Now. Strange thing about that one is that it went unnoticed for a long time, then suddenly the hits on it shot through the roof. Apparently a couple of people posted links to it on the bike forums, and also Facebook it would appear.

Something that I've found I get a lot of comments about (typically off the blog, sent to my personal email) is the look of the blog -- particularly the background image. The image is a collage of vintage bicycle head badges, which I think represent in a very grand way one of the differences between bikes "then and now." Yes, there are a lot of bikes today that still use head badges. But to my mind, they are something that recalls the glory of bicycles from an earlier era. Since much of the collage is obscured by the actual writing on the blog, here it is out in the open:

Some people have wondered if these are my own collection of head badges, but they are not. In fact, only a handful of the badges are actually on bikes I own (or once owned). Some of them are images I've found through searches of head badges for sale on eBay, or through general image searches. In case you're wondering how I made it, I'll try and explain it in some detail in a future post -- who knows? It could prove useful.

Lastly, if you've noticed that posts haven't been quite as frequent lately as they had been - it's because I'm back at work (regular readers probably already know I'm a full-time teacher) and I'm trying to get used to a new, different schedule that's making blog updates a bit difficult for the time being. Hopefully I'll figure out a good rhythm and there'll be fewer delays.

It hardly seems like two years have gone by. Thanks for reading!

Original Paint

Reynolds Tubing Decals - NOT

Original Paint - Part Due: 1960s Galmozzi

Bicycles at the Smithsonian

Maynard Hershon: The Bicyclists' Writer

2015 Tour de France

Bike Safety 101: Disney's I'm No Fool With a Bicycle

Throwback Thursday - On a Friday: Vintage Schwinn Ads

The Great Boffo

What Is The Masi Legacy?

Throwback Thursday: Schwinn Catalogs

Bicycling and Weight Loss

Recommended Viewing: The Legs of Amsterdam

Chris Boardman on Helmets and Safety

The "Answer" to Drunk Cycling

Marco Pantani's Accidental Death

Disc Brakes on Pro Bikes - Ho Hum

Akron, Ohio - Home of the Blimp(s)

Recon Jet Glasses - Who Needs Vision When You've Got Data?

Two Years