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More Recommended Reading: Road to Valor

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Many long-time fans of bicycle racing likely know the name of Gino Bartali, the Italian cycling legend of the 1930s and 40s. Many might be familiar with his two Tour de France victories, or his three wins in the Giro d'Italia. Some might even know of the great rivalry between Bartali and another great Italian, Fausto Coppi -- a rivalry that divided that nation's cycling fans for decades to come. But the book Road to Valor by Aili and Andres McConnon (2012 Crown Publishers) reveals that Bartali was not only a hero of cycling, but was also a hero of World War II -- particularly for his role with the Italian resistance to the Nazis and Fascists, and with the underground efforts to protect that country's Jews from the Holocaust.

Road to Valor: A True Story of World War II Italy, The Nazis, And the Cyclist Who Inspired a Nation, is a painstakingly researched and footnoted historical documentation of Bartali's previously unheralded role during the war, intertwined with the details of some of his most notable racing victories.

Although not a particularly political person, politics very much impacted Bartali's life and cycling career. The book describes how the fascist government under Mussolini took a great deal of control over the athletic governing bodies in Italy and used them for propaganda purposes. This put Bartali in a difficult position, being that his loyalties lay not with the Fascists, but with the group Catholic Action which was often at odds with the ruling party.

"Living in this world of Fascist sport, Gino began to find that the decision makers who surrounded him were increasingly driven by political motives. Athletic governing bodies, like the Italian Cycling Federation. . . were often staffed by high-ranking Fascist party members; the members of the press covering a sport answered to the regime, not to the readers or racers. A star athlete like Gino who didn't share all of the regime's ideological positions thus found himself in an unenviable position."At times, in those pre-war years, interference by politically motivated officials affected Bartali's appearances and performances in races -- and was at least a factor in denying Bartali his goal of winning both the Giro d'Italia and Tour de France in the same year.

Gino Bartali, young and dashing in 1936.
One of the things readers will take from the book is how politics, and then World War II, essentially robbed Bartali of what should have been the best years of his racing career. Having won the Tour de France in 1938, while still in his 20s, he was denied the opportunity to defend his title the following year because of increasing tensions with France and the impending war. Professional bike racing ground to a halt during the war years. By the time the war was over and races like the Giro and the Tour were able to resume, many of the great pre-war racers were either dead, or shadows of their former selves.

But those details of Bartali's career are widely known. The most impressive chapters of Road to Valor describe Bartali's actions during those "lost" years of the war. Initially inducted into the military, Bartali was able to continue riding his bicycle as a messenger for the army. After Italy's initial surrender to the Allies in 1943, much of the country was taken over by the Nazis who kept Mussolini in charge as a puppet dictator. Unlike some soldiers at the time, Bartali was apparently not pressed again into service for the puppet regime. Meanwhile, the Fascists and the Nazis stepped up their efforts to round up Italy's population of Jewish citizens, much as they had done in other conquered territories. It was during this time that Bartali was enlisted by his trusted friend and advisor, Cardinal Elia Dalla Costa, to help with the effort to shelter those now-hunted citizens from persecution.

In what came to be known as the Assisi Underground, Gino Bartali was part of a network of people working to hide Italian Jews -- either by smuggling them out of the country, or by providing them with new identity documents to conceal their Jewish identity. Pretending to be in training (for races that were long since cancelled), Bartali rode his bicycle all over Fascist-controlled territory, delivering documents and photos for new identification (typically hidden in the tubes of his bicycle), and providing intelligence on raids and safe houses for the resistance. Considering that anyone caught as part of the effort to protect the Jewish citizens could be executed immediately, or tortured, or sent to concentration camps, it was a tremendous personal risk.

Not only that, but Road to Valor also documents the story of the Goldenberg family, who were personally sheltered by Bartali in an apartment that he paid for with his pre-war race earnings. One of the sources for the book was Giacomo Goldenberg, who was a young boy during the war and who still lives today in Israel. It's a very compelling story. Though there are no exact figures on exactly how many Jewish citizens in Italy were saved by the efforts of Bartali and the Assisi Underground (there being few if any official records remaining), the numbers are estimated to be over 300. Combined with the efforts of other groups working in other parts of Italy, the numbers of those saved are thought to be 600 - 800 people who would otherwise have perished in the concentration camps.

Following the war, Italy's troubles were not over, as a new political struggle replaced the old. Who would lead the newly liberated country? Christian Democrats, aligned with the Catholic Church and the USA, were in a power struggle with the Communists. It was one of the first battlegrounds of what would become the Cold War. While the Christian Democrats eventually won control, tensions continued. And again, Road to Valor documents how Bartali played an important role.

In 1948, ten years after his first Tour de France win, Bartali was finally given his chance to defend his win. Now in his 30s, being called "Il Vecchio," or "The Old Man," in the press, Bartali's chances of victory were hardly ensured. In the first weeks of the Tour, Bartali seemed to falter. "While I felt really good, everyone was going around saying that I was a finished man: an old man who still knew how to defend himself but that it took more than that to win the Tour," he recalled.

As the race went on in France, back at home in Italy, an assassination attempt on the Communist opposition leader sparked protests and demonstrations in cities all over the country. Some believed the country was in danger of being torn apart. At the height of tensions, the recently elected Italian Prime Minister Alcide De Gasperi, a fan and acquaintance of Bartali's, called the racer at his hotel in France to ask about his chances of victory in the Tour. As Gino assured the Prime Minister, "I'm ninety percent sure I'll win tomorrow," (referring to the next day's stage), De Gasperi reportedly responded, "Try to make it happen. You know that it would be very important for all of us."

Bartali's victory lap after the '48 Tour.
Gino Bartali made good on his promise, winning a brutally cold and muddy mountain stage and taking back most of his time deficit against the race leader. In the next stage, he repeated his performance, taking the race leader's yellow jersey and holding on to it all the way to Paris. In Italy, the news of Bartali's race comeback victory, along with news of the Communist leader's improved medical condition, defused the tensions that had threatened a revolt. Some called Gino Bartali "the 'savior of the Fatherland' who singlehandedly stopped the outbreak of a civil war." Others offered a somewhat more tempered assessment. "'To say that civil war was averted by a Tour de France victory is surely excessive,' but it was 'undeniable' . . . that Gino 'contributed to ease the tensions.'"

The book ends the debate on the subject with Bartali's own humble words. "For his part, Gino steadfastly downplayed his accomplishment, saying, 'I don't know if I saved the country, but I gave it back its smile.'"

Overall, the thing that makes this book so important is the fact that it is probably the most comprehensive, most thoroughly researched account of Gino Bartali's role during the war yet written. Much of the information about Bartali's actions in the resistance during the war was not widely known by the public until the publication of Road to Valor. Bartali himself barely mentioned his role and was reluctant to talk about it -- apparently due to the fact that he didn't want his fame to overshadow the work of others whom he believed to be just as crucial to the effort. But it is an incredibly compelling story -- not just for fans of cycling, but for anyone interested in a story of real heroism.

Bartali's two Tour de France victories, separated by ten years, are an achievement still unmatched today. But as Road to Valor makes clear, the real greatness of Gino Bartali may not have anything to do with bike racing, but rather for his heroic role in saving hundreds of people from one of the 20th Century's worst atrocities.

Classic Tubes: Columbus

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This version of the classic Columbus tubing decal would
likely have been seen on bikes from the mid 1970s.
While I'll always have a soft spot for vintage bikes built with Reynolds tubing, it's hard to deny the appeal of a great Italian racing bike -- and for many years that almost always meant Columbus. The little white dove of Columbus tubing adorns more classic Italian racers than anything else.

The history of Columbus goes back to 1919 when Angelo Luigi Colombo (or A.L.) first set up a shop to produce steel tubing. In the 1920s Colombo's tubing was used for aircraft applications, and also, according to their own history page, frames for motorcycles. They first began making double-butted tubing for bicycles in 1930, the same year they created the "Columbus" brand name.

An early 80s decal.
Unlike Reynolds, whose famous 531 bicycle tubing was a manganese-molybenum alloy, Columbus primarily used chrome-moly steel. Their top tube sets up through the 1980s were a proprietary formulation of cold-drawn chrome-moly that they dubbed "Cyclex" but other than their particular process for working the steel, I was unable to find out exactly what makes "Cyclex" any different from any other chrome-moly (including that which was used in Columbus's own lower-priced chrome-moly tube sets).

A lot of mid - late '80s decals specify
if the tubing is SL, SP, etc., signifying
the wall thickness of the tubes.
On classic vintage steel frames, the typical high-end Columbus-tubed bike would use their chrome-moly steel which could be drawn to different wall thicknesses and specifications. The most common "classic" designations one would find would be SL or SP -- sometimes a combination selected by a builder to suit a particular rider or riding style. Those designations signify the wall thickness. For example, an SL down tube would be drawn and butted to .9/.6/.9 mm, while an SP down tube would be 1.0/.7/1.0 mm -- making it better suited to larger frames and heavier riders. Later variations included SLX and SPX which included some spiral-like reinforcements at the butted ends -- like the "rifling" in a gun barrel -- and TSX, which had the rifling through the entire length of the tube.

The wider-section of the fork blades became a Columbus
distinguishing characteristic.
Without the tubing stickers, many sharp eyed and discerning riders could still tell the difference between a bike built with Reynolds and one built with Columbus tubes. Although not entirely foolproof, and certainly not without exceptions, one could sometimes tell the difference by looking at the fork blades. Columbus fork blades would have a larger-section oval -- slightly wider than those used by Reynolds. These slightly wider-section blades became very popular and came to be known as "Italian" or "Continental Oval" blades, as opposed to the "Imperial Oval" blades that Reynolds manufactured. Over time, due to the popularity, Reynolds tubing started to make tube sets available with the "Continental Oval" fork blades.

Another difference, though harder to see unless one could get really close, was in the fork steerer, which was single-butted (thicker at the lower end) and rifled. The scan on the right, from The Custom Bicycle (Michael Kolin and Denise de la Rosa, 1979), shows a cutaway view of the fork steerer.

In 1977, Antonio Columbo, son of founder Angelo, turned Columbus Tubing into a separate entity from the A.L. Colombo company. Soon after, the new company purchased Cinelli, gaining access not only to the bicycle manufacturing, but also to Cinelli's lug business -- a perfect complement for the tubing company. Along with Cinelli bars and stems, and the historically close relationship with component giant Campagnolo, Columbus would come to dominate the Italian cycling scene, and also greatly increase market share elsewhere as well.

With the purchase by Columbus came a logo change
for Cinelli. The purchase gave the tubing company the
perfect complement in that they could now offer
builders everything they needed to build frames.
Although primarily known for their chrome-moly tubing, Columbus did make some tube sets for less expensive bikes. One of these was called "Aelle" -- the name of which was derived from the name of the company founder A.L. Colombo. This was a straight-guage (non-butted) manganese alloy. There was also a less-expensive chrome-moly dubbed "Matrix" (later changed to "Cromor" due to trademark issues). Another designation one might see on a lower-priced Columbus-tubed bike would be a "Tre Tubi" set. Seeing this meant that only the three main tubes were whatever the decal said. The stays and possibly the forks could be either from a lower-cost Columbus set, or could even be supplied by another manufacturer as a cost-saving effort.

Around 1990 or so, Columbus introduced their Nivacrom steel tubing, using vanadium and niobium as alloying agents. With names and designations like Genius, MAX, and EL, one of the things that distinguishes Nivacrom from the older chrome-moly tubing is that it is better formulated for welding. More recently, just as Reynolds did with their 953 stainless steel, Columbus has released a seamless, butted stainless steel called XCr. All of these newer tube sets boast much higher tensile strength than the chrome-moly that was used through the 1980s, and can therefore be drawn with thinner walls to save weight compared to earlier tube sets.

Scanned from a 1986 Bicycle Guide
story about Columbus.
Bicycle tubing is only one part of the Columbus story. As already mentioned, there were aircraft applications, and motorcycle frames. According to the company's history, in the 1950s Columbus tubing was also used in great Italian cars, like Lancia, Maserati, and Ferrari -- with chassis designed by Gilberto Colombo, another son of company founder, Angelo. One lesser-known part of the story is the furniture business. In the 1930s, the A.L. Colombo company made steel tubed furniture that, according to a 1986 Bicycle Guide story about Columbus, "left the art deco rage behind and embraced the Bauhaus ethos of Marcel Breuer."


1986 Dave Moulton Fuso. Moulton built only
with Reynolds when he lived in England, but
when he moved to America, he found his U.S.
customers expected Columbus on a high-end
bicycle frame.
As already mentioned, Columbus tubing dominated the Italian industry. Colnago, De Rosa, Pinarallo, Guerciotti, Ciocc, the list goes on and on of Italian brands that used it exclusively. By the late 70s - early 80s, it had taken a huge share of other markets as well, especially in the U.S. By 1980 or so, many American builders were switching from Reynolds to Columbus. Schwinn Paramounts, built with Reynolds for decades, were switched to Columbus when Schwinn moved their production to Waterford, Wisconsin. Many American custom builders did the same.

Today, steel obviously isn't nearly as popular as it had once been -- with aluminum and carbon fiber now dominating the industry. Columbus has a hand in that market too, though, offering carbon fiber frames and frame components. But steel has made a bit of a comeback recently, as evidenced by the growing list of participants in the North American Handmade Bicycle Show -- many or most of whom work in steel. But many of today's builders don't use one brand of tubing across the line, or even in a single frame, but rather will custom mix and match tubes from different makers to get a desired quality. And Japanese tubing, from manufacturers like Tange and Kaisei are today considered just as desirable as the classic brands of Reynolds and Columbus. So as often as not, there won't even be a tubing sticker on a top-quality custom frame. Time was, you could hardly find a high-quality bike without one of those little stickers. Funny how things change.

Cycling in Alaska

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With our current outside temperature hovering somewhere around 1º fahrenheit, I can't help but think back to better riding time and memorable rides. Perhaps ironically, the place that comes to mind right now is Alaska. Yes, Alaska.

This past summer, my family and I were fortunate enough to take a trip to Alaska -- one of those two-week trips that consisted of a cruise up the coast, followed by an overland trip into the state's interior. It wasn't the kind of trip where I'd expected to be able to do much (if any) bike riding, and I didn't have a bike that I would be able to bring with me on the trip. But at a couple of our stops during the trip, I found bike shops that had rental bikes and guided tours available, so I took advantage of those where I could. I was glad I did.

The first thing anyone would be struck by in Alaska is the rugged beauty of the place. Big surprise there. But the surprise for me was what a great place it is for cycling. Depending on what part of the state a person is in (it's more than twice the size of Texas, after all), there may only be a four-month long riding season. In Fairbanks, for instance, it often starts snowing by the end of September, and the snow pack doesn't start melting typically until May. Winter temperatures there frequently are well below zero. Anchorage, further south and near the Pacific, is a bit more temperate. On the southern panhandle, things can be damp, but downright mild.

This was part of a guided group ride with
maybe 7 or 8 people.
But despite the shorter riding season, Alaska has done a lot to promote bicycling. Anchorage, for instance, has a pretty extensive bike lane network, and has even cracked the top 50 in Bicycling Magazine's list of best cities for bicycling. But bike lanes and separated bike paths were all over the state. It is apparently state law there that any new road construction, or any major renovation of an existing road, must have provisions for bikes -- in some cases, it means an adjacent lane for bicyclists. In other cases, it is a separated path running near the main roadway. I was impressed. While I was in Fairbanks, I noticed a lot of the businesses had bike racks outside -- many of which were full of bikes which tells me that they have a fair number of people actually using their bikes for commuting, etc.

A bike path through Tongass National Forest, outside Juneau.
For one of my bike rides, I was in the city of Juneau, in the southern panhandle part of the state on the Gastineau Channel. Because of its proximity to the Pacific, the climate there is surprisingly mild. It does, however, rain a lot -- typically more than 200 days per year. In Juneau I was able to rent a bike and go with a small guided group out to the Mendenhall Glacier. It was a nice ride -- partly on the road, partly on some trails through the Tongass National Forest. Because of the bike trails, we were able to get to a part of the Mendenhall Glacier Lake that would be difficult to access by car -- so while most tourists were taking tour buses to the main visitor area and observation point, we on our bikes were able to get a quieter, less crowded view and access. That was without a doubt the way to go. Our ride ended at a waterside tavern in Juneau where we got to sample some Alaskan-brewed craft beers -- a nice finish.

This was a nice, quiet spot beside the Mendenhall Glacier Lake. The glacier is that sheet of craggy blue ice between the mountain and the lake. The icy cold lake is fed from that glacier and the rest of the Juneau ice fields. Big chunks of ice, "calved" from the glacier, can be seen all over the surface.
This was a scene along the trail through Tongass Nat'l Forest. Everything there was blanketed with this moss.
An icy waterfall making its way down the White Pass.
Another ride I was able to take was in a small town called Skagway where they had a pretty cool little bike shop called Sockeye Cycle Co. (Salmon fishing is a pretty big industry in that part of the state). The bike shop offered rentals and a couple of different guided tours. While in town, I had time for a guided ride down the White Pass summit. It turned out to be one of those mostly down-hill rides where they take you to the top of the mountain in a van and you ride back down the pass and back into town. On that day, the top of the mountain was enshrouded in clouds, where it was very cold and damp. Visibility was pretty limited for a while, but there was still some pretty incredible scenery.

Despite being the end of June, there was still a lot of snow and ice melting from the top of the mountain, so there were icy cold waterfalls pouring down within easy reach of the road.  With all the mist, the road had an eerie, mysterious look to it.

Even though I thought I was dressed pretty well for the weather, I wasn't quite prepared for the temperatures at the top of the mountain. For the first couple of miles I found my teeth chattering and my fingers getting numb. Luckily I was able to borrow a spare pair of warmer gloves from the tour leader. The further we made our way down the pass and out of the clouds, things warmed up to match my clothing choice.

Being that I was completely unfamiliar with the area and had only limited time for my ride, I felt like taking the guided tour was probably the best choice. On the other hand, while a mostly downhill ride is probably very enticing to some, it wasn't quite as much of a challenge as what I'm more inclined to take. Seriously, I kept finding myself wanting to turn around and ride up the pass before coming back down.

At one point I asked the ride leader if they had any group rides going up the mountain instead of just down. "Tourists never want to go UP the mountain," he said. "Well I do!" I replied. Anyhow, while the guided tour was really nice and I definitely enjoyed it, if I had it to do over again, I might have just rented a bike and asked for a map and some route suggestions. If any of my readers ever get to take a trip to Alaska, keep that in mind.

After coming down out of the clouds, I was able to get this shot across the mountains. The road we were on can be seen down below. Like I said - Rugged and beautiful.

I don't know if I'll ever get another opportunity to get back to Alaska, but I did make a big decision after my trip ended. I decided I need to get a bike that I can travel with, because it always happens when I'm traveling far from home -- I find myself wanting to explore wherever I am by bike, and renting bikes can sometimes be a hit-or-miss proposition. Rental bike fit and quality can be pretty iffy. The bikes I was able to rent in Alaska seemed to be maintained well, but the fit of one of them was just so-so -- I had to raise the seat post up to the limit, which got my saddle height in a good spot -- but then the relationship between the saddle and the bars was way off from what I'm used to. Also, a lot of places that rent bikes don't typically rent out road bikes (overwhelmingly my own preference), but more likely have rental fleets consisting of mountain bikes or so-called "hybrids."

After getting home, I looked into some travel-ready road bikes and after doing a lot of reading I made a decision and placed an order for one. I won't go into details in this post, but after it arrives, I'll definitely devote an article to the subject.

Tubeless Bike Tires

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I'm thinking about switching to the latest tubeless tires on my road bike.

Yeah, I know traditional clinchers are really easy to work with, and come in all kinds of sizes, tread patterns, and price ranges. And I know that fixing a flat while out on a ride is easy, even with a cheap mini-pump. And they don't require any messy liquids to mount or seal them. And yes, I know there generally aren't compatibility issues between different brands of "normal" clincher tires and rims.

Yes, the new tubeless tires can be a pain to mount, and special "fitting fluid" is recommended. And they're hard to get seated on the rim without compressed air. And it's generally recommended that you use liquid sealant with them which makes a nasty mess if you do have to remove the tire. And yeah, there can be fit and compatibility issues between brands and types of rims, tires etc. And they're expensive. And there aren't many choices for sizes.

Tubeless tire and rim - plus special rim strip,
valve, and liquid sealant.
OK, I know the actual weight savings over regular clinchers is not even as much as a the weight of an inner tube. And I recognize that if I really want to drop weight, I could drop a lot more by switching to sew-ups. And yes, I realize that there are traditional clinchers and a lot of sew-ups that have lower rolling resistance than tubeless tires.

Now, at this point, you may be wondering why someone would switch to tubeless tires. Well, because they're NEW, of course, so they have to be better.

It's probably pretty obvious that I'm being sarcastic. But seriously. What are the benefits to tubeless tires? What is the selling point?

I've read that tubeless tires virtually eliminate "snake-bite" flats like those that can happen when running traditional clinchers at low pressure. It is probably for that reason that tubeless tires have become so popular with mountain bikers (I've seen surveys saying 50% of MTB riders use them). But they don't eliminate flats entirely. And unlike traditional clinchers, if you do get a flat out on the road, they are much tougher to fix. You'd be much better off calling someone for a ride home.

Some people claim that they're "faster." I have my doubts. Some tubeless tires might have lower rolling resistance than some traditional clinchers, but rolling resistance is greatly affected by the "suppleness" or flexibility of the tire's casing and tread -- and from what I understand, a lot of the new tubeless-specific tires are less "supple" than the best traditional tires. I know of some traditional clinchers that are awfully hard to beat when it comes to weight and rolling resistance. (For more about those, check out this article from the Bicycle Quarterly blog).

Anyhow, it really seems to me that tubeless tires and wheels are yet another thing where the reality doesn't match up to the hype. Another situation where just because something is New, it isn't necessarily Better. In fact, in reading about the new tires, I was really trying to find the benefits of switching "systems," but I couldn't find any advantage to the tubeless systems that wasn't either doubtful, or offset by serious disadvantages. Tubeless tires? Fine on my car -- but I'm in no rush to put them on my bikes.

Classic Tubes: Tange and Ishiwata

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As the next installment of what I suppose has become a "series" on steel tubing used on classic bikes, I'll take some time to look at Japanese tubing manufacturers Tange and Ishiwata. Both companies made high-quality bicycle tubing that was in many ways the equal of European tubing giants Reynolds and Columbus -- although acceptance by the performance and high-end bicycle market (at least outside of Japan) took time.

Tange started out in 1920, originally producing bicycle forks, and expanding to butted tubing in the 1950s. By the 1970s, they had expanded to make all the frame components, including stays, dropouts and lugs. (Tange History)

Until the mid-80s Tange was probably best known for their mainstay tube sets, Champion #1 and #2 (later called simply #1 and #2) -- cold-worked, butted chrome-moly tubing that compared favorably to Columbus SL and SP tube sets. For instance, the down tube of Tange #1 was butted to .8/.5/.8 mm, while the #2 was .9/.6/.9 mm. These tube sets were used on a lot of higher end Japanese-built bikes being imported to the U.S. in the late 70s and early 80s. There were also thicker-walled, heavier sets, called #3, #4 and #5, available for loaded touring and other applications where more durability was required.

Tange also made a manganese molybdenum alloy, Mangaloy 2001, that should have compared pretty favorably to Reynolds 531, at least in terms of its basic characteristics, though it was heavier, (thicker walled than Reynolds) much less expensive, and generally found on lower-end models. In the early 80s, some lower priced Treks (such as the 400 series) were built with it.

A cheaper tube set was created by Tange in the 80s: Infinity -- designed as a good quality but low-cost set for lower-priced bicycles. It was a seamed tubing, which meant that it started out as flat stock. It could be rolled out with different thicknesses along its length, then formed around a mandrel and welded into a tube. Additional working made the welded seam invisible. Many people would be turned off by the thought of seamed tubing, but in reality, there was not likely a big difference in strength. And the manufacturing method used meant that the butting could be customized without adding complexity or cost.

In 1985, Tange hit the big time when they came up with their heat-treated Prestige tubing. Like Reynolds 753, but made from chrome-moly as opposed to manganese alloy, Prestige had the tensile strength to be drawn to super thin-walled dimensions -- only 0.4 mm in the center section with the regular version. A "Super Lite" version of Prestige was only 0.3 mm in the center section! Another advantage was that, unlike 753, no special certification was needed to use it, so Prestige gained much more acceptance among frame builders. Versions of Prestige are still used today.

I read an article by builder Dave Moulton about a bike he built with Prestige -- a one-of-a-kind bike because at that point in his career, Moulton's bikes were almost all built with Columbus. (Pictured on the left)

Another interesting note about Tange tubing is their relationship with Tom Ritchey. When Ritchey was looking for someone who could put into production some new ideas he had for butted tubing -- with specially tapered and directional-designed butted sections -- he first approached Columbus. Apparently, they were unable to manufacture it. He then went to Tange, who had recently started making their heat-treated Prestige, and they were able to make it work and manufacture it. Ritchey "Logic" tubing was the result. (Ritchey In His Own Words).

It is pretty difficult to find the history of Ishiwata tubing. The earliest mentions I can find of it are from the 1970s, but nothing very specific. In any case, their best tube sets through the 70s and 80s were seamless, double-butted chrome-moly, labeled "019" and "022." The late Sheldon Brown's website has some info about Ishiwata, most of which in turn came from Andrew Muzi of The Yellow Jersey bike shop in Madison, WI. (see sheldonbrown.com)

In material composition and in specification, Ishiwata 019 and 022 were (like Tange #1 and #2) very comparable to Columbus SL and SP. In fact, many people claim that the Ishiwata tubes were, at least in their surface finish quality, even nicer than the much more expensive Columbus tubes. For instance, in the early 80s, Tom Kellogg, probably best known today for his Spectrum Cycles, was working for Ross Bicycles developing their "Signature" line of hand-built bikes (something like their answer to Schwinn's Paramount line). Kellogg specified Ishiwata in those bikes. I found a quote that I couldn't verify, but Kellogg reportedly said of Ishiwata tubing, "It's like little men polished the inside."

Early 80s catalog scan from the Equus Bicycle Info Project
The names "019" and "022" refer to the claimed weight of the tube set -- i.e., "019" (drawn to 0.8/0.5/0.8 mm) weighed 1.9 kilos, while "022" (drawn to 0.9/0.6/0.9 mm) weighed 2.2 kilos. Less well-known (and much rarer) are the "017" and "015" tube sets. Despite not being heat-treated, these tubes were drawn down to super-thin dimensions. The "017" was 0.7/0.4/0.7 mm, while the "015" was 0.6/0.4/0.6 -- with the down tube even thinner (0.35 mm!) in the center section! Needless to say, these were only used for track or time trial bikes, and likely only for very lightweight riders.

Ishiwata also produced triple-butted and quad-butted chrome-moly tubing, known as EX and EXO respectively. It is not unusual to find decent-quality Japanese-built bikes with those tube sets. In the 1980s, they were apparently even producing carbon-fiber tubing (in their catalog they were calling it CFRP - or carbon fiber reinforced plastic) and aluminum lugs to join the tubes. (see the catalogs at Equus Bicycle Info)

Look closely at that unique little tubing
sticker on 3Rensho frames and you'll see
 the Ishiwata name.

Of course, many Japanese manufacturers used Ishiwata tubing (sometimes labeled under other names, as on some Fuji bicycles). Some, like 3Rensho and Nagasawa had/have a very high profile and their frames are sought after. But a particularly notable user of Ishiwata outside of the Japanese manufacturers was Trek. 

In Trek's early years (mid 70s through early 80s, that is), they made bikes using Ishiwata, Reynolds, and Columbus. According to the Vintage Trek website and from the Trek brochures of the time, the frames were essentially the same -- certainly equal in quality -- only the tubing was different (and the Ishiwata-tubed models used SunTour dropouts as opposed to Campagnolo pieces -- but like the tubing, there was really no difference in quality). In those early years, the model numbers would indicate which tubing was used (5xx - Ishiwata 022; 7xx - Reynolds 531; 9xx - Columbus SL/SP). Mainly because of the dollar/yen exchange rate and other market-driven factors, the Ishiwata-tubed models were significantly less expensive than the others, which probably (unfairly) gave buyers the idea that they were somehow inferior. They weren't. Today, in the vintage bike marketplace, they can be a good value. In any case, by some time in the 80s, the Ishiwata tubing was dropped by Trek.

Ishiwata ended up going bankrupt in 1993, but some of their employees went on to found Kaisei which is being used by a number of steel-frame bicycle builders today. It has a well-earned reputation for quality.

Although it took time for Tange and Ishiwata to fully gain acceptance outside of Japan, especially for top-level bikes, there is no doubt that their quality was the equal of the European standards. Even though Japanese-built bikes, especially by the early to mid 80s, were (and still are) considered to be exceptionally well-crafted, especially for their price, for a while many fashion-conscious buyers of high-end, top-level bikes still looked for Reynolds or Columbus in their frames. The Trek example mentioned above is a pretty good illustration of that. But in today's vintage bike market, those bikes represent a real value -- super bargains. And the marketplace for new steel frames today doesn't really seem to discriminate the way it once did. Maybe it's because in a world of carbon fiber and welded aluminum bicycle madness, anyone buying a new steel frame is already bucking "fashion" enough that the brand or nationality on a little tubing sticker (assuming there even is one) just doesn't matter.

Cold Weather Cycling

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In the past couple of years I have become a more-or-less year-round cyclist. It wasn't always so. When I first started commuting to work by bicycle on a regular basis, I wasn't sure how long into the winter I'd be able to go. People would ask me "How long are you going to keep this up?" -- and at least some of them probably didn't intend their question to imply that I was going through some kind of awkward or rebellious phase that they were hoping I'd "outgrow." And I didn't really know the answer. I didn't know what my own limits were.

At first, I thought I'd be able to ride until maybe November. Before I knew it, it was December and I was still riding. Then January. I'd think maybe I would ride until the temperatures fell into the 30s -- maybe 35 at the lowest -- next thing I knew it was 30 degrees and I was out on my bike. Every time I'd contemplate a certain limit, before I knew it, I'd gone past it -- often without even realizing it until afterwards. Eventually I did find my limit: 25 degrees F. Below that, I just couldn't keep my fingers and toes warm, even with the thickest gloves with liners, and with the best thermal socks and neoprene "booties" over my shoes plus an extra covering over my toe clips. I know there are products, like battery powered toe warmers, etc. that might let me ride when it's even colder -- but I don't want to go that route. I've decided that there IS such a thing as "too cold to ride," and for me that's below 25 degrees. I don't feel too bad about that.

Riding in the winter can be great -- but having the right clothing is very important. As much of a Retrogrouch as I am, and as much as I love classic wool jerseys, the fact is that I happily embrace modern "technical" clothing materials when temperatures get into the 30s or lower.

Allow me to share some of the clothing I've been using for my cold-weather commuting. You'll probably notice that most of it comes from Pearl Izumi. That's partly because my favorite local bike shop (CC) mostly carries PI clothing and I like to support them whenever I can (the bike shop, that is), but also my experience with PI's clothing has been very good. I actually wrote some full-length reviews of a couple of these products for the bike shop's blog, and I'll include a link in those instances.

Pearl Izumi AmFib Tights: When temperatures dipped down to the the freezing mark, I'd find myself doubling up on tights, which isn't very comfortable and can be pretty restricting of movement. The AmFib tights are as warm as doubled-up tights -- without doubling up. They have a thick, fleecy interior which makes them very warm -- plus they have a wind-stopping material completely covering the front half of the tights. They are also cut in such a way as to fit well on the bike. There are a couple of different versions of the tights -- with or without a chamois; with a drawstring waist, or in a bib-design. I use the drawstring waist without the chamois, and I wear them over a pair of cycling shorts. I typically wear these for temperatures between 25 - 35 degrees. (full review at CC blog)

Pearl Izumi Select Thermal Jersey: I love these. Full zip front. High collar. Soft, fleecy interior. Good cut for cycling. The fit works well for me -- PI calls it "semi-form fitting," which fits fairly close to the body but not "too" close. I can wear it over a base layer, but it also fits easily under a cycling jacket. I like the design of the sleeves and cuffs in that the cuffs are cut a little longer on the front/top of the wrist, slightly shorter underneath, so they cover the wrists well when on the bike without the use of elastic. They come in some high-vis colors (which I like for dark winter mornings), but they are also available in "normal" colors like red and blue. Overall, it's a very versatile jersey -- wear it alone, or combine it with other pieces as conditions demand. (full review at CC blog)

Pearl Izumi Elite Barrier Convertible Jacket: This is another versatile piece of clothing. It is a very light, packable shell that is nice to have during those changeable months -- late fall, early spring -- where temperatures may change dramatically through the day -- but I use it for all but the coldest winter rides. It fits close enough to the body that it doesn't flap much in the wind, and it also fits over layers well. When paired with the thermal jersey mentioned above and maybe a base layer, it works for me down to the mid 30s. Later in the day, if temperatures warm up, I can zip off the sleeves (they'll pack into a pocket easily) and it becomes a vest. The barrier fabric is listed by PI as water resistant but not water proof. My experience tells me that is pretty accurate. I've been caught in light sprinkles without trouble. But if the rain really starts to fall, it is no substitute for dedicated rain wear. (full review)

Pearl Izumi Elite Softshell Jacket: This is the jacket I go to when temperatures drop to freezing or below. The Elite Softshell is essentially like the jacket version of the AmFib tights -- surprisingly warm for its lightness and lack of bulk. It is insulated with a soft fleecy material on the inside with wind-blocking material over the front of the jacket and front half of the sleeves. In terms of style and fit, it looks almost more like a jersey than a jacket -- it has a very sporty look to it. I find that it fits pretty close to the body, but I have no trouble getting it over the thermal jersey with a base layer (I'm a pretty slim guy -- I don't know if the fit would be as good for a guy with more around the middle). It has a good cut for cycling with sleeves that are plenty long, and the design of the sleeve cuffs is similar to the cuffs on the jersey mentioned above -- no elastic. Some might want to have some kind of elastic cuff to keep out the cold, but I have not found it to be a problem -- and when I think of how many jackets I've had where the elastic in the cuffs was the first thing to go, I'm happy enough not to have it. For convenience there is a zippered pocket in the chest, plus another zippered pocket in the back. One thing I like about the jacket is the color. On those dark morning rides, I want to be visible, but so many "sporting" cycling jackets (as opposed to those designed specifically for the commuting crowd) always seem to be black. The PI Softshell is available in a bunch of different colors, including a high-vis yellow. Mine is a very cool-looking orange (nicely visible -- but not like a traffic-cone). There are also plenty of little reflective details. Worn over a jersey and base layer, I wear this right down to 25 degrees.

Under Armour ColdGear Compression Mock Neck: These are not a cycling-specific item, and are available at most sporting goods stores as well as a lot of regular department stores. The ColdGear Mock Neck makes a good base layer for those extra cold mornings. Essentially these have smooth lycra outer surface, with a nice soft brushed fleece inside layer. There are different fits available from UA, including "Fitted" but for cycling I like the "Compression" which fits closely in the same way that good lycra cycling shorts do -- like a second skin. For that reason, it adds a lot of warmth, plus good wicking, while fitting under even a snug jersey really well. Plus, with that smooth outer surface, any jersey will slip right over it easily. The sleeves are plenty long enough for cycling, and there is a band of silicone-type of elastic at the waist so it doesn't ride up while in the cycling position. Not made for cycling, but works well for riding regardless.

Pearl Izumi AmFib Neoprene Shoe Covers: There are a lot of different types and brands of shoe covers available, and I've used a few of them. But these ones from PI seem to be holding up well and are working about the best for me. With a full-length zipper up the entire back and with a fairly generous cut and shape, these fit over most of the cycling shoes I have, including my traditional-styled touring shoes (which have some fairly thick soles). There is also a MTB version that should fit over shoes with big knobby soles. These have 3mm neoprene for warmth, plus an insulated (not neoprene) ankle. They come up high enough to cover my ankles well and minimize exposure. There are also holes in the sole to accommodate pedal cleats. With well-insulated wool socks inside my shoes, and with these shoe covers on the outside, I manage to keep my feet warm down to around 30 degrees.

Kucharik Toe Warmers/Toe-clip Covers: I still use traditional toe-clip and strap pedals. Besides the fact that I simply like traditional pedals, when the weather gets really cold, I've found another advantage to using them. After one has already put on the warmest socks they can fit inside their shoes, and putting insulating booties on over their shoes, what else can be done to keep toes warm when it gets down below freezing? With traditional pedals, I've discovered that I can add yet one more layer over my toes by using these toe-clip covers from Kucharik. They are not exactly insulated, but they are a thick, windproof nylon material that fits over the front of the pedals -- over the toe clips, and attaching with velcro straps -- adding just a bit more warmth for those vulnerable extremities. Available in only one size, they are large enough to fit even over large shoes and clips. Prior to finding these easy-on/easy-off covers, I used to make something similar for myself using plastic bags and duct tape. These work as well, but look much better, and can be easily removed when not needed. Combined with the booties shown above, I can keep riding down to my 25 degree limit. Available direct from Kucharik.

Giro "Proof" Winter Gloves (with liners): Giro says their Proof winter gloves are good for "near-freezing" rides, but I've found them to work pretty well even a little below freezing. These are a 2-glove set -- that is, there is a thin liner glove, with a thicker thinsulate-insulated weather-proof glove to go over them. Mine are actually slightly different than the ones that are available now (shown right), as they've been re-designed a little since I purchased mine. But on the whole, they don't seem that different, and the overall specs seem to be about the same. Giro claims the newer version is even more waterproof than the previous version. One thing I like about the 2-glove concept is that if I need to get into my saddlebags to find something, or get something out of my pockets, I can remove the outer glove (for a bit more dexterity), but keep the inner glove on so my hands still stay warm. These have large cuffs that are nice in that they'll cover jacket cuffs easily. Something worth noting is that the Giro gloves seem to fit much smaller than their listed size -- so I recommend buying them in person from your local bike shop so you can try them on. For instance, I normally wear medium gloves, but in the Giros, I ended up with XL. Go figure.

Pearl Izumi PRO Softshell Lobster Gloves: The Giro gloves listed above are good down to around 30 degrees. When it gets colder than that, I find that by the time I get to work (about 50 minutes typically) my fingers start getting a bit numb. My friends at the bike shop suggested that I try "lobster" gloves. In terms of insulation value, etc., the PI Softshell Lobster Gloves probably aren't much thicker than the Giro Proof winter gloves I've been using -- but the lobster design is supposed to help keep those digits warmer by keeping them paired up together. It does seem to make enough of a difference to keep me riding down to my 25 degree limit. In fact, wearing these gloves at around the freezing mark, I found they were almost too warm, so I reserve these just for those coldest mornings. Cuffs on these could be bigger -- it's nice when the cuffs on the gloves are big enough to go easily over the cuffs on the jacket -- these don't, but I also don't get any icy blasts on my wrists, either, so they must be OK. The lobster design does take a little getting used to, but braking and shifting do work just fine. When wearing them, though, I do sometimes find that I miss having that middle digit available. I'll leave it at that.

Well, those are some of the items I've been using to help me get through cold winter rides comfortably. I do have some other clothing pieces -- different kinds and brands, etc. -- but all of these are the ones I go to again and again because I like them and they work well for me. My experiences with all of them have been good and I'd buy them again -- and in the case of the jerseys, I liked them enough that I've bought several.

Total Electronic Integration: The Fly-By-Wire Bicycle

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BREAKING NEWS! Shimano has just unveiled its newest breakthrough in bicycle technology: Shimano TEI, or Total Electronic Integration. Building on their Di2 electronic shifting system, which is already being viewed by some as a bit "long in the tooth," TEI is the next advancement in making bicycles a complete "fly by wire" system.

"Look, current Di2 technology is really amazing -- but you still have to push the buttons to make the shifts happen -- and too many riders just don't know the optimal time to do that," said a Shimano spokesperson at the official product launch. "Complete electronic control, or 'fly-by-wire,' has been used in cars for about a decade now, and most drivers don't even know their cars have it." He then added, "Everyone knows that companies like Google are even working on self-driving cars. Why should bicycles be left in the dark ages?"

Not surprisingly, it took Shimano to finally make it a reality for bicycles. Step one was to incorporate an ANT+ protocol transmitter into the Di2 controls. This could then be used to send riding information to their new PRO-SCIO ride computer. The next step was to incorporate data from crank mounted power meters and cadence sensors. Lastly, they added GPS capability into the PRO-SCIO computer, which has more than twice the processing power and speed of current generation cycle computers -- more than enough processing power to crunch all the numbers.

All together, the complete TEI system can combine route and elevation grade data from the GPS, wattage output from the power meter, pedaling rpms from the cadence sensors, and even the data from a wireless heart-rate monitor, to automatically select the right gear for the terrain and the rider. And the system is constantly re-evaluating and updating every 1/500th of a second, so riders will always be in the optimal gear.

Users can also program the system to maximize their training -- for example, to keep them spinning higher cadences on one training session, or to force themselves to push bigger gears on another. Users will be able to customize their own training parameters, or choose from a selection of pre-programmed training sessions. Additional aftermarket training programs will soon be available for download, designed by top-level coaches. Want to do the same training regiment that Fabian Cancellara uses? Or Tom Boonen? That will all be possible. Not only that, but all the rider's data can then by sync'd with a user's smart phone to be tracked through apps such as Strava.

"We imagine that this capability will lead to a whole new level of racing and competition like we've never seen before," said a Shimano sales rep. "Not only that, but with a special coach's app, trainers and coaches will now be able to monitor a racer's performance in real time. It will revolutionize racing and training for amateurs and pros alike."

"This is really the breakthrough I've been waiting for," said an ecstatic visitor to the Shimano launch event. "I never manage to be in the right gear at the right time, but now I won't even have to think about shifting my bike. TEI will do all the thinking for me!" Another visitor seemed disappointed that the system doesn't also control braking. "Maybe they'll add that with the next version," he said, hopefully.

Rumors had been circulating for some time now that Shimano was working on something really big. Apparently, pros like Mark Cavendish have been using prototype versions of the system for the past year, but secrecy had been tight. Reporters asking about what appeared to be extra wires and black boxes on Cav's bike were being stymied while the sprinter's bike was quietly but quickly whisked out of sight at races late last season.

But the system is now ready for release to an eager public. Visitors to the TEI launch could not stop wringing their hands greedily in anticipation. "No matter how much I train, I'm always finishing mid-pack," said an anonymous Cat. 4 racer. "But I know this new system will give me the edge I need. I'll never get dropped again!"

As per usual Shimano tradition, TEI will be introduced with the newest iteration of the Dura Ace group: Dura Ace 9100. The complete group is expected to sell for $5999. "Listen, if you want the best, you have to be willing to pay for it, and with something as revolutionary as this, and the performance gains I'm sure to see, it doesn't seem that unreasonable," said the racer.

Although Shimano denies that the system can be controlled or over-ridden remotely, all the wireless and computer-controlled circuitry would certainly seem to make it possible. In fact, not long after details of Shimano TEI were released to the public, a Kickstarter campaign was launched for a new theft-deterring smart-phone app that the designers claim will notify a user if their TEI-equipped bike is being ridden, and allow them to completely disable their bike from anywhere in the world using their phone.

Of course, critics of the TEI system claim that having the computer take over shifting decisions goes too far. "What ever happened to strategy or skill?" asked one skeptical cyclist. "What's wrong with actually knowing how to shift? And if it's just one computer racing against another, what's the point of competition? What makes it different from a video game?

The Shimano reps quickly dismissed the skeptic. "Guys like that won't be happy unless we're all riding Fred Flintstone bikes. They're just bitter retrogrouches. I mean, come on, you still have to pedal after all!"

Disclaimer: OK, most (but not all!) of the above is complete BS. But is it just an early April Fools, or a prescient prediction? Seriously, all the necessary technology is already here. It's only a matter of time before somebody actually puts it all together to make it happen. And when they do, you can bet people will be lining up to buy it, no matter how much it costs. Shimano's latest update to Di2 really does include ANT+ transmitters and a new computer (with another black box to tack onto the frame -- and hiding it inside the frame tubes interferes with the signal, apparently). The rest of it is just, I believe, inevitable. Can't wait!

Forester's Effective Cycling

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John Forester's Effective Cycling is one of those books that all serious (and maybe even not-so-serious) bicyclists should read, but for whatever reason, I never got around to it until recently. God knows, I've read a lot about it over the years, but now that I'm blogging about bikes and bicycling, I figured that I couldn't put it off anymore, so I picked up a lightly used copy of the 6th edition cheaply (the newest edition is the 7th which I believe came out in 2012 -- if there are significant differences in the newest edition, I'd like to know!).

Even though Forester states pretty clearly in the introduction that he doesn't intend his book to be read from cover-to-cover, that's exactly what I did. Instead, his idea is that it be used more as a manual, to be read (and practiced) in manageable chunks, starting with the parts one feels they need to know first, and saving other parts for later when they've picked up more skills. I agree that the book is a lot to take in all at once -- being that Forester sees his book as a comprehensive manual to help cyclists from absolute beginners through seasoned veterans -- a book that one should be able to come back to again and again because we are always able to learn something new.

The book covers a huge range of cycling topics, including bicycle and equipment selection, comprehensive maintenance and repairs, basic riding skills, advanced riding skills (including negotiating traffic), touring, racing, training, and also societal issues (such as bicycle laws and bicycle advocacy). In some ways, Forester's ideas can be somewhat controversial in that he is sometimes at odds not only with government traffic and engineering officials, but also with some bicycle advocacy groups (more on that later).

I do have criticisms of Effective Cycling. The chapters on choosing bicycles and equipment are certainly aimed at novices (why would an experienced cyclist need to read in a book about the difference between a mountain bike and a road bike?) and yet at times those sections are a bit too general to be very helpful, in my opinion, for the intended reader. On the other hand, getting too specific (such as referring to specific brands or models of components -- as he occasionally does) immediately builds in a certain "obsolescence" for any book -- being that those kinds of things are constantly changing. Some such references I encountered were probably "dated" even when the 6th edition was brand new. In any case, I felt that sometimes Forester's descriptions could be more confusing than helpful for a novice -- and unnecessary for a rider with more experience. For example, his written descriptions of different types of brakes and their means of operation would be confusing even for a veteran -- and there are no photos or illustrations to help clarify that point.

Likewise, the sections on maintenance and repair contain some good, solid advice and information -- the kinds of advice that one would only get from a long-time veteran cyclist. However, again Forester's written descriptions can sometimes be a bit confusing, and there aren't enough pictures or illustrations to help if one should get confused. In those aspects, I think someone who really needs a repair manual might be better off with a book more "dedicated" to maintenance and repair only (such as Zinn and the Art of Roadbike Maintenance by Lennard Zinn), as opposed to this where it is merely one "section" of a book that covers many other aspects of cycling. As far as describing repairs, I find the late Sheldon Brown's website to be very useful, often including large, clear photos -- and Brown's explanations I think are generally clearer for bike repair novices (who are probably the most likely to be looking for repair instructions). http://www.sheldonbrown.com/articles.html

Forester's chapters on riding skills -- especially in traffic -- are the real heart of Effective Cycling, and the main reason I wanted to read the book. I've been riding, mostly on the road, mostly with traffic, almost as long as Effective Cycling has been in publication (first published in the mid 70s). Part of me wanted to see if Forester's advice was any different from what I've been doing, and to see if there was anything I should be doing differently. I was mildly surprised to find that most of what Forester recommends for cyclists riding among cars is almost exactly what I'm already doing. Is that because after all these years, through all kinds of trial-and-error, I've just managed to train myself in a way that is consistent with what Forester (and other cycling veterans) have found to work the best? Or have I picked up bits and pieces of Effective Cycling through other sources over the years (such as other cyclists, or through tips published in magazines, etc.?) -- I don't know. Probably a combination. But I think that either way, it is a bit of a testament that most of the advice on negotiating traffic on a bicycle is sound and well-proven.

Many people, even those who have not read this book, may be familiar with at least some of the basic concepts -- sometimes referred to as "vehicular cycling." The idea is that a bicycle is a vehicle, and that cyclists are safest when they act like other vehicles on the road: following the same rules, responsible for the same regulations, asserting the same rights. Forester advocates that cyclists assert themselves with confidence in traffic. "Once you learn how to ride in traffic, you will realize that you are a partner in a well-ordered dance . . . Once you can ride comfortably and efficiently, without worrying about traffic, on a machine you can trust, you are ready to experience the full joys of cycling."

In some cases, Forester's advice is to actually buck the "conventional wisdom." For example, if poorly-written laws, or poorly-designed bicycle lanes would actually lead to a less-safe condition for the cyclist (as Forester frequently contests they do), then the cyclist is far better off to stay in the lane of traffic following the rules or conventions typically followed by drivers. Now I should point out that Forester's book does NOT advocate blowing off signs or traffic signals (and neither do I), although I frequently hear cyclists say they believe they are "safer" in doing that -- they'll attempt to justify their actions by saying that traffic laws are written for cars, and are more dangerous for cyclists to follow. Effective Cycling argues against that. Pretty much the only traffic laws I found Effective Cycling to condemn are the ones that are written to apply to bicycles only, such as those that require riding only on the far right side of the road, or those that force cyclists to stay in "bike lanes." Such laws, Forester argues, are often pushed through legislatures under the guise of "bicycle safety" but are often really an effort to add to the convenience of motorists, are passed without any data to support their claims of safety, and often are in direct contradiction to actual accident and safety studies. Otherwise, apart from a few exceptions, the main point of Effective Cycling is that one is safer to follow the laws much the way they would in a car.

However, one area in which I find myself in (at least some) disagreement is in Forester's almost unwavering opposition to bicycle-specific infrastructure -- whether bike lanes or cycle paths. Forester makes the case (pretty effectively, I'll admit) that bike lanes and the like are actually less safe than riding in the road, using accident data to show, for example, that bike lanes greatly increase cyclists' risks at intersections which is where bicycles are the most vulnerable. In other instances, some (poorly designed) bike lanes reduce visibility of cyclists to motorists, or create confusion for drivers and cyclists alike, leading to serious accidents. His arguments certainly gave me something to think about, and I can't say I totally disagree. On the other hand, there are situations where it still seems to me that bike-specific infrastructure, especially if properly designed by people who actually understand the needs of cyclists, might be favorable.

For instance, my own commute to work averages about 14 miles each way and covers a full range of riding and traffic situations and challenges. My ride starts on the urban streets in the heart of the city, then out to the suburbs with miles of strip-mall shopping centers and fast food joints, then through a freeway interchange with a full array of on-ramps and off-ramps with all the typical traffic merging and diverting. Then there's a full divided highway with cars and tractor trailer trucks flying past at 55 - 60 mph (not a limited-access freeway, which would be illegal to bike on, but it pretty much feels like one). Then comes an unlit, virtually deserted back-country farm path, followed by a narrow, shoulderless rural two-lane highway, again, busy with traffic moving at about 55 mph. For most of my commute, I have no qualms whatsoever about riding with the traffic -- I practice "vehicular cycling," taking the lane when necessary, and asserting my rights with confidence. But on those roads where the difference in speed is so great, with traffic flying past at 55 mph or faster, like the divided highway or the narrow high-speed two-lane road, I would gladly take a bike lane if one were available. Though not cited in Effective Cycling, I have seen studies showing that the greater the difference in the speeds of different vehicles on a road (regardless of vehicle types), the greater the danger that is posed.

Forester bases much of his opposition to bicycle-specific infrastructure on a series of comprehensive accident studies conducted by Kenneth Cross for the NHTSA between 1974 and 1980. Forester notes repeatedly that a lot of the support for bike lanes and the like is about reducing the possibility of a cyclist being struck from behind by an overtaking motorist, but the Cross studies show that type of accident to be a statistically slight possibility compared to the much higher statistical probability that a cyclist would be injured in or around an intersection (a probability that is increased by many bike lane designs). However, those studies were conducted long before the advent and widespread use of cell phones, the use of which while driving very closely mimics the effects of drunk driving. What I'd like to know is if a similarly comprehensive study were conducted today, when perhaps as many as a third of the drivers at any given moment may be either on the phone or texting while driving, would the results be different than they were in the 70s? Given that practically every day I'm on the road (whether in my car or on my bike) I witness cell phone distracted drivers weaving and drifting onto the shoulder of the road, I shudder to imagine the consequences that would be faced by myself or any other cyclist in that position. I don't know if a more current study would show a difference or change the situation -- but I'd like to know more.

Despite my (at least partial) disagreement on the point of bicycle-specific infrastructure, I also understand the point that Forester makes about such efforts and his reasoning behind it. His experience on the subject seems to come in part from studying poorly-designed bicycle infrastructure, from the aforementioned accident studies, and in part from battling numerous legislative efforts to strip cyclists of their legal rights on the roadways. When so many misguided efforts to relegate cyclists to second-class status are pushed forward by non-cyclists in the name of "bicycle safety," it is no surprise that one would likely become highly skeptical of any such effort. But that brings me back to the point about how Forester is sometimes at odds with both the enemies and the advocates of cycling.

Whereas much of today's bicycle advocacy is dedicated to building more bike lanes and other accommodations to encourage more people to ride bikes, Forester is, as already mentioned, stridently opposed to those efforts. In his words, "Bikeways neither make cycling much safer nor reduce the skill required. They probably do the reverse." (www.johnforester.com) He writes essentially (I'm paraphrasing) that in many ways, bicyclists are their own worst enemies -- riding without the necessary skills and no training, and that most of the accidents that injure or kill them are the result of that lack of training. His belief seems to be that bikeways simply increase that problem, and we don't need more such bicycle riders on the roads, but rather,we need to properly train and educate the riders that are out there in the skills of Effective Cycling

Forester was president of the League of American Wheelmen from 1979 - 1980. However, according to Pedaling Revolution, by Jeff Mapes, he was later ousted "in a power struggle over the organization's direction." Mapes writes, "As usual, the fight revolved around whether the wheelmen would stick strictly to the precepts of vehicular cycling or would support bikeways and other facilities aimed at encouraging more bicycling." Forester himself describes some of the struggles in one of the last chapters of Effective Cycling, but if there is another side to the story (and there always is) that isn't in his book.


I do not know, nor have I spoken with John Forester, so I have no real familiarity with him or his personality -- but his writing style, evident clearly in Effective Cycling, has such a distinct "voice," that a personality definitely comes through -- one that is unflinching and perhaps uncompromising. He dismisses many of today's bicycle advocates as having a "bicycle inferiority complex" or, as Jeff Mapes writes from his meeting with Forester, "anti-car" people. From Pedaling Revolution:

"Indeed, Forester could see no common ground with his opponents. 'The anti-motorists I have dealt with in my life, they are religious frankly about anti-motoring and they will do anything to carry on their cause,' he told me. 'Nasty people!'"


John Forester, from the
American Dream Coalition
website.
Today Forester is, perhaps ironically, a featured speaker for the American Dream Coalition, which is a conservative political action group dedicated to "Defending freedom, mobility, and affordable home ownership" (from the ADC website). The ADC is very much a pro-automobile group, focused on eliminating barriers to suburban sprawl, while fighting against urban development, public transit, and anything that could be seen as putting restrictions on driving. Obviously, his association with the ADC adds to the complexity and controversial nature of the man considered by many to be the father of modern cycling advocacy.

So getting back to the question of cycling advocacy, what is the answer? Is it simply, as Forester seems to believe, that we need better training and education for cyclists? Of course that would be beneficial but where and how would this training happen and who would pay for it? Certainly not our public education system, which is already cut to the bone in funding while over-burdened with more and more mandated testing on the "core" subjects. School districts that are already cutting Art, Music, and Physical Education aren't going to suddenly start teaching kids about bicycle safety. Would bicycle shops offer such training? Some very proactive shops do offer seminars on things like bicycle maintenance and riding skills -- at least in part to distinguish themselves from deep-discounting online retailers -- but how many people actually go (or would go) to such training seminars? Proper training and education for cyclists are very important, but can only be one piece of a multi-part solution to a complex problem.

Another part of the solution, which Effective Cycling doesn't seem consider, is better driver education. Driver education is required for anyone seeking a drivers license (at least for those in their teens), but such programs in the U.S. are pitiful. It is far too easy to get a drivers license in the U.S., and far too hard to lose one. Driver education programs at best make virtually no mention of cycling rights and responsibilities, and those that do often propagate the "second-class" mindset relating to bicycling, or even (in the worst cases) actually instruct students on behaviors that could possibly endanger cyclists. I know for a fact that some Drivers' Ed instructors teach their students that they should honk any time they pass a bicyclist! The result of all this is that many drivers on the road have no idea what to do or how to react when they encounter someone on a bike (regardless of how well-trained the cyclist may be) -- and many are convinced that cyclists have no right to be on the road in the first place. Could driver education programs be required to cover bicyclists' rights and include some training on how to properly share the road with cyclists? Absolutely, and it could be done while adding very little in expense or time for the programs.

Yet another piece of the solution might be to examine some bicycle infrastructure developments that might actually make sense -- designed not by traffic engineers who don't ride, or by those with a motor-vehicle-centered mindset -- but perhaps with close input from cyclists, taking into account the deficiencies noted in some bikeway designs regarding crossing and turning at intersections, and maybe centered more on those routes where the vast difference in speed may create a greater danger for cyclists. Even in Effective Cycling, Forester notes that about the only time he ever felt truly frightened while riding on the road was along a narrow, shoulderless high-speed two-lane rural road, loaded with traffic, probably not unlike the one I mentioned having to negotiate every day on my own work commute. I personally know a number of people I work with who live much closer to work than I do and who would probably bike to work at least occasionally if not for the fact that getting there requires riding on that high-speed, narrow, rural highway. If there were some kind of bikeway along that route, I have no doubt that the number of bicycle commuters would increase, and I don't see that as a bad thing.

To wrap up, readers might wonder if I recommend reading Effective Cycling. Despite whatever criticisms I have mentioned, I do think that anybody who shares the road with cars should definitely read the book -- particularly the sections pertaining to "vehicular cycling." Even though I discovered through reading it that I am already using a lot of the skills Forester advocates, I know I still picked up a few more tips, and overall it will likely give me more confidence as I negotiate traffic. But more importantly, had I read the book years ago, I probably would have saved myself a fair amount of "trial-and-error" which I believe may be how I learned some of those skills I'm using today. Regarding chapters on selecting equipment and others that may be intended for novices -- a person can take them or leave them as they see fit. And even on the points of cycling advocacy -- whether one agrees or disagrees with Forester's uncompromising view, I find it very worthwhile to explore different views, especially when those views are arrived at honestly and are supported in a meaningful way. Those chapters gave me something to think about.

Seventy Three Degrees

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I just picked up Seventy Three Degrees: The World's Finest Bicycle Builders, a very attractive coffee table book that might appeal to some Retrogrouches and serious fans of hand built bicycles.

From the back cover text: "Four bike nuts - an entrepreneur, a frame builder, a photographer, and a designer, travel the world in search of the people who have perfected the processes behind the engineering of the ultimate hand crafted bicycle frame.

"The master builders, such as Pegoretti, Sachs and Tommasini, understand what creates the perfect symbiosis between bicycle and rider, power, performance, confidence, efficiency and aesthetics."

Written by Mark Reilly and Jim Walker, and published by Enigma Titanium Ltd. (a UK-based titanium bike company), 73 Degrees highlights about ten custom frame builders around the world, with Q&A interviews, accompanied by some very nice photography of bikes and the builders at work. There is also a chapter on the Columbus Tubing company, and another on frame-building technology that includes a glossary of terms and techniques.

The builders highlighted in 73 Degrees build hand-crafted bicycles in a range of materials. Retrogrouches and steel-frame purists will be thrilled to see the chapters on Mercian Cycles (UK), Richard Sachs (USA), and Pegoretti and Tommasini (both of Italy). Some of the builders work in titanium, such as Baum (Australia), Crisp (an American, building in Italy), and Enigma (UK). Other featured builders, like Independent Fabrication and Seven (both US-based) work in a variety of materials -- including carbon-fiber tubing with titanium lugs, as well as steel.

Overall, the look of the book really delivers. Leigh Simpson's photography is great -- lots of beautiful glossy pictures of finished frames, and many more of gritty workshops, torches and files, glowing red lugs, stacks of tubing -- capturing all the expected "mystique" of frame building.


The interviews with the builders are good, revealing their techniques, backgrounds, and their philosophies on frame design and building, etc. -- although after a while, unfortunately, some of the interviews start to sound pretty similar. I mean, how many ways are there to say just how important good tube mitering is? Oh well.

One thing that detracts from the quality of the book is that there are occasional typos that really should have been caught in a book that is otherwise as nice as this one is. One that stands out is in the Foreword by former racer Sean Yates, where the word "peloton" appears as "peleton" or when "Ishiwata" tubing is misspelled as "Isiwata" (in the very next sentence after it was spelled correctly!). The English Teacher in me sighs heavily.

This is not an inexpensive book, and it isn't easy to find. Check Amazon.com, and they list it as unavailable. I could not find any distributors of the book here in the US. However, it is available direct from Enigma in the UK from their website. (www.enigmabikes.com/products/73-degrees-volume-one). The cost is £30 -- which works out to about $50 at the current exchange (then you have to pay for shipping on top of that). Maybe someday my blog will take off to the point where publishers will start sending me free copies of these things for review. (The only free review books I get now are English textbooks, and they're no fun.)

Although the price and limited availability make it more than just a "casual" purchase, I would say if you love bicycles and are into the "mystique" of frame building the way I am, you'll probably enjoy 73 Degrees.

Niche-Niche Marketing: Gravel Bikes

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You need a Gravel Bike. If you're a "proper" cycling enthusiast then I know you've already got a "fast" Road Bike, a "comfort" Road Bike, and a "winter" Road Bike, plus a Time-Trial Bike, a Fixed-Gear Bike, a 26er Mountain Bike, a 29er Mountain Bike, a 650b Bike, and a Cyclocross Bike. You might also have a Shopping Bike, a Tandem, and a Folder. If you're really dedicated (or a parent) you might even have a Cargo Bike (or if you lean Dutch, a Bakefiets).
Whatever you do, don't call it a Cyclocross Bike
(salsacycles.com)

Now you need a Gravel Bike.

It is not exactly clear how a Gravel Bike is different from the Cyclocross Bike you already have, or any other decent bike with drop bars and room for larger tires, for that matter -- but the bicycle industry very much wants you to buy one. Even if they can't agree amongst themselves how to define it.

From a VeloNews review of Raleigh's Tamland gravel bike: "The question of what exactly defines a gravel road racer is a legitimate one. Even some dealers on hand at BikeDealerCamp in Utah were asking the same question. Gravel road races have long been more about customizing an existing bike in one's stable, such as a cyclocross bike that can clear extra-wide tires, but with the number of races rising and more riders seeking out dirt-road adventures, so too has the demand for dedicated gravel machines." 

Really? All those people riding on gravel roads with bikes they set up for the task have been demanding another special niche bike that will do exactly the same thing as the bike they've built up for themselves? Because simply fitting fatter tires alone wasn't expensive enough?

I repeat: Not a Cyclocross Bike (from www.raleighusa.com)
And in this article from BikeRadar: "Increasing numbers of North American cyclists are venturing off the pavement to explore lonely country roads, which can be as remote as any stretch of single track. . . The ideal bicycle for conquering these gravel roads would be one that could traverse them swiftly, one with drop bars to allow the rider to switch hand positions and to hunker down when facing a stiff headwind. It would have enough seat and chain stay clearance to run tires with sufficient volume to take the edge off the rough and rutted roads, it would provide more than enough stability than a contemporary road racing bike, yet still be nimble enough to make quick course corrections to avoid other riders, ruts, cow pies and rattlesnakes masquerading as sticks (all things I've encountered while riding gravel)."

Nope. You simply cannot do any of that without a specially designed and marketed niche bike.

CAUTION: You MUST have a specially designed bike to do this.
(from www.ninerbikes.com)
The Gravel Bike was apparently all the rage at the last Interbike trade show, with versions from Raleigh, Salsa, Kona, Niner, and many more. And the one thing they all have in common is that they are not Cyclocross Bikes. Apparently, the industry sees them as "the Next Big Thing" and they're banking on the notion that people who already have Cyclocross Bikes (which were the previous Big Thing, after the Fixed Gear Thing became passé) won't notice that it's basically the same bike they already have. However, the differences seem to be more a function of marketing than actual design and equipment.

According to the folks at Salsa, their Warbird Gravel Bike is designed "around stability and endurance. Meaning it has a longer wheelbase and slightly slacker head tube angles to give you a stable, at home feel."(from BikeRadar) I'm curious what that "at home feel" feels like. But what they don't want to emphasize too much is that the Warbird is pretty much the same as the Cyclocross Bike they used to sell, called the Chili Con Crosso. Add or subtract a couple millimeters here and there in the geometry, add disc brakes, and now it's a totally different bike, and you can't do without it, Right?

Salsa's marketers also say that "Comfort is key, and the reason we offer a model of the Warbird in titanium."(Bike Retailer) That's right -- because you simply cannot get comfortable on steel. So does that mean that if your Cyclocross Bike is comfortable, has disc brakes, or a titanium frame, then it's actually a Gravel Bike? 

Of course, it isn't that simple. In the BikeRadar article, Dan Hughes, four-time winner of the DK200 (Dirty Kanza 200 "Gravel Grinder" in Kansas -- on a Specialized CruX Cyclocross Bike, by the way), says, "I would want the bike to be light and stiff, have a short wheelbase for fast handling, and the ability to run a fatish tire, with clearance for mud on top of that." OK, so a Gravel Bike has a longer wheelbase -- except when it has a shorter wheelbase?

From Off The Beaten Path - The Bicycle Quarterly Blog
Then, to really anger the cycling gods, I found this article on Jan Heine's Bicycle Quarterly Blog where he suggests one doesn't even need a special Gravel Bike, or even a Cyclocross Bike to ride in the gravel. "One of the most exciting things we have found is that the same bikes that work so well on pavement also are ideally suited to unpaved roads. My René Herse has excelled on the paved roads of Paris-Brest-Paris, yet the same bike has performed wonderfully on many gravel rides. The wide tires that offer such great cornering on pavement also float over hardpack and gravel with amazing grace and pace."Riding on gravel with a comfortable, versatile road bike -- and not a specially designed, ultra-narrowly focused niche bike? What is Heine thinking?!

In a BikeRoar article on the topic, they had the following, from Thom Kneeland of Service Course Velo, in Medford, Oregon: "Any road bike with relaxed geometry that accepts a 28mm tire will work pretty well."Yeah, that's what I thought. And 28mm isn't even that large of a tire! The BikeRoar article also has suggestions on how to turn a typical MTB into a perfectly serviceable Gravel Bike. Hint: it involves changing tires, and maybe adding some more hand positions to the handlebars.

Last year, I wrote about the old Bridgestone XO-1, which was incredibly versatile -- a relatively light road bike with 26" wheels -- suitable for all kinds of riding, whether on the road, or on dirt or unpaved paths. A bike for exploring. But instead of being designed for a particularly narrow niche market, the idea was almost the opposite -- to be a bike that could do anything its owners could dream up. It didn't sell well. Marketers, the bicycle press, some retailers, and even buyers apparently didn't know how to pigeon-hole it. They wanted a niche. Go figure.

A Gravel Bike? Why not? Many comfortable and versatile
bikes with clearance for fatter tires can be adapted easily for
use on dirt and gravel. You may already have a Gravel Bike.
Gravel Bikes are just the latest version of the industry trying to sell us the same thing we already have, by making (some) people think that what they already have is totally obsolete. They also represent the next step in the increasingly narrowly focused niche marketplace -- taken to the extreme. A niche of a niche, if you will. Cyclocross is already a pretty narrow market -- with bikes much more sharply focused than they were in the sport's past when riders would just repurpose an old road bike with slacker angles and more tire clearances. Now we have the Gravel Bike, not because other bikes are unsuitable for riding on unpaved roads, but because they aren't specialized enough (or so we're supposed to think). I believe all of this is due to the fact that the market for bicycles isn't really expanding that much -- the numbers of people buying and riding bikes isn't increasing enough to power an industry that seeks growth. So they have to keep coming up with new "improvements" and new "upgrades," and new (increasingly narrower) market "segments" in order to keep existing cyclists buying more.

But as some out there, like Jan Heine, are able to demonstrate, you don't need to go out and buy another bike that's designed for just one type of riding. A lot of bikes can be adapted easily -- often by doing nothing more than swapping tires. My Rivendell Long-Low has been ridden on all kinds of roads, including some that are only roads in the most generous of definitions. With 33mm tires and room for wider, it handles packed limestone paths beautifully, and is comfortable all day. Thicker, knobbier tires could easily be fitted for coarser, heavier dirt or gravel. Likewise, my vintage '84 Stumpjumper, with its long wheelbase and slack angles, has been equipped with mustache bars and narrower, smoother tires -- it goes swiftly from roads to trails and back again. It would make an awesome bike for heavy-duty gravel grinding.

So, do you need a Gravel Bike? You probably already have one!

Wheel Size Fashions: 29er, 650b, 26 inch

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Wheel sizes, like so many other aspects of bicycling, are subject to fashion. But fashion is a really poor reason to buy a bike, or to equip a bike in a particular way. This is one of those things I've given some thought to from time to time -- but I got to thinking about it more after reading this post from the Velo-Orange Blog. The article was about their new bike model and their decision to design some smaller frame sizes for 26" wheels, while the larger versions of the same model were made for 700c. There was also a bit in there about planned obsolescence in the bike industry, which is something else I have a lot to say about (maybe not today). Anyhow, the article reminded me of a scene I witnessed a couple years ago.

I was in a bike shop where I found myself eavesdropping on a conversation. A woman was there in the shop with her boyfriend, and they wanted a new mountain bike for her. Apparently, the boyfriend had convinced her that she really "needed" a 29er mountain bike. I have no doubt that the boyfriend had recently been "converted" to the gospel of 29-inch wheels (same rim diameter as 700c road wheels, but with fat mountain-bike tires) and he was determined to convert her, too. Problem was, this woman could not have been more than 5-ft. tall -- at the most. I mean, in candy bar parlance, she was "fun size."

Just because they make it doesn't make it a good idea.
Luckily (in my opinion) the shop didn't have a 29er to fit her -- the "small" wasn't small enough for her petite physique, and the shop didn't have an "XS." It's possible that the brand carried by the shop didn't even make a 29er small enough for her. I fear that wasn't going to stop the madness, though. The boyfriend was certain that another brand, another shop would have an "XS" 29er. Thing is, he was probably right -- but just because somebody makes something doesn't mean it's a good idea.

The touted benefits of 29-inch wheels on a mountain bike are supposed to be better rolling over obstacles, better traction, and some even claim better "gyroscopic" effect to help keep the bike and rider upright (29er). Understand, however, that traction is also affected by other factors besides wheel size (choosing the right tread for the terrain, for instance), and the gyroscopic effect is a myth -- at least inasmuch as keeping us upright (see Here, and Here). But my real point here is that whatever benefits 29-inch MTB wheels may offer, whether real or imagined, are pretty worthless if it means that the design of the bike is so compromised that it doesn't fit right or work well for the rider.

Compromised? Definitely -- There are plenty of no-nonsense sources out there to explain why it doesn't make sense to put huge wheels on a tiny frame. The Velo-Orange article I mentioned above touches on it. There is a very informative argument on the subject at the Rodriquez Bicycles page. There is a bit on the Rivendell Bicycles site also. But to state it all pretty concisely, wheel size should not be chosen for fashion. Putting 700c or 29er wheels on a little tiny frame leads to numerous problems -- toe overlap, poor fit, weird handling. Putting small wheels on a huge frame can lead to some problems, too, though those problems tend to be more aesthetic than serious. A tall frame with small wheels can lose some triangulation and stiffness -- but proportionally it can also look weird.

Regarding large wheels/small frames: with steeply sloping top tubes, the standover can be made to work for a short rider -- but being able to straddle the bike is one of the least of their needs. In order to make the effective top tube short enough so the person doesn't have to stretch to reach the bars, the bike will end up having an overly steep seat tube angle, an unreasonably shallow head tube angle (possibly both), and/or massive toe overlap. The small rider, convinced they need to buy the larger-wheeled bike for various "benefits" (whether convinced by friends, the bicycle mags, overeager salesmen, or the industry's marketing machine) ends up on a poorly fitting, poorly handling bike that fails to deliver on the promises. Another sad thing is that even if a well-intentioned, no-nonsense shop salesperson tries to talk them out of it, they'll probably just go get it somewhere else.

So if it's not a good idea to make small frames with large 700c/29er wheels, why do the manufacturers do it? Two reasons: Economy and Marketing. First, it's much easier and cheaper for the manufacturers to make all the bikes in a model line around the same wheel size. That means fewer variations in forks, wheels, and other parts to stock. And the marketing departments can push a wheel size as a trend -- a new market segment -- touting the benefits of a given wheel size, and encouraging consumers to buy into it even if it isn't really right for them. So people who have 26" mountain bikes will be convinced they need to add a 29er to their stable. More recently, those same people are under the impression that they also need a 650b mountain bike.

Three common wheel sizes today -- remember that 29er
is essentially the same rim as the road 700c size.
(from BikeLugs.com)
I realize this post mostly seems to be looking at the MTB market, because it's there that wheel size "trends" have been the most obvious -- but it does affect the road bike world, too. For a long time, most road bikes came with either the old American "27-inch" or 700c (not exactly the same, but close enough that they could usually be interchanged on most bikes with some minor adjustments), then eventually 700c emerged as the dominant road bike standard. Mountain bikes, which originally derived from old balloon-tired American heavyweights, used the 26-inch wheel standard. That was that.

But again, for road bike riders who were very short, sticking rigidly to 700c wheels created all the comfort/fit/design issues already mentioned above. Small-framed road bikes were plagued with steep seat tubes, shallow head tubes, tons of toe overlap, quirky handling, and uncomfortable fit. The answer was to design smaller frames around smaller wheels -- but most companies were (or still are) unwilling to do that. A few small companies, like Terry, offered bikes with smaller wheels for women -- some used 700c for the back wheel to keep the gearing "normal" with a smaller 24-in. wheel on the front (a compromise that I believe was unnecessary). For the majority of the industry, instead of selling shorter riders bikes that fit them, those riders were often sold excuses -- marketing-based responses about 700c being better, or faster, or about smaller wheels being slower, etc.

In recent years, 650b, a size roughly in-between 700c and 26-inch, re-emerged as a viable option. Once popular on French touring bikes and tandems, the size faded away for a number of years. Then, through the efforts of people like Grant Petersen, Kirk Pacenti, and frame builders re-discovering the classic French randonneuring style of bikes, 650b has been making a comeback. This size gives another good option for both road and mountain bikes.

So, is the introduction (or re-introduction) of more wheel/tire sizes a bad thing? It shouldn't be, but it depends. The bad side is when the wheel size is marketed as a fashion or trend -- something we should all be switching to, as if what we have currently is obsolete, regardless of our needs. For example, the term "29er" doesn't just refer to a wheel size -- it's a whole "genre" of bikes -- a marketing segment. But we don't all need a "29er," and below a certain frame size, they probably shouldn't even make them. Remember the guy trying to get his petite girlfriend on one? It doesn't make sense. And 650b is a great size for road bikes because they make it easy to run comfortable, large-volume tires -- but if someone needs a frame larger than about 60 - 61cm, they'd probably be better off with 700c.

There IS some good in what's happening IF one can ignore the marketing hype and popular trends, and approach wheel size as a function of good design and proper bike fit. Having choices in wheel size (and hopefully with the tire choice/availability to go with it) means that one can potentially get bikes that fit them better and that work better for their intended riding. With the right tires and gearing, all three wheel sizes can work for either road or off-road use. Narrower, fine-tread road tires are available for the 26-in. size, but that is a size still dominated by mountain bike offerings. And large-volume 700c road tires (greater than about 35mm) aren't as common as they should be -- so those are situations that could be improved. But ultimately, what can -- and should -- happen is that manufacturers/builders be willing to vary the wheel size for the frame size. Smaller frame - smaller wheels. Bigger frame - bigger wheels.

Varying wheel size with frame size is something a lot of custom builders would have no problem with, but so far, there aren't a lot of bigger manufacturers doing it. Rivendell does it with some of their models -- their Atlantis, for instance, has long been built for 26-in. wheels in the smaller sizes, and 700c in the larger ones. Other models are built for 650b or 700c depending on frame size. Surly offers their Long Haul Trucker in both 26-in. and 700c versions -- with a lot of overlap in the middle range, so many riders actually have a choice depending on the type of riding they do. Soma Fabrications varies wheel size for some of their models, like their Saga touring frame, and their San Marcos sport touring model (designed in conjunction with Rivendell). And the most recent addition to this club is Velo Orange with their new Camargue touring frame.

What about the bigger brands? I searched Trek, Specialized, Giant, and others -- and (unless I was missing something) none of them varies wheel size with frame size. Some of them offer "women specific" versions of their bikes -- yet as far as I could tell, those use the same wheel sizes as the regular versions, and most of them make the same mistakes they've always made in forcing small frames to work with large wheels -- slack head tube angles with steep seat tube angles, and probably more toe overlap than most people would be comfortable with.

Wrapping it up, wheel size makes much more sense when it is used to make a properly proportioned bikes for differently sized riders. Bike fit is much more important than bike fashion. It's good to see some of the smaller manufacturers taking the lead on this -- time will tell if the bigger manufacturers and the tire companies will recognize it. If they did, it would be a comfortable change.

More Wheel Size Madness

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In my last post, I delved into the fashion trends of wheel sizes -- but it occurred to me that when it comes to wheels and tires, there can sometimes be a lot of confusion. Some of that confusion goes back a long way, stemming from the fact that for decades there were few international (even national, for that matter) standards for things like bike rims and tires. Unfortunately, despite some efforts to standardize, the bicycle industry today continues to add completely unnecessary confusion in the name of marketing.

Just look at the term "29er," which I referred to extensively in the last post. It's the same rim size as the 700c road wheel -- the only difference is that it is made for mountain bikes and uses huge, usually knobby, tires. Why the different name? Because it's NEW and it's catchy, and can be sold as a new trend.

Another example of unnecessary confusion in the name of marketing (and which I'll describe here, but I refuse to use) is the latest trend in calling the recently resuscitated 650b size "27.5" or the somewhat catchier "27five." This one is becoming increasingly popular in MTB circles, whereas road bike makers using the size seem (so far) to be sticking with "650b."

Some history: For decades, every country that made bikes had their own standards and designations for rim and tires sizes. In some cases, individual manufacturers -- especially those with enough mass and clout to do what they wanted, like Schwinn and Raleigh -- would even set up their own sizing systems. Often, these different designations would seem similar, but would in fact be completely different. For instance, there are numerous tires and rims listed nominally as "26-inch" yet they are NOT interchangeable, even if the listed measurements are the same! Sheldon Brown's website has a ton of info on this, including full charts listing the various sizes and their nominal designations.

Originally tire sizes were supposed to correspond to the total outside diameter of the tire and the width. These could sometimes be rendered in fractions, such as 26 x 1 3/4, or 27 x 1 1/4; or in decimals, such as 26 x 1.75. Perhaps ironically, those sizes listed in fractions were typically NOT interchangeable with those listed in decimals -- even if mathematically they should be the same. 26 x 1 3/4 was not the same as 26 x 1.75, for example (Brown's Law of Tire Sizing). Even worse, a Schwinn tire listed as 26 x 1 3/8 was not the same as an English tire listed as 26 x 1 3/8. Madness!

The French system for designating tire and rim sizes was, at least originally, based on the total diameter of the tire measured in millimeters, such as 700 or 650. The width of the tire was designated with letters A through D -- with A being the narrowest and D being the widest, although for the most part, the width designations have lost most of their significance. Tires marked 700c, for instance, can be as narrow as 19mm, or as wide or as 55 mm, and the resulting wheel diameter might be nowhere near 700 mm.

Bead seat diameter (A) is the basis
of the ISO sizing system.
(www.schwalbetires.com)
The best, least confusing way to designate tire sizes is through ISO size. The International Standards Organization was founded in 1947 and has worked for decades to cut through the mass of different national standards for a huge range of industries. The ISO system for bicycle wheels is based on the rim's bead seat diameter measured in millimeters. A tire's ISO size will be rendered as the tire's width followed by the bead seat diameter (a typical road bike tire might be 28-622). Tires with the same bead seat diameter should generally be interchangeable, although swapping tires with large differences in width can sometimes cause some issues -- so it's not a universal fact. Some common sense should apply.

Common Sizes: Here are some common tire sizes one will find today for road or mountain bikes, shown in their typical designations, followed by their ISO bead seat diameter size:

26-inch. There have been lots of wheels and tires called "26-inch" over the years, including older American "middleweight" bikes, old British roadsters, and American "balloon tire" heavyweights -- and none of them are the same. Today, however, the name 26-inch (followed by decimals -- such as 26 x 2.2) usually refers to the size commonly used on most of today's mountain bikes. ISO 559.

700c. This came from the French designation and is the most common size for road bikes today, whether racing, or touring, and even cyclocross and some hybrids. Most racing bike tubulars (aka "sew-up" tires) are this size. Road bike tires might be listed as 700c x 25, or 700 x 32 (sometimes without the "c"). The latest thing is to put fatter tires on this size rim and call it "29er." ISO 622.

650b. Was once a popular French tire size for utility use, loaded touring, or tandems. A few early mountain bikes used it, but it fell out of use and faded away for a while. Recently resurrected for both road and mountain bike use. A nice, large-volume road tire might be labeled as 650b x 40. ISO 584.

27-inch. On the verge of extinction. This used to be the most common size for lightweight road bikes in America, like old 10-speeds. During the 1980s, it was increasingly supplanted by the European 700c size -- first on high-performance bikes, and eventually on touring bikes as well. The two sizes were close enough that most frames made for 27-inch wheels could be fitted with 700c with only minor adjustments -- but they were not directly interchangeable between tires and rims. 27 x 1 1/8 or 27 x 1 1/4 were typical sizes. Tires are still available for older bikes, but choices are shrinking. ISO 630.

There are still a few other oddball sizes out there (like 650c or ISO 571 -- sometimes used on road bikes for smaller riders, or on time-trial bikes, etc.), but those I've listed above are the most common. There used to be many, many more, but a lot of those are gone or are fading away -- only found (sometimes with great difficulty) to keep old vintage bikes going.

Marketing Madness: Not content to let sanity take hold, the bicycle industry is determined to keep confusing the consumer by persisting in the use of outmoded size designations, and to keep coming up with new designations for existing sizes and marketing them as something "new." Yes, they now print the ISO size on the tires (sometimes you have to look for it), but in the marketing and the most prominent labeling they still use the less precise, more confusing designations.

29er. As already stated, this is the mountain bike version of the 700c size (ISO 622), used with extra large, usually knobby tires. Adding to the confusion is the fact that cyclocross tires, and the new "gravel bike" tires are starting to get pretty large -- some are available as wide as 40 mm or more. But those tires are still designated as 700c. The 29er tires are a little larger still, like 50 - 55 mm. Except they won't label them in millimeters. Nope. 29ers list the size in inches. 29 x 2.0 or 29 x 2.2. At what point does a really fat gravel bike tire become a fairly narrow mountain bike tire? When it changes from metric to English measurements, of course.

27five, or 27.5. Again, same size as 650b (ISO 584) but some aren't content to let people get too comfortable with it. Most road bike users continue to use the 650b designation. A few in the mountain bike world are, too. But others want to distinguish it for mountain bikes. It's sort of (not quite) half-way between the 26-in. and 29-in. sizes, so they are starting to call it 27.5. The width gets measured in inches, too. 27.5 x 2, for example. But notice that this "new" 27.5-inch uses a significantly smaller diameter rim than the "old" American 27-inch size (ISO 584 vs. 630). Madness.

Stop the Madness: ISO designations are the best way to keep things straight. What we need to see is increasing usage of the ISO sizes in tires, whether they are for road or off-road use. I can see no reason why road bike wheels should be listed in millimeters, while mountain bike wheels are measured in inches. Also, the ISO bead seat diameter is a much more reliable measurement than the overall diameter of the tire (which changes with the width of the tire), and a better predictor of tire/rim compatibility. Also, wheel size needs to be treated as a function of proper bike fit -- not a marketing ploy -- and using ISO sizes would help to discourage some of that nonsense. More prominent placement of the ISO sizes on tire labels, in the advertisements, on manufacturers' websites and spec sheets, and in the catalogs, will help to minimize confusion. It just makes more sense.

Still More Wheel Madness

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I wish I'd seen this video a couple of days ago.

from Bike Radar

That's right - 26-in. wheels are dead -- or dying, anyhow. Even as I'm here writing on the Retrogrouch Blog that we need to think of wheel size as a function of good fit for riders of different size, and that road-going 26-in. wheels and tires should be more available for small-framed bikes -- here the industry reps at Eurobike are declaring a slow death for that particular wheel size. They've got more than enough to handle with 29ers and 650b -- who could possibly need anything more?

Watch the video, and you'll see some of the industry reps admitting that 29er's might not be the best thing for everyone, especially some riders who need smaller frames. But apparently 650b (which some insist on re-dubbing 27.5) is the answer for pretty much everyone else. A couple of the reps almost grudgingly suggest that 26-in. wheels may still have a place on "entry-level" bikes, but otherwise expect them to gradually fade away.

No -- I don't necessarily put a lot of stock in their predictions. More likely, they'll come up with another fad or two before 26-in. wheels disappear (assuming they actually do). But their predictions do reveal a certain short-sightedness, as well as a blind spot the industry has long had for smaller riders, particularly women.

I've always been lucky -- at about 6-ft tall, I've never had much trouble finding bikes that fit well. But I appreciate the difficulty smaller riders have in achieving proper fit.

On penny farthings, or "ordinaries," taller riders had a
built-in speed advantage.
Bicycling has always tilted in favor of taller over smaller, going back to the beginning. Picture a penny farthing. The larger the drive wheel, the farther one would travel per pedal revolution. Of course, a rider was limited by their leg length as to how large a wheel they could straddle -- so a taller rider almost always had a speed advantage over a shorter one. Interestingly, one of the most common measurements of bicycle gearing, "gear inches," still harkens back to the huge drive wheels of penny farthings.

But the introduction of chain drive and gearing on the first safety bicycles in the mid 1880s should have leveled the playing field. By varying the chainring and sprocket sizes, one should be able to have gears as low as 22 inches (low gear on a lot of touring and mountain bikes) or as high as 120 inches (the weak-kneed need not apply) -- and this while still building a bike around a wheel size that fits the rider. With chainring and cog sizes that are readily available, one can easily get the right gearing for their needs and abilities, whether using 26-in., 650b, or 700c wheels.

There are still certain performance-minded advantages that come with larger wheels -- and the industry marketing machine loves to push that line -- it's an easy sell. But the advantages don't mean much if the bike fit has to be compromised in order to accommodate those larger wheels, which is what happens when someone of shorter stature wants a high-performance bike.

The thing is -- there are certain performance advantages to smaller diameter wheels, too. Smaller wheels can be lighter. They don't conserve momentum as well as larger wheels, but they can accelerate more quickly. At high speeds, there may be a slight aerodynamic advantage. The industry could market those advantages -- along with the obvious benefits of having a bike that actually fits the rider properly. But no. Offering different wheel sizes for different sized riders apparently isn't feasible (except that several smaller companies ARE doing it). It requires stocking more variations in wheels (obviously), forks, cogs and chainrings, etc. etc. Not only that, but it then forces a backtracking on the old-line marketing that pushes wheel sizes (such as 29er) as a must-have trend.

After decades of having a mind-boggling array of different wheel and tire sizes and conflicting (sometimes nearly overlapping) standards, things have finally gotten narrowed down to a workable handful of sizes that can be used and adapted for all kinds of riding and all kinds of riders. Does it make sense to now eliminate one of those sizes -- further narrowing things down to the detriment of shorter riders? Well, not to the consumer -- but bicycle trends are usually driven more by what's good for the industry than by what's good for the consumer. I realize I'm probably making too much of this -- 26-in. wheels will probably be around for a good long time. Who knows, maybe "good fit for all" will actually become a trend, too.

Mercian Cycles - History and Tradition

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Back when I was still basically a kid first discovering really nice bicycles, one of the first people I encountered who shared my passion was an older guy who rode a Mercian that he'd owned since the 1970s. He had the Professional model, with the long spearpoint bottom bracket shell and a classic barber pole paint job, deep red and white, built with the full Campagnolo Nuovo Record group. I don't even know how much time I must have spent admiring the details on that bike -- but I know it left an impression on me. Today I own seven of them.
The Mercian Shop, in Alvaston near Derby.

Mercian have been building bicycles (that's British-style grammar -- not an error) since Tom Crowther and Lou Barker set up shop in Derby, England in 1946. Through the 50s and 60s, they gained quite a following with the British club riding scene. Their reputation for quality, beauty, and great-riding bikes continues right up to today. Mercian still make bikes today using the same time-honored, traditional techniques that they've used from the beginning -- building with Reynolds tubing, brazed together on an open hearth.

I was fortunate enough that Grant Mosley, who has owned Mercian since 2002 with his wife, Jane, was willing to take time out of his schedule to answer some questions for me about the company. Grant has been with Mercian for nearly 40 years. "I started as a Saturday lad," he says, "making cups of tea etc. in the shop. I was in the local cycling club and Jeff Bowler, the Shop Manager, asked me if I wanted a job while we were on a club run." I'm sure Grant never imagined at the time that he would one day own the place.

1950's catalog, from the Mercian archives.
The Mosleys are essentially only the third owners of Mercian Cycles, but in a sense, the company's history has remained intact as ownership has always stayed within. By the 1950s, company catalogs list Tom Crowther and his wife Ethel as sole proprietors. Then, according to Mosley, Tom left and in 1965, Ethel (by this time Tom's ex-wife) sold the company to Bill Betton, who had worked his way up within Mercian from apprentice to framebuilder. Betton ran the company for the next 36 years. Then, in 2001, Mosley got an offer. "The company was for sale and I bumped into Bill on a Sunday bike ride. He said he wished that someone within the company could buy it, and myself and Jane begged, stole, and borrowed to buy the company in 2002."

Serious Mercian fans or collectors might be aware that co-founder Tom Crowther went on to also sell frames under his own name. Most of these were still built in the Mercian factory, though it's hard to know how many. "Records before 1970 were burned at a company Guy Fawkes bonfire party in the early '70s, so it's hard to know exactly," Mosley recalls. "I know Mercian built some Tom Crowther frames, as we still have stocks of transfers for them. Tom Crowther frames that we've resprayed have our frame number identity on them, but we don't know if all Tom Crowther frames were made by Mercian."

Use Google Maps to get an interactive view of the shop.
You can use arrows to move around inside the shop. Very cool.
Apart from the aforementioned bonfire, Mercian history has been well preserved. Frame records since then are kept on file, and owners regularly write to the company to trace the beginnings of their frames, or to order a new frame with the same measurements and geometry of their old one. According to the company website (www.merciancycles.co.uk), there is a £10 charge for a records search, since the files are not computerized and searching can take time. With the popularity of eBay, they get so many requests for frame records that they can sometimes spend hours tracking down numbers.

Hand-shaping a Vincitore lug from a lug
"blank" is a painstaking process. The
results are exquisite.
(photo from 2004 Mercian catalog)
Another way that Mercian history is preserved is that their framebuilding tradition is handed down, builder-to-builder, within the company. Derek Land, who had built frames at the shop for over 45 years, retired not long ago. Grant says that Tony Phillips is currently the longest serving framebuilder, having been with the company for over 35 years now. Rob Poultney, the senior painter, has been with Mercian for over 40 years. According to Grant, Rob "started out as a framebuilder but didn't like it!" These well-tenured craftsmen help the "new lads" (that's pretty much anyone with less than 10 years at the shop) learn the Mercian way of doing things.

I asked Grant about the process of training the "new lads." He said, "Luckily we don't have to recruit new builders that often, but when we do they start with smaller jobs -- brazing dropouts and filing/finishing until they get the feel for the materials and tools. Then they start to build frames from start to finish, but with lots of supervision and assistance from a skilled builder." He then added, "Because Mercian build frames free-hand, without jigs, it takes longer to learn the art of framebuilding in this way."

Brazing free-hand in an open hearth. Few builders
still use this traditional, time-honored method today.
(photo from 2004 Mercian catalog)
Mercian is well known for its free-hand, "open hearth" brazing method. Frame tubes and lugs are fitted together on an alignment board, then the joints are pinned and then brazed in an open-hearth fired by air and natural gas, rather than the more modern method of building the frame in jigs with oxy-acetylene torches. Mercian's builders feel their method is gentler on the tubing, and one of the secrets to their frames' longevity. "Since day one Mercian have built frames this way," said Mosely. "It's a really traditional way of brazing and we're probably the last in the UK to still build like this."

A view inside the Mercian frame shop. (photo courtesy
of Bob Troy)
"We've built this way for over 65 years, and the fact that we renovate decades-old Mercians proves to us that it's kinder to the frame," he continued. "There are arguments to support every method of building that people use, and I'm not saying either is right or wrong, but if it ain't broke don't fix it! Mercian bikes ride really well, they're responsive, stable, and comfortable, and once people ride one they're pleasantly surprised. So I reckon we're doing it right."

Another tradition going back to the beginning is the almost exclusive use of Reynolds tubing. "We've always had a great relationship with Reynolds and because we've built with it from the start, the framebuilders have a real 'feel' for the tubing." Over the years, the company has built primarily with 531, and was among the earliest to be certified by Reynolds for 753. Today, Reynolds 631, 725, and 853 are popular choices. Grant says they have used other brands of tubing when customers have specifically asked them to, "but we still prefer Reynolds." The shop has also built some frames from 953 stainless, but supply interruptions have, at least for now, put that material on hold.

Long spearpoint lugs and a bold color palate distinguished
the Paul Smith track bike. (from Mercian's site)
In the last decade, Mercian frames have taken on an almost iconic status. Back in 2007, fashion designer Paul Smith collaborated with Mercian on two special limited-edition bicycles -- a touring model, and a track bike -- distinguished by Smith's unique color motif, as well as special long-point lugs on the track model. I asked Grant about how that collaboration came to be.

Sir Paul Smith, on his
stealth-black Mercian.
(photo by Horst Friedrichs)
"It was a trip to the Nottingham Paul Smith shop which started the ball rolling. We noticed in his shop a chair made for him by a local company and just thought a Mercian would look nice there. We got in contact in the off-chance, and Sir Paul thought it would be great if we could make a few bikes for them," Grant said. "Of course we jumped at the offer and the rest as they say is history."

Paul Smith also ordered a special "urban" fixed-gear bike for himself -- a "stealth" machine with a matte black finish and black components. Photos of Sir Paul with the bike have appeared in numerous non-cycling publications, including fashion magazines. Smith, a longtime cyclist who rode a Mercian in his teens and dreamed of becoming a professional bike racer (a bad crash ended that dream), frequently adorns his shop window displays with bikes -- a number of which were built by Mercian. Grant would not specify, but hinted that other collaborations may be in the works.
Ewan McGregor's Vincitore Special, with vintage
Campagnolo parts. (photo from Derby Telegraph)

More recently, Mercian built a bike for none other than Obi Wan Kenobi himself, actor Ewan McGregor. Grant told me how that came about. "I posted a picture of a leaf green Vincitore Special on our Twitter feed," he said. McGregor, who had been following the company's site, "saw the bike and said it reminded him of the first bike his dad bought for him." The actor contacted Mercian and placed an order for a Vincitore Special -- leaf green with a barber-pole paint scheme. He provided his measurements, and let Grant advise on the rest. McGregor spent some time searching eBay for vintage Campagnolo parts. "He supplied a few of the components to be fitted, like Campagnolo Delta brakes," added Grant.

Yes, that's my bike in the 2004 catalog.
As a personal side-note - I'm a huge fan of the color scheme of McGregor's Mercian. In 2003, Mercian built me a Professional model, not unlike the bike I admired so thoroughly when I was in my teens. Rather than copy that vintage example exactly, I picked out leaf green and white. When the frame was done, Grant asked me if they could photograph it for their new catalog. What could I say? YES! I built that bike up with a complete 80s vintage Campagnolo Super Record group. A honey-colored Brooks leather saddle and matching bar tape finished off the bike, which later appeared on the company website in an "owners gallery." Since then, I've seen several other Mercians painted in the same scheme. I have no illusions whatsoever that I was the first to get a bike painted like that, but I like to think (even if I'm mistaken) that it got more popular after my bike appeared in the catalog.

For those interested in ordering a new frame from Mercian, the wait time is currently about 5 - 6 months -- and that's true for celebrities, too. Even Ewan McGregor didn't get to jump the queue. When it comes to custom frames, the company offers some standardized specifications for racing, touring, track, audax, etc., which can be a good place to start, but customers have a lot of input on their frame order. Grant said, "We don't do trikes, triplets, 4-wheeled buggies, etc. but for solo frames we look at each enquiry as it comes and advise accordingly." I've found in my own experience that the company can be very accommodating for special requests, whether in colors, lugs, geometry, or whatever a person may desire for their dream bike. If one comes up with some ideas that the builders, in their experience, feel would not work well, they'll advise against it. Otherwise, a person can get pretty creative when ordering a Mercian.

The online frame builder lets you create your dream bike.
Be careful -- it's addictive.
Should someone want a new Mercian but not want to wait, there are some options. Mercian keeps a few frames in the shop painted and ready to go. One can always call or email to inquire about what's in store. They've recently come up with a semi-custom option as well. Grant said, "we've recently built a small stock of King of Mercia frames in popular sizes, in 725 tubing, all in undercoat, so they can be painted to order and shipped in 4 - 6 weeks." This move, Grant said, was in preparation for their upcoming online store. Until the online store is up and running, though, customers can entertain their new-bike fantasies with the online frame builder. With it, one can pick a model, choose tubing, braze-ons, and other specifications, and try out all 63 standard colors in a variety of popular paint schemes. It's a little bit addictive.

Given that the company has been building frames for over six decades, there are a lot of vintage examples out there. Figuring out when a Mercian was built is usually pretty easy (but not always). On most vintage frames, the serial number will be located on the bottom bracket. Usually, the last two digits in the series will be the year that the frame was made. However, there have been some years, especially in earlier vintages like the 1950s, where the pattern was different and the first two digits were the build year. Sometimes, other details on the frame can provide clues, but according to Classic Lightweights UK, if a frame has a serial number like 59557, it may be impossible to know if it was built in 1959 or 1957. Also, I have seen some older Mercians -- notably some track bikes from the 50s -- where the serial number was stamped on the rear fork end instead of the bottom bracket. By the way, a second number stamped on the bottom bracket is a framebuilder's code, which can indicate who built the frame -- interesting to know. Since Y2K, the serial numbers have become unambiguous -- the year is now indicated with the full four digits -- xxx2013, for example.

I asked Grant if he's seen a resurgence of interest in Mercian frames. "We have a very full order book. The demand seems to be growing," he said. "There are a lot of riders out there who have never had a good steel frame. They started on alloy (aluminum), progressing to carbon, then trying the NEW steel frames." Not only that, he added, but the company also gets a lot of repeat business. "Most of our customers who order seem to re-order again and again once they have felt the difference in the ride quality." I know what he means. . .

My Mercians:
Professional model - 2003 -- with 80s vintage Super Record group. Reynolds 631 tubing. The idea here was to have a new bike that would seem almost like a vintage example. A trendsetter?

"Classic" model - 1979 -- my second Mercian. Reynolds 531. This one was refurbished at the factory in "Bianchi Blue" with a cream head-tube. 
"Anniversary Model" 2006. Sixty bike were made to celebrate 60 years in business. Has modified Pacenti lugs, a special head badge, and Reynolds 725 tubing. Campagnolo Centaur group. Honjo fenders and Velo-Orange racks. The bags are from Gilles Berthoud. 
I've been putting a lot of miles on this one.
Strada Speciale track bike. 2008. 631 tubing. Lots of NJS parts.
1973 Superlight - Reynolds 531 tubing. Original paint. Period-correct Campagnolo Nuovo Record group. When I found this, it was a nearly 40-yr-old new-old-stock frame.
King of Mercia model. Reynolds 725. Modern Campagnolo Centaur group. 
2012 Vincitore. Reynolds 631. Built as a "road/path" bike with a mix of old and new Campagnolo parts. Single speed, fixed gear. This one was pictured in the UK publication Urban Cyclist.

History and Tradition are such a big part of Mercian Cycles. And not just for the company itself -- but also for the people who ride the bikes. Like myself, who admired one in his youth and wanted so much to own one, there are many others who can tell similar stories. Look at Paul Smith, who raced on a Mercian in his teens, then decades later began designing bikes with the company. Or Ewan McGregor, drawn to a Mercian that reminded him so much of a bike his father bought him in his youth. Or even Grant Mosley -- working Saturdays at the shop as a lad, years later becoming the owner of the brand as it neared its 60th year in operation. I'll bet lots of people find themselves drawn to the bikes for similar reasons. And the brand is still there, still making bikes the way they did in the beginning, ready to welcome back old friends, or to greet new ones just discovering the virtues of a hand-crafted steel frame. The Mercian shop, its workers, the bikes, and the people who ride them are all part of this Tradition extending back to 1946.

I'd like to thank Grant Mosley for taking the time to respond to my questions. Thank you so much for contributing to the Retrogrouch Blog!


An assortment of tools on a framebuilder's workbench.
A lugless fillet brazed frame. The joints are being smoothed to a seamless radius.
A Paul Smith track frame, ready for paint.
(the above three photos were in a 2008 Mercian promotional calendar)

Links and sources:
Mercian's own website has some history, model specifics, ordering info, and more.
I have a collection of vintage Mercian catalogs -- many of which are on Flickr.
Classic Lightweights UK has some info on vintage Mercians.
Classic Rendezvous also has some general info and pictures.
The Mercian Cycles Pool on Flickr is a great place to see other people's Mercians, or post your own.
Derby Telegraph article on Ewan McGregor's Vincitore.
Another Derby Telegraph article about Mercian, the Paul Smith collaboration, and more.
There is a chapter on Mercian in The Custom Bicycle, by Michael Kolin and Denise de la Rosa.

Weight Weenie Woes

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It's tough being a weight weenie. Expensive, too. That's why I gave it up a long time ago.

Being a weight weenie throws all perspective and good sense askew, like wearing those "Drunk Goggles" they use to teach people about drunk driving.

I once stopped to see if I could help a fellow cyclist who was standing alongside the road with a mechanical problem. He had a full-carbon wünderbike that must have weighed no more than 15 lbs. He had been riding with one of those aluminum cassettes that are supposed to shave a few more grams off the bike. I don't know if he'd had a bad shift or what, but he'd rounded off a couple of the cogs. Wasn't anything to do but wait for a ride to come pick him up, I guess.

I've recently been reading a bit more about these things. BikeRumor did a test of the latest 11-sp. version of what I assume was the same cassette (or at least pretty similar). Looking at the pictures, I have to admit that it's a pretty impressive piece of CNC machine work -- literally carved in one piece from a solid billet of aluminum. Doesn't mean it's a good idea, though. I enjoyed this quote from the article: "They come with three warnings: One, performance isn't going to be quite as polished as a high end Shimano cluster. Two, it won't be as durable. And three, shift gently, lest you snap a tooth off."

Definitely sounds worth it, doesn't it? Compared to the Dura Ace cluster, that beautifully machined piece of kit saves about 40 grams. Compared to the Ultegra set, it costs an extra $100 or more and saves about 80 grams. That's 0.17 lb -- about the same as one big gulp of water. Anyone who says they can feel that difference in weight while riding is delusional.

Why do people fall for this? Giving up durability and reliability, spending more money (and spending it more often since the parts don't last as long), in the name of shaving grams? The way I figure it, there is "light," and there's "stupid light." Anything that compromises reliability or safety is "stupid light." Cogs that don't shift as well and can be sheared off easily are "stupid light." Carbon fiber handlebars and stems, forks and steerers that can lead to complete loss of control if they snap? In my mind, those things are really"stupid light."

At the top levels of racing, where equipment costs are covered by the sponsors, and things get replaced on a regular basis, and where races can be won by tenths or even hundredths of a second, people may be able to argue that even a small amount in weight can make a difference between winning and losing. Then again, at the top levels of the sport, the UCI has weight limits in place that negate further gram shaving. Some pro-level bikes have to have weight added to them to meet the weight restrictions! Beyond that, in mass-start races, good racing strategy will make a bigger difference than a few grams. In a time trial, weight can be a factor, but aerodynamics, good position, and the right mindset are probably all bigger factors in winning or losing.

In lower level amateur racing, where most people have to buy their own gear, it doesn't make sense financially, and probably doesn't make much of a difference in race results, either. Some might think "I dropped 60 grams off my bike and I had my best finish, ever!" and they'll be convinced it was the 60 grams that did it. If someone said "I wore my lucky socks and had my best finish, ever!" they might be just as convinced, but the rest of us would immediately dismiss that as superstition. But in reality, the lucky socks are only slightly more superstitious than the 60 grams. There are too many other variables that could lead to the improved result to form a provable cause-effect conclusion.

For the far greater number of riders out there who don't race -- even those who like to ride fast -- dropping grams at the expense of reliability makes no sense at all. It might garner extra "oohs and ahhs" from people who like to lift bikes up and remark on their relative weightlessness -- but that's not how we ride a bike (not even up hill!).

Weight does make a difference in speed. But you really have to be talking about differences of POUNDS, not grams. The lighter bike may "feel" faster, but the difference is often more perception than reality. As for myself, I'm far more impressed by a machine that remains simple, fits well, rides comfortably, works reliably, and lasts longer than fashion.


New Cycling Necessity: Bike Cams

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As a Retrogrouch, one might expect I'd be pretty negative about bike cameras. But I'm thinking they may be a bit of new technology that I can actually get behind. The harsh reality of riding on the roads today, unfortunately, may be making bike cams a new cycling necessity.

My first reaction to bike cams was that they were self-indulgent nonsense -- given that most of the use I'd seen them put to was capturing things like high-speed downhill runs or "dart, dodge and dive" urban riding by bike messenger wannabes, zipping between trucks and taxis, or jamming through red lights.

But more and more I'm seeing cyclists capturing dangerous and aggressive driving by motorists with their bike cams, and I'm starting to think it might be time to look into it more. I've recently seen a couple of references to this product -- currently on the crowdsourcing site Kickstarter: Fly 6

Created by Andrew Hagen and Kingsley Fiegert of Australia, the Fly 6 is a compact design that makes good sense -- being both a functioning taillight and a rear-facing camera. It apparently records its video on an 8 GB microSD memory card that can record in HD + audio for up to around 2 hours before looping back to the beginning. They still have almost a month to go on their fundraising campaign, and they've well exceeded their goal.

The info on their website says that people will know they're on camera because of the flashing LEDs, although I can't imagine how most drivers would expect that it isn't just a normal blinky taillight. Nevertheless, I've had enough experiences with aggressive drivers that I'd love to be able to capture them on video. The fact that this thing is so compact and doubles as a functioning taillight makes it all that much more attractive to me. The only downside that I can see is that it doesn't have the capability to capture images at night -- and most of my morning commuting is in the dark. Maybe that's something they can work on for a subsequent version?

The Fly6 website has some videos submitted by users who've tried the camera -- I hate to say that a lot of the scenes captured look very familiar to me, and would probably seem familiar to anyone who puts in serious miles on the road. This might be a bit of new technology that I need to try out. If I get that chance, you'll be able to read about it here.

Classic Components: Campagnolo Record Hubs

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The first Campagnolo components I ever bought were a pair of Record hubs. At the time I bought them, they were probably about 10 years old, but they were brand new, perfect in their faded yellow box with the Campagnolo script logo on the top and World Champion rainbow stripes. They were for sale at the most amazing garage sale a teen-aged (or even middle-aged) bike geek could imagine. Besides the hubs, I had purchased a pair of impossibly light Super Champion tubular rims and built my first pair of wheels.

A post-'78 pair of small flange Record hubs.
Whether it was because of the extreme lightness of the rims or because of my amateur wheel-building skills (probably both), the wheels seemed to need constant truing. I eventually un-laced and re-built them with the same hubs and a more robust pair of rims (my wheel-building skills having improved greatly), and I still use them today, almost 30 years later. The hubs still spin like new.

The Campagnolo Record hubs are iconic kit -- without a doubt, the best hubs one could buy in their day, and one could argue, among the best of any time. Period.

First introduced in 1958, the Record hubs were made with only minor changes up until about 1985 or '86. The Record hubs replaced the Gran Sport hubs, which were actually manufactured for Campy by a sub-contractor, Fratelli Brivio (or FB). The Gran Sports were comprised of a steel barrel with aluminum flanges pressed on. The Record hub bodies were a one-piece design, made from a forged aluminum shell, with replaceable steel bearing races pressed into it. There were also oil holes in the center of the shaft, as well as in the dust caps that covered the bearings.

A late 60s large-flange Record hub. Note the straight-lever
quick release. 
By 1958, other companies were making quick release hubs (Campagnolo first introduced them in the early 1930s), but none had the quality of the Records. The design would be copied by many -- some even to the extent that their parts were completely interchangeable with the Campy version -- but the quality of the bearings and the hardness of the bearing race surfaces put the Campagnolo hubs well ahead of anything else available at the time -- and in my opinion, even modern sealed-bearing hubs don't really improve on them. With a little maintenance (and they are completely user-serviceable) they will last for decades. Not only that, but the quality of the forged aluminum shell was better than most of the competition, as well. The flanges were sturdy, and the finish was mirror-like. Even after years of use, they can be brought back to that like-new lustre with a soft cloth and a dab of aluminum polish.

There were several versions of the hubs. Primarily, there was the small-flange version (flange piccole) and the large-flange version (flange grandi). There were road (strada) and track (pista) versions -- differentiated by hollow axles and quick release levers for the road, and solid, nutted axles for the track. The track hubs also lacked the central oil holes, and the rear track hub had special threading for a single cog plus a lock ring. In the early 80s, there was also a BMX version, available in anodized colors.

The very-cool Hi-Lo Record hub.
Superfluous, but impressive nonetheless.
In the 1970s and early 80s, Campy also made a fairly rare version called the "Hi-Lo." This was unique in that the rear hub had a large-flange on the drive side, with a regular small flange on the left. The theory was that it would help equalize spoke tension, resulting in a stronger wheel. Jobst Brandt's book, The Bicycle Wheel, says that the claims of greater wheel strength are overblown -- but regardless, they are a cool-looking curiosity.

As mentioned, the hubs were produced over 25 years with only minor changes. The first versions (up to about the mid-60s) did not have the "Record" name engraved on them -- only the Campagnolo script. There were different axle lengths available for the rear hub to accommodate 5, then 6-speed freewheels. The most recognizable change came in 1978, when the US CPSC (Consumer Product Safety Commission) mandated changes in the quick-release lever design. Pre-CPSC levers had a straight lever at one end, and a simple conical-shaped nut at the other end. Post-CPSC levers were curved, while the nut end was rounded nearly to a ball-shape. I have no doubt that many lives were saved because of the change.

To the best of my knowledge, the internal parts -- bearings, cones, axles, etc. -- were interchangeable throughout the production of the Record hubs. If one wants to find out the year that their Record hubs were made, there is a date code engraved on the axle locknuts. However, if the those were replaced at some point, that could be misleading.

In the late 60s, a lower-priced hub set was introduced: the Nuovo Tipo. The small-flange versions were pretty similar to the Record version, but without the little oil hole that the Record hubs were known for. The large-flange version was differentiated by having round lightening holes, as opposed to the kidney-shaped ones on the Records. Nevertheless, the internal parts were still of excellent quality, and have the potential to be just as long-lived as their more expensive counterparts.

C-Record "sheriff star" hub. Beautiful. Possibly fragile.
When production ended of the classic Record hubs in the mid 80s, they were replaced by the C-Record hubs, which had a modern, aerodynamic-looking design. The large-flange version, sometimes called the "sheriff star" hubs, were particularly gorgeous, and are incredibly valuable today on eBay. But not long after, cassette-type hubs pushed threaded freewheel hubs out of the marketplace. When freewheels and cassettes grew to 8 speeds, it necessitated widening the OLD (over-locknut-dimension) and corresponding frame width to 130 mm. At that length, cassette hubs have an advantage because the hub bearings can be placed further outboard of the flange on the drive side, meaning more support for the axle -- and less likelihood of axle bending.

Nevertheless, I have found that it is possible to use vintage Record hubs even on modern frames with 130 mm spacing, provided that one can find the proper length axle (not that difficult, really). However, the quick release skewer might pose some difficulty -- the older vintage ones might not have enough length to work, at least not without getting a bit risky with the number of threads engaged on the nut-end. I have substituted later-vintage quick release skewers in those cases. Another thing to consider if making the conversion to 130 mm spacing with these vintage hubs is that the drive side of the axle has a lot of unsupported length, and bending the axle can be more of a possibility. My recommendation is to NOT space the hub on the axle for 8-speed freewheels, which are just too wide. Instead, arrange the spacers on the hub to accommodate no more than a 7-speed freewheel, thereby keeping the hub slightly more "centered" on the axle, which also results in a wheel with slightly less "dish" -- which is stronger anyhow.

Campagnolo Record hubs are one of those great components that have proven themselves through the test of time. After their release in 1958, they quickly became the top choice of riders throughout their production for more than 25 years. Their quality is indisputable, and they are a favorite of the Retrogrouch.

Credit: more Campy info is available on the Campagnolo Timeline at Velo-Retro.

Classic Components: Decorative Derailleurs

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There was a time when the way something looked was nearly as important as its function. I know I'm going to get some push-back from people who tell me that there is just as much emphasis on design today as there ever was (which is true) -- but what I'm talking about is just a bit different. And I don't think it's simply a question of preferring older styling to modern styling. What I'm getting at is that things once had a certain touch that existed for no other reason than to make them more interesting to look at -- whether one is talking about bike parts, or tools, or nearly anything really.

No function whatsoever, other than making it more
interesting to look at.
My grandfather, who liked working with wood, had a lot of hand-tools in his garage. One of the things I remember about some of the older tools on his workbench was that some of them had really interesting details that served no function whatsoever. The wooden grip on a handsaw would have a design engraved on it, for example. It was there only to make the tool more interesting -- a sign that somebody spent a little more time to make it special for the person who chose it, used it, and maybe even passed it on to someone else. Even though some of the tools were probably mass-produced, they still might have been blessed with these little touches.

Bike components were like that once, too. When I was young, first starting to admire high-end bicycles, I was often struck by the attention to detail in some of those components. Look closely at a Campagnolo Nuovo Record derailleur. Notice the raised lettering on that textured background, and the little scroll-like details. Those details didn't make the derailleur work any better, but they made it much more beautiful to look at. The first generation Super Record unit shared that style, but later versions went for a simpler, smoother face plate and a screened-on Campagnolo script logo. They were still beautiful in a functional, minimalist way, but there's something more tactile about the NR that I admire a little more.

That scrolled and textured theme carried through to the shift levers and even the quick release levers, as well. I always knew my wheels were installed properly when I could see that raised Campagnolo name momentarily visible in the palm of my hand. The careful milling in the Campagnolo crank, likewise added some visual interest, while lightening the crank just a bit.
Interesting to look at, and one of the lightest, best-shifting
derailleurs of its time.
Other companies of that same era also spent some time with little decorative details. Look at an early generation SunTour Cyclone derailleur -- which was a touch lighter than Campagnolo, and shifted better than anything of its day. It wasn't quite as interesting as the Campy NR, but notice the raised logo and lettering, on a neat fine-textured background. The finish on these is nearly as nice as the Campagnolo derailleurs, yet they were a fraction of the price. They also made a long-cage touring version for a wider gear range. They were really nice parts for the money, and I still like using them today. Most vintage bike nuts are probably well aware that the SunTour derailleur design became the basis for most modern derailleurs -- with its slanted parallelogram that better followed the angle of the freewheel, thereby keeping a more constant gap between the top pulley and the cogs.

Shimano 600 "Arabesque." The decorative details had
only one purpose: Looking cool.
Another competitor of the classic era that marked the epitome of decorative details for decorative sake was the Shimano 600 set -- sometimes called "Arabesque." These had the little scroll-like details and engraving all over the face plate, and even on the edge of the pulley cage!  Likewise, the shift levers, and to a lesser extent the front derailleur and crank, all shared the scrolled details. The parts looked special, and worked pretty well, too. Today's components may, in some fashion or another, actually work a bit better than these parts from the past -- but to my mind they lack those little details that make them more enjoyable on a level beyond the purely functional.

Campagnolo tools also followed the philosophy of looking good for the sake of looking good. Perhaps the most notable would be the cone wrenches -- which are perfectly designed for their purpose, fit the hand nicely, but also have the great visual detail of the Campagnolo name against a pebble-textured background. The crank bolt wrench, also known as the "peanut butter wrench" is another one -- a tool that I love to feel in my hands -- but which is also somehow more "satisfying" to use than similar tools that lack the interesting visual detail.
Bloated, and blah.

As I said at the start -- I'll probably hear some arguments from people who say there's no comparison in performance between these 30+ year old parts and the components of today. Some might even say they don't mind the styling of modern components, either. Granted, on the bland and bloated popped-out-of-a-mold carbon fiber bikes of today, these decorative, almost delicate-looking derailleurs would look incredibly out-of-place. On the other hand, that's just another thing I love about traditional lugged steel frames. They are enjoyable on a different level -- not just for their wonderful ride, handling, and "feel" -- but for those little visual touches that make them special. Some people call it "soul." I hesitate to use that term, but I'm not sure what word fits the intent any better. The bikes, or the parts, or even the tools might be hand-made, or just look like they are -- but somehow, the fact that they have that artistic essence imparts something special, making them much more desirable for me.

Snow Day

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I've lost count of how many snow days we've had this year. The school where I work, and all the schools in NE Ohio have been closed so many days for weather this year, it's ridiculous. I can't remember missing so many days -- and we still have a lot of winter left. The jury's still out (well, the state legislature, anyhow) about if, when, and/or how we're going to make up for all the lost days.


The weather being what it's been -- frigid single-digit temperatures (often negative!), and more snow than I've seen in years -- also means I haven't been on my bike for over a month. My bike-to-work average is suffering. Supposedly, it's going to warm up very soon. What a mess all this snow will make when that happens. But I'm making sure my bike is ready to go when the time comes.

The photo is from my back yard. The bike is an old Western Flyer, which was a brand sold through Western Auto Parts stores. Somebody brought it to my house years ago after buying it for a couple of dollars at a yard sale. I parked it next to the picket fence, and it hasn't been moved in perhaps nine years. I photograph it from time to time, capturing it in different seasons, and documenting its gradual decline. I call it the "entropy project," and I guess one could call it art.

Just a short post today -- the kids and I are going sledding. What else is there to do?

Vintage Advertisements: Reynolds Tubing

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While I've been more or less snowbound -- at least as far as riding my bicycle is concerned -- I've been perusing old vintage bicycle magazines. One of the things I enjoy about them is seeing how things have changed, refreshing my memory of old bikes and components (back when they were new!) or looking over old advertisements. This one sort of caught my eye, being that I'd seen it somewhere fairly recently:


In my recent post about Mercian Cycles, I had a photo of the frame building workshop. If one looks closely on the back wall of the shop, they can see a large poster-sized version of this advertisement. Even though the frame that the little toddler is holding up doesn't have a name on it, it was apparently built by Mercian for the photo shoot. Fun trivia. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a King of Mercia model, but without being able to see any more of the lug details, I can't say for sure.

This ad appeared in a 1980 issue of Bicycling! Magazine. I don't remember when they lost the exclamation point. But it dates back to about the time I was first getting interested in bicycles -- and long before Bicycling (with or without the exclamation point) turned the words "laterally stiff and vertically compliant" into a cliché.

I may post some other old ads if they catch my eye. Enjoy!
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