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The American Bike Boom - 1970s

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I've been reading that bicycles have outsold cars for the last few years in the U.S. and in many other countries long dominated by cars. Even during recent downturns when bicycles sales have fallen, apparently the sales of cars in those years have fallen more, keeping the bicycle ahead. Many people would probably be surprised by that news, but it gets me thinking about another time when bicycle sales outstripped cars in this country -- the American Bike Boom of the early 1970s.

The early 70s Bike Boom saw a huge bubble in which bicycle sales more than doubled practically overnight, only to see those gains almost completely erased when the boom went bust a few years later. Nevertheless, the Bike Boom marked a major shift in the American bicycle market, and sowed the seeds for huge changes in the manufacture and sales of bicycles and components around the world.

Sales chart from a 1978 AAA report.
Though bike sales, like any commodity, saw their ups and downs, in general there was overall a long-term growth trend, with small, incremental increases from year to year. For example, U.S. bicycle sales totaled about 2 million in 1950, around 4 million in 1960, about 6 million in '65, and about 7 million in 1970. Suddenly, in 1971, sales shot to 9 million bicycles. In '72, the numbers went to nearly 14 million. 1973 was the peak, with more than 15 million bicycles sold. The number fell back slightly to 14 million in '74. The bubble burst in 1975, with sales dropping back to their pre-boom level of 7 million. (AAA Report)

A lot of people mistakenly believe the Boom was caused by the oil embargo and the resulting shortages at the fuel pumps -- but the OPEC oil embargo didn't hit until the end of '73, and as the numbers above show, the Boom was well under way before that happened. So then, why did Americans suddenly start buying bicycles in ever greater numbers?

Could this have helped kick off the Bike Boom?
One of the better accounts I've read about the American Bike Boom was an article by Frank Berto that appeared in the Spring 2000 issue of The Rivendell Reader, #19 (most of the info can also be found in his book, The Dancing Chain). Citing a study conducted by Schwinn in the later 70s, Berto concluded that one of the major factors leading to the Boom was the "High-Rise,""Muscle-Bike,""Wheelie Bike," or "Sting-Ray" (call them what you will) bike fad of the 1960s. That fad got a lot of kids riding bikes, and in many cases, kept them riding past the age when they would have normally traded in their bikes for a set of car keys. Now, I'm summarizing a bit and leaving out a lot of detail, but essentially the assertion is made that the same kids who were riding those Sting-Rays and other muscle-bikes went on to "graduate," if you will, to the "10-speeds" that practically came to define the notion of the Bike Boom bicycles. By the way, I think it's worth noting that a lot of those muscle-bikes (at least the higher-end and more desirable ones) were often multi-speed derailleur-equipped bikes -- so it would seem like a natural progression that the kids would want to move up to the fast and exotic-seeming (at the time) 10-speeds that were starting to hit the market in greater numbers.

Another thing that contributed to the Bicycle Boom was the economic condition at the time for that other Boom -- the Baby Boom generation. Simply through their massive numbers the Baby Boomers had the ability to make big waves with any fad or trend they jumped onto. As Boomers came of age, reaching their teens and young adulthood, they also happened to be financially more independent than previous generations at the same age, having more disposable income to spend on discretionary purchases. Bicycles turned out to be one of those things they wanted to spend that money on.

Many people also believe there was a bit of a "counterculture" element to the Bike Boom. The previous generations -- the "establishment," if you will, were very much about cars -- the ultimate American status symbol. The new, younger generation was ready to question the priorities. There was definitely a different consciousness, and more interest in the environment, and bicycles probably fit into that idealism. Don't forget that the first "Earth Day" happened in April of 1970. In all I've read about the Bike Boom, nobody ever seems to mention that specifically, but I don't think it's an unrelated coincidence that Baby Boomers were finding bicycles to be an exciting alternative in the next couple of years.

The Bike Boom re-shaped the American bicycle market tremendously. Up until that point, bicycles were primarily seen as "toys" for kids. Few people rode bikes once they got their drivers' licenses. The American market was heavily dominated by kids' bikes -- like the 16" and 20" wheeled bicycles for younger children (say, age 4 - 9), middleweight 24" wheeled bikes for those older kids (say, 9 - 12), and middleweight or heavyweight (determined mainly by tire width) 26" wheeled bikes for the young teens. The "lightweight" category, aimed at older teens and adults, was more or less defined back then by 26 - 27" wheels with tires less than 1-3/4" wide (multi-speeds, whether internal hub or derailleur-equipped, were often a feature of the category as well). Of all those various market segments, the lightweight category typically accounted for no more than 10% of sales prior to the Bike Boom.

According to a Schwinn study, in the 60s, with the muscle-bike fad, the 20" category grew tremendously, but mostly at the expense of the 24" segment which took a huge hit (the late Sheldon Brown described that development as regrettable, and the 24" market never really recovered). During the Boom, the lightweight category exploded, growing to 37% in 1971, and peaking at 73% in 1974. Even after the bust, lightweights would continue to account for anywhere from 40% to 50% of the market for years after the Boom ended.

Another way the bicycle market was forever changed was through a shift in the manufacturing centers for the industry. With the huge increase in American demand for bicycles, the industry struggled to keep up. The big, well-known bicycle brands, like Schwinn, Raleigh, Peugeot, and others were at full capacity. The established component manufacturers, centered mainly in Europe, were also at full capacity and unable to meet the demand. For some brands, (especially in the lower price ranges) quality suffered in the attempt to increase production. Some manufacturers, distributers, and other companies, in order to fill the gaps in supply, turned to new sources -- and Japanese companies were ready.

The Schwinn Varsity was one of the best selling "10-speeds"
of the Bike Boom era.
Schwinn is a good example of what changes happened, but the story was repeated to some extent with many of the established makers. With bicycle orders far exceeding their production capacity, Schwinn started importing bicycles from Japan, badged "Schwinn Approved," and built by either Bridgestone or National Mfg/Panasonic. The Chicago-built 10-speeds that were the big sellers of the time were the Varsity and the Continental. They had heavy "electro-forged" (i.e. flash welded) frames, one-piece steel "Ashtabula" cranks, and Huret Allvit derailleurs. The Continental sold for about $15 more than the Varsity, and for that extra charge, one got tubular-steel fork blades, as opposed to the Varsity's flat-looking forged fork. The Japanese-built Schwinn World Traveler had a lugged steel frame, and Shimano derailleurs. It was priced about the same or slightly below the Varsity, weighed less, and worked better. How this would affect the American giant in the long run is practically a cautionary tale. In the face of how the Japanese-built Schwinns stacked up against the American-built models, did Schwinn take steps to make their domestic models better? Nope. They continued making bikes like the Varsity with nothing more than color and decal changes right into the early 80s (I realize there were probably a number of reasons for that, but I don't think anyone can deny that complacency was one of them).

Likewise, as some of the major component makers from Europe, like Huret, Simplex, and others, were unable to meet the demand, companies like Sugino, Shimano and SunTour stepped up to fill the gaps, and often provided better components for the money. A Shimano Lark derailleur had a similar design to the Simplex Prestige, but was all steel (as opposed to the plastic "delrin" Simplex), much more durable, and shifted more reliably. A slant-parallelogram SunTour cost less than a Huret Allvit and shifted better than anything else at the time.

Bicycle manufactures, like Fuji, Nishiki, and others, found many buyers willing to give a Japanese brand a try -- and were pleased with what they got. On the whole, the American market was opened up to the Japanese brands, and they proved to be some of the best bargains of the era in the lower-to-mid priced levels (where the bulk of Bike Boom sales were) -- offering the best performance and reliability for the money. When the Boom went bust in '75, those companies that survived were well placed to increase their share, eventually dominating the European brands.

When sales skyrocketed at the start of the decade, all kinds of people jumped into the bicycle business, but it didn't last. In a way, it was just another fad, and even the long lines at the gas pumps in '74 didn't keep the sales going into the next year. People have short memories, I guess. It also hurt that the fuel shortages led to economic downturn and inflation, so things were tough all over. After gearing up for huge production in the previous couple of years, 1975 found bike manufacturers and shops sitting on tons of unsold inventory. Many of the startups fell on hard times, and many went under.

The effects of the bust were just as dramatic as the boom, but the whole cycle completely changed the bicycle market for years to come. America became a major market for adult-style multi-speed bikes. Japanese companies gained major inroads to the market, and supplanted the established European brands both for components and complete bicycles.

After the boom ended, bicycle sales in the U.S. went back to their gradual rising trend -- some years good, some years taking a downturn, but generally trending upwards. Sales figures climbed more steeply in the early 80s as mountain bikes became the next big thing, and eventually by the 90s the numbers reached, and even exceeded -- the same levels they had attained at the peak of the boom in the 70s.

Bike Boom Bargains

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As described in my article on the American Bike Boom of the 70s, millions of bicycles were sold during the Boom, but just because people bought the bikes doesn't mean they actually rode them. Barns, basements, and garages all over America have been hiding innumerable examples of bikes from the Boom and the decade that followed, many of them having barely ever been ridden. Some of those 70s era machines, while dated, could still make decent riders -- city bikes, commuting workhorses, etc. -- without breaking the bank.

Raleigh Record -- selling for about $50 on eBay. The Record
was a lower-priced model from Raleigh -- nowhere near
as nice as their Reynolds 531-built models, but lots of
update/upgrading possibilities here. Somebody already
 replaced the saddle on this one.
The biggest sellers during the era were in the lower-to-mid end of the market -- the lowest-of-the-low being those made for the discount department stores. Those bikes are truly horrible and should be avoided. But many bikes in the lower price range had decent (though a bit heavy) frames. Some examples would be the Peugeot UO-8 and the Raleigh Record or Grand Prix models. Components on these bikes were typically lacking. Expect to find steel-rimmed wheels, steel cottered cranks, and lots of other steel parts. Typical derailleurs would be Huret Allvit or the plastic Simplex units. Some of the Japanese models, like the Fuji "Special Racer" and "Special Tourer" were often a bit better than their European counterparts, as their Shimano or SunTour derailleurs worked better than the others. That, and the Japanese frames at that price level were often built better -- uneven brazing being an occasional problem on some low-end European bikes where workers were building as fast as possible to keep up with the demand. Well-built but super heavy, the Schwinn Varsity would be another example from the low-end category -- one of the best sellers of the time.

This orange Fuji Special Tourer and the purple one below
were being sold as a pair. Well made, but the cottered crank
and steel rims mark it as a lower priced bike from the time.
Still, with a few selective updates, it would make a great
rider with classic style.
While components on the low-end bikes were definitely lacking, those parts can be changed pretty easily. However -- factor the cost of upgrading components into the purchase price of the bike. Upgrading these lower-end bikes is kind of debatable as some will say it isn't worthwhile. They aren't really collectible, and will never be worth a lot in resale. I say it depends on how much you like the bike and how much of a bargain you get on it. Expect to pay a lot more for a vintage bike on eBay (prices for individual components can be a different story). Typically, if someone is selling the bike on eBay, they already have an idea that it's worth something (even if it's not!) and will expect a higher price. With bikes like this, the real bargains are at yard and garage sales, where you can often get them for $50 or less -- but of course, that means a lot more time and effort searching.

This Fuji Special Tourer, and the orange one above
 were on eBay recently from the same seller --
asking $300 for the pair. Both bikes looked to be
virtually new. 
Mid-level bikes from the Bike Boom could be pretty nice. Look for lugged frames and frame tubing stickers that identify a better-quality tubing. Some mid-level bikes might have Reynolds tubing (either the straight-gauge version -- or perhaps the 3 main tubes only), or Vitus or something else. Japanese bikes might be labeled with Tange or Ishiwata -- maybe a manganese alloy, occasionally chrome-moly, or something like Fuji's Valite tubing. Aluminum rimmed wheels are a nice feature on some of the mid-range bikes, which means one less thing that needs to be updated, assuming they are in good shape. Though some mid-level bikes from the period still had cottered cranks, the better ones would have some kind of cotterless model. In the early 70s, even some high end bikes still came with center pull brakes, so don't let that throw you off. Schwinn's mid-level bikes, like the Sport Touring and Superior models look at first glance very similar to their low-end Varsity, but look more closely to see a sticker identifying them as having chrome-moly tubing. Those bike are lugless -- fillet-brazed -- and some of them sell for more money than one might expect (a lot of people have a soft spot for old Schwinns -- myself included). Making component upgrades/updates on these bikes is subject to less debate, but one should still consider the cost of those upgrades -- set a reasonable budget and try not to exceed it. Try to remember that bikes like these are not financial investments, but they can be very nice to ride, which is a completely different kind of value.

This Schwinn LeTour looks like it was never ridden. Spotted
on eBay for $175 (a little more than what it probably sold
for when new). Made in Japan, these came decently equipped
with Shimano derailleurs and a cotterless aluminum crank. 
As far as component upgrades go, steel-rimmed wheels are really heavy, and braking with steel rims (especially in the wet) is terrible. Aluminum-rimmed replacement wheels make a big difference, but are also probably the most expensive item to upgrade. Searching online, one can sometimes find pretty basic, no-frills replacements for around $100 - 150 a pair. Used wheels in good condition, especially in the 27" size (630 ISO), can be found for less. Aluminum cotterless cranks are another good upgrade -- lighter, and a lot easier to install/remove for maintenance -- and clean, lightly used vintage models from Sugino and Sakae/SR can often be found on eBay pretty cheap. Most of these bikes came with center pull brakes, which could be okay or not -- it depends on the brand and model. If one decides to keep the brakes, I would recommend at the very least replacing the cables and pads with more modern versions, which will improve the feel and stopping power a lot. Derailleurs are some of the cheapest and easiest components to upgrade -- good, lightly used derailleurs can be found for only a few bucks, and models from as far back as the 80s will often work as well as modern ones. Even lower-end modern derailleurs can be found pretty cheap, and work nearly as well as their more expensive brethren (something that was not true in the early 70s). Some more extra weight can be dropped from these bikes by replacing steel seat posts, handlebars, and the like -- but those are less important upgrades. Let the budget be the guide. The resulting bikes can offer a nice ride with a lot of that classic style that's missing from most bikes today.

An image from an early-70s Raleigh catalog. The International
and Professional were good examples of the higher-end Bike
Boom cycles. Reynolds 531 throughout, and Campy components.
Higher-end bikes from the Bike Boom and the rest of the 70s can be real classics. Raleigh's Professional and International models, Peugeot's PX-10, Gitane's Tour de France, the Schwinn Paramount, and many more, were built with high-quality tubing (usually Reynolds 531, but Columbus or Super Vitus could also be found on some models) and most were equipped with good componentry throughout. Look for cotterless aluminum cranks, like Campagnolo, Stronglight, or TA. Campagnolo parts are a good sign of quality and value in general, though some good bikes from the period will have Campy Nuovo Record components all around, except for the brakes which might be center pulls. Some of the French bikes in this category might still have those awful plastic Simplex derailleurs (replace that with a vintage Simplex Super LJ, and you've really got something there). A lot of the higher-end bikes were equipped with tubular/sew-up tires.

These higher-end bikes are definitely worth keeping and riding, and very few changes would be needed for a lot of them. Because these bikes are usually worth more, and some of them might even have collector value, it might be worthwhile to keep them "period correct." If one wants to update components to make the bike more friendly to their current riding style (such as wanting clinchers instead of tubulars, or a change in gearing, for example), I might suggest keeping the original parts set aside so the bike could be returned to its original state should one decide to resell it someday. With the lower- and mid-range bikes, I wouldn't hesitate to re-paint or even powder coat a frame with battered paint -- but with these higher-end models, or any bike with some collector value, I might be reluctant to do anything that would lower the value, or which couldn't be undone later. Having said that, I should also make clear that the bikes I'm describing here were still mass-produced in huge numbers in big factories, so don't feel too paranoid about making changes to them if it makes the riding experience more enjoyable. They were meant to be ridden, after all.

If someone wants more info on some of the classic bikes and models from the 70s, I'd suggest looking into the Classic Rendezvous site. For more useful info on updating Bike Boom era bikes, the late Sheldon Brown's website has a lot of tips.

Overall, the bikes from the Bike Boom era have a lot of classic style, and it's a shame so many of them sit languishing. If someone finds one of these bikes and gets a decent deal on the price -- again, garage sales are where the bargains are -- there are some worthwhile upgrades that can make them sweet-riding bikes. Vintage bikes like these are satisfying to get back on the road, and will very likely turn heads wherever you ride.

Bicycles Aren't Fast

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It's true. Bicycles aren't fast. Until someone gets on and starts pedaling, they are basically stationary objects. And as far as speed goes, it has much more to do with the engine (that's you or me) than the bike.

No surprise to me, and maybe not to regular readers of The Retrogrouch -- but the surprise was finding that essential idea written in an article on VeloNews: Bike Weight and the Myth of "Fast" Bikes. The article is basically an excerpt from the book FASTER: Demystifying the Science of Triathlon Speed, by Jim Gourley. I don't care much about triathlons (I bike and I run, but as far as I'm concerned, swimming is something you do to keep from drowning), but I may have to add this one to my reading list.

"Let's clear something up," says Gourley. "There is no such thing as a 'fast bike.' Bikes are neither fast nor slow. Bikes are shiny or expensive. Bikes have a lot of mass or a little. . . Of all the equipment on your bike, your legs are the most critical component. There are plenty of nice bikes on the road that are being ridden slowly." He then adds, "But more insidious than inaccurate vocabulary is a simple overestimation of how much bike weight matters for most riding."

Agreed. Consider the drive towards less and less weight - at the expense of durability: Carbon fiber frames that may or may not be "temporary" investments, carbon fiber wheels, cranks, seat posts, handlebars and stems -- stupid-light components, all of which drive up the cost of high-end bikes, and compromise the reliability and durability in the name of more "speed." Gourley looks at the cost of these and compares it to the perceived benefits, which turn out to be far less significant than people are led to believe.

An odd detail (to me) is that in Gourley's hypothetical comparison between two riders going uphill, the "heavy" bike is 15 pounds, and the "lighter" bike is under 12. I know there are now bikes weighing even less than that, but I'm a bit aghast to think that 15 pounds is now considered "heavy." Nevertheless, the point he makes is more about the 3.2 pounds difference between the two bikes, and how the difference in power necessary to keep both bikes going the same speed is so insignificant that it barely registers on the chart.

Gourley makes the point that one cannot just look at the weight of the bikes, but that one has to consider the weight of the rider as well. Grant Petersen makes that same point in his book Just Ride, and I've argued the same in other posts. I've also argued about it with cyclist friends who obsess about bike weight. But it's a point that many weight weenies seem to ignore.

The article states, "3.21 pounds is just over 2 percent of the total weight of our 150-pound cyclist and 15 pound bike. Ten watts is 2 percent of the 500-watt power requirement to maintain speed up a 10 percent grade. . . The implication is a bitter pill, though. If you want to reduce the power requirement by 1 percent, you have to reduce the total mass that's moving up the hill by 1 percent. And because you're moving both your body and the bike up the hill, a measly 1 percent equates to a whole lot of grams before you see returns on your carbon investment."

That "investment" gets awfully expensive, too. Gourley estimates that saving 500 grams on a bike can add about $500 to the price -- something that wouldn't surprise me, but I'd like to investigate it.

The article does draw a distinction between professional racers and the rest of us. The pros are at the peak of their physical fitness and performance level -- and closely matched with one another. At that level, the differences in weight, and watts, and even just a couple of seconds, just might mean the difference between winning and losing. It's also worth noting that those guys don't have to buy their own bikes. But for most people, and for most riding, it just doesn't matter. A fast rider will still be fast, even on that "heavy" 15 pound bike -- or a 20 pound bike, for that matter.

There we go -- another book for my reading list.

Classic Equipment: Silca Pumps

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It was the pump that the shaggy, unshaven mechanic at my local bike shop swore by. It was a battered-looking old beast that had once been a deep, burnt orange color -- now chipped and battle-scarred, peppered with rust. The foil sticker that once bore the brand was partially torn off: "ilca" it now read. But I could still make out the little Columbus tubing sticker near the base of it.

"Columbus tubing? On a pump?" I asked.

"It's the best" he replied with a shrug.

The thing was solid and substantial. He let me try it out, and I was amazed at the smoothness of it. Pumping a narrow racing tire up to 100 psi was nothing. The gauge went up to well over 200 -- not that you'd ever need to do that. But just knowing you could . . .

I don't remember how much a Silca Pista pump sold for back then, though I remember it was a bit more than my unemployed student budget at the time could afford. But I knew I'd have to get one some day.

When I was a student at Kent State, we were about 40 miles from Youngstown, which was the home of Bike Nashbar. Nashbar had a warehouse outlet where you could go and get great deals on over-stocks, closeouts, returned goods, and more. A bunch of my bike-mad friends and I would occasionally pick a Saturday to pile into somebody's car and take a trip to the warehouse to do some bargain hunting. During one of our visits, I found the Silca Pista pump -- in a very 80s shade of pink -- marked down 1/2 off. Nothing wrong with it. Apparently nobody wanted pink. My friends teased me about the color, but what did I care? I wanted a Silca pump, and now I could get one.

That was about 30 years ago, and I still have my "Miami Vice" pink Silca Pista pump. The pink paint is now battered and peppered with rust, not unlike the first one I ever saw, but the little Columbus tubing sticker is still there. The pump still works great.

A few years ago my basement flooded, and the Silca was under water. It didn't work right after that, but the pump is totally rebuildable, and replacement parts are still available. A friend at my local bike shop had overhauled a couple of these in his time, so he took care of mine. He cleaned it all out, replaced the leather plunger, greased it up, and it was back to working like it should.

I still use it, though I've found (as many other cyclists have) that it is less than ideal for large-volume tires, like those on mountain bikes. It takes a lot (lots and lots) of pumping to fill a fat tire like that. No big deal. The larger "Super Pista" model apparently addresses that issue. It also is less than ideal when you need to switch over to schraeder-type valves, so I have a second pump out in the garage for the kids' bikes and the mountain bike. But the Silca is still my favorite, and is still there in my workshop, still pumping up tires on my classic road bikes. Something about it just feels right.

Silca Impero frame pumps were another classic bit of equipment. They were lightweight and easily fit along the seat tube or under the top tube. Like the Pista floor model, it was rebuildable. When it came to frame pumps, you either used the Zefal or the Silca. A lot of people swore by the Zefal. It was a little heavier (more metal, less plastic), and maybe even a little easier to use. The Silca took a little more "technique" to use, since the head didn't lock onto the valve stem like the Zefal's would. I figured it worked well enough to get you back on the road. What more did you need from a frame pump?

People would say the Zefal would last longer. But the Silca would last long enough if you didn't abuse it. And it was the classic choice. It came in a lot of colors, and many frame builders would paint them to match a custom frame. They didn't seem to do that with the Zefals so much. And Campagnolo made a chromed steel pump head for the Silca -- which was a cool bonus. The stock plastic head on the Silca was alright, but the Campy head looked better and would last indefinitely -- probably longer than the pump. I broke a Silca frame pump once -- cracked it over the head of a pursuing dog. I took the Campy head off and installed it on a new pump, which I still have. Someone told me once that the Zefal wouldn't have broken. Maybe not -- but it probably would have dented. How well would it work after that? Maybe OK, who knows?

The Impero frame pumps were discontinued some years back, but finding new-old-stock ones doesn't seem to be too difficult. I know there are some online bike shops that still list them for sale, and I've even been in a few older bike shops that had a big box of them tucked away in the back, and in a variety of lengths. The chromed Campagnolo heads still come up now and then on the vintage market. So it's still possible for lovers of the classics to keep using this blast from the past, and to keep them working like new.


A Little History:

The Silca company was founded in 1917 by Felice Sacchi in Italy. The Sacchi family, from son Giancarlo, through grandson Claudio, continued to own the company right into the first part of this millennium, making it the oldest company in the bicycling industry to be run continuously by a single family. The company claims to be the first to incorporate a pressure gauge into the base of the pump, and the first to make a frame pump that didn't need add-on clips to attach to a bicycle frame.

Last year, Claudio Sacchi died of cancer, but shortly before he died, he sold the Silca company to Josh Poertner, a former engineer with Zipp carbon wheels. Poertner moved the age-old Italian company to Indianapolis, where he is gearing up to revive the company. Silca had been in decline in recent years, finding it difficult to compete in the modern market with so much Asian competition, and some of its standby products were dropped. According to an article in Bike Retailer and Industry News (BRAIN), Poertner plans to mix old and new, tradition and innovation, to bring the company back to the forefront. While the company continues to source parts for the vintage pumps, it seems they may not have plans to re-release new versions of the old classics. Oh well.

Poertner says the original Silca was about innovating, and he plans to respect that. One of the first things Poertner did was to introduce a new stainless steel version of the classic brass pump head with an elastomer gasket in place of the old rubber one -- it's supposed to provide a better seal while lasting longer. In the BRAIN article, he says the company is working on a new pump that he hopes will be "unlike any pump ever sold." I didn't know that tire inflation was something that needed cutting edge technology, but I'm glad I should still be able to get parts for my old favorites.

If you search Google for Silca pumps, you'll find there are a lot of people who adore the old things as much as I do. They take pictures of them and post them on Flickr, Tumblr, and other photo sharing sites. One can even find t-shirts and musette bags with the Silca logo on them. It may be a bit surprising, but just like great old vintage bikes, we still find ourselves drawn to them in spite of the fact that newer "improved" options might be available. Is it simply nostalgia? Or is it because in a throwaway and disposable world, we place a certain value on things that are simple, durable, and rebuildable?

Caps, Not Hats

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"One thing I love about cycling is the odd traditions that still exist no matter how hi-tech it gets. The cycling cap is one of these so it seems a shame that on the podium, the showcase for the race, you always see baseball hats."

That quote, from cycling writer Bill Strickland, pretty nicely sums up a recent movement called Caps Not Hats. The movement got started as a reaction against the proliferation of baseball hats in the cycling ranks and on the victory podiums, which has pushed the traditional cycling cap out to the fringes.

Look at photos of racers of the past, in the days before helmets, and see how many don the little cap with the short brim as their only head gear while riding. Sometimes you'll see one tucked under a leather hairnet. And on the victory podiums, the caps were a regular sight. Nowadays, it's all baseball hats.

When did the change start? I could be wrong, but searching through old photos, I believe it started in 1989 -- Greg LeMond on the final podium at the Tour de France with his neon-pink Coors Light ball cap. LeMond regularly is credited as a pioneer in the use of carbon fiber frames, aero-bars, clipless pedals -- all things that make a Retrogrouch cringe (though I try not to hold it against him) -- but now I'm adding baseball hats to the list. No, he wasn't the first cyclist to wear a baseball hat on the winners podium. One could sometimes see them at American races, like the old Coors Classic of the 70s and 80s. Even Bernard Hinault wore one with his Coors Classic victory in '86 (and no Frenchman has won the Tour de France since Hinault -- a coincidence? Hmmm. . .). Since LeMond in '89, the baseball hat has almost completely supplanted the traditional cycling cap, even among the Europeans.

Let's look back a bit. . .

Coppi and Bartali in '49. It's hard to top that look.
It's actually not easy to find pictures of Jacques Anquetil with anything on his head -- probably didn't want to mess up that awesome hair.
There we go.
Can't leave out Merckx. 
LeMond with Hinault in 1985 -- the last time a Frenchman won the TdF.
LeMond and Hinault on the podium in '86. The tradition is still safe . . . for now.
Stephen Roche in '87.
Delgado bucks the trend with his headband in '88. Rooks and Parra stick to tradition.
1989. The tide turns . . .
By '92, there's Chiapucci, Indurain, and Bugno -- all with baseball hats.
Bjarne Riis, in '96, dons the traditional cap. Probably the last TdF winner to do so. Notice that Virenque is holding a baseball hat.
Jan Ullrich and Eric Zabel in '97. Mountains winner Virenque goes hat (and cap) less. 
Of course we know what this guy wore for all his wins. But there's Basso and Ullrich, wearing baseball hats, too, in '05.
Contador takes aim on tradition. . . and blows it away!
Froome, Wiggins, and Nibali in 2012. Two British, and one Italian rider -- not a cycling cap in sight. Froome would wear a baseball hat on the podium in 2013, and Nibali, too, in 2014.

All those photos are from the Tour de France, but look for pictures of podiums from any bicycle race in the last 20 years, and they all look pretty much the same. Baseball hats have taken over.

No Frenchman has won the TdF since Hinault in '85. I do have a completely crackpot theory that it has something to do with the fact that the definitively American baseball hat supplanted the traditional cycling cap among most racers. Nuts, I know, but think about it.

In my teens, this was the only head-wear I ever wore. It told
people "I'm a cyclist." No baseball hats for me. Period. 
The Caps Not Hats movement may be having a small, but hopefully growing impact on cycling, and I think it's a movement that can be embraced by Retrogrouches and technophiles alike. Mark Cavendish has been seen sporting the traditional cap more recently, as has the young American Taylor Phinney. Walz Cycling Caps has some CNH-logo'd caps available for people who want to promote the cause.

What else can I say? The traditional cap is one of those little items that tells people "I'm a cyclist" -- even when you're off the bike. Embrace it!

I Used to Like Cars

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Not so much anymore, but I used to like cars a lot. When I was in my teens, apart from wanting a Masi just like the one the kid in Breaking Away rode, I also wanted a little two-seat roadster -- like an MG, or a Triumph. Horribly impractical little things, with temperamental mechanicals, and diabolical electrical systems. I was not afraid. There was something about the cars that inspired passion. I don't like to say that they had "soul," because let's face it, they're just objects. But I don't know how else to describe it. Was it history? Who knows?

My father-in-law, who has always loved the "top-down" car experience, has a Mazda Miata. He's driven it for years and loves it. He even belongs to a Miata club. The little Mazda is supposed to offer the same kind of driving experience as the little roadsters of the past -- wind-in-the-hair, sprightly acceleration, zippy handling --  but with all the bulletproof reliability that Japanese cars are known for. No more late nights in the garage chasing electrical demons, replacing ignition points, or re-jetting carburetors. The new cars just don't have things that go wrong that often -- but when they do, it's also a fair bet that the average home mechanic won't be able to solve them himself.

I've driven his little Miata. It's nice, but I don't want one. No passion. No "soul." It could be that I just don't get excited about cars anymore, but if I had the choice and actually still wanted a little roadster, I'd still probably go for the old MG -- reliability be damned. Though, truth be told, if I had the money for that kind of purchase, I can't say I wouldn't spend it on a really nice bike (or two).

Like her father, my wife is also really big on the convertible experience, but from a slightly more practical standpoint. She wants something that still has room for kids and cargo. Some years back, she had me come with her to test-drive a Toyota Solara convertible -- a mid-size two-door. We drove it, and all I can say is that putting the top down did nothing to disguise the fact that we were still basically driving a Camry -- a dependable car with a little more reliability than a Maytag dishwasher, and about as much fun to drive. A driving appliance, if you will. We didn't buy it.

So, what does this have to do with bikes?

The way I feel (or felt) about those cars is pretty consistent with how I feel about bikes. Comparing the old British roadsters with the modern Japanese version, it's hard to argue with the fact that the newer car is superior in so many ways. More reliable. Better brakes. More efficient. Probably lower emissions. Safer. The list of "betters" could go on and on. But given the choice, I'd still choose the old classic for what are totally emotional reasons. History. Nostalgia. "Soul."

There is no doubt that my '73 Mercian weighs more than a new Specialized Tarmac. The vintage Campagnolo Nuovo Record derailleurs don't shift as smoothly and reliably as the latest Dura-Ace Di2. The old Record brakes take a lot more hand effort to stop than the latest dual-pivots or disc brakes. My square-taper bottom bracket might "flex" more than a new BB30 or whatever new oversized press-fit wonder the technophiles rhapsodize about today. My 36-spoke wheels with their box-section aluminum rims generate more wind drag than 20-spoke wheels and deep-profile carbon-fibre aero rims. But given the choice, again and again, I'll take the old classic. Every time.

The makers of many carbon frames like to call their product "hand-made" -- and I suppose that might be true of some of them. But most of them are popped out of molds. Sure, someone laid pieces of resin-impregnated carbon fiber into that mold by hand -- but it's still popped out of a mold for cryin'outloud. And if one of those frames differs in any measurable way from every other frame in the run, it's a defect.

There's something beautiful about a set of frame lugs that were filed and shaped by a craftsman, and recognizing that it is not a defect if the lugs aren't exactly identical down to a fraction of a millimeter as all the other lugs shaped by the same artisan.

I like my traditional cup-and-cone ball bearing hubs, and non-cartridge square-taper bottom brackets. They need to be serviced from time to time, but that's just the thing. . . I can service them. I even enjoy doing the work because it's therapeutic in a way. There's something satisfying about a bike that can be serviced, and being able to do the work yourself. If a Shimano Di2 goes bad, can it be fixed? And who would fix it?

I like treating a Brooks leather saddle with Proofide, and love the way the stuff smells. I like that my hand-built wheels don't look like billboards. The list goes on and on. Bikes are best when they are simple and beautiful. The classics might not truly have "soul," but that's the only word that seems to capture the idea.

The Ultimate "Inflation Tool"

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I suppose when a pump sells for $445, you really can't call it a "pump" anymore. Hence, the Ultimate "Inflation Tool" from the new Silca.
It's not a "pump." It's the "Ultimate
Inflation Tool."

I had written last week about classic old Silca pumps, with a bit of history on the company. In that article, I explained that the company which had been owned by the Sacchi family in Italy since 1917 was sold last year and moved to Indianapolis. Though the new incarnation of the company is apparently still supplying some of the replacement parts for the old classics, there are apparently no plans to reissue or resurrect the old pump designs. Instead, the goal of the new Silca is to maintain the original company's reputation for innovation, while respecting tradition, durability, and serviceability. As of the writing of the article last week, the company had introduced a new pump head, similar in design to the classic brass version, but crafted in stainless steel, with an elastomer gasket for a better seal and longer life. At that time, I mentioned that the company had plans to introduce a whole new pump that new owner Josh Poertner hoped would be "unlike any other pump ever sold." Well, introduced just this past week, here it is -- dubbed the Super Pista Ultimate, which is described as the ultimate Inflation Tool.

Did I mention that it costs $445?

Like the finest kitchen knives - or a top-quality
guitar -- the handles are made from rosewood.
Built in the U.S. with top-quality materials, the new Silca is "meant to define a new category of Inflation Tools." The press release goes on to say that the "SP Ultimate will keep the Silca Passion alive for the next generation." The new Inflation Tool has classic features like the solid metal presta chuck and the replaceable/regrease-able leather plunger washer. "Meant to be heavy, ergonomic, rebuildable, and built to last a lifetime."

The handle on Ultimate Inflation Tool is supposed to have been inspired by top-quality tools, such as culinary knives. The grips are made from hand-turned rosewood, mated to investment cast stainless steel center and end pieces for beauty and durability.

$445.

The base is described as being heavy and stable -- at 800 grams, the base alone is heavier than most complete pumps. An unusual feature is something called the "Surfboard Control" which is a "high precision piece of CNC machined aluminum which contains the air passage between the check valve body and the gauge/hose." This surfboard feature essentially "floats" above the base, keeping the important and delicate pieces of the pump off the ground, and holding a magnetic dock for the chuck. The surfboard also serves to transfer the air to the hose, and functions as a protective bezel for the high-precision pressure gauge.

Did I say something about a magnetic chuck dock? Yes. The chuck is made from 17-4 stainless steel -- which is one of the few types of stainless that is attracted by a magnet. The MagnetDock contains a neodymium rare earth magnet which secures the chuck when not in use. If the chuck is anywhere near the dock, it will seat itself, and this would be a useful feature, because the hose (rated for 12,000 psi, and made with over-braided stainless steel -- used in the pits at Indianapolis Speedway) is a generous 51 inches long. Borrowing more technology from the motorsports industry around Indianapolis, the barrel and piston rod are precision-made and teflon hard-anodized for smoothness and durability. Oh yeah, and it sells for $445.


When I first saw a classic Silca Pista pump, back in my teens, I knew I wanted one, but the price at the time was a bit more than my then-meager budget would allow. I eventually found one about 1/2 off on clearance -- possibly because it was painted pink, and apparently nobody wanted a pink pump. I've had that thing for around 30 years. My wages today are considerably higher than they were in high school, but as nice as it is, at $445 the new SP Ultimate is still priced way out of my budget. Lucky for me, my old pink classic should last a long time.

Smart Wheels - Dumb Wheels

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I was out for a ride this weekend, and while riding along a very popular stretch of road in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park (CVNP), I came upon a guy on foot, carrying his very expensive-looking carbon fiber bike on his shoulder. The man himself was all decked out in full-on fred mode, with a team jersey that matched his team shorts that matched his helmet that matched his bike. I stopped to see if I could offer any assistance.

"Anything I can do to help you?" I asked.

"Probably not," he said. "I broke a spoke. Somebody's coming to pick me up."

I looked at the wheel. It was one of those 16 spoke wheels, with paired "bladed" spokes and an aero-section rim. "Boutique" wheels. He probably paid a lot for them. One of the spokes had, indeed, snapped, and the wheel went so badly out-of-true because of it that it would have been impossible to open the brakes wide enough to let it pass through. It probably wouldn't fit through the bike's stays, either.

Ridiculous.

I've been riding seriously for well over 30 years, and I don't think I've ever had more than one broken spoke in all that time. It certainly didn't end my ride, or leave me calling for someone to come get me. I don't even remember having to open up the brakes or anything. I probably just rode home and avoided potholes. With a 36 spoke wheel, you can do that. One broken spoke just isn't a ride-ender -- and it shouldn't be.

I suppose opinions on it can vary, but as far as I'm concerned, the ideal set of road wheels has 32 spokes front, 36 rear. For a loaded tourer, I'd go 36 front/40 rear. The front wheel is usually under less stress than the rear, so one can get away with fewer spokes without impacting durability, but even there I think of 32 as a minimum. I might use 28 for the front on a track bike, but not for the road. My Rivendell has 32 front and rear -- which bothered me a little at first, but the hubs were sold as a pair, and that was what I could get at the time. I built the rear wheel with an off-center rim that reduced the wheel dish by a few millimeters, which I thought might be helpful to even-out the spoke tension and improve durability. Thirteen years and I don't even know how many miles, and it's been trouble-free.

36 spokes. Breaking one isn't a ride-ender.
Another thing about the wheels on my bikes is that I built most of my wheels myself. I have a couple sets that were built by a friend at the bike shop -- but basically all the wheels I use are hand-built. They are all built well enough that they don't often get out of true, but when they do, it's always a very simple matter to touch up with a normal spoke wrench, and if a spoke does break (as I said, I can only remember once -- so we're talking about "what if") replacements are "normal" and plentiful. That cannot be said of many of these expensive, low-spoke boutique wheels.

The trend to fewer spokes, and paired (or other unusual or proprietary patterns) is one that really just doesn't make a lot of sense. There's a perception out there that dropping anywhere from 16 to 20 spokes from a wheel saves weight, but often it means that the rim has to be beefed up to handle the much higher tension that comes with having fewer spokes. I haven't tried it (and don't intend to) but I would guess that if you tried to build a 16-spoke wheel using a pair of vintage Super Champion Medaille d'Or rims (265 g!) the necessary tension on the spokes would probably rip the rim apart. And with all that extra tension per spoke, it also means a higher likelihood of broken spokes. And as the incident above makes clear, even one broken spoke with these boutique wheels means walking home.

The real advantage is supposed to be aerodynamic and I'm sure there the manufacturers have all kinds of wind tunnel data to "prove" just how many seconds their wheels will save over however many miles -- but again, at what cost? How many seconds are you saving when you're waiting on the side of the road for a lift?

Having said all that, let me get back to my ride this weekend. As I left the rider with his broken spoke and he waited for his ride to come get him and take him home, I thought to myself that I finally had figured out a real advantage to a super-light carbon-fiber bike. When it breaks and you have to carry it home, at least you'll have less weight to carry on your shoulder.

50 Bicycles That Changed the World

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I just finished reading Design Museum's Fifty Bicycles That Changed The World, a slim volume, little more than 100 pages, that takes a chronological look at the evolution of the bicycle through 50 "innovative and influential" machines. The book, written by Alex Newson, is one of a series released by London's Design Museum, which also includes volumes about 50 influential cars, chairs, dresses, shoes, typefaces, and more.

From the description:"The bicycle is the world's most popular form of transport. From the penny-farthing and the velocipede, the design of the bicycle has evolved over the decades both in terms of style and technology. From high-performance cycles to practical run-arounds, conceptual bikes to commercial models, Alex Newson explores the 50 most innovative and influential bicycles from around the world."

Of course, any time someone tries to boil down more than a century of historical significance into 50 objects, there are going to be disputes, and I do have some. However, in this particular case, there are not only questionable/debatable choices, but plenty of factual mistakes. Here's an example, from a section on heavyweight Schwinn cruisers:

"During the first decade of the nineteenth century the United States experienced what is often referred to as the 'first bicycle boom.' This was sparked by a series of vital design innovations such as the safety bicycle and pneumatic tyres and accelerated by modern assembly lines and methods of mass manufacture."

Actually, the first decade of the 19th century would be 1800 - 1810. The bicycle boom referred to in the text was actually the 1890s and was a worldwide (not only an American) phenomenon.

Here's another -- relating to a subject that's been talked about on this blog a few times -- on Greg LeMond's 1989 Bottechia TT Bike, with Scott Aero Bars:

"On the eve of the final time-trial stage of the 1989 Tour de France, Laurent Fignon held a seemingly insurmountable 50-sec. lead over his nearest rival Greg LeMond. Fignon, a very capable time triallist, was expected to ease to victory. However, over the 25 kilometre stage LeMond gained more than two seconds per kilometre over Fignon and secured his first Tour de France title in the process." 

1986 just didn't happen, I guess.

There are other mistakes, and yes I'm probably nitpicking. Careful readers of this blog have occasionally picked out factual errors -- but it's one thing when you're a one-man writer, editor, fact-checker, and publisher. It's something else when you have the resources of an actual publishing company behind your work. I just find the mistakes to be annoying, and they detract from the reading experience.

Not the first folding bicycle, but the refinement of the design
and the ease and compactness of the fold put the Brompton
on the list.
What about the choices of the fifty bikes? As I already hinted, it would be impossible to come up with a list of 50 significant anythings that would satisfy everyone. If the criterion is, as the title suggests, "50 bicycles that changed the world," there are some choices that are virtually indisputable, but there are many others, especially from the modern era, that were probably picked more for their bizarre design-school-exercise aesthetic than any actual "world-changing" influence.

Some "solid" choices: Baron von Drais's Laufmaschine c. 1817; the Velocipede c. 1863; the Penny-Farthing c 1870; the Safety Bicycle c. 1880. Significant evolutionary steps, all of them. Some others, significant for their impact on the use of the bicycle for transportation and work, include: Dutch Omafiets or "grandma bike" (the "men's" version is an Opafiets, but the book doesn't mention that even though the bike pictured is an Opafiets); English Roadster with 3-speed hub; Chinese Flying Pigeon; Cargo and Porteur bikes (as a general category) and others.

Some other bikes are listed for their significance in starting major trends, or changing the way people looked at bicycle designs. These include the Moulton "F-Frame" bikes from the early 60s, which helped start a trend to small wheeled, portable bikes. And some of the first mountain bikes, like those built by Joe Breeze, or the first Specialized Stumpjumper of 1981, which brought mountain bikes to the masses. Although the author credits the "Breezers" as the first "purpose-built" mountain bikes, the book does give credit to the "klunkers" as they were known -- cobbled together from old balloon-tire bikes and motorcycle parts -- which gave birth to the whole mountain bike phenomenon.

There are a number of racing bikes listed, such as Greg LeMond's aforementioned 1989 TdF time trial bike, as well as hour-record machines from Eddy Merckx, Francesco Moser, Chris Boardman, and Graeme Obree -- some of which may be significant for their influence on the sport or on their particular racing events. Other racing bikes listed are more debatable choices, such as Bradley Wiggins's Team Sky Pinarello Dogma. The Pinarello has unusual-looking stays and forks, but on the whole is not that much different from all the other carbon fiber bikes in the pro peloton today, and it's hard for me to see it as any more significant, innovative, or influential than anything else available in the past decade.

A masturbatory design school exercise.
Not a world-changer.
Really questionable choices: Bianchi Pista, 2007? Okay, the "urban fixie" thing was a fad, and it may still be really popular in Britain (I don't know), but they are (and were) nothing new. The trend certainly didn't start with the Bianchi, and in no way did it change the world. Another would be the Raleigh Chopper, 1969. The book comes from the U.K., so there may be some bias at play, but either highlight "muscle-bikes, wheelie-bikes, chopper-bikes" collectively as a basic fad (which did have a significant impact on the children's bicycle market in the 60s and 70s), or highlight the bike that first capitalized on it in 1963, the Schwinn Sting-Ray. But the Raleigh Chopper was a late entry to that market -- a follower, not an innovator.

Then there are the masturbatory design school exercises, like the YikeBike, 2010 (an electric-assisted, folding, mini-Pfar), the Vanmoof, 2010 (a "no-nonsense bicycle in which simplicity is the key" -- with its built-in lock, headlight, and taillight) and the Mando Footloose, 2012 (another electric-assist folding bike). Bikes like these illustrate the fact that the bicycle is a wonderful, simple, and beautiful machine -- and most attempts to "improve" it end up doing the opposite. Maybe I'm short sighted, but I cannot imagine some of these things having any impact on the bikes we will ride in the future.

If you're a person for whom any book about bicycles is a "must-have" then you'll probably check out Fifty Bicycles That Changed The World, if you haven't already, regardless of what others will say. But chances are, you'll find yourself disagreeing with, or at least questioning some of the author's selections, and the factual errors will be annoying to any careful reader.

Retro-Grouchy Anniversary

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I just realized that The Retrogrouch Blog has marked its first anniversary. One full year on the web, and I almost missed it. In that year there were 189 posts, the first of which was posted on August 27, 2013. Readership is nowhere near BikeSnobNYC numbers, but it has grown every month since the beginning.

Here's a little background. I'm a full-time English teacher with a journalism background. I did spend some time working for a magazine before I started teaching -- though it was nothing bicycle-related. It was a trade publication for the directional drilling and underground utilities industry, read by contractors and vendors in the industry and civil engineers. It wasn't much fun, but writing is writing, and it was good experience.

I've always been a bit of a bicycle nut, full of strong opinions on bikes and equipment, and driving people nuts with my retro-grouchy ranting. I figured I should start putting some of it down in print, so a couple years ago I started sending out "feelers" to see if I could get some paid writing jobs for some of the bicycle magazines, but came up with nothing. My local bike shop has a blog, and I asked them if they'd be interested in some product-review kinds of submissions, which they were. After getting some decent feedback to my contributions to the bike shop blog, and still getting no response from the bike magazines, I figured why not just start my own blog? It doesn't pay anything -- but it's a good outlet anyhow.

I briefly toyed with calling the blog "The Lauterbrunnental Leaflet" after a fictional newsletter in the web-comic Yehuda Moon and the Kickstand Cyclery, but eventually decided that might be a bit too obscure. Still, anyone who would read a blog called The Retrogrouch would probably get the reference. We'll never know.

Over the past year, I've ranted against carbon fiber frames and forks, disc brakes, and press-fit bottom brackets. I've looked at products I like, both old and new -- like Brooks saddles, traditional pedals, single-pivot brakes, fenders, and more. And occasionally I've looked into the history, lore, and tradition of classic and vintage bicycle components and brands. I've also been a critic of the bicycle industry today for their increasing reliance on planned obsolescence, and the constant marketing hype of incremental changes as massive improvements -- which probably means that none of them will ever want to advertise with The Retrogrouch.

I don't know how much and for how long a person can go on ranting against changing technology, or praising the good stuff of the past -- but a year seemed to go by pretty quickly.

A Popular Rerun

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As The Retrogrouch Blog marked its first anniversary, I looked back at some of the posts from the first year of the blog, and found which ones proved to be the most popular or had the most visits. Of those most-visited selections, I thought I'd re-run my favorite -- slightly updated. After this first ran, I got a note from Jane Mosley. It read: "That's a really good article. Normally I can't read things written about us for some reason (it makes me want to cringe a bit), but not yours. Thank you for writing such a great article." It was good to hear. Mercian linked to it from their own blog, which probably accounts for a lot of the traffic it received.

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 eight 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.
1980 Strada Speciale. The most recent addition to the collection. Built with a mix of age-appropriate
parts, mostly of Japanese origin. Steep angles, fast handling, but a really nice ride.

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.

Some Shop Photos (from a 2008 promotional calendar):
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.

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!

BMC Concept Bicycle-Shaped Object

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At Eurobike last week, BMC unveiled a new "concept" bike. It's big news of course. Now, just like a concept car that might include futuristic styling and all kinds of "what if" ideas that may never see actual production, the BMC Impec is meant to showcase what their designers can dream up, and draw lots of attention to the brand as a leader in cutting-edge technology -- but cannot actually be ridden. It's the world's most expensive bicycle-shaped object (or BSO). Read the comments on the hype blogs, and find lots of people drooling over the thing, and hoping that some of its more futuristic features make it into production someday. On Road.cc one commenter was apparently even willing to trade his baby for the bike (I wonder how his wife would feel about that?).

Featuring as much carbon as a coal mine, the BMC concept BSO has an aerodynamic frame with a massive single-sided fork (like Cannondale's Lefty, except that it appears to be a "Righty") and an equally massive single rear chain stay. An integrated bar/stem combo with built-in computer, a modular gearbox, and disc brakes (of course) on 10-spoke (count 'em - ten!) carbon wheels round out the package. I think it also evades radar, so there may be some potential military applications if the folks at BMC can actually make their stealth-fighter BSO work.

Go to the BMC Impec R&D Lab website, and find out more about the features, and some of the ideas behind the concept. Here's a quote:

The integrated bar/stem has a "twin strut" design and a
built-in computer. The seat post is also a twin strut design.
"As a cyclist, you want a bike that represents you; your personality, your ride style, and your needs while out on the road. Is position on the bike your main priority? Maybe longer rides force you to become a combined mobile service station and food truck, with an extra tire, tube, pump, and enough food to feed an army? Or perhaps several hundred thousand kilometers ridden on a standard chain-driven machine has created a burning desire within for an entirely new ride experience? . . . We've come up with a structure that is highly modular yet enables the integration of external add-ons such as solutions for hydration, tools, etc. We've found other functions for existing structures such as turning the down tube and seat tube fairings into batteries. We looked at aerodynamics and functionality and broke the rules just how we like it -- exactly on our terms, with our people, at our R&D lab." 

Modular concept frame is supposed to mean lots of options and
lots of little hiding places. Lots of loose parts and rattling, too.
While it might be really "futuristic," I don't see too much in the concept BSO that would be as practical as the design team at BMC seems to think it would be. Take the modular add-ons. The frame has removable sections that can serve as hiding places (for tools, or a pump, for example) or be swapped out for completely different elements, such as a battery, or a water bottle. Or (more likely) they can just get loose and rattle any time the pavement takes a turn for the worse -- but that probably isn't a feature they want to highlight.

Not only that, but there is no way that little built-in cubbies and such will take the place of typical add-on saddlebags, etc., should one actually need to "become a combined mobile service station and food truck, with an extra tire, tube, pump, and enough food to feed an army."And good luck attaching them to this thing. Ditto, should you decide that your "ride style, and your needs while out on the road"also include fenders.

Another thing that bothers me about this "modular concept" frame is how do all these removable pieces affect the strength of the frame structure? I'm no engineer, but it seems to me that having huge chunks of the frame be removable would affect the structural integrity of the rest of the frame.

Well, what about the super-trick single-sided fork and rear stay? Those are drool-worthy, aren't they? Wouldn't it be great to see those work their way onto production bikes? The ultimate advantage of those elements is improved aerodynamics, and little else. But don't think they are without drawbacks. Consider how much larger in cross-section that single-sided fork has to be in order to be strong enough and stiff enough to resist all the various forces placed on it -- forces from steering, from braking (especially with a disc brake on one side), and the impact forces from the road. Making it out of carbon fiber probably keeps the resulting weight at least reasonable, but imagine what the ride would be like? A good fork should have a certain amount of compliance to improve ride and handling, but a single-sided fork like this won't have it. Same goes for the huge mono-stay at the rear. Wheel removal would be easy, but if that thing has any compliance at all, it's likely to result in some very unsettling handling.

Somebody out there is bound to point out that there are a number of motorcycles available today that have these features and they work fine. Single-sided swing arms have become really popular on high-performance and racing motorcycles -- one of the main advantages being simpler wheel changes in racing (the fact that it's now on lots of cycles that will never see a racetrack is because of the "cool" factor). But the swing arms have to be many times larger, and in many cases heavier, than their dual-sided counterparts. Then again, when you've got 100 horsepower or more at your disposal, a few extra pounds don't make any difference at all. In order to make something like that on a bicycle light enough to satisfy the weight weenies, what compromises have to be made?

Then there's the "modular gear box" that at least for now is empty. The idea is to be able to put in an internal gearbox "which means less drag and a lot less maintenance" except there is no such product currently available, so it's a big "what-if." And while its likely that a hypothetical internal gearbox would require less maintenance (apart from adding oil, there probably would be little that one would be able to do), how do they know it would mean "less drag"? It's an undisputed fact that internal gear hubs have more drag than derailleur gears, so why would such an arrangement have less drag when mounted in a crank case? I guess if you're "what-iffing" and coming up with imaginary super-efficient gearboxes of the future, why stop there? Why not have it make ice-cream, too? The other hypothetical possibility is that one would be able to swap out their miracle hypothetical low-drag internal-gear crank case for an electric motor. Oh, the future is looking so bright. Now if I can only figure out why it is that bicycle designers are so intent to turn bicycles into motorcycles or cars. Is it because so many of the designers come from the automotive industry? (BMC's design director, Torgny Fjeldskaar, previously worked at BMW and Mazda) Or do they just not like bicycles that much?

The most shocking thing I found in the description of the concept BSO was this section about the bike's disc brakes: "Disc brakes are a very real feature on the latest road bikes and nearly every major brand and component manufacturer are pursuing them. It's here, it's real, and it's improving every day. But, until now disc brakes for road use have been problematic; inconsistency in breaking (sic) performance and over-heating during prolonged use being the primary challenges. . . We have been focusing on frame solutions that address both aerodynamics and overheating." 

What was that?! Disc brakes are problematic? They are not the perfect "no-downsides whatsoever" solution for braking (breaking??) that we are constantly expected to believe by the hype machine? What industry do these guys work for, anyhow? I'm absolutely shocked to see an admission that disc brakes can overheat. Then again, I don't think covering them with what amounts to a massive carbon fiber fairing with an air passage for cooling is likely to help as much as promised. Good thing I'm no engineer.

Okay -- I know I'm probably being overly critical of an unride-able concept machine that isn't even meant to represent real-world production bikes. But if the concept BSO is supposed to represent where people envision bicycle design to be heading, with ideas that might work their way into actual production, I can only say that I don't see it as the improvement some would have us believe. Once again, creating real improvements to the bicycle is a lot harder than people think.

Handbuilt Schwinns

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In the 60s and 70s, the Schwinn bicycle company was a giant in the industry, and their unique mass-production methods were remarkable. Nobody else built bikes the way Schwinn did. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say that huge coils of steel strip were rolled into one end of the factory, and complete bicycles rolled out the other end. Inside the factory, those coils of steel strip were rolled and welded into tubing, while smaller pieces were stamped, rolled, and welded into frame fittings like head-tubes, bottom brackets, and dropouts. The seamed tubes and various frame components were flash-welded together in a process Schwinn called "electro-forging," which was used to build everything from kids' Sting-rays, to 26"-wheeled middleweights, to the 10-speed Varsity and Continental models -- and everything in-between. The "electro-forged" frames were sturdy -- built to withstand all kinds of abuse -- but they were also heavy. A Schwinn Varsity, one of the most popular "10-speeds" in America in that era, weighed close to 40 pounds.

I spotted this very nice early 70s Super Sport on eBay. The unique
fillet-brazed construction makes them stand out from the competition. 
At the top end of the scale, Schwinn's Paramount bicycles were hand-built with lugs (usually the lovely Nervex Professionals) and Reynolds 531 tubing, and equipped with lots of Campagnolo components. The Paramounts were offered in racing and touring models, track bikes, tandems, and even women's versions, and were the equal of anything coming from Europe at the time.

Less well-known, but still hand-built and noteworthy, were the mid-priced fillet-brazed models: the Superior, the Sports Tourer, and the Super Sport. These bikes were built alongside the Paramounts in a special section of the Schwinn factory, known as the "Handbuild Shop," which I have also heard was sometimes referred to as "The Cage." These models, first introduced in the late 1930s, featured frames built with straight-gauge, seamless, chrome-moly tubing, fillet-brazed and finished by hand. Their lugless, smoothly radiused joints almost gave the impression of having been carved from one piece. The look was like nothing else in their class.

That little sticker is the sign of a higher quality hand-built frame
-- built with straight gauge, seamless chrome-moly tubing.
Of the three "10-speed" models available in the 60s and 70s, the least expensive and probably the most common would be the Super Sport. It had the hand-built chrome-moly frame, but came equipped with a one-piece, forged steel, "Ashtabula" crank and other components that were mostly the same as those on the cheaper electro-forged Continental and Varsity models. However, it did have alloy rims and quick release hubs. The Sports Tourer, later re-named the Superior (a name which would come and go over the history of the fillet-brazed models), had a very similar frame to the Super Sport, but came equipped with upgraded componentry, such as a cotterless alloy crank and better derailleurs.

The round head badge with the 4-point star
signifies the higher-quality,
hand-built fillet-brazed models.
At first glance or to an uneducated eye, the hand-built models might not appear much different from the lower-cost, mass-produced models -- especially the Super Sport which shared more of the same components as its cheaper siblings. Keep in mind that the electro-forged frames were specifically designed to mimic the look of fillet-brazed construction, and for less-savvy buyers there probably wasn't much reason to pay more for the hand-built bikes. But look more closely at the frames and find all kinds of distinctive differences to set these bikes apart from lesser models. In fact, the distinguishing details go much deeper than paint and decals, and should be readily identifiable even if a frame has been completely obscured with the worst rattle-can paint job a person can imagine.

The white oval Schwinn head badge
marks most of the company's welded models.
For one thing, the hand-built bikes had a different head badge than the cheaper mass-produced models. A round badge with a 4-pointed star, and the words "Schwinn - Chicago" marks the nicer bikes, while the large oval badge with the vertical "Schwinn" name marks the flash welded bikes. But even if some unscrupulous seller re-badged a Varsity and stuck "Superior" decals on the frame (not that it happens, but you never know), it would still be easy to tell the difference. Notably, the chrome-moly bikes use larger diameter tubing than the electro-forged ones -- 1-1/8" diameter. Bikes like the Varsity and Continental have 1-in. diameter tubes that look almost spindly by comparison.

The fillet-brazed models can be identified by the larger
diameter tubes, the nicely radiused joint between
the top tube and the seat tube, and the distinctly
 bullet-pointed seat stays. 
The best place to look for identifying details is at the seat cluster -- the joint between the top tube, the seat tube, and the tops of the seat stays. Besides the fact that the tube diameters are larger on the hand-built bikes, the top tube/seat tube junction is smoothly finished with a nicely radiused joint, and the seat stays are topped with distinct bullet-pointed tips. Contrast that with the flash-welded bikes which have a very clear line where the top tube meets the seat tube, and the seat stay tops have blunt, more rounded tips. As another readily identifiable detail, the skinny seat post on the cheaper bikes is only about 13/16-in. (just over 21 mm) in diameter, whereas the hand-built bikes use a comparatively much beefier-looking 26.8 mm seat post -- a little more typical for a better-quality steel bike.


By contrast, the "electro-forged" frames have smaller diameter
tubes and a distinct line where the top tube meets the seat
tube. The seat stays on these frames have blunt, rounded
ends that attach a little more forward, slightly overlapping
the top tube, as compared to the fillet-brazed models. 
Although the seat cluster should provide all the evidence anyone needs that fillet-brazed bikes were a much higher-quality product, more can be seen at the bottom bracket area. Though Schwinn's builders spent less time filing and smoothing the joints at the bottom bracket than they did at the more noticeable head tube junctions, the joinery there is still much cleaner than on the flash welded bikes. On the cheaper electro-forged frames, the bottom bracket started out as a piece of flat steel stock. It was stamped with extensions for attaching the down tube, seat tube, and chain stays, then rolled and welded. When the chain stays were butt-welded onto the BB shell, a very obvious slag ring would be formed around the joint and no attempt was made to clean it up. Ditto for the huge welded seam that runs across the bottom of the shell. The Super Sport, Sports Tourer, and Superior, on the other hand, have a seamless bottom bracket shell, and the brazed joints look absolutely clean in contrast.

The Super Sport shared the one-piece forged steel "Ashtabula"
crank with the lower priced 10-speeds, like the Varsity and
Continental. The "step up" Sports Tourer or Superior had a
threaded bottom bracket shell and a 3-piece cotterless crank. Note
 that the joints on the fillet brazed frames are reasonably
smoothed, even around the bottom bracket and chain stays.
Look through old Schwinn catalogs from the era, and it becomes apparent that model names and specifications changed a bit from year to year. The first of the hand-built 10-speeds was called the Superior. Then it was replaced by the Super Sport in the early 60s. The Sports Tourer was added around 1971 as a step up from the Super Sport, then that model was later changed to the Superior (again). During the mid-70s, the Super Sport was dropped in favor of the lugged-frame Japanese-built LeTour, while the Superior continued as the sole fillet-brazed bike in the lineup until being phased out after 1978. I've read that there were still some fillet-brazed bikes available in '79, but they were apparently built up from frames left over from pre-'78, and didn't appear in the catalogs.

The Superior name was briefly applied to another hand-built bike -- made of Reynolds 531 with Nervex lugs, and barely distinguishable from the Paramount except that it was equipped with lower-cost Campagnolo Gran Sport components. Otherwise the Chicago hand-built bikes were replaced by lugged Japanese models like the Super LeTour, the Voyager, and the (short-lived) Volare. It was about that time that Paramount production moved out of Chicago and relocated to Waterford, Wisconsin. The "Handbuild Shop" was no more.

The "electro forged" frames have a big visible seam across
the bottom bracket shell, and very noticeable butt welds
at the chain stay/bottom bracket joints.
The fillet-brazed Schwinns were truly unique among their competition. Their smooth, lugless joints have an elegant look that sets them apart (and this coming from a guy who loves lugs). The building method was very labor-intensive, so it's really a bit of a surprise to think that one could get such admirable hand-built work at the price. Still, I'm sure that many bicycle buyers at the time didn't really recognize or appreciate the differences between a Super Sport/Sports Tourer/Superior and the mass produced Varsity and Continental -- many probably didn't see any reason to pay more. Too bad, really. But now, on the vintage market, the bikes come up for sale pretty regularly, and when the condition is really good, or the seller knows what they've got, the prices sometimes get pretty high -- I regularly see nice examples (like the ones shown above) sell on eBay for anywhere from $300 - $500. Clean, lightly used bargains are probably out there at garage and estate sales for someone willing to do the searching.

More information on the old Schwinns: 

The article Whole 'Lotta Brazing Going On, by Mike Rother, is on the late Sheldon Brown's website and has even more detail (including original pricing and specs) on the hand-built fillet-brazed Schwinns. It's a very informative article.

From the '73 Schwinn Catalog. There's so much I love about
this shot, I don't even know where to begin.
I'd also recommend reading Inside the Varsity, by Marc Muller, which originally appeared in The Rivendell Reader. It has the complete story of the "electro-forging" process and is absolutely fascinating. Muller headed Paramount production at Waterford, and helped start Waterford Precision Cycles with Richard Schwinn after the first collapse of the Schwinn company.

For a complete database of old Schwinn catalogs, check out Tom Findley's site, or the Waterford Bicycles site. Prices and specifications can be found within.

Getting Reacquainted With An Old Friend

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I got out for a ride yesterday with an old friend I hadn't ridden with in quite a while. There wasn't much reason for the long time that had passed since we last rode together -- but it's probably been at least a year or two. Time just has a way of getting away from us. We'd think about getting in touch, then the timing just wouldn't work out. Schedules conflict, people get busy, things just come up. Sometimes newer, fresher faces walk into our lives and end up getting all our attention.

A wonderful riding companion.
The last time I had ridden the green Mercian with its barber-pole paint job, I found that it needed a new back tire, and the rim was in need of a little truing touch-up. Neither thing was any major issue, but I didn't want to take it out on the road as it was, so I hung the bike up on its hook to wait until I'd get a chance to take care of it. Then every time I'd think about doing the little bit of work the bike required, I'd get distracted by another job. When I'd want to go for a ride, I had plenty of other bikes to choose from that were ready to go, so the minor repairs just dropped down the list of priorities.

And then there were other bikes that also needed attention -- bikes that were a little more "important" and more demanding -- like the commuter that gets me and all my essentials to work most mornings. That bike would need a new tire, and it didn't feel like something I could put off, so I'd get that bike on the stand to replace a worn tire without delay, while the green Mercian hung lonely on the hook. Sorry, old friend. Next time, OK? Of course, "next time" came and went. I'd think about taking the green bike for a ride, but remembering that I still needed to change the tire and touch-up the back wheel, I'd end up grabbing a different bike -- one that that didn't need anything before hitting the road. I suppose as far as that goes, having roughly a dozen bikes to choose from is both a blessing and a curse.

The green Mercian was built in 2003, but has a full set
of Campagnolo Super Record components from the early '80s.
Another thing is the appearance of new faces. Back in the spring, without really planning to, I found myself purchasing another bike -- the 1980 Mercian Strada Speciale that I wrote about a few months back. I wasn't really looking for another bike, but it looked like a good one that needed a new home and a bit of TLC. It was my size and the price was right. A new project. So that bike got a lot of my attention for much of this last riding season -- polishing and buffing, locating age-appropriate parts, wrapping bars, etc. And of course, when I've been looking for a light and racy bike for faster un-laden sunny-day rides, I've been going to the new face, while the green Mercian continued to hang on its hook. The green bike had always been perfect for rides like that. In terms of riding style, the "new" bike has a lot in common with "old" one, which makes it seem almost like betrayal.

Rare as hens teeth (what exactly are hens teeth?) Super Record
retrofriction shift levers. These feel a lot like the well-known
Simplex levers -- the touch is light and makes for positive shifts.
Recently I was getting some things prepared for an article about shellacked handlebars, and pulled out the green Mercian so I could shoot a couple of photos of the bars. I took it out into the sunlight and noticed how the light sparkles in the leaf green pearl paint. I admired the barber pole paint scheme and remembered how Mercian Cycles used the bike for a catalog photo shoot after they'd finished building it. I started to think how stupid it is to have such a nice bike just hanging on a hook unridden. I found I couldn't even remember just how long it had been since we'd ridden together. It had to be at least two years.

Newly determined, I decided it was time to finally get the bike put right. I ordered some new tires from Compass Bicycles -- the Grand Bois Cerf green label tires in 28mm width. The old tires were 25mm (a "true" 25mm -- not the kind that were labeled 25 but actually measured 22) which seemed plenty comfy enough back when I'd first installed them, but my preferences run a little wider nowadays. The Grand Bois tires have such a perfect look for a bike like this -- and though it wasn't intentional, I couldn't help but smile when I saw that the tires' green labels so nicely matched the green frame. While I had the wheels off the frame, I put the back wheel into my truing stand and touched up the little spot that was out of true. I checked the hubs while I was at it and put in some fresh grease. Then I cleaned the chain and gave it some fresh lube, and lubed the derailleur and brake pivots as well.

I splurged when I bought that bottle cage -- a Nitto race cage.
I have no regrets about that.
Taking the bike out, I couldn't understand why it had been so long. It has such a classic "steel" ride -- made even better, I'm sure, by the new slightly larger-volume tires. It holds the road so well, but has that springiness that a good steel bike is known for. The geometry, which is classic road-race, seems nicely sorted out. It can be ridden no hands easily and tracks true, but changes direction quickly with a light touch.

Although many people (including myself, sometimes) are often critical of old Campagnolo derailleurs for not shifting as well as modern units, I found myself re-evaluating that criticism. The Super Record rear derailleur (in this case, upgraded with C-Record ball-bearing pulleys, as opposed to the more typical brass sleeve bushing ones) shifts smoothly and silently, finding the right gear quickly and without much fiddling. The retrofriction shift levers probably help with that as well, with their light, smooth touch. The levers have such nice feedback that one can almost feel the derailleur and chain find the right cog. The only place the shifting proves to be finicky is when making the shift to the last cog on the outside of the freewheel. It's a function of the traditional parallelogram that the chain gap widens as the derailleur moves outward, making those last high-gear shifts a bit balky. For me, it's that last one, to the 13-t cog, that sometimes just doesn't want to happen. Occasionally, when it just refuses to make that last shift, I'll make a quick front gear change, down to the smaller chainring (yes, that's the No-No small-ring-to-small-cog combination -- but I don't actually ride it like this) which alters the chain tension just enough that usually the chain will drop right down to the smallest cog, and then I immediately shift back up to the big ring. With the light-touch downtube levers, it can all be done easily with one hand. Riders raised on SIS and STI, or Ergo, or whatever, would probably screw up their faces wondering why anybody would put up with this and still manage to find it acceptable (or charming, even). Perhaps, but then, I don't race, and I don't really find myself riding in 53 x 13 gear very often anyhow.

That little oval decal signifies the full-Campy build. The bottom
bracket on this bike, the Professional model, has long tangs on the
down tube, seat tube, and chain stays. It seems to stiffen up the BB
without negatively affecting the ride.
There are some ways that the vintage drivetrain actually has advantages over newer setups. Front shifting, for instance, is actually better in my opinion than either Shimano's STI, or modern Campy's Ergo. The Super Record (and mostly identical Nuovo Record) front derailleurs are plenty strong and stiff, with a fairly narrow no-nonsense cage design. Front shifts are immediate and positive, whether up or down -- and I believe the shifts are slightly faster than modern Campy, and definitely faster than anything currently from Shimano (supposedly the new electronic shifting is plenty fast and easy, but at what cost?). With full friction levers, one has virtually infinite adjustability for trim, so one never has to suffer the annoyance of a chain rubbing on the derailleur cage because their STI won't trim properly.

Speaking of silence, I had completely forgotten just how quiet this bike is. The shifts are smooth and silent, both front and rear. Even when coasting, the bike is barely audible. A lot of that silence should probably be credited to the SunTour freewheel -- an ultra 7 (narrow-spaced) New Winner. I know that Regina is probably the "traditional" choice with vintage Campy, but SunTour freewheels are hard to beat. I don't feel awkward about mixing nationalities -- there is no language barrier here.

Overall, my ride on the green Mercian was a revelation and a pleasure. Getting on it after such a long hiatus, I was immediately struck by the way everything just seemed to fit into place, and the way the bike responded to my input. It was great to get reacquainted -- to rediscover the bike's many virtues. Hello again, old friend.

Limited Edition 40th Anniversary Specialized Allez

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Specialized Bicycle Imports, now known as Specialized Bicycle Components, or simply as Specialized, got started 40 years ago -- in 1974. To mark their 40th anniversary, the company has created a limited edition series of 74 bicycles made not from the latest carbon fiber that the company's top bicycles are currently known for, but instead they have gone back to frame building master Mark DiNucci to create an all-new forward-looking bicycle made from that most classic of materials, steel.

DiNucci was one of the original frame designers for Specialized, and for these special new bikes, he has created a frame that is not simply "retro," but rather, combines classic lugged steel bike elements with some modern choices-- an interesting blend of past and present, old and new. According to Specialized, "Every tube, lug, and braze-on has been completely reexamined through fresh eyes and carries the experience of our last 40 years of innovation."

The lug designs on the limited-edition bike were designed by DiNucci with contours that look completely new, yet familiar at the same time. The frame geometry looks fairly traditional, though the top-tube slopes gently with a nod toward many of today's frames. Even elements such as the chainstay bridge have been re-imagined -- in this case, an unusual "x"-shaped brace. As a nod to Specialized's past, the bike is being manufactured by Toyo in Japan, which is the same factory that built the original Stumpjumpers. Toyo also built some models for Rivendell, which plenty of Retrogrouch readers can probably relate to.

Though pictured as a complete bike with some non-retrogrouch-y component choices (like those low-spoke-count deep-profile aero wheels), the bike is only being sold as a frame and fork. One could build it up as modern or retro as they desire -- within limits. The fork is designed for a threadless 1-1/8 in. headset, and the rear triangle is spaced for 130 mm hubs. I was glad to see in the photos that it takes a standard threaded bottom bracket. A good thing!

As already mentioned, the series of bikes is limited to just 74 frames/forks. They are being sold through eBay with profits being donated to World Bicycle Relief -- a non-profit organization that provides bicycles to entrepreneurs, healthcare workers, and students in Africa. According to Specialized, the special frames sell for $4000, with $1000 of that being donated directly to WBR. The sale on eBay began September 8th and will run through October 8th (see HERE). As of this writing, one day into the sale, at least 12 packages had already been sold. In addition to the frame and fork, buyers will also receive a Merino wool warm-up sweater with the Specialized logo, matching caps, an S-Works saddle, custom saddle bag, and leather bar wrap.

More Photos:

Notice the tall-profile oval chainstays and the very interesting "X-wing" chainstay bridge. 
Reynolds 853 tubing -- but note that the stickers recall the look of Specialized products of the past.
Pretty seat lug. The seat-stay cap treatment is really interesting -- it's hard to tell in that light, but that cap has a just slightly convex curve, as opposed to concave or flat.
Another really pretty lug shape. Modern, yet familiar.

I think its great that Specialized, in celebrating their anniversary, has chosen to do so with a really top-quality steel frame. Yes, it's a premium price and out of my budget, but it is also a really premium product with profits going to a great cause.

Give 'Em a Good Shellacking

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Some years back, I was at the Classic Rendezvous Cirque du Cyclisme -- a classic and vintage bicycle show and gathering. Part of the annual event includes a bike ride which turns out to be a great opportunity to see some classic bikes out on the road with like-minded enthusiasts.

The bars on the green Mercian are wrapped with yellow tape
and coated with amber shellac. It comes pretty close to the
honey-colored Brooks saddle.
As I was waiting at the gathering area for the ride to begin, looking around at some really nice vintage bikes, somebody approached me from behind.

"Really nice job on that bar wrap," the person said.

I turned around to find none other than framebuilding master Richard Sachs standing beside me.

". . . . Thanks," I replied, slightly dumbstruck.

Not to overstate my feelings about his vote of approval, but to my mind, it was something akin to being some random guy playing guitar on a street corner for tips, and Eric Clapton walks up and says, "Hey man, nice chops!" While I'm sure Richard has no memory of our meeting or that brief exchange, it pretty much made my day.

The ends of the tape are tightly wrapped with hemp twine
for a natural look. Shellac over the twine keeps it together.
I've been using the cloth tape and shellac method for finishing bars for about 13 years now -- the first bike I finished this way was my Curt Goodrich-built Rivendell, from about 2001. Since then, I've finished the bars on a bunch of bikes (for myself, and for others) with cotton tape and shellac. I love the way it looks, and feels, and it lasts a long time. Like a lot of people doing their bars this way, I got started because of articles by Grant Petersen with Rivendell Bicycles -- articles that would have appeared in the Rivendell Reader and catalogs. It's an old method that goes back to cyclotourists of the golden age, later forgotten by many but a few old-timers, but it's seen a resurgence in popularity in recent decades.

There are plenty of articles online and even some videos on YouTube that show step-by-step how to wrap and shellac bars, so I won't go into that kind of instructive detail here (and besides, I don't think it's all that complicated). But I will give some tips and recommendations.

My first shellac job -- on the Rivendell. 13 years
and still going strong.
For tape, the traditional choice has long been the Velox Tressostar cloth tape. It has an adhesive backing, a good weave that resists fraying, and comes in a variety of basic, classic colors. A more recent choice is Newbaum's, made in the U.S.A. and it is very good. It is slightly thicker than Tressostar, and each roll is a bit longer which means you can wrap even really wide bars with confidence that you won't run out before the bars are finished. Newbaum's also comes in some more interesting colors -- though personally, I rarely use any colors besides black, yellow, or brown. Velo-Orange recently came out with another choice they call "Comfy Cotton Tape." It is wider and much thicker than the other choices, but available only in black, white, and primary colors (red, blue, and yellow). I recently tried it, and it is nice, though I did find that the particular weave is more prone to fraying than the Tressostar or Newbaum's. That isn't much of a problem once the tape is installed and shellacked, but it is something to be aware of when wrapping. There is also Viva brand tape from Japan -- high quality and some interesting colors, but a little harder to find.

Finishing the ends. I swear, this almost takes on the importance of a religious discussion. Start at the ends and work your way up to the middle? Start at the top and work your way down? Start at the end AND the middle and work towards the brake levers? It's not life or death, and people have their preferences. As for me, I almost always start at the ends of the bars and wrap up to the top -- that way, the tape overlaps in such a way that it's almost like roof shingles, and hand pressure won't roll the edges back (of course, sealing the tape in shellac prevents that anyhow). At the top of the bars, I wrap the ends of the tape tightly with some hemp twine (usually) which is a little "coarse" and has a natural look to it that I like. The twine will also get sealed with shellac so it won't unwind. I have, on occasion, used embroidery floss which comes in a vast array of colors and shades -- if I wanted to do something a bit different with color (but I rarely do). The method of starting at the end and the center of the bars and working towards the brake levers does work well. Proponents like to point out that the ends of the tape get tucked neatly under the brake lever hoods, so no twine or other method is needed to secure the ends, and wrapping around the levers is somewhat simpler. I've done it this way -- but I'm happy enough with my usual method.

For bar ends, I like the old-style Velox rubber ends, but I have on occasion used wine corks to good effect. Because the corks don't usually cover the end of the bar tubing completely (they fit into the bar, but don't quite "cap" it) I'll wrap a bit of twine around the corks to finish them off.

When it comes to shellac, a person can buy pre-mixed prepared shellac in a can from just about any hardware or paint store -- typically in "clear" and "amber" choices. That works fine, but I've found that, unless you wrap bars all the time, there is much more shellac in even the smaller cans than a person can typically use before it goes bad, which means waste. Over time, the shellac will absorb moisture from the air -- even in a closed can (a half-empty can will be half-full of air!). The remaining shellac, if used, will not dry well -- it remains tacky, at which point one would have been better off just leaving the tape plain and unshellacked.

Another way to go is to get shellac flakes and mix your own. The flakes come in more varieties of color, from "blonde" to "amber" to "garnet," and can be dissolved in denatured alcohol. These can be a little harder to find, as a lot of hardware and paint stores may not carry the flakes normally, but there are lots of online sources. If the flakes are in big chunks or pieces, it can be really helpful to grind them up to dissolve more easily. Some people use an old coffee grinder, though I've used a mortar and pestle to good effect. The benefit of mixing your own is that you can make a smaller amount -- just what you need -- and have less waste. Also, when I mix my own, I tend to mix it a little "thinner" than the canned variety, my thought being more coats with thinner shellac for more "control" of the shade and color.

Brown tape and several coats of clear shellac give a rich
leather-like color.
Speaking of color, applying any shade or color of shellac over bar tape will affect the tape's color somewhat. Even "clear" shellac over white tape will still cause the tape to yellow -- and the more coats, the more coloring. Knowing exactly how tape color will change can involve some guesswork, and it's not likely that many people want to buy a bunch of tape to experiment. However, there are sources online that have pictures posted of different colors of bar tape with and without shellac that might serve as a guide. Here are a couple combinations that I know well: Yellow or white tape with amber shellac will take on the color of a honey-colored Brooks saddle (I think the yellow works slightly better in that regard). Brown tape with a few coats of clear shellac will nicely match an antique brown Brooks saddle. Red tape with garnet shellac will take on an oxblood kind of color. With black tape, I only use clear shellac, and usually no more than two coats (or three if they're thin) to preserve the black shade.

The brown tape with shellac is a good match for the antique
brown Brooks saddle.
How many coats? The first coat of shellac over cotton tape will usually soak right into the tape (especially if you mix it fairly thin) and it can be hard to tell the bars have been shellacked at all. A second coat will give the tape a good "seal" but will usually leave a fairly rough or "grippy" texture that some people really like. Three or four coats will leave the tape pretty smooth and with a shine. After a few rides, it will have a nice, matte or satin look that almost resembles leather. Some people don't like it when it gets the smooth "shiny" look, believing it to be slippery. I haven't found that to be a problem myself but your mileage may vary.

For applying shellac, my preference is towards cheap natural-bristle brushes -- usually about 1-in. to 1-1/2-inches wide. I've seen some bloggers suggest using foam brushes, but personally I hate those. When coating the bars, I recommend rolling the brake lever hoods back so they don't get coated (or stuck!) in the shellac. I also recommend wrapping an old towel around the top tube, head tube, and front fork in case of drips. Yes, drips can be cleaned up easily enough with a bit of denatured alcohol on a rag -- but I figure it's better not to have to clean them up at all.

One of my few jobs with a different color. The tape is really
old Velox (I don't think that color is available anymore -- but
Newbaum's might have it) with purple embroidery floss for
the finish, and wine cork bar ends. Two coats of clear shellac
finish it off and leave a good grippy texture.
Although I've only done basic one-color wraps on my own bikes, I've seen where people have mixed colors in a weave, which usually creates an interesting kind of multi-colored diamond pattern. Search the topic on Google and find all kinds of examples -- even detailed step-by-step instructions. Weaves usually require more tape than a more traditional wrap, and it takes a bit of practice to get it just right. The weave patterns are pretty cool, but maybe just a bit too much for my taste (that's not a criticism of those who like it!) so I've never tried it on my own bikes. For a seriously frou-frou look, I've even seen where people would weave 2 or 3 colors with a diamond pattern, then criss-cross twine over the diamonds, resulting in something that looks like argyle! Obviously, when it comes to bar wrap, one is only limited by their imagination and taste level.

The Simpleton's Guide to Simplex: SLJ 5000

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The following contribution, from special guest blogger Robert "Simplex Simpleton" Broderick, of Velo-Pages.com, is a fresh installment from his "Simpleton's Guide to Simplex" -- not available in bookstores or online merchants, but first promulgated to the Classic Rendezvous group and available "free-to-anyone-inclined-to-read-this-drivel" (. . . this, in his own words). It is the first-ever "guest blogger" article posted to the Retrogrouch Blog.

CHAPTER XIII - THE SIMPLEX SLJ 5000 SERIES REAR DERAILLEUR (i.e., Real Derailleurs Are Made From Aluminum)

The first of the highly esteemed Simplex SLJ (. . . or Super Lucien Juy) series rear derailleurs, originally but briefly known as the Prestige Super L.J. debuted in 1972 as the SLJ AR 615, which was subsequently superseded by the almost-the-same-but-not-quite SLJ 5000 coincident to model year 1975.  The change in nomenclature was begot of Derailleur le Simplex having decided to undertake a wholesale overhaul of their derailleur model designations principally because they had begun to proliferate said model lineup to a point where their previous part numbering scheme could no longer properly provide a descriptive context (. . . as if it ever did in the first place).  The resulting reformulation of model numbers was intended to result in assignments that clearly articulated (. . . pun intended) the specifics of a given derailleur component . . . ASSUMING that one had the corresponding cipher key.  As previously discussed in CHAPTER IX - POST 1974 SIMPLEX DERAILLEUR CODES (. . . i.e., Taking a Swim in the Alphabet Soup) the Rosetta Stone explanation of Simplex model numbers dating from said era would be as follows:

Front Derailleurs:

Example: SLJ A 5 2 2
                   1  2  3 4 5

Key:

1 - Refers to the type of derailleur (simple back-and-forth movement vs. parallelogram) and defines place of model in the product line.

2 - "A" designation indicates that unit is a front derailleur (. . . the "A" being a reference to the French word avant, which not surprisingly translates to front in the English language).

3 - Composition of the derailleur, whereas:
     "0" - (. . . or digit missing altogether) Indicates a clamp-on mount having a Delrin body, metal (. . . either zamak or steel) front plate, and chromed steel chain guide.
     "1" - Indicates a clamp-on mount having an alloy body and front plate, steel parallelogram links, and chromed steel chain guide.
     "2" - Indicates a braze-on mount having an alloy body, steel parallelogram links, and chromed steel chain guide.
     "3" - Indicates a clamp-on mount having a Delrin body, steel front plate, steel parallelogram links, and chromed steel chain guide.
     "4" - Indicates a braze-on mount having a light alloy body, alloy parallelogram links, and chrome plated hardened steel chain guide.
     "5" - Indicates a clamp-on mount having a light alloy body and front plate, alloy parallelogram links, and chrome plated hardened steel chain guide.

4 - Type of actuating cable for SX and SLJ equipment only, whereas:
    "0" - Indicates cable with outer casing.
    "2" - Indicates bare inner wire only.

5 - Type of chain guide, whereas:
    "2" - Indicates standard guide for double chain wheel.
    "3" - Indicates larger guide for triple chain wheel.

Rear Derailleurs:

Example: SLJ 5000 CP / SP
                  1      2    3     4

Key:

1 - Refers to the type of articulation and defines place of model in the product line.

2 - Type of parallelogram.

3 - Type of cage, whereas:
     "CP" - Indicates cage axle centered between pulleys (. . . for racing gear ratios).
     "T" - Indicates cage axle off-center between pulleys (. . . for touring gear ratios).
     "GT" - Indicates cage axle off-center with long cage arms (. . . for grand touring).

4. Mounting specifications, whereas:
     "P" - Employs a mounting bracket.
     "SP" - Mounts directly onto fork end without use of a separate bracket.

Having established this wonderful convention, Derailleur le Simplex promptly went about wantonly violating same over the subsequent years with various product offerings (. . . albeit, primarily lower-end models -- but the inaugural SLJ A 500 pre-CPSC front derailleur also does not quite conform to this paradigm).  Therefore, the aforementioned guide should be considered a general rule of thumb and NOT a rigid and inflexible document (. . . unless you want to drive yourself stark raving mad).

As a direct consequence of the aforementioned part numbering re-alignment, it logically followed that contemporary Simplex catalogs identify discrete individual piece part numbers for those bits comprising the original SLJ AR 615 versus the first edition SLJ 5000 rear derailleurs and that said numbers are to some extent unique. However, those very same respective parts remained essentially unaltered from one model to the next, and in fact are almost completely interchangeable with one another -- at least until the second edition SLJ 5000 or if you prefer SLJ 5001 of model year 1978 (. . . in other words, Simplex may have changed the part numbers in name, but not the physical parts themselves). Exploded diagrams for these earliest SLJ offerings can be found as follows (. . . all diagrams reposted herein with acknowledgement to their host source at Velo-Pages.com):

Simplex SLJ AR 615:
                                                          
Simplex SLJ 5000 CP (first edition):


Simplex SLJ 5000 T (first edition):


Simplex SLJ 5000 GT (first edition):



Over the course of its product life-cycle (. . . yep, another of those cursed puns), from inception in 1972 as the SLJ AR 615 through 1979, after which it was superseded for model year 1980 by the yet again remarkably similar but slightly improved SLJ 5500, the SLJ 5000/5001 rear derailleur underwent a few minor production modifications along the way.  

With regard to the new book Derailleurs of The World –Simplexwhile I wholeheartedly commend the author for undertaking such a daunting task and roundly congratulate him on a job “well done,” as with most things in life including many of my own endeavors, there is room left for improvement in my humble opinion. Sticking strictly to the topic of the SLJ 5000/5001 series rear derailleur and its precursor, the SLJ AR 615, there are but two variations which are documented therein – an original SLJ AR 615 and a  third edition SLJ 5000 CP or second edition SLJ 5001 CP (. . . depending upon your perspective – are you thoroughly confused yet?). I could quibble with the production dates cited, but I am of the opinion that any such discrepancy from my own understanding of “The Truth” is likely begot of the author’s omission, be it intentional or otherwise, of both the first edition SLJ 5000 as well as the second edition SLJ 5000 or first edition SLJ 5001.  My final oh-so-narrow critique of this fine book (. . . no sarcasm intended here – if you have any interest in refining your own knowledge regarding the oft perceived byzantine labyrinth of Simplex product offerings, this is the best, most concise place to start by far) would be that for whatever reason (. . . and there are many about which I could speculate and probably sympathize myself were I in his position of actually publishing a physical “book” as opposed to merely positing my punditry in dribs and drabs over the years) the author chose to omit pictorial evidence of anything other than the CP or “racing” version of these derailleurs (. . . an oversight which leads to circumstances such as persons inquiring as to why their third edition SLJ 5000 or second edition SLJ 5001 rear derailleur has such an apparently odd pulley cage assembly when compared to others they might have seen like the one in the book, and that would likely be because it is an SLJ 5000/5001 T as opposed to the close-ratio-oriented SLJ 5000/5001 CP – same derailleur body, same internal springs, same pulley wheels, same size or length pulley cage assembly as opposed to the ginormously long cage GT version, but said assembly has slightly different cage plates which are offset to one side and positioned at a different angle so as to facilitate greater chain wrap).  To be fair, at least the author has included a titular reference to the CP versus T versus GT models, but absolutely no pictures nor even a brief description as to just what differentiates each variation from one another.

Finally, we now get to the crux of a common query regarding a particular affectation of the Simplex SLJ 5000 rear derailleur, specifically with respect to the treatment of its cable stop. It is in fact, this very question that calls attention to the principal variation which defines not only the difference between the original SLJ AR 615 and its remarkably similar SLJ 5000/5001 successor, but also all three of the production versions of the SLJ 5000/5001 itself which occurred from 1975 through 1979. I have taken the liberty of attaching to this already lengthy missive a series of four photographs which can be used by those playing along at home to (. . . again, hopefully) differentiate each successive model:

1972 to 1975 – The original SLJ AR 615.  Note how the cable stop is cast directly into the upper body of the rear derailleur itself along its left side as you are facing same.  The bare cable end would proceed directly downward from here before passing through the lower pivoting anchor stop and being secured in place by a traditional hex headed bolt.
1975 to 1977 – The first edition SLJ 5000.  Again, the cable stop itself is cast directly into the upper body of the rear derailleur along its left hand side.  However, the outer upper parallelogram steel pivot pin (part number 3564 for the SLJ AR 615) has now been replaced by the 3932L similarly steel thread-ended pivot pin having a slotted head underneath which is fitted a circular plastic button. In this instance, the bare end of the derailleur cable would proceed downward from the integral cast cable stop and in front of the extended round plastic guide before passing through the lower pivoting anchor stop and being secured in place by a hex headed bolt. The purpose for this ever-so-slight modification which itself differentiates the previous SLJ AR 615 from the first edition SLJ 5000 is to better ensure that the taught cable will not foul with the parallelogram arms of the rear derailleur when fully extended outward (. . . whether or not this was an issue is largely a function of how much chain one was trying to wrap relative to the smallest cog on their freewheel) as well as to reduce the potential sheer effect of the bare cable which can otherwise enter the lower pivoting anchor stop at an oblique angle.
1977 to 1978 – The second edition SLJ 5000 or first edition SLJ 5001.  No longer is the cable stop actually cast into the upper body of the rear derailleur.  Rather, the 3932L steel pivot pin and circular plastic button head found on the previous edition SLJ 5000 rear derailleur has been replaced with a threaded steel pivot pin having an articulated or pivoting head which serves itself as the cable stop, and through which thereafter passes the bare derailleur cable downward before entering the lower pivoting anchor stop and being secured in place by a ridiculously saucer shaped CPSC-compliant Allen-headed bolt.
1978 to 1979 – The third edition SLJ 5000 or second edition SLJ 5001. In yet a further and final refinement of the twin pivoting cable attachment principle, there is now a black “extended tube” style cable stop/cable guide integrated into the pivoting head of the upper threaded steel pivot pin, through which the bare derailleur cable passes downward before entering the lower pivoting anchor stop and being secured in place by a hex bolt (. . . whether or not it has the saucer shaped CPSC-compliant head or a “normal” hex head depends entirely upon one's particular luck of the draw). This very same manner of “extended tube” style articulated cable stop would be carried forward on the SLJ 5500 series of Simplex rear derailleurs which debuted in late 1979 for model year 1980.
© Copyright 2014  R. S. Broderick – All Rights Reserved.

Direct Mount Brakes?

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Even as the bicycle industry is trying hard to convince us all that rim brakes are dark-ages technology, and that if you're not riding with disc brakes then god help you because you are a danger to yourself and all others around you, several component makers are hedging their bets with yet another new brake design that has no "backwards compatibility" and therefore would require the purchase of a whole new bicycle. Enter the "direct mount" dual-pivot rim brakes.

Now, of course, in a manner of speaking, many of the rim brakes in use today are essentially "direct mount," (I would include cantilever brakes, u-brakes, v-brakes, centerpulls mounted to brazed-on studs, and single-pivot sidepulls) but what makes the new crop of dual-pivot direct-mount brakes different is that instead of having a center-mounted bolt, and having one of the pivots mounted to some type of yoke, both pivots bolt directly to the frame or fork. Some of the advantages are supposed to be better brake feel and less flex, more balanced brake movement, better aerodynamics (since the brakes can fit closer to the fork or frame), and some claim more tire clearance, though the examples I've seen so far don't seem to bear that out. Shimano offers direct-mount versions of Dura-Ace and Ultegra brakes, which are being utilized on some models by Trek, and several other manufacturers are jumping on the bandwagon.

The two pivots bolt directly into threaded holes or bosses
on the fork or frame. The pivots are more symmetrically
placed as compared to regular dual-pivots.
To my mind, there is both good and bad here, so this isn't just a full-out Retrogrouch Rant. The good is that these make some (at least modest) improvements to rim brakes, even as the industry is trying to convince us that rim brakes are no good. Go figure. Remember old-school centerpull brakes? Particularly the ones that mounted with a center bolt, then had a yoke with pivots at either end? Those brakes could get awfully "flexy" -- especially as the reach increased. But when mounted to brazed-on posts (as on some really nice touring or randonneuring bikes), those same centerpull brakes, even the long reach ones, can provide strong stopping power, good modulation, and lots of tire and fender clearance. Although mounting the pivots of a dual-pivot sidepull directly to the fork or frame should give a similar benefit, I'm betting that the difference in stiffness between these and a typical short-reach dual-pivot brake is harder to notice than the hypesters would have us believe. Now, if the long-reach sidepulls were done this way, a person might really notice a difference -- but I don't see any long-reach versions on the horizon.

Spotted at Interbike, these new aero-design direct mount brakes from FSA
bear a faint (but far less pretty) resemblance to the old Campagnolo Deltas.
They work on an entirely different (albeit equally questionable) mechanism,
however. By the way -- notice the super tight clearance over that 23 mm tire.
So what am I grouching about? Compatibility -- or rather, lack thereof. Once again, we see a new change in technology that isn't compatible with anything else out there. They can only be installed on a frame designed specifically for them -- and I would guess that a frame designed for these direct-mount brakes would be incompatible with other types of brakes as well. One question I have is whether there is any standardization to the location of these pivots, or is it yet another proprietary spec? Being that one of the early offerings was from Shimano, it's always possible that their pivot boss spacing could become a de facto standard, but this is the bicycle industry we're talking about, so don't be too surprised to see different companies coming up with their own unique specs.

Another thing is the added complexity. From what I'm reading in reviews, some of the offerings so far are quite a bit harder to install than a typical single bolt mounted brake. I suppose that isn't a serious problem, but I haven't tried installing any yet.

With the arms fitting so much closer to the frame or fork, I've read that brake pad compatibility is also a potential issue. Unless the pads are specifically designed for these close-coupled direct-mount brakes, there can be some interference between the pads/shoes and the frame. It's always something.

Yep -- under their face plates, these new FSA brakes are rollercams.
My memory of rollercam brakes is that they weren't worth reviving.
I also have my doubts about the claims that these improve tire clearance. The latest direct mount brake from FSA, shown at Interbike, just about skims the top of a 23 mm tire. I've read some reviews praising the Shimano versions because they can easily fit a 28 mm tire -- maybe even as large as 30 mm, but I don't find the claim quite as impressive as some seem to think it. It only seems like a lot of clearance when compared with other short-reach dual-pivot brakes. I've seen lots of single-pivot sidepulls -- even short reach ones -- that could accommodate tires that large, or larger.

The new design from FSA bears a faint resemblance to the old Delta brakes from Campagnolo -- though far less pretty. Underneath their covers, however, they work on an entirely different mechanism. Whereas the Campys had a kind of deformable parallelogram linkage, the FSAs are basically a revival of the old rollercam brakes that were briefly all the rage on mountain bikes in the 1980s. Remember those? Usually mounted under the chainstays, they would get so choked up with mud that they'd quit working, and were finicky enough to quit working even when kept clean. The rollercams also required unique mounting bosses that rendered the frame incompatible with any other kind of brakes, and therefore completely obsolete when the rollercam fad faded away. I'd be concerned about the same thing happening all over again.

Like a lot of new technology, the latest direct-mount dual-pivot brakes might offer some small, incremental improvements, but with the usual trade-offs -- the most annoying of which would have to be the all-too-common problem of compatibility (and the potential for premature obsolescence). Don't expect to hear about the trade-offs in the hype, though. Nope -- all you need to know is that the bike you bought last year is from the stone-age. Time for another upgrade.

Forget 11. Now There's 13!

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You knew it was coming, didn't you?

Eleven speed cassettes wouldn't satisfy gear junkies forever. At Interbike last week, Phil Wood (NOT even Campagnolo or Shimano!) revealed a major trump card and introduced to the bicycling world the 13-speed cassette hub.

Though it was displayed more as a "concept" than an actual production item, sources say that PW wanted to gauge consumer interest and then explore the possibilities for retail sales. I have no doubt that folks at Shimano and maybe SRAM will be taking a look at the possibilities, too.

Not for road bikes (not yet, anyhow).

The 13-speed cassette hub was displayed on a Sycip-built "Fat Bike" with a 1x13 drivetrain and a massive 222 mm wide rear hub spacing. Keep in mind that most current road bikes are spaced at 130 mm, while most current mountain bikes are 135, so that's a lot of real estate between the rear dropouts. According to the folks at Phil Wood, they have given consideration to making a version as "narrow" as 150 mm (but no less), which might make it possible for use on "normal" (as in "not fat") mountain bikes. Interestingly, the spacing on the left side of the hub displayed at Interbike (which is set up for a brake disc) is equal to the spacing on the right side, yielding a symmetrical no-dish wheel. I guess you can do that when you've got 222 mm to play with.

The  13-speed cassette itself was actually put together from two different Shimano 11-speed cassettes. Critics have already bemoaned the "less-than-optimal" gear jumps (sheeesh!). Likewise, the shifter and derailleur were modified from existing 1x11 SRAM units. Reportedly, it indexes for 11 gears, but the last two have to be shifted by friction (Seriously? That could be a deal-breaker!). All that would change, of course, if Shimano or SRAM decided to get on board with the lucky 13 concept.

So, does the world really need a 13-speed gear cluster? Haven't we passed the point of diminishing returns? And if not, would we then see one of the major component companies pair that up with a double, or even triple crank for 26 or 39 speeds? If 13 becomes a reality, then I think we should really expect it.


With that, I just have one more question. What happened to 12?

A Rare Find: Suwe Cortina Derailleur

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Searching through vintage bicycle components on eBay today, I spotted a very rare and interesting item: An Austrian-made Suwe Cortina rear derailleur from about 1954. It was listed at just under $400. It's the kind of thing one doesn't often see outside of a book.

Note that the Cortina clamps around the right chainstay.
Considering that a round, tapered stay might pose problems
to a secure mounting, there are two small grub screws on the
clamp to help secure it.
The Cortina is obviously not a well-known derailleur, but its design and construction had a lot going for it, especially given the time period in which it was made. The basic design borrowed quite a bit from the groundbreaking Nivex, introduced in 1938, which should be considered the grandfather of parallelogram derailleurs. Looking at the pictures, it is clear that, like the Nivex and other touring derailleurs, the Cortina mounted to the right chain stay, ahead of the rear axle. The backwards-facing, horizontal orientation of its parallelogram would move the jockey pulley away from the freewheel cogs as it moved inward -- thereby keeping a consistent chain gap across the gear range, which is critical for positive shifting performance. Having never ridden a bike with one, I still think it a pretty good assumption to say that it probably shifted quite well for 1954 (probably not bad for 1984, either).

The Nivex was almost certainly an
inspiration for the Cortina.
Although it was almost certainly inspired by the Nivex, the Suwe Cortina made some notable changes to that design. For one thing, while the Nivex was all stamped construction, the Cortina was mostly aluminum and appears to have used a combination of stamped and cast pieces. It has a more "substantial" look than the Nivex, and appears to be nicely finished. Another change is that unlike the Nivex, which used a 2-cable "desmodromic" actuation (that is, movement in both directions is controlled by cable pull), the Cortina has a return spring.

According to the Disraeli Gears site, the Cortina weighed a pretty respectable 266 grams, which was quite a bit less than the Campagnolo Gran Sport of the same time period (that was made of bronze, remember). No doubt, it shifted better, too.

There doesn't seem to be a lot of information out there about the Suwe Cortina. There is a picture of one in Frank Berto's book, The Dancing Chain, but barely any mention of it in any detail. Disraeli Gears has the most info that I could find, stating that the Suwe company was based in Vienna, Austria, and that their main line of business (at least, based on the many patents that they held) was apparently in ski bindings and other ski-related products. There is no evidence of the company's existence after about 1969.

I don't have $400 to plunk down on a rare but interesting derailleur, but I'll probably be keeping my eye on the auction in any case, just out of curiosity.
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