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Saturday May 18th was the annual bicycle swap meet put on Cascade Classic Cycle Club in Portland Oregon. It was held at the old Pay nā Pack building on Vancouver Blvd. near Delta Park in North Park Portland. It began a bright and beautiful day, but alas the Oregon monsoons again prevailed. Most of us unloaded our classic bikes in driving rain. That didnāt however dampen the spirits of fifty or so venders who were there by 7 am to set up business. Some people were there as early as 4:30 am, likely making "flash light deals" from pick-up beds.
The doors opened to the public at 8:00 am, with a modest turnout of about 175 people. It wasnāt a blockbuster event, but then again, maybe that isnāt the idea of a swap meet. The event was small enough that many of the venders and swap attendees know each other and have fun catching up on the latest bicycle "exploits". Swapping stories rates up there with swapping bike parts. I chose roaming from table to table rather than dutifully minding my own.
Now for the burning question: What kind of bikes were there and what did they sell for? There was a Castelli restored 50ās Hawthorn for $1700, an original Black Phantom in nice condition for $1700, a 1928 Schwinn Tanker (pre-balloon) for $2100, a beautiful green Ī50ās girls Columbia with all the extras for $800, an original Schwinn Orange Krate for $475, and a Hopalong Casidy for $3000. None of the high dollar bikes sold, with a notable exception of a Whizzer Pacer that sold immediately for $1600.
There were however plenty of low dollar bikes sold with the buyer often having the advantage. A friend of mine walked away with a JC Higgins middleweight Spaceliner Springer for $100 and a 50ās Hiawatha tanker in excellent condition for $125. I saw a loaded two-tone green girls 50ās JC Higgins initially priced at $250, leave the meet for only $150. A dollar went along way on smaller items. I picked up two Schwinn S-7 (26x1 3/4) rims for $5 a piece that will go on a 59 Jaguar restoration. Sprockets and Chain Guards went cheaply. One exception was the stubborn vendor who wouldnāt sell me a dented girlās Hawthorn tank for anything less than $35. And so it goes.
The Meet was essentially over by 2:00 p.m. with only a few tables left with merchandise. We hope everyone left with either a fistful of dollars or a bargain bicycle that they "are gonna restore someday". Iāll end this report with that over-used phrase from the society page that " a good time was had by all"
A special thanks to Larry Fast of Salem Oregon, an avid classic bike enthusiuast and supporter of The Bicycle Trader for covering the CCCC 1996 swap. You can contact him at: Larry Fast 2039 Summit NW Salem OR 97304.
One morning Irmelin Ingebritson awoke to the sound of her youngest daughter coughing. After breakfast the child sounded worse, so Irmelin took the child to the doctorās office.
The doctor confirmed Irmelinās fears, her child was very sick. The doctor told Irmelin that her child needed a special calming herb. Unfortunately, the doctor was out of the herb. He had ordered some, but it wouldnāt be delivered until the end of the week. It was coming by boat from the city on the other side of the fjord. Poor Irmelinās daughter would probably get worse before the medicine could arrive. Irmelin rode her daughter home and tucked her into bed. She told her daughter not to worry, that she would get the calming herb and that everything would be fine.
Irmelin knew she must do something, but what? If she waited for the medicine to arrive, it might be too late for her daughter. She could race her bicycle along the road that led to the city, but even for Irmelin, the fastest rider in all the village, it would take more than a day to ride to the city and more than a day to get back. The quickest way to the city was to take the short cut, straight over the mountain. But, there was a troll, known as the Bull of the Mountain, who blocked the way. Many riders had challenged the troll and raced him to the top of the mountain, but if the troll won he would be waiting at the top with the golden ax and loser would not only lose the race, but also their head. None had ever beaten the troll. But, if Irmelin didnāt take the short cut, her child might die and so she was willing to take the chance. She quickly readied herself and her bicycle and rode to the foot of the mountain.
At the trail-head, Irmelin Ingebritson met the Bull. He was a huge troll with tremendous muscles bulging out from all over his legs and body. His bicycle was dark and looked heavy and ominous with spikes and sharp points, and the jewelry and mementos of the riders that the troll had beaten and killed. He stood stone faced and said to her in a deep deep voice that he was the Bull of the Mountain and that any who dared to ride this trail must challenge him. As Irmelin listened to the troll, she studied him and his bike for some sign of weakness. There was no doubt that the troll was very strong. But, she wondered if the Bull of the Mountain was fit. Irmelin tried to reason with the Bull. She told him about her sick daughter and begged him to let her cross the mountain just this once to get the medicine she needed. But the troll only laughed cruelly and spit on the ground at her feet.
So Irmelin challenged the Bull to a race, but she insisted that they race not just once, but three times up to the pass. The troll asked why he should race her three times to the summit, and Irmelin replied that the troll must surely fear her. She told the troll that he must be afraid that she could beat him two out of three times. This made the troll very mad and finally he accepted the challenge.
Irmelin Ingebritson and the troll lined up at the trail-head and on the count of three, they started the race. The troll was indeed incredibly strong and he immediately took a huge lead. But, the troll was not light in the saddle, as a good climber should be. Instead he used brute force and sprinted wildly up the trail. By the time he reached the summit, he was covered with sweat. Irmelin was far behind, but when she reached the summit the troll was still trying to catch his breath, while Irmelin was breathing easy as if she was just warming up.
The troll took up his golden ax, ready to chop off Irmelinās head. But, she reminded him of their challenge and the two more races. The troll roared with anger and raced back down the trail to the foot of the mountain. The Bull was still wet with sweat and breathing hard when Irmelin lined up next to him for the second race. They counted down from 3 and off they raced back up the trail. Once again the troll took a huge lead, but Irmelin was able to catch him at the half way point. The fact that Irmelin had caught the troll seemed to throw him into a fit of rage and he raced ahead again, but not so fast that Irmelin couldnāt hold his wheel. He tried again to race ahead, but Irmelin matched his moves with her own burst of speed and managed to catch and pass the troll just before the finish line. Now, no other human had ever beaten the troll and his anger was like a volcano erupting. He grabbed up his ax to chop off her head, but she stood bravely in front of him reminding him of the challenge and the third race still to be run. The troll swung his ax, but at the last second he held it from her head.
She asked him now to please consider letting her pass to get the herb from the city for her daughter. This request only added to his mounting anger. He leaped onto his bike and raced back down the trail, but he was so exhausted from the first two races that he couldnāt hold his line and the troll smashed into several trees on his way back down. When Irmelin arrived at the base of the mountain for the third race, the troll stood weakly over his bicycle, dripping sweat, with fear in his eyes. She asked him once more to let her pass, but the trollās response, through his effort to catch his breath, was that if she should win she must take up the ax and quickly cut off his head. She agreed and the two counted down from three to start the third and last race up to the summit. The troll once again lurched off to a quick lead, but Irmelin easily caught him and passed him before the half way point. She could hear the troll stumbling and crashing and gasping for air behind her.
At the summit, Irmelin jumped off her bike and readied herself with the ax. As the troll cleared the trees, Irmelin swung the magic ax and cut the trollās head off. From the body flew a hundred beautiful butterflies. Irmelin turned at once and took up her bicycle and rode off quickly down the other side of the mountain to the city for the calming herbs for her daughter. Within an hour she was back up to the summit where she took the magic ax and rode down into her village. In front of her house she swung the ax into a huge rock and there it still stands to this day, letting all who pass know that this is where the Bull of the Mountain lives and that all may ride the trail across the mountain to the city in peace.
When someone comes into a bike shop and wants his or her bike fixed, oftentimes itās just a matter of lubrication. This can be frustrating for both the mechanic and the rider.. Chainsuck is one of those things. Perhaps one out of twenty people react without surprise when told they must lube a bike chain every week. I am just as flaky as every one else, many times my chain doesnātā get lubed until it screams. Hang any gizmo on your bike you want, if you donāt maintain your bike it wont work. Three basic reasons exist that cause chainsuck, the chain, the chainrings, and shifting technique An old, or unlubricated chain is the most likely culprit for chainsuck. When links in a chain cant move freely they follow the chainrings religiously. The chain will then unmercifully gouge the chainstay, especially if the rider keeps pedaling. Learning to hear the crunch, and backpedaling quick can save a few chains and frames.
Worn chainrings are caused by a stretched chain. The chainring teeth assume a sharktooth profile. Its a hooked shape that pulls the chain right between frame and crank. Chains must be replaced every thousand miles to prevent drivetrain wear.
The final suspect in the lineup is poor shifting technique. Shifting on the front from middle to small requires that the chain is not under power. Easing up on the pedals when shifting minimizes wear on the chain. Newer drivetrain systems can shift under power, particularly upshifts on the rear cogs. Try that in the front it can tie the chain up. Then it jams into the frame.
So, oil your chain-EVERY WEEK! Replace your chain every year or thousand miles. Both of these things need to be done more often in wet nasty conditions. A rider with big legs that mashes down on the pedals will wear chains even quicker. Bicycles are not going to shaft drive any time soon, so deal with it.
I saw my first Richard Sachs cycle several years ago at a local century ride. It was early morning, when the air is still cool, and people were meandering around saying their hiās and getting in last minute pit stops. It was leaning against a fence, red paint glistening in the rising sun as if still wet. It was one of those rare bikes that makes one drool, and Coolmax doesnāt soak up drool like good olā wool. All the surface stuff was impeccable. Welds... perfect. Paint... perfect. Lugs filed razor sharp and... perfect. Later I spotted the lucky owner float by and I asked him about the ride. Cornering, downhills, fast and slow? He simply said... perfect. Since then Iāve seen several Sachs frames at various rides and races and all the reviews have been fantastic, all the bikes exquisite. Truly dedicated to his work, itās no wonder that Richard Sachs is considered one of the worldās finest framebuilders. He is a true master of his craft.
Iām truly grateful that Mr. Sachs took the time to do this interview. For more information, check out the "Framed Art" article in the July Ī95 issue of Bicycle Guide, the 1993 and Ī94 Bridgestone catalogs, or contact him at: Richard Sachs Cycles, Box 194, Chester CT 06412, (203) 526-2059.
Gabe Konrad: As a child, what were your earliest bikes?
Richard Sachs: My first bike was a Huffy "Convertible." It came with training wheels, which were eventually removed. After that my pride and joy would be a Schwinn Jaguar Mark III. It was a beautiful bike with a flamboyant red color, and lots of chrome, and big white sidewall tires. I wish I still had one like it!
GK: How did you become an apprentice at Witcomb and what people, besides Witcomb, inspired your work?
RS: I was in London, at Witcomb Lightweight Cycles, in 1972. I didnāt have an apprenticeship, as such. I had written to Witcomb expressing a desire to learn about frame making, stating clearly that Iād do anything to be around the process. They agreed to this. I went there with the understanding that Iād do anything, packing stuff, lunch runs, make coffee, etc., and hopefully glean some information about frame making so that one day, years from then, I too would make frames. The near-year I was there was one of the high points of my life. I was young, abroad, and I was able to pursue what was the main interest of my short life. Though I began to make frames during the end of my stint there, I never made an entire frame. It would be incorrect to say that Witcomb inspired my work. Years before I went to England, I developed my interest in well-made bicycles. I had gone through the Campagnolo-equipped Atalas and Frejuses that everyone in my area had in those days. I had friends with Paramount collections in the late 1960s who influenced my direction. I had purchased a couple of W.B. Hurlow custom made frames through the mail when I was just out of boarding school (they each cost less than $100 with a Nuovo Record headset, bottom bracket, and crankset). My boarding school was near Princeton, and when I discovered Koppās Cycles and a man named Fred Kuhn and his worker Dick Swann, I began to make a "nuisance" of myself with regular trips to the shop to check out the neat stuff they sold. Fred imported Cinellis then, and one could go there at any time and see a dozen of these fine bicycles years before they would acquire the cult status which is attached to them now. Fred Kuhn was influential with respect to my taking bicycles seriously. My visits to his shop remain vivid memories and I love reliving that part of my life. Continuing on, though, the procedure of ordering and then taking receipt of the first Hurlow frame, was all it took to convince me that I wanted to be a framebuilder one day. The process was very inspirational, and when I finally got into the routine, ironically, my two Hurlows were the only bikes I remember using as a role model to try to improve my skills. No other bikes have had that, or any, real kind of impact on me. Back then (around 1969) my two Hurlows, and all the Cinellis at Koppās Cycles, were all I knew about good bikes. It wasnāt until I got back to the U.S., following my time in London, that Iād even seen another of what we could call fine bikes of that era: Pogliaghi, Masi, Hetchins... A major fork in the road for me as a career framebuilder came in the late 1970ās the first time I saw the National Geographic television special "The Living Treasures of Japan." I knew I was looking for something more in framebuilding, and I suspected it didnāt involve "stuff;" without explaining the show in two sentences, suffice it to say that I was inspired by the Japanese reverence for quality handmade articles of any and all types, some important, some mundane, but all constructed with respect to craft, skill, and heritage, and, I suspect, with little or no regard paid to commerce or promotion. My attitude towards framebuilding embraces this attitude. No bicycle could have ever had the impact on my decisions and choices the way the topic of that program did.
GK: How do you deal with the reputation of being one of the worldās best builders?
RS: I donāt see myself, or anyone else as being one of the best at our task of framebuilding. Bicycles are very simple tools, and until an experienced user hops over one, they are all equal. Iām happy and proud of all the articles and accolades my bikes have received, but it doesnāt fuel my motivation to do this. I
GK: How did you meet Grant Petersen and how did your relationship with Bridgestone/Rivendell come about?
RS: I met Grant Petersen at a trade show about ten years ago, but hadnāt recalled that until about four years ago when he called me to write a catalog piece about fork crowns. I sent him three and a half single-spaced, typed pages on the subject which he edited down to the piece in the 1993 Bridgestone catalog. It subsequently led to his desire to have an article on filing; this became the lug article in the 1994 catalog. Through this all, he had me design a set of ornate lugs for Bridgestoneās road frame. I carved a set from some Nikko lug blanks, sent them to Japan, and Grant was to have them produced en masse
GK: Do you build any other frames besides road frames?
RS: Nearly all my frames are road frames. I used to offer variations on road frames, so they could be used for other purposes, but havenāt taken orders for anything but road frames in years. My background is in the sport - I have been racing longer than I have built frames - and I think my interest in this is felt in what I want to offer to the public. Iām a licensed USCF cat 2 on road and track and still race forty to fifty times a year.
GK: How do you go about properly designing a frameset for a customer?
RS: Most of my frames are sold outside of the Northeast, so I meet few of my clients in person. I have an order form, spend time on the phone, and can intuitively understand how to create a position for a rider without meeting them. Racing full time, and having built thousands of frames, is the best antidote for a "this yearās frame formula."
GK: What kind of balance do you find between function and art in your frames?
RS: Regarding function as art, on one hand Iām a bicycle racer who happens to make frames. My years within the sport are my meal ticket, ensuring clients that my designs and experience are legitimate. From competitor, to race mechanic, to supplier of bikes to National team riders, my resume for hands-on knowledge is extensive.
But since a rider is more important than a bicycle, itās clear that anything will work. Consequently, the interest in the later years of my career has been more focused on the quality of the framebuilding process, relying regularly on my inspiration of knowing of such things as Japanās living treasures. I have become a rabid collector of articles about such arcane (to most bike people, at least) subjects as the Cremonese lutiers, bespoke shotguns, fly rod constructors, oboe makers, fountain pens, etc. And I spend too much time wondering about the Haute Couture houses in the fashion industry. Most are owned by multinational conglomerates, and make enough on licensing to make up for the losses inherent in the handwork of "couture." But someone still has to do all that beautiful sewing. Knowing this means more to me than knowing about ..."this yearās new wonderful tubeset!"
GK: What type of tubing do you use for your frames and how do you think steel stands up to all the other frame materials out there?
RS: All my frames are built with Reynolds tubing. I think, across the board, Reynolds makes the best quality steel tubing. But having stated this, I believe the quality of the tubing (or material) is of secondary importance and concern to the skill level and design experience of the assembler. Steel is the most unforgiving material to use when a large output by substandard workers is the goal; consequently, the other materials will surpass steelās dominance as the material of choice. It is simply easier to train people to use non-ferrous products, to bond, or to weld something ferrous, than to train them to make steel frames in the "traditional" way. Itās an older, more mature process. I think itās a better one too, but leaves little or no room for profit compared to all the other ways.
GK: Do you think thereās room in the cycling industry for all the new builders popping up?
RS: Looking at all the classifieds, I sense a growing number of people actively trying to build frames professionally; some from other backgrounds, some taking money for frames built with little or no experience. I suspect the cream of this crop will survive, and I wish them well. I wouldnāt want to start out now, in the nineties. By and large, the average store-bought bike with Ultegra or better parts has the potential for being all the bike most people may ever want. The need to bypass a store to get a bicycle worthy of competitive use was ever present when we all began ...i.e. one couldnāt think to race on a factory made bike 25-30 years ago. It had to be artisan made. Because this is no longer the case, less and less people will seek the services of a framebuilder to get a reliable bike. Of those that will, the pie will probably be sliced between the experienced builders whose work has stood up over the past few decades, and are known for, dare I use the word, integrity, and those whose work more resembles some of the science projects that have recently been spotted trying to pass as bicycles in todayās unsettled market.
GK: What are your component preferences on your own personal bikes?
RS: All my frames are offered as complete bicycles with Campagnolo components. It has never been any different. Obviously, it is what I use on my own bike. For the record though, I was the head mechanic for the Shimano Corporationās pro teams during the three years in the eighties that it sent teams to the Coorās Classic international race in Colorado. I also made a custom touring bike for the late Keizo Shimano. The purpose of the order in 1979 was for me to build him a bicycle with what I considered the best touring components then available, so that he could use it to come out with similar parts under his own name. The bike had Huret Duopar gears, Phil bottom bracket, T.A. triple, Eclipse racks, etc. A year or two after that, Shimano introduced Deore components as a direct result of that bike.
GK: Aside from framebuilding, what other interests do you have and do you sponsor any local teams?
RS: Though I make frames for a living, and creating a perfect one each time is my stated goal, my first interest remains the sport of bicycle racing. No matter what happens in the product category, how the industry vacillates between different types of bikes, or how little or how much work I have at a given time, I have never been able to shake that racing "thing." I started racing in 1971 on my third tenspeed bike, which was my first custom made W.B. Hurlow frame. After having a couple of adult tenspeeds before it, and being consumed by all the lore and history of the sport, it only seemed natural to gravitate towards a try at "pedaling in anger." My career as a senior was very inconsistent. I am proud to have a cat 2 license, and to have qualified to ride at the nationals four times on the road and twice on the track. I compete in the 35+ racing now, and my last win was the Lake Sunapee road race in New Hampshire. I placed second in the Cup Suroit stage race in Quebec, and the last few years Iāve managed to place about once a month on average, in the races I enter. Itās very hard in the 35+ races!
Though I have always raced, during my earlier years I could count among my clients over two dozen National team riders, men and women, from the USA and Canada. Each and every one a willing and paying customer. I took a lot of pride in this during the seventies, but it is a phenomenon that canāt be repeated... particularly because the USCF has mandated the national team riders must use the "official bike" of the Federation, whatever it happens to be in a given year. This used to grate me, but my attitude has tempered with time. Since 1980 I have always sponsored a regional team consisting of budding cat 1 and 2 Seniors. Through the years there have been a few groups of Juniors, and lately a few groups of Seniors, too, that I have "mandated" must use the official bike of the Richard Sachs Racing Team!!
One personās garbage is another personās treasure÷or something to that effect. Thatās the thought that occurred to me on a recent trip to South America. Since I had the opportunity to combine my work with a little pleasure, I thought I would make an effort to see how they do things (bike-wise) in the foreign countries south of the equator. Rather than say I was disappointed, I came to the realization that folks down there just do things differently; they have different priorities.
First on my stop was Lima, Peru, the only city that is proud to say it competes with Mexico City for the worst smog in all the Americas. None-the-less, having spent a lot of my time in and out of the Lima airport, I gave serious effort to finding what "bicycling" was all about from Limaās point of view. Among the seven million residents, there had to be a few "bicicleta" enthusiasts who I could talk to, some local pro shops I could visit, or perhaps meet the local racing club. "Ride a bike for fun and pleasure, Gringo you must get your head examined!" exclaimed a Lima native with a perplexed look on his face. "Bicicletas solamente para los ninos!" I believe that I was giving my Peruvian hosts the idea that Norte Amercianos were a naive bunch, so I quickly changed the subject to something more professional, more mature.
As I made every attempt to find a pro shop, I found they were all closed. Were they all closed for "siesta"? Maybe, but no matter what time of day I went, 10:00am, 1:30pm, or 6:00pm, every "Bicicleta Tienda" was closed. Camera in hand to snap photos of any exotic bicycles I might find in the south lands, I found myself taking pictures of shops with "cerrado" signs on them. Had I offended somebody? Had somebody warned these shops that a crazy Gringo was coming to harass them? Was it my poor Spanish speaking skills? My natural paranoia getting the better of me, I decided to give up on Lima, but not before I was able to witness a curious sight.
The curious instance I speak of occurred during one of my rides from the airport to downtown Lima as passenger on what the nationals refer to as a "collectivo". A collectivo is what North Americans might call a mini-van except that the drivers of such vehicles are experts at cramming up to twenty (yes, I said twenty) people into it. The sole purpose of these collectivos is to profitably drive from point A to point B, turn around, drive from point B back to point A, and to repeat the process as may times as possible prior to the drawn out end of the mini-busās useful life. Damn anything that gets in the way of the collectivos, or any other motor vehicle, on these daily journeys. Furthermore, it seemed as though there was a law that all motor fuels in Lima must be blended with extract of burning tires, or some other potent generator of noxious fumes. The residents of Lima also have this version of bumper-to-bumper traffic that goes at 35mph rather than the snailās pace we are accustomed to. Stop signs or "Luz Rojo?", Lima residents have never heard of such nonsense. However, this is not what I found curious.
What I really found curious was that amongst this melee Lima calls the daily commute, I actually observed lycra-clad lads trying to ride their late model Colnagos along with the traffic. In bumper-to-bumper vehicles, the collectivo I traveled in passed by them swiftly. So close, I was sure they would be knocked off the road. I looked around to see they were still riding, but another car nearly ran them off the road, and then another! When I last saw them they were behind some large truck sucking down fumes from the extract of burning tires. No wonder, you never see these folks in the World Championships, Olympics or other major races. They just have different priorities.
My hopes were raised slightly while in Quito, Ecuador. While my time there was brief, the traffic was a lot more conducive to biking, and the air had no resemblance to the supposed "wealthier" neighbor to the South. Although by this time I had given up on trying to find pro shops to explore, imagine my elation when I saw a gentleman ride past me on a flashy looking Benotto. I became more elated when I saw him stopping at the park just ahead of me. My elation stopped cold when I was close enough to see the real condition of his bike. What apparently had once been a very nice Campy SR equipped bike, now had something like a "RX-100" STI shifter hooked up to a Shimano "SIS" derailluer÷÷what ever the heck that was. The front break caliper was also changed to what appeared to be a white anodized "Sante" arrangement. As I did my best to politely ask what happened to his original components, I was told in no uncertain terms that his new components were "mucho, mucho mejor!" These South Americans were almost getting me convinced that I was nothing but a naive Gringo.
With a stiff upper lip, and somewhat confused state of mind, I dismissed my search for kindred bicycling spirits of South America and traveled to the Corderilla Blanca Mountains of Peru. Second only to the Himalayas, this range has the worldās next highest concentration of 20,000+ foot peaks. A very good place to forget that there is anything that the rest of the world has to offer, let alone a need for bicycling. So imagine my surprise when I saw a group of mountain bikers seemingly coming from no where, speaking perfectly fluent English and riding the latest multi-suspension radically awesome two-wheeled mountain machines. The group was headed up by Julio Olaza, owner of Mountain Bike Adventures of Huaraz. As far as I know, this is the only local shop renting out such machines to turistos and gringos. Accompanying him, was no less that the Peruvian National Downhill Mountain Bike Team. Very friendly folks who seemed to be having a great time. I guess if there is ever a place to do single tracking, then this is it. Julio invited me to stop by and partake in the adrenaline fix myself. I unfortunately had to pass, as I was pressed for time and was leaving this wonderful area the day after.
I think without a doubt my biggest kick came during one of my walks through the "barrios" of La Paz, Bolivia. If you ever think that you are in good physical shape, this is a good place to rudely dismiss any overstatements you may be harboring. At about 13,000 ft, and more hills than San Francisco would ever want, for me, a walk through the barrios proved more to be like training to climb Mt. Cotopaxi (Ecuador) or Mt. Illimani (Bolivia). Laugh as you may, but there is a lot more truth to this matter than I should admit. During one of these walks, through an area of town that was probably not the safest, I happened to come across two individuals absorbing the afternoon sun. One was leaning on a bike that caught my eye.
Completely out of breath and sweating profusely, I tried to focus more clearly at the brushed-on Sherman-Williams paint job. What was this oddly familiar look the components had? Could it be? I wasnāt sure÷in the middle of an area that no gringo should ever be÷I had to get closer. Out of breath, I approached what turned out to be a rather high-end, very old Olmo.
Upon closer inspection the derailluer proved to be a Campy model that I had never seen before. The pulleys had their teeth worn off, or perhaps they never had any to begin with. Made from aluminum alloy, and all the markings of the pebbly surface from a NR model, the inscription read "Gran Sport". Not the Nuovo Gran Sport from the Ī70s, but some darn graceful looking thing that perhaps only existed in the thin air at 13,000 feet? The derailluer cables were non-existent, effectively making this a fixed gear bike. Still panting from my "walk through the neighborhood", I looked up at the bikeās owner. I figured he either was holding this bike as a prop for some movie, used it solely as a means of downhill escape just in case his neighbors turned on him, or was truly a bicycling animal than could put Miguel to shame in a tour around La Paz. Instead he looked at me with this expression that said, "Normally Gringo, I would cut your throat and steal your money. But you must be some kind of crazy madman with all your panting over what?÷a bike!" As I got still closer, he backed away. Indeed, he was going to have nothing to do with this panting Gringo. With my apparently misplaced enthusiasm and the rest of the afternoon ahead of me, I bid the two gentleman "Buenos Tardes", and went merrily on my out-of-breath way.
As I returned to the U.S., I couldnāt help thinking back on the differences between priorities of the two cultures, especially my very good bicycling friend, nice enough not to assault and rob me. He had a bike with a derailluer that would fetch him the equivalent of two months of his salary if sold in the U.S. Yet he used this bike as daily transportation, meeting his daily needs, totally confused by the wide-eyed enthusiasm of the sweaty Gringo.
Recently I heard the news that people on the U.S. East Coast are selling and buying Campy NR derailluers for $200, and putting them is glass display cases next to the VCR remote. As I hear this, I can not help becoming more convinced that perhaps Norte Americanos are indeed a very naive lot. Where are our priorities? Spending more money on a Campy derailluer than what most of the rest of the world spends in a whole month solely for subsistence? Where are our bikes? Hanging on some wall as we rant about some ethereal Japanese buyers "driving up the price" of our favorite "riding" components? It seems that some people just canāt forget that Japan bashing went out with W.W.II. For some strange reason, when I compare these behaviors with all the shortcomings and uniqueness I saw while in South America, I can not help asking myself: whose priorities, whose wall-hanging bikes, are truly the foreign ones?
Nels Cone lives in Seattle where he is a practicing environmental engineer. In his 7th and 8th grades (1973-1974) Nels worked at Longmont Cyclery (Colorado). Coincidentally Nels has a Campy NR Derailleur for sale in this issue of The Bicycle Trader.
Weāre half way along the outer loop on the Slickrock Trail in Moab, Utah. Our brains are parboiling under the mid-day desert sun and we are hammered. For such a short ride, this true "classic" can be brutal to all of us mere mortal mountain biker types. My buds and I are hanging out trying to muster up the energy to continue on. Of course, we are not letting on to each other that we are hammered, but it is obvious to all. We reload with our PowerBars and sip from our depleted water rations when along comes the "rider without a clue". We all give him half a glance and mutter a polite hello, as most riders (other than posers) are attuned to do along the trail. He pulls up and says in a raspy voice, "Dudes, where does this trail go? Can I get back to the parking lot heading this way?"
This instantly gets our attention. Here we are, on the most famous mountain bike trail in the world and this guy does not have the slightest idea what he has gotten himself into. A closer inspection revealed that this Waldo had no helmet, water bottles, shirt, sunscreen, tools, or most apparent - brain cells. What he did have was a sunburn that allowed him to blend in with the red sandstone like a chameleon and one heck of a thirst. The guy was turning into a prune before our eyes. How he had gotten this far I will never know.
Normally, when finding a rider in distress, we go out of our way to help We might offer directions, a dab of sunscreen, an extra PowerBar, a spare tube, mechanical assistance, first aid, or at least encouragement, but this guy needed everything. We figured he was only entitled to one of the above or else we might be interfering with the Darwinian theory on natural selection, so we gave him the word on the shortest route to the trailhead. We shook our heads in collective amazement as he rattled off down the trail under the watchful eyes of a circling group of buzzards. Suddenly, we didnāt feel quite as hungry, thirsty and tired. For the rest of the ride, the group mantra that kept us going was "at least, we are not the rider without a clue."
So unlike this guy, get a clue and you can become a true backcountry biker. It has been 11 years since I purchased my first mountain bike. In this time, the sport has come a long way and so have I. I was definitely a novice when I first pedaled into the backcountry. Consequently, I wanted to do everything possible to maximize the experience. I was determined not to be a clueless yahoo on wheels.
The first thing I did was read every book available on the subject. The best piece of advice that I gleaned from both of them (yes, there wasnāt much out there then) was to be prepared when heading into the backcountry. The great distances that one can travel on a mountain bike and the potential for injury or failure of oneās body and bike necessitate maintaining a respect for the wilderness and be ready, both physically and mentally, for whatever problems might occur. Included in the preparedness was having the proper tools to handle breakdowns. The basic starter list included pump, patch kit, tire lever, hex wrenches, and a chain tool. It was a great feeling of security to have the tools. However, just having the tools isnāt enough, you must also have the basic know-how to perform basic road side maintenance such as fixing a flat or repairing a broken chain. Equally important in the knowledge category is knowing how to navigate in the backcountry. Even while biking slowly uphill, you can get lost or as we like to say, directionally or locationally impaired. While ripping down a mountain at 30 miles per, you can become extremely lost. While we often joke that "getting lost can be half the fun," staying lost can be a major bummer. Just carrying a map and compass is no guarantee - once again, you must know how to use them. Gearing up for the backcountry is rather quite simple. Below is my basic list of gear for an day in the backcountry. The best piece of advice that I can pass along is to keep an equipment list and a duffel bag in a semi-state of readiness. Come up with your own list, using advice from books, friends and your own experiences. Check it before every trip to make sure you have everything you need. To simplify your pre-trip packing, have your designated mountain bike duffel bag half packed at all times. In it there should be bike shoes, helmet, and most of your other equipment. My theory on packing is to not only bring along gear that you know you will need, but bring everything you might need. When you arrive at the trailhead you can better gauge the weather and then pick and choose from your bag of tricks just what you want to haul along on the dayās ride. I would rather arrive at the trailhead and then decide to leave my Gore-Tex or other cold weather gear in my rig, than head off on the ride wishing Ihad not left them at home.
The bottom line is that if you want to take the sport of mountain biking to its most enlightened state, you must venture into the backcountry. Be prepared, so you can enjoy the unexpected. Also, be ready to get hooked on the pinnacle of the mountain biking experience. See you in thebackcountry. The following list is what I take on a typical all day tour in the Sierra. During the summer, the chances are great that it will be a sunny day, but I am always prepared for possible thunder showers with at least a windbreaker and a Capilene top.
Tools: Tire pump, spare tube, patch kit, tire levers, hex keys, chain tool, chain lube, crescent wrench, rag, tool bag. (Protect your spare tube by wrapping it with your rag.) Fair weather clothing: Bike shorts, t-shirt or tank top, lightweight Thermax or Capilene top, windbreaker, bike gloves, wool socks, bandanna, mountain bike shoes, helmet, neck gaiter, lightweight poly pro gloves.
Full on conditions add: Wool tights, rain pants, Gore-tex jacket, overgloves, wool ear band or balaclava, emergency space blanket or large garbage bag. Accessories: Large fanny pack, water bottles and/or water system (i.e.. Camelback or Ultimate Direction), map, compass, guidebook, food, matches, fire starter, Swiss army knife, sunglasses, toilet paper, sun lotion, lip balm, first aid kit, insect repellent, mini flashlight, camera, film and energy bars such as PowerBars.
Bob Ward is the owner/operator of HareBrain Adventures Mountain Bike Tours. HareBrain has been offering guided backcountry tours in the Tahoe Sierra and on the island of Molokaāi since 1990. He is also the author of several Sierra guide books and a travel guide to Moab and is the editor/publisher of the zine Backcountry Biking. For info on HareBrain Tours, call (800)665-BIKE
There are very few fictional cycling novels. Correct me if Iām wrong, but the handful that come to mind are Breaking Away (which came first, the cheap movie or the book?), The Big Loop by C.H. Bishop, and Ralph Hurneās What Will You Do, Jim and The Yellow Jersey . Interestingly enough, the American and European editions of The Yellow Jersey had different endings. I donāt know what the differences were though, because Iāve never been able to track down an overseas printing of this long out of print collectable book. Now, VeloNews staffer Greg Moody has thrown his pen into the ring with Two Wheels (VeloPress, 1995, ISBN: 1-884737-11-0, 283 pages, $12.95), a novel that recently appeared in VeloNews as an abridged serial.
Two Wheels is the story of Will Ross, a has-been wanna-be American racer who, through the conniving dealings of his ex-wife and her compatriots, is signed to the Haven Pharmaceutical pro squad, replacing the beloved champion Jean-Pierre Colgan who was killed in a toaster explosion. A web of intrigue and back-stabbing is spun by Haven big-wigs, professional assassins, and Willās ex, as Ross is framed for the murder. With a background of cycling classics, the mystery begins - a mystery spotted with Rossā comical dreamtime visits to heaven to receive advice, encouragement and insults from Anquetil and other cycling greats.
I really enjoyed this book. Kind of had the feel of the more educated hard-boiled detective writers of the Ī1950s - only, soft-boiled. No extraneous violence, sex or language. Like Charles Willeford, decaffeinated.
There were some uncomfortable personality irregularities, minor shifts in attitude that were poorly explained, and the Paris-Roubaix ending was predictable, but overall this novel was great and I can only hope weāll see more of its kind from Moody and other authors. The quality of this book will hopefully keep it in print for a long time to come. Iād hate to see it go the way of The Yellow Jersey . Overall rating: 8.
Iām always a bit wary of anything that calls itself "the ultimate." Anyone whoās seen Richardās Ultimate Bicycle Book knows that itās ultimately just a bunch of pretty photos with no real in-depth text. The Ultimate Vegetarian Cookbook my wife and I got a Christmas or two ago is the one we never take from the shelf. Now another new book is taking the "ultimate" title, David B Perryās Bike Cult: The Ultimate Guide to Human-Powered Vehicles (Four Walls Eight Windows, 1995, ISBN: 1-56858-027-4).
Iām tempted to give Bike Cult two very different reviews. One review would be for the average cyclist who doesnāt own a single book on the subject. Despite not lending a single word about collectors, and cyclo-cross only receiving three paragraphs in this whopping 570 page volume, Perry does a fairly good job of making this the comprehensive volume on all aspects of cycling. As with any work of this magnitude, there is no real depth, but a good job is done covering things like the history of the bicycle, from the invention of the wheel to 1994; all sorts of rolling, swimming and flying human-powered vehicles; the energy and power of the human body; cycle sports, transportation, the bike as a political tool; and sections on the public image of cycling, living and loving, and the "bicycle mind."
Bike Cult , with the vast amount of information it contains, along with a good book on bike maintenance, would make an excellent starter set for anyone with a minor interest in the cycling world. For this person I would give it an eight.
And then there would be the other review, the one for the experienced cyclist. If youāve been around bikes for a number of years and have amassed a decent library on the subject, or you at least keep up on the bike mags, youāll have seen all this stuff before. Iād estimate that 95% of the info in Bike Cult wasnāt new to me. And thatās the problem with these compendium-type books, most of them are just retreads of other publications that anyone with the patience for lots of library research and even a little talent for stringing thoughts together can write. There are tons of illustrations but, as many friends were quick to point out, most are reproduced poorly - some so badly one can hardly tell what they are, and very few are captioned or keyed to the text. While Bike Cult has a very nice bibliography and stat section in the appendices that I found really useful, it also has an extensive list of clubs and sport groups that is rendered useless because Perry only lists the club name and hometown - no addresses!
For the long-time and/or well-read cyclist, thereās not much of interest here. Bike Cult is a basic outline of the cycling world that, for the $23.95 price tag, isnāt really worth it, especially for a paperback. For that cyclist Iād give it a four. My overall rating: 6.
After being published in late 1994 by Englandās Springfield Books Limited, Cycling Heroes: The Golden Years (no ISBN listed, $27.95) by Les Woodland has finally made it to America. This hardcover, 143 page book is Woodlandās 11th project and includes chapters on 19 cyclists including, as the title would suggest, Coppi, Anquetil, and Bobet. While there isnāt a chapter on Merckx, heās mentioned throughout the text.
Being British, Woodland is required to include Tom Simpson, Englandās short-lived World Champion. But in a refreshing mood, the author sheds some light on Simpsonās less than grand attitude toward the sport and his nearly fiendish drug consumption that played a major role in his death during the 1967 Tour de France.
The most interesting aspect of this charming book, however, is the chapters on some of the lesser known heroes of the past decades. He tells of Shay Elliotās suicide, and Brian Robinson, one of Englandās earliest Continental racers. One of the greatest female racers, Beryl Burton, is included, along with the authorās antiquated view that female athletes are usually "waiflike" or "big and butch."
In chapter eight, Graham Webb tells of his youthful ignorance of the game:
I met someone in a racing club, the Solihull. So I went to this club - I was 16 - and there were a hundred blokes milling around in this hall and I just stood there watching them. Nobody knew me and I didnāt know them. This went on for a few weeks, but no one spoke to me and I was very shy.
Mick Shakespeare came up one night and he said "are you riding the club 25?" I said "whatās that?" He told me and I said "yeah, all right, what do I have to do?"
Iād got a tee-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans and some tennis pumps. I was watching them get into this racing gear, and eventually I got fed up with all these blokes changing and I thought "whenās this race going to start?" It should have started at six oāclock and these blokes were still getting changed. I didnāt know it was every minute a bloke off.
So I thought bugger this and I rode up to the start. The timekeeper said "youāre too late, youāll have to wait."
Well, they pushed me off and I was ten minutes late starting and I thought I had to catch all the blokes in front of me to win the race. I changed into top gear right away on this old Hercules Harlequin and I knocked my pump off the down tube and I had to wait for the cars to come past, then turn around and pick my pump up.
I quickly caught someone and waited for him. And he was telling me "clear off, clear off" - very unsociable, I thought. I rode on, went around the turn in the road, came back, and the chain jumped off between the block and the frame. So I had to get off the bike, and Iād got a whole tool kit with me, spanner, oil can, cloth for cleaning my hands and so on, and this was wrapped round my seat tube with a spare inner tube. I had to undo the back wheel, put the chain on, do up the wheel nuts, put everything behind the seat tube and carry on.
Well, I got to the finish line and I looked around... "āell, what happens now?" So I cleared off and went home.
Anyway, Thursday night, back to the clubhouse and the same thing, just sitting in the corner looking at all these people, and one of these chaps, Graham Kelly, he came over and said "is your name Graham Webb?"
He said... "that time-trial on Sunday, you had the fastest time." I went as red as a beetroot. Iād done 1 - 1 - 31 and if Iād started on time and not had any trouble, Iād have broken the hour on this old bike, maybe. So in the Solihull I was famous from that day on and everybody wanted to talk to me.
In Cycling Heroes pages, Charley Gaul tears down mountains and Joop Zoetemelk rides against three generations of champions, Merckx, Hinault, and LeMond. You get to ride along side the like of Barry Hoban, Raymond "Pou-Pou" Poulidor, and Federico Bahamontes.
Woodland has a quirky style of writing, it almost reads like a translation - at times disjointed or confusing, and he tends to get way off track - but I like it. I like it a lot. The pages are full of exciting race accounts, the exaltations of champions, the down sides of race fixing and drug use, and personal anecdotes that are very hard to come by. While each chapter is headed out by a photo, there is also a 16 page center section of color and black and white photos. The only thing I didnāt like about Cycling Heroes was merely technical - the font. The typeface is really large, like a coffee table book trying to pump up a hundred pages into something more weighty. Overall rating: 9
Different Priorities, Different Bikes
by Nels Cones
Gearing up for the Backcountry
by Bob Bryant
WORDS on WHEELS
Book reviews by Gabe Konrad. Based on the good 'ol "1 - 10" system, one being horrible, ten wonderful. If you'd like your book reviewed, contact The Bicycle Trader.
