Jobst Brandt: Loss of an Icon

Jobst Brandt, a tremendously influential person to the cycling world, died this week, on Tuesday, May 5th, at the age of 80.

A mechanical engineer with impressive credentials (Porsche, Hewlett Packard, Stanford Linear Accelerator), he was something of an outsider to the bicycling industry, which allowed him to speak freely about tech issues and other problems he observed. He could be very outspoken. But he did contribute to the industry in numerous ways, and particularly through his work with Avocet, where he helped to develop their "slick" tread tires (they were dubbed Fasgrip, and they were good) as well as their cycling computer (the first, last, and only computer I ever used on a bike).

Probably one of the most famous images of Jobst Brandt. It appeared in ads in all 
the bike magazines in the '80s for Avocet's slick tires, which he had helped to develop.

To cyclists on the West Coast, the rides he led around the Bay Area -- known as "Jobst Rides"-- were legendary. Usually 100 miles or more, and covering all kinds of terrain, the rides left many seasoned riders struggling and gasping. Reportedly he thought nothing of going down steep, rocky trails on his huge 27-in. road bike (the guy was 6' 6") with road tires, and few could keep up. He was also known for his regular tours of the Alps, which were typically well-documented in ride reports with plenty of breathtaking photos. (see HERE)

This oft-published photo of Jobst on the Gavia
Pass was turned into a poster sold through
Palo Alto Bicycles.

Many other cyclists around the country and around the world got to feel as though they knew Jobst, even if they never met him, through his writing and his frequent contributions to the once-thriving Usenet group rec.bicycles.tech. I was one of those who never met Jobst, at least not in person, but I did have occasional email conversations with him on tech issues, and I was always amazed at how quickly and thoroughly he responded to my messages and questions, despite what I'm sure was a very busy schedule. I really wish I could have have gotten his take on the Campagnolo Ultra-Torque issue (or non-issue, depending on whom you believe) that I wrote about recently, but I have a feeling he'd have seen a shortcoming in that design. Many of Jobst's old posts to the Usenet are archived and can be found HERE or HERE.

Jobst had a rare quality (I believe) as a mechanical engineer in that he not only had an incredible understanding of engineering and mechanical principles, but he also had an uncanny ability to explain them clearly to non-engineers with his commanding use of the English language. It's a testament to his writing ability that one of his jobs for Porsche was to translate their technical manuals into English -- a job he practically created himself because he was dissatisfied with the manuals as they were.

Another testament to his ability to put his engineering knowledge into clear instruction is his book The Bicycle Wheel, which many consider to be the Bible of the subject. Although one could use the book simply as a reference guide for building a wheel, it is actually much more. I've read the book cover-to-cover (twice) and won't build a wheel without reviewing it.

I don't know if it would be appropriate to call Jobst Brandt a retrogrouch (though I'm certain people did), and I don't know how he would have felt to be labeled as such. But I do know that many a self-proclaimed retrogrouch felt a kinship with him, and interpreted his views as testament to the cause. For one thing, like a good engineer, he took a conservative approach to new technology, was fiercely dismissive of marketing hyperbole, and generally favored designs that were simple, proven, and cost-effective.

Right after learning about his death, I pulled out an interview Jobst gave with Grant Petersen for the Rivendell Reader (RR-6). In it, he talked about such topics as . . .

Mountain bikes:

"Most of the MTB's I see are not ridden anywhere where they have an advantage. Tourists who never ride in mud ride thousands of miles on knobby tires and in a riding position that is inefficient for road riding."

Road bikes:

"It is the poseurs who have seriously damaged the road bike, with their attention to unobtanium, 27-speed gearing and disc wheels, none of which has anything to do with bicycle riding."

Tight geometry and ultra-short wheelbases:

"Excuses such as 'quick steering' and 'responsive' are used to cover the quirky handling of these bicycles."

Shifting gears:

"I use down tube shifters (seldom) and use a 6-speed freewheel because 5-speeds are dead. . . I'm not preoccupied with always being in the right gear or following some unwritten precepts on cadence and the like. I ride a gear that's about right and leave it at that. . . The range of gears hasn't changed much in the last 50 years, only the number of gears in that range. I don't believe they are useful, necessary, or any good for the design of the rear wheel. Five or six is plenty, nine is gratuitous hardware and multiple redundancy."

He sometimes ruffled feathers. He sometimes left people stinging when they made claims they couldn't support with facts and evidence. "He didn't suffer fools" was something I've heard many people say.

Three of the Retrogrouch's icons. (left to right) Sheldon Brown,
Grant Petersen, and Jobst Brandt in 2006. (photo from Sheldon Brown's site)

Back in January 2011 (I've read that it was on his 76th birthday), Jobst Brandt was injured in a bicycle crash that, combined with other issues, left him debilitated. It isn't clear what happened, but it appeared to have been a single-bicycle accident. Though some helmet proselytizers would have wanted to use the accident as more evidence supporting helmet use, Brandt, who was well known not to wear one and an outspoken critic against the near-religious fervor that surrounds them, would certainly have chafed at that. Reportedly, it was a stroke he suffered while in the hospital, rather than the crash, that left him unable to write any more. It seemed like such a loss then, made all the more permanent and real now.

Between Sheldon Brown in 2008, and now Jobst Brandt, I feel like I've lost two of my icons.

Modern Bike Problems: Campagnolo Ultra-Torque

Pedal, kerChunk, pedal, kerChunk, pedal, kerChunk.

I could feel and hear the "kerChunk" with each revolution -- every time the pedal rounded the 6 o'clock position. It was a little disconcerting, but I knew exactly what was happening. The curse of Ultra-Torque. I've spent lots of time talking about the problems associated with press-fit bottom brackets, I thought today I'd share another bottom bracket issue, but this time, one which even crops up on threaded systems.

The Ultra-Torque crank spindle is comprised of two half-shafts
that are joined together in the middle with a Hirth joint.

Back around 2006 or so, Campagnolo introduced its answer to Shimano's Hollowtech II BB with outboard bearings - which they dubbed the Ultra-Torque system. Comprised of two half-shafts that join together in the middle with a very cool Hirth joint and a single large-diameter bolt, the system consists of some impressive engineering. Hirth joints require complex machining to manufacture, but they are very strong and are used in things like aircraft engine shafts and turbines. Great -- so what's the problem? In those other high-tech applications, the manufacturing tolerances are much better and more controllable than they are in the bicycle industry. In this application, however, Campagnolo can make its cranks to very tight tolerances, but unfortunately they cannot control the tolerances of the bicycle frames into which they will be installed. That in itself is one of the reasons that press-fit BB systems have been so problematic. Even with threaded bottom brackets, there can be certain variables which can affect fit, but most traditional systems have a means to compensate or adjust for those variables effectively.

Here's the non-drive half shaft. It's really a beautifully machined
 piece of equipment, but there may be a problem in the application.

In frames with threaded bottom brackets, the bore of the shell and its threading can be tightly controlled to industry standards. However, the exact width of that shell can vary ever so slightly. A standard British/ISO bottom bracket shell should measure 68 mm wide, or 70 mm for an Italian threaded frame, and the faces of that shell should ideally be perfectly parallel. In reality, the width of those shells could vary by a millimeter or more, or by minute fractions of a millimeter. Even in steel frames with investment cast bottom brackets, there can be a slight variation. And it's not always due to a flaw in the manufacturing necessarily. A BB shell that starts off at the proper spec will be narrowed slightly if a facing tool is applied. But in most cases -- in practice -- that tiny difference in width is not a problem. That's why most traditional threaded bottom brackets have at least one adjustable cup. Phil Wood's excellent cartridge BBs have two adjustable cups, and work perfectly well even if the shell faces are not perfectly parallel. Even with Shimano's Hollowtech system, there is a means for adjusting for those tiny variations in width. But the Ultra-Torque has a rigidly defined shaft width with no effective means for adjustment on frames that might not have such exact tolerances.

Joined together, the two halves of the Hirth joint look like this,
held together in the middle with a large diameter bolt.

So, how does the system accommodate tiny variations in frame shell width? By use of a "wave washer."

To accommodate slight variations in BB shell width, the
Ultra-Torque system uses this "wave washer." It is less than
ideal for the task. (photo from Park Tool)

I suppose that washer is supposed to act almost like a spring to keep the system under proper load laterally. In practice, it doesn't seem to be up to the task. When installed into most frames, even those conforming to Campagnolo's defined specifications (their installation instructions listed an acceptable range from 67.2 mm to 68.8 mm for British/ISO frames), one can physically move the crank laterally in the frame. When pedaling, sometimes this movement can present itself, resulting in a "knock" or that kerChunk that I described earlier. Apparently, Campagnolo's engineers say that this lateral movement is not a problem and that it should not present itself when pedaling. Many rabid Campagnolo fans echo that sentiment, and deny there is any issue. "It's Campagnolo," they'll say -- "how could there possibly be anything wrong?" Some will point to the strength of the Hirth joint, and hail it for its high-tech turbine applications, which is actually irrelevant to this issue. It would be hard to find anybody who is a bigger Campy fan than I am, but realistically, I think there is an engineering problem here.

The issue was first brought to light in 2008 by John Satory, the bicycle mechanic and blogger known as "RogueMechanic." This guy has been on a one-man crusade about the Ultra-Torque issue, has had several conflicts with Campagnolo over it, and has even received hate mail about it.

The thing is, it's quite possible that some people would never notice a problem when riding. If a frame's actual width measures at the wider end of the acceptable specifications, it's possible that the lateral movement would be negated. Maybe some people have such unbelievably smooth pedal strokes that it never presents itself on the road. It's also possible that some people aren't as sensitive to the knocking and therefore don't notice it. Or perhaps some notice it, but don't know to what to attribute it (I've seen where people have attributed the problem to bad bearings, pedals, shoes/cleats, and more).

I installed the Ultra-Torque crank and bottom bracket onto one of my bikes some time back. I was impressed by the engineering, and what seemed to be an unbelievably simple installation (no bearing adjustment whatsoever). After a couple thousand miles, I started to detect that kerChunk. I asked a local mechanic about it, and learned that Campy was aware that some people might have that issue (though apparently, they still consider it a non-issue) and suggested using a second wave washer to solve it. We tried that, and it seemed to settle the problem. I could still produce the lateral movement of the crank when the bike was on the stand, but it did not seem to present itself when riding -- for a while, that is. A couple more thousand miles, and I started to notice it again. Faintly at first. Gradually, it got worse. Pedal, kerChunk, pedal, kerChunk.

The Ultra-Torque shim kit, from RogueMechanic.

Researching it online, I discovered the RogueMechanic site and figured out the reason for what I was sensing. Luckily, Satory had come up with a good, solid solution to the problem. Get rid of the wave washer, and instead use shims to properly space the bearing cups to eliminate the lateral play. He has had shim kits made that he will install for his clients, or which he sells online for home mechanics. The shim kit consists of 2 shims each in 1.0 mm, 0.5 mm, 0.2 mm, and 0.1 mm.  I purchased the shim kit for $45 and watched his video instructions on how to best install them. I'm glad I watched the video, as there is a definite system to determining the best combination of shims that would eliminate any lateral play, but at the same time, did not cause any binding. Installing the shims wasn't difficult, but it was time consuming, and I'll add that having a pair of digital calipers is really helpful. Even with the calipers, there is still a fair amount of "trial and error" to determining the best number and combination of shims. Ultimately, I ended up using about 1.2 mm worth of spacers to eliminate play, which is just a shade (not a technical term) thicker than the pair of wave washers that I removed from the setup. Since the operation, out on the road, the crank feels like it should, with no knocking. No clicking. No kerChunks. We'll see how it holds up over time, but I have to say that RogueMechanic's assessment of the problem seems spot on to me, and I'm convinced the solution is correct as well.

It's a little tough to see, but that's the left-side Ultra-Torque
cup with about 1.2 mm of shims.

It's worth pointing out that press-fit bottom brackets aren't the only ones that present problems that shouldn't be problems, though it's also notable that Shimano's Hollowtech BB system has more adjustment designed into it. But luckily, with the threaded frame and cups, it seems to me that fixing the problem is at least fairly straightforward. I can also say that I'm glad I don't have the press-fit version of the Ultra-Torque. Perhaps one could still make adjustments for width using shims, but I can only imagine that press-fit would only compound the issues. Still, when I think about the fact that I've got a Phil Wood bottom bracket on my Rivendell with about 15 years and I-don't-even-know-how-many miles on it (still feels as slick as butter), could somebody remind me exactly what was wrong with a good old fashioned square-taper bottom bracket?

Cool Vintage Bits: Specialites TA Pocket Flasks

That's the model #150 on the left, and the #300 on the right.
The numbers tell how much they hold in ml.

While looking through a bin of vintage bike stuff in my basement, I came upon these two fun little flasks. Made by Specialites T.A. in France, I've sometimes heard of these things referred to as "bonk bottles." They were available in two sizes, fit into a jersey pocket, and were stoppered with corks. I don't know when they started making them, but I do know they were listed in catalogs at least into the early 1980s. The bottles are made with a T.A. chainring logo molded into the side.

The bottles don't hold much liquid. The larger is listed at 30 cl (centiliters) or 300 ml -- which is only 10 oz. The smaller bottle holds half that much. That being the case, they wouldn't serve much purpose as regular water bottles, which is, I believe, where the "bonk bottle" name comes into play.

An old catalog image. I've never
actually seen one with that exact
logo on it, though.

The way I've heard it, riders would mix various concoctions to put into the little flasks -- recipes designed to give a little boost during a long ride, fight the bonk, and relieve fatigue. At the most benign, it would probably be some kind of glucose and/or electrolyte boost. One such recipe I've read about (though I cannot remember where) involved about a half a can of Coca-Cola and a couple of crushed up aspirin dissolved into it. A less benign variation might have also included some kind of amphetamine added to the mix. That would not be recommended for a long hot ride up Mont Ventoux, by the way (actually, I wouldn't recommend amphetamine use under any circumstances).

Nowadays, lots of people use glucose supplements and the like for long rides. If it weren't for the fact that many of those boost products come pre-packaged in little disposable packets, I'd think that mini-flasks such as these should be quite popular. In fact, I've sometimes seen long-distance runners using "marathon belts" -- like utility belts that would hold a couple little flasks that are almost like a modern version of these bonk bottles. They'll mix up their GU (yeah, that's one of the brands) with some water and keep the little bottles in the utility belt. Doesn't quite have the vintage style factor going for it like these old TA flasks have, though.

This little guy easily fits into a jersey pocket.

I recall that I had three of these at one point, though I don't remember how I came to possess that many. But I'm pretty sure that I gave one of them away as a Christmas gift to the mechanic at my local bike shop who always gave my projects a bit of special attention. Like me, he was a noted fan of vintage bikes and gear. Always be good to your mechanics. A six-pack of some good craft brew was generally welcome, too. I never had to wait for repairs when he was there.

I've never actually used the bottles, but I hang on to them for much the same reason that I hang on to things like old leather helmets. Just an interesting bit of vintage cycling ephemera -- a display item, or a conversation piece. Maybe one of these days, I'll get to take part in one of those Eroica rides on one of my vintage Mercians, wearing a classic wool jersey and leather helmet (hmm. . . maybe not the helmet), and one of these little flasks tucked in a jersey pocket. No amphetamines in my recipe, though.

Video: Campagnolo Revolution

I saw this little promotional video from Campagnolo a couple days ago that really caught my eye: The Revolution Continues. The concept is cool, the music is energetic, it has some intriguing camerawork, and it features some really awesome vintage bikes. As commercials go, it's almost more like a short movie.

The concept of the video is that we see a rider on a Campy-equipped bike riding through gorgeous Italian countryside -- as well as through time itself. His bike, his Campy components, and his clothing keep changing, or evolving, as he rides.

The rider starts out on a 1940s-era Bianchi with Cambio Corsa shifting. You get a nice drive side view of the bike and the shifting system -- though you don't actually see the rider shift gears with it, which I think would have been a great touch.

Close-up of the twin levers of the Cambio Corsa, identified as being from 1946.

The rider, with his Bianchi wool jersey and a spare tire wrapped around his shoulders, passes the mysterious gentleman leaning against a car, reading a newspaper. . .

Who is this mystery man?

The rider stops to fill a waterbottle. . .

And when he comes back, he discovers his bike has changed. What are these levers on my downtube?

It's now 1951, and the bike is another Bianchi, this time with a Gran Sport parallelogram derailleur -- the granddaddy of Campy's derailleur designs for the next 35 years or so.

One of those unusual camera shots.

Stopping by woods for a "natural break."

The mystery man appears . . . 

. . . and leaves a calling card of sorts. By the way, that must be a really early version of the Campagnolo cone wrench. I've got several, some which might be as old as 1970s, but none looks quite like this one.

The rider comes back to his bike and finds it replaced by a Colnago with the full Campy. . .

. . . And a new jersey. 

I have to question the video's dates at this point. The video says Gruppo Record 1963. It's true that Record was introduced in '63 -- but this really looks like Nuovo Record, which was introduced in '67 (with modified chainrings on the crank). I'm thinking that the Colnago is more like '70s, or even '80s vintage, as well.

There's the tell. Campagnolo completed their gruppo with the addition of brakes in 1968. But this is a short-reach Super Record brake with other details (script logo, domed quick-release lever) that say early '80s. Oh well.

Another water stop, and the rider transforms with a really bad mustache (in what era would that have been stylish? Maybe in Italy?) and a new jersey . . .

. . . While the bike transforms into a Super Record-equipped Atala. Super Record was introduced in the '70s, so I'm not sure why they chose to highlight 1983. But it's a good period choice.

The rider continues on in his Atala team kit and bike -- still being watched by the mystery man.

. . . Who is now following in a VW Microbus.

The rider transforms again into lycra kit, on a bike that looks like a pretty generic aluminum and carbon-fiber machine. At this point, the Retrogrouch stops being interested in the bikes.

On the close-up, we see 10-speed Super Record. Still don't know what the bike is -- don't really care, either.

I can't identify the team jersey at this point -- but I really think it says "Gran Fondo." He rides into a tunnel, and when he reemerges back into the light . . .

. . . His bike is transformed into a carbon fiber Trek with 11-speed Super Record. Odd, because I'm not aware of Trek offering bikes with Campagnolo (I could be wrong).

At the top of the climb, we see the mystery man, surrounded by Campagnolo support people. I still don't know who the mystery man is -- I know he isn't Valentino Campagnolo. Maybe he just represents a visual personification of the Campagnolo name, identity, or "presence" -- like some kind of visual metaphor? 

They present the rider with a new bike. A pretty generic-looking carbon fiber frame, loaded up with the latest Campy Super Record parts.

I still think that's a really ugly crank.

The rider at this point pulls on a Europcar team jersey -- and actually changes into a completely different person -- I presume a member of the team. I'm having to declare ignorance here, as I don't know who it is. The only Europcar rider I would recognize is Thomas Voeckler, and this ain't him. Also, I find it odd that it focuses on Europcar, since last I heard, they were denied their WorldTour license for 2015. 

A few odd choices, and maybe some questionable dates, but the overall effect was kind of fun to watch. You can watch the complete video, which is linked here to YouTube:

Enjoy!

Who Needs a Power Meter?

Who needs a power meter?

You do, of course.

Or at least, that's what some people would like you to think. You can't pick up a bicycle magazine, or click on a bike industry cheerleading blog without reading about the latest power meter that's "guaranteed" to take your cycling up to a "new level." If you aren't measuring your watts you're just pedaling around, and what's the point of that?

Crank based, pedal mounted, or hub-based -- power meters come
in all shapes, sizes, and styles. Why limit yourself to just one?

I know that a lot of pros out there are measuring their power output, though I have no doubt that even among their ranks there are at least a few who see it as a waste of time and probably do it only to fulfill some clause in their contract. But the pros do it, so you should too. For a lot of riders out there, that's all they need to know. So they plunk down maybe another $1000 on another electronic gadget that will spit numbers at them -- numbers they can track on computer programs and combine with all the other numbers they get from their heart-rate monitors, and speed and cadence sensors -- numbers that should, if anything, just remind them that they are not professional cyclists, which is of course exactly why they don't need a power meter. What they need is to get a grip on reality.

Maybe they spend so much time watching their performance numbers that they forget to look at the numbers in their credit card statements?

You can never have too much data.

The funny thing, though, is that to the performance addicts for whom this stuff seems important, $1000 is a "bargain" for a tool that they believe will give them an edge, no matter how small and meaningless. If they're a mid-pack-finishing Cat. 4 racer, they're still going to be a mid-pack-finishing Cat. 4. Measuring increasingly intricate data won't change that. Or if they're really successful they might temporarily bump somebody out of a Strava ranking. Temporarily.

Searching around various bike blogs, I've found examples of performance addicts for whom having just one power meter wasn't enough. For something as important as measuring watts, you can't necessarily trust one type of meter to give you the most complete performance picture. You need meters of different types so you can compare the results. Get the numbers from the crank, then compare them with the numbers measured at the hub. Crunch the numbers through a computer program. Add in heart rate and everything else, and guess what? You're still an amateur, but an amateur with a lot less money.

I liked this quote from one of the blogs, Why You Need A Power Meter: "So why should you get a power meter? The short answer is that you simply are more likely to achieve your race goals by training -- and racing-- with a power meter than without. It is the most affective (sic) tool you can get to go faster on a bike."

In fact, that blogger would recommend a power meter over "fast wheels" -- "every time." "When it comes to speed the engine is always the most important part. A power meter will help you develop a bigger one. With sleek wheels you still have a small engine."

Except that for the performance addicts, it's not a question of one or the other. It's both -- or all of the above. It's the $1000 power meter and the $3000 wheels. The $6000(+) bike. It's the heart-rate monitor. The computer programs. The off-season stationary trainer. The dietary supplements. Oh, the humanity.

Ultimately, with all this data -- the obsession with numbers and incrementally miniscule (and meaningless) performance gains -- a bicycle just becomes a really expensive training device, and gets farther and farther away from what makes a bicycle great.

My advice? Forget about watts. Unplug and just enjoy the ride.

Death Knell for Rim Brakes?

The UCI, the organization which regulates professional bicycle racing, has finally "embraced" disc brakes on racing bikes -- which just might be the beginning of the end for rim brakes. It probably won't happen overnight, but now that the pros are switching over, the industry marketing machine will go into overdrive to make sure everyone makes the switch.

The UCI decision will introduce disc-brakes on a trial basis later this year as "all teams will have the opportunity to use bikes with disc brakes at two events of their choice during August and September." The testing period will continue through the 2016 racing season, and then the brakes will be introduced officially in 2017. According to the UCI announcement, "The aim is to eventually introduce disc brakes to all levels of road cycling."

Like I said, it's only a matter of time.

What I find hard to swallow in all the discussions about disc brakes, road bikes, and racing, are all the various claims being made. Take this claim from UCI President Brian Cookson: "This step is part of the UCI's desire to encourage innovation in order to ensure cycling is even more attractive for spectators, riders, bike users and broadcasters."

How exactly does this make cycling "more attractive" for spectators, or bike users? Does anybody watch bike racing and find themselves wishing that the bikes had disc brakes? Are there people out there who think, "I'd love to watch bike racing, but not until they start using disc brakes"?

As for "bike users," they've been able to get bikes with disc brakes for years now. Other than providing some kind of meaningless "validation" to their braking choice, what difference does it make if the pros used them or not?

The benefit for broadcasters is obvious. Everyone will "need" a new bike, which means more ads for the "new" and "superior" disc brakes, and the bikes equipped with them.

Of course, nobody benefits from the decision more than the makers of bikes and components. And the World Federation of the Sporting Goods Industry (WFSGI) was on hand when the UCI announcement was made earlier this month. "This decision will further develop innovation and create new possibilities for the bicycle industry as well as additional performance for the riders."

Look at some of those claims. Additional performance for the riders. Really? Apart from anecdotal evidence, I have yet to see anything that convinces me that disc brakes are remarkably better than rim brakes (which, functionally speaking, are disc brakes too). Performance in the rain is somewhat better. And one can apparently reach maximum braking with less lever effort. But the lever effort on modern rim brakes is pretty light, and the modulation is great. If the only experience one has with rim brakes is of the crummy old stamped steel calipers on steel rims of old low-budget bikes, then discs would have to look pretty amazing. Modern brakes, even some of the cheaper ones, work remarkably well. The only downsides to them are that they're light, simple, and effective.

There are other drawbacks to discs that don't get mentioned much. The components are downsized so much in an effort to reduce the weight, that overheating becomes an issue. People sometimes talk about rim brakes getting so hot on a long descent that tires could burst. That is true, but with hydraulic systems, the same scenario can result in the brake fluid boiling, leaving the user with no brakes at all. Too much heat can also warp the discs. It happens on cars with their massively thick vented brake rotors -- how can anyone argue that it doesn't happen on bikes with their tiny 1/8" (or less) thick discs?

Another issue, one that barely gets mentioned, is that disc brakes put tremendous forces on a fork at the ends where the fork is weakest, instead of near the crown where it is strongest. What this means is that the fork needs to be "beefed up" for disc brakes, making it less flexible, which in turn affects the comfort of a bike.

In the debates over disc brakes in pro racing, a claim I have heard more than a few times dealt with the danger over mixing disc and rim brakes in the same peloton. People would say that if some riders used discs while other used rim brakes, it would lead to a dangerous situation in the mountains and in the rain. Any time I've seen independent tests of brake performance, there is so little difference between rim and disc brakes that I'm convinced the concern is overblown. It makes good marketing, though.

The real issue with rim brakes in pro racing is not the brakes, but the rims. So many racers are switching (or have switched) over to carbon rims instead of aluminum -- and the braking on those, especially in the wet, is known to be lousy. It's no secret, considering that the carbon rim makers tout their best rims as having braking performance that rivals that of aluminum. That right there is probably the biggest reason for the push to disc brakes.

For most people, and in most conditions, it makes little difference.

If I were buying a new bike and it came with disc brakes, it wouldn't be a deal-killer. But nobody should get the idea that rim brakes are inferior, or necessarily obsolete. Given the simplicity of rim brakes, their solid reliability, and the versatility of having widespread brake-pad compatibility, I see no reason to make a switch. How much longer will I have the choice?

Totally Legit 100% Guaranteed Zero-Creak Bottom Bracket

Much has been written, and many curses uttered, about creaking press-fit bottom brackets on expensive state-of-the-art bicycles. Here on this blog, I take an almost perverse glee in the problem. Just last month I wrote about a couple of new entries to the bottom bracket market that were supposed to silence the issue -- the BBInfinite, and the Enduro TorqTite.

Now there's another new solution that has its makers so bold and so certain of success that they promise it to be 100% Guaranteed Zero-Creak, and it comes from a company called . . . (wait for it) . . . Legit Engineering. What seems somewhat less than "legit," however, is the fact that it's impossible to find a website or any other info about the Taiwanese company. In fact, it might just be impossible to purchase one here in the U.S.

Nevertheless, Legit has a solution, and other writers are calling it "ingenious."

What's so ingenious about it?

It's a threaded bottom bracket that fits into a press-fit shell. The two halves thread together in the middle, while the flanges tightly sandwich the frame between themselves, locking it together to eliminate creak-causing movement.

Actually, the Enduro TorqTite is also a threaded bottom bracket solution -- but the Legit unit also incorporates compressible nylon rings at the flanges that are supposed to make up for any possible variables between the BB unit and the frame, and serve as a buffer to further silence the problem.

I find it hilarious that the solution for these problematic press-fit bottom brackets is to install threaded bottom brackets -- even as the industry keeps telling people that their mind-boggling myriad of press-fit BBs are so much better than the old-tech.

What's next?

My prediction:

The next and final solution to press-fit bottom bracket woes will be a fully threaded bottom bracket unit that is tightened into matching threads cut into the frame's BB shell. Carbon frames will have an aluminum shell bonded into place, with precisely machined faces, with threads cut into it. The industry will declare it "revolutionary" and treat it like something brand new. Somebody will come up with a catchy new name for it. ThreadTech™  or something similar.

Not only that, but aftermarket companies will offer products to properly and permanently convert current press-fit BB frames to the new threaded system (and I should probably patent it right now, and I'll be able to retire early)

Here's how it will work:

A machined and internally-threaded aluminum sleeve is pressed into the bottom bracket shell with a headset press. Instead of loctite, it will be coated in permanent "aerospace bonding adhesive." Don't worry about removing it later -- why would you want to remove it? It's a permanent fix. Once the threaded sleeve is bonded in place, a proper threaded bottom bracket (sorry, ThreadTech™) can be installed. It's just like what should have been done right from the start.

Now that's legit.