Classic Equipment: Silca Pumps

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?

Bicycles Aren't Fast

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.

Bike Boom Bargains

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.

The American Bike Boom - 1970s

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.

Slaying the Badger

"Strange thing about cycling," said sports journalist Samuel Abt, who covered many a bicycle race over the years, is "that it's an individual sport practiced by teams." Though sometimes puzzling to many Americans raised on stick and ball sports, when there is a clear leader and a good team of domestiques for support, the strange hierarchy generally works. But when there is a struggle for that leadership, as happened between Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault at the 1986 Tour de France, it can rip a team apart. On the other hand, it can also make for good drama. And that is the focus of the documentary Slaying the Badger, directed by John Dower and based on the book of the same title by Richard Moore.

The documentary, which was produced by ESPN Films, aired on ESPN on July 22nd -- though I'd be shocked if they didn't re-run it at some point. If not, I know it can be downloaded from iTunes, and it may be worth looking for it on one of the other video services like YouTube, or Netflix.

The film tells the story of the relationship and rivalry of LeMond and Hinault through archive photos and race footage, and "looking-back" interviews with some of the key players in the story -- including LeMond with his wife Kathy, Bernard Hinault, La Vie Claire team director Paul Koechli, journalists Samuel Abt and Phil Liggett, and former teammate Andy Hampsten.

The film starts out looking at the early days of the LeMond/Hinault relationship -- with LeMond as a young racer, attracting the attention of the French legend Hinault and his then manager Cyrille Guimard. After hearing about the rising young star American, they travelled to LeMond's home in Nevada to lay the groundwork for signing LeMond to one of the best cycling squads in Europe at the time. In many ways, Hinault was not only LeMond's mentor but a friend. Several of those interviewed for the film describe the relationship as brotherly. Anyone with brothers knows that those relationships can sometimes be the most competitive.

When Hinault fell out with Guimard, he formed a new team, La Vie Claire, with backing by entrepeneur Bernard Tapie, and team director Koechli. Hinault and Tapie offered LeMond a $1 million contract (over 3 years) to join the team and help Hinault win his 5th Tour de France in 1985. It was during that Tour that the seeds of discord were first sown.

Even though the story of the '85 Tour is one any long-time cyclists and bike racing fans already know, the film keeps it compelling to watch as the events unfold, and hearing it through the recollections of those involved. With Hinault as the undisputed team leader and LeMond playing the role of the top domestique, the normal team hierarchy suddenly got turned on its head in stage 14 when Hinault suffered a terrible crash practically within sight of the finish line, breaking his nose and eventually crossing the line with his entire face covered in blood. In the next big mountain stage, on the Col du Tourmalet, Hinault suffered and was in danger of being dropped by the peloton while LeMond was far ahead with a breakaway. With several minutes between himself and Hinault, LeMond was not only in a good position to possibly win the stage, but also to assume leadership of the Tour. When the team car pulled up next to LeMond, Koechli reportedly demanded that the American slow down. Although Koechli seems to remember the events somewhat differently, LeMond insists that he was ordered to wait for Hinault, whom he was told was less than a minute behind. In reality, Hinault was more like 4 minutes behind. LeMond had basically sacrificed his own chance to win for his team leader -- his mentor -- his "brother." For his part, Hinault obviously recognized the sacrifice and promised that he would ride for LeMond in '86.

The story then moves ahead to 1986, where the film shifts back and forth between different versions of events -- from the LeMonds, to Hinault, to Koechli, and Hampsten. With Hinault now a 5-time TdF champion, the Badger (as he was known) seemed to realize he had the opportunity to become the first 6-time winner, promises or no promises. Though Hinault doesn't deny pledging to help LeMond in '86 (and archival interviews make it indisputable) he started dropping hints that he might be looking for some loopholes in that promise. With repeated attacks on the peloton and on teammate LeMond, Hinault took the leader's Yellow Jersey and appeared for all the world to be a man bent on winning the Tour. "In a way he couldn't help himself," says Samuel Abt in the film. "Kinda' makes him sound like a serial killer."

Whether he was attacking LeMond, or, as Hinault would describe it, trying to "toughen" him, the struggle for leadership of the Tour split the loyalties of the La Vie Claire team, and to an extent, the entire peloton. Apart from Hampsten and Canadian teammate Steve Bauer, the La Vie Claire team put its support behind Hinault. In the rest of the peloton, the English speakers were likely to support LeMond, while the majority favored a Hinault victory. In Hampsten's interview in the film, he expresses what it was like to be on a team with split loyalties. When Hinault attacked on the road to St. Etienne, Hampsten was there trying to help LeMond. He says, "I felt terrible chasing my hero, but I had absolutely no qualms about, well, this is the right thing to do."

The film also gives a good picture of just what LeMond was up against from the rest of the peloton -- threats that went beyond normal competition. At one point, LeMond learned that a former teammate of Hinault's offered to take LeMond out of the race by forcing a crash. Phil Liggett, speaking in archived footage, can be heard saying "80% of the riders want Hinault to win. There's a nasty hint that LeMond could be nobbled." In the interview with Greg and Kathy LeMond, the pair relate a conversation they had with Jacques Goddet, the long-time organizer of the Tour, who warned them that there were many people who might be willing to go to great lengths to prevent the American from winning. "Watch your food. Watch your water bottles," he reportedly told them. From there, paranoia set in.

Again -- we know already how the story ends. LeMond proved to be stronger and won his first Tour de France. The first (and officially only) American to do so. For his part in the film, Hinault says with his characteristically charming smile, "He won. So I kept my word. If I had not wanted to keep my promise, it would have been easy for me to race for victory."

Whether Hinault was really riding for himself, or trying to help LeMond is impossible to say, but the film Slaying the Badger seems to lean toward LeMond's side. In his interviews, LeMond clearly seems to believe he was betrayed by his friend and mentor. Most of the other interviews shown also seem to support LeMond. Hampsten, for instance, describes Hinault's repeated attacks as "fratricide." Only team director Koechli comes across as the dissenter.

While I get the impression from the film that I was probably supposed to see Hinault as some kind of villain in this story, personally I have a hard time with that. Hinault was a fierce competitor. On one hand, it's clear that he couldn't have won the '85 Tour without LeMond's sacrifice. Hinault suffered through the latter half of that Tour and it was probably easy at the time for him to make the promise that he would repay LeMond. But the next year, he's feeling good, he sees the opportunity to be the only man to win 6 Tours, and he starts to question the logic of helping someone else to win. Racing for someone else just wasn't in his DNA. Like Abt says, "he couldn't help himself." But also, even as difficult as it was for LeMond to win, with challenges coming from not only the whole peloton but his own team, many people (particularly in Europe) called his '86 victory a "gift" from Hinault. What would they have said if Hinault actually appeared to be helping him? I understand LeMond's sense of betrayal, but in the end, it seems to me that it elevated his victory. If there was any doubt (there was not any for me) that LeMond truly deserved to win the '86 Tour, this film should set things straight.

Though the '86 Tour victory is essentially the climax of the film, it does go on to briefly relate LeMond's exciting '89 win against Fignon, and then (very briefly) the decline of his racing career and the introduction of EPO to pro racing, which would completely re-shape racing for the next era. Those parts seem almost like a footnote at the end of the story.

A couple last impressions from the documentary. I wish there was more of Andy Hampsten in the film. He comes across as genuine, honest, and eminently likable -- a real class act. On the other hand, Koechli strikes me as "slippery," occasionally insisting one thing, while archive footage seems to prove another. At one point, LeMond says of his former team director, "Koechli tries to be smarter than he is. That's him re-making his own history." About Greg and Kathy LeMond, the two of them seem like such a cohesive team together -- Hinault once said that Greg was a better person with Kathy, and the film makes that ring true. Another thing about the film is that it is not all that long -- about  1:16 or so, so I wonder how much more might be covered by the book. I've decided that I need to read Richard Moore's book on which the film is based, so I put a copy on order.

Although it may be hard to find if one missed it (not knowing for sure if or when it will air again, or where else it might be available for viewing), I think Slaying the Badger would be worth the effort for cycling fans to watch.

Campagnolo Portacatena: A Neat Idea Whose Time Never Came

Back in June when I was doing some research for an article on the wonderful Nivex rear derailleur (see HERE) I found some pictures of the special Nivex dropouts with an integrated chain holder. The way they were designed, a rider could shift the chain from the smallest sprocket to the chain holder, thereby allowing them to remove the rear wheel without touching the chain.

The Nivex dropout with integrated
chain holder -- and special hubs with
semi-axles. Wheel changes were
never easier.

My first thought on seeing the Nivex chain holder was "Wow -- that's just like the Campagnolo Portacatena. I wonder if that's where Campagnolo got the idea?" The evidence seemed to support it. In my research, I had found that it is a generally accepted fact that Tullio Campagnolo saw the Nivex derailleur and the dropouts at the 1949 Salon du Cycle show in Paris, and was impressed enough that he purchased a set. Within a few months, he introduced the first prototype of his Gran Sport parallelogram derailleur which must have been inspired at least in part by the Nivex. Although the Portacatena wasn't introduced until about 28 years later, it seemed not only possible, but highly likely that the idea came from the Nivex chain holder.

The dropout piece of the Portacatena, mounted
on a Campagnolo 1010/B dropout.

Soon after I posted that article, I got my Summer 2014 issue of Jan Heine's Bicycle Quarterly magazine (Vol. 12 No. 4), and wouldn't you know, but there was an extensive article on Tullio Campagnolo: The Visionary Behind the Legend. The article re-examined the myths and legends that surround Mr. Campagnolo and the company that bears his name. And sure enough, short of having Tullio himself rise from his grave and say "yes, that's true," Heine's article lent more credence to what I'd been thinking. As far as giving an explanation as to why Campy waited until 1977 to introduce the chain holder, Heine could only speculate. "Did somebody at Campagnolo find the old Nivex dropouts in a drawer, and think that this could be a good idea?" Nobody knows for sure.

Regardless of who actually came up with the original idea, the Portacatena (literally, "chain-holder") was a neat little item whose time never came.

Anyone who has an 80s vintage frame
with Campagnolo dropouts has probably
seen these little holes. How many knew
what the little holes were for?

The Portacatena consisted of a "C-shaped" aluminum piece (the actual holder) which mounted onto Campagnolo's 1010/B dropouts using two small tapped holes (another version was available that fit into the axle slot of the dropout, for use with bikes that didn't come with the drilled mounting holes). At the control end, the normal shift lever was replaced with a special shift lever that had an extra release button and a 2-position lever stop. When the rider shifted down to the smallest cog, the release button engaged the first stop position and the lever would go no further. When one wanted to shift onto the chain holder, they would press the release button and move the lever to the second stop position which shifted the chain onto the holder. Look, ma' - no greasy hands!

In reading other people's recollections of the Campy Portacatena, I found several references to an interesting benefit that some racers discovered in using it that had nothing to do with wheel removal. When on a long descent, some would reportedly shift onto the chain holder, bypassing the freewheel, and descend swiftly and silently. Sounds like a cool trick, as long as they remembered to shift back on the gears before they had to start pedaling again.

Yes, I have a Portacatena set, still in
 the original package. I just don't
know what bike to mount it on.

So, why didn't the Portacatena catch on? Most likely, it was because in most cases the chain holder essentially took the space of one freewheel cog. In other words, if the frame and hub were spaced for a 6-speed cluster (typically 126 mm), one would normally have to use a 5-speed freewheel in order to use the Portacatena -- though I imagine one could maybe get away with an Ultra 6 (narrow-spaced) freewheel. I'm sure 7 speeds (or more) would be out of the question. At a time when the industry was adding (and consumers apparently demanding) more and more cogs, Campagnolo was essentially asking riders to go the other direction. Many riders who even knew of the existence of the chain holder probably didn't think it was worthwhile.

As regular readers might guess, I have a Portacatena set, still in the original packaging. I only just opened it today so I could put the instruction pamphlet onto my scanner (see below). I've had it for years now -- purchased mainly as in interesting curiosity, thinking I might install it on a bike some day if the right bike presented itself. So far, it simply remains an interesting curiosity. I thought about putting it on my Masi, which has the right dropouts, but I've never gotten around to it.

Here are scans of the instruction pamphlet:

Notice that the instructions show the Portacatena in use with a 6-speed freewheel. They don't mention anything about the necessary spacing to make that work. Hmmm. . .

I have seen the devices used with 6-speed freewheels -- as mentioned, it seems that an Ultra-6 would probably work, as it is supposed to fit into the space of a 5-speed. To use a normal-spaced 6, I suppose one could re-space the hub to gain more room on the drive side, but that would also increase wheel dish and increase the possibility of a bent axle. There's one pictured on Classic Lightweights UK that may have been done this way. The description in the picture there says it uses a 6-speed freewheel with 7-speed axle and frame spacing. But unless I'm mistaken, both 6 and 7-speed systems used the same 126 mm frame and axle spacing, so I'm guessing the wheel in that case has some extra dish.

The Portacatena was quietly dropped from the Campy catalogs some time in the early 80s (I couldn't find it in the '84 catalog), though according to framebuilder and blogger Dave Moulton, Campagnolo continued making the dropouts with the mounting holes well into the 90s (see HERE) -- either that, or they made a ton of them in the early 80s and it took years to get through the stock. Since the introduction of the Portacatena in 1977, we've seen the industry go from 6 to 7, then 8, and eventually all the way up to 11 speeds. The real estate between a bicycle's dropouts has become pretty crowded these days, so I don't imagine anyone bringing back this nifty little item. But for retrogrouches and vintage bike lovers, it can be cool piece of useful nostalgia.

Learning to Ride

My older daughter just learned how to ride a bike. She's a bit of a "late bloomer" as far as that goes, being that she turned 9 recently. I was afraid it might never happen. She's always been a pretty cautious kid -- painfully shy, and usually afraid to try anything new, whether it be new foods, new subjects at school, or any kind of new challenge. She won't even talk on the phone -- not to me, her mom, or anyone. It's like the phone terrifies her. At least I don't have to deal with her begging me for a cell phone, but still . . .

She's been on a bike in some fashion or other pretty much since she was able to hold her head up. From the time she was about a year old, I'd put her in a little Burley trailer and go for rides with her on the canal towpath and around the neighborhood. When she was three or four, we got a hand-me-down tag-along trailer bike, and she took to riding that. For a couple of years, we'd put her younger sister in the Burley and hook it up behind the tag-along, making a full-on family train -- probably against every recommendation by the manufacturers, but it worked fine. When the younger daughter got too big for the Burley and wanted to pedal like her bigger sister, we found a double Trail-A-Bike tag-along trailer, and we've used that for the past two years.

But when it came to learning to ride her own bike, she absolutely refused. When she turned six, we got a hand-me-down 16-in. wheel bike from some older cousins. It was a good size for her and was in good working order, but didn't look so great, so I stripped the whole thing down, repainted it (in the colors she picked out at the paint store), and rebuilt it like new. She wouldn't even try to ride it. Any time I suggested we go out and try it, she'd dig in her heels and refuse. If I tried to pressure her, it would certainly have backfired, so I had to avoid that.

She enjoyed going for rides with me on the tag-along, but had no interest in riding her own bike. After a while, I started to wonder what was going on. It occurred to me that she might think (in her 6, then 7, and eventually 8-year old mind) that if she learned how to ride her own bike, then that would somehow mean that she couldn't ride with me on the tag-along anymore. I asked her about that, and as it turned out, I was right. For a moment there, it looked like all those child psychology classes I took in college might actually pay off. I assured her that I loved riding with her on our tag-along tandem, and that she could ride it for as long as she wanted -- as long as she could still fit on the thing. And when she'd outgrow the tag-along, maybe we could find a way to make our adult tandem work for us. Learning to ride her own bike wouldn't change anything as far as that goes. Breakthrough! Or so I thought.

She still refused to try the little two-wheeler. The thing is, I was certain she could do it -- but she didn't believe it. Didn't believe in herself.

Let me come back to the tag-along trailer bike for a moment. Riding that, and especially the double trailer version, can be tricky. If one of the kids turns around to look behind them, I'll know it. If they are pedaling in a choppy manner, I can feel it. If one of the kids starts to lean unexpectedly, I can immediately feel it in the steering. If they both start to lean unexpectedly, it can send us zinging off in whatever direction they're leaning if I'm not careful. I call the phenomenon "steering from the back" and it can be a little unnerving. It's worse at slow speeds. Anyhow, one day we were riding along and suddenly I could feel the steering start to oscillate, so I knew something was up. I turned to look behind me, and there was my daughter standing up as she was pedaling, or as the French call it, "en danseuse." Oh -- and I should add, grinning from ear to ear.

"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I've seen you do it sometimes and I just wanted to try it," she answered.
"You know," I said, "if you can pedal while standing up, you can probably ride your own bike, no problem."

Of course, she didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to talk about it. That was nearly a year ago.

So now her little sister, who recently turned six, is learning to ride a bike. She has the interest, but balance is still an issue for her, so it's been slow going. Still, the other day I had them both at the park where I was working with the 6-yr-old, while the 9-yr-old watched. I asked if she'd like to give it a try.

"Nope."

So I said, "What're you saying -- you're never going to learn how to ride a bike? You're just going to be one of those people who grows up and never learns how to ride?" No reply.

After a while of watching me trying to help her little sister ride, she came over and asked if she could have a turn. Yes - of course, I said. She strapped on the helmet and climbed onto the little bike I'd built for her over three years ago. It's definitely too small for her now, but it would have to do for the moment. She got her feet on the pedals, I gave her just the slightest little push, and off she went. Like she'd been doing it her whole life (which, I suppose, in a sense she has).

She zipped around the park and came back to me, all smiles. I worked with her for just a few minutes on how to get herself started without help, and before either of us knew it, she had that down too.

I was incredibly proud of her, but even more importantly, she was proud of herself.

On the way home from the park, she said to me, "Can I call mom on the phone and tell her what I just did?"

What can I say? The kid's growing up.