Old bike designs die hard

In my previous post I wrote how the High-wheeler or Ordinary bike influenced riding habits well into the next century. It also influenced frame design into the 1950s and 1960s.

If you look at the top picture you can see, due to the simplistic design of these old bikes, there was a limitation where the rider could be placed. I have drawn in red the three points of contact; the saddle, pedals, and handlebars.

With the steering almost vertical, the handlebars are directly above the pedals. If you can imagine on a modern bike if the handlebars were directly above the bottom bracket, they would be about where the nose of your saddle is.

So you can appreciate that if this were the situation, the rider would have to sit much further back. This was the case on the old ordinary bikes the riders were sitting much further back than we do today.

People do not like change, and as I mentioned in my last piece the cycling enthusiast did not take to the new fangled “Safety” bicycle immediately. It was necessary for those designing the new machine to place the rider in a position he was familiar with.

In the next picture I have drawn a safety bicycle superimposed on the ordinary. I left the saddle, pedals, and handlebars exactly where they were on the high-wheeler. By placing a front and rear wheels in the only logical place, and connecting all the dots, you can see we have a close approximation of a early safety bicycle.

This theory is confirmed by the photos below, showing two riders in almost identical positions; one on an ordinary and one on a “Rover,” the first safety bike.

The next picture below is of Ottavio Bottecchia's bike; an Automoto that he rode to victory in the 1925 Tour de France. In 25 or 30 years the handlebars have been moved forward and lowered, but the saddle position in relation to the pedals has remained as it was on the ordinary. The seat angle is about 68 degrees.

The picture below is of Louison Bobet’s French made Stella that he rode to his 1954 Tour de France win. The angles have become slightly steeper and the fork rake is shortened. However, look at where the nose of the saddle is in relation to the bottom bracket.

This was the way bikes were designed when I started racing in 1952. I was always told by my elders that I had to sit back in order to pedal efficiently. In time I questioned this because I am somewhat short in stature, and found when making maximum effort, I would slide forward and end up sitting on the nose of the saddle.

Studying photos of other riders I could see many had the same problem, this is what started me experimenting with frame design. Initially I was just looking to improve my own performance.

The problem has always been that in general, people who race bikes do not build them, and people who build bikes do not race them. And no one ever questions why certain aspects of design are the way they are.

A 100 year legacy

I initially learned my framebuilding skills from a man known as Albert “Pop” Hodge. Born in 1877, he was almost 80 when I first met him in the mid 1950s; he had been building frames since 1907.

Pop assembled his frames without the use of jigs. He measured and cut the tubes and measured the angles with a protractor. He drilled and pinned the tubes in the lugs with penny nails. He then laid the frame on the brick floor of his shop; the lines made by the mortar between the bricks told him if the geometry was right.

He brazed the lugged joints, blacksmith style, in a hearth of hot coals. He had a hand held torch which he used to add braze-ons; it was fueled by the town gas supply, which at that time was coal gas. The flame was boosted by compressed air supplied by a small compressor.

The air compressor was the only piece of electrical equipment Pop used, he had a bench drill and a hand drill, both were hand cranked.

I learned the basic skills from Pop Hodge, but in later years when I started my own framebuilding business, I no longer brazed in a hearth. I used an oxy-acetylene torch with a small but extremely hot flame, and controlled the heat by working quickly. I used jigs to assemble the frames, and aligning tools to ensure accuracy. I had taken framebuilding to the next level.

Fast forward to 1985, when a young Native American boy named Russell Denny came to work for me. 18 years old, and fresh out of high school, Russ became my apprentice. He learned every aspect of the craft of framebuilding; learning and mastering one task at a time before moving onto the next. Learning is like climbing a tree in the dark, one needs to be firmly placed on each branch before moving to the next.

By the end of the 1980s and in the early part of the 1990s the bike business was going through some drastic changes. An ugly beast had appeared known as the Mountain bike, and like some strange species introduced to a new environment, it took over and destroyed the road bike.

I knew that change had come but I wanted no part of it; I was bitter and burned out. I was ready to liquidate everything and leave. Russ Denny begged me not to, and I felt I had a certain obligation to him. I had taught him a skill, the only skill he knew. I stayed on as long as I could but in the end had to leave and turned the whole thing over to Russ.

For the next ten years I turned my back on the bike business, and even lost touch with Russ Denny. When I did finally get back in touch, Russ was doing well and had taken framebuilding to the next level, just as I had done.

He was building racing frames in aluminum, and carbon fiber. By this time I was living on the East Coast and Russ was still in Southern California. I have yet to get back for a visit or to see firsthand what Russ Denny is doing.

I was pleased when recently a good friend, Steve Farner (Picture at top of page.) who lives in So. Cal. Decided to start racing again after a break of twenty some years, and needed a modern bike to do so. He had Russ build him a custom frame. Here was someone I trusted that could truly compare the old with the new, and give me feed back.

Above: Russ Denny with his new creation

Russ Denny can build a frame in aluminum or carbon tubes with aluminum lugs, or any combination of the two, like aluminum main triangle with carbon fork and rear triangle. He can also still build a steel frame, lugged or filet brazed if you so desire.

Steve Farner chose an all aluminum frame with a carbon fork, simply for reasons of cost. Russ built him a custom fitted 52 cm. frame. Writing about the bike, Steve said:

From sitting position the top tube looks round and the same diameter; from the side it goes from diamond to oval, and Russ made it only slightly sloping, which I like better than “compact” frames. The seat tube is an oversize single diameter. The down tube is fat, sort of clover shaped and highlights Russ Denny’s decals, including his feather. The entire bike is painted metallic red, screaming speed like a Ferrari Dino. I have always liked red bikes.

Steve previously owned a custom frame that I built in 1984 a year before Russ Denny came to work for me, and incidentally the year I met Steve as a twenty-something young racer. His ‘dave moulton’ weighed 21 lbs. The Denny weighs slightly over 16 lbs. The ride was of course totally different, but it took Steve only about a week to grow to love his new ride. He said:

The Denny absorbs rough sections similar to steel bikes, which was surprising. The harder I push it, the more it gives back in forward motion. This bike tracks absolutely dead-on: throw it into a corner, sprint as powerful as you can, emergency brake, shift in a corner, hit potholes and it doesn’t flinch (or flex out of control). Of course Russ knows how to weld a straight frame.

When Pop Hodge built frames from 1907 until the early 1960s they were the racing frames of the day. The 1922 World Road Championship was won on one of his bikes.

The bikes I built were the racing bikes of the 1970s and 1980s, and now Russ Denny has taken frame building to the next level and into the 21st Century.

We can all lament about the beauty and the passing of lugged steel, but the sport of bicycle racing has changed and if someone wants to compete seriously he must do so on a modern machine.

As is evident by the North American Handmade Bicycle Show there are still plenty of builders offering “Pieces of Art,” lugged steel, for those who want that; I am pleased to see this tradition carried on. But how many framebuilders can build you a one off custom frame, that builds into a modern bike that you can race on, and more importantly, someone who knows what he is are doing.

I doubt if there are more than a handful of framebuilders in the whole world who can boast a direct unbroken connection of 100 years of framebuilding. I am proud to be that living connection between the old and the new.

Here is a link to Russ Denny's Website.

You can read Steve Farner's complete article here as a PDF.

It's now 30 years and the National Enquirer still owes me a story

What is this strange looking machine? It is a one of a kind special eight-seat bike built by me and commissioned by the National Enquirer for a photo shoot in 1979.

The photo shoot was of the Rosenkowitz sextuplets, three boys, and three girls born January 11, 1974. They were the worlds first surviving sextuplets. I wrote the story of how I came to build this bike, in an article here in November 2005. As a result of the original article, a member of the family contacted me and was kind enough to send pictures.

The Enquirer told me they didn’t care if the machine was “un-ridable,” they just wanted a picture. Of course I wasn’t going to build something that couldn’t be ridden, even something as bizarre as this.

The proof is here in the picture of the whole family, (From left to right.) Mother Susan, the children Elizabeth, Nicci, Emma, Jason, Grant, and David. Father Colin Rosenkowitz is steering the rig. The children were five years old at the time.

Above is a later picture (Probably mid to late 1990s.) with the same bike, and the six now adults. Note that my name is now painted over with a coat of blue paint.

Below left is a picture of me taken in 1978 at my shop in Worcester, England, with the project under construction.

I have no regrets at being involved in this venture, even though I was never paid. It was and interesting project, one I can tell my grandkids about, and of course readers here.

It was an enjoyable experience to make contact with a member of the Rosenkowitz family.

Out of respect for their privacy I am not about to reveal anymore.

It is now over thirty years, and I’m still waiting for a story from the Enquirer, or a check would be nice.

Fuso Components

I am often asked, “What was the standard component package on the Fuso?” or John Howard, or Recherché.

The answer: There was no standard component package. The reason, I only sold frames, not complete bikes. The frames were ordered by bicycle dealers, usually for a specific customer, who then chose the components and the bike shop ordered these in and built the bike.

Often what happened was the customer could not afford an all Campagnolo or Shimano Dura-Ace equipped bike. So the dealer built the bike with lower priced components like Sugino, Sun Tour, or Shimano 600.

The thinking was, (And I agreed.) the frame is what determines how the bike fits, handles, and feels to the rider. Wheels are the next important factor, but after that a Sugino crankset, or cheaper pedals will, for the most part, feel no different than Campagnolo. The main difference is the quality of finish and the durability of the product, not so much in the ride quality.

The theory was, get a newcomer on a quality frame, get them hooked on cycling and they would come back and upgrade to a better quality component later. This was a smart business move for the Bike Dealer, and it sold frames for me.

For about the same price as say a mid range Japanese or European import, a customer could get on one of my frames with lower priced components. And of course when the customer compared the mid range import and my bike on a test ride they could feel the difference.

That was the theory. In reality what happened in many cases, the bike purchase was an impulse thing, and after a short period, the bike ended up sitting in the garage where many still languish to this day.

From time to time such a bike comes up on eBay, often with a mish-mosh of cheap components. If you are buying such a bike, realize that you are basically buying it for the frame. If you strip the components to replace them with, say Campagnolo; these left over parts will have little or no resale value.

On the other hand, many may not want such a bike. If you can buy it at a bargain price, you can ride as originally intended and upgrade the components as they become available.

All frames I built were measured center to top which is approximately 2 cm. more that the center to center measurement. For example frame stamped 58 under the bottom bracket shell, would measure 56 cm. center to center. Also, if it is a Fuso and you ask the seller for the frame number, you canlink to my website here and get the approximate date it was built.

Off to the Races

Up until the mid 1960s many cyclists in England did not own a car; to get to a race they had to ride their bike. Just like the cyclist in the picture above, sprint rims and tubular tires (Sprints and Tubs.) were too expensive for everyday use, and were reserved for racing only.

Training and commuting to work were done on HP tires. (Clinchers.) The racing wheels were carried on two wheel carriers attached to the front wheel axel; the wheels then fastened to the handlebars with a pair of toe straps. These wheels and tires were only used for the duration of the event.

Time-trials always took place at the crack of dawn, so it was usually dark when the cyclist left home; the rider above has a battery lamp clipped to his handlebars. Also note the bike has mudguards and a rear luggage rack; these would be removed before the race, and re-fitted after for the ride home. Below is another innovative way to get to an event.

The pictures are from the Bernard Thompson collection. Bernard, who died in recent years, was a freelance cycling photographer whose pictures appeared in Cycling Magazine, from the 1950s through the 1980s. More great photos can be seen on CyclingInfo.co.uk/blog.

Bernard Thompson probably made most of his income selling prints to non-famous club riders. There would be 120 riders in most open time-trials; his strategy was to stand at a point where riders slowed to do a u-turn in the road and had to call out their race number to an event marshal.

He took a picture, noted the rider's race number, and then got the rider's names and addresses from the race organizer. Sending out a mass-mailing, he probably sold close to 120 prints every weekend. It was special for a regular club rider to get a nice picture by a professional photographer.

The picture above is of me riding in the National Championship 12 Hour Time-Trial in 1953. You won't find it in this collection, but it is a Bernard Thompson photograph. It is one of the many thousands taken by him over the years.
I remember Bernard Thompson taking that picture as clear as if it were yesterday. I was about an hour into the event and this was the first turn. (On the Great North Road somewhere near Biggleswade, I think.) I was out of the saddle picking up speed again when I saw him take the shot.
Right after he took it, I nodded and gave him a little smile. I had no idea who he was, so I was thrilled the following week when I got a note in the mail from Bernard Thompson, the famous “Cycling” photographer.