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Age of Innocence, Age of Elegance

By Bob Freeman

When I first became aware of non-factory produced bikes, there were certain ones that captivated my attention. It was the early ‘70s, long before the internet, and information came from very few sources. Bicycling magazine was the main one. I devoured every issue. But when I was exposed to the world of racing, the pros seemed to speak a different language and rode bikes I had never seen. Names like Colnago, De Rosa, Masi, Cinelli, Holdsworth, Ron Cooper, Paramount, Klein, and Teledyne were fawned over and drooled on by those of us riding our Peugeots, Raleighs, Schwinns and Motobecanes. The “All Campy” racing bike was the Holy Grail. Clement sew-ups, Binda toe straps, Ideale and Unicanitor saddles, Cinelli bars and stems, and the ever-present and ubiquitous Campagnolo Nuovo and Super Record parts were the stuff of dreams. A complete bike outfitted like this could cost $400 to $600 — more than a guy made in a couple months back then, when scraping by was the norm.

Photo courtesy of Bob Freeman

For my first real racing bike, I settled for a beautiful copper-colored and chrome plated Raleigh International. I was afraid to tell my parents I spent $400 on a bicycle! Still valued by collectors today, this was a good compromise for someone who wanted to race some, tour some, and show off some “bling.” All Campy except brakes it was, with Weinmann center-pulls and sew-ups. It had a longer wheelbase and fender eyelets. Not really the thoroughbred racer, but passable for someone who was only semi-serious and semi-talented anyway. Eventually, most people would upgrade a bike like this with Campy brakes and Cinelli bars and stem, and keep looking for those elusive nine dollar Clement silks. Dave Stoller, in the film “Breaking Away,” shared that dream we all had — speaking Italian, racing with the Campioni and riding the best bike.

By 1974 my racing interest had been displaced by the allure of a promised ride to happen in 1976 called “Bikecentennial,” in celebration of our Bicentennial. As many as 10,000 cyclists were said to be gearing up to ride across the country for some sort of a rolling Woodstock. With no career yet on the horizon, I vowed to be among them. Turns out I had made the right choice with the International. Well, sort of. With a little alteration of the gearing, some new stout handbuilt touring wheels with clincher tires and the addition of a rack and fenders, I was ready to tour in style. You couldn’t do that on your Cinelli very easily, and sew-ups were taboo on the long trips, though some did try.

When I learned in ‘75 that they needed more leaders for all these hordes of people going, and that not only could I do the trip for free, but get paid a per diem, I thought, that’s for me. Heck, I had two years experience then; I was practically an expert. And I had taught skiing for the past seven years, so I knew a bit about leading people. I applied and was accepted as a leader, and spent the most wonderful summer of my life on my bike with 12 others ranging in ages from 16 to 23, riding about 6,000 miles and shrinking the country, in my mind, considerably. The investment in good equipment paid off, having next to no trouble with the bike the whole way. Meanwhile, most people in my group were truing wheels, replacing spokes and tweaking things constantly, not to mention riding heavy and inefficient bikes. That had to be frustrating.

Classic gear from Colnago.

The International began my great love affair with top quality bikes and Campagnolo equipment. You could overhaul anything, shine it up, replace any worn parts, and just keep it running smooth and quietly, seemingly forever, all with a few simple tools and minimal skill. I never looked back. The elegant designs became timeless, as Campagnolo changed their parts little throughout the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s. It was something you could rely on to hold up, work great, and beat the competition; the stuff all other companies strove to emulate, but never quite did. Shimano, Suntour, and Zeus all made copies of the Campy parts, but were considered a poor man’s substitute. Everyone wanted to upgrade to Campy as soon as they could. We pored over the mail order catalogs and drooled on the occasional English or Italian bike magazine that got passed around like a kid’s first Playboy.

The bike boom years made a wealth of stuff available, if you knew where to get it and could afford it. Top end bikes became more plentiful, and in a much wider selection. When the bike boom faded in the late ‘70s, the manufacturers were left trying to figure out what to do to keep it going. Enter innovation.

Photo courtesy of Bob Freeman

The never equaled Campagnolo Nuovo Record rear derailleur.

“Let’s outdo Campy! We’ll make bearings sealed and smooth as silk. We’ll make tires and rims lighter and narrower. Let’s make frames from aluminum, titanium, and carbon fiber. Now let’s make the shifting practically automatic.”

Bikes were losing their innocence, their simplicity. The home mechanic couldn’t do everything like he used to be able to. Campagnolo competed by making their parts swoopier and lighter, but they still worked the same. Why mess with perfection? But eventually they had to add features like indexed shifting to compete. The stuff was troublesome. It wore out faster, performed haphazardly, and perplexed the most seasoned mechanic at times. And never content to keep one good design going more than a year or two, the manufacturers started playing the automotive industry’s “innovate-or-die” game. The parts became obsolete in a year or two, and cross-compatibility was pretty much out the window. This continues to this day, and is the biggest area of frustration to the mechanic who grew up on a diet of Nuovo Record. Now 11-speeds and chains wear out after just a thousand miles. Gimme a break! Give me back high quality and take back the gizmos. Yes, I am a confirmed retro-grouch.

[To be continued in August issue..]