Lightness

Contrary to appearances, bicycles are complex devices. They consist of many parts; each of these parts is made of different materials; each of those materials has different properties; each of those properties may make those parts suited a specific purpose; each of these parts may be made in different shapes. I could continue in this fashion, but you get the drift: it would take a rocket scientist, staring at a wall choked full of scribbled equations, to make sense of all of these variables.

Thankfully, we choose the bike we like without a thought to the rest. It’s only after riding the excellent machine for a while that it dawns on us that the ride could be smoother, the handling crisper, the frame lighter, the saddle a bit narrower in a certain place, the wheels less bouncy, the handlebar higher, a long ride a little more comfortable or far too comfortable for the suffering that is supposed to go along with racing. It takes some experience to recognize that the pain we thought was spread throughout the body actually resided in the head.

We, the riders, are the biggest variable of all. We are never satisfied with what we have, but we take great pleasure in our dissatisfaction.

The pursuit of a light road bicycle, for example, including our endless experimentation with the bike we have to make it lighter, is one of those never-ending quests that are part of bicycling lore. Bike discussion groups are full of talk about light bikes or light bike parts. There is usually a separate discussion thread entitled grammomania, or something like it, that is entirely devoted to such thought.

Why should anybody with a grain of salt be interested in making a bike lighter than it is? The answer is simple: a light bike, especially a light high performance bicycle, is a more efficient machine than a heavy one. It requires less effort, handles better, or gives a better feedback during fast descents. Yet, the solution to transform our bike into a lighter machine is, as with anything related to cycling, anything but simple.

This is a subject that is of great interest to me—I am far from immune from the maniacal pursuit of the elusive light bike. How should we go about making our own bike lighter?

First, a disclaimer: I know perfectly well that some builders out there have assembled extremely light bikes. These are fascinating projects: after seeking the most esoteric components and prototypes, or even designing and manufacturing their own, they have reduced the weight of fully viable bicycles to less than 8 lbs. Some have gone even further, breaking the 5-lbs. barrier. I am sure that with the learning accumulated through these valiant efforts, such records will become commonplace in a few years.

For most of us, however, going to such lengths is out of the question. We lack the endurance, the engineering background, or the resources to talk bicycle manufacturers into providing us with one-off components. Such prototypes are just that, something that is well conceived but still untested. Would it survive the use and abuse we subject our bikes on a daily basis? Does it make sense to invest so much money and effort to shave a couple of grams off something that is already feather light? Would we be able to notice the difference?

My interest is more mundane: during the next few weeks, I would like to find out how we can put together a very light bike, within reason, with what is available at the BikeNüt store.

Friends on bicycles

Usually, I ride alone. It’s not that I don’t like the company of others—I do—but I like riding at my own pace and stopping for a view here and there. Sometimes, however, I ride with other people, but it would seem excessive to describe these as “group rides.”

One of my most frequent companions has been my friend Jean Claude. About three years ago, he inspired me to get on  a bike again, after decades of neglect. He’s stretched the variety of my rides, taking me to places I didn’t know, along country lanes in the South Bay. He’s also made me climb Mount Hamilton, possibly the longest uphill ride in this part of the world. But J.C., as I call him, was recently in a bike accident and now goes out a little less frequently than he used to. I miss him not only because of the gratitude I feel for getting me to love bikes again but also because of the conversations we had while riding.

Good conversation is also central to my rides with Menghesha, another friend. Strictly speaking, these are not even rides, as he jogs and I ride along at 3.5 miles an hour, usually in Golden Gate Park. It’s good that we are not moving very fast, because we tend to discuss everything that goes on in the news and in politics. The problems we face in today’s world are so difficult, that their solutions require all of our attention. As it is, other cyclists, joggers, and young mothers with baby carriers manage to avoid us while rushing past on the bike lane.

Occasionally, I come across other friendly riders. Once, for example, another rider waved at me while dashing by. I waved back. Unfortunately, I had bought my road bike only a couple of months before, and my bike-handling skills were limited. The end result of that little gesture was a crash. The other rider saw my accident and stopped, while I recovered enough to stand on my feet, torn clothes and all. I thought I tested his patience, but he felt that it was his duty to another human being. There are still people like that. We took a ride together a few weeks later. He is a photographer, but we talked mainly about bikes.

Then there was the airplane pilot, a visitor from Canada to the Bay Area. He rented a road bike for the day and, while I was riding in a blissful state of abstraction, asked me if he could ride along. He did, and we took on the hills in northern Marin County. We spent a nice day, he bought me a cup of coffee, and I took some pictures of him with San Francisco as a background. He was supposed to send me his email address for the pictures, but he never did. Perhaps I had a better day than he did.

Another such casual bicycle encounter was with a young woman, who had recently moved to the city from Humboldt County, in Northern California. I convinced her that it wouldn’t be a big deal to ride from Golden Gate Park all the way to the top of Twin Peaks, the highest hill in town. It wasn’t. She asked me if she could call me to ride again, maybe crossing the Golden Gate Bridge to Marin County. It was hard for her to find people to ride with who weren’t creeps. I thought that was a compliment. I’d be delighted, I said, but she never did.

The most recent of these bike friends is Michael, or Misha, as he is called at home. He rode by me with irritating effortlessness, while I was climbing on Panoramic Way from the coast. I managed to stay on his wheel but felt he was making it easy for me. We talked about his bikes, coffee, and pizza. He invited my wife and me to his home to sample his pizza-making ability. I was surprised by his hospitality, but we enjoyed ourselves enormously. We talked more about the bikes he keeps around the living room. Michael is old school, a firm believer in steel frames and tubulars. Each bike has a different story. He’s been riding across the Bay Area ever since he was a child. We’ll ride again.

Car drivers live in their cockpit in isolation from the rest of the cosmos and always think about their next move. Bike riders must be in touch with the surrounding world and live in the present. Bikes are friendlier.

The original Nüt

For many, this is just another mountain bike, with a strait handlebar, shock absorbers, fat tires, disk brakes, and mud splashes. But for Huseyin, his bicycle is eye candy. This is a cutting-edge bike, with a carbon frame that weighs barely over 1000 grams. His designer, Marcus Storck, describes the Rebelion 1.0 as “one of the lightest hardtail MTB’s in the world.”

There are many reasons why this is one of the most desirable bikes available. The quality of the carbon weave, for example, is one of them. I’m not a bicycle engineer, with the mechanics of a frame at my fingertips and wouldn’t know where to start selecting a particular type of carbon fabric. But Storck does, and, as is typical with his bikes, everything in the frame is taken apart, examined, and redesigned. For the production of this particular frame, Storck has taken inspiration outside the bicycle industry and has looked at the automotive carbon manufacturing. This technology allows a combination of lightness, stiffness, and flexibility. In the Rebelion 1.0, the brake mount is integrated in the massive chain stays, thus allowing the designers to make the seat stays a little more forgiving.

Huseyin, of course, couldn’t leave all of this alone, and has added his personal touch by changing pretty much all of the components, from the front end to the wheels and drivetrain. His drivetrain is based on the Shimano XTR, but the crankset is a beautiful Raceface Next SL—675 grams with 3 chainrings! 

The brakes are Formula R1—263 grams inclusive of rotor, master cylinder, and brake levers, according to the manufacturer). 

The wheel rims are DT Swiss XRC330, designed specifically for disk brakes and weighing approximately 330 grams. The fork is by Ritchey Logic. 

The stem is a beautifully sculpted carbon-fiber piece by Zipp—SL 145,135 grams.

At about 17 lbs., Huseyin’s complete bike is lighter than many road-racing bikes. Designed to be extremely maneuverable, it can also compete with many of them, as Huseyin proved one day by rushing down one of the steepest descents in Marin County and passing several road cyclists along his way. He must have felt relieved to have it made in one piece.

Huseyin Guler didn’t start out to be a bike guru. He arrived in this country from his native Istanbul to study business administration. He began cycling late, well into his twenties, and then only on a borrowed bicycle. It was a means of transportation in Boston, where he lived, much handier than calling a cab to go home at night, after work. Boston doesn’t have a reputation for excessive friendliness to bicyclists. Yet for Huseyin, cycling was more than just convenient—it was fun, it was a revelation, and it was the beginning of a new stage in life. So, he didn’t just use a bicycle, he became a cyclist: he stopped smoking, lost weight, logged in 15,000 miles a year, and joined a pro-racing team.

He moved to San Francisco in 2002. After completing his studies, he quit his racing team but discovered early on that wearing a business suit wasn’t really his call and found a job at a bike shop in the Mission District. He rapidly gained a reputation as someone who really knew his stuff, had a predilection for the coolest gear, and understood his customers. He also learned about running a business, actually a bicycle business, and managed the entire shop.

That’s when, in 2005, he decided to open his own.

“I had the idea of the wings,” he says, “because, for me, riding a bike is like having wings.” That was the beginning of BikeNüt, a combination of practical knowledge and deep passion for anything related to bikes.

The beginnings were not glamorous, and Huseyin was his own sole employee, assembling bikes, setting up the store, and dealing with the first customers. But he has expanded ever since, and now the shop is bursting with energy.

BikeNüt sells all sorts of bikes, from road-racing machines to children bikes with 12” wheels. The point of the shop, however, is not just to sell but to provide clients with something entirely unique, something that has been assembled only for them. There are lots of frames, wheel sets, and components around the shop. The front counter displays brake calipers that have been milled from alloys, the lightest cranksets available, handlebars, and all of the smallest components. We see there, as a matter of course, the latest gear. There are complete bikes hanging from the walls, but the overall impression—the correct one, as it turns out—is that complete bikes are there just to be taken apart and rebuilt from the ground up.

Certain manufacturers are popular at BikeNüt, such as Storck, Giant, or Bianchi, for example. That’s only because the people at BikeNüt truly believe in them, ride them, and own them. Now the BikeNüt Umlaut, with its sleek, minimal frame  is part of the lineup. These are bikes that are not meant to maximize profits but to respond to customers’ requests.

For Huseyin, service is the key characteristic at BikeNüt. I remember one of my initial visits to the shop and the free information I was given about the merits of carbon frames, although I had indicated that I wasn’t going to buy anything that day. That was the beginning of my education, and, of course, I eventually went back and bought a bike there.

Every customer is important, and there is no intimidation factor when stepping into the shop for the first time. Buying a bike is a process: people are not rushed into a purchase, they are educated about the range that is available for their particular needs, from the frame selection to each of the components. They also learn that a thorough session, or sessions, spent on fitting the bike to their bodies and their riding characteristics is part of this process.

BikeNüt, for Huseyin, is not a launch pad for some stratospheric enterprise. He hopes to see some growth in the business but doesn't see himself as a CEO, dealing with numbers rather than bikes. His future will be with real bikes, riding them, fitting them with the coolest technology, and also talking to customers, seeing them as people, and educating them.

Women's bikes

This is a Giant Avail Advanced 2, a very handsome road bike with a compact frame as is typical of all Giant bicycles. Its main characteristic is that it has been designed specifically for women. For me, at least, the visible signs that this is really a bike for women are so subtle as to be almost invisible. Yes, perhaps the top tube slopes just a little more than that for men’s bikes, but that could be just my initial impression.

I used to be able to recognize women’s bikes very easily, because the top tube was parallel to the down tube. The explanation parents gave me was that it made it possible for women wearing skirts to ride their bikes without having their clothes fluttering over the handlebar. They thought that it would be inappropriate. This configuration made the bike convenient and comfortable but not very fast: it was the kind of bike that would have a basket over the front wheel.

We now have entered the very treacherous territory of market segmentation, where

minimal differences in materials, construction, and components target specific requirements, demographics, economics, gender, or even national characteristics. Since we’d like to think that we are immune to marketing ploys, we should ask ourselves whether such differences really justify buying bikes that are different for women and for men.

Let’s start with the color. Do women like pastel colors more than men? If so, this preference explains the designers’ choice of colors and slightly subdued graphics. But I think that color preference is something very subjective and don’t see why all women should like such colors.

Are women’s bicycles built with different materials than men’s? No, actually, they employ exactly the same materials and construction methods. In the case of this Giant Avail Advanced 2, these materials and techniques are called Advanced-Grade Technology. This means that all of the tubes are made with optimized methods of construction, just the minimum amount of layers of carbon fiber—oriented in such a way as to resist strain in the best possible way—making certain that each of them is as light as possible and responds appropriately to the power conveyed by the pedals. The head tube and bottom bracket remain as stiff as possible, while the seat stays absorb the bumps of the road.

As for the bicycle components, The Avail Advanced 2, like the other bikes designed specifically for women, employs the same components as the men’s bikes do. These things—wheels, drivetrain, brakes, and pedals—are not gender specific.

Avail Advanced Geometry

Defy Advanced Geometry. This is the men's version.

What’s left? The only feature that makes this truly a bike for women is the frame geometry. Comparing the women’s bikes with the men’s, as can be done from the two diagrams I have downloaded from the Giant website, we see that there are indeed some differences, however small. In the men’s bikes, the top tube is generally a quarter of an inch longer, to account for the men’s torso being generally slightly longer than that of women’s. Other dimensions vary just about this little. Thus, if a woman with a slightly longer torso wanted to ride a man’s bike, she would be perfectly capable of doing so, or viceversa.

Are such dimensions insignificant? Not at all. For example, when I was fitted a couple of months ago, I discovered that even smaller changes made a huge difference in my riding.

The Avail Advanced 2 is not really a bicycle for fast and furious competitions. The manufacturer describes it as a bike designed and built for endurance, long rides, when comfort, rather than twitchiness, is an important factor.  The weight of the components is less of a factor. Even in this case, not much changes between the  top-of-the-line bike, TCR Advanced 1 W, and the Avail Advanced 2 model. The only significant difference is that the Avail has slightly longer chain stays and therefore a longer wheel base. This difference makes the bike more stable and easier to ride over longer distances.

Are all these minute differences detectable by common mortals? Perhaps. It depends on experience and expectations. More experienced riders would what riding qualities they want; less experienced riders would probably adapt to the bike. More experienced riders would expect know what to expect from their bike in certain situations—climbing hills, fast descents, fast acceleration, and so forth. Perhaps the most relevant differences in women’s and men’s cycling is that men will probably insist in learning everything by themselves. Women will be not so hesitant to ask for advice.

The photographer's bike

Peter had just completed a cyclocross race, and he showed me his bike, a Giant Trance X2. He didn’t do badly at all, placing sixth overall. He chalked it up to using the wrong type of bike for that particular kind of terrain. He should have ridden a hard-tail bike, he said, something maybe a little lighter than what he had. But this is what he had, and this is what he rode. He shrugged: no big deal. One cannot help thinking that he is kind of proud of the dirt on his bike.

Admittedly, I know little about cyclocross, or CX, as I’m sure Peter refers to it. I had thought that cyclocross bikes were similar in appearance to road bikes—same drop handlebars, fatter tyres.

So I followed the cryptic references Peter had given me and sensed that the motley group of riders with whom he competes have neither time nor patience with such subtleties and ride whatever works. They sport no uniform. They don’t want to be taken for professional riders or take themselves too seriously. The ample references to velociraptors in their website confirms that they ride fast and compete aggressively but view the beers at the end of the day just as important as the race itself.

Yet the Peter’s Giant Trance X2, although a stock production bike, is anything but a casual piece of machinery. It has a frame made of aluminum, full suspensions, Shimano Deore drivetrain, and massive disk brakes. It isn’t one of the lightest but certainly one of the sturdiest.

Peter does not let himself be distracted by equipment he doesn’t need. He likes to do his research. He let me borrow a text book he has been riding about bicycle mechanic properties. It’s full of equations and diagrams.

He has been riding bicycles “for ever,” he says. Although born in San Francisco, he grew up in Northern England, where his parents moved. His father is an avid cyclist, and Peter tagged along in rides across the northern English countryside.“He would stop at pubs for beer,” he remembers, “and I would have a soda.”

He returned to the Bay Area after high school, taking his time before going to college. In the end, he decided not to go or pursue a career. For  a while, he worked as a computer technician but was soon bored with it and got a job in a bike shop. He liked his work, but the work environment was not congenial, and Peter became a bike messenger. The work was tough: long hours, miles and miles through city traffic. When he had  the chance to move to another, better regarded and more considerate courier company, he grabbed it. He found an interesting group of people and he has still many friends among them. About a year later, he began working at BikeNüt.

At BikeNüt, Peter wears many hats, sometimes behind the counter, advising customers, but more often upstairs, in the shop’s repair and assembly area. Here Peter does what he does best: never still for even a second, he performs a kind of ballet, spinning a wheel with one hand and reaching a tool with the other while keeping a mental checklist of what remains to be done. He squanders no movement and carries out all tasks with precision and speed. At the end of each job, he returns all of the tools to their assigned place.

He has a keen perception and seems to know right away and exactly what is wrong with a bike. One has the sense that his confidence stems from his passion for cycling in general and from working within a shop, a culture really, where he is well liked for what he does and who he is, and that he, in turn, finds stimulating.

Peter has more in his mind than just bikes. He is a photographer, an amateur photographer, he makes clear, and has no plans to become a professional. Amateurs are not taken seriously in our age of ever-escalating specialization. Yet, at their best, amateurs are those who are passionate about what they do, they work at it endlessly, and do not disconnect it from the way they live. That’s the way Peter is.

Peter bought his bike through the shop just over a year ago. Yet, the Giant is only one of his five bicycles. He has one for riding in the city, a road bike for riding around the Bay Area, and others he hasn’t bothered to describe. He is not one to meditate and admire his bikes. He talks about them not as objects but as if they were projects, a common characteristic at BikeNüt. As projects, they can be examined objectively, criticized for what they lack, and, with appropriate adjustments, taken to a higher level of performance.

A new BikeNüt bike with great stopping power

They are having lots of fun with their branded bike, at BikeNüt, and I’ve heard that some in the shop are beginning to call it the Umlaut.

What makes this bike exciting is that with each new owner comes the promise of a new project, something entirely unique. The assembled bike is the result of long discussions with a client, of discovering habits, preferences, requirements, and wishes. This is the way industrial production should be: some parts come from far-away places, others from national or local manufacturers, but the final product is assembled here, to respond to individual wishes and needs.

In this particular bike, everything is pretty much straightforward, from the gruppo, SRAM Red, to the wheels, Ambrosio rims. Apart from the white saddle and bar tape (BTW, I’ve never seen any dirty fingerprints on white tape, have you?), the future owner decided to go for EEBrakes, a very innovative set that are the latest thing in stopping power: they are solid!

It is worth looking at these brakes in some detail. When we apply a gradual pressure on most of the brakes commonly available, the friction between the rim and the brake pads flexes these arms and reduces their efficiency. Many manufacturers, such as Shimano and SRAM, strengthen the caliper but, in doing so, increase their weight.

The EEBrakes. © EECycleworks

EE Cycleworks, the maker of the EEBrakes, have taken a different approach. They have reexamined the way brake works and have engineered their brakes to overcome traditionally weaknesses. Rather than a single point, they utilize multiple pivots to activate the caliper arms. The pivots multiply the leverage in the caliper arms and reduce the amount of pressure that is needed on the brake pads. The designers have increased the caliper width but have eliminated every superfluous ounce of the main materials employed in their construction, high-grade aluminum and titanium. As a result, the EEBrakes are exceedingly smooth to operate, they have great modulation, and are light, about 195 grams for a set.

These brakes look complex and different from the rest. Admittedly, they take a little time to get used to them. Yet their performance sets a new standard, one I would like to adopt as soon as I can afford it.

The designer's bike

When he joined BikeNüt a few months ago, John-Paul Rutledge, or J.P., as he is usually known, bought himself a brand new bike, a Giant TCR Advanced. His previous road bicycle was a top-of-the-line machine from a well known brand, the same used by two top G.C. contenders in this year’s Tour de France. J.P. seems much happier with his new bike: “It’s stiffer, more comfortable, and costs about thirty percent less than the other one,” he says.

J.P. grew up in Charlotte, NC, and has been riding bikes since he was 8.  He rode BMX bikes with a group of similarly gravity-defying kids of his age, discovering daily new ways to get hurt. He had an epiphany during the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, when he watched the first mountain-bike competition. He began racing mountain bikes at 15. Once he rode with one of the legends of the sport, Ned Overend, an athlete who doesn’t let trivial hindrances, such as advancing age, get in the way of his racing.

J.P. finally yielded to his karma and got his first job in a bike shop in 2000. He moved to San Francisco four years later and began road cycling in 2006. “I hated it,” he exclaims, remembering his first ride to the Marin Headlands, a kind of rite of passage for any self-respecting, local road cyclist. Yet his interest in road cycling took hold. He worked at another bike shop in the Mission district, and rode on a Colnago bike with Shimano DuraAce components.

J.P.’s life is not just about bikes. He is married, has graduated from the San Francisco Art Institute, and used to work as a graphic designer for Specialized bicycles. But he had his fill of designing decals and got a job at BikeNüt. He still does some consulting for a few clients, however, and devotes the rest of his time to art. Cycling is his passion and, thanks to his ongoing practice with mountain biking, he thinks nothing of riding for 100 miles across Marin County on his days off.

By BikeNüt standards, he has done little to transform his Giant. J.P. likes the way the bike looks, such as the shape of the seat post, which increases comfort without detracting from the overall stiffness of the bike. The riding quality is very smooth, he feels.

He has installed a set of Revl brakes, produced by The Hive, a Bay Area company based in Petaluma. The carbon-fiber calipers exert a gradual, but firmly modulated braking force on the rims. They are light, strong, and very understated on the outside—they inspire confidence.

For the drivetrain, he employs the Shimano Ultegra group that came with the bike. They are exceedingly reliable in the most brutal situations. He only changed the pedals to DuraAce ones.

He likes his new job at BikeNüt: he enjoys the people and the constant banter that goes on behind the scenes. He is laconic, with an occasionally wry smile. I’ve noticed he responds swiftly whenever he becomes the target. He appreciates the deep pool of knowledge and the culture of constant innovation that pervades the shop. “I learn every day,” he says. But J.P. is a man of principle and likes mostly being surrounded by people who are interested in what they are doing, more concerned in individual riders’ needs than in just selling bikes. He fits very well in this culture.