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Are Triplizers Immoral?

9/11/2017

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 A year or so ago, I went on a vintage ride organized by Onion River Sports, the bike shop in nearby Montpelier, Vermont (and a very good shop at that). Eroica it was not. It was basically thirty or forty people with a variety of old bikes meeting up in the parking lot on a Saturday afternoon, going for a 25- or 30-mile ride, and meeting up afterwards for pasta, beer, and commemorative T-shirts. The ride itself was hilly--as rides around here tend to be--and mostly on dirt. It was great.
Picture
Don't you love this guy's pants?
During the milling-around phase just before the ride started, I wandered over to a guy with a beautiful Schwinn Paramount from 1970 or so. The red paint was immaculate, and it was still equipped with the murderous gearing typical of Paramounts from that time period: Something like 52-49 chainrings in front and a 14-24 5-speed freewheel.

I complimented him on the bike and remarked that I'd be walking a lot of hills if my bike was geared that way.

(In addition to just being friendly, of course, my plan was ease into a conversation that would end with him saying "How I wish there was some convenient way to convert this original crankset to a triple so I could ride effortlessly up even the steepest hills! If such a product existed I would buy it immediately!" I have few equals when it comes to guerilla marketing.)

Alas, it didn't work. He agreed that the gearing was much too high, and that he had to walk a lot of hills. Then he went even further. I don't remember the exact words he used, but the gist of it was that originality had to take precedence over mere comfort.

Before I could think of a response, we were rolling.
PictureWith a new Brooks saddle and a lighter wheelset, this Dayton-made "Van Cleve" model might make a nice commuter. But the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum prefers to leave it alone.






















I've run into that attitude before, and I have to say that it always leaves me kind of puzzled. I mean, is the bike supposed to serve me, or am I supposed to serve the bike? Should my riding experience today be dictated by the Schwinn product manager who specced the chainrings when I was in tenth grade?

At this point I should point out that I have strong views on maintaining the originality of old bikes. I won't permanently alter old frames or components for the sake of short-term convenience. That position has cost me, too: I spent a shocking amount of money (for me, at least) on a long-cage Simplex derailleur for my Peugeot PX-10, when I could have gotten the same functional result by  by butchering the original hanger and installing a cheap and perfectly reliable Suntour VGT-Luxe. (For more on this, see preceding blog entry "Derailleur Hangers Demystified.")

But I see nothing wrong with swapping bolt-on components at will. Why not? The bike's next owner can always restore it to original condition by removing the non-original crankset or wheels and replacing them with the right ones.

In the exceptional case of a bike with real historic value--Eddy Merckx's hour-record bike, for example, or one of the five surviving bicycles built by the Wright Brothers--it's best leave things completely alone. But that anonymous bike-boom Raleigh International? I say go ahead and swap parts around--just be sure to keep the old ones.
Picture
A nice day for a fall ride. The guy on the left--with the old Bottechia--is Onion River Sports service manager Per Tonn. I don't know the other folks. I was about five miles behind them at this point.
I saw the Paramount guy a few more times in the course of the ride. On two of those occasions he was walking his bike on steep pitches. He seemed to be having a good time, although he was so far ahead of me that I couldn't say for sure.

In any case, I'm pretty slow to begin with, and was made even slower by a loose headset on my newly rebuilt Gitane Tour de France, which I had to stop and adjust. I'd been hoping to see the Paramount again, but by the time I got to the finish both bike and owner were gone.
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    I'm a chainring czar and editor in Cabot, Vermont. You know, where the cheese comes from.

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